The Cerebral Coordination of Ginny Weasley
Rating: T
Author: ValorOrgulloso
Chapter XVIII: In Which All Good Things Must Come to an End
I stared at the yellowing, three day old paper. The photo revealed a broken Ministry – shattered glass, ruined statues, shredded banners.
My feet carried me on their own volition. I barely paid any attention to the people as I passed them, and I gripped the Daily Prophet tightly in my pale fingers. Slowly but surely I arrived in front of the Hospital Wing's double doors. I hastily rubbed down the wrinkles in the skirt I had obviously slept in before reaching out a hand and slowly pushing open the wooden door.
It was empty for the most part – a student or two sleeping. I swiveled my eyes around the room briefly, and I quickly found the person I was looking for. He was awake.
I approached his bedside and sat in a chair that was already there – obviously, he had already had a visitor or two.
"Hey, Dean," I said.
"What're you doing here?" he asked, not unkindly, ignoring my greeting for the most part. If anything, he was surprised. I observed him before answering. He seemed paler than usual – especially for his dark complexion. His eyes were bloodshot, and light bags lined his eyes.
"I wanted to see how you were," I told him quietly.
He smiled a little. "That would make sense." We were silent for a moment, but then he noticed the paper in my hand and asked, "What've you got there?"
I smiled briefly before handing him over the paper. In bold letters it read:
HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED IS BACK: DUMBLEDORE RESCUES STUDENT
"Kind of hypocritical of them, huh?" Dean commented. "Been refusing the return of You-Know-Who all year, and now they're exploiting my kidnapping like they expected it all along."
"Yeah, pretty awful," I said. We fell silent again as Dean skimmed the article.
I sat twiddling my thumbs, looking out a nearby window. Students were sitting around the lake, dozing about, studying, talking to their friends… I caught sight of a familiar mop of messy black hair. The past few days I had been subdued, restless, upset, angry, depressed, relieved, happy, and now content as I watched my former love chatting with my brother and friend. I was pretty sure my eyes were currently red, if not puffy, as I had been constantly on the verge of tears. Right now I didn't feel like crying, but a few hours ago when I was in my dorm I felt differently.
Yes, I had been depressed when Harry split up with me, but I had felt worse before. I loved – and still love Harry, but if he didn't feel as if our relationship was going anywhere, then I had to accept it.
Today was the first day I had.
I woke up and lay around for a while before crying a little. But then I reevaluated how I was reacting to the situation, and I decided I had been mourning for too long. For goodness' sake, was I that selfish that all I thought about was myself? Throughout the year I had asked myself this question, but now I was ready to answer it.
I guess for a while I had been pretty self-centered; since last summer, definitely. All I had thought of was gaining Harry's attention. I reflected on the year. It had been fun, but at the same time I was ashamed for many of my actions. I hadn't always been especially kind or forgiving or understanding. I hadn't been able to see myself in someone else's shoes, and that left me obscenely nearsighted. I decided then and there, in my tear induced haze, that I'd be a better person. I wouldn't mope. I wouldn't cry. I wouldn't think of only myself. I would try my hardest to understand people. I wouldn't judge. And, although Harry told me his reasons for breaking up with me was to protect me, I couldn't deny the fact that maybe if I had been kinder or smarter or listened more to him then I might not have been let go of so easily. I made my vows to start over anew, past dysfunctional relationship or no, and I had left my dorm being able to hold my head high.
The first stop I made was breakfast. It was the first morning meal I had attended in five days. Hermione had looked approvingly at my appearance at breakfast, but perhaps not at the state of the clothes that I had slept in.
I then walked back up to the common room and grabbed the old paper that I had saved in my trunk.
I made my way to visit Dean and ended up here. He had been held hostage by Dark Arts supporters, after all, and it was only right to visit a casual acquaintance when they weren't well.
Dean turned the page to wherever the article continued. "Hey, that's me!" he exclaimed. I leaned over to see the photo. Yes, it was of him, bloodied and unconscious.
"Attractive," I commented, trying to lighten up the mood of the brutal picture. It worked as he laughed.
"I try," he said, folding the paper back up and setting it on his lap.
"How've you been?" I tried.
"Other than feeling like my head is constantly under the Bat Bogey Hex – fine." I laughed. It was one of the first times I had laughed since last week, and it made me feel relieved; I wasn't a stone wall.
"Well, I suppose it could be worse," I supplied. Dean nodded and agreed with me.
"How have you been?" Dean asked me in return gently, taking me off guard.
I was about to let a simple fine slip out, but I reconsidered. If I was going to be understanding, I might as well let people understand me. "I've been coping," I finally settled on.
"Yeah?" he questioned, and I knew he was wondering what was up. I decided to tell him. Why not? He'd know eventually.
"Harry and I moved our separate ways a few days ago," I said, trying to make light of the mild painful throbbing in my heart when I thought of it. I moved my tired face away from his tired face and stared at my hands. There was a slight awkward silence that I tried to ignore.
"I'm sorry," Dean eventually came up with.
I shook my head and stood up. "I gotta go, Dean. Get better, yeah?" He nodded, unfazed by my ignorance of his weak apology.
I slowly made my way towards the doors but Dean called out my name. I turned back around.
"I know I've been a prat this past year, Ginny, but d'you think you'll ever consider me?"
I smiled, genuinely glad by this acknowledgement.
"I already have, Dean." I left the Hospital Wing, glad to have gotten at least one chip off my shoulder.
Happiness hit her like a train on a track
Coming towards her stuck still no turning back
She hid around corners and she hid under beds
She killed it with kisses and from it she fled
With every bubble she sank with her drink
And washed it away down the kitchen sink
The dog days are over
The dog days are done
The horses are coming
So you better run
Run fast for your mother, run fast for your father
Run for your children, for your sisters and brothers
Leave all your loving, your longing behind
You cant carry it with you if you want to survive
The dog days are over
The dog days are done
Can you hear the horses?
'Cause here they come
It has been fun to write this, and I can't believe I actually finished a (long) story. It has been a journey to write this story even if it's not of the highest quality (I know there are much more talented writers out there than me). Ginny's maturity had come full circle by the end, and I'm positive I've matured a lot since last June. So, in a way, this story reflects the past year of my own life. If this speech was a movie, a dramatic indie song would now come on by Lisa Germano or Damien Rice or Beirut or something (hence the lyrics above this paragraph – Dog Days Are Over by Florence and the Machine). The lyrics sort of mean the old, suckyish times are over, and now's the time for a new beginning, and you better hop on the happy train or you'll be left behind. Sort of like Ginny (this is me showing my vast intellect).
And yeah, I know the ending isn't what you suspected. Not everything had to go as everyone wanted it to be, since that's not reality. Life isn't like that, and I think that by Harry and Ginny not ending up together, it shows that even if you can't get what you want, you can get past the pain and accept it. I wrote this story mostly to satiate my needs to make a story that wasn't too cheesy or too cliché or too happy or too angry. I wanted a story that left you feeling satisfied when you read it, and that even if not everything turned out to be a happy ending, life moves on, and you just have to live with it. I hope you enjoyed reading it :) Thanks for all of your support!
Sequel? Yes? No? Alternate ending? Depending on how many people want one, I'll consider making a sequel or a different ending. I'll update with my decision, but this story just seems done to me. A sequel would kind of prevent Cerebrals entire purpose.