Dedication: Revise! Happy, Happy Birthday!
Disclaimer: These are just depressing...I don't own it. J.K. does. Yada, yada, yada.
Prince Charming
Ginny Weasley was anything but afraid.
Call her spunky, lively, cheerful, witty, carefree, cool, or mischievous if you would, but she most definitely could not be intimidated.
Growing up with six older brothers taught her the "tough-and-rugged" way of life.
She acted on impulse and could never turn down a dare. She taught herself to fly, and climbed trees as she pleased. She never cried. After all, what were a few bumps and bruises compared to the adrenaline rush she got when she felt she'd done the impossible?
Nothing and nobody scared her.
Her mother, however, disapproved of Ginny's roughness. Mrs. Weasley thought that too much interaction between Ginny and her brothers would turn her away from her girlish ways. She was Mrs. Weasley's only little girl, after all, and that was not about to change.
So, every night, before sleep fell upon Ginny, Mrs. Weasley would tell her tales. Stories of faraway lands entered Ginny's mind as she would drift off. Faraway lands with tall castles, Kings and Queens, and Princesses that awaited their knights in shining armor.
Every legend would end the same way, though. Mrs. Weasley would run a hand through her daughter's auburn locks, and sigh, "One day, my Ginny, your Prince Charming will come for you."
…And Ginny would roll her eyes.
She'd heard the story of him, as all Wizards and Witches had, but never believed that she would view him with her own two eyes.
Harry Potter.
Her mind reeled at the mere mention of his name.
As her eyes observed every inch of him from the Emerald eyes to the legendary scar, she only vaguely wondered what the unfamiliar fluttering sensation occurring in her stomach was.
She slammed the door to her dormitory shut, and hurled her school bag onto her four-poster.
What was wrong with her?
She lay down on her red and gold bedding, and pulled out the journal.
Why did she have to send that stupid Valentine? She knew she couldn't write poetry, and she knew that he barely knew of her existence…So, why in Merlin's name did she send it?
Her quill began to flow quickly across the page, and she eyed the parchment greedily, as if awaiting a reply.
Something in her gut told her to send the valentine. A feeling, of sorts.
The reply came.
…Except she didn't like this feeling.
She woke shakily, and drew a short breath.
She found a massive headache coming crashing upon her almost instantly, and wondered what the devil had happened. As she slowly stretched out a hand, she felt a cool surface of water and she quickly withdrew her finger tips.
Before she could help it, a gasp escaped her lips and she sat up swiftly to observe the scene.
Harry was hunched over, there in front of her, clutching his arm and staring blankly at Riddle's diary, which now lay sliced apart before him. All of the horrid memories came flooding back to her.
Then she saw it.
The Basilisk. Dead. Gone, forever.
And that was when she realized exactly what he'd done for her. His eyes met hers and relief filled her for the first time in many, many months.
Ginny Weasley never needed a Prince Charming, but in the end, she wound up with the best one.
A/N: I know, I know...I haven't written anything in a while, so I don't know what reactions to expect from you guys. Review, please?