Princess Dreams
She'd grown up dreaming princess dreams. She would wear her favorite pink dress--you know, the one with all the frills and lace and make-up pearls, and place on her head her favorite plastic tiara, even though it disappeared into her wild red hair more often than not. She would pull on her white ankle socks, then place her best dancing shoes over her tiny feet, flex her toes twice to make sure they hadn't gotten too small, then stand up triumphantly because they never did. She would take out her fairy wand, even though she knew that all it was good for was thwacking trees, then gallop outside into her mother's garden.
It was a beautiful garden back then, filled with daisies and sunflowers, orchids and lilacs that never went out of bloom. There was the old picket fence that was overrun with a giant rosebush, its blossoms fleshy and red, petals soft and alive with color. The grass was always a lush green, the trees towering overhead and over-burdened with flower and fruit, wafting their fine and assorted fragrances throughout the yard air. Then, there was the ditch that her mother had transformed into a pond, with a wooden bridge over its width, laden with white and pink liles that bobbed as the koi swam beneath.
Yes, it was a beautiful garden, and she would dance around it in sweet abandon, that way that all children her age seemed to possess. It was the mind-set of a dreamer, of a person who had no further worry in this world than to laugh and smile and make the earth seem kinder to those lost. And her mother would watch her, thinking of what a guiding light she had birthed, hoping in her quiet and motherly way that this last and most innocent child of hers would find a good life, and help others to find peace as well.
Those shoe-clad feet would skip over the grass, from cobblestone to cobblestone, pink dress splayed around her as ruby red hair tickled her cheeks and the wind ruffled her get-up. The tiara would sink further and her pink-varnished nails would be lost in the whirl, but she would always dream her princess dreams, riddled with too many happy endings and a good few prince charmings. But, what did a girl her age know about the world, or about love? Sometimes happy endings don't happen, and love isn't all it's made out to be.
But Ginevra Molly Weasley didn't know that. She didn't want to know it, and nobody wanted to tell her.
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She took her princess dreams with her to Hogwarts, and they grew with her, flourishing and becoming more richly detailed than ever. She was naive and fragile, yet determined and stubborn--her belief so steadfast no one seemed able to break it. She would put on her best clothes, paint her face in witch's cosmetics and slip in her highest-heeled shoes, then click out into the grounds of Hogwarts.
The grounds were a magical place, then, adorned with trees that dusted the land with petals or multi-colored leaves, and grass as green as her eyes. Every here and there, there would be a patch of wildflowers, bursting forth in vigor and fluidity, calling for her to enchant them with her dances, her sweetness, her princess dreams...
Yes, the grounds were magical, so magical that they were she met her prince charming, who at first didn't seem very charming at all. But she remembered her fairy tales and how there always seemed to be a twist, how an ugly frog could become a handsome prince...and she believed, with her iron belief, that this boy was good, that he had just been cursed and that if she loved him enough it would all be alright.
It was all alright, by the time she was sixteen her princess dreams seemed almost real, her prince charming the type who made her skin tingle and her insides churn with pleasure. He was perfect to her, though not to every one else, but she saw no reason to look at him any different than she would herself. Sometimes he wouldn't listen to her rambles, sometimes when they danced he'd step on her feet, but she would always dream her princess dreams, riddled with too many happy endings, but now only one prince charming. But, what did a girl her age know about the world, or about love? Sometimes happy endings don't happen, and love isn't all it's made out to be.
They'd have to tell her eventually, before it was too late. Princess dreams were sometimes overrated once you grew up, but Ginevra Molly Weasley didn't exactly know that. She didn't want to know it, really, and nobody wanted to tell her.
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She stared in the mirror, looking into empty green eyes, dulled from years and years of always hoping, but never getting. She thought about going to the Burrow to see if her frilly pink dress could be configured to fit, if her plastic tiara wasn't broken and if she'd still be able to wiggle her toes freely in those shiny black dancing shoes...she could go out in what had once been a beautiful garden and dance like she used to...dream...dream...dream those dreams like she used to.
Her mother's garden had once been a beautiful place, but it wasn't any more. The flowers were all dead, brown stems reaching to the sun-less sky as if in some hope they would grow again...The old picket fence was broken down, the rosebush crushed beneath it and now only veins of brittle thorns. The grass was yellow and the trees had been burnt, some only stumps of cinder, others upright columns of ash, waiting for the non-existent winds to diminish them. The pond her mother had made was dried up, the koi long dead and the lilies coils of root at the very bottom--that old bridge she used to sit on had caved in on itself.
She stared in the mirror, looking into empty green eyes, dulled from years and years of wondering, but never knowing. She thought about going to Hogwarts, to see if she could find her old Dorm where she had dressed and applied all that make-up, to see if she could once again perform the same ritual on the same dresser. Maybe she could go out in what had once been magical grounds and dance like she used to...dream...dream...dream those dreams like she used to.
Hogwarts and its grounds had gone to ruin, the castle now nothing more than a heap of debris and rubble. No part of the once great castle was discernible from the other, the stone was overgrown by moss in some places and any portraits that had survived were slowly decaying. What had once been scattered by lively trees was now a cemetery forest, filled with dried up boughs and over-turned barks--in the air lingered the smoke that had burnt the grass to a fiery demise, not naught but ashes beneath whomever's feet.
She stared in the mirrior, looking into empty green eyes, dulled from years and years of pretending, but never living. She thought about her prince charming, pulling at her hair, pulling, pulling as she fought the tears...maybe she could find him again and he would dance with her like they used to, would step on her feet and breath on her neck...Maybe, they could do it all again, and she could dream..dream...dream those dreams like she used to.
It was war, it was the final battle. Ginny was bruised and battered, so exhausted she felt like she could not move another limb. All around her, the sky was black, the air exploding with magical bombs meant to kill, meant to incapacitate...The ground was blood-soaked and muddy, bodies everywhere, a sparse few still standing and duelling fiercely with the Dark. Her mind sung crazy tunes as she hitched up her torn robes, pretending they were her pink dress or her dress robes, her beaten shoes her dancing ones or her high heels...She danced on the blood and bodies, her mind's eye seeing her mother's garden or Hogwarts' grounds...she danced through the mud and the carnage, twirled through the bombs that exploded to her left, to her right...
Then he was there, shoving his wand to her chest. "Ginny!" he cried, and she knew his voice, even though he was covered by a dark hood. He was one of the Dark. "Ginny leave, now!"
She danced and danced, her prince charming dancing with her, but a different dance this time...he was dancing with death. "Ginny you're crazy! Ginny leave! Please, I beg of you! I don't want to--" She danced and danced, pulling her wand out, dancing and dancing "Ginny...!" But he was singing the wrong song; "Ginny leave! NOW!" He should be quiet while she danced, should appreciate the intricacy of her movements, the beauty of it all..."Ginny, please, I don't want to have to--" Two words and he was silent, but then she realized he wasn't dancing any more.
Why wasn't he dancing any more?
Yeah, Ginny still had dreams, when she lay down at night.
They just weren't princess dreams any more.
Author's Note: It's 1:09 AM, and I'm awake again...writing as usual. This was in my head since last night, except it was from Hermione's POV...I thought I'd adapt it to Ginny's, and so I did. Keep in mind I'm tired here, so it isn't the best, but it's a fair piece of work. So, I know you guys are going to say Ginny seems OoC, but spare me: she goes mad for god's sake. These days I just feel like twisting around personalities, trying things..So yeah, Read and Review!