The Simplest of Emotions
By: Lance Walker
Rating: PG-13-for language, sexual innuendo, possible sexual situations (we'll see where it takes me)
Spoilers: All Books
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Story Note: It is three years after the graduation of Ron's class from Hogwarts. More importantly, however, it is the third year after the end of the Second Voldemort War, and the start of the Dumbledorian Concord. The war is over, and the world is rebuilding, but Ron is not. Since his graduation he has locked himself away in his room in the burrow and lived the life of a hermit. Now, after these three years, he has decided to enter into the world again. On his first day into the world, his twenty- second birthday, however, he learns something that shocks all the foundations of his life, and threatens his return to hermitage.but this time, Ron will confront the mystery, and in so doing, confront the past he so wants to forget. Ron's problems, however, seem to be nothing compared to what the wizarding world is facing. Will he be able to handle it all? Or will he go back to where he is safe.possible still safe. His resilience, as well as the resilience of the whole wizarding world will be tested as things unravel, new and old horrors are released, and people long dead, find a way back into the light.
Author's Note: Any and all questions, comments, or suggestions can be sent to me at any time, and I will appreciate them immensely! This process is extremely hard and time consuming, but I have finally found another passion.might as well hold on to it ;)
Chapter 1
In Needs of Introduction
As I look back on the five years since the hell started and ended, I can honestly say that I would give anything if I could go back and erase it all from history. Since those dark days I've had to say good-bye to far too many people, and some of them I'll never get to say good-bye to-I never got the chance.
As I write this, the faces of friends flash through my head. I don't remember the exact numbers, but I know that after the final battle, Gryffindor's common room was far from full. Going to classes the following year, my sixth, led me to meet hundreds of new faces, from teachers to first years.
I remember meeting those first years as Gryffindor's prefect, just as my brother Percy was before me, and thinking just how lucky they were. None of them would see the horrors of all the carnage. They were, every one of them, wet behind the ears, and I was glad. They wouldn't have to feel the immense loss that had so enshrouded the school for the last month after the war. The lived in a post-Voldemort world, where dreams could become reality without the threatening cloud of His possible return. That was the only good outcome from the war. None other than Harry Potter defeated Voldemort, once and for all. He told me once, after the battle, that when the final spell was cast, Voldemort just seemed to disintegrate, and blow away on a wind like dust. For every ash his body became, however, the world lost one wizard or witch.
I think the greatest loss out of all the carnage, for me at least, was Hermione. It's hard to believe that she isn't here with me any longer.and our love was only just beginning to blossom when it was all ended. Her radiant features will never grace me with a beaming smile. Her beautiful eyes will never captivate me. I'll never see her beautiful hair after she's worked for five hours on it just to make it straight. I'll never kiss her lips again.
But I am getting ahead of myself.
I shudder every time I picture those horrific scenes; an army of Death Eaters and Dementors marching on Hogwarts and those wizards who would stand against Voldemort's tyranny, the rivers of blood that turned the lake red, the horrible, corrosive smell of evil curses and of death.
The nightmares still flood my dreams from that day. The dark figure of the reborn Voldemort walking onto the erupting battlefield with such confidence was petrifying. I remember Dumbledore fighting Voldemort. It was an evenly matched, amazing duel. Dumbledore, the purest, strongest wizard ever to walk the earth, would have won, had the king of evil not used the Cruciatus Curse on McGonagall. Dumbledore stopped fighting for a moment to release her, and in that second, Voldemort was able to use Avada Kedavra. That green light haunted my vision for months, and still sometimes does. When I'm not thinking, I sometimes hear the rushing sound, as if some invisible phantom were gliding through the air. I've always hypothesized that the curse somehow called the angel of death, and it was its foreboding wing beats that was the rushing sound that was heard. Whatever it is, however, I saw far too many of my friends fall to its destruction. I saw Hermione-and I could have saved her.
I know everyone believes me to be an outcast. I was only a fifth year when the whole war began and ended. Voldemort was defeated, possibly once and for all, but so much had been destroyed in the wake of his second darkness, that parts of the wizarding and Muggle world were still recovering, but I saw it all.and I will never fully recover. For the past three years, I've locked myself away in my upstairs room at the Burrow allowing few to visit me, and only coming out for meals and showers. My existence has been nothing more than a living hell as I allow myself to remember every minute detail.
I remember early into my first year of seclusion after graduation I was looking over my Prefect badge. Looking back at those last two years at Hogwarts, I find it amazing that my breakdown waited until after I graduated. I, like Harry, never made it to "Head Boy", but I can honestly say I would have crumpled under the pressure. I was running my hand over the gilded surface of my badge when it hit me: This could have been Hermione's, but she died before she was ever able to take that honor. I had thrown the pin out of my top floor window, loosing sight of it as it fell to the earth of the Burrow's back yard.
Those are my thoughts and what not, but I'm supposed to be writing about recent happenings, too. Stupid homework.
Harry visited me last week-his beloved Cho was not to be seen, apparently she was off at some Quidditch tournament. She was the best Chudley Cannons seeker in history. I was sitting in my floor, reading the latest Wizarding Music Magazine, when his head stuck through the door, and he immediately spoke in his deep, reassuring voice. "Blimey, Ron, you have got to come out of your bloody room sooner or later!"
I had sighed as we'd been through it a thousand times before, and I was sick of being told to move on. "Harry.I lost the one person in my life who brought me any happiness at all.and you know what the last thing I said to her was? 'I like spending time with you.'"
Harry had tried to speak up, to calm me down, but I had worked myself up to being a rival to the ghoul who had vacated my side of the house for easier pickings, "For shit's sake.I loved her Harry.and all I said was that.that's it.I am such a jackass." I broke down then.
Harry patted my back, "Ron, she knew your feelings, just as you knew hers.but she would want you to move on.not stay some hermit in your room for the rest of your long, wizard days. Hermione would want you to find love, Ron."
I had looked up at my friend who had grown up so much since our Hogwarts days. His hair was as unruly as ever and the scar still rested on his forehead, but so much had changed. He was a good six feet tall with broad shoulders and defined muscles. A shaggy three-days-growth beard that was popular among Muggle men graced his face. Harry's eyes were very much different. Deep within their emerald depths I saw pain beyond reckoning.
I don't know exactly what happened in that final battle between Harry and Voldemort, but the Boy Who Lived held all that pain in his eyes like a beacon calling out for someone to erase the image from his mind. Harry had won, but at what cost to himself? Harry, however being Harry Potter, used what inner strength was endowed on him to come out of it all and lead somewhat of a normal life (as normal as Harry's life could be I suppose).
I'm a firm believer in the statement "life goes on," but I just can't allow it to do so. A part of me doesn't want to let go of the past, but I know I must. Even though I don't want to lose the past, lose the memory of Hermione, I have, on the urgings of Harry, Cho, and all my remaining comrades from school, have begun to plan my reemergence. Harry has offered me a job at the Daily Prophet where he continued his Quidditch obsession by becoming a sports writer and has moved up to editor-in-chief, one of the youngest ever. After the war, Harry never picked up his broom again-like he had lost all will to ride, fly, and seek, effectively ending his promising career as a Quidditch player. However, he still loved the sport, and kept some contact with it through his job.
I plan to move out of the Burrow and stop being such a burden to my dear parents, who have endured so much on my account in three years. Cho has talked about several fine parties and people to meet, but I told her I wasn't ready for what she was really trying to cook up, as my heart was still too broken.
I can chuckle, yes, actually chuckle, when I look at Harry and Cho. Soon after the death of Cedric Diggory, they somehow found their way into each other's arms. One was the former lover who was torn by the death, and the other, a friend who had seen the actual demise. Their long talks would go far into the night, and the owling was almost constant. Right before Voldemort's attack, they were officially a "couple" and had pulled each other through everything. I could admire them. They've been together for almost five years now. I haven't heard any plans for marriage as of yet, but the two have been living together for more than a year, and I know one day they'll make it official, as they've already begun the "settling down" process. I just hope that things will turn out as happily for me as it has for them, but then again, I may never work out the problems inside me.
I suppose I can wrap this up now. My bloody "doctor" said I should write down my feelings, and I have. Ginny, are you happy?
* * * * * *
My writings were suddenly interrupted as a knock came at my door. "Yes?" I muttered, sitting up on my bright orange bedspread, thankful for the respite from writing as my arm felt as if it were rotting in its socket.
Bill poked his head in the door and asked, "Want to get some lunch, Ron."
I nodded, somehow saying in that one movement I'll be down when I damn well feel like it. He began to leave, but then came back inside my room and questioned. "Feeling better?"
I looked at him ponderously. "You've asked me that every day for the past two weeks, since you've returned from Africa in that secret expedition I'm not supposed to know about."
He smiled. "And?"
I sighed. "I feel the same."
He chuckled comfortingly and walked over to my bed and plopped down. The ponytail that flopped down his back mirrored my own, which I had been growing for some time. I, however, had not managed to work up the balls enough to get a fang pushed through my ear. He glanced down at the parchment on my bed and asked, "What are you working on?
I smiled the first smile of the day. "Homework for Dr. Ginny."
Bill chuckled. "She's been having us all taking bloody tests and keeping thought journals. Who would have guessed that our little Ginny would want to be a psychiawitch!"
I glanced at the picture sitting on my dresser of her. "I think it had to do with a journal and her first 'patient' long ago, but our little Ginny isn't little any longer."
Bill nodded in agreement as he, too, looked at the picture. Ginny, now twenty-one, turned out to be a very attractive witch. She held a natural allure and beauty that had won, and broken, the hearts of many men, as she hadn't settled on any one person yet. Her long red hair was highlighted with golden streaks and was always styled in the latest fashions. Her bright eyes shone forth with an intelligent twinkle that alluded to the soul flourishing beneath the beauty of a woman. She was a model, and was considered the favorite to win the "Miss Wizard World" Pageant, but soon after the competition she had decided to turn her attention to more academic pursuits, giving up modeling, but maybe not acting (as Drama was on her course study at the Atlantis Academy for Higher Learning in New Atlantis). Percy was proud, but Fred and George weren't.they wanted her to continue on with showing the world just how hot the Weasley children could be.
Thinking of the twins, I asked Bill. "Are Fred and George coming tonight?" Tonight was the celebration of my twenty-second birthday.
Bill nodded, "Yes, and brining their lovely wives as well.who would have thought that twins would marry twins!" Bill was, of course, referring to the fact that Fred and George had landed the hands of Parvarti and Padma Patil, who were now both Patil-Weasleys. Mum had not been keen on the twins marrying so young, but for once in the two crazy men's lives, Fred and George were truly in love, as were Parvarti and Padma, who would both be celebrating their twenty-second birthdays later in the year.
Bill, after several minutes of silence had lapsed, stood and said, "Let's go scrounge up some food for lunch. Your dinner feast is still many hours away."
I smiled, rolled up my parchment, and followed him down the winding stairs.
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, I glanced up at the wizard clock on the wall. Seeing as the hand marked "Mum" was at the store, it would be up to Bill and I to find some food that was edible without cooking, as neither of us had ever taken the time to actually learn to.well.cook.
Looking through the contents of the muggle/wizard refrigerator, I looked up at Bill in exasperation and made the phrase that had been heard in all households, both muggle and wizard alike. "There is NOTHING to eat in this house."
Bill glanced in the fridge, agreed, and then thought of something else. Well, nothing we can eat without cooking." Checking the wizard clock just to make sure, he continued. "So, Ginny is out in the garden-let's get her to cook us something!"
I nodded in agreement to the overly enthused Bill. I had taken to treating him like he was the most important person in the world whenever we were together as he and two-year girlfriend Fleur Delacour had recently broken up. Fleur was no making advances on Charlie ("Because he iz ze rugged type," she would say in her posh French accent), and I could honestly say that I could not exactly feel the love in the Weasley household at times.
Walking outside we spied Ginny reading in her usual lawn chair as she had every day since her return from the "Miss English Witch" competition where she had snagged the top honors of being named Miss England. I muttered to Bill out of the corner of my mouth. "So much for preparing for Miss Wizarding World."
He chuckled as we approached the gorgeous Weasley, and she looked up at us, pulling her sunglasses to the tip of her nose so she could see over them at us. "I'm not cooking for you two. You have to learn sooner or later." She went back to reading.
I happened to glance at the book that seemed to be taking enough attention from her that she couldn't cook for Bill, and I and almost gasped. Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. Looking at the small wicker table beside her chair, I saw that it was just one of seven books just like it. I had heard about these books, written by a Muggle woman who had met Harry after his graduation at a small English coffee house where she had been spending her time writing on napkins. Thinking hard, I remembered her name to be something like, Joanne Rewling, Jennie Rowling.oh what was it.JK ROWLING!! That's right, JK Rowling. Harry had apparently trusted the woman enough to tell her all about his years at Hogwarts, but it was a big shock to us all when they finally printed and swept the Muggle world by storm, that he had given her the rights to publish his story in a fantastic manner in the Muggle world. But seven books' worth? How long had they been talking? Of course, most Muggles shrugged the whole series off as the workings of an imaginary, if not a bit strange, mind. This didn't bother the wizarding world at all, as we liked to keep our privacy from the Muggles, but with each passing year this became harder and harder, and I wasn't quite sure these books were working against us.
The Rowling woman had portrayed me as nothing less than a sodding idiot, and I had yet to read past the first four books. I was rather offended actually, but I suppose it was all in good fun and the betterment of reading everywhere. Not to mention economies of some small countries, as the books had topped the charts everywhere.
Disgruntled, we walked back inside, and looked over the interior of the refrigerator again. I glanced up at him and finally muttered. "It can't be THAT hard. I mean, if mum does it EVERY day, then it can't be too difficult, right?"
He nodded, not sure but also not wanting to disagree. "Yea. We have recipes here and we can whip up something with ease. Just follow the directions." He held up mum's massive recipe book that must have been held together with magic from the sight of the bulging three-ring binder.
Taking out one small card that read "Grilled Cheese," I read over it once, and smiled. "This looks like a peace of cake. Okay, first, you need to get out the skillet."
Bill looked in the cabinet and pulled out a deep pasta dish. "This?" He said, holding it up as if it were a foreign object, which apparently it was.
I shook my head. "No, it should be big around, but very flat." After several minutes searching he finally found the right pan and placed it on the stove. Taking out my wand I zapped underneath it to get the fire going, and then continued to read the directions. "We need bread." Using the simple Accio spell I called for the bread, which was in the bread cabinet in the hall. I heard a loud thump, and suddenly the whole of the bread cabinet was zooming through the door of the kitchen and right at me. "No! Stop, stop!" It did as it was told and I muttered, more specifically. "Accio Loaf of Bread!" The door opened and a single loaf flew out of the cabinet and into my arms. As I continued reading the directions, Bill levitated the closet back out into the hall.
I began to mutter to myself as I continued gathering the ingredients. "Accio butter. Accio butter knife. Accio cheese." When I finally had all the utensils and ingredients, I began to slather copious amounts of butter onto the bread and stick cheese between two pieces. This is easy. I thought as I picked up another piece.
Bill walked in to the kitchen. "What is that smell?" He stopped, staring at the stove in horror.
Turning around, I let out a string of curses. Apparently my fire spell had been a bit stronger than I thought it would be. A roaring flame was leaping into the air through the middle of what used to be one of mum's frying pans.
Dousing the flames I started to clean up the molten mess of iron. When I had used every cleaning spell I knew (and granted, that isn't much) and the stove was spotless again, I turned around. Bill was standing there eating the buttered bread. I started to advance on him. He held up his hands. "What?!"
I almost zapped him with a spell to cause him to throw up slugs the whole day, but because it was my birthday and I didn't want it ruined, I stalked out of the kitchen, the frying pan with the hole in my hand.
Stomping up the stairs with a still empty stomach, I took a left instead of right turn at the landing, and headed up the ghoul's new home in the other wing of the attic. Opening up the door and pulling down the ladder, I walked up into the darkness to the sound of the ghoul clanging what sounded like a metal road ringing against a tambourine. Seeing its beady eyes shining at me from the darkness, I took the pan up in my hand, and chucked it in his general direction.
Jumping down the ladder, I chuckled at the sound of the ghouls cursing. Ha! Who's the terror now!
Heading back up to my room, I decided it was high time that I start getting ready for the party. Glancing at my watch I noticed that I had little more than three hours before the whole charade was to begin. I hadn't seen the invitation list yet (first thing to do once I got ready), but I figured that mum had invited pretty much the entire wizarding population of England. Twenty-two was a big age for wizards. I'm not sure why, of course, but ever since I can remember my parents always went all out on the twenty-second (maybe because this was usually the age where the fledgling Weasleys went into the world and stopped being a perpetual mouth to feed). If mum went to the store for more than ten minutes, it means she is planning to cook for an army.
Sighing, I pushed the door of my room open. I looked around and smiled. This room was all that was left of the innocence of my childhood, and when I moved out, it would stay here. I suppose twenty-two was an important age after all.
Quickly changing, I headed back down stairs. Noticing that mum's hand on the wizarding clock was finally back on home, I bounded into the kitchen where I was sure my adventure for the day, was about to start.
Crikey, was I EVER right!
* * * * * *
Special Thanks: First and foremost to Jenny (Sorcress Grey)! You have been (and continue to be) an immense help in the development of this fanfic. You've taught me to not throw around the "I'm a newbie so I have a reason to suck" phrase as much.and I feel that jumping into this crazy world has been a bit easier with your help! To Mel: You were an enormous help in editing, as always ;).you are a walking dictionary, and it is just one of the traits I love so much about you! Thank you for teaching me that accidentally spelling McGonagall with only one 'l' at the end is indeed a sin, and as you can see.it is now reconciled ;). To Megan: You may not have been a Beta for my fanfic, but I thank you continuously for all the support you've given me. It has helped tremendously in my journey to get out "Ron's" story to hear you say that it is great, even when I don't think it is! To AngieJ.you may not know me, but you've definitely influenced my. The reason I leapt into this world was because I read your Trouble in Paradise fanfic, and it made me realize that I could reach out with my writing this way,
By: Lance Walker
Rating: PG-13-for language, sexual innuendo, possible sexual situations (we'll see where it takes me)
Spoilers: All Books
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Story Note: It is three years after the graduation of Ron's class from Hogwarts. More importantly, however, it is the third year after the end of the Second Voldemort War, and the start of the Dumbledorian Concord. The war is over, and the world is rebuilding, but Ron is not. Since his graduation he has locked himself away in his room in the burrow and lived the life of a hermit. Now, after these three years, he has decided to enter into the world again. On his first day into the world, his twenty- second birthday, however, he learns something that shocks all the foundations of his life, and threatens his return to hermitage.but this time, Ron will confront the mystery, and in so doing, confront the past he so wants to forget. Ron's problems, however, seem to be nothing compared to what the wizarding world is facing. Will he be able to handle it all? Or will he go back to where he is safe.possible still safe. His resilience, as well as the resilience of the whole wizarding world will be tested as things unravel, new and old horrors are released, and people long dead, find a way back into the light.
Author's Note: Any and all questions, comments, or suggestions can be sent to me at any time, and I will appreciate them immensely! This process is extremely hard and time consuming, but I have finally found another passion.might as well hold on to it ;)
Chapter 1
In Needs of Introduction
As I look back on the five years since the hell started and ended, I can honestly say that I would give anything if I could go back and erase it all from history. Since those dark days I've had to say good-bye to far too many people, and some of them I'll never get to say good-bye to-I never got the chance.
As I write this, the faces of friends flash through my head. I don't remember the exact numbers, but I know that after the final battle, Gryffindor's common room was far from full. Going to classes the following year, my sixth, led me to meet hundreds of new faces, from teachers to first years.
I remember meeting those first years as Gryffindor's prefect, just as my brother Percy was before me, and thinking just how lucky they were. None of them would see the horrors of all the carnage. They were, every one of them, wet behind the ears, and I was glad. They wouldn't have to feel the immense loss that had so enshrouded the school for the last month after the war. The lived in a post-Voldemort world, where dreams could become reality without the threatening cloud of His possible return. That was the only good outcome from the war. None other than Harry Potter defeated Voldemort, once and for all. He told me once, after the battle, that when the final spell was cast, Voldemort just seemed to disintegrate, and blow away on a wind like dust. For every ash his body became, however, the world lost one wizard or witch.
I think the greatest loss out of all the carnage, for me at least, was Hermione. It's hard to believe that she isn't here with me any longer.and our love was only just beginning to blossom when it was all ended. Her radiant features will never grace me with a beaming smile. Her beautiful eyes will never captivate me. I'll never see her beautiful hair after she's worked for five hours on it just to make it straight. I'll never kiss her lips again.
But I am getting ahead of myself.
I shudder every time I picture those horrific scenes; an army of Death Eaters and Dementors marching on Hogwarts and those wizards who would stand against Voldemort's tyranny, the rivers of blood that turned the lake red, the horrible, corrosive smell of evil curses and of death.
The nightmares still flood my dreams from that day. The dark figure of the reborn Voldemort walking onto the erupting battlefield with such confidence was petrifying. I remember Dumbledore fighting Voldemort. It was an evenly matched, amazing duel. Dumbledore, the purest, strongest wizard ever to walk the earth, would have won, had the king of evil not used the Cruciatus Curse on McGonagall. Dumbledore stopped fighting for a moment to release her, and in that second, Voldemort was able to use Avada Kedavra. That green light haunted my vision for months, and still sometimes does. When I'm not thinking, I sometimes hear the rushing sound, as if some invisible phantom were gliding through the air. I've always hypothesized that the curse somehow called the angel of death, and it was its foreboding wing beats that was the rushing sound that was heard. Whatever it is, however, I saw far too many of my friends fall to its destruction. I saw Hermione-and I could have saved her.
I know everyone believes me to be an outcast. I was only a fifth year when the whole war began and ended. Voldemort was defeated, possibly once and for all, but so much had been destroyed in the wake of his second darkness, that parts of the wizarding and Muggle world were still recovering, but I saw it all.and I will never fully recover. For the past three years, I've locked myself away in my upstairs room at the Burrow allowing few to visit me, and only coming out for meals and showers. My existence has been nothing more than a living hell as I allow myself to remember every minute detail.
I remember early into my first year of seclusion after graduation I was looking over my Prefect badge. Looking back at those last two years at Hogwarts, I find it amazing that my breakdown waited until after I graduated. I, like Harry, never made it to "Head Boy", but I can honestly say I would have crumpled under the pressure. I was running my hand over the gilded surface of my badge when it hit me: This could have been Hermione's, but she died before she was ever able to take that honor. I had thrown the pin out of my top floor window, loosing sight of it as it fell to the earth of the Burrow's back yard.
Those are my thoughts and what not, but I'm supposed to be writing about recent happenings, too. Stupid homework.
Harry visited me last week-his beloved Cho was not to be seen, apparently she was off at some Quidditch tournament. She was the best Chudley Cannons seeker in history. I was sitting in my floor, reading the latest Wizarding Music Magazine, when his head stuck through the door, and he immediately spoke in his deep, reassuring voice. "Blimey, Ron, you have got to come out of your bloody room sooner or later!"
I had sighed as we'd been through it a thousand times before, and I was sick of being told to move on. "Harry.I lost the one person in my life who brought me any happiness at all.and you know what the last thing I said to her was? 'I like spending time with you.'"
Harry had tried to speak up, to calm me down, but I had worked myself up to being a rival to the ghoul who had vacated my side of the house for easier pickings, "For shit's sake.I loved her Harry.and all I said was that.that's it.I am such a jackass." I broke down then.
Harry patted my back, "Ron, she knew your feelings, just as you knew hers.but she would want you to move on.not stay some hermit in your room for the rest of your long, wizard days. Hermione would want you to find love, Ron."
I had looked up at my friend who had grown up so much since our Hogwarts days. His hair was as unruly as ever and the scar still rested on his forehead, but so much had changed. He was a good six feet tall with broad shoulders and defined muscles. A shaggy three-days-growth beard that was popular among Muggle men graced his face. Harry's eyes were very much different. Deep within their emerald depths I saw pain beyond reckoning.
I don't know exactly what happened in that final battle between Harry and Voldemort, but the Boy Who Lived held all that pain in his eyes like a beacon calling out for someone to erase the image from his mind. Harry had won, but at what cost to himself? Harry, however being Harry Potter, used what inner strength was endowed on him to come out of it all and lead somewhat of a normal life (as normal as Harry's life could be I suppose).
I'm a firm believer in the statement "life goes on," but I just can't allow it to do so. A part of me doesn't want to let go of the past, but I know I must. Even though I don't want to lose the past, lose the memory of Hermione, I have, on the urgings of Harry, Cho, and all my remaining comrades from school, have begun to plan my reemergence. Harry has offered me a job at the Daily Prophet where he continued his Quidditch obsession by becoming a sports writer and has moved up to editor-in-chief, one of the youngest ever. After the war, Harry never picked up his broom again-like he had lost all will to ride, fly, and seek, effectively ending his promising career as a Quidditch player. However, he still loved the sport, and kept some contact with it through his job.
I plan to move out of the Burrow and stop being such a burden to my dear parents, who have endured so much on my account in three years. Cho has talked about several fine parties and people to meet, but I told her I wasn't ready for what she was really trying to cook up, as my heart was still too broken.
I can chuckle, yes, actually chuckle, when I look at Harry and Cho. Soon after the death of Cedric Diggory, they somehow found their way into each other's arms. One was the former lover who was torn by the death, and the other, a friend who had seen the actual demise. Their long talks would go far into the night, and the owling was almost constant. Right before Voldemort's attack, they were officially a "couple" and had pulled each other through everything. I could admire them. They've been together for almost five years now. I haven't heard any plans for marriage as of yet, but the two have been living together for more than a year, and I know one day they'll make it official, as they've already begun the "settling down" process. I just hope that things will turn out as happily for me as it has for them, but then again, I may never work out the problems inside me.
I suppose I can wrap this up now. My bloody "doctor" said I should write down my feelings, and I have. Ginny, are you happy?
* * * * * *
My writings were suddenly interrupted as a knock came at my door. "Yes?" I muttered, sitting up on my bright orange bedspread, thankful for the respite from writing as my arm felt as if it were rotting in its socket.
Bill poked his head in the door and asked, "Want to get some lunch, Ron."
I nodded, somehow saying in that one movement I'll be down when I damn well feel like it. He began to leave, but then came back inside my room and questioned. "Feeling better?"
I looked at him ponderously. "You've asked me that every day for the past two weeks, since you've returned from Africa in that secret expedition I'm not supposed to know about."
He smiled. "And?"
I sighed. "I feel the same."
He chuckled comfortingly and walked over to my bed and plopped down. The ponytail that flopped down his back mirrored my own, which I had been growing for some time. I, however, had not managed to work up the balls enough to get a fang pushed through my ear. He glanced down at the parchment on my bed and asked, "What are you working on?
I smiled the first smile of the day. "Homework for Dr. Ginny."
Bill chuckled. "She's been having us all taking bloody tests and keeping thought journals. Who would have guessed that our little Ginny would want to be a psychiawitch!"
I glanced at the picture sitting on my dresser of her. "I think it had to do with a journal and her first 'patient' long ago, but our little Ginny isn't little any longer."
Bill nodded in agreement as he, too, looked at the picture. Ginny, now twenty-one, turned out to be a very attractive witch. She held a natural allure and beauty that had won, and broken, the hearts of many men, as she hadn't settled on any one person yet. Her long red hair was highlighted with golden streaks and was always styled in the latest fashions. Her bright eyes shone forth with an intelligent twinkle that alluded to the soul flourishing beneath the beauty of a woman. She was a model, and was considered the favorite to win the "Miss Wizard World" Pageant, but soon after the competition she had decided to turn her attention to more academic pursuits, giving up modeling, but maybe not acting (as Drama was on her course study at the Atlantis Academy for Higher Learning in New Atlantis). Percy was proud, but Fred and George weren't.they wanted her to continue on with showing the world just how hot the Weasley children could be.
Thinking of the twins, I asked Bill. "Are Fred and George coming tonight?" Tonight was the celebration of my twenty-second birthday.
Bill nodded, "Yes, and brining their lovely wives as well.who would have thought that twins would marry twins!" Bill was, of course, referring to the fact that Fred and George had landed the hands of Parvarti and Padma Patil, who were now both Patil-Weasleys. Mum had not been keen on the twins marrying so young, but for once in the two crazy men's lives, Fred and George were truly in love, as were Parvarti and Padma, who would both be celebrating their twenty-second birthdays later in the year.
Bill, after several minutes of silence had lapsed, stood and said, "Let's go scrounge up some food for lunch. Your dinner feast is still many hours away."
I smiled, rolled up my parchment, and followed him down the winding stairs.
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, I glanced up at the wizard clock on the wall. Seeing as the hand marked "Mum" was at the store, it would be up to Bill and I to find some food that was edible without cooking, as neither of us had ever taken the time to actually learn to.well.cook.
Looking through the contents of the muggle/wizard refrigerator, I looked up at Bill in exasperation and made the phrase that had been heard in all households, both muggle and wizard alike. "There is NOTHING to eat in this house."
Bill glanced in the fridge, agreed, and then thought of something else. Well, nothing we can eat without cooking." Checking the wizard clock just to make sure, he continued. "So, Ginny is out in the garden-let's get her to cook us something!"
I nodded in agreement to the overly enthused Bill. I had taken to treating him like he was the most important person in the world whenever we were together as he and two-year girlfriend Fleur Delacour had recently broken up. Fleur was no making advances on Charlie ("Because he iz ze rugged type," she would say in her posh French accent), and I could honestly say that I could not exactly feel the love in the Weasley household at times.
Walking outside we spied Ginny reading in her usual lawn chair as she had every day since her return from the "Miss English Witch" competition where she had snagged the top honors of being named Miss England. I muttered to Bill out of the corner of my mouth. "So much for preparing for Miss Wizarding World."
He chuckled as we approached the gorgeous Weasley, and she looked up at us, pulling her sunglasses to the tip of her nose so she could see over them at us. "I'm not cooking for you two. You have to learn sooner or later." She went back to reading.
I happened to glance at the book that seemed to be taking enough attention from her that she couldn't cook for Bill, and I and almost gasped. Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. Looking at the small wicker table beside her chair, I saw that it was just one of seven books just like it. I had heard about these books, written by a Muggle woman who had met Harry after his graduation at a small English coffee house where she had been spending her time writing on napkins. Thinking hard, I remembered her name to be something like, Joanne Rewling, Jennie Rowling.oh what was it.JK ROWLING!! That's right, JK Rowling. Harry had apparently trusted the woman enough to tell her all about his years at Hogwarts, but it was a big shock to us all when they finally printed and swept the Muggle world by storm, that he had given her the rights to publish his story in a fantastic manner in the Muggle world. But seven books' worth? How long had they been talking? Of course, most Muggles shrugged the whole series off as the workings of an imaginary, if not a bit strange, mind. This didn't bother the wizarding world at all, as we liked to keep our privacy from the Muggles, but with each passing year this became harder and harder, and I wasn't quite sure these books were working against us.
The Rowling woman had portrayed me as nothing less than a sodding idiot, and I had yet to read past the first four books. I was rather offended actually, but I suppose it was all in good fun and the betterment of reading everywhere. Not to mention economies of some small countries, as the books had topped the charts everywhere.
Disgruntled, we walked back inside, and looked over the interior of the refrigerator again. I glanced up at him and finally muttered. "It can't be THAT hard. I mean, if mum does it EVERY day, then it can't be too difficult, right?"
He nodded, not sure but also not wanting to disagree. "Yea. We have recipes here and we can whip up something with ease. Just follow the directions." He held up mum's massive recipe book that must have been held together with magic from the sight of the bulging three-ring binder.
Taking out one small card that read "Grilled Cheese," I read over it once, and smiled. "This looks like a peace of cake. Okay, first, you need to get out the skillet."
Bill looked in the cabinet and pulled out a deep pasta dish. "This?" He said, holding it up as if it were a foreign object, which apparently it was.
I shook my head. "No, it should be big around, but very flat." After several minutes searching he finally found the right pan and placed it on the stove. Taking out my wand I zapped underneath it to get the fire going, and then continued to read the directions. "We need bread." Using the simple Accio spell I called for the bread, which was in the bread cabinet in the hall. I heard a loud thump, and suddenly the whole of the bread cabinet was zooming through the door of the kitchen and right at me. "No! Stop, stop!" It did as it was told and I muttered, more specifically. "Accio Loaf of Bread!" The door opened and a single loaf flew out of the cabinet and into my arms. As I continued reading the directions, Bill levitated the closet back out into the hall.
I began to mutter to myself as I continued gathering the ingredients. "Accio butter. Accio butter knife. Accio cheese." When I finally had all the utensils and ingredients, I began to slather copious amounts of butter onto the bread and stick cheese between two pieces. This is easy. I thought as I picked up another piece.
Bill walked in to the kitchen. "What is that smell?" He stopped, staring at the stove in horror.
Turning around, I let out a string of curses. Apparently my fire spell had been a bit stronger than I thought it would be. A roaring flame was leaping into the air through the middle of what used to be one of mum's frying pans.
Dousing the flames I started to clean up the molten mess of iron. When I had used every cleaning spell I knew (and granted, that isn't much) and the stove was spotless again, I turned around. Bill was standing there eating the buttered bread. I started to advance on him. He held up his hands. "What?!"
I almost zapped him with a spell to cause him to throw up slugs the whole day, but because it was my birthday and I didn't want it ruined, I stalked out of the kitchen, the frying pan with the hole in my hand.
Stomping up the stairs with a still empty stomach, I took a left instead of right turn at the landing, and headed up the ghoul's new home in the other wing of the attic. Opening up the door and pulling down the ladder, I walked up into the darkness to the sound of the ghoul clanging what sounded like a metal road ringing against a tambourine. Seeing its beady eyes shining at me from the darkness, I took the pan up in my hand, and chucked it in his general direction.
Jumping down the ladder, I chuckled at the sound of the ghouls cursing. Ha! Who's the terror now!
Heading back up to my room, I decided it was high time that I start getting ready for the party. Glancing at my watch I noticed that I had little more than three hours before the whole charade was to begin. I hadn't seen the invitation list yet (first thing to do once I got ready), but I figured that mum had invited pretty much the entire wizarding population of England. Twenty-two was a big age for wizards. I'm not sure why, of course, but ever since I can remember my parents always went all out on the twenty-second (maybe because this was usually the age where the fledgling Weasleys went into the world and stopped being a perpetual mouth to feed). If mum went to the store for more than ten minutes, it means she is planning to cook for an army.
Sighing, I pushed the door of my room open. I looked around and smiled. This room was all that was left of the innocence of my childhood, and when I moved out, it would stay here. I suppose twenty-two was an important age after all.
Quickly changing, I headed back down stairs. Noticing that mum's hand on the wizarding clock was finally back on home, I bounded into the kitchen where I was sure my adventure for the day, was about to start.
Crikey, was I EVER right!
* * * * * *
Special Thanks: First and foremost to Jenny (Sorcress Grey)! You have been (and continue to be) an immense help in the development of this fanfic. You've taught me to not throw around the "I'm a newbie so I have a reason to suck" phrase as much.and I feel that jumping into this crazy world has been a bit easier with your help! To Mel: You were an enormous help in editing, as always ;).you are a walking dictionary, and it is just one of the traits I love so much about you! Thank you for teaching me that accidentally spelling McGonagall with only one 'l' at the end is indeed a sin, and as you can see.it is now reconciled ;). To Megan: You may not have been a Beta for my fanfic, but I thank you continuously for all the support you've given me. It has helped tremendously in my journey to get out "Ron's" story to hear you say that it is great, even when I don't think it is! To AngieJ.you may not know me, but you've definitely influenced my. The reason I leapt into this world was because I read your Trouble in Paradise fanfic, and it made me realize that I could reach out with my writing this way,
