Sixteen Candles, Chapter Nine
That night, after everyone left, Mum and Dad allowed me to go into my bedroom – my real, own bedroom that wasn't full of Dudley's old things – and go to bed, as they were convinced it would help me sort things out.
Mum told me which room was mine (second on the left) and after I opened the wooden door, my mouth dropped only.
I had to be an only child.
On the walls, different Quidditch posters was tacked up, the players smiling and waving towards me. There was a huge canopy bed stationed in the middle, the headboard pushed up against the far wall. Scarlet draping hung from the wooden posts, while the emerald carpet was covered with clothes, trinkets, and paper.
There was a large wooden desk pushed up against the wall to my left and a dressed pushed up against it with a mirror hanging off the wall in front of it. The desk was covered with books and paper, picture frames covering the edges as well. A closet was off to my right, holding (from what I could tell) a broom – a Firebolt, perhaps? – Quidditch robes – scarlet and gold, I must have been on the House team – more books, and different coloured robes and Muggle clothes.
My eyes were wide with amazement as I sat down on my bed and simply stared at everything for nearly ten minutes, hardly daring to believe this was real.
Which brought up another interesting question – was this real, or merely a dream? If so, was this the dream or was my other life – the life with the Dursleys – the dream? Everyone I knew seemed to be in this life, but they were all so different. Was a simple werewolf bite to blame for everything that had happened and gone wrong in my life, or were there some things different even I couldn't explain?
And what about my scar?
It had been there – it had to have been there, for Dad to comment on it like that – but as I took another look in the mirror, I was sure it wasn't there any longer.
Everything was so wonderful, I didn't dare think it was real. How long would it be until I was back in my real life? Or – if this was real – how long would it take me to remember anything?
I sighed to myself and crawled off the comfortable bed, sitting down on the chair in front of my desk and looking at it for the first time.
Waving back at me were pictures of my family and I, Draco, Ron, and Hermione and I, both looking incredibly happy. There was a picture of the four of us – Draco, Ron, Hermione, and I – and as Hermione and I kissed in the photo, I noticed picture-Ron scowling slightly, while photo-Draco ignored the display completely.
Draco avoiding public displays of affection was understandable, but Ron disapproving of it?
Something was terribly wrong with that. Ron was the one constantly badgering me to get a girlfriend, while he and Hermione were so incredibly happy together…
That had to be it. If Ron was so happy with Hermione in my real life, why wouldn't he be so happy with her in this one?
I chuckled softly to myself as I continued staring at the picture, realization dawning on me.
Ron was jealous.
That would definitely make for an interesting friendship, I grinned, picking up a piece of parchment lying nearest to me.
Dear Harry, it read, and I suddenly got a feeling of guilt for reading someone else's letters before I reasoned with myself, saying they were really my letters – I had just as much a right, if not more, to read them as anyone else.
Hope you're having a lovely holiday. Happy Birthday! I don't care if it's not for another four days, I'm saying that now because I won't be able to see you on your birthday. Ron's coming down though, I'll send my present with him. Tell your Mum and Dad I said hello! I miss them terribly.
Zara's becoming quite a handful. Mum's still not able to take care of her too well without breaking down into tears because of Percy, so I'm stuck with her almost all the time this summer. Dad said Zara had to come into work with him a lot of the time because he was afraid to leave her alone with Mum. Somehow she blames Percy and Penelope's death on Zara, although I really don't see how the two are related. They may not be telling me something – that tends to happen a lot, as you know.
I'm sure I've bored you enough with my endless ramblings, so I'll let you go now. Happy sixteenth Birthday, Harry!
Love,
Ginny
I set down the letter, eyebrow raised. I was friends – fairly good friends, it seemed – with Ginny Weasley in this life. I wasn't able to tell if she was as infatuated with me as she was before, and I wasn't sure I wanted to know, if truth be told.
I didn't bother reading the rest of the papers scattered across my desk; instead, I trudged over to my bed and collapsed, wrapping the warm blankets around me and asleep less than ten seconds later.
That night, after everyone left, Mum and Dad allowed me to go into my bedroom – my real, own bedroom that wasn't full of Dudley's old things – and go to bed, as they were convinced it would help me sort things out.
Mum told me which room was mine (second on the left) and after I opened the wooden door, my mouth dropped only.
I had to be an only child.
On the walls, different Quidditch posters was tacked up, the players smiling and waving towards me. There was a huge canopy bed stationed in the middle, the headboard pushed up against the far wall. Scarlet draping hung from the wooden posts, while the emerald carpet was covered with clothes, trinkets, and paper.
There was a large wooden desk pushed up against the wall to my left and a dressed pushed up against it with a mirror hanging off the wall in front of it. The desk was covered with books and paper, picture frames covering the edges as well. A closet was off to my right, holding (from what I could tell) a broom – a Firebolt, perhaps? – Quidditch robes – scarlet and gold, I must have been on the House team – more books, and different coloured robes and Muggle clothes.
My eyes were wide with amazement as I sat down on my bed and simply stared at everything for nearly ten minutes, hardly daring to believe this was real.
Which brought up another interesting question – was this real, or merely a dream? If so, was this the dream or was my other life – the life with the Dursleys – the dream? Everyone I knew seemed to be in this life, but they were all so different. Was a simple werewolf bite to blame for everything that had happened and gone wrong in my life, or were there some things different even I couldn't explain?
And what about my scar?
It had been there – it had to have been there, for Dad to comment on it like that – but as I took another look in the mirror, I was sure it wasn't there any longer.
Everything was so wonderful, I didn't dare think it was real. How long would it be until I was back in my real life? Or – if this was real – how long would it take me to remember anything?
I sighed to myself and crawled off the comfortable bed, sitting down on the chair in front of my desk and looking at it for the first time.
Waving back at me were pictures of my family and I, Draco, Ron, and Hermione and I, both looking incredibly happy. There was a picture of the four of us – Draco, Ron, Hermione, and I – and as Hermione and I kissed in the photo, I noticed picture-Ron scowling slightly, while photo-Draco ignored the display completely.
Draco avoiding public displays of affection was understandable, but Ron disapproving of it?
Something was terribly wrong with that. Ron was the one constantly badgering me to get a girlfriend, while he and Hermione were so incredibly happy together…
That had to be it. If Ron was so happy with Hermione in my real life, why wouldn't he be so happy with her in this one?
I chuckled softly to myself as I continued staring at the picture, realization dawning on me.
Ron was jealous.
That would definitely make for an interesting friendship, I grinned, picking up a piece of parchment lying nearest to me.
Dear Harry, it read, and I suddenly got a feeling of guilt for reading someone else's letters before I reasoned with myself, saying they were really my letters – I had just as much a right, if not more, to read them as anyone else.
Hope you're having a lovely holiday. Happy Birthday! I don't care if it's not for another four days, I'm saying that now because I won't be able to see you on your birthday. Ron's coming down though, I'll send my present with him. Tell your Mum and Dad I said hello! I miss them terribly.
Zara's becoming quite a handful. Mum's still not able to take care of her too well without breaking down into tears because of Percy, so I'm stuck with her almost all the time this summer. Dad said Zara had to come into work with him a lot of the time because he was afraid to leave her alone with Mum. Somehow she blames Percy and Penelope's death on Zara, although I really don't see how the two are related. They may not be telling me something – that tends to happen a lot, as you know.
I'm sure I've bored you enough with my endless ramblings, so I'll let you go now. Happy sixteenth Birthday, Harry!
Love,
Ginny
I set down the letter, eyebrow raised. I was friends – fairly good friends, it seemed – with Ginny Weasley in this life. I wasn't able to tell if she was as infatuated with me as she was before, and I wasn't sure I wanted to know, if truth be told.
I didn't bother reading the rest of the papers scattered across my desk; instead, I trudged over to my bed and collapsed, wrapping the warm blankets around me and asleep less than ten seconds later.