"i have one prayer, only;… that you and i in hand as we e'en do in heart, might ramble away as children, among the woods and fields, and forget these many years, and these sorrowing cares, and each become a child again…"
- emily dickinson in a letter to susan gilbert
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She finds it frightening, sweet, and somewhat pathetic that her first memory of Ginny is her first memory of anything.
It's a bit like looking through a fogged up window at people talking on the other side: fuzzy, muffled, slightly in color. The thing that makes it the most pathetic is that the encounter isn't even the most profound, most definitely not unique, and just the kind of thing people expect to happen between small children.
They were in that big field between their houses, the one with tall yellow grass and marshes, and they couldn't have been more than five because Bill and Charlie (as she would later learn) were both home for the summer and about to go into their sixth and fourth years, and Percy was about to start. She had a toy broomstick her father had gotten her (forgetting the fact that his daughter was not fond of heights at all) and Ginny was trying to figure out how to use a little set of watercolors that were charmed to change color at random intervals. They had decided on a swap, and she had started using the roll of parchment that was attached while Ginny giggled and squealed at the fact that she was now able to ride two feet above the ground.
"What are you doing?" Ginny had asked.
"I'm making a picture."
"Of what?"
She'd looked up to see Ginny staring quizzically at the bit of parchment she had in her lap and smiled. "Of you, silly." The hair she'd meant to be tomato red was now bright green, and the dress a rather nasty shade of orange, but a kiss from Ginny was nonetheless placed on her cheek. She felt her chest grow light and a giddy grin spread across her face, a satisfied sigh escaping her as Ginny ran back to her house in response to her mother's cries about dinner. She admired Ginny's thick red braids and the way they caught the light the entire way.
She'll think about this memory years later, think that that was likely where it all began, but for now she won't find it terribly important. Instead, she's more worried about the silvery blue dress robes her mother had gotten her a few hours ago and whether or not the redheaded girl sitting across the table from her liked them or not. They'd shared a few giggles and exchanged several thrown green beans before each of the girls' respective mothers had given them stern looks and Ginny's had taken her aside to give a brief lecture on the importance of proper behavior in front of new people. First impressions and all that. Now, there was a sort-of silence circling the table - one of those awkward ones that usually happen at dinner parties, occasionally punctuated by the clinking of a plate or a "could you pass the so-and-so, please?"
Mum swallowed another forkful of Mrs. Weasley's fish pie and shifted in her chair. "So," She said, wiping her mouth with her napkin, "Molly, you and Arthur both went to Hogwarts with Xeno, correct?"
Mrs. Weasley, who'd been busying herself with checking that each of her children had green on their plates, looked up. "Pardon? Oh, yes, we did."
"Glad to see you're doing well for yourself, by the way, Xeno," Mr. Weasley said, cutting up a piece of ham, "What's your magazine called again?"
"The Quibbler," Dad replied, "It is our - or my, rather - goal to report the important things. Things the public is entitled to know."
"Your goal?"
"Oh, yes, well I'm actually the only one working on it at the moment, but we manage," Dad replied, the apples of his cheeks turning a light shade of pink and his one good eye looking down. Him and Mum were a rather odd-looking couple, everyone said. When they still lived with Gran and Gramps other old people invited over for tea would start conversations about Mum and Dad. The words themselves usually didn't mean very much to Luna, save a few (strange, pity, why, shocked) but those people didn't usually come back.
"Briony, I don't seem to remember you at Hogwarts at all," Mrs. Weasley said as Luna made a smiling face with her fork in her leftover gravy, "Did you go after we graduated?"
Mum cleared her throat, shook her head, and smiled politely. "No, erm, I was homeschooled." Mrs. Weasley nodded a bit too appreciatively, then turned to Luna and offered her more soup.
"You're from Scotland, right?" Bill asked, tapping his spoon on the side of his own soup bowl.
"Yes. We actually lived with my parents before we got up enough money to move here. Our professions don't pay very well."
"And, what is it you do, exactly?"
"I work at St. Mungo's, part time. You know, tidying beds and rooms and that sort of thing. Just something to keep the rent money flowing until I can accepted into a Healer training programme."
Mr. Weasley said something that sounded far more curious than any of his previous remarks. But despite the sudden energy, Luna yawned and fidgeted in her chair, admiring the cobwebs that had manifested themselves in the ceiling corners of Mrs. Weasley's kitchen as the conversation around her became much more animated.
Eventually, Ginny and Luna were permitted to play in the garden, and the rest of the family went off into their separate activities while the parents talked amongst themselves in the lounge. They hid behind a bush, giggling over nothings and the way flies seemed to love the way Ginny smelled (Luna did, too, but that's beside the point).
"Let's be best friends," Ginny said while Luna was braiding her hair.
She paused. "Best friends?" She asked, tilting her head. Ginny smiled.
"Mhm."
"I've never had a best friend before. What do they do?"
"Well, they do everything together, and that's going to be easy because you live really close. And they tell each other everything, and always, always love each other."
"Wow. Okay." Somewhat daunting, actually.
It was quiet for a bit, just the crickets chirping as they faced each other in the grass.
"Let's make it official, then." Ginny said finally.
"How?"
"Here," Ginny took her hand and gripped it tightly, "I saw these big boys do this once, except they had a wand. But Mummy pulled me away before they were done, so I only know the first bit." Luna blinked twice at their entwined hands. Was this all there was to it? It seemed as though -
"Now, whatever I ask you, you have to say 'I will,'" Ginny said, smiling, "Easy."
"Easy," Luna repeated. She tucked a lock of long white-blond hair behind her ear, continuing to look down. Ginny rubbed her hand over
"Do you swear to do everything together forever and ever?"
"I will."
"Do you swear to tell each other everything?"
"I will."
"Do you swear to love each other always?"
"I will."
They sat there in silence, expecting something to happen (lights, confetti, clapping, anything really). "I think that's all," Ginny said, finally, letting go of Luna's hand. She smiled.
"I'll be a good best friend."