Disclaimer: Not mine, its Ms. Rowling's. I'm just playing around, and hope she'll forgive the inevitable damage.
Nostalgia
Nothing made sense anymore.
Ginny was usually the first up, but today Ron had beat her to it again. How, she didn't know, but she was pretty sure it had something to do with Quidditch. He seemed determined to be an even better Keeper this year, and while Ginny certainly supported practicing, it usually helped for the sun to be up before doing so.
She stumbled along the hallway and down the stairs, going more by memory than by sight. She'd woken up and wasn't able to get back to sleep again, and wanted a drink of water. Because it was so early in the morning, she was rather surprised to see the light on in the kitchen. Blinking, she stepped into the room, only to find it empty. There was a bowl and spoon on the table, still containing a little bit of food. Quidditch Through the Ages was propped up against the vase of flowers on the table, its pages open to the section about Keepers.
Ginny peered out of the window. Sure enough, if she squinted and cupped her hands around her eyes to block out the light, she could just make out a form darting here and there against the sky. Sighing a little, she turned and made her way to where the glasses were kept. She got one, and poured herself some orange juice from the pitcher, before settling down in a chair. Sipping the drink, she glanced out the window before her eyes landed on the vase of daisies.
She used to like daisies, back when she was little. She'd go out into the meadow nearby, and pick handfuls of them to give to her mother. Mum always seemed so pleased, but after Ginny found them in the waste bin outside when she was nine, she stopped giving them to her. Instead, she kept them for herself, making daisy chains to wear and put on her dolls.
She did this every summer, right up to when she went to Hogwarts. She still wanted to give bouquets to her mother occasionally, but felt that eleven was far too old to want that. Dolls, make-believe, and other girlish things were too far beneath her. Still, she harbored a secret desire in her to play as a child does.
Then Tom came.
Ginny looked down at her glass, and found it empty. She sighed, and got up to pour herself some more. She'd have to use the lavatory later, but right now she was thirsty. After pouring, she settled back down in her chair.
It wasn't even as if she missed playing. The summer after her first year, she had absolutely no desire whatsoever to play like that anymore. It wasn't that she was trying to grow up, or even that Tom had traumatized her. She just walked into her room one day, looked at all of her favorite stuffed animals, and realized that she didn't want to play with them anymore. So she put them in bags and stuffed them in her closet.
She felt, at first, that this was probably normal for someone her age. But when Mary from school had invited Ginny to Mary's birthday party, the other girls had dressed up and put on make up while Ginny watched disinterestedly. It was then it occurred to her that perhaps this wasn't normal after all.
Ginny scowled. It wasn't even as if she missed playing with daisies and toys and dresses. If anything, she was grateful to Tom for forcing her to see the world as it was: bleak, grey, and utterly devoid of childish dreams. She knew others would have mourned their lost childhood, but Ginny embraced it. Because in doing so, she was able to become mature and adult, and be taken seriously. It had taken a while, but she finally realized that in order for these things to come true, she'd have to let go of her last childhood dream. So she took one look at her photos, and put her special Harry Potter pictures in the bag with her stuffed animals.
After that, it seemed as though a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She'd said goodbye to Harry, and the world hadn't ended. In fact, she'd made a new friend, ironically in Harry himself. She'd met Michael, and knew how real relationships worked. They weren't anything the ten year old had thought they would be, but they were still fun.
Sometimes though, she'd look at Harry, and wonder…
Ginny got up from the table. Her glass wasn't drained, but she didn't want anymore to drink. After putting it in the sink, she went upstairs. She turned on the light in her room, and opened her closet door.
There lay the bag with her pictures and stuffed animals. Reaching down, she took out the bag and closed the door. Ginny opened the bag, and took out each animal one by one, remembering the fun and special memories she had with each. Finally, she got down to the bottom of the bag. She pulled out the last thing in there: a stack of assorted pictures, articles, and general memorabilia. She rifled through each, looking at them and marveling how she'd ever thought that Harry would care about her like that. She put the pictures and animals in the bag, placed the bag in the closet, shut the closet door, and turned out her light.
As she lay in bed, Ginny thought to herself that perhaps it wasn't such a bad thing when dreams died.
At least you had the truth.