Disclaimer:

Sadly I do not own Harry Potter; instead I shall wallow in self-pity and write lowly fan fics in a pathetic attempt to recreate my fantasy.

Reflections of a Girl Left Behind

Exactly one month ago my heart was ripped out and tossed into the cold, dark depths of the lake. I’m sure the giant squid has eaten it by now, or worse it’s simply floated to the bottom and left to decompose slowly, painfully. That’s how it feels at least, but I know it’s still there because if it wasn’t, I would blissfully be free from this anguish. I wouldn’t have this aching feeling whenever I thought or heard of him, and I wouldn’t be sitting here pouring it out onto this bloody ripped up piece of parchment in my tiny bedroom.

I don’t think he meant to hurt me; in all honesty I’m sure he thought he was preventing it. But what he doesn’t realize is that physical pain can heal while a heart is scarred for life. I’ve cried so many tears I can’t cry any longer, my throat will rip if a single sob wells up, and I know that lying on my bed listlessly will only cause me to go mad. My Mum, for reasons best known to herself, had set this parchment on my desk along with my quill and a bottle of ink. So here I sit, using all sorts of metaphors to attempt to describe the sorrow in my soul.

He has saved my life in many more ways then one, and he has caused pain in every way but one. Such is the way of life I suppose, but it’s true. He brought me back from the darkness, and then threw me back
into it countless times. Yet he never realized it either, and that is what killed me the most.

I have watched Harry Potter from afar my entire life, and have had to deal with people telling me countless times how much they admire his bravery, looks, intelligence, determination, power, etc. They say he is our hero, the boy who could kick any dark wizard’s sorry arse any day of the week. Well, as untrue as that may be, Harry Potter is incredible. He is brave, he is determined, he is somewhat intelligent, he is very determined, and he has ‘power the dark lord knows not.’ He is my hero.

I guess the thing about Harry Potter that I have always loved the most was his modesty. It’s not often you meet a bloke who is more famous than almost every wizard who has ever existed, is mighty handsome, and doesn’t admit any of it. Most guys with that type of status would strut about and be conceited, but not Harry. He never wanted to be known for those things, he only wanted to be Harry. Not the Boy who Lived, not the chosen one, not our extremely hot savior of the universe, just Harry. And that is how I saw him, Harry.

I’m sure that girls all over the school, hell all over England, swoon over him and want to be a part of his life. They probably have posters of him and little moving photographs of him in his quidditch robes, (which he does look exceedingly good in I might add.) They write love letters that will never be sent, lay in bed and dream of a beginning, and constantly pine for the person who saved them all. I hate each and every one of them.

I’ve always been over-protective of Harry, always felt like he was mine. He wasn’t in any way of course, but I always hated girls who assumed he was madly in love with them simply because they got his name tattooed somewhere on their bodies. Maybe it was because I did have a friendship with him, a rather odd one, but a friendship at that. Maybe it was because he saved my life in my first year, from one of the most deadly creatures ever hatched and from none other than Lord Voldemort. Maybe it’s because he’s best friends with my thicker than thick adorable brother. God knows why, but it’s true. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s because I thought we had a chance.

I grew up living in dark and fear, being intimidated by my older brothers and being fully aware of the growing evil spreading throughout the world. My young life at Hogwarts was not what you would call pleasant, nor is it what you would call quiet. I lived at Hogwarts with the Golden Trio, and around them nothing is ever quiet. Especially if Ron and Hermione are bickering, then it’s downright unbearable. Anyways, even though fear was a sickness deep within all of us, Harry was my bright spot upon the horizon. He was always my final hope, even if I was having nightmares of Tom or battling Death Eaters in the ministry, he always won. He was unconquerable, as was my love for him.

I was only a little girl though, too young and small to truly understand love or danger or fear or anything like that. I went through the mechanical motions of classes and fighting my brothers without understanding really anything, but whenever Harry came around I lit up instantly. He was an angel come down from heaven, while I was some little earth bond clot of hair and tears that always needed saving. And he saved me.

It’s difficult to imagine the sheer enormity of how much I adored him as a young girl, no one could truly understand. My day was brightened by a mere glimpse of him, and if he uttered two words to me I’d almost faint. If he had asked me to jump in the frozen lake in the middle of January and saw off one of the giant squid’s suction cups, I would have. If he told me to go hex Snape in front of the entire school, then confess to it, I would have. If he demanded for me to fail every class and mock the teachers at every chance I could, I would have. I was that infatuated.

He never noticed me though, and if he did it was only as ‘his best mate’s baby sister.’ I hate that title, which thankfully I no longer hold. I fought against it for ages, working my way up to being presumed a young fiery woman instead of a little girl with a huge crush. It was hard, Ron might as well have permanently carved it into my forehead for all the effort I put into making it go away. But I managed, and now that title is buried away in my memories. If I look back on it, I guess all I had to do was stop hiding and act normal. Normal as one could be in the middle of a war, you know?

I talked to the three of them often, never letting myself stare for periods of time or give away any sign that I still liked Harry. Hermione told me to date other people, to which I almost retched. Date other people? Was she bloody mad? Well, she wasn’t because I did date other guys and it turned out that helped Harry notice me.

The sad thing was, Harry was so considerate of Ron and afraid of ruining his friendship with my thick brother, he didn’t ask me out for a long while. He didn’t want to risk Ron’s friendship, but I knew he really wanted to be with me. He was torn for quite some time until I gave him a little help in the right direction. It took a while for Ron to get over the shock and stop telling us to take it somewhere else, but he managed and I was happier then I had ever been.

The time that Harry and I were dating was the best time of my entire life. I thought that I was on a cloud, floating in serene bliss with the one person whom I adored. I passed through my OWLs in a haze of happiness, which is a feat unaccomplished before me I’m pretty sure, and I felt like I could never go higher. I was in heaven, in heaven with Harry.

What I had forgotten briefly was that Harry is destined to destroy the most evil wizard who ever lived. Because of that, said evil wizard does not like him very much and routinely attempts to put him, his friends, his acquaintances, and any random person who may have walked by him on the street through extreme pain and misery. Enough said. Dumbledore died, Harry knew the war was nearing, and he couldn’t bear to put me in danger. I was too special to him, too important, and he couldn’t even think about how he would feel if I were to die. He broke up with me at the funeral, and now I am wallowing in self-pity, a complete wreck, and I am feeling more pain then I have ever felt in my life.

The hard part about it is, Harry and I are still deeply in love. It’s his stupid hero streak that is preventing us from happiness, and Harry is too stubborn to see that. He thinks he is protecting me, but I’m sure death would be easier than the anguish I feel. How could death possibly be worse? Harry Potter may think I’m safe at home, in my room, writing about my feelings, but he’s wrong. I am the only daughter of the biggest family of blood traitors in the world, I am the sister of his best mate, I am going to be in the Order of the Pheonix, I am going to be an Auror, and Harry is in love with me whether he’s officially dating me or not. I am in greater danger than most people in the world, and seeing Harry would not make it any worse. In fact, it would probably be safer being with Harry. He is destined to defeat Voldemort after all.

Of course he’s too thick to see any of that, too stupid to realize that he’s only making it worse. He doesn’t realize that I’m in great danger already, nor does he realize that sometimes being with the people you love can make you stronger. Nope, he simply has to be the hero and make sure everyone else is safe. I’m starting to hate that word.

I’m prepared to do anything to change his mind when he comes here in two days for Bill and Fleur’s wedding. I’m ready to scream, to cry, to plead, to beg, to sob, to do anything that might attract his attention. That or I’ll levitate him into a tree until he promises to change his mind. I’m planning on trying Plan B first.

My guess is he’ll say the same thing he said at the funeral, that if he’s with me I’ll be in danger and he couldn’t bear it if anything happened to me. I’ll probably just have to continuously beat into his head that I am in great danger anyways and am slowly wasting away without him before he changes his mind. I’m sure I’ll cry, I’m sure he’ll feel like it, but my hope is that he changes his mind. After all, I really don’t want to hex him.

I am Ginevra Weasley after all, the first girl in an ancient family of wizards for seven generations. I am the seventh child of the seventh child of the seventh child, and I am honestly ready to do whatever it takes to get Harry back. I am fiery and independent, I’m not a young girl anymore, and Harry Potter is mine. I’m going to make sure he knows it too.

It’s been a month now, one month since Harry Potter painfully carved out my heart with a very dull quill, chucked it into the lake, and told me it was for my own good. One month since I thought I died and could never function as a human being, or anything else, ever again. I figured I’d transform into some type of wisp, a wisp of air that floated about moaning in misery and sorrow. However that hasn’t happened yet, as I am still earthbound and can write on this wretched piece of paper.

I would continue to rant about this and that, but I only have an inch or so more of parchment. This stupid bloody parchment had to run out on me when I needed it most, classic. Sometimes, I hate the world, you know? And sometimes, when Harry’s around, I can’t help but love it.

Love, Ginny Weasley


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~Emerald Sea~