Disclaimer: Characters belong to JKR. This was just a gift.
Do not suddenly break the branch, or
Hope to find
The white hart behind the white well.
Once upon a time, in a past that now seems like a dream, there was a girl that loved a boy. She was a youthful chit, full of a fresh and fulfilling life that she could only wish for now. In that life, laughter could be found around any corner, her enemies were clearly marked and labeled, and this day would have been hers.
In half an hour's time, she would be on that platform with him, holding hands in an age-old symbol of home, protection, and fertility. The sun would cast its soft light on the world below it, illuminating at will the bright smiles on the guests' faces, glowing in the pure white flowers that peppered her hair and glinting off of the glasses sitting on his nose. The sweet smells of the flowers, grass and dirt beneath their feet would mix headily with the scent of the wine in their flutes on the far table. And at the end of the binding, when she looked up into those brilliant green eyes of his as she recited her vows to him, she would feel as though she'd finally found her place in the world.
While today was very like that imaginary day, it was not she who would be binding herself to Harry Potter. Her place was no longer here, in the sunshine and old magic that imbued the ground that she stood upon, for she had given it all up long ago.
In that same illusionary past, she had loved him dearly. Even now, when she heard him laugh or saw his smile, she could feel the stirrings of anticipation and contentment in her gut, physical memories of her feelings for him that time had tempered into affection. Though they had ended things on that lakeshore at Hogwarts all those years ago, her feelings for him had remained just as strong without the relationship. Afterwards, while Harry, Hermione, and Ron had searched for Horcruxes and prepared for the battle that would be the defining point in their lives, she had been content with staying in the background, baring her love and concern when he needed her. After all, theirs was a mutual agreement, an understanding that some things in life were far more urgent and pressing than the languorous ease of love. And though she hated it, she was reassured by the fact that she had a permanent place in his heart.
In hindsight, she could see that her brother's death, and her own reaction to it, was the point when everything that she'd held sure and safe in her fairytale life had turned on its head.
Ron, her beloved, loyal, stupid wanker of a brother, had fallen to his death in their search for the sixth Horcrux, leaving all who had loved and known him in shock and harsh bereavement. However, the Ron she had lost was not the best friend of the Boy Who Lived and Hermione Granger; he was her support, her ever-present comforter and protector. That wasn't to say that she idolized Ron; he was a prat to her most of the time, but his intentions and compassion were the purest she'd ever known. After her experiences with particularly dangerous Slytherins in her first year, Ron was always a reminder that she had permanent blood ties that would not waver the way that friendships did. And no matter how preoccupied he was with Harry and Hermione and no matter how infatuated she was with Harry, Ron was hers in a way that no one else could understand.
With him gone, her life had become empty; she was weary of the danger that hounded her and the ones she loved. There was no time for proper grief, with the final battle looming overhead like a particularly lovelorn Dementor. Though she had the rest of her family to rely upon in this time of need, she couldn't ignore the glaring gap in the chain of children, or the empty seat that accompanied every meal at the Burrow. She had been very close to Bill even when Ron was alive, but her oldest brother had been preoccupied with his new wife and more missions for the Order. Her nearest brothers in age were Fred and George but years as twins had made them an entity of their own, so that it was nigh impossible for her to talk openly and honestly with them. And when she did make the effort to reach for her brothers' help, she always felt a stab of guilt, as though she were deliberately reaching over Ron and not allowing him to do the job that was rightfully his. It was no matter that he was no longer present to take up his position; he had had it for so long that she knew of no one else who could fill his spot just as well.
After Ron's funeral, the war seemed to be speeding up to its final conclusion. The Horcruxes had been found and destroyed; now, all that Harry had left to do was to face his nemesis and defeat him. Sick of the tension that clouded everyone's lives, she'd packed up her meager possessions a month before the battle and left everything behind her with only a short note to alert everyone of her desire to be on her own "for a while."
For a week or so after she'd left, she had regretted her decision and wanted to return back to the home that she loved. No matter how far away she was from her family emotionally and physically, she could not change her surname nor could she ignore the longing that only the English mist and the lush green of the countryside surrounding her home could satisfy. But she had left because she felt that she needed time to decide who she was and where her family ended and she began.
So, she'd doggedly continued to travel across the Continent, teaching English in small German Wizarding school then taking on the role of secretary to a business magnate in Greece. In time, she grew more relaxed and comfortable with her life; on the Continent, her life wasn't in constant danger for no one knew who she was. She was free to do as she pleased and she took this opportunity to explore the rest of the Wizarding World and even the Muggle world. Her work was relatively boring and monotonous, though her students in Germany had given her some measure of amusement. She'd preferred it that way, for the past seemed more and more like a fairytale as the years passed on. Although she'd kept in touch with her mother and she was still a Weasley through and through, she was like a stranger in comparison with the young girl she had once been.
Of course, she'd known that her bliss was too ephemeral to last; and like the last time, she was completely unprepared for the event that shook her carefully reconstructed world apart.
It had been an ordinary day when she'd decided to Floo her mother. Things were quiet at work, leading to an equally pleasant evening at home. Sheer curiosity and that infamous Gryffindor impetuosity prompted her to pick up a pinch of her Floo powder and stick her head in her fireplace, calling out "The Burrow!" in a steady voice. The sight that met her eyes was not her mother's friendly smile, however.
Instead, at the kitchen table where she'd eaten countless meals, in the very chair that she'd commonly sat in during those meals, were Harry and Hermione, lips locked and in each other's arms.
Embarrassment and shock forced her to back quickly out of the fireplace, causing her to stumble a bit until she could find her bearings. Kneeling on her worn rug, staring unseeingly at her fireplace, she felt reality crash against her like a ton of bricks, forcing her to face herself and her past.
When she'd left England, she'd never said goodbye to Harry nor had she indicated anything in her note regarding their unspoken relationship. Now that she was being completely honest with herself, she could see that she wouldn't have cared to say anything to Harry even if she had remembered to do so. Inspecting her heart with mature eyes, she noticed that after Ron's death, she'd drawn away from Harry because she placed some of the blame on his shoulders. If Ron hadn't been friends with Harry, if he hadn't been so unerringly loyal to him all those years, she would still have her protector and confidante.
Over the next month or so, she had time to examine herself very closely. With these new eyes, she realized that her growing reticence following Ron's funeral hadn't been fueled by grief, but anger and resentment. If Hermione had pulled Ron away just in time, he would have missed the Killing Curse; perhaps he would have been injured, but he would still be alive. If her brothers hadn't left her and Ron together while they were growing up, she would have had a shoulder to cry on and a comforting presence in her grief. She was ashamed even as that thought passed through her mind, for her brothers and parents had offered comfort, but she had been too blinded by her pain to see it.
She had shed many tears that night and the following weeks, finally allowing herself to mourn for her brother and let go of the guilt that had driven her away from her fairytale life. In the absence of that guilt, she was filled with a sense of determination and longing: determination to rectify her mistakes and repair the rifts she had cause in her friendships and relationships, and only a subtle longing for the blue-eyed freckled boy that would never tease her again.
Giving notice to her employer and to her mother, she left the life she'd led in Greece and returned to the Burrow nearly four months after her epiphany. The day she Apparated on the door step of her childhood home, she almost fled again in shame. Her parents had set the wards so that her Apparition signature was still recognized, even after all these years. Who was she to return to the loving arms of people she had left so callously? How could she expect them to want her to refill her place in their hearts? But before she could even attempt to Disapparate, her mother had opened the door and engulfed her in her arms.
That day had taught her much humility, even more so than the day of her enlightenment. Her conversations with her family members were stilted at first, which was to be expected; she almost thought that the years apart were like a great river that just couldn't be forded. But familiarity and that inherent closeness through blood and similarity eventually bridged that gap between them, so that she was once again a part of her own family, in her rightful place.
Her reconciliation with Harry and Hermione was even more uncomfortable, if such a feat were possible. The bond that she had with Harry after the events of her first year was not enough to overlook the glaring differences between them now. They were still the only two who truly knew what it felt to be betrayed by their own emotions while under Voldemort's influence, but that was the sum of their shared experiences. Hermione, unlike her, had remained at Harry's side after Ron's death, and these past years had cemented their acceptance and understanding of each other. Their love had grown out of that bond, where experiences were shared and nightmares were mutually comforted away.
She saw all this and accepted it without question. In fact, the knowledge that she no longer loved Harry and that he no longer loved her was a weight off of her shoulders and heart. She would no longer have to live in his shadow, just as she had once lived in the shadows of her brothers and parents. With an unclaimed heart, she was free to do as she pleased and make the life she wanted to make. She would no longer need to marry Harry to feel as though she had found her place in the world.
Yet, as she stood idly before the platform where the binding was beginning, she felt a twinge of regret and jealousy. She wasn't upset that she wasn't marrying Harry, nor was she jealous of Hermione. However, she intensely coveted the love that was so blatant in their faces and body language. The inner fire that they shared between them, heightened by the magic of the ceremony and their heated looks, were what she craved most. That kind of emotional reciprocity she had never really had before in her life; when she was younger, she would have used a win in Quidditch or good marks in an assignment to feed that need. But now that she'd matured and changed, the simple solutions of her youth were no longer enough.
She needed love, a real feeling and commitment bred by familiarity and accord. She ached for the type of tension and nonverbal communication between two people that was tangible, filling a room or even this clearing in the middle of nature. In the light of this longing, her once-intoxicating freedom had become a bitter omen of a life of loneliness. Already, only four months since her return, she'd become reclusive; when she wasn't working at her brothers' store in Diagon Alley or whiling time away in her flat, she was sitting in her room in the Burrow, staring out the window at the blue sky which had once beckoned her away. Her family didn't notice her listlessness but she hardly expected them to, what with the flurry of wedding preparations.
The sound of Harry's voice broke her reverie, and she turned her attention back to the ceremony. But when the binding was finally done and the guests had moved on towards the refreshments, she stood staring at the platform before her, facing the dream of her past and regretting the reality of her life.
Before she could get lost in her memories again, a cultured voice that she hadn't heard for ages spoke, "Odd how the tables turned, isn't it?"
Not believing her ears, Ginny turned around slowly and found herself face-to-face with Draco Malfoy.
Do not suddenly break the branch, or
Hope to find
The white hart behind the white well.
Once upon a time, in a past that now seems like a dream, there was a girl that loved a boy. She was a youthful chit, full of a fresh and fulfilling life that she could only wish for now. In that life, laughter could be found around any corner, her enemies were clearly marked and labeled, and this day would have been hers.
In half an hour's time, she would be on that platform with him, holding hands in an age-old symbol of home, protection, and fertility. The sun would cast its soft light on the world below it, illuminating at will the bright smiles on the guests' faces, glowing in the pure white flowers that peppered her hair and glinting off of the glasses sitting on his nose. The sweet smells of the flowers, grass and dirt beneath their feet would mix headily with the scent of the wine in their flutes on the far table. And at the end of the binding, when she looked up into those brilliant green eyes of his as she recited her vows to him, she would feel as though she'd finally found her place in the world.
While today was very like that imaginary day, it was not she who would be binding herself to Harry Potter. Her place was no longer here, in the sunshine and old magic that imbued the ground that she stood upon, for she had given it all up long ago.
In that same illusionary past, she had loved him dearly. Even now, when she heard him laugh or saw his smile, she could feel the stirrings of anticipation and contentment in her gut, physical memories of her feelings for him that time had tempered into affection. Though they had ended things on that lakeshore at Hogwarts all those years ago, her feelings for him had remained just as strong without the relationship. Afterwards, while Harry, Hermione, and Ron had searched for Horcruxes and prepared for the battle that would be the defining point in their lives, she had been content with staying in the background, baring her love and concern when he needed her. After all, theirs was a mutual agreement, an understanding that some things in life were far more urgent and pressing than the languorous ease of love. And though she hated it, she was reassured by the fact that she had a permanent place in his heart.
In hindsight, she could see that her brother's death, and her own reaction to it, was the point when everything that she'd held sure and safe in her fairytale life had turned on its head.
Ron, her beloved, loyal, stupid wanker of a brother, had fallen to his death in their search for the sixth Horcrux, leaving all who had loved and known him in shock and harsh bereavement. However, the Ron she had lost was not the best friend of the Boy Who Lived and Hermione Granger; he was her support, her ever-present comforter and protector. That wasn't to say that she idolized Ron; he was a prat to her most of the time, but his intentions and compassion were the purest she'd ever known. After her experiences with particularly dangerous Slytherins in her first year, Ron was always a reminder that she had permanent blood ties that would not waver the way that friendships did. And no matter how preoccupied he was with Harry and Hermione and no matter how infatuated she was with Harry, Ron was hers in a way that no one else could understand.
With him gone, her life had become empty; she was weary of the danger that hounded her and the ones she loved. There was no time for proper grief, with the final battle looming overhead like a particularly lovelorn Dementor. Though she had the rest of her family to rely upon in this time of need, she couldn't ignore the glaring gap in the chain of children, or the empty seat that accompanied every meal at the Burrow. She had been very close to Bill even when Ron was alive, but her oldest brother had been preoccupied with his new wife and more missions for the Order. Her nearest brothers in age were Fred and George but years as twins had made them an entity of their own, so that it was nigh impossible for her to talk openly and honestly with them. And when she did make the effort to reach for her brothers' help, she always felt a stab of guilt, as though she were deliberately reaching over Ron and not allowing him to do the job that was rightfully his. It was no matter that he was no longer present to take up his position; he had had it for so long that she knew of no one else who could fill his spot just as well.
After Ron's funeral, the war seemed to be speeding up to its final conclusion. The Horcruxes had been found and destroyed; now, all that Harry had left to do was to face his nemesis and defeat him. Sick of the tension that clouded everyone's lives, she'd packed up her meager possessions a month before the battle and left everything behind her with only a short note to alert everyone of her desire to be on her own "for a while."
For a week or so after she'd left, she had regretted her decision and wanted to return back to the home that she loved. No matter how far away she was from her family emotionally and physically, she could not change her surname nor could she ignore the longing that only the English mist and the lush green of the countryside surrounding her home could satisfy. But she had left because she felt that she needed time to decide who she was and where her family ended and she began.
So, she'd doggedly continued to travel across the Continent, teaching English in small German Wizarding school then taking on the role of secretary to a business magnate in Greece. In time, she grew more relaxed and comfortable with her life; on the Continent, her life wasn't in constant danger for no one knew who she was. She was free to do as she pleased and she took this opportunity to explore the rest of the Wizarding World and even the Muggle world. Her work was relatively boring and monotonous, though her students in Germany had given her some measure of amusement. She'd preferred it that way, for the past seemed more and more like a fairytale as the years passed on. Although she'd kept in touch with her mother and she was still a Weasley through and through, she was like a stranger in comparison with the young girl she had once been.
Of course, she'd known that her bliss was too ephemeral to last; and like the last time, she was completely unprepared for the event that shook her carefully reconstructed world apart.
It had been an ordinary day when she'd decided to Floo her mother. Things were quiet at work, leading to an equally pleasant evening at home. Sheer curiosity and that infamous Gryffindor impetuosity prompted her to pick up a pinch of her Floo powder and stick her head in her fireplace, calling out "The Burrow!" in a steady voice. The sight that met her eyes was not her mother's friendly smile, however.
Instead, at the kitchen table where she'd eaten countless meals, in the very chair that she'd commonly sat in during those meals, were Harry and Hermione, lips locked and in each other's arms.
Embarrassment and shock forced her to back quickly out of the fireplace, causing her to stumble a bit until she could find her bearings. Kneeling on her worn rug, staring unseeingly at her fireplace, she felt reality crash against her like a ton of bricks, forcing her to face herself and her past.
When she'd left England, she'd never said goodbye to Harry nor had she indicated anything in her note regarding their unspoken relationship. Now that she was being completely honest with herself, she could see that she wouldn't have cared to say anything to Harry even if she had remembered to do so. Inspecting her heart with mature eyes, she noticed that after Ron's death, she'd drawn away from Harry because she placed some of the blame on his shoulders. If Ron hadn't been friends with Harry, if he hadn't been so unerringly loyal to him all those years, she would still have her protector and confidante.
Over the next month or so, she had time to examine herself very closely. With these new eyes, she realized that her growing reticence following Ron's funeral hadn't been fueled by grief, but anger and resentment. If Hermione had pulled Ron away just in time, he would have missed the Killing Curse; perhaps he would have been injured, but he would still be alive. If her brothers hadn't left her and Ron together while they were growing up, she would have had a shoulder to cry on and a comforting presence in her grief. She was ashamed even as that thought passed through her mind, for her brothers and parents had offered comfort, but she had been too blinded by her pain to see it.
She had shed many tears that night and the following weeks, finally allowing herself to mourn for her brother and let go of the guilt that had driven her away from her fairytale life. In the absence of that guilt, she was filled with a sense of determination and longing: determination to rectify her mistakes and repair the rifts she had cause in her friendships and relationships, and only a subtle longing for the blue-eyed freckled boy that would never tease her again.
Giving notice to her employer and to her mother, she left the life she'd led in Greece and returned to the Burrow nearly four months after her epiphany. The day she Apparated on the door step of her childhood home, she almost fled again in shame. Her parents had set the wards so that her Apparition signature was still recognized, even after all these years. Who was she to return to the loving arms of people she had left so callously? How could she expect them to want her to refill her place in their hearts? But before she could even attempt to Disapparate, her mother had opened the door and engulfed her in her arms.
That day had taught her much humility, even more so than the day of her enlightenment. Her conversations with her family members were stilted at first, which was to be expected; she almost thought that the years apart were like a great river that just couldn't be forded. But familiarity and that inherent closeness through blood and similarity eventually bridged that gap between them, so that she was once again a part of her own family, in her rightful place.
Her reconciliation with Harry and Hermione was even more uncomfortable, if such a feat were possible. The bond that she had with Harry after the events of her first year was not enough to overlook the glaring differences between them now. They were still the only two who truly knew what it felt to be betrayed by their own emotions while under Voldemort's influence, but that was the sum of their shared experiences. Hermione, unlike her, had remained at Harry's side after Ron's death, and these past years had cemented their acceptance and understanding of each other. Their love had grown out of that bond, where experiences were shared and nightmares were mutually comforted away.
She saw all this and accepted it without question. In fact, the knowledge that she no longer loved Harry and that he no longer loved her was a weight off of her shoulders and heart. She would no longer have to live in his shadow, just as she had once lived in the shadows of her brothers and parents. With an unclaimed heart, she was free to do as she pleased and make the life she wanted to make. She would no longer need to marry Harry to feel as though she had found her place in the world.
Yet, as she stood idly before the platform where the binding was beginning, she felt a twinge of regret and jealousy. She wasn't upset that she wasn't marrying Harry, nor was she jealous of Hermione. However, she intensely coveted the love that was so blatant in their faces and body language. The inner fire that they shared between them, heightened by the magic of the ceremony and their heated looks, were what she craved most. That kind of emotional reciprocity she had never really had before in her life; when she was younger, she would have used a win in Quidditch or good marks in an assignment to feed that need. But now that she'd matured and changed, the simple solutions of her youth were no longer enough.
She needed love, a real feeling and commitment bred by familiarity and accord. She ached for the type of tension and nonverbal communication between two people that was tangible, filling a room or even this clearing in the middle of nature. In the light of this longing, her once-intoxicating freedom had become a bitter omen of a life of loneliness. Already, only four months since her return, she'd become reclusive; when she wasn't working at her brothers' store in Diagon Alley or whiling time away in her flat, she was sitting in her room in the Burrow, staring out the window at the blue sky which had once beckoned her away. Her family didn't notice her listlessness but she hardly expected them to, what with the flurry of wedding preparations.
The sound of Harry's voice broke her reverie, and she turned her attention back to the ceremony. But when the binding was finally done and the guests had moved on towards the refreshments, she stood staring at the platform before her, facing the dream of her past and regretting the reality of her life.
Before she could get lost in her memories again, a cultured voice that she hadn't heard for ages spoke, "Odd how the tables turned, isn't it?"
Not believing her ears, Ginny turned around slowly and found herself face-to-face with Draco Malfoy.
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