Chapter 6: Renewal
Nothing lasts forever… not the dark, not the cold, and not the ice. When we lose ourselves in our daily struggle for life, we so often forget this one small fact. And in doing so, we often trap ourselves in emptiness born from that most primal of human instincts: fear. And when we give in to that fear… when we content ourselves with living in that darkest of holes in our souls… we are truly and completely lost.
But nothing last forever, and change is constant. For the darkness and the cold, and the ice can fade… forced away by radiance and light. And even emptiness can be filled and escaped from by those who want it enough, for there is a power stronger than fear… stronger than terror.
It is a power so incredible that to touch it is to live, even for a moment, in a light purer and deeper than the sun's. It is a power that can be found in the barest beat of a heart… or in the roaring mass of a crowd of individuals. It is a power that can free us from any shackle or raise us from any crevice… and once partaken of, it can almost never be relinquished.
It is the power of renewal and rebirth, of love and passion, of belief and faith…
It is the power of Hope.
And as The Winter Queen relinquishes her hold on the strangled Earth, Hope springs forth, held aloft by the warm embrace of Mother Spring. For when spring comes, announcing herself in a verdant explosion of life, she brings with her the renewed hope of the people of the world as they look forward to a new year of joy and triumph.
And when the children of Hogwarts, young and old, wake up on the first morning of Spring, they know, deep down inside, that something is different. There is a change that lingers in the air… and it signals to all who perceive it that now is not the time for anger and fear and worry. For if you are strong enough to see it, if you are strong enough to take it, and if you are strong enough to use it, then all the power of hope is there for you.
And no one is stronger than Ginny Weasley…
Even if she doesn't know it yet.
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As the first day of March rolled along, the students of Hogwarts awoke to find that spring had brought them one of the most beautiful mornings in recorded history. The sun was shining a warm yellow glow, not too harsh and not too weak, that lingered in the air, carrying with it feelings of freshness… of life. The wind, cruel in the past few weeks, was crisp but soft, the kind of wind that gently ruffles one's hair. And the colors of the day were vibrant and enticing… calling for everyone to come out and revel in the glorious feeling of being reborn.
But not everyone came out to enjoy this day. High in the Gryffindor dormitories, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, for example, were just waking up to a day that promised, to Ron, an interesting birthday. They would have gone out later… but, of course, were unable to.
And then there was another poor soul who desperately wanted to partake of the merriment going on outdoors, but couldn't. Instead, she sat with arms crossed hunched over on the floor in the Gryffindor common room, glaring intently at the fireplace while gnashing her teeth on the end of her quill.
Scowling in disgust, Ginny stared at the fire until she felt her eyes would burn. She glanced down at the sheaf of parchment paper strewn on the floor before her and covered with squiggly lines and nonsensical numbers. Grabbing the top-most sheet, she balled it up in disgust and hurled it into the fire. She gave a small smile of satisfaction as it flared up for an instant, consuming the offensive paper in a burst of heat.
And she scowled again at the rest.
How did she ever let Hermione talk her into taking Arithmancy? It was the most stupid, worthless, stupid, annoying, stupid, and insane subject she had ever taken. And Professor Vector had the gall to give them two whole parchments worth of homework… TWO! And she couldn't make heads or tails of the notes she had taken in class. Of course that was her own fault, she supposed. If she looked hard enough at the notes, she could just make out the impression her face left when she had fallen asleep…
She nibbled on the quill a bit more. As she poured over the figures on her parchment, she could feel the hard presence of the Veela pendant on her chest. She grimaced inwardly as she thought back on what happened over Christmas.
Harry liked her. A lot. That was… that was unexpected. But why wasn't it making her happy? Why wasn't she jumping for joy and tossing Dean out on his arse? Why was she hesitating every time she saw him? Why? Why?
Too many questions… not enough answers.
Sighing, she tossed the now ruined quill into the fire… and winced when she remembered that it wasn't even hers.
"GINNY!" Shrieked a voice from behind her.
Uh-oh.
Like a bushy haired bobcat that had just seen its prey, Hermione Granger leapt at Ginny and grabbed, horrified, at the rest of the quills lying around her.
Ginny looked sheepishly at her. "Oh… I'm so sorry."
Hermione ignored her and frantically counted the remaining quills. Satisfied that only one was lost, she rounded on Ginny and scowled primly down at her.
"I can't believe you did that!" she said, quite miffed.
Ginny shrugged. "I said I'm sorry… I'm just so… I dunno… I can't stand this stupid subject! It's so bloody hard!" She threw herself back and lay down in frustration. Hermione sat down beside her, careful to keep her quills slyly out of sight.
"Well," she said, her voice high and conscientious. "It wouldn't be so difficult for you now if you just paid attention in class…"
"Oh no," Ginny muttered and covered her eyes with her hands. "Here we go…"
"Honestly, Ginny," Hermione went on. "You do have O.W.L.S. this year… and you have to get as many as…"
"I know, Hermione!" Sighed Ginny. She sat up again and looked at her friend. "I just can't seem to… to think, I guess…" her voice trailed off as she looked at the fire again. She really couldn't concentrate. She hadn't been able to for months now… since Christmas, actually. Every time she saw Harry…
She bit her lip and suddenly became acutely aware of the Veela pendant pressing against her chest.
Hermione just looked at her for a moment, her eyes carefully neutral. She frowned.
"I know what you mean…"
Ginny glanced over. "Really?"
"Yeah," she sighed. "I can't really focus either… I only got a 95 out of 100 in last week's transfiguration test."
"Oh yeah… BIG tragedy," Ginny said, rolling her eyes.
Hermione scowled. "Hey, it is! I have never… EVER… gotten lower than 100 in McGonagall's class! Now she thinks I'm stupid!"
But there was something cracking in Hermione's voice that Ginny knew had nothing to do with grades or teachers. IT pained Ginny to see her best friend so confused. For all her joking, Ginny knew that a 95 really WAS a tragedy.
"Nobody thinks you're stupid, Hermione. Everyone always says 'you're the brightest witch of our age.' Hey, I believe it too." She smiled encouragingly. For someone so smart… she could be awfully silly at times…
Hermione smiled a little. "Thanks… but still…" She glanced darkly over her shoulder, jerking her chin towards the portrait hole. Ginny followed her gesture and saw Lavender Brown lounging coolly against the wall. In her hand was a small green package… presumably that birthday gift for Won-won that she kept bragging she special ordered from Italy. Lavender was conveniently looking around at everything but them… although Ginny could not help but notice that she smirked every so often.
"Honestly," Hermione muttered. "What does he see in her? She's such a twit! Is that why Ron won't…"
She blushed.
"Well… you know… is it because I'm so 'bright' as you say? Would he rather I be a stupid idiot like her?"
Lavender suddenly twittered for a moment, a shrill high laugh directed at nobody in particular. She composed herself for a moment, before laughing to herself again.
Charming. Real charming.
Ginny sighed and stroked Hermione's bushy hair. "Look, Hermione… Ron's a git, okay? I love him and all… but…"
"You're late, Won-won!" Lavender suddenly simpered.
Ginny and Hermione whirled toward the stairs leading to the boys' dormitory. Ginny's heart skipped when she saw the shaggy haired visage of Harry Potter as he led a bewildered looking Ron down the stairs. Ron's eyes were quite large and vacant, as if seeing something just at the periphery of reality. Harry, concern on his face, winced at Lavender's shout… but then he glanced at Ginny.
He smiled, shyly.
She smiled, shyly.
Hermione scowled, darkly.
"Leave me alone," Ron said in a strangely hopeful yet empty voice. "Harry is going to introduce me to Romilda Vane."
Ginny pursed her lips. Romilda Vane? What? What was going on?
But she couldn't help notice that Hermione's face transformed with glee as Lavender looked both shocked and outraged. She opened her mouth for several seconds, with not one sound issuing forth. Her eyes bulged un-attractively as she slowly worked her mouth open and closed. Harry shrugged at her apologetically and quickly shoved Ron out of the portrait hole. The portrait slammed shut, leaving an indignant looking Lavender Brown staring contemptuously at it.
"Hermione," muttered Ginny as she turned to her friend. "What do you reckon…?"
But Hermione was in no state to answer. She was rolling around on the floor, her arms clutched tightly about her stomach. And she was emitting a rather shrill and high-pitched twitter. Very Lavender-like actually. There were actual tears beginning to stream down her face from all her laughing.
"Hermione," Ginny said uncertainly. Oh dear… she wasn't going to start what she thinks is going to start?
She kept laughing.
"You think it's so FUNNY, do you?" Lavender suddenly screamed. She stormed towards them her eyes blazing.
"Lavender," Ginny said cautiously as she stood up to face her. No, this was neither the time nor place for them to do this… although she should have seen this coming; She really should have. "Don't…"
"You stay out of this!" she screamed. "This is between me and Granger!"
Stay out of this? Ginny scowled. Nobody tells her…
Hermione suddenly jumped up, her messy hair flying all over the place. There was a very un-Hermione like expression set in her face. "What's wrong, Lav-lav? Can't hold on to your man?" Her voice dripped with contempt.
Ginny felt sick. Here she was again… making things worse. "Hermione, don't…"
"Shut up!" Lavender screamed, ignoring Ginny completely. She strode up to Hermione and jabbed a finger at her face. "You shut up! You don't know what Ron and I have!"
"Lavender, don't…" Why were they doing this? This was such a stupid fight that could only end badly.
Hermione's eyes bulged out. "Know? KNOW? What exactly do I have to know, Lavender? That you simper like a kitten? That you're dumber than a tree stump? That you…"
"Hermione!" Ginny was shocked. Uh-oh. That did it. Any moment now, Lavender would bring out her big kick in the teeth. She had to stop this before things got any worse. "Hermione, stop…"
Lavender clenched her teeth. "I do NOT simper you…"
Hermione sneered and crossed her arms. "Romilda Vane, Lavender? Losing your touch? Imagine… losing him to Romilda Vane!"
"Hermione…" Don't bring up losing people…
Lavender gave out a quick derisive snort. "I'm not losing anyone, Granger. Ron will be back… this is just a big misunderstanding."
"Lavender, stop…" And of course, Lavender just loved this didn't she? She was just waiting for a chance to rub Hermione's face in it…
Hermione snorted as well. "Hah. Keep believing in that, Lavender. Someday, he'll see you for who you really are. A silly, idiotic…"
"Hermione…" Ginny reached up and massaged the bridge of her nose. This was getting out of hand. And of course, they were ignoring her like she wasn't even there. Too bad she had forgotten her wand upstairs…
Lavender twittered. "Silly? Me? Sure… I'm REALLY silly. I bet Won-won thinks it's so silly how I can blow his mind away with one kiss." She glared at Hermione. "'Cause, you know Granger, he makes these fantastic little whimpering sounds when he's…"
"Lavender, don't…" Ginny began to lose hope.
"SHUT UP!" Hermione shrieked.
Lavender laughed again, but never took her eyes off of Hermione. "Oh, he thinks it's sooooo silly how softly his lips press against mine… or how fast I make his heart beat… or how heavy his breathing gets…"
Ginny scowled. This was quite enough. She opened her mouth to speak when she noticed that Hermione's face reddened to an alarming shade of maroon. Her eyes bulged out angrily, and her breath seemed to come in quick, shallow bursts. She squeezed her eyes shut. "Shut up, you little… little…"
"Oh, Granger… there's nothing little about…"
"STOP IGNORING ME!" Ginny suddenly shouted. She leapt between both girls, and placed a hand on either one's chest. She began to feel her own face redden with considerable irritation. Both girls shut up. "STOP IT! STOP IT! STOP IT!"
The portrait door slammed shut as a tiny freshman stuck her head in, cowered, and then fled.
Ginny stood between Lavender and Hermione and scowled at each of them in turn. "You stop baiting her," she said to Lavender, "And you stop reacting!" She scolded Hermione. "This is just ridiculous! You're both acting like little kids!"
For a moment, both girls glared at each other over Ginny's head… but eventually Lavender backed away. "Yeah, that's right! Leave, you little tramp!" Hermione shouted. Ginny turned to her and pushed against her shoulder. "C'mon, Hermione," she muttered. What was wrong with her? This was so not like her! "Let her go…"
Lavender sniffed and examined her nails. "Yeah… let me go, Hermione." She said Hermione's name very condescendingly. "I have to go find Ron… and give him a birthday gift he'll never forget."
Hermione whipped out her wand. Ginny grabbed for it immediately and dragged Hermione up the steps. "No! Put that away! Now!"
Lavender twittered and strolled out of the room.
Hermione shrugged off Ginny's hand and tried to stalk away, but Ginny just gripped harder. She pulled Hermione close and glared up at her. "What do you think you're doing? Are you stupid all of a sudden?"
Hermione stared at her for a moment, seething. "What? Why are you siding with her?"
Ginny sighed and wanted to pull her hair out. "I'm not siding with her… I'm siding with you! You're my best friend…"
"Funny way of showing it!"
"No," Ginny raised a finger and waggled it at Hermione. "You do NOT get to be angry at me for this. Just like you do NOT want to start fights with Lavender Brown!"
"Why not?" Huffed Hermione.
"Why not? You really ARE an idiot, aren't you?"
"Ginny…"
"No," she said as she shook her head. "Let me finish. You are being an idiot, Hermione. You're just sinking to Lavender's level. You know fighting with her right now is not going to solve anything! You're smarter than that! You're just gonna get everyone pissed at you!"
Hermione sat down glumly, all the fight in her seemingly gone. Ginny sat down beside her slowly, and the two of them sat on the dormitory steps for a moment, catching their breaths. Ginny glanced sidelong at Hermione, hoping that her friend had calmed down.
"Hermione, look…" She began hesitantly.
"You're right… I'm sorry. I just… I just can't stand it anymore, you know?" Hermione's eyes suddenly filled with sorrow.
"What? What can't you stand?" Ginny asked gently.
"Her. Him. Them. How they're always together. How they… how they keep…"
"But Hermione, they're just doing…. you know… that's what couples… you know, do."
"Do you think he loves her?" Hermione said in a monotone voice.
"What? No… I don't think…"
"He does, doesn't he… sure… yeah… He just loves her so much and he just hates me, right? Well… well…"
Hermione bit her lower lip. "Well, I hate him too."
"No you don't. And… look, Hermione... no one hates you. And he doesn't love Lavender at all. He just fancies her a little… he'll forget about her soon enough. Why do you think he's looking for Romilda?"
"C'mon Ginny, you know as well as I that Ronald probably ate some of those cauldrons that Romilda kept trying to give Harry. They're probably off to find Slughorn."
"Oh yeah…" Ginny's voice trailed off as she thought of how Romilda kept trying to spike Harry's drinks; how she herself had once been so desperate that she seriously considered using one of those love potions…
Ginny blushed furiously.
"Speaking of which," Hermione said as she glanced at Ginny. "Just what IS going on between you and Harry anyway?"
Ginny shook her head. "Huh? What? Nothing… I…"
"Oh, come off it Ginny," Hermione began to smirk. "I've seen you two together… I've seen how different you've been with him ever since Christmas."
Ginny tried to hide her face and fingered her pendant through her shirt. "What do you mean?"
"Oh honestly. You guys are all of a sudden… shyer around each other. As if… as if…" Her eyes widened. "Did something happen at The Burrow? Something that you're not telling me about?"
Ginny shifted uncomfortably. How had this conversation get turned around like this? "I dunno… I guess…"
"You guess? What do you mean 'you guess'? Did something happen or not?" Hermione's voice had taken a very urgent tone.
Ginny threw her hands up in frustration. "Look, I don't know what to tell you! Yes… something did happen. But I…"
All of a sudden, a long shadow loomed over them.
"Miss Granger, Miss Weasley."
The two girls stare dup at the tall, elegant form of Professor McGonagall. She had a deeply perturbed expression on her severe face, and she stared coolly at them. But Ginny could see concern etched in her eyes. Something was wrong…
"Please come with me. Both of you."
"Professor…" Ginny began as she stood up.
McGonagall whirled about and descended the stairs. She raised a hand to cut off whatever Ginny had been about to say.
"I'm sorry. We must hurry to the hospital wing. Ronald Weasley has been poisoned."
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Later…
Warm sunlight streamed through the big bay windows of the hospital wing, creating long shadows dancing across the floor. The grey stones of the walls kept the heat at bay, making the room seem much colder than it should have been. But that wasn't the only thing making Ginny shiver.
She hated this room.
She sighed as she wrapped her arms around herself and looked down at the prone form of her brother. His face was pale in the sunlight… paler than usual. And his red hair, usually just as fiery as hers, looked drab and lifeless. He was lying with his eyes closed in the bed at the end of the room.
It was the same bed that she always occupied whenever she came here.
She hated this room.
She looked down at Ron again and stroked his arm. At least he was okay. When McGonagall had told them that he was… Well, she felt that she couldn't breath. When they rushed here and saw him… When she saw him… God, she felt she would burst.
But Harry was there.
At least Ron was okay. It was close… but he was okay.
She looked sidelong at Hermione. Her face was as white as Ron's. Her lips were pressed together in a thin, grim line. Her eyes were bloodshot, as if she had been crying all night.
She was not taking this very well. And why should she? Ron had barely survived the poisoning. They weren't even sure whether he would recover properly. And who would do such a thing anyway? Of course, she, Hermione, and Harry had discussed that topic to pieces all afternoon, but they didn't have any conclusive answers. Harry was so sure it was Malfoy. And, even if it couldn't possibly have been, Ginny believed him. Somehow.
She looked at Harry, standing there across from her. His eyes were dark and deep with sorrow as they gazed down at his friend, his hair a curtain of raven night falling over his scar. He looked up at her then, and as they locked eyes, Ginny knew that he was thinking the same thing she was.
Ron was just the latest in a series of terrible events in this war. First there were all those Aurors that died. Then there was Katie. And now this happened. When would it end? When would they finally, finally achieve that lasting peace that made happiness possible?
Ginny frowned and looked away. Happiness was there to be taken. She knew it. And she knew HE knew it.
So why couldn't she take it? He was right there, with piercing green eyes and a soul that radiated so much light that sometimes it hurt to look at him. It was a light that she had sought for whenever she felt cold… whenever she felt dark. It was a light that called to her… especially now when the pain of almost losing Ron was too fresh… too painful. She needed him. All she had to do was reach out and…
So why couldn't she?
"Ginny," his voice was low and soft as he came around the bed and touched her shoulder. She trembled. "I have to go. There's something I have to find out…"
She looked up at him.
Ever since that night at The Burrow, she was torn about her feelings for him. On the one hand, she could not deny the warm rush of… of… Love? Of whatever it was that rushed through her when she saw him. It was part of that light that surrounded him… that intoxicating feeling of being in the same world as him.
And yet…
She couldn't. Why couldn't she? What was wrong with her? Every time she thought she was about to take that step and leave Dean for Harry… she couldn't. Why? Why was she being so weak? This wasn't her…
"Ginny?" Harry asked uncertainly.
She blinked. How long had she been staring at him? "Oh, yeah, Harry. Okay. Go ahead. I'll stay with Hermione then."
"Will you be okay?"
"Yeah."
"Okay."
She sighed as she watched him go, his lanky form sliding effortlessly through the shadows of the afternoon light. When he reached the door, he turned slightly to glance at her. After a brief smile, he was gone.
She smiled to herself, feeling that warmth rush through her.
She turned back to look at Ron, but Hermione caught her gaze. Her face was still ashen and her lips were still pale… but there was a fire in her eyes that sparked into existence.
"Ginny," she whispered fiercely. "I think…"
Ginny took her hand. "Hermione, what…?"
"I think I love him."
Ginny's eyes widened. "Who, Harry? But I thought you…"
"Not Harry! What's wrong with you? Ron!"
"Oh…"
"Ginny…" Tears began to stream down her cheeks. "I love him so much. I… I didn't want to admit it. Not to him, not to Harry, not to you… not even to myself… for a while. But I…"
She covered her face with her hands and sobbed quietly into them. Her shoulders shook with her sobs, and she made small whimpering sounds. She slid slowly to the floor and pressed her cheek tenderly to Ron's hand.
Ginny, her heart aching, slid down and joined her, stroking her hand down Hermione's back. "It's okay, Hermione," she said soothingly. "It's okay…"
"No it's not," Hermione sobbed. "No… I… I… should have told him long ago. I should have fought for him… I…"
She looked at Ginny then, her eyes red and bloodshot. "I was so scared. I… I never felt this way about anyone before. Ever. All my studying… all my books… they never prepared me for how it would feel."
"Why didn't you tell him then?"
"I was scared. I thought… I thought that if I told him, he would laugh at me and tease me… and he'd hate me forever. At least if I kept quiet… we'd be friends. And at least I could… I could be with him. Even just as a friend."
Ginny sat quietly, her mind whirling. Everything Hermione was saying sounded so familiar. She knew of course that she felt partly like this about Harry… but not quite. But that phrase… just a friend… brought back quite a bit to her.
"Hermione…"
"And I kept playing these stupid games to protect myself from him. These stupid games that have cost us our friendship! These stupid games that have cost me… him. I drove him right into Lavender's arms… didn't I?"
"Hermione…"
"And it was all because I was too scared to tell him. And now he hates me. He hates me for Lavender, he hates me for Cormac, he hates me for those stupid birds, he hates me…"
Ginny didn't even try to interrupt anymore. She just took Hermione into her arms and stroked her hair.
"And now… I almost lost him. He almost died… and the last thing I would ever have remembered of him is his hatred of me."
Her voice hitched.
"He would have… he would have died hating me."
Then she fell silent but for the sobs she made while pressed against Ginny's shoulder. Ginny felt her own tears start to fall… she knew that they were tears for Ron and Hermione, but she also knew that they were something else. How many time had she felt this way for Harry? How many times had she seen him battle basilisks and dementors, or fall of his broomstick or get smashed by bludgers, or see him, in her head, torn apart by an Avada Kadavara curse? How many times had she thought of him battered, bloody, and lifeless? How many times had she thought of him dying without knowing how she felt?
"No more," Hermione said suddenly. "I can't… I can't live with him hating me. If I can't have him love me… I'll…"
She pulled away from Ginny and stared at Ron. "I'll just keep loving him. And I'll just keep hoping. No more games."
She stood up then, and bent over Ron. As Ginny watched, she brushed back Ron's limp red hair and kissed him gently on the cheek.
"I love him… but I want him to be happy. If he still wants me for a friend… I'll try to be the best one he can find."
She sat down on the bed and stroked his cheek tenderly. "I don't know if you can hear me, Ronald," she whispered. "But if you love Lavender, I'll step aside. I'll understand. I'll just take you anyway I can have you. Even as a friend."
She looked up at Ginny and smiled. "But I can still hope, right? There's nothing wrong with that? Maybe someday…"
Ginny smiled sadly. "Be strong Hermione. You're doing the right thing. And I'm telling you… they're not going to last."
She stared at Hermione for a moment, taking in the strong lines of her face. She was a different Hermione now than she was a few minutes ago. Gone was the slightly immature and selfish brat who wanted to pick fights and run away from everyone… replaced by an elegantly sad young woman, the result of heartbreaking choices. This Hermione was strong. This Hermione… basking in the choice of her love… this Hermione would thrive. This Hermione was strong.
She felt a deep pang of sorrow in her gut.
And which Ginny Weasley was this? Which Ginny would come out of this talk with her friend? Which Ginny was standing watch over her brother as he slept the sleep of the unknown?
Was she the Ginny who everyone saw… she of the strength and passion and fire that awed everyone who saw it?
Or was she the Ginny who really was… that terrified little girl who still thrashed in her sleep; who still heard Tom Riddle's voice forcing her to commit indescribable atrocities that she could never forget?
Was she the Ginny who was so weak that she could not make her own choices?
Hermione had made hers. And Ginny could see that this was the perfect choice for her to make. She had no skill in Divination… but every fiber of Ginny's soul could see that Ron and Hermione were meant for each other.
So why couldn't she see what was right for her?
Just friends. That's what she and Harry were right now, weren't they? Just friends. And that's all they could be while she was still with Dean. But…
She stood up and walked to the window. The sun glowed a deep orange as it slowly set beyond the horizon. Soon it would be night, the time when secret longings seemed to no longer care for secrets.
Secrets. It was no secret how she felt for Harry. She could feel the ache in her heart when she thought of him. When she closed her eyes, she could hear his voice. When she kissed Dean… all she could think of was Harry.
But over Christmas…
"Ginny," Hermione said softly. Ginny turned to face her, and sighed with relief when she realized that she wasn't crying. "Ginny… what happened over Christmas?"
Ginny turned to look out the window one last time. There it was… the sun had just waved an orange goodbye one last time.
Her Veela pendant always glowed orange when she thought of Harry.
She wasn't ready. Not yet.
She turned to Hermione and took her hands. "I… I can't. I don't know what's wrong with me Hermione…"
"Sure you can, Ginny," Hermione's voice was soft and tender. "Whatever's bothering you… whatever it is that you can't say…"
"No. I have to…"
"Ginny…"
"I have to go!" She turned to Hermione. "Please… I just can't talk about this now. I need time…"
"It's been more than three months Ginny! Please, you have to talk to me."
"Why should I?" Ginny said indignantly. No… she could not talk to Hermione about this. Hermione had just found her happiness. How could she burden her with talk of such feelings so nebulous that she herself couldn't figure it out?
She mustn't… she had to do this herself… that's what making choices is all about… right?
Hermione stared at her for a moment, her eyes filled with sorrow. "It's tearing you apart, Ginny."
The silence that lingered between them was thick and palpable, broken only by the occasional snore from Ronald Weasley. Ginny frowned and looked down. It was tearing her apart. There were two sides of her now… the part that everyone knew… and that secret part of her that no one did. And they warred constantly, barraging her soul with thousands upon thousands of scars.
How could she speak of this with anyone? How could she expose so much of herself like that… especially to Hermione… especially to Harry?
Harry was so strong… so sure of himself. What was she?
"Ginny," Hermione said hesitantly. "You can't focus on anything… you're short tempered with everyone… you're not sleeping properly… everyone can see it."
Ginny looked away and wrapped her arms about herself. This was what Harry did to her. By… by forcing her to…
"And," Hermione continued, "Look at you and Dean. You're always arguing now…"
"What do you know about it anyway?" Ginny retorted.
"Nothing. I don't know anything because you're not talking to me." Hermione took Ginny's hand in her own. "Please Ginny, if not me, then talk to someone else. You need to…"
She felt her defenses cracking. There was so much hope in Hermione's voice… so much life. Maybe… just maybe…
"Okay," Ginny said softly. "Okay."
For a long moment, Ginny stared into her friend's warm brown eyes. She sighed and fished around inside her collar for her pendant. She brought it out slowly and dangled it between them. The crystal caught the last of the sun's fading light, twinkling for an instant as it hung in the air. The mist inside was a deep, dark green.
Hermione's jaw dropped in shock. Ah… she knows what it is…
"Where did… where did you…"
"Harry gave it to me," Ginny murmured. That night… that cold, cold night. All she wanted was assurances that he would leave her alone to her misery… that he wouldn't try…
"Harry?" Hermione's voice was hushed and urgent. "Oh, Ginny… do you know what that is?"
Yes she did. And every time she looked at it, she hated it. "Yeah… it's a Veela pendant." She hated it… but why did she wear it? Why?
"And do you know what it does?"
Ginny looked at her sadly and tucked it back into her shirt. "Yeah, I do." Of course she knew what it did. Harry had told her, right?
She felt a rush of anger and pain.
"And he gave that to you… do you know what that means?"
"I… I think so…" Of course she knew what it meant. She wasn't stupid. It forced her to know things she couldn't possibly want to know. It forced her to do things based on information she should not have. It…
"Then what's the problem? Oh Ginny, this makes everything so much easier…"
"No it doesn't!" Ginny said sharply as she jumped up. "It doesn't at all!"
She paced around the bed for a while; walking back and forth and feeling her face burn with a sudden anger. She could feel Hermione's confused stare on her as she paced, and could feel the hurt from the past Christmas coming back again.
"Ginny…"
"What right does he have? Huh? Answer me that… What right does he have to give me such a thing?" He hadn't even asked her if he could give her this… he presumed too much.
"Ginny…"
But there was no stopping her now. "Doesn't he know what this… this thing is doing to me? Huh? Every time I'm with Dean… I can feel it burning against my chest. I can feel it burning, pulsing, and calling to me to look at it. Every time."
And she couldn't look at it. No matter how much she wanted to… no matter how much it called to her… looking at it would just… just…
"Then why don't you…"
"I can't! I can't! If I do… then… then…"
"Then you'd know…"
"NO! How can he do this? What right does he have to force me to do this? I should be free to make my OWN choices! I hate him for doing this to me. I HATE HIM!"
She hadn't meant to say it… she had never meant to say anything like that. But she had, and it was out there now. She felt the anger and the hurt gathering inside her and wanted so much to unleash it. No… she had to… she had to go….
"No… no you don't." Hermione stood up and touched her shoulder. "You don't have it in you to…"
"I do! I do!" Her eyes started to fill with tears. What was wrong with her? For three months she had been keeping this quiet. For three months she had shown no sign of fear or tears or… nothing. Why was she losing it now?
"No you don't," Hermione said forcefully. "Listen Ginny, all Harry was trying to do was …"
But Ginny decided that enough was enough. She could no longer handle this side of her… this side that broke down so easily. She was strong; everyone knew this. She could not lose control. She could not. She had to just…
And so, without a word to her friend, she ran from the room, slamming the door behind her. The echo of her footsteps rang though the hall, mercilessly mocking her.
Running again? Running as usual?
But she could not stop. She had to run. She had to hide. And as she ran and tears slid down her face, Ginny Weasley knew that she truly did not hate Harry Potter one bit. But she knew that there was a part of her, an intensely powerful part that fiercely hated what he did. There was something inside her, wrapped tightly around her heart, that stopped her from thinking clearly and stopped her from feeling things properly.
But what was it?
As she angrily wiped her eyes, she knew that she did not know. She also knew that if she tried hard enough… maybe she could find it. But… she couldn't. She just couldn't.
She was too weak.
She was too scared.
But, like a lot of people do, she thought that, given enough time she would find the answer somehow… it would come to her in a brilliant flash or like a bolt of lightning. And that's where she hung her false hope… there, in that one possibility of salvation from without. It is a common enough hope, one found in everyone who has not the strength to search further.
This Ginny Weasley… wasn't ready.
And so she locked her self tightly inside herself for a while longer, hoping, and praying that the answer would come to her… in time.
But what this Ginny Weasley doesn't know is that time is a tricky thing: you always think you have more than you really do.
And then, one day… it's gone.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
But life goes on in Hogwarts; it does not linger to wait for foolish youth to learn wisdom. Life is not like that. Life runs through its peaks and its valleys heedless of those who long for pause. For those who see the possibility in life… those who see the hope… this is a blessing: a chance to see the world through a prism of colors and vibrancy that nothing else can match. It is a magic born out of existence and being; a magic with no countercharm.
But there are those who do not see life this way. There are those so caught up in problems and issues so powerful that they cannot see past them. There is hope for these people, yes, but only if they choose to seek it. But, often times, these people choose to place their hope in that most elusive of mistresses: time. And these people are often the ones who end up waiting forever.
Ginny Weasley could be one of these.
But she isn't.
For, even if she placed too much faith in time, something will happen on this day that, should she see the possibilities, will change her life forever.
If she sees it…
And if she takes it.
And so… on to the Quidditch pitch.
Gryffindor vs. HufflepuffThis wasn't working.
Ginny Weasley loved Quidditch. She breathed it, thrived in it, lived it. The roar of the crowd, the feel of the wind, the smell of the roast pork sandwiches that supporters ate… it was intoxicating. Quidditch was her element, and she excelled at it.
But not today.
Ginny grimaced as she sliced through the air, searching for the Quaffle. She had just lost it… again… to that prat Zacharias Smith. She couldn't stand him… and she'd be damned if she let him beat her. What was wrong with her today? She never played this badly. She just… couldn't focus for some reason…
And there he was, just behind Peakes.
She gripped her broomstick and lunged forward, her hand outstretched.
Good. He hadn't seen her.
She swooped down below him, letting her momentum carry her up and around him. As she passed his surprised face, she stuck her tongue out briefly and snatched the Quaffle away.
Yes!
Clutching the Quaffle under her arm, she sped towards the Hufflepuff goal, knowing that she would be unstoppable. But as she approached the goal posts, dodging this Bludger and that, she noticed a small buzzing golden ball glinting ahead of her.
The Snitch.
She wondered then if Harry had seen it. If he had, he ought to be coming up in her field of vision any time now. She had to score… there was that small, primal part of her that felt the need to dazzle him… just a little…
And suddenly she wasn't holding the Quaffle anymore. Smith had stolen it.
Cursing under her breath, she wheeled about. If she wanted to win this, she had to put Harry out of her thoughts. She had to ignore him from now on…
And then she heard quite an odd thing. Luna, commentating on the match, saying something about McLaggen handling one of the bats…
But she saw Smith and the Quaffle. And so she put it out of her mind, just as she determinedly ignored the muted cries of "Harry!" that came from the crowd. He had probably just seen the Snitch…
Never mind. Focus. Get Smith. Focus.
But she could not ignore the sickening crunch she hard from behind her. She turned her head and saw a sight that filled her with icy dread.
She remembered that first match she saw Harry play, back in her first year. It was a match against Slytherin, and he had flown beautifully. She was in awe of him already by then, but there was something in the way he flew… and unfettered freedom that tugged at the heartstrings of her burgeoning emotions. Freedom. It called to her… and she knew then that she wanted to do anything she could to answer that call.
She was too young to be in love, but it was at that moment that the seeds were sown.
And she remembered how that match ended; she remembered the Bludger, mad and hungry, smashing into his arm with a force so powerful that Harry could not prevent it from breaking. She remembered the anguish on his beautiful face at the impact. She remembered her own anguish, as her heart squeezed in her chest. But she also remembered that look of pure determination in his eyes as he pushed through the pain to grab the Snitch.
And even as he lay on the ground later, cradling his broken arm, there was triumph in his eyes. He was in pain… but he had triumphed.
And she experienced emotions that she could not understand.
His eyes were blazing, fiery and passionate.
And that was the image that flashed before her as she stared, in dawning horror, at the scene before her.
There was Cormac McLaggen, beater bat in hand, with an expression bordering on sheer pleasure. There was poor Peakes, bat-less, hovering in stunned disbelief. There was Smith, scoring the Quaffle with glee.
And there was Harry, a Bludger streaking away from him, falling limply off his broom. Blood streamed copiously from a spot on his forehead, right next to his scar. As he fell, his face turned toward her for a moment. There was no blazing look in them this time. There was… nothing.
"No!" She screamed.
No, no, no, no, no…
She had to get to him. She had to save him. She promised him…
As he fell, she gripped her broomstick hard and surged toward him. But she was too far… she was on the other side of the pitch. She urged her broom faster, feeling it shaking… coming apart…
His face was slack, his jaw was open, and his eyes were cold… empty…
Faster… faster…
And she saw that she wouldn't make it. No matter how hard she tried, no matter how fast she flew… she wouldn't make it. He would fall and fall and fall until… until…
But he didn't. An instant before he met the ground, Peakes and Coote caught up with him, each grabbing him by an arm. Together, they brought him down slowly, and laid him on his back.
In the confusion that followed, Ginny was aware of only a few things at a time; the first was of Hermione, grim and white-faced, rushing down with Hagrid and a few others. The second thing was that of Cormac laughing maniacally over Harry's still form. The third was that she was just hovering there now, as still and lifeless as Harry was below her.
She could not speak… she tried to, but no sounds issued forth. She could not move… she tried to, but her limbs fought her at every turn. She could not breathe… she tried to, but she felt her heart would collapse under the strain.
She had almost lost him. She had almost lost him. She had almost lost him.
She could not save him. She could not save him. She could not save him.
"Ginny," she became vaguely aware of a hand grabbing her roughly by her arm. "Ginny, focus…"
She turned large, empty eyes toward the voice and came face to face with Dean Thomas.
"Dean," her voice sounded so far away. "What…"
He shook her. "Ginny, focus! We're still playing! The game doesn't end until the Snitch is found."
She could not save him. She could not…
"Ginny!" he snapped. "Are you listening? You have to play Seeker! Everyone's counting on you now. You have to do this! You have no choice!"
Ginny looked around her then; at the Bludgers still whistling about; at the hundreds of red and gold and yellow clad supporters, silent for once; at the other players, Gryffindor and Hufflepuff alike, concerned but ready to continue. And she saw Madam Hooch, reluctantly getting ready to restart the match.
She looked up at the clear blue sky; at the swirling white clouds lining the edge of the world; at the sun, hiding behind a giant white nimbus; at the horizon, where a hawk swooped gracefully after its shadow. She closed her eyes and inhaled the sweet scent of the fresh, fresh air.
And she looked down at Harry being carried off by Hagrid.
Harry, bloody and battered, being carried away from her.
From her.
She looked at Dean again, her eyes clearer than ever. "I can't," she whispered. "I have to go…"
"What? No! Potter just got…" His eyes narrowed.
"Yes. That's why I have to…" she began to pull away from him.
"But… but…" he sputtered.
"You play on, Dean," she said softly. "You be Seeker."
"But…"
She flew off. "It's just a game, Dean," she called over her shoulder. Just a game. She couldn't play on. She had to see him. She had to make sure that he was… that he was…
It was just a game.
And she had a choice… all the choices in the world.
She landed outside the castle without her customary grace, but she didn't care. She just had to get to him. As she ran through the courtyard, a thousand thoughts sped through her mind. He had carried her through here… all by himself… when she was lying unconscious. He had cradled her so close to his heart… protecting her… shielding her.
She had to get to him.
Finally, she reached the hospital wing. Her chest heaved with the effort of running up all those stairs… but she had to get to him. Her heart beat hard against her chest, and she heard every pulse, every pounding of it.
He was there, through those doors, waiting for her.
She threw open the doors and stormed in, heedless of Madam Pomfrey's indignant protests.
Here, right here, was the bed she had walked into that night when he visited her. And here, here was the spot where he picked her up and drew her close… refusing to let her go… refusing to let her harm herself.
And here… here was where she promised that she would save him; a promise that she did not keep.
She couldn't help it… she began to cry.
As tears streamed down her face, she saw Harry lying in the bed beside Ron's, who was out like a light. Harry's face was hidden behind the great bulk of Hagrid, who was standing by the top of the bed. Madam Pomfrey, after tutting angrily at Ginny, bent over and ministered to his head. Hermione was standing at the foot of the bed, her face ashen with fear.
"Harry," Ginny whispered. Was he alright? Was he going to be okay? He had never gotten hit in the head with a Bludger before… a watermelon, yes, but not a Bludger. Was he going to be okay? Will he recover?
"Harry!" She ran towards them.
Hermione cut her off, grabbing her arm. "No Ginny, let Madam Pomfrey…"
"No!" She tried to shove Hermione away. She had to get to him. She had to see. She had to make sure. She had to…
"Ginny!" Hermione clung to her desperately. "Ginny, no! We have to wait outside so Madam Pom…"
"NO!" She shrieked. She shoved Hermione violently away, barely aware of her falling to the floor. She had to go to him… She had to…
She couldn't breathe… she couldn't…
And then a giant arm slung around her waist, and she was hoisted into the air… away from him… away from her Harry.
"No," she screamed. "No! Put me down! Put me down!" She was vaguely aware that it was Hagrid who was carrying her.
"Now, Ginny," his gruff voice came. "We have to…"
"NO!" She pounded away at his meaty arm with a small fist. "Put me down! I have to…"
But Hagrid slung her over his shoulder and carried her purposefully out of the room. "No! Let me down!" she cried.
And he did… he gently dropped her to the floor outside and closed the door so she couldn't go in. As she picked herself up to try to throw herself at the door, Hagrid stopped her gently with one giant hand.
"Listen Ginny," he said soothingly. "You have ta let Madam Pomfrey do her thing."
She tried to shove him as she did to Hermione, but she couldn't. She couldn't even budge him. She looked up at him, tears burning in her eyes. "Why are you doing this? I have to…"
"No Ginny. If I let ya in there, yer gonna do more harm than good, I think. Now, Madam Pomfrey is the best there is. You just let her…"
Ginny opened her mouth to argue some more, but she could see that there was no point. She sank to her knees in despair, there, in the cold, cold hallway, and buried her face into her hands. Her soul burned.
Hagrid patted her awkwardly on the head and slipped back into the room, muttering something incomprehensible, and Hermione joined Ginny on the floor.
"Ginny," she said softly.
"Go away."
"Ginny…"
"Go away!"
She could not stop crying! What was wrong with her? What if Harry saw her like this… what would he think?
But why did she care what he thought anyway? She was… she was with Dean…
Right?
"Ginny," Hermione said more forcefully.
Ginny looked up. Through her tears, she saw Hermione's face, strong and bold, looking at her concernedly. "He's going to be okay. It wasn't much of a hit. The Bludger just kinda… glanced off of…"
"But what if it didn't?" Ginny said suddenly, and irrationally, angry. "What if it wasn't just a small hit? What if…"
She sniffed.
"What if something worse happened?"
Hermione stayed silent.
"What if… what if he died? What would I do…"?
She looked up at Hermione. "Tell me… what would I do?" she whispered.
Just then, the door to the hospital opened, and Hagrid stepped out. He looked down at the two girls and scratched his head. "I… er… I have ta go to the Headmaster. I have ta tell him what happened. Madam Pomfrey said you can go in now…"
He bent down and stared Ginny right in the eye. "He's okay Ginny…"
She jumped past him and shoved through the door. She ran frantically for the bed where Harry was, feeling both emotionally and physically drained.
And then she was beside him, and the tears started again.
He was lying back in the bed, his face ashen and still as death. The wound on his forehead was closed now, leaving only a small purple bruise as a reminder of what had happened. His breathing was shallow, but regular, and he looked quite at peace.
Her voice hitched in her throat. There was so much she wanted to say… but all she could do was repeat his name over and over and over again, her voice no louder than a soft whisper. She was dimly aware of Hermione walking up to her… but she didn't care. All she could care about was that Harry was safe.
He was safe.
She reached out and gently cupped his face, her tears copiously flowing now. She felt that familiar warmth creep up her neck and, staring at him, she felt that warmth penetrate her soul.
What was she doing? Why was she so affected by this?
She sniffed.
He almost died. He almost died. But that was nothing new, was it? He had 'almost died' before. But he was The Boy Who Lived. He would always almost die… and then live.
Wouldn't he?
A cold feeling crept up on her then.
Wouldn't he?
No… no… someday… someday something would happen that nobody could save him from. Someday he wouldn't be able to save himself.
What would she do then?
What would she do? What? What? What?
She jerked her hand away from his still face and ran it through her ragged hair.
What would she do? What would she do?
She gripped the end of her hair and pulled at it frantically. She couldn't handle it… she couldn't…
This is how he would look like when he died.
Her eyes widened. She couldn't breathe. She had to… she had to…
She felt a hand, her own, try to scratch at her face.
"Ginny," Hermione said sharply. "Ginny… please… stop… "
She began to look around frantically. Everything was closing in around her. She couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe, surely. He was dying. The walls were closing in. She was dying. He was dying. She was dying. He was…
"Ha… Ha… Harry…" Her voice croaked with the strain of having to survive. She had to save him. She had to save herself. She had to go. She had to leave. She had to live. He had to live…
"Ginny!" Hermione shouted at her, spinning her around to face her. "Focus, Ginny! You're alright…"
She began to slowly shake her head. No… no… she wasn't… he wasn't… she…
She tugged her hair some more. No… no…
Hermione pulled her close and wrapped her arms frantically around her. "Ginny, you're scaring me. This isn't you… come back to me… please… please… be strong… what's wrong…?"
No. She couldn't tell her. Hermione wouldn't understand. Nobody could. How could they…? She needed to… to… to…
She tried to scream…
She couldn't…
No…
And then Harry moaned.
"Ginny," he said. His voice was soft… so soft.
Ginny stood still. His voice was so pure. So radiant. It pierced through the fog clouding her mind. That one word… that one tiny word, filled her soul. Suddenly, she felt the madness leave her slowly… ever so slowly…
He had called her.
Her breaths still came in hitches, but she bent over him and gently took his hand. What… what had happened to her…?
"Harry…"
But he was gone again. He could not hear her.
A single tear splashed onto his cheek. She wiped at it gently, and then viciously wiped her eyes. What had come over her?
She closed her eyes. She felt the savage beating of her heart pound away at her. Shhhh… it was okay… no more… shhh…. She cleared her mind of all thoughts, searching and yearning for that one moment of utter peace. It was there, just through the red fog of her fear. There…
"Harry…"
Her breathing slowed and her tears stopped.
Shhhh…
Breathe…
A cool current of air touched her face, bringing with it the calming scent of the trees and the lake and the grass and the sky…
Breathe…
She smiled.
She stood up and looked out the window. How long had she been here? It seemed to already be late afternoon…
"Ginny," Hermione said uncertainly. When Ginny turned to her, she was devastated to see the fear etched in Hermione's face. "Are you…?"
Ginny could not trust herself to speak again, so she hugged her best friend. She breathed deeply into Hermione's shoulders, feeling ashamed and afraid. That had never happened to her before. And it scared her.
What happened?
And then she knew that there was something seriously wrong with her. She would have to figure out what it was… and destroy it.
She had to.
As she felt herself calming down, she pulled back from Hermione and stared into her eyes.
"Thank you," she said softly.
"Ginny, what…?"
"Ginny? 'Ermynee?" A groggy voice said all of a sudden. "Izzat you?"
Oh god. Ron had woken up. No… she wasn't ready for him to see her like this… she had to…
"Oh, hi Ron," she said. And to her surprise, her voice was remarkably clear and steady. "Harry had an accident."
Ron gazed at the two girls in calm befuddlement. "Uh… what?"
Ginny knew she had to leave. She could not face another day… another second feeling like this. She had to solve herself. There was no other way.
"Ummm… yeah Ron, Quidditch accident. Anyway… uh…"
Distract him.
"Uh… do you know why Harry was late for Quidditch? He almost missed the start of the match!"
At the mere mention of the word Quidditch, Ron's eyes suddenly sharpened. "Wait," he said. "He's captain! Why would he be late?"
"You figure it out Ron. You're his best mate. Then maybe, uh, you can tell me later. Okay? Bye!"
She had to get out.
And then, she knew what she had to do.
She ran down the hall, but this time not in fear or in terror. She ran with purpose… with conviction. She guessed that the Quidditch match had ended by now and that all the brooms were safely returned to the broom-shed.
Fine.
She ran down to the broom-shed, trying desperately to avoid contact with anyone… especially Dean. She couldn't handle being with anyone right now. She had to sort herself out, and the only one who could help her with that was… well… her.
She finally reached the broom-shed as the afternoon sun started to bid her goodnight. In the pale orange light, she found the door to the shed locked by a massive grey padlock. No problem.
Of course it was quite easy to open the lock, a simple "alohamora" would have her inside the shed in an instant. But there was something incredibly satisfying about getting her hands dirty and doing it herself.
She reached into the pocket of her Quidditch robe and drew out 2 thin silver wires. She smirked down at them as they twinkled in the light. These two wires, which she carried around with her wherever she went, had served her well for years.
When she opened the door, she quickly picked out her old broomstick. It was there, propped up under the window, just waiting for her.
Flying. Flying was the solution. She grabbed at the broomstick, feeling the reassuring power that flowed through it. She smiled slightly. It would do.
But as she turned to close the shed door, she saw something glinting in the fading sunlight. It was there… in the back… and she felt draw to it somehow. She squinted in the darkness. Under a long canvas tarp, she could see the barest hint of a broomstick handle, shinier and more elegant than all the others. And she knew what it was: Harry's Firebolt.
She looked down at her battered Clean Sweep. This old broom had served her well for a long time now. She remembered the first time she stole a ride on it… all those years ago. It had belonged to her brother Charlie then, and he had forbidden her from riding it the moment he got it.
But, of course, that only served to provoke her.
She smiled as she remembered her first flight… how terrifying and exhilarating it was. She would never forget it.
And at the time, this broom was the best that they could buy. It wasn't a spectacular broom, but it was great. And so it passed from Charlie to Bill to Percy… and now to her. She caressed it lovingly… and was suddenly hit by a melancholy that was surprising in its intensity.
This would never be hers… not really. It carried too much in it… too much history, to much emotion…
Her eyes widened.
Too much expectation.
She looked hard at the outline of the Firebolt.
And the first part of the puzzle clicked in her head.
Expectations.
She looked down again at the Clean Sweep. When Charlie had given it to Bill, and when Bill had given it to Percy, and when Percy had given it to her, they all said the same thing: Make me proud.
Expectations.
She looked down at her broom one last time.
Make me proud…
She slowly let her Clean Sweep drop to the floor, closing her eyes as a cloud of dust rose up from the impact. And she felt something strange… something warm begin to grow inside of her. She did not know what it meant, but, somehow, letting go of the broom started something… unexpected.
Her eyes slid toward the shiny red Firebolt handle.
Just this once… she was going to return it… but…
She smiled to herself.
Just this once.
She strode over to Harry's Firebolt and grasped it purposefully. She threw off the tarp and gazed down lovingly at it, taking in its smooth lines and powerful figure. She ran her hands along it, feeling it humming in anticipation.
Just this once.
And she took it up gently, that warm glow inside her feeding her with a blazing feeling of rightness.
What was this feeling?
She took the broom outside and mounted it. The air was crisp and cool now as the heat of the day began to leave amidst swirling breezes. The light was fading from the sky, leaving behind a lingering sense of something ending… and perhaps something beginning.
With a quick kick off, she soared into the air, her hair whipping across her face in a joyous dance of freedom. The broom was faster than what she was used to, but it was nothing she couldn't handle. It responded instantly to her every whim, turning first one way, then the other, and she felt that thing inside her responding as well. And as she flipped and danced through the air, her mind filled with joy and her heart lightened until she felt that she could leave everything behind… forever.
This was freedom.
When she tired of flying, she perched lightly on the center Quidditch goal hoop. It was only fitting, she supposed, that the battle to fix herself would take place on the pitch. And so she sat down in the middle of the hoop and laid Harry's Firebolt gently on her lap. She stared out at the fading sun. The cool wind that summons the night caressed her cheek gently, and she smiled as she imagined that, maybe, it would be lovely to have Harry caress her this way.
A sad understanding came over her then as she stared out over the horizon.
She loved Harry. There was no denying that now. She had loved him from the moment he gazed at her with his blazing green eyes, holding aloft that Golden Snitch. She supposed that was why she took up Quidditch in the first place… because he did. From that moment, she knew what it was like to love someone so deeply, that it could hurt so much in so many ways.
The chief pain over the years was that he didn't love her back. She had longed for him to notice her… but he never did in that way.
She tucked an errant lock of red hair behind her ear and sighed. Now, of course, she knew that he felt more or less the same way about her. The gift of the pendant showed that well enough. So, the question now was, why did she not act upon it?
She pulled out the Veela pendant and stared at it. The swirling mist turned a deep azure and kept deepening until it was almost midnight blue.
There was something holding her back with him…. Something that both made her keep her distance from him and hate him for what he did.
But why was she so angry? Why did she hate him as much as she loved him? Why was it that, when she saw him, she had the impulse to both kiss him as hard as she could and kick him as far as she could?
And what was making her so scared of him… of herself… of them? Why did she keep running? Why was she always running?
Too many questions… not enough answers.
She looked back at Hogwarts, with its stone ramparts and shimmering lights. As the sun set, it cast long shadows across the castle, layering it in mystery and secrets. And yet, it never lost that sense of warmth or that sense of hearth. It was like home now… comforting… soothing.
It was at this point that she knew that she could go back there right now and avoid all this confusion of fixing herself. She could go back there right now, and pretend to be a Ginny who was so strong and so sure of herself that nothing could affect her. She could run from her troubles… run from her fear… and run from herself.
She turned away and smiled sadly.
No… she was through running. That Ginny wasn't strong at all, was she? No… if she wanted strength, if she wanted assurance, she would have to fix herself now… here. Then maybe, after she did… maybe she could…
And the simple truth of things slammed into her so hard that she almost fell off the hoop.
After she fixed herself, she could go to Harry.
She covered her mouth with the back of her hand as she began to laugh. Of course… she was being so stupid! That's what was keeping her from Harry! She knew his goodness and his rightness. She had been watching him for so long that she knew what a wonderful person he was. How could she get together with him when she was such a mess? She supposed that there was one small part of her that knew that there was something the matter with her… something deep and primal… and unless she fixed it, she wouldn't allow herself to be with him.
He was such a great man that it would be unfair to present him with such a mess. He deserved better than she… and she could be better.
She looked down at the pendant again and watched it turn a bright yellow.
Of course. All she had to do was fix herself.
She frowned. But then… why did he get her so mad? If she was just feeling inferior… why did the gift of the pendant make her so mad that she had slapped him and punched him over and over? What set her on edge? Feeling inferior was a part of it, yes, but surely there was something else…
She raised her fingers to her lips and began biting her nails.
Okay… the pendant was meant to give her certainty. It would tell her, without fail, who her one true love was. You couldn't get more certain than that. Of course, it wasn't like she needed the pendant to know that she didn't love Dean. She knew it wasn't real… just like she knew her feelings for Harry were.
Dean. Perhaps the secret lay with him. She allowed herself to get together with him but wouldn't allow herself to be with Harry. Why? It wasn't just that she was a mess… there was something more…
Okay. Look at it logically. That's what Hermione would do. Okay. Dean. Why did she get together with Dean? Sure, he was handsome… she was attracted to him a little… but what else? What made him different from Harry that she was able to choose him?
He was tall, dark, handsome, smart enough, kind enough… but he was nothing special was he? Why wasn't he? What made him 'not a special' as Harry? Harry was also kind and handsome and smart and brave…
Brave. He was brave. Could that be it?
And then Ginny thought back to Harry lying cold and ashen on the hospital bed. Harry… almost dead. She thought back to him battling the basilisk, falling off the broom, succumbing to dementors… and nearly dying at the hands of Lord Voldemort. He did all these things because he so often found himself in the role of Hero… an agent of light and order facing off against the forces of darkness and evil. And he did these things willingly, sometimes seeking them out himself. He was a hero. He was brave.
And she wasn't.
She realized that she would gladly do all of those things herself. If she had to, she would face dementors and basilisks and bludgers and spiders and all the Voldemorts in the world if it would bring a better world about. She would let herself die if it meant her loved ones could survive… just as Harry would do.
But she couldn't face a world without Harry Potter.
She felt something hot slide down her cheek. She hadn't realized she was crying.
Perhaps if she wasn't in love with him… perhaps if she didn't feel so much for him… perhaps then she could deal with his death. Perhaps then she would not hurt so much when he died. Because, no matter how hard he tried… he would die. Someday, some spell is going to fail him. Someday, some Dementor is going to kill him. Someday, Lord Voldemort might tear him apart.
If she didn't love him… perhaps she could handle that and move on.
Dean would never do anything like that. Dean was safe and bland. He wasn't a hero… and he never would be. Perhaps if she could force herself to love him, even a little, then she could have control over her life. If she died then… who cared right? Dean would find someone else. But if she got together with Harry and Harry died? How could she handle that? All the control she had over her life would be gone… shattered…
Control. That was it, wasn't it?
The sun winked out over the horizon and, slowly, the stars came out and blanketed the world in their presence. The moon hung low and full, filling the night with a luminous glow that cast everything in an ethereal beauty.
Control. She needed it.
The pendant turned a deep green as she pondered the thought for a moment, and realized that she was getting to the truth of the matter at long last.
Control. She had never truly had it… and she was desperately searching for it… holding on to every illusion of control she could find.
She was the youngest daughter of a family full of accomplishments. Head boys, seekers, prefects, these roles filled her world ever since she was a child. She knew that the burden of expectation was upon her… and there were so many of them to fill. And so, growing up, she felt that she never had control over her life… true control… because the real force controlling her life was expectation; she had to do this, she had to do that, she had to fulfill this, she had to accomplish that…
How could she live like that?
She did not know it, but she had been fighting a battle with herself for so long now… a battle to control the outcome of her life, to control the direction of her path, to control the way she felt and thought about things.
Control. In trying to control so many expectations and aspirations, she never really had any control over anything, did she?
And then there was Harry, with his purity of soul and his ignorance of the world. Here was a boy who knew nothing of his destiny… nothing of his path. He chose his own. He controlled his life. He did not know anything… and so he chose to learn. He wasn't born a hero… he chose to be. He had control. And she loved him for it.
She smiled sadly. That's why she was angry with him, wasn't it? Control. She feared losing it… for in losing it, she might lose herself. How ironic it was that she never really had control in the first place?
She realized now that that was the source of her fears… of her terror. She remembered her first year in Hogwarts, the year of the Chamber of Secrets. Who had opened it? Her. Who had set loose the Basilisk on her friends? Her. Who had almost gotten Harry killed? Her.
And why? All because her actions weren't her own. Her actions, her thoughts, her talents, her memories… her self… all were usurped by that hideous presence in her mind… that taunting malevolent evil that was Tom Riddle. That was the price of losing control. That was the perfect example of it. If it wasn't for Harry…
The night was cold now, and she wrapped her robes tighter around herself. From the castle, she could her sounds of laughter and smell the succulent scent of roast pork. From beyond the Quiiditch pitch, from the forbidden forest that lined the grounds, came the sounds of birds as the fluttered, bats as they screeched, and centaurs as they pranced. The world was so alive around her.
If it wasn't for Harry she would have lost herself forever. And so, she had spent her life recovering from the Chamber by trying to control it so strictly, that nothing could affect it. But in doing that, in running from her fear, in running from her demons, in running from her emotions, she was losing herself… and she was losing the happiness that she so desperately sought.
Dean was the safe choice, and Harry was the wild card. Over the past year, starting with the summer, she had felt herself falling for Harry again, that secret part of humanity that craves happiness awoke within her, seeking a way to find the happiness that life with Harry promised. But that other side of her, that ugly fearful side, fought it. Scared by the uncertainty that Harry promised, she kissed Dean and chose him… and refused to let go of the certainty that Dean promised… the safety… the control.
And that was why she hated Harry… that was why she got so angry with him when he gave her the pendant. For the pendant, in all its truth and certainty, would have forced her to see that the choice she had made… the choice that promised control and certainty… was completely and utterly wrong.
She smiled. That was the joke wasn't it? That was that big cosmic practical joke that life had been playing on her since the Chamber. Ever since Riddle had taken her, she tried to live her life exercising as much control as she could… and in the end, she wasn't in control at all. In the end, she was the one being controlled… controlled by fear, controlled by the burden of expectations, controlled by selfishness, and controlled by ignorance.
And Harry, in offering her the pendant, had saved her again.
She swallowed and closed her eyes against the ever rising wind. She tucked the Veela pendant, now a bright orange, back into her robes. Yes, he had saved her. She was so angry with him for forcing the truth upon her, but now that she could see, now that her blinders of expectation and fear were being lifted… she couldn't be angry with him one bit.
For she understood now that control over what life gives you is false. There's no such thing. Life is wonderfully chaotic and uncontrollable, and those who seek to control it only lose themselves. No, control exists as a force coming from within you over the choices you make. That's where your control lies. You cannot control when the rain will fall on you… but you can control your decision to open an umbrella.
She opened her eyes and felt her heart begin to beat faster.
She couldn't control how others saw her… but she could control how she could feed those perceptions.
She stood up. The stars twinkled back at her as she gazed at them, heavenly in their appearance, eternal in their hope.
She couldn't control what people expected of her… but she could control how she met them.
Smiling a smile of radiant joy, she sat on the Firebolt. It pulsed with potential, powerful in its possibilities.
She couldn't control who she fell in love with… but she could control who she chose to be with.
She kicked off lightly from the hoop and soared toward the castle. It hid in its shadows, blanketing its secrets in the darkness of its mysteries.
She couldn't control when Harry would die… but she could control how she would spend her life with him.
As she stowed the Firebolt away in the broom-shed, she couldn't help but smile when she saw the bright golden ring that was attached to the bristles of the broom: a vibration dampener, supposedly to make the ride more comfortable. He was using it… her gift to him after she was so mean about Fleur. Somehow, the thought made her feel quite good.
She bent down and quietly picked up her fallen Clean Sweep. It was a good broom… not the newest, not the fastest, and still containing infinite expectations. But she loved it. She put it back gently in its place and smiled. Somehow… something was different. She felt lighter as she looked at it… as if the burden of those expectations were just… no more.
After squeezing the handle for just a moment, she strode out the door and up the pathway to the castle. There was something different about her… something new. She looked back at the Quidditch pitch behind her. She felt as if she were leaving a part off herself there in the goal post… a part of her that was dragging her entire life down into a pit of ruin.
Good riddance.
This was a new Ginny Weasley… a powerful Ginny Weasley. This was a renewed Ginny Weasley, filled with hope that somewhere there was a life she could live without sorrow or without fear. This was a Ginny Weasley who had a newfound control over her life. This was a Ginny Weasley who knew she had choices. This was a Ginny Weasley who could forget about Tom Riddle and expectations and death. All the possibilities were open to her now…
All she had to do was take them.
And take them she did.
As time passed through the halls of Hogwarts, so did this new Ginny. Where before people always saw her as feisty and strong, now they KNEW, without a doubt, that beneath her fiery exterior lay a Ginny who was stronger and more certain than ever before. She flitted through the halls on waves of choice, delighting in her newfound abilities and perceptions.
This was a happy Ginny… and a Ginny in love.
And as she practiced living her life under these new perceptions, it dawned on Ginny that she had yet to make that one final and ultimate act that would lead to her freedom from her old self. She had to break up with Dean and… and…
But still she couldn't. She had to keep building herself… keep learning.
And so she did some more. And as her happiness level grew, it became plain to see that her relationship with Dean was failing, falling under the unbearable weight of truth. Their breakup was inevitable.
And, one day, on the day that Harry Potter passed between Dean and Ginny (which she knew on some level), Ginny knew that the time had come. When she had asked Harry during Christmas what was happening to them, he had said they were growing up.
Well, now it was time to do exactly that.
And so, amidst the clutter of the Gryffindor common room, in sight of Hermione and Ron and Lavender and Cormac and Colin Creevey, Ginny Weasley unfettered the tethers of her soul and allowed her consciousness and her heart to accept the truth of life and happiness. And in the warm light of the fire, she broke up with Dean Thomas. There were no tears, no shouts, not fights… just the warm certainty of a choice being made rightly and properly.
And later that night, as she drifted off to sleep basking in the glow of her righteousness, she fished around in her nightstand for what she had hidden so very long ago. There, in the bottom, right next to a stolen bag of chocolate (for Ron didn't need to get any fatter, right?), she found what she was looking for: that small, purple wrapped birthday gift Harry had given her.
She smiled as she unwrapped it, lovingly peeling off the clumsy paper, and gasped as a bright silver watch tumbled out of the box. It wasn't a normal watch, for there were no numbers or lines on its face. The note accompanying it, in Harry's quite messy writing, said only one thing: say a name… any name.
She had an idea as to what it would do.
"Harry Potter," she whispered. In the dark shadows of her canopied bed, she smiled as the watch face was overcome by a swirling grey mist. And then the mist parted, and she was staring at the beautiful face of the Boy Who She Loved. In the background, she could see that he was sitting in a warm wooden house, and she thought she could see the shape of Horace Slughorn lurking. Under the picture, two words flashed at her: Hagrid's House.
She giggled.
And as she gently lay her head on her soft, soft pillow, she smiled and cupped the watch in her hands. She stared lovingly into Harry's face as he talked and laughed.
"Harry," she whispered.
And so she drifted off to sleep, clinging to the image of his emerald eyes and raven hair. And as she entered the world made of dreams and hopes, she knew that she would have to ask him out someday… she knew that she would have to tell him how she felt for him.
Maybe…
She yawned. In the watch, his eyes sparkled.
Maybe…
Her eyes closed, and her heart pulsed.
Maybe… after the Quidditch match.
Maybe then.
And so she slept, with a quiet soul and a hopeful heart. And amidst her dreams of Quaffles and broomsticks, Ginny Weasley had one thought repeating over and over and over again.
She was whole.
And she had hope.
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A/N: Hope you guys enjoyed… now that finals are over, I should be able to write more regularly. Expect the next chapter in a few days hopefully. I may have to spend some time recovering…
P.s. if you guys remember your HBP timeline, you should be able to guess what's coming next…