Hi, my name is Ginny Weasley. I grew up in a small city, where everybody know's your name. I guess my story begins at birth, but we will fast forward through my childhood and just get you caught up, so you know how I got to where I am now.
Growing up with the "boys" aka my six brothers, I learned a thing or two about being tough. I remember wanting to be one of the boys, but I had the wrong parts. When the boys didn't want to play with me I remember closing myself in my room and thinking about what I wanted to be when I grew up. Unlike most girls I didn't want to be a mommy, teacher, princess, or any of the other stereotypical answers. Instead I knew I was going to be in the military. When ever my parents would ask what I wanted to be it was always the same answer, "I want to be in the Army!". While I was to young to understand that there was more than just the Army when it came to fighting, I did understand that I wanted to be a tough girl, that wear camo and big black boots. My parents didn't understand, but they learned quickly to just drop it. I'm pretty sure they were praying that I would grow out of this stage.
I was a chubby child, but I was still active. When ever I got to pick what we played I always wanted to play Army. I wanted to go through basic training. I wanted to yell at the boys and tell them to drop and give me fifty. While yelling at them I worked on doing what I was telling them to do, often times, more than they would do and better than they would do it. We would do push-ups and sit ups and race across the yard.
Soon the boys didn't want to play anymore, but lucky for me Ron still played with me. Ron was only a year older than me, and we grew up close. Ron didn't make fun of my dreams, and I'm pretty sure he believed that I was going to do all those things that I said I would do. The more we played the more I wanted to be the one shooting guns and beating the bad guys. Often times I would save the day after being shot, sometimes I would "die" only to make a miraculous recovery.