Ch 90 his life now

Harry, you're taking me out to dinner, tonight. The Starlight."

He blinked twice slowly, and then lifted his head from the file he had been reviewing. This particular file needed quite a bit of his attention as it focused on one of his tertiary income flows, this one from a magical silkworm farm somewhere in Australia. Apparently, there had been a sudden die off of the silkworms thanks to an infusion of something called a kookaburra into the region. Apparently, these kookaburras have a particular love for the taste of magical silkworms.

He focused on Ginny Potter née Weasley, his wife of two years. She was standing a few steps into his study, the one room of the house that was unequivocally his and the place where he focused on the business of House Potter. It was a comfortable room with a few bookcases filled with a mixture of novels, law books and other study guides for the various businesses which House Potter dealt with, as well as various photographs and other mementos from his time at Hogwarts. Things such as a picture of him, Ron and Hermione and one of the snitches that he had caught during his years on the house Quidditch team. Then there was a soft, brown leather sofa, which was thankfully comfortable enough to sleep on.

Harry still did not understand why he had to be the one to sleep on the couch when they had arguments.

The final bits of the room was his desk and the various chairs around it. This desk had apparently been in the family for nearly two hundred years. His father and grandfather had both sat at it and performed House Potter business at it. He fully intended his children and grandchildren to sit at it and perform House Potter business.

The particular argument when he had not allowed Ginny to redecorate his office, and get rid of the desk and comfortable sofa, had been loud and long and meant that he spent two weeks on said comfortable leather sofa.

As was usually the case, she was 'made up' for the day. Which basically meant that even at 10:30 in the morning, she was dressed in an expensive set of designer robes, and would probably change those before lunch and then again before dinner. Her hair was set atop her head in some type of artistic braid, that would have probably taken a muggle beautician two hours to prepare, while her face lacked the freckles which had adorned it during their shared Hogwart's years, a sure sign of expertly applied magical makeup.

He blinked again, trying to re-order his thoughts from silkworms and kookaburras and focus on what she was saying. Finally, he closed the file he had been reading, placed it onto his desk blotter and just looked into her brown eyes; which despite their almost whiskey coloring lacked any of the warmth which that particular drink could give someone.

"I'm sorry," he said, with a distinct lack of apology in his voice. "What?"

"Tonight. You're taking me to the Starlight for dinner. Make some reservations for eight."

He frowned as he shook his head slightly. "The Starlight? I know for a fact that they have a waiting list that's roughly three months long. Besides, that's a rather expensive dinner for just some random Tuesday."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he noticed the storm clouds gathering on the redhead's face. This was an expression that he was quite familiar with; having been on the receiving end of it a number of times over the two years of the marriage. Sadly, he had seen it prior to his marriage, on the face of his now mother-in-law.

Of course, at that time those expressions had been focused on people not him, so sadly he had dismissed them, and what those looks would mean for his, at the time, burgeoning relationship with the daughter of Molly Prewitt Weasley.

She crossed her arms up under her breasts, and then stomped one of her feet. He glanced down, and noticed that she was in what appeared to him to be new shoes. Again. For a moment, he wondered how much those cost him, and pondered if it would be worth the headache to put her on an allowance.

Then her voice was breaking through his thoughts; redirecting his attention from new footwear to what she was screeching about.

"You're the Man-Who-Won. They'll create an opening for you. And besides, this is not just some random Tuesday. This is Astoria Malfoy's first anniversary. You just know that he's taking her to the Starlight, so you can and will do the same for me. We have to been seen at the Starlight tonight. Think about it, Malfoy's going to take her there for an anniversary, imagine what it says about us, that we'd go there just because it's Tuesday."

Harry sighed as he bite back the thought that he wanted to respond with to her rhetorical question. After all, he felt it would say that they were showing off if they showed up there just to be in the background of any pictures of Malfoy and Astoria that made it to the social pages of the Daily Prophet.

Of course, he could never say that out loud.

"If I remember correctly," he started, his voice low and slow in an effort to not rile up her temper anymore that it already was. "Did we not go to the Dragon's Kiss just last Thursday? And for much the same reasons, except that this was Neville's and Hannah's third anniversary?"

She leaned down and kissed his cheek gently. A memory of them snogging passionately flashed through his mind, but he knew that with her being 'made up' for the day, she would be less than pleased if he tried to replicate that behavior. Actually, he knew that she would not be happy if he tried to replicate that behavior even is she had been wearing nothing but her dressing gown. After all, it was not appropriate behavior for a married couple of their station to be doing that in the middle of the day, or at least that was what she would say.

Somehow, he doubted that Hannah or Astoria would tell their husband's the same thing.

Then she turned from the room, calling out over her shoulder. "Eight this evening."

He sighed as he leaned back in his chair. This was the third time this month she had done this to him. Luckily, he was a major investor in The Starlight, so it would be somewhat easier, and less expensive, to get into than the Dragon's Kiss had been last week. He knew that at some point, this behavior would bite back, there was only so many times one can disrupt a business's schedule before they stopped being so accommodating. That was why the bribe to the Maître D' of the Dragon's Kiss had to be so hefty. She was quite tired of "The-Man-Who-Won" not being able to schedule reservations in advance like the rest of the population. It also did not help that the only person who Parkinson hated more than him, was Ginny.

He would consider it quite a different scenario, if these sudden dinners put her in the mood for some physical affection, but she seemed to just get colder and colder with every dinner out. Or social party or gathering. And the weeks surrounding the various balls she dragged him to every year were probably the worst times he had ever had. And that's saying a lot, considering he was raised by abusive relatives and spent the first ten years of his life thinking of a cupboard under the stairs as a bedroom.

And of course, he died just a little bit more on the inside for every one of these. He despised getting dressed up in his finest clothes and then being paraded around and in front of the crowd and the various newspapermen that would be out and about in front of one of the big restaurants of magical Britain. And of course, going to a muggle restaurant was something else that was apparently beneath their station according to Ginny.

Yet despite all of that, he penned a quick note, requesting a reservation at half eight, and then sent it off to the Starlight's manager. It was just easier to give in, and let her have her way.

Ten minutes later he got a positive response, and Harry put it out of his mind, as he returned his attention to the problems of kookaburras and magical silkworms.

That night at five minutes to eight, he was standing in their bedroom, staring at the door to Ginny's dressing area. She had been in there for three hours so far, and he wondered, not for the first time, why she demanded a reservation for a specific time and then constantly missed them. Luckily, that was a lesson that he had learned early. These days he always made the reservation for a half-hour after the time she requested, and knew that everyone at the various restaurants would agree with him about the original time the reservation was requested for. After all, they did not want her screaming and yelling in public anymore than he wanted to be in public with her screaming and yelling.

He also knew not to ask her how much longer. He had learned that each time he asked, she added five minutes. Though he had to use that the one time it appeared that she was actually going to be on time for a reservation based upon when she requested the time be set for.

Finally, at eight-fifteen, she stepped out of the dressing room, looking quite a bit exactly like she had this morning. Except that her dress robes were colored a soft blue instead of the dark green she had been wearing.

He gave her a smile and then offered her his arm. As soon as she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow, he twisted slightly and disappeared from their home with a quiet pop.

With the suddenness only possible with apparition, they appeared a half-block away from The Starlight. This was in order to run the gauntlet of various photographers and other fans. He still did not know who routinely leaked his movements, or why there was always a crowd whenever he went anywhere with Ginny.

They moved with purpose through the crowd, only occasionally being stopped by the pushiest of fans who wanted him to sign something or bless their baby or touch them on the head. Luckily none of these were girls trying to get him to sign bits of their bodies. He thought Ginny was going to murder that one girl who had tried that last April, though he did think she had a rather attractive set of breasts.

Worse, every time he put up the (quite useful in his opinion) charm to ensure their images were smudged on the photographer's pictures, it would be pulled down within a few steps.

Finally, they made it into the restaurant, and were seated at the table.

What he wanted to eat was a steak-and-kidney pie, most likely with a nice bitter. Or maybe with a stout. But he knew that nothing as down-to-earth as that would be served here. He also knew that it would not be served at home, since both of those things were below their station.

He suppressed a sigh as he reviewed the menu, wondering what exactly Osso Buco was. Of course the few words beneath the entry did not help. He knew what truffle mashed potatoes were, or at least thought he did, and he knew what sage was, but had no clue what gremolada was. He still remembered the look Ginny had given him the one time he had dared to ask the waiter what something was.

He finally decided on a chicken dish. He at least recognized all of the words involved in that particular description.

Then he glanced up at Ginny, to note that her menu was still in the exact same place where the waiter had left it. He also saw that she was reading a letter. He was not positive, but believed the handwriting was that of Kingsley's wife.

He closed his eyes, and counted to ten slowly.

When he re-opened them, he noticed she was still reading, and that the waiter was standing there waiting for their order.

"I'll have the wood-fired, free-range chicken, please."

"Very good, sir, and the Missus?"

Harry waited for a moment, seeing if Ginny would respond or not. When he realized that she was quite lost in her own little world of social issues, he focused on the waiter again. "She'll have a salad. She's slightly allergic to shellfish, so something with shrimp might be best."

Harry saw that the waiter had almost laughed, but managed to not do so.

"Oh," Ginny said, quite suddenly as she looked up from her letter for a moment. As usual, she seemed to know that he had ordered for them both, even if she was not quite aware of what had been ordered so far. "And some Russian Osetra"

Harry grimaced at the thought. He had no real love of caviar, believing it to be rather salty and having an altogether unpleasant texture on the tongue. Ginny of course believed that it should be ordered whenever they were at a restaurant that served it.

It had not been explicitly said, but he had decided that she thought that it was something a couple of their station should do.

The fact that she rarely ate it either, lent a bit of credence to that particular thought.

The waiter nodded with a murmured comment, and then disappeared.

Ginny functionally disappeared behind her correspondence. It looked like it was from Tremblewhite's wife this time. He just hoped that there would be no formal dinner from that particular letter; in Harry's opinion, Jefferson Tremblewhite had to be the most boring member of the Wizengamot that Harry had ever met. Of course, Esther Tremblewhite was his complete opposite, that was considered in the fact that she was vivacious, out-going and popular among the other Wizengamot members and their families. In truth, she was the only reason that Trembelwhite's dinners were so routinely a part of society. It was just a sad fact of life, that when he showed up, Tremblewhite wanted to monopolize the conversation with him. It would not have been so bad, had he not been the owner of the Chudley Cannons and was as enthusiastic on the subject as Ron was. This was despite the fact that the Cannons still placed last on the boards, and Harry had really never followed any of the professional teams outside of a rare perusal of the sports page of the Daily Prophet.

Thus, their dinner at the Starlight advanced.

He slowly ate his chicken. Which was quite good, and most likely because Harry knew what all the words of the description meant. He really did not want to have to consider what Osso Buco tasted like. All the while Ginny read her letters or occasionally pulled out a communication mirror to chat with someone about some tea or social gathering or some other inane thing which Harry had no interest in and seriously hoped he would not have to attend.

Her salad, which Harry expected would end up costing eight or nine galleons, sat untouched. As did the caviar, which Harry estimated at thirty galleons. An obscene amount considering his first wand cost him a mere seven galleons.

Harry, despite wishing for a beer (of any type at all by now), managed to drink most of the bottle of wine himself.

Once his chicken was gone, he waved off the desert tray, and just asked for a post-dinner coffee. For just a second he was glad Ginny had focused on her letters instead of dinner. She was usually quite happy to order something with a lot of chocolate, and then a really expensive desert wine.

Which she would barely touch either of.

He finished his coffee and then looked around. The Malfoy's had disappeared at least twenty minutes previously. Hopefully, they had been seen here long enough to get them out of here.

He signaled, and the waiter brought over the check. After quickly reviewing it, he added a tip and then pressed his vault key into the appropriate spot to allow them to deduct the amount from his Gringott's vault.

"Ginny?"

"Hmm?" Came the distracted response.

For a moment, a tiny, itty-bitty really, piece of him wondered just what he had been thinking when he had rescued her from the Chamber of Secrets.

"It's time to go home."

This time, it was her turn to blink at him in slight confusion. She then lifted her head from the letter she had been reading and glanced around the room. Taking stock of who was there, and who had left since the last time she had looked.

After a moment, she nodded. "That sounds good. I've got a few letters to write."

Without waiting for him, she stood up, and took two steps before disappearing. He blinked, still not quite certain what to make of this latest behavior pattern.

He sighed, and wondered if he had enough time to stop at the Leaky Cauldron and get that beer he had been craving all night. Then thought better of it. Ginny would be expecting him, and she did not particularly care for him spending time at the Cauldron, at least not since Hannah had taken over it.

Pushing the thought away, he left the restaurant and then twisted in spot. Appearing moments later in the foyer to his home. He glanced around, and sighed.

He absolutely hated this room, and most of the others in the public sections of the house. The foyer though was the worst. There was nothing of him here. It was a bright reddish-orange color, with a table situated halfway down its length that had an incredibly ugly vase on its top. An ugly vase that always had these sticks in them.

Harry did not know the meaning of these sticks, but thought them the most ridiculous decoration he had ever come across.

And he still remembered the troll-foot umbrella stand that Walburga Black had just absolutely adored.

He slowly walked through the house, and neared the small sitting room that Ginny had taken over as an office. He glanced inside and noticed his wife sitting at a small writing desk, diligently working on some letter or something. Which Harry knew would ultimately mean another trip into society for him.

And he thought hard about his life as it currently was. This was the third dinner out in two weeks where she had ignored him in favor of reading her letters. The third dinner out in two weeks where she had ordered a number of things which she had ignored in favor of reading her letters. And as he thought and considered, he realized that those three dinners were the only ones he had taken with his wife, despite his being at home and eating and knowing that she too was at home.

He sighed as these things flashed through his head.

For a moment, he wondered about possibilities; about what he could have done different, and about what he could still change. Thoughts of Hermione and Luna and a handful of others that he had met over the years. He wondered how it had come to this, married to someone who apparently loved his fame more than she loved him.

As if she had finally sensed his presence, Ginny looked up at him. She smiled that incredibly fake smile of hers, the one that told him that she had something society for them to do.

"Oh, there you are Harry," she said, her voice lacking any emotion at all really. It was a tone of voice that he had used during business meetings with people who wanted something from him, but he had no true use for. "Esther Tremblewhite has invited us to dinner this Saturday."

Harry frowned as he thought over his own schedule, and what he had told his wife regarding this upcoming weekend. Then he shook his head. "No. We're supposed to meet Hermione and her parents for dinner on Saturday. She's been planning this for weeks. It'll be the first time they've been back to England since the war."

Ginny frowned at him. A sulky, petulant, ugly look.

"No," she said, turning back to her letters. She had apparently already dismissed him and his concerns. "That won't do at all. I've already told Esther we'd be happy to be there."

"But-"

"No, I said! You don't need to go have dinner with some other woman and her family. That's not appropriate! And I won't be having it."

Harry frowned as he wondered just what was not appropriate about having dinner with one of his best friends and her parents. Especially since he had been spending less and less time with said best friend over the past five years since the end of the war.

For a moment, anger flared in his chest. He knew he deserved better than that. He knew Hermione deserved better than that.

"But-"

She bounced out of her seat. The expression on her face even harsher and uglier. She shook her head, a wild cascade of fiery hair.

"I'm not going to argue with you about this. You don't get to hurt me by running off to spend time with some other girl. We're attending the party on Saturday. End of discussion. Now, I'm going to bed; don't bother joining me."

She brushed past him.

Harry's chest twinged at her words, his anger collapsed into that dark place where it always did. Righteous indignation gave way to that almost needful desire to please those around him. He could still hear Arthur's soft voice telling him that marriage was a sharing, something that took work and where you would put your partner's needs above your own. That it was hard work, but ultimately should be a rewarding experience for two people in love.

Apparently spending time with his best friend hurt his wife. Slowly, he scrubbed at his face; wishing that the tension would leave his shoulders and wishing he knew what to say or do. Wondering how he could tell Hermione of Ginny's plans for them this Saturday.

As she slammed the door to their bedroom closed, he knew that this was his life now. Society events he despised. Being paraded back and forth between the cameras and the crowds. Lonely dinners, even when in her company. And worse of all, rarely, if ever, getting to spend time with one of the few people who had always been there for him.

This was his life now.

He was as imprisoned and entrapped as when he had lived at Privet Drive. There was no control over his life; rather he was left tugged from place to place by someone who knew what was best for him, regardless of what he wanted or thought or desired.

And with that thought firmly in mind, Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the Man-Who-Won, the Freak under the stairs, broke; and for the first time since he was nineteen months old, he cried. He cried for what could have been, and for what never was.

As his body trembled with his grief and sorrow, he wished for a single person to be there with him. He wished for a specific soul to be there to comfort him through this pain. He wanted her to be holding him, to be hugging him, and he desperately wanted to hug her in return.

And he wondered at what it meant that that person was not his wife