“It just doesn’t make any sense,” Ronald Weasley exclaimed in irritation, “I don’t understand how you two even became friends!”
Ginerva spluttered and her face pinked with anger as she took in her idiot of a brother. She seemed to be even more livid when she realized that Fred and George were her only brothers that didn’t support Ron’s statement. She was about to screech at them all when she noticed her closest friend step forward. She trusted Harry. With her life. She knew he was far better with reading and handling people than herself.
“You wouldn’t understand,” he said quietly, but the intensity was clear in his emerald eyes. It was startling to the older Weasley sons just how deep that gaze seemed to penetrate.
“None of you would,” he continued, which was received with protest and anger from Bill, the eldest Weasley son. He stopped them dead with his next words.
“We have a friendship, a bond even, forged when we both lay dying hundreds of feet below Hogwarts,” the soft words reminded everyone in the room of the horror the two had faced at such a young age. Harry wasn’t done speaking yet.
“When you’ve been touched by evil,” he began and noticed how almost every pair of eyes in the room shot up to his forehead, “When you’ve had pure evil attack you mentally and physically,” the Boy Who Lived paused at this as he gathered his thoughts.
“No one else in this house can understand that. And hopefully never will. Ginerva and I will never be the same because of Voldemort,” all the Weasley males flinched at this name which sparked a rage in Harry which he quickly smothered. Their Gryffindor bravery apparently only extended so far.
“No one can truly understand that,” he continued, he felt as Ginerva reached down and grasped his hand in hers, a physical display of their united front.
“As you live your lives the same as always,” the dark haired boy continued, “Your sister and I must be greater than what we have suffered. An almost impossible task at times. So you wouldn’t understand and you hopefully never will.”