A Promise Made
Dear Harry,
Mum used to tell us stories when we were little, every night before bed. Percy was too pompous, even then for them, and Fred and George often pretended not to listen, so the stories were more for me and Ron than for anyone else. She'd drag us both into her lap, or set one of us on either side and ask what story we wanted to hear. We'd switch off with the choosing, Ron one night and me the next, but the stories rarely varied in content. Ron always wanted to hear about Quidditch, about games Mum had seen or about games Mum had played in (she was a Gryffindor Beater, you know) and I always wanted to hear about you.
Mum never down-played the reality of your story, she never left out any details she knew, but she never really up-played your fame. You were just a boy, taken from his parents and sent to live with those nasty muggles of yours. She used to tell me that you hadn't really done anything great, you had just been in the right place at the right or wrong time, depending on how you look at it. She said you had paid a terrible price to vanquish the Dark Lord, and that you weren't done paying. She still says that, even now that he's been gone for ten years.
But I was still fascinated by your story, you had to be a great wizard, right? To have gotten rid of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named when you were just a baby? I think I'll revamp my opinion on that, its not really fair to you.
I'm ten today and you don't really know who I am. My name is Ginny Weasley, you're friends with my older brother Ron and he writes to us about you all the time. He says you're nice, and polite and the best friend anyone could ever have. He says you and he knocked out a troll last night and saved a girl, one neither of you particularly liked. I think that's great and you really are a hero, but not for what happened when you were younger.
I'll be attending Hogwarts next year, when I'm eleven. I hope to be in Gryffindor, like the rest of my family. But that's not the point of this letter. I just wanted to say thank you. Even though you didn't mean to, you got rid of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named just in time. I came into this world to cheers instead of tears and I owe that to you. So thank you and I promise I won't let you leave this world because of him. I owe you that much.
Love,
Ginny Weasley
November 1st, 1991
Ginny placed her quill atop a spare piece of parchment and glanced over her letter. Was it weird that she was writing to him? Would he ever read it? Would he show it to Ron?
She folded the paper into thirds, dread forming in her stomach before folding it once more and slipping it into a parchment envelope. Should she send it?
"Ginny!" Molly Weasley's voice floated up to the third floor landing where Ginny's room was situated, beckoning her youngest child downstairs. "Ginny, come here, I want you to try something."
Ginny pushed back her chair, leaving the letter in it un-adressed envelope and hurried down the stairs, calling a quick, "Coming Mum" was she bounded off the last step and raced into the kitchen.
"What is it?"
The letter was of course never sent, when Ginny made her way back up to her room later that afternoon she had forgotten all about it. She packed up her writing utensils and, without even looking in the un-marked envelope, she placed the letter far back in her dresser drawer, where it still remains.
The letter is now all but forgotten, the words Ginny wrote when she was young mean nothing to her now. The promise, however, though stored within the furthest caverns of the young Gryffindor's mind, will never fully die. She promised The-Boy-Who-Lived that she would not let Voldermort take him out of this world and she won't.
The only question that now remains is why she made such a promise and how she aims to full-fill it. But it will be full-filled, for a promise made bonds the promiser and the promisee together. Forever.
Dear Harry,
Mum used to tell us stories when we were little, every night before bed. Percy was too pompous, even then for them, and Fred and George often pretended not to listen, so the stories were more for me and Ron than for anyone else. She'd drag us both into her lap, or set one of us on either side and ask what story we wanted to hear. We'd switch off with the choosing, Ron one night and me the next, but the stories rarely varied in content. Ron always wanted to hear about Quidditch, about games Mum had seen or about games Mum had played in (she was a Gryffindor Beater, you know) and I always wanted to hear about you.
Mum never down-played the reality of your story, she never left out any details she knew, but she never really up-played your fame. You were just a boy, taken from his parents and sent to live with those nasty muggles of yours. She used to tell me that you hadn't really done anything great, you had just been in the right place at the right or wrong time, depending on how you look at it. She said you had paid a terrible price to vanquish the Dark Lord, and that you weren't done paying. She still says that, even now that he's been gone for ten years.
But I was still fascinated by your story, you had to be a great wizard, right? To have gotten rid of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named when you were just a baby? I think I'll revamp my opinion on that, its not really fair to you.
I'm ten today and you don't really know who I am. My name is Ginny Weasley, you're friends with my older brother Ron and he writes to us about you all the time. He says you're nice, and polite and the best friend anyone could ever have. He says you and he knocked out a troll last night and saved a girl, one neither of you particularly liked. I think that's great and you really are a hero, but not for what happened when you were younger.
I'll be attending Hogwarts next year, when I'm eleven. I hope to be in Gryffindor, like the rest of my family. But that's not the point of this letter. I just wanted to say thank you. Even though you didn't mean to, you got rid of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named just in time. I came into this world to cheers instead of tears and I owe that to you. So thank you and I promise I won't let you leave this world because of him. I owe you that much.
Love,
Ginny Weasley
November 1st, 1991
Ginny placed her quill atop a spare piece of parchment and glanced over her letter. Was it weird that she was writing to him? Would he ever read it? Would he show it to Ron?
She folded the paper into thirds, dread forming in her stomach before folding it once more and slipping it into a parchment envelope. Should she send it?
"Ginny!" Molly Weasley's voice floated up to the third floor landing where Ginny's room was situated, beckoning her youngest child downstairs. "Ginny, come here, I want you to try something."
Ginny pushed back her chair, leaving the letter in it un-adressed envelope and hurried down the stairs, calling a quick, "Coming Mum" was she bounded off the last step and raced into the kitchen.
"What is it?"
The letter was of course never sent, when Ginny made her way back up to her room later that afternoon she had forgotten all about it. She packed up her writing utensils and, without even looking in the un-marked envelope, she placed the letter far back in her dresser drawer, where it still remains.
The letter is now all but forgotten, the words Ginny wrote when she was young mean nothing to her now. The promise, however, though stored within the furthest caverns of the young Gryffindor's mind, will never fully die. She promised The-Boy-Who-Lived that she would not let Voldermort take him out of this world and she won't.
The only question that now remains is why she made such a promise and how she aims to full-fill it. But it will be full-filled, for a promise made bonds the promiser and the promisee together. Forever.