She would always remember it as the day she stopped being a child. Somehow, her family had managed to keep the war, the tragedies, and the evil at bay. But now it had invaded their home, their family, the deepest part of their lives. She knew, with that unexplainable feeling of just knowing, that they would never, could never, be whole again.
She looked around at them, each one in turn; her mother and father, who wept for their son. Laura, who grieved the short time she had shared with him and the children that would never come. Bill, who mourned the loss of his brother - his childhood companion. Fred, George, and Ron who had lost the big brother they admired. Each of them had sunk into their own grief. And Ginny, the youngest, the little sister, could hardly see through the pain of his passing; there was no one else who could say they were his baby sister. They had each drifted to a solitary land that no one else could penetrate. Each had their own unique grief.
Ginny had never known the grief of losing a loved one. She had never fully understood or been prepared for the shattering loss. Now she realized that there is no being prepared, no understanding another’s grief. Each grief was achingly different and loneliness went hand in hand with the pain.
There was a hesitant knock at the door. Ginny put down the book she had been reading and stood up to cross the living room only to open the door and find Lupin standing there looking worn.
“Ginny, I need to speak with your parents…” he said apologetically.
Ginny said nothing, he did not need to say anything else, she could read it in his eyes instantly. Inside she was screaming defiantly, but outwardly she could only turn and numbly look for her mother. The dread she felt inside turned to panic. It surged through her consciousness with a blinding force and threatened to suffocate her.
The pain was so great, so evident on each of their faces that Ginny found herself looking away from them. It would be weeks before she could look anyone directly in the eye again. Her own pain was throbbing within her in such a way that it did not seem like grief. She knew that it had taken hold of her soul and that nothing she could ever do would erase that pain from her life. It would always be there, lurking, threatening to rush to the surface at any moment.
The impact of his life touched Ginny. The line of people who had come to pay their respects ran out the door, down the steps, across the lawn, and down the lane. They had come from far and wide. Some had worked with Charlie, some had only met him once, and some had never met him but had come anyways, to support the Weasleys, who had always been there for them.
Ginny tried to listen to what people were saying about his life, his actions, his words; she wanted so desperately to be able to cling to his memory just a little longer, even if through the lives of others. Her mind, however, could not focus on the words for very long and soon they became nothing more than noise, a mere drone in her ears. Everywhere around her there was nothing but sound. Even the silences had become deafening. It was as if grief had settled on the Burrow and muffled any remnants of cheerfulness in their lives.
The first few days had been unreal, the first week had been surreal, and now life seemed to be achingly, painfully real. As if life was blatantly throwing normalcy in their faces to mock the grief they now had to bear. The rest of the world carried on, pausing only a second to remember Charlie Weasley, while hers had come crashing to a sudden stop. The realization that she had changed was painful in the light that other things carried on as normal without Charlie. Change was always a little scary, but this was terrifying. It was her worst nightmare realized.
Ginny quickly found she simply could not focus on what people were saying to her and the few times she managed to understand the noise happening around her, it turned out to be incredibly inane nonsense. I understand your pain…were you his little sister? If there is anything we can do for you…can you bring him back to life? When I lost my mother…a mother who lived to a ripe old age and died in her sleep, not tortured like Charlie. At least you still have your other brothers…I love them all, each and every one, but none of them are another Charlie. There was even talk of “the body”. That’s my brother, not a body! Not a corpse! My brother! She quickly learned that it was better to tune out what people thought was comforting to her.
Her eyes wandered around the room; everything reminded her of him. The clock which had every hand -except for one- pointing at “home”, the table where he had taught her to play Wizard’s Chess, even the fireplace that she had seen him Floo in and out of countless times reminded her of the one person who would no longer step onto their hearth.
She slowly made her way through the crowds of people and up the stairs, pushing open the door with a sign that read “Bill and Charlie’s Room”. She looked at the posters, the boyish mess that was still evident despite the fact that both had married and moved away. She thought about those happy times when her family had been whole.
Her eyes scanned the room, flitting over the pictures accumulating dust on top of a dresser. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she forced herself to see through the tears. The pictures of her brothers smiled and moved and laughed in front of her. It broke her heart to think that the happy face of her brother would never be seen in the Burrow again. The good times had been so good that it was hard to imagine anything but a bleak future. There was a picture of her brothers after a particularly brutal Quidditch game. Another one showed Charlie with a group of friends by the lake at Hogwarts. There was a touching picture of Charlie and Laura on their wedding day, their shining faces showing the love they had for each other. The tears spilled over as Ginny remembered seeing their loving glances and their eyes full of hope of a future together. Another one depicted Charlie in the mountains working with his dragons, his face scruffy and worn looking but with a boyish grin demonstrating the joy he felt in doing his job. It hurt so much to see those reminders; Ginny felt a horrible emptiness threatening to engulf her very soul.
Her breath caught at the sight of one she hadn’t noticed before. It sat in the back, a small frame that held a picture of Charlie reading to Ginny when she was not more than a toddler.
Suddenly, she was startled by a noise behind her. She turned to the door, almost expecting to see his boyish grin and hear his voice tell her that everything would be alright.
“Percy!” she said, surprised.
“Sorry, Ginny, I didn’t think anyone would be up here,” he mumbled. He looked away from her, as if trying to hide his face, and made to move back into the hall.
“I couldn’t stay down there. There were too many people. I just needed…” Ginny broke off, not knowing what she needed or wanted anymore. She felt the hot tears well up in her eyes and spill over the edge. They ran down her cheeks and dripped onto her shirt. She did not bother wiping them away, for there would only be more to take their place.
“I… I slipped up here. No one noticed me,” said Percy, the pain evident in his voice.
Ginny sighed. She took another look at him and noticed the similarities that he had with Charlie. The red hair, the nose, and his thumbs, they were just like Charlie’s. She took a step closer to her brother and searched for his eyes. They were staring at the floor and he refused to look at her.
“I know I messed up, but he was my brother, too!” he finally managed. It was barely more than a whisper, but Ginny heard it and the pain that was behind it.
Ginny took a deep breath, finding the courage that she knew would have come easily to Charlie, “I think this has gone on for far too long. Our family will never be whole again. Voldemort saw to that, but I don’t see why we should continue to tear ourselves apart from the inside. Now is when we need each other the most.”
Percy finally tore his eyes away from the carpet, and whispered, “What are you trying to say?”
“What I’m trying to say that I already lost one brother, and I don’t want to lose another,” she said, moving towards Percy. She closed the distance between them and reached her arms around him.
At first, Percy stood rigidly but then she felt him go limp. He laid his head on her shoulder and they both began to cry. They stood and sobbed together for a long time. Eventually, she broke away from him and offered him a tissue.
“Are you ready for tomorrow?” he asked, blowing his nose.
Ginny looked up into his eyes and shook her head, No, she thought, she would never be ready for tomorrow.
“Ginny! Set the table! The boys will be home soon,” said Mrs. Weasley as she bustled about the kitchen.
“Can I sit next to Charlie?” asked Ginny as she put the plates around the table.
“Of course, dear!” said her mother, knowing full well how much Ginny idolized her older brother.
“Ginny?” said a voice, interrupting her thoughts, “Ginny, are you alright?”
Ginny’s head snapped up, her eyes full of dead sorrow. She looked up into the face of her brother George and saw an identical sorrow reflected in his eyes. She opened her mouth but could not speak.
“Someone’s brought by some food, if you’re interested. Better hurry, Ron is already down there, soon there won’t be any left,” his attempt at humour fell flat between them. Ginny appreciated his effort, but could not bring herself to laugh.
She finally managed a nod instead. Without another word, George turned and left her room. She could not stand the people, the noise, the awkward silences. She had gone to her refuge, her own room. The only good thing about being the only girl in the family, she thought, I get my own room.
The waiting, the tension, it was unbearable, she had moved around trying to find something to do. She had even folded some towels that had been left in the laundry, the Muggle way. The whole time she was thinking what an odd thing it was to do, but she had needed something to occupy her hands while her mind was far away.
Now she sat, completely numbed to the world; there was only her and her pain. She looked around the room, seeing her familiar possessions but not seeing at the same time. She was amazed by the emotions surging through her. She wanted to scream, but she did not know what to scream. Nothing could remove her pain.
Across the room, her eyes settled on a diary. It had been a gift from Charlie; it was covered in dragon hide. Tears welled up once more and threatened to drown her with their flood-like abilities. Instead, she stood up, brushing an angry fist across her eyes, and moved towards the diary. He had given it to her for her birthday.
“Ginny, I hope you like what I got you. I think you’ll find it useful,” said Charlie.
“What is it?” asked Ginny excitedly, ripping off the paper of the small package.
“It’s a diary, or a journal, or the beginnings of a novel, or a personal newspaper. It is whatever you need it to be, Ginny.”
“Charlie, I can’t…” said Ginny, her face falling at the sight.
Charlie looked concerned. “What? Don’t you like it? I thought you might like the cover…”
“No, it’s beautiful, really. I just, well, I swore I would never write in a diary again, not after what happened last time…”
“Ginny, you were just a little girl then, and I’m sorry I couldn’t have been there. But now, I look at you, and you’re still my little sister, but you are also a young woman. You have thoughts, memories, emotions, and words, Ginny. You have so many words in your mind and in your heart. This will help you to take them out, examine, and organize them better.”
“I don’t know Charlie,” said Ginny, turning the book over in her hands. “I don’t think I’m as grown up as you think I am.”
“Well then, just keep the diary. Hold on to it. I think that someday, you’ll need it. The words will come to you and you will know.”
“Well, Charlie, I still don’t know if I am ready, but I will try,” she said to herself, alone in her room. She sat down on her bed, pulling a quill out from her drawer, and stared at the blank pages.
The first thick page had an inscription in her brother’s masculine scrawl:
For Ginny on her birthday:
You are no longer the little girl you once were. I am so proud of you and the young woman you have become. This diary is for you to fill with the words of your life. It will always have more space until the day you decide it is full. Don’t worry or regret the past, it is gone. You always had so many things going through that head of yours. I hope for your sake you can find the words within yourself to help you put the past behind you and focus on the future.
Love,
Charlie.
More tears flowed freely down Ginny’s cheeks. This time, she did nothing to wipe them away. Instead she looked at the blank pages, her brother’s words blurred from the tears in her eyes. One single tear slipped off her chin and dropped onto the parchment. She watched, transfixed as it was absorbed by the paper.
What if he was right? She wondered, What if I can put my emotions on the paper and rid myself of at least some of the pain? What if the paper can absorb the pain, just like that tear?
She continued to stare at the page and without thinking she moved her trembling quill towards it. The creamy blankness of it was in stark contrast to her churning soul. In rather large letters she wrote, He is gone, at the top of the page. She stared at the letters, trying to take in their significance.
Overwhelmed, she looked up at the window. The rain was steadily beating on the panes, and she wished that it could somehow wash away the pain that consumed her. The second time she looked at the blank pages, they seemed less raw. “I’ll try for you, Charlie. I’ll try to be the girl “ or woman “ that you believed I could be.” , she thought. Her quill trembled even more until it touched the page, where it suddenly seemed to gain a life of its own.
Death is not a tangible thing; however it is sitting right now in my stomach, churning and threatening to expel all its ugliness. This pain is not a pain per say, it is a void…
The rain fell relentlessly outside the window as it had all that horrible day. As it did, it provided a gentle background to the endless scratching of Ginny’s quill.
She had written for hours, until she had exhausted her soul of all its emotions, its angry thoughts, its guilt, its denial, its self-reproach. She paused only to nurse the ink-stained callus on her third finger, but not for long, because all the feelings, all the memories, came so fast that they were overwhelming. Finally drained, she had slept; it was not a restful sleep, but at the least, it was mercifully dreamless.
The next day dawned sunny and warm. It was not the sort of day that one would expect for a funeral. The only blackness was on the mourners who made their way slowly through the cemetery.
Ginny felt everything in slow motion that day. She had gotten dressed slowly, she spoke slowly, her thoughts had slowed, even the painful pulse of the void in her soul had slowed to an aching rhythm.
Ginny sat, unmoving, for what seemed like hours. Time had come to a standstill. Faces were blurred, sounds seemed distant; she felt as if she was in a separate dimension. She tried to focus on what words were being said. She felt it was important to remember every detail of this horrible day. One day she would want to recall the color of the hydrangeas, the suffocating heat, the rustle of the leaves, and the various shades of green grass.
She was afraid if she did not remember every detail she would lose it in the shuffle of memories that lived in her brain. She wanted to remember his laughter, the smile that everyone said she had inherited. She wanted to remember the hugs he had given her, the times they had shared. The emotions she felt were so conflicting, she was angry, she was exhausted, she was sadder than she had ever felt in her life. She wanted so desperately to wake up from the horrible nightmare that had taken over her life.
Once again, she forced herself to look around at the various faces around her. We’re all here, she thought, all except for one. One who will never be with us again.
She tried to focus on the words Remus was saying at the graveside. Graveside? she wondered, Could it be true?
Charlie had always been so strong; he had always stood so tall.
“Ginny are you alright? You scared us to death!” said Charlie as he ran over to her.
Ginny lay unmoving and stared at the canopy of leaves above her. “I guess I’m alright. What happened?”
“You fell out of the tree, that’s what!” said Charlie alarmed. He was kneeling by her side, feeling her arms and legs, checking for blood and broken bones.
“Here, let’s get you inside,” he said, scooping her up in his strong arms and carrying her towards the house, “I was really worried about you. Looks like you’ll patch up well enough though. Mum will make a fuss, but you’ll be fine.”
Charlie had always been so full of life. His presence always resonated with vitality.
“Ginny, crack the eggs will you?” said Charlie. “I’ll let you mix them in if you can get out all the shell. Here, Ron. You measure the vanilla.”
The young Weasley siblings were standing in their cramped kitchen. Milk had spilled on the table, several eggs had fallen to the floor and cracked, and flour covered all of them.
“Mum won’t appreciate this mess we are creating!” said Percy, irritated, from the cleanest corner of the kitchen.
“Don’t worry, we’ll clean it up before she notices,” said Charlie.
“What are we making again, Charlie?” asked Ron as he spilled half the vanilla on his shirt.
Charlie grinned, “Chocolate French toast, per Ginny’s request.”
“Mmm… chocolate!” said Ginny happily, grinning back at her brother as egg dripped from her dimpled fingers.
That night she sat on her bed and once again took up her quill and her parchment.
There are things that cannot even be written; emotions that cannot be expressed even in words. What then, is the use of language? I find it amazing that a series of lines can represent so much more. They can immortalize someone. They have a life of their own; I can use them for almost any need I have to fill. They cannot bring him back to life, but my words can keep the memory of his life alive in my mind and in my soul. I will use my words to live my life, and, to heal my wounds.
In the days, the months, the years that would come, Ginny would look at the words that were scribbled in the first pages, and the fresh pain of that day would wash over her . But through the pain, she could also clearly discern the joy and the laughter they had shared. The good times were no longer clouded with the sorrow of a distant past.
She lived her words, her life was words and her words were life. She could measure her healing with them and see herself change through them. Charlie had been right, there was no use regretting the past. The words had come to her; they had let her know when she was ready. She would always look back on that day and remember it as the day that she and her words had changed forever.
Author’s Note: I wish I could say I had no inspiration for this painful story. I wish I could say I do not identify with Ginny’s pain, but tragedy strikes in every life. To anyone out there who has lost a Charlie in their life, I hope you too can find the words, or the colors, or the music, or your own unique way to heal. It is no use to regret the past, it is what it is. To those who have never felt the pain of losing the Charlie in their life, I pray you are spared that painful void. My dearest Charlie, I miss you everyday, I only hope that I can make you proud. These are my words…