. . . . . . . . . .
You can't sell a wand whose owner is dead.
This is what Ginny learns, the day she goes to Diagon Alley with an oblong box in her hand, her engagement ring missing.
That damn ring.
Ollivander wisely doesn't comment on its absence as he opens the box she handed him, though he's certainly seen the tabloids that announced her engagement.
His large blue eyes look at her with pity as he draws Fred's wand out of the box gently.
"Miss Weasley," he says softly, "I can't take this from you."
She leaves the wand shop without a fuss.
Ginny's mum doesn't know that Ginny has Fred's wand. Ginny's mum thinks that her son's wand was destroyed in the battle. Ginny's mum thinks that Ginny is done grieving, that she's moved on.
Ginny apparates home to Grimmauld Place, Fred's wand tucked into her elbow.
She pauses on the doorstep, fishing around in her pocket for her engagement ring.
That damn ring. Ginny wears it sunrise to sunset, every day. She wasn't planning on being seen, that day in Diagon Alley (she underestimated the observation skills of an ex-Death Eater, of a student who lived the war at Hogwarts alongside her).
It would be nice if she were putting on the ring because she didn't want to hurt Harry's feelings.
Harry doesn't even look at her these days. All he sees are her hands, the damn ring on her finger, sucking all the light and joy out of the room.
Harry would pawn that ring for galleons if he could.
Ginny would melt it off her finger if she could.
But they can't.
. . . . . . . . . .
a/n: Review :)
