It's all about identity,
Construction of a family
Of difference and simile,
What I give you and you give me.
I admit the tomb is a bit soothing with its soft appearance and pearl colored stone. Knowing that my old headmaster lay there, succumbed to an eternity of sleep, is not. My thoughts surprise me because I have never really thought of death as a horrible thing. Death is inevitable. The next step in life.
However, I had never pictured this to be the way Dumbledore would leave us. I always imagined a grand exit—not grand as in big, but grand as in beautiful. In my vision, Albus Dumbledore would be in his own bed, wearing his favorite socks, and surrounded by his closest peers. He would slip away into wherever death led him, peaceful and content.
I pictured a death so different from his life. He deserved it: a quiet and serene departure.
I stealthily slip past the crowd and walk around to the side of the large tomb. No one is over here, and that is exactly what I want. To be alone.
Not like Harry. Never like Harry. I know better than to ever believe that isolation is ever a cure.
My throat catches as my gaze instinctively searched for his raven colored hair. Traitor, my heart tells my mind.
I promised myself I wouldn't think of him. The moment he walked away, I refused to dwell in my own selfish thoughts. This was Dumbledore's Day, not "Mourn-Poor-Ginny-Who-Just-Got-Dumped Day."
Which is another problem. Pride is a common characteristic in the Weasley Family. In fact, I own a lot of it. I am proud of myself for working my way out of the rut I dug when I was 10 (aka: Harry Potter Groupie Number 1). No longer am I Ginny Weasley: Outsider, younger sister of the Twins or Ron.
I'm not even considered Harry Potter's girlfriend. Not that I could be now anyway. He is too busy being noble.
It's all about identity
A strength and solidarity,
A dazed, confused desire to find
A place and time in history.
Shaking my head, I take a step close enough to Dumbledore's grave to delicately finger the walls. Against my will, tears push their way to the front of my eyes. I let myself become blind for a moment before I blink, sending them to their downfall.
Blindness. Sometimes, I lay awake at night wishing I were still a kid. You know what they say, "Ignorance is bliss." I definitely do not feel that way now.
If knowing the hard facts—and I mean everything from good to dirty—means being able to help, to save a life, then I would rather be exposed to the horrors of the world than remain a child in the dark. I just wish my mother could see that.
Dumbledore did. He never kept me in the dark when it really mattered. Of course, he remained respectful to my mother's wishes until the end, but he never disregarded me. He had kept no secret from me about my year with Tom Riddle.
"Thank you," I meant to whisper, but it came out more as a croak, "Thank you, Dumbledore, for everything."
I wish he could hear me. I'd like to believe that he is watching over me right now with that sometimes-irritating twinkle in his eye.
I lean my forehead onto the wall of the tomb; the cold hard stone is surprisingly refreshing, contrasting to the warm weather and oppressive emotions that I can't seem to get rid of.
"Ginny?" I hear a soft voice call from behind.
"Yes, mum?" I reply without turning around. I don't think I can face her just yet. It's been so long since someone has seen me lose my composure, and I am not quite ready to break the tough guise even for her.
"It's time to leave, dear," I feel a hand rest on my shoulder and give a light squeeze. I sigh and wearily turn around, making sure to give her a small smile to reassure her that I am okay. I am not going to fall into depression and keep it to myself like I did during first year.
I hate that I have to do that.
It's all about identity,
This tribal sense of dignity,
Of tolerance and unity,
Of prejudice and bigotry.
My mother is not a fool, and immediately asks, "What's the matter, Ginny?"
Really, mother. What a stupid question. Dumbledore, the greatest wizard in the world, was murdered, Bill is half of a werewolf, Psychotic Phlegm is going to be my sister-in-law, I slaved away for the passed year studying for my OWLS and didn't even get to take them (yes, I know this is a bit random and I will be thanking me lucky stars later for the extension, but really…), we are now fully at war, I started my period this morning, and my boyfriend whom I both unwillingly and then willingly fallen for just dumped me because he thinks I'll be safer that way.
Life just can't get any better.
She's still staring at me, concern evident in her tired eyes. With this revelation, I immediately feel guilty for everything I've done to her in the last couple of years. Before, I was naïve and was supposed to act childishly. I need to be mature and help her with everything she needs now that the war has officially begun. I am proud to have Molly Weasley as my mother. She has given so much of not only herself (over 110 percent) but even sacrificed her family to the Order as well. It's common knowledge that she would not have been able to stop any of my brothers (nor my father) from aiding the Order, but she could have put up more of a fight.
However, just because I've had this revelation does not mean I am going to do what Harry wants me to and hide away from danger. I doubt that I could anyway.
Tom already knows who I am, and I am sure that my past will come to haunt me in the future when Voldemort remembers just what a great asset I was to him before even if Harry's feelings for me (which if he still has them I am sure Voldemort will be able to tell and this torture of not being with him would be for naught) have nothing to do with it. I won't say that there isn't a possibility that I might be dead in the next three years—thus is life while at war.
I don't think Harry quite understands this, but I will humor him. He has a problem with feeling guilty about everything even though the majority of events are not his fault. I know that he would die of remorse if anything ever happened to Ron or me because we are one: the closest to him and two: part of the family that has practically adopted him.
But I sure as hell won't go down without a fight, nor will I sit back and watch the show. Harry must not know me as well as I thought if he believes that. I'll be damned if I am forced to watch The Daily Prophet fly in every morning with the new death toll number and do nothing about it. Even Mum won't be doing that, I'm sure, and she is not a fighter.
"Ginny?" My mum's voice sounds strained. Again, I shake my head to clear my thoughts.
"Sorry, Mum, I was miles away," I pause and gather my self-control to answer her, "Harry just broke up with me."
Without delay she wraps me in her affectionate embrace. "Oh, Ginny. I'm so sorry."
She pulls away in order to see my eyes and cups my cheek with her soft hands. "How are you?"
I bite my lip, unsure of how to answer. Am I supposed to say that I understand his reasoning therefore I'm okay? Should I tell the truth and say I am dying inside and literally feel my spirit fading away? Would I be weak to admit that I, Ginerva Molly Weasley, am wounded because of a boy's rejection?
It has never happened before, not even when I had my stalker-ish crush on Harry and he failed to notice me. What is the matter with me?
It's all about identity
Or how the sheer majority
Impose a predetermined badge
And wait to judge you silently.
"To be honest, Mum? I'm a little upset," I choke on a half sob, half laugh. It seems that my mind and my heart can't agree on anything today. My mind thinks it's funny that I seem to reply in understatements and my heart is dangling from the edge of a seaside cliff.
Mum could only smile wistfully at that comment. She knows that I trying my hardest to save a bit of my dignity. Now is not the time to have a breakdown. Her thumb strokes my cheekbone. "Come, dear. It's time to pack and head to the station. We'll talk about this later tonight when everyone's in bed. Now where is that brother of yours?"
"I think he's talking to Harry by the lake. I saw him and Hermione making their way in that direction earlier." I pause then reach for her arm. "Mum, everything's going to be fine, you know."
"Whatever do you mean?" My mother looks puzzled.
It's all about identity
A web of who we'd like to be,
Let's cut and paste our memory:
A dark and timeless industry.
"I mean, me. I'm going to be all right." I don't really know why I feel the need to express this to her. Maybe I'm talking to myself and saying it out loud to another being will help me believe that everything will truly be okay. Harry, Ron, and Hermione will be all right.My family will be all right.I will be all right. This war cannot break us or steal our identities just because it exists.
"I know, dear. You always have been a strong one. My fireball." Mum winks at me. "I expect to see you thirty minutes with your bags ready to go."
I smile gratefully as Mum disappears behind the corner of the tomb. I begin to follow but turn around abruptly, an irresistible last minute confession. "Again I thank you, Dumbledore, for all you've done for my family…and Harry. You were truly a great man—one no one will ever forget." I laugh as an idea pops into my head. "And I think I will get you some socks. Flowers really aren't your style."
And as I walk away, I can almost hear a chuckle resounding from the tomb that holds the body of my great headmaster. Though I know his spirit is not there...no such thing could ever contain one such as Dumbledore's...I take comfort in the thought that he is always around, listening, guiding, and watching as I grow and discover my own place in this life.
It's all about identity,
A retrospective odyssey,
But where I live and who I meet
Are stronger in defining me.
AN: Thanks for reading my little drabble. I hope you liked it. This is a one shot basically describing how I think Ginny would feel towards the confusion, the break up, and Dumbledore. I know I didn't do justice on a tribute to Dumbledore, but I don't think Rowling's Ginny would have used a lot of words to react. We've seen Ginny grow into an outgoing, fiery, and lovely girl in Harry's eyes, but I think that there are more sides than just what Harry sees. Obviously, she is going to have her contemplative moments. This is one of them.
Disclaimer:
The title Hora and the lyrics are from a London band called Oi Va Voi. They are really good, and I recommend listening to them:)
Identity seems to be a huge issue in the Harry Potter books, so this song jumped out at me when I first heard it.
Hora, according to a few dictionaries, means a circular dance.
I thought this was clever, to join the word Hora and a song about identities since everyone seems to dance around their identities quite often throughout life.
Please read and review! I'd like to hear your thoughts on how to create a better scene.
rembrandt