She is fifteen.
Hermione’s hair is draped over the side of the bed as she reads her book upside down. Her foot taps to the beat of the unknown song that crackles through the stereo that sits next to the bed. She is beautiful.
Ginny hates it.
-
She is fourteen.
Hermione smirks knowingly at the redhead when she finds her staring at Harry.
“It’s not your fault he’s daft,” she tells the younger girl, placing a hand on her shoulder. Ginny stares up at her, a feeling of warmth pulsing in the center of her chest.
“Yeah,” she huffs, crossing her pale arms- so, so pale in comparison to Hermione’s dark ones. “I don’t like boys very much.”
It’s not a lie.
Hermione snorts, and the twinkle of her brown eyes makes Ginny feel both hot and cold at the same time.
“Except for Harry,” the older girl laughs.
“Except for Harry,” Ginny repeats.
Like she gives a damn about him.
-
She is thirteen.
“Harry can go with Ginny,” she heard Ron say.
She doesn’t think she wants that.
“I’m going with Neville,” she tells the boys, and she pretends she’s disappointed.
She doesn’t think she wants that, either.
-
She is eleven.
One of Ron’s best friends is sitting on the couch across from her, reading a book. The girl, Hermione. She catches Ginny scrutinizing her and raises an eyebrow.
“Hello,” she says. “I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced.”
Ginny shakes her head, and extents her hand. “I’m Ginny,” she says in a quietly determined voice. Hermione seems slightly taken aback at the lack of shyness her voice usually possesses, but the dark-skinned girl smiles nonetheless.
“Well, I’m Hermione. Hermione Granger.”
She’s quite beautiful when she smiles, Ginny thinks offhandedly, then shakes herself. Hermione goes back to reading her book, and Ginny thanks Merlin she can’t see the blush that darkens her face.
-
“Hermione’s going with Krum,” Ron complains to her, his freckles almost blending in with the red of his face.
Ginny nods, pretending to listen to his angry rant about the Durmstrang student.
Hermione’s going with Krum.
Hermione’s going with Krum.
Why does that bother her?
-
Fifteen.
She is sitting on her twin sized bed, Hermione holding her hand beside her.
“I hate him,” Ginny whispers, pushing red hair out of her face.
The bushy haired girl squeezes her hand, and Ginny tries not to revel in the feeling of how their hands mold perfectly together, as if they were made for each other, as if-
“It’s okay. There are other fish in the sea,” Hermione tells her.
Ginny looks away, quietly enraged.
“Yeah,” she whispers. “I guess.”
-
The Weasley girl stares determinedly at the broomstick in her hand.
Harry stands beside her, and he gives her a warm smile. She tries her best to smile back, but she knows he can tell it was a fake one.
“Gin,” he says, putting a hand on her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
Hermione is jealous of Ron. I’m jealous of Ron. Why is she jealous of Ron.
“Nothing,” she says, squaring up her shoulders.
She is a Gryffindor. She is brave. She will be fine.
-
In fourth year, she considers telling her.
Imagine it, her heart whispers. Imagine her loving you back.
But when she takes a deep breath and knocks on Hermione’s door, her bravado shatters and she scurries away.
You'll ruin everything.
She can’t have that- or the fact that she knows Hermione will let her down gently, maybe with a look of pity, and everything will be different.
Things might be messed up, but Ginny doesn’t want to ruin them anymore.
-
Sunlight filters through the spaces between the books as Ginny taps her fingers mindlessly onto the table. The library smells of old books and warmth. The succulents on the other side of the table give off a warm glow. Her quill fits comfortably into her hand. There are several other students, but none make any move to talk to her. She is okay with this. She enjoys the solitude.
Her Hogwarts coat is draped over the vacant chair beside her, and for a moment, Ginny allows herself peace.
There is light laughter, and she turns a bit to find the source.
It’s Hermione. Of course it’s Hermione.
She’s leaning against the wall of a bookshelf, a Potions Textbook in one hand the and other in Krum’s.
The momentary feeling of peace is forgotten. Bitter jealousy- a feeling Ginny hates more than anything- swells up inside her, and she tries her hardest to push it down.
Hermione spots her and says something to Krum; the next thing Ginny knows there’s an ecstatic frizzy-haired girl bounces in the seat next to her.
“Hello,” Ginny says quietly, pretending to be surprised Hermione was here. “What brings you here? I thought you were on a date with the hot quidditch boy?”
Hermione smiles, her pure joy so beautiful Ginny looks down.
“I was! And it was great, and oh Ginny- he kissed me! Viktor kissed me!”
There is silence roaring in the red haired girl’s ears, and if you listen closely you can hear the shattering of her heart.
Maybe it won’t work out, maybe she’ll break up with him, maybe-
“Really? He finally did it?” Ginny laughs with false enthusiasm. Hermione beams and nods almost violently.
“Yes- and it was absolutely wonderful- oh, Ginny, boys may be daft, but they can be great, too!”
She wants to cry.
-
Fifteen.
Hermione is roaring beside her, punching a pillow of Ginny’s with anger trapped inside of her for a year now, screaming and ranting and-
“He’s such an idiot, Gin! What an idiot! Kissing Lavender in front of me, and he knows how I loathe her! I hate him! I hate him! I hate boys, what idiots, Lord Almighty I hate him-”
Ginny hates the feeling of pleasure that arises as she listens to Hermione.
She hates the way she feels.
She hates how she hugs Hermione as she sobs, resenting herself for any pleasure that might have come to her from her best friend’s heart break.
“It’s okay, it’s okay. You’ll find someone, he’ll come around…”
Ginny hopes he won’t.
-
Sometimes, when they sleepover, Ginny allows herself to imagine.
Imagine Hermione loving her back, imagining them kissing, imagining the children they might adopt, their wedding, Ron having someone and Harry having someone and everyone being happy-
But then Ginny sees her brother. And he’s so, so in love with Hermione and Hermione is so, so in love with him and no matter how much she loves Hermione, she loves her brother more.
So she stops imagining, because even that feels like betrayal.
-
Ginny is sitting on a hill, overlooking the lake, her brother beside her.
Ron is going on about chess, or something of the sort, but then the conversation turns to Hermione, and how beautiful she is, and how she’s so bossy but he loves it, and her smart, and her laughter-
Ginny wants to scream.
-
Hermione is across from her, sleeping.
They are sitting on the floor of Ginny’s room, surrounded by pillows and blankets and crumbs from pastries Ginny had snatched from the pantry. It is four a.m., and Ginny knows this because she had been counting every second based on the rhythm of Hermione’s heartbeat.
One.
Beat
Two
Beat
Ginny sighs, so softly it’s barely an exhale, but Hermione shifts from beside her. Half of the older girl’s body is on top of Ginny, the other half propped up against a big pillow. She looks so peaceful there, snoring softly and the filtered moonlight casting dancing shadows upon her face.
Like a princess.
Like a fucking queen.
-
Sometimes she will catch Malfoy taunting Hermione, when no one else is around to see it.
She pretends not to know how he ended up in the hospital wing.
-
The constellation of freckles that dust her nose. The way her eyes light up when she answers a question correctly. When she ties her hair up with her pencil, braids it in two. Her hands as she writes furiously, the way her cheeks swell up in anger when she yells, the redness of her neck and face when she blushes. The way she laughs- like nothing can hold her back, free, pure uncontained energy that cannot be held back. Her smile- bright, happy, rare these days and precious as a gem. Her eyes- so brown, so deep; the kind you could get lost in. When she laughs so hard she snorts, then gets all embarrassed and doesn’t speak for three minutes until she’s at it again, smiling and laughing and tearing Ginny’s heart apart.
-
Hermione is warm.
Like butter on toast, or cozy socks and drinking hot cocoa next to a fireplace. Hermione is taking risks and dealing with the consequences, but doing them because it is right. She’s feather light touches and kisses on the cheek and blushes that darken Ginny’s skin and milk chocolate spilling from candy boxes. She’s valentines and cuddles and being in love.
Ginny wishes she was hers.
-
She’s only in fourth year when she nearly loses her. Hermione’s crying silently, a knife held at her throat by a Death Eater and they shouldn’t have come and Hermione is going to die-
-
Hermione is sobbing about her teeth.
“They’re too big, Ginny. Too big and my parents say I can’t fix them with magic and I’m ugly-”
Ginny hates it when Hermione gets like this.
“You’re not ugly,” she tells her gently, hugging her against her chest. It is the biggest understatement in the century.
Some sick part of her loves it, because she gets to be the one to pick up the pieces and tape Hermione back together. This is the part of her that no one has seen but Ginny, and in a way, she relishes it.
Hermione’s shaky cries slowly stop, until Ginny’s hugging her and Hermione’s hugging her back and she fits perfectly into her arms and-
Ginny’s cold when Hermione leaves.
-
When Ginny first realizes she’s gay, she doesn’t cry.
Maybe it’s because she doesn’t necessarily realize it.
She tries to think Harry Potter is cute. She tries to crush on Seamus, or Dean, but her thoughts always come back to Ron’s friends, Hermione and- She writes Harry the love letter to prove to herself that she likes guys, not girls, because it’s against everything Purebloods stand for, being a homosexual.
It’s when Ginny’s in third year does she find out her brother’s longtime crush too pretty to be platonic, and she still doesn’t cry.
Ginny is a Weasley. A Gryffindor. A witch.
But she’s not a crier.
-
“It’s okay to cry, Gin. You’re not any less the independant woman if you shed a few tears- or even start sobbing.” Hermione tells her.
She smells like chocolate and strawberry, strawberry from the shampoo she uses and chocolate from the ones she received from Ron (Ginny decides then, despite shoving it in her mouth in the past, that she hates chocolate).
“I know,” Ginny says with a shrug. “I just don’t like to.”
Hermione side-eyes her. “You should, you know. Cry sometimes. Otherwise, one day you’re going to burst and there will be too many pieces for anyone to pick up.”
Ginny tells her she agrees, and that she does cry, that she will and she won’t bottle up her emotions.
Ginny is a Weasley. A Gryffindor. A witch.
A liar.
-
Her brother is taken from her.
Hogwarts is taken from her.
Ron and Hermione and Harry leave.
Luna and Neville fall in love until Ginny is just the third wheel, trying desperately to keep any more of her life from falling apart while she does herself.
-
“Harry’s in love with you,” Parvati Patil giggles one night in the Gryffindor Common Room.
Ginny flushes, looking down at the bottle of Firewhiskey in her hand. Lavender Brown is holding the Indian girl’s hand, and they are so obviously in love Ginny wants to cry (she doesn’t).
“No,” she tells them, and she wants it to be true, “he’s not.”
Because if The Chosen One is in love with her, she has to love him back. And she does- she loves him like a brother, but it’s enough love that she can’t say no to him when he asks her out.
Lavender rolls her eyes. “Oh, Gin,” she giggles (Ginny hates her- hates her giggles, and how fake she is, and how she’s in love with a girl and how it’s okay). “You’re so in denial it’s not even funny.”
She’s right.
It’s not.
-
Ginny Weasley kisses Harry Potter.
She wants to like it.
-
They are at Bill and Fleur’s wedding. Ginny never liked Fleur, but if they’re going to be in-laws she might as well try and get along with the other woman.
Everyone is dancing, boisterous laughter in the air.
Several boys have asked her to dance, and she says no to every invitation that comes her way. Another day she might have tolerated it, but she’s not in the mood.
The Weasley girl feels someone tap on her shoulder and whirls around, about to politely decline when she sees who it is (it’s Hermione, because of course it’s Hermione).
“Would you like to dance?” The girl in question asks her, eyes twinkling with mirth.
Ginny is quick to recover from the shock. “Sure, darling.” Hermione huffs a laugh at the sarcastically-given nickname. Ginny pretends it doesn’t hurt.
And so Hermione leads her to the middle of the dance floor, looking so magnificent and stunning that Ginny thinks she outshines even Fleur.
They dance to an upbeat song which ends with Ginny falling flat on her ass and Hermione laughing so hard she ends up falling, too. Ginny marvels how wonderful this moment feels, how what started out as a dreary day ended up with her cherishing every moment of it, all because of Hermione.
But then the Ministry ruins everything, and everyone is panicking and screaming and Hermione is torn from Ginny’s arms-
She should have seen it coming. It couldn’t last forever.
-
She screams so loud her throat is blistered and she can no longer speak.
She aches so hard she feels that even if she does talk, her heart will break.
Ginny Weasley is a monster, but she doesn’t want to deserve this.
-
Hogwarts is mess.
Ginny is a mess.
The world is a mess.
-
Sometimes, she feels like she’s about to explode.
She’s listened to the stories- the old wives tales, the ones told to children. The ones speaking of true love. Of a happy ending. Of everyone being okay.
If this is love, Ginny thinks, it's not as great as everyone makes it out to be.
-
The war is won.
Hermione and Ron are in love.
Harry is in love with Ginny.
Ginny is in love with someone unattainable, someone who is in love with her brother, someone who could never love her back.
She is a Weasley. She is a Gryffindor. She is a witch.
So she smiles through the pain and pretends to love a boy who she doesn’t deserve.
She’s a monster.
-
She wakes up at three a.m., screaming as loud as she can.
Harry rushes in, holding her tight until the pain and panic seeps away.
It’s not enough.
-
It’s their wedding day- Hermione and Ron’s.
Ginny is standing on the side, with Luna and Fleur beside her. She stifles a laugh at Harry when he makes a funny face opposite her from the best man’s side, but then she hears Ron gasp and she turns and-
Hermione is radiant; an abstract work of art: blacks and browns and whites and reds and Ginny has never seen something so beautiful, something so alive. She’s blushing and beaming, clinging to her father’s arm as they make their way up to the podium. She turns to smile at Ginny, and the Weasley’s breath is gone.
Ron isn’t faring any better. He’s begun to cry, and Harry’s crying, too, and now everyone is crying.
(Ginny is not).
The two say their vows, and Ginny tries not to notice Luna’s horrifyingly piteous look, or the fact that Neville hugged her much too tightly when they took the pictures.
It was very, very bittersweet.
-
Ginny doesn’t remember her own wedding, and she resents every fiber of her very being for it.
-
They have children. She’s an aunt, a mother, a grandmother. The ache that once filled her heart is gone, but there are remnants: still she never eats chocolate. Still, she has yet to cry (a feat she’s not proud of, but a feat all the same). Her scars from the beatings she took will occasionally twinge with phantom pain, and she won’t look her niece or her sister-in-law in the eye when they laugh. She and Harry divorce, but they part on good terms and he’s okay. Sometimes, James Sirius will come up to her and hug her so tight she can’t breathe, and he says, you can cry, mom.
She never does.
-
Ginny Weasley is a mother. A Gryffindor. A Chaser. A sister. A Weasley. A friend. A wife. A witch.
A monster.