a hint

"All life is an experiment. The more experiments you make the better."
-Ralph Waldo Emerson

Meet me. Ginevra Molly Weasley.

My life is definitely an experiment. Each and every event in it is completely unreal.

First, I get born as a witch. Not just any witch, but the seventh child and first Weasley daughter in seven generations, which, according to folklore, makes me more susceptible to Muggle and Wizarding disease and also gives me a hell of a lot power. Plus, my wonderfully morbid Auntie Muriel, as my fifth birthday present, introduced me to a prophecy made by the great Seer, Rolanda Prewett (incidentally a good friend of Cassandra Trelawney's mother until they fought over whose destiny was to be the greater Seer - don't ask), which proclaims that the daughter of a Prewett and a "lower breed family" (Mum very nearly chased her out of the house that day) would be destined to be a bridge between evil and good.

Yay me.

Needless to say, nobody paid that little comment any heed on my ceremonious coming of age into kidhood since nobody listens to Auntie Muriel anyway.

By then, I was being dazzled by bedtime stories of my personal superhero, Harry Potter. By nine, I had 'Mrs. Ginny Potter' doodled all over my room in various places. (I seriously need to move out.) And when I played with my mute, doe-eyed dolls, the prettiest girl would "somehow" end up being named Ginny and the boy would also coincidentally be named "Harold". Of course, it was only "Harold" when good old Ronniekins was around. Otherwise, it was Harry. Just Harry.

I think that said something about me. From that age, that obsessed... It really seems sad, now.

I'd always thought my first ten years of life were rather lackluster. Recently, though, I see it all in a new light.

"Now, Ginbug, are you listening to me?"

Of course not, Daddy.

Instead, I was glancing around the Ministry Atrium, not having seen anything this big since I'd last been to Auntie Muriel's mansion ("I really don't want the lot of you touching and dirtying anything up... Do you know what that means, Georgie?"). But I still nodded, having four years of experience in listening-but-not-really.

"Daddy's going to be back in five minutes. He has a meeting, but you can't come, sweetie, so don't tell Mummy, but you have to stay with the nice Ministry lady. Okay?"

"Yes, Daddy," I replied with the adorable obedience only a four-year-old can have. And my Daddy went off.

At the time, I thought him quite naive to have left a known troublemaker like me alone, but I soon learned that my Dad was a lot more trusting and sharp-eyed than my lovely, overbearing, scolding, delusional, loving Mummy (Oh, Fred and George are just going through a phase. Honestly, Ginny, you're just a little four-year-old. What would you know about your big, seven-year-old brothers?).

What she didn't realize was that I'd been taking lessons from Fred and George. ("Ginny, when we're gone-" "Or our creativity stifled by Mum." "Yes, George, or that. You, our beloved knight, will still be around to carry out our noble work.") I didn't know what "creativity" or "noble" meant, but I agreed to be just like them anyway.

So I sat on the couch, waiting for the hawk-eyed Ministry woman to turn back to her papers. When she did, I'd just started to climb down the seemingly tall couch, when someone tapped on my behind. I whirled around, as taught by my mother, to a face a tall, formally dressed, silver-eyed boy.

"Don't you know it's bwad to touch a lady there?" I hissed, whispering as if he'd committed a scandalous crime.

The boy, about five years old, sighed exasperatedly, and eyed my long, tangled hair distastefully. "You awen't a lady." He would have sounded intimidating and authoritative if it weren't for his "awen't".

As it was, he still irked me. "What do you mean?"

"That doesn't matter. I'm a Malfoy, and Malfoys always get what they want. And I want to sit on that couch. My leggies hurt from standing so long, and I want to sit!"

"Fine, sit with me." I said, my irritation evaporating. "But why do Malfoys always get what they want? My mommy says I can't get what I want for dinner."

He scooted up next to me and my teddy bear, Mr. Franklin McCuddles. "I don't know," He said, puzzled. "But my mother says the same thing. Last night, she made fish." He finished in a horrific whisper.

I gave a terrified gasp. "Mummies. They don't know what they're doing at all."

He nodded pompously.

We sat for silence in a few minutes. I grew restless quickly and interrupted with my musing. "I want to be one."

"What?"

"A Malfoy."

"Well, you can't."

"Awwwww. Next Mommy will feed me rats."

Apparently, that invoked some sympathy from him.

"That's... Wait, I think there might be- you might be able to become a Malfoy. If you marry me."

"'Kay."

"Then it's settled. We'll have the wedding at the Manor." He declared, in his own cute five-year-old way.

"What's the Manor?"

"My house."

"NoI'llonlygetmarriedattheBurrow!"

"Burrow?" He understood me perfectly.

"My house."

"Oh. Fine. Since I have to marry you."

"Yay! You're going to wuve it."

We sat in a silence again. This time he sat calmly, like a mini-gentleman, while I pratically vibrated with excitement over planning my wedding and squeezing Franklin.

"Oh, and my name's Ginny." I added as an afterthought, a few minutes later.

"Draco."

We both departed from the Ministry soon after, giving each other grins. Only later did I fully understand the significance of that moment. But I'd forgotten about it by the next day.

When I was ten, my brother Ron, who used to be mine, became best-friends-forever with none other than "Harold" himself.

I nearly died the next year when I found him sitting at our kitchen table the next year.

That year, the time when I think my life truly began. I would also meet my childhood betrothed again, albeit under much different circumstances.

And I met my first love, who changed my life forever. And no, it wasn't Harry.