The Other Potter: Book 7

Alternate ending 2 continuation: Version 1

Five years later

There was a light breeze that tousled my messy hair. I pulled my cardigan around myself and sighed.

“This all?” The waitress asked me, placing down my cappuccino in front of me.

“Yeah, thanks.” I smiled half-heartedly at her.

She left and I didn’t move at all. I didn’t even know what I was doing sitting at the back of a muggle coffee shop. All I knew was that I had to stay away from everyone forever.

Or at least until all the buzz died down.

I sighed into the tepid air and began to stir my coffee unenthusiastically.

Why today? Why did it have to be today?

Hi, I’m George Weasley, and I’m going to get married on the twenty third of July.

Seriously? On my fucking birthday?

I pushed the hair out of my face and sighed again.

“You’ll be alright.” I told myself. “You’re gonna be fine. He’ll marry her and you never have to see him again and it’s okay.”

I tuned into the radio that was playing lightly in the shop.

“I am not the kind of girl, who should be rudely barging in on a white veil occasion, but you are not the kind of boy, that should be marrying the wrong girl.”

Fuck.

I will not go and crash a wedding.

I will not go and crash –

Who the fuck am I kidding?

I downed my coffee in one, and handed over my money to the cashier, before apparating to Harry’s house.

I figured he and Ginny wouldn’t have left yet.

“HONEY, I’M HOME!” I shouted, opening his front door. He’d given me a key, knowing that I was an emotional and psychological wreck.

“Hello Willow,” Ginny beamed, walking past me. “How are you?”

So in love with your brother that I’m crashing the wedding, but I need to be subtle about it or Harry will stop me.

“I’m not bad.” I smiled politely. “Is your husband around?”

“He’s upstairs with James.”

“Thank you Ginny.” I said, and proceeded up the stairs. It was always uncomfortable speaking to most people now. They didn’t know what I knew. And it hurt like hell. There wasn’t the kind recognition in their eyes that I somehow always expected. It was kind, but it was pity. She didn’t know me. Not anymore.

Harry was in James’ nursery, struggling to dress him.

“Do you need a hand, Harry?” I asked, smirking at his failure.

“Hi Willow,” he said turning to me. Him face crumpled a little. “Uh, no. I’m alright.”

“I’m psychologically messed up but that doesn’t mean I can’t help you dress your friggin’ kid.” I sighed exasperatedly.

James started crying.

“Sorry,” I breathed.

“It’s not your fault Willow.” Harry said, lifting James into his arms. “It’s okay.”

“I’m going to go, uh, speak to Ginny.” I gulped uncomfortably and walked back downstairs. It was like the little kids knew there was something wrong with me. Ugh.