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Category: Post-HBP Characters:None Genres: Angst Warnings: None Story is Complete Rating: G Reviews: 5 Summary: Leaving is always hard to do, but being left behind is even worse. Hitcount: Story Total: 3134 Disclaimer: Harry Potter Publishing Rights © J.K.R. Note the opinions in this story are my own and in no way represent the owners of this site. This story subject to copyright law under transformative use. No compensation is made for this work. |
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The wind was harsh, blowing through her jumper and whipping her hair every which way. She didn’t bother to push it away from her face; what did it matter, really? She was alone, surrounded by naked trees and dead leaves. The only noise came from the pond splashing small spurts of spray onto her shoes, and the wind, of course. The wind was everywhere now, a constant reminder of the frenzy occurring outside her insulated life. It had started the morning they had left, all those months ago, and had yet to let up. The water that she used to splash in as a child was cloudy now, its bottom no longer visible. She couldn’t help but compare herself to the water; what had once been a clear and sparkling pond was now sluggish and murky, much like her. A distant voice called to her from beyond the trees; her mother, undoubtedly. It was no longer safe to be outside, away from the protection of her family. Had it ever been safe? she wondered. She wanted to ignore the voice, pretend that she had never heard it, just so she could stay where she was. Here she could breathe and think and just be. But here was not safe, so she would return, as any dutiful daughter would, to the suffocating stillness of her home. Letting out a sigh, she began her walk back. Her mum would probably be going crazy with worry; her fifteen minute break from school work had turn into half an hour. Hogwarts had not re-opened, to everyone’s disappointment, which meant she had to resort to studying what she could out of Ron’s battered set of sixth year books. It always came as a painful jolt when she saw her brother’s messy scribbles on the margin. Even worse was finding Harry’s scrawl on random pages. It had become a cruel game of sorts, having to guess if she would come across a remnant of them on the next page. Her shoes crackled among the layer of leaves that covered the ground as she trudged back towards the Burrow. She would have laughed, if she could, at the sight of irrepressible Ginny Weasley meekly following her mum’s orders. But such was her reality. Her life was now ruled by other people’s wishes: her parents, her brothers, Harry’s. She was at the mercy of their decisions, and she strangely didn’t care. After all, she was too young, too small, too important to do anything for herself. A great, terrible feeling arose in her suddenly, strangling her breath and crying out for release. She battled the familiar feeling back, shutting herself down. It was no use; it would help no one. She would never allow her frequent bouts of despair to be released; it was the last piece of her strength that she desperately held onto. She had honestly thought that she was strong, capable of bearing burdens with no complaint. She had thought that she would manage just fine, knowing that they loved her, that he loved her. Reality and thoughts were two different things though, and she found herself slowly losing any semblance to the person she used to be. The unbearable feelings of loneliness and uselessness, coupled with being alone in her house with only her overwrought mother for company, was killing any spirit Ginny might have previously possessed. She stopped at the edge of the trees for a moment, staring out at the desolate backyard. Only three months ago it had been alive with red-headed relatives and beautiful French speaking strangers and a green-eyed, messy haired boy. If she closed her eyes, she could almost feel his lips against her cheek, his pleading whisper in her ear, his lingering touch on her waist as they danced. Almost. Pressing her hands to her eyes, she pushed her thoughts back. There was no point in reminiscing. They were gone, leaving her here with only her memories, and remembering only made it worse. Her father’s shed caught her eye. It looked lonely and unused, which it was. Her dad had no time now to fiddle with strange Muggle toys. He was too busy with the Order and work. The Ministry, despite outward appearances, was in shambles, and her father was up to all hours of the night trying to salvage what was left. It had been five days since she had seen him last, and she knew not to look for him anytime soon. It was the same with her brothers. She hadn’t seen any of them, with the exception of the twins at rare times, since the wedding. It was just her and her mum now, trying to fill up all the empty spaces in the Burrow. She had considered fighting her fate, arguing and screaming until someone gave in, but her initial desire to be supportive and understanding had quietly morphed into apathy, and she could no longer care about anything. It was sad, she supposed, but that was war; you sacrificed for the greater good. And her sacrifice, in comparison to others, was small and insignificant; at least, that’s what she told herself whenever doubt started to creep in. It was what she needed to believe in order to keep going, in order to get out of bed each morning. Another blast of wind tore through the yard, shaking her out her morose thoughts. Ginny shook her head, and smoothed back her hair. There was no sense in looking back, she knew; what was right in front of her was more important. She made her way across the backyard, bracing herself for the stifling silence that existed inside the Burrow. Pasting a smile on her face, she opened the door and stepped through, her cheerful mask securely in place. “Sorry I was gone so long, Mum. You wouldn’t believe how cold it’s getting; we’ll have to make extra thick jumpers for Christmas this year. Do you need some help with supper? Here, let me do that…” |
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