Egg Plant (A Harry Potter Fan-fiction)

Egg Plant

Eggplant

By: Shadowcherry

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this Fic, only the idea for the story.

Summary: Harry has an unexpected reunion with a certain family member that brings both old and new feelings to the surface. From Ginny and Harry's point of view.

A/N: Ok this may get confusing so let me explain; whenever Harry or Ginny is alone the story will be written in 1st person, when together or with others it will revert back to 3rd. Hope it's not too confusing, I will try to make it clear. This is my first ever attempt at first person!

Thank you to Habiba Uddin for the amazing cover and suport!! And also to Nat for beta-ing. 

(Ginny's POV)

My heels clacked loudly as I marched back out into the car park. I paused, slightly startled as a lamppost suddenly flickered back into life. I was about to continue when I noticed something in the corner of my eye. There was something lying on the floor. Curiosity peaking inside me, I walked towards it. Dread flooded me as the shape on the floor came into view. I ran to the body, heart beating wildly. No, Merlin, no! Please don't let it be him! I felt a surge of relief as I reached the body. Whoever it was, he was far too large to be Harry.

I took a step backwards as the man rolled over and clapped a hand over my mouth as the smell of stale drink and vomit reached me. I turned away in disgust and noticed some shopping on the ground a few paces away. I walked over to it; I'm not entirely sure why. Bending down, I picked up the bag and gasped at the content. There was an umbrella - a broken umbrella - and an eggplant. Tears stung in my eyes as I remembered with a jolt that Harry wouldn't have gone out at all if I hadn't been so insistent on having Chinese eggplant. The recipe had said Chinese. Who cared really though? Does it really matter if it was Chinese, Indian or bleeding Scandinavian? It had mattered to me though.

I had wanted everything to be perfect. I'm tired of not being as good a cook as my mother. No-one has ever told me as much but I can tell. Every time I have ever been the one to cook at family gatherings, my mother would always bring something along with her for afters, and I would be forced to watch as everyone tucked in gleefully, my desert forgotten. No, that isn't entirely true, I reminded myself.

Harry would always try to eat a bit of both, and whenever I couldn't be bothered making desert when I just knew it wouldn't be eaten, he would always have seconds of everything else , as to be much too 'full' to have any desert. It was a clumsy attempt at making me feel better, but it had always made me smile watching him eat double of everything, while shooting me mock confused looks every time he caught me looking at him, as if he didn't know why.

I blinked back the stubborn tears and wondered how I could have spoken to my husband so cruelly. Was it really his fault if had brought Indian instead of Chinese? Surely he had better things to worry about after a hard day's work.

I had specifically asked for Chinese though. I'd been having a really bad day, where nothing seemed to go right for me, and when he had come home with Indian instead, it had been the last straw. It wasn't the first time by any means that I have snapped at my husband or vented my frustration on him simply because he happened to be there, but it had been different this time. Usually, any insult or heated remark I made would just wash over him. He never got angry or shouted back; he would stay calm and let me shout and fume 'til I felt better.

Sometimes he would just wrap his arms around me, tell me to calm down. If anyone else had told me to calm down when in a mood, I would have slapped them there and then, but with him my frustration and anger just evaporates. Harry would joke that it had more to do with him pinning my arms down with the hug then his soothing voice that kept him from being slapped, but I know better.