Sickness of the Heart
By Misha

Disclaimer- Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling and is not mine, however much I might wish differently. However, I am not making any money off of this, so please do not sue me!

Author's Notes- Okay, this is a a totally bizarre story that just sort of came to me. It's told from Ginny's PoV and it's completely dark and twisted. It's a new spin on her unrequited love for Harry. She has his body, but never his heart. Sorry, I like things out of the ordinary. Anyway, this is Harry/Ginny, Harry/Hermione, you have to read it to find out more. That's all, enjoy!

Pairings- Harry/Ginny, Harry/Hermione.

Summery- You're my husband, but in your heart, I'm not the woman you want. I'll never be her.

Rating- PG-13

I hate you. But not as much as I love you.

And certainly not as much as I hate myself. I hate myself for loving you so desperately. For allowing you to subject me to this life.

I especially hate myself for marrying a man who I knew would never love me.

See, I was silly enough to think that that would change. That even though you had warned me that your heart would always be her, that once we married you would learn to love me as more than your best friend's little sister. That you would begin to love me like I have always loved you.

But you never did.

So, here I am, living the life I always dreamed of and it is a nightmare. I am your wife, but I am never the one that you think about. I am never the one that you dream about, the one that you long for.

And, God, do I want to be.

I have a nice life. I know that. On the surface it is perfect. I have a lovely home, plenty of money, a husband who is kind and generous, one whom lot's of women would love to have married, and I have two beautiful children.

But I do not have the only thing that I have ever really wanted. Your heart.

Oh, you are not a bad husband. On the contrary, you are gentle and kind, you go out of your way to make sure that I lack for nothing, you are a wonderful lover, but...

It is not enough.

I want to be more than just second best to you. I do not want to be the wife you settled for, I want to be the one you long for with all your heart. Instead, I get your name and body, while a dead woman will always have your heart.

Do you have any idea how much it hurts to know that you never really see me? That whenever you look at me, you wish that I were someone else. Someone who I can never be.

I have spent ten years dealing with that knowledge. I have never been able to hide from it.

Not even in the beginning. After all, I saw the look on your face as we said our vows. I knew even then that you were pretending that I was her.

And you have kept on pretending, haven't you?

When you say my name, I know that you wish you were saying hers. When you kiss me, I know you remember kissing her. When you look at our children, I know that you try to see reminders of her in them, instead of reminders of me.

But worst of all, I know that when you make love to me, you pretend that you are making love to her.

Oh, you have never said it. You have never called out the wrong name. But you don't have to. I know anyway. I know it with every touch. You give it away with every movement.

But one more than any other. Every time we make love, you are so careful not to touch my hair and I know why. Because it's so different from hers that it makes it hard for you to pretend that I am her.

Why do you have to pretend? Why can't I make you happy?

I have loved you since I was ten years old. I would do anything for you. I married you, knowing that you did not love me because at least it was something.

And you know what, a part of me still feels that way.

More than that, a part of me feels triumphant. You see, she might always have your heart, but I am the one you married. Nothing can change that.

Not even your love for you beautiful, dead Hermione.

I hate her, you know. God, do I hate her.

She was once my friend, but now all I feel for her is anger and hatred. Because even in death she has what I never will.

Even more so because in a strange, twisted way you have never stopped being faithful to her.

Oh, you married me and had the life that people expected you to, but in your heart you are still as devoted to her as you were when she was still alive. To the rest of the world, she died when she seventeen, but to you she isn't really dead. Is she?

It is like a sickness with you.

We are both sick and twisted, aren't we?

I mean, I know I am certainly no picture of mental health.

After all, what sane woman marries a man who will never love her? Allows said man to fuck her, knowing all along that he is pretending that she is a dead woman.

What woman in her right mind spends her life with a man who never sees her as herself?

And what sane man clings to a memory for almost fifteen years? Never letting go. What kind of healthy person sees a dead woman in everything around him?

I mean, face it, we are both pretty screwed up.

And it is all because of love. Love really is a horrible thing. It is a sickness.

You and I should both know that better than anyone. After all, everything we do is because of love.

Mine for you and yours for her.

Maybe I should walk away from this mess. But I can't.

Because I love you. Because even something is still better than nothing.

As much as I hate it, I have to admit that I would rather be a substitute for Hermione, than be nothing at all to you.

How sad is that?

The worst part is, that no one knows. On the outside we appear so normal. A perfect family.

But really we are anything but perfect. We are both twisted and obsessed it is scary.

You want her and I want you. You can't have her and I will never really have you. It is a dark and twisted pattern.

And I want out. But I won't leave.

So, I do the only thing I can. I hate you, even as I love you with every breath.

But mostly, I hate myself.

The End