Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or assorted characters. If I did, I'd
be living it up in Tahiti and wouldn't have to resort to such low-budget
entertainment. J.K. Rowling is god, what can I say?
~^~^~
Virginia Weasely was no longer the "little girl" of the Weasely clan.
In fact, she hated even being referred to as a 'girl' at all.
It seemed that somewhere down the line she had gotten the idea into her head that anything considered "gentle," "feminine," or "delicate" didn't deserve her time or patience. Some how women had become weak in her eyes. Stupid, fragile beings with little to no true worth; that is, save for those exceptions that she knew and personally respected. For instance her mother, and close friend Hermione Granger.
Where such a strange perception could have originated from, an outsider couldn't say. Nowadays no one could really know for sure what went on in the youngest Weasely's mind. If truth was to be told, most probably didn't want to. Perhaps they believed her thoughts far too disturbing to invoke further curiosity.
In a way, they were correct.
Ever since her first year and her experience with the Chamber of Secrets, she had been an oddly silent child. Quiet and introverted just were not qualities easily adjusted to in a family of six brash and rowdy kin. It seemed always one of them was attempting to pull her out of the proverbial 'shell' she had erected around herself like a comforting shroud. But she couldn't be pulled; at least not permanently. She always did return to that secure, warm place of solitude residing within the quagmire of her thoughts.
She had been metamorphosing for three years. Three years she had grown and developed, building and constructing new mazes and passageways within her being. New facets that had yet to show their faces to anyone. But she knew they were there nonetheless.
The caterpillar had molded a chrysalis and had transformed.
Though not into a butterfly.
Virginia would have sneered and then laughed at such a flowery analogy in context with herself.
No, she had transformed into something strong. Superior to any thin-winged, supple-legged insect.
Superior to any stupid, naïve and batty-eyed young woman her age.
She had become her own nameless deity. Her own distant, isolated goddess.
And she worshipped none but herself.
Perhaps some would call her a fool if they knew this. Maybe they would think her arrogant and daft. What did she care though? They were all lambs. Lambs lining up for the inevitable slaughter. Such soft, doe-eyed little fawns they were, all young and awkward with the treacherous force of life's spark. How terribly they handled it. These soft-fleshed, dull-witted little calves that paraded around as though they were infallible. Stuck on the illusion of their immortality.
Had she been like /them/ before?
Yes, but she had learned. Learned quicker than most. And someday, someday soon, they would as well. And oh, how she yearned for that such day. A day when she could finally have the first truly worthwhile conversations of her life with individuals who could grasp what was so blatantly obvious to her now.
But all good things come to those who wait.
Voldemort had been the only one she had thus far come across who had understood. He had understood the pain of the Wait in its entirety. The Wait that would someday be over, she was sure. A wait that stretched on and on, and at times, they feared they wouldn't live long enough to see the end of. A wait they had feared that they wouldn't get the chance to celebrate the conclusion of.
This thing they both waited for was the Enlightenment of others. The "Big Realization" when all would come to terms with living, and exactly with what the universe was all about.
One word. Funny how we think everything in existence is so complex and cannot possibly be summed up into one so simple an utterance. But it is that One Word that means everything and nothing in the same breath. This One Word that is simple in itself, yet takes on the meaning of all things beyond our reach.
Chaos.
And Tom, her dear Tom, had fashioned himself Mayhem, Chaos's son.
"Ginny! Are you even listening to a damn word I'm saying?" The disgruntled, purple face of her brother bobbed into her line of vision, temporarily leaving the youngest Weasely bereft of her reverie.
She smiled, nodding blithely, a serene smile turning up the corners of her lips.
"Don't call me that infernal little name Ronald Weasely. It practically screams 'innocent-school girl.' You know how I hate it."
The elder boy scowled somewhat, eyebrows knotting up and twisting into contemplation. Or what passed for contemplation to Ron.
"You never /used/ to dislike it," he mumbled as they continued to saunter their way to the Quidditch pitch.
Calmly, she goaded him, knowing exactly how to dig her claws under his skin. But not too harshly. He was her family, after all.
"Different people like different things Ronald."
With that evasive reply, she began walking faster, leaving her brother to straggle on behind her, at war with the worry for his "bottled-up little sister" that had began to devour his family from the inside out.
/I wonder if you know just how different I mean Ron./
No matter.
/If you are Mayhem Tom/ Virginia thought, /then I might as well be Havoc./
After all, Chaos needs a daughter.
~^~^~
I don't ask for much. Just read and review. If you like it, leave something, you don't, please, no flames. My fragile emotional state no doubt cannot take it.
Upcoming chapters will be installed depending on input.
~^~^~
Virginia Weasely was no longer the "little girl" of the Weasely clan.
In fact, she hated even being referred to as a 'girl' at all.
It seemed that somewhere down the line she had gotten the idea into her head that anything considered "gentle," "feminine," or "delicate" didn't deserve her time or patience. Some how women had become weak in her eyes. Stupid, fragile beings with little to no true worth; that is, save for those exceptions that she knew and personally respected. For instance her mother, and close friend Hermione Granger.
Where such a strange perception could have originated from, an outsider couldn't say. Nowadays no one could really know for sure what went on in the youngest Weasely's mind. If truth was to be told, most probably didn't want to. Perhaps they believed her thoughts far too disturbing to invoke further curiosity.
In a way, they were correct.
Ever since her first year and her experience with the Chamber of Secrets, she had been an oddly silent child. Quiet and introverted just were not qualities easily adjusted to in a family of six brash and rowdy kin. It seemed always one of them was attempting to pull her out of the proverbial 'shell' she had erected around herself like a comforting shroud. But she couldn't be pulled; at least not permanently. She always did return to that secure, warm place of solitude residing within the quagmire of her thoughts.
She had been metamorphosing for three years. Three years she had grown and developed, building and constructing new mazes and passageways within her being. New facets that had yet to show their faces to anyone. But she knew they were there nonetheless.
The caterpillar had molded a chrysalis and had transformed.
Though not into a butterfly.
Virginia would have sneered and then laughed at such a flowery analogy in context with herself.
No, she had transformed into something strong. Superior to any thin-winged, supple-legged insect.
Superior to any stupid, naïve and batty-eyed young woman her age.
She had become her own nameless deity. Her own distant, isolated goddess.
And she worshipped none but herself.
Perhaps some would call her a fool if they knew this. Maybe they would think her arrogant and daft. What did she care though? They were all lambs. Lambs lining up for the inevitable slaughter. Such soft, doe-eyed little fawns they were, all young and awkward with the treacherous force of life's spark. How terribly they handled it. These soft-fleshed, dull-witted little calves that paraded around as though they were infallible. Stuck on the illusion of their immortality.
Had she been like /them/ before?
Yes, but she had learned. Learned quicker than most. And someday, someday soon, they would as well. And oh, how she yearned for that such day. A day when she could finally have the first truly worthwhile conversations of her life with individuals who could grasp what was so blatantly obvious to her now.
But all good things come to those who wait.
Voldemort had been the only one she had thus far come across who had understood. He had understood the pain of the Wait in its entirety. The Wait that would someday be over, she was sure. A wait that stretched on and on, and at times, they feared they wouldn't live long enough to see the end of. A wait they had feared that they wouldn't get the chance to celebrate the conclusion of.
This thing they both waited for was the Enlightenment of others. The "Big Realization" when all would come to terms with living, and exactly with what the universe was all about.
One word. Funny how we think everything in existence is so complex and cannot possibly be summed up into one so simple an utterance. But it is that One Word that means everything and nothing in the same breath. This One Word that is simple in itself, yet takes on the meaning of all things beyond our reach.
Chaos.
And Tom, her dear Tom, had fashioned himself Mayhem, Chaos's son.
"Ginny! Are you even listening to a damn word I'm saying?" The disgruntled, purple face of her brother bobbed into her line of vision, temporarily leaving the youngest Weasely bereft of her reverie.
She smiled, nodding blithely, a serene smile turning up the corners of her lips.
"Don't call me that infernal little name Ronald Weasely. It practically screams 'innocent-school girl.' You know how I hate it."
The elder boy scowled somewhat, eyebrows knotting up and twisting into contemplation. Or what passed for contemplation to Ron.
"You never /used/ to dislike it," he mumbled as they continued to saunter their way to the Quidditch pitch.
Calmly, she goaded him, knowing exactly how to dig her claws under his skin. But not too harshly. He was her family, after all.
"Different people like different things Ronald."
With that evasive reply, she began walking faster, leaving her brother to straggle on behind her, at war with the worry for his "bottled-up little sister" that had began to devour his family from the inside out.
/I wonder if you know just how different I mean Ron./
No matter.
/If you are Mayhem Tom/ Virginia thought, /then I might as well be Havoc./
After all, Chaos needs a daughter.
~^~^~
I don't ask for much. Just read and review. If you like it, leave something, you don't, please, no flames. My fragile emotional state no doubt cannot take it.
Upcoming chapters will be installed depending on input.