Disclaimer: I own nothing. Okay, maybe the crappy plot.
A/N: Do not kill me. As I have said before, I like writing short thingies. Eventually I will become good at writing them. Don't kill me, seriously. I wrote this because the damn plot bunny bit me on the way home from school.
A heads-up. The whole layout of the fic may seem weird to you, but I'm trying to be coherent; I'm trying my damnedest. It goes in order of the school year, like first summer, autumn, winter, spring, and then summer again. It's a five-chapter type thing. No more, no less.
Once again, before HBP, I figure around Ginny's 3rd/4th year. I really like that time period.
Summer. That time when it's too hot to do anything, and I'm stripped down to my underwear, lying down on my bed alone. It's when the empty roads kick up long stretches of red-brown dust every time a slight breeze blows through, and the dirt floats, still and clogging, for a few minutes until settling down again for the next wind.
The skies are cloudless, the color of listless, washed-out blue, and it stretches on and over that uncertain horizon, swallowing the rest of existence whole. The air is stagnant and dry, dry enough to feel like cotton in my mouth when I breathe in, and the unforgiving sun beats down on us.
Everyone and everything's too lazy to move, to do a single damn thing. The days begin early, with a brief sunrise, and then it's all bright sunlight from there, dragging its way through the mornings, the afternoons, and finally settling down in the evenings, only to crash its way into Night's territory, refusing to set until about 9 P.M.
It also means no school. Summer brings the hope of a surprise visit from Harry or Hermione, maybe even both. It means that Mum makes a pitcher of fresh, tart lemonade everyday, seemingly for no reason at all just because she can. It's when most of my brothers come home, and there's no end to the chaos and cacophony that erupts in our Burrow, especially the kitchen.
They all run rampant out in the garden, chasing gnomes, playing quidditch, and doing whatever boys do, getting mud and grime on their faces, their hands, and their clothes. It's everywhere. It sticks and leaves marks on whatever they touch, and Mum raises hell as she finds her once nice, tidy house messy and dirtied, almost beyond help because that's a lot of grubby brothers to clean up after.
During summer, the days crawl, and the nights are when I become active and awake. The dryness is replaced by a crisp, sharp scent of dew lacing the grass and bushes. The stars appear for me, and they spread out endlessly across as far they dare, as far as I can hold it all in. The moon is often absent, but her presence not much missed. I go outside and lie down on the grass, looking up to gaze, to breathe, to live. More times than not, I end up falling asleep under the sky.
But sometimes, it gets too dry and too silent, and that's when it rains. Briefly, in a torrent, a light sprinkle, with thunder and lightning, whichever way possible. At anytime of the day, ranging from a few minutes to the rest of the day. The water makes the roads muddy and sluggish, soaking the atmosphere with humidity, and keeping me inside. Most of the time. Occasionally, I'll go out with Ron, running, laughing, and screaming until I'm thoroughly drenched and muddied.
Time seems to hold its breath during those 2 months. We're in a place where bad news cannot touch us, another world, another reality altogether. A fantasy I wish could last until the ends of time. It's when I have my brothers all to myself, and I know that they'll come home safely because they're always home and always with me. We all fall asleep in our beds, listening to each other's soft, even breathing. Even though I feel as if I could kill all 6 of them with my bare hands at times, I still love them and could never really bring myself to hurt them.
Summer brings the sun. Summer hushes time. Summer is a utopia. My utopia, which no one else can claim.
"Ginny, you need to hurry up."
I stop tracing my fingers against the glass window and see Hermione gazing at me like a mother would a daughter. We've been in Diagon Alley for a few days now, and we only just started shopping. I sigh and let my hand drop to my side.
"Okay. Where to next?"
She smiles. "Flourish and Blott's. And after that, Madame Malkin's."
I shrug and fall into step with her while she catches up with Harry and Ron, leaving the quidditch shop behind and the CleanSweep's latest model. Harry and Hermione arrived at the Burrow a week before we went to Diagon Alley. Of course, Ron had been ecstatic, and the bookworm blissfully ignorant of his awkward attempts at showing affection.
That's not to say no one else noticed, however.
"All right," Harry says, "I have the list of books we need for this year. You'll be all right getting your books Ginny?"
His bright green eyes are warm. I nod, quietly admiring how he still looked handsome since the day I saw him. He smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling.
"Good then. Let's head in."
We push open the doors and within the space of a less than a minute, I lose sight of the three of them, swept away by the ever-growing crowd of people buying their last-minute school supplies. Right. Time to find my books. I take out the list and read it as I'm walking in a random direction.
People bump into me along the way, and they continue to move, not bothering to excuse themselves. If anything, they didn't see me. No matter, I am rather small. Not like Ron, who seems shoot up several inches every few months or so.
It doesn't take long to check off all the books I bought on my list. I figure it's been about 20 minutes since we first came in, and Harry did say we were only staying here for half an hour because Ron says he gets headaches from being too near to books. Hermione gave him an odd look. Anyway, I'm walking through the rows, running my fingers over book spines. Some are leathery, some rough, and some brand new, the gleam coming off of them.
The store reeks of new books and old books. It is a strange comforting smell that reminds me of the fact that less than 3 days remain before we all go back to Hogwarts. No more summer. No more naps. No more falling asleep on the grass. Soon the days will become shorter, and the moon will come back, overshadowing that stars that I have looked at for the past several weeks. Don't get me wrong; I like Hogwarts. It's nice to have a big, thick bed of my own. It's just…
Ron and Hermione never quite manage to meet my eyes, as though they are avoiding someone contagious. I suppose that they still haven't completely forgotten what happened. I sure wish they did though. I'm not sick. I'm not a freak. It hurts, how they whisper sometimes. Well, at least Harry doesn't look at me that way. I don't think I could bear it if he did.
Out loud, I say, "I'm not strange."
"Now there's something new," a voice declares with a lazy drawl.
I hear an insidious, high-pitched giggle behind me, and I turn around to find Malfoy, Parkinson, Crabbe, and Goyle. How lovely. I hug my new books closer to me. He smirks.
"Don't worry, Weasel, I won't try to steal your ratty, hand-me-down rubbish," he says mockingly.
I feel my face flush because what he just said is true, and I can only answer him with silence. If possible, he smirks ever wider, and adds on, "So where's your Protector? Off snogging with that Mudblood?"
All my responses die, and my mouth shuts down of its own accord. I can't say anything that will make him go away. If I walk away, ignoring them, they will simply follow me around this book shop until I run into Harry or Ron. I can't just stand here, letting them having a go at me. But what can I do?
Parkinson sniffs, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "Aw come on, Draco, she's no fun to play around with. Let's go find that stupid brother of hers or Harry bloody Potter. Or better yet, that frizzy-haired Muggle."
Crabbe and Goyle laugh in response though it doesn't quite register as normal sounds of laughing that one would make. Malfoy waves his hand at her dismissively and says with authority, "They'll probably come looking for this one sooner or later. Let's just wait here and see if we can't make the youngest Weasel cry by the time they come round."
At this, the fawning girl smiles indulgently. "Okay. Your idea's much better."
I'm wondering why I'm still standing here now that I know what they're going to try to do to me. So why aren't I walking away, merging with the crowd so that they can't find me? I really am dim sometimes.
"My God, look at her," Malfoy points out, "she just heard me say I'm going to make her pathetic self cry, and here she is, standing, looking at us. Are you really as brainless as your brothers?"
"Well," I start, "I-"
"Oh shut it," Parkinson cuts in, "Whatever you want to say amounts to nothing. You might as well run away right now like a dog with its tail between its legs."
"Damn straight," Malfoy adds with an approving look towards Parkinson, and at this, her face glows.
Bloody hell, what a repulsive girl. I hug my books closer, unsure of what to do. After several seconds of heated mental debating, I turn around to make a run for it when he says harshly, "Stop."
I stop, my foot poised on taking the first step towards freedom.
"Where do you think you're going?" His voice is teasing, bullying.
I swallow an imaginary lump in my throat. "I'm not sure. Anywhere but here though."
"Turn around."
I scratch the binding on my books repeatedly, a nervous habit. My feet are glued to the spot; I'm paralyzed.
"I told you to turn around," he reiterates, an undertone of rancor beneath that lazy drawl.
Hating myself, I slowly, painfully turn around, imagining old, creaking noises coming off of the joints of my legs. I see him smile; it's malicious.
"Much better. Now, why don't you tell me, since you're here, if you really are as stupid and grimy as your brothers."
I blink and stare at this boy who seems to take such delight in torturing my family, our friends, and anything Muggle-related. His blonde hair, much lighter than normal shades, is slicked back neatly without a loose strand in sight. His immaculate clothing parades how much money he has everywhere he walks. His narrowed gray eyes bear down on mine, trying to unnerve me.
And then it hits me. That's all you ever try to do. You walk around school with your lackeys and adoring harlot, insulting people and flaunting your wealth in our faces. I have never seen you do anything else. What do you after school? Do you die of boredom every summer, just lounging around in your huge mansion? Do you count down the days until you finally go back to Hogwarts? It must be really tedious, having nothing else to do.
"Well," he demands suspiciously, "are you?"
A strange smile comes over my face. "Since you say so, I suppose I am."
He takes a step forward and looms over my small form. "Are you mocking me?"
Before I can stop myself, I reply, "You seem to do little else besides abuse us. I might as well let you have some sort of amusement in your otherwise uneventful life."
What did I just say? A hush comes over the aisle I'm in, and it takes a moment for Malfoy to register what I had just said.
His usual pale skin turns whiter, and he's struggling to keep his voice calm as he replies, "That's rich, coming from a Weasley. I mean, what other purpose does your family have? All you do is take up space in this world and crowd Hogwarts with your dumpy mother's offspring."
At this, Parkinson grins wickedly, and Crabbe and Goyle snigger, as if on cue. My face flushes again, and I'm about to make a retort when I feel someone's presence behind me. I turn my head around, and it's them three, looking angry and finished with buying books.
Hermione pulls me to her side protectively, and I can't help but scowl lightly at being treated as a child. Harry and Ron both cross their arms and lock horns with Malfoy while his lackeys crack their knuckles menacingly. Who are they, my bodyguards?
"Malfoy," Harry says stiffly, "don't you have some other slimy business to attend to?"
"Other than conversing with you lot? I don't think so," he replies without missing a beat.
Ron's ears glow red. "Listen you-"
"Ron," Hermione says warningly.
They stare at each other before Ron gives up and turns on his heel, Harry and Hermione following in his wake. Malfoy and Co. guffaw heartily. "That's right; just walk away," he calls out.
It's then he notices that I'm still standing in front of him, and he takes a step forward. "Why don't you just-"
I raise my hand up to him, discovering a hidden amount of gumption I never thought I had. "Why don't you just go about your business now like a good boy? I'm sure whatever you want to spout about can be said later, at Hogwarts."
His mouth hanging open in astonishment is the last thing I see before walking away to catch up with the others. I feel very good about myself right now. It's rather…empowering.
"Did that git do anything to you?" Ron asks anxiously.
"No," I say obediently.
"Are you sure?" Harry adds.
I sigh. "Yes."
"Well," Ron says dubiously, "okay."
"Oh honestly," Hermione chirps in, "you two watch over her too much. She'll never get a boyfriend this way." She laughs.
"I don't want her to have a boyfriend," my brother replies adamantly.
We're outside now, headed towards Madam Malkin's, and the sun is still shining as brightly as it did in the summer. The rays don't feel as warm though, and I can't but think that come winter, the beams will be as cold and unforgiving as the chill in Malfoy's voice.
I like to think that my readers will review me after this. Won't you make that a reality please?
And sorry that this moment seemed so out of place with what I first began with. It'll get better, promise.