Disclaimer: A good deal of the Hogwarts fifth years are mine. Nothing else
is.
Summary: Ginny Weasley has always been an unusual girl, although she kept quiet about it. But now she's tired of being the little one. It's time to stand and fight.
A fic I started on when thinking about the Weasleys. From one tangent to another my mind leapt until it reached upon this fanfiction. Enjoy.
Fight Like a Man
Prologue: I Remember
I remember.
I remember Halloween of 1981.
I know I'm not supposed to. Coincidentally, I was born at 11:59:59, October 30, 1981. From midnight the next day onward, I can remember everything.
Most people don't realize that babies and small children are far more perceptive than most adults. When people get older, they tend to lose it, trading it in for a good ability to balance a checkbook and get out of the house in ten minutes or less. But I never lost it. It's as strong as it was then, when I could feel the tension. I was born at home, but no one but my immediate family came to see me. Ron was almost twenty months old and walking and talking. Fred and George were three and had just gotten toy broomsticks. They tried to help me on three times before they got penned up behind a baby gate. Percy was five and tried to help me learn how to read for about thirty seconds before giving up and slamming the door to his room. Charlie was nine and Bill was ten, and they went out to Ottery St. Catchpole and bought me a stuffed lion (Charlie) with their own allowances, a big deal for people nine and ten.
I could feel everyone was scared, though, the fear increasing as you climbed up the age ladder. Ron hardly noticed. Fred and George were a little somber, but a little meant not much. Charlie kept looking to Bill for information, and Bill kept looking to Mum and Dad. They were the most scared out of anyone I saw that first day of life.
That night I slept in the cradle all the rest of our family had used, back to my Grandfather Weasley. But I didn't sleep. I lay awake, because I felt something from somewhere else. Someone was afraid. Three people. They were horribly afraid. I started to cry, and Mum picked me up, but I didn't notice.
Then it was only two people.
That only scared me more. Someone was being chased. They ran, but they couldn't escape. She was in pain. Then...then, she was gone. It only left one person. I could see him. A baby, with a few curls of black hair, still cradled protectively in his mother's loving arms. Crying.
"Mama," he said pitifully, shaking his mother's arm. "Mama!"
And his mother's murderer laughed.
Laughed.
And that made me furious. Even though I was only a day old, I knew what anger was, and I felt it then. Anger so terrible he felt it too; I know he did.
And he tried to kill the child.
But he wasn't able to.
Through his mother's sacrifice, he lived, and the murderer died. But even back then, as a young witch, I had a grip on magic and knew what could be done and what couldn't be. White magic couldn't stop black magic, no matter how much of it was used, just like black magic couldn't stop white. Love kills love. Hope kills hope. Trust kills trust.
And anger kills anger.
I remember it.
But I want to forget.
Summary: Ginny Weasley has always been an unusual girl, although she kept quiet about it. But now she's tired of being the little one. It's time to stand and fight.
A fic I started on when thinking about the Weasleys. From one tangent to another my mind leapt until it reached upon this fanfiction. Enjoy.
Fight Like a Man
Prologue: I Remember
I remember.
I remember Halloween of 1981.
I know I'm not supposed to. Coincidentally, I was born at 11:59:59, October 30, 1981. From midnight the next day onward, I can remember everything.
Most people don't realize that babies and small children are far more perceptive than most adults. When people get older, they tend to lose it, trading it in for a good ability to balance a checkbook and get out of the house in ten minutes or less. But I never lost it. It's as strong as it was then, when I could feel the tension. I was born at home, but no one but my immediate family came to see me. Ron was almost twenty months old and walking and talking. Fred and George were three and had just gotten toy broomsticks. They tried to help me on three times before they got penned up behind a baby gate. Percy was five and tried to help me learn how to read for about thirty seconds before giving up and slamming the door to his room. Charlie was nine and Bill was ten, and they went out to Ottery St. Catchpole and bought me a stuffed lion (Charlie) with their own allowances, a big deal for people nine and ten.
I could feel everyone was scared, though, the fear increasing as you climbed up the age ladder. Ron hardly noticed. Fred and George were a little somber, but a little meant not much. Charlie kept looking to Bill for information, and Bill kept looking to Mum and Dad. They were the most scared out of anyone I saw that first day of life.
That night I slept in the cradle all the rest of our family had used, back to my Grandfather Weasley. But I didn't sleep. I lay awake, because I felt something from somewhere else. Someone was afraid. Three people. They were horribly afraid. I started to cry, and Mum picked me up, but I didn't notice.
Then it was only two people.
That only scared me more. Someone was being chased. They ran, but they couldn't escape. She was in pain. Then...then, she was gone. It only left one person. I could see him. A baby, with a few curls of black hair, still cradled protectively in his mother's loving arms. Crying.
"Mama," he said pitifully, shaking his mother's arm. "Mama!"
And his mother's murderer laughed.
Laughed.
And that made me furious. Even though I was only a day old, I knew what anger was, and I felt it then. Anger so terrible he felt it too; I know he did.
And he tried to kill the child.
But he wasn't able to.
Through his mother's sacrifice, he lived, and the murderer died. But even back then, as a young witch, I had a grip on magic and knew what could be done and what couldn't be. White magic couldn't stop black magic, no matter how much of it was used, just like black magic couldn't stop white. Love kills love. Hope kills hope. Trust kills trust.
And anger kills anger.
I remember it.
But I want to forget.