Standing precariously at the edge of a sharp cliff and watching as the foamy ocean waves lap ceaselessly against the jagged rock face below always manages to remind me of my life and what it has become. The constant pushing and pulling is like so many hands incessantly attempting to drag the once unyielding rock in all different directions. The crag, stalwart in its resolve to remain the bastion of stability against the vastness of the endless blue beyond – it always yields eventually, piece by piece.
I, too, have yielded – far too many times.
There are times, while I balance here along the edge allowing my more frantic thoughts to be drowned out by the dull roar of this captivating scene, that I allow myself to imagine how it would feel to be lost at sea.
I would drift along the surface, bobbing and swaying with the ever shifting waters beneath me, my only company the birds and fish who make this isolated area of the world their home. I would be alone with my mind, then, and I imagine that I would retreat inward – locking myself away to spend my final days reflecting on the woman, no the girl, that I once was.
I remember being happy, then.
Fourteen years ago, today, I made the single worst decision of my entire life.
In 1999, one year after the Battle at Hogwarts, I found myself sitting at the Weasley table, as was customary on Saturday nights. The entire family and extended family were there, dining together, when Ron reached for his glass of fire whiskey and tapped it with a metal spoon. He informed the large gathering that he had an announcement to make; he told them all that we were getting married, if I would have him.
How was I supposed to be able to turn him down amongst so many expectant faces?
I wasn't, and that was the point; checkmate, Ron. Let it never be said that the man cannot formulate a strategic attack. For that is decisively what it was, an attack – a carefully and meticulously planned and scheduled opportunity to force me to become the next Molly Weasley. I didn't realize it then, but I would soon.
It was less than a year later that Ron began dropping hints about bearing children. In his approach, he was as subtle as a hippogryph. We were lying in bed when his hand slid over my hip as he reminded me that his mother and father had begun trying on their wedding night, and I cannot say that I was surprised. It was our first true screaming match, and I went to bed the victor.
My victory did not last for long.
Five years is a remarkably brief time to remain in control when everything that matters to you is on the line. It was five long years of hurtful words, malicious insinuations, and precisely maneuvered betrayals by those I had once called my friends.
I will never forget the first time that Harry, in the softest of voices that I had ever heard, told me that if I loved Ron I would simply do all that it took to make him happy. I had expected it from Ginny, but from Harry it had cut me to my core. It was through that first cut that my resolve began to seep.
In the end, nothing remained – it had only been a matter of time.
AN: Many can attest to the fact that I have a long history of abandoning my writing. I make no promises.