Disclaimer: Come now, what teenager do you know with even ONE bestselling book? Glares Oh, shut up, Christopher Paolini. You can just take your dragon and stick it where the sun don't shine. Seriously, it all belongs to the goddess J.K. Rowling.
Somewhere there's a stolen halo
I used to watch her wear it well
I knew a Ginny Weasley no one else knew. She was my baby sister, my constant companion, my playmate. The Ginny of my childhood. Mum always called her vivacious, and when I asked her what it meant she said, "Full of life."
That was Ginny. Talking nonstop about the morning she'd spent chasing crickets through the garden, or wondering aloud about all of Luna Lovegood's outlandish theories. She'd run through the house yelling at the top of her lungs for me to come see the gnome she'd caught with a bit of rope, or the litter of kittens she'd found under the house.
When she was ten and I was eleven, I went off to Hogwarts. She stayed behind. I was too excited to notice at the time, but looking back I see that she sort of wilted as the summer drew to a close. I myself was a trifle sad, thinking we'd never again have our fall days together, but I was too enthused about going to Hogwarts to care much.
Besides, I told myself, she'd be joining me next year.
And
everything would shine
Wherever
she would go
But
looking at her now you'd never tell
Watching her now, I try to fit the Ginny I once knew with the Ginny of today. Today's Ginny, a pretty, seemingly carefree girl of fifteen, has a few lines across her forehead that I don't remember. She must have acquired them sometime at Hogwarts.
I remember when she came to Hogwarts. A little slip of a thing, quiet and reserved, not anything like the Ginny I knew. The Ginny I knew was loud and talkative, running around like a loon most of the time. But this Ginny, she was quiet. She hardly ever talked at all, and remained a constant shade of deep red.
This, I think now, had something to do with the fact that I was always with Harry. Ginny, as it turns out, was suffering from puppy love. I couldn't imagine my little sister having a crush on anyone. She was Ginny, for goodness sakes. She'd rather chase bugs than boys.
But, as Mum is so often reminding me, girls mature faster than boys. I still can hardly imagine it. But, as I sit here in this train car, listening with half an ear to the conversation, I think I know how she felt.
Someone
ran away with her innocence
It's
a memory she can't get out of her head
I
can only imagine what she's feeling
When
she's praying
Kneeling
at the edge of her bed
Looking at Ginny's almost sad face, I am filled with rage, a rage so profound I can't even see straight.
Damn Tom Riddle.
Damn him for stealing her away. The Ginny I knew. She went the way of the diary, stabbed through the heart and banished into some dark oblivion.
Ginny was once the picture of youth and innocence, a girl that life didn't seem to taint. She lived entirely in her dream world, her one sanctuary from the harsh, stark reality of being poor and a girl, the only girl.
Damn Tom Riddle for taking that from her.
He polluted her dream world. Filled it with ghosts. Now she's forced to live in the world fate has handed to her, and somehow that gives her an infinite sadness about her joy.
For Ginny is still the same girl she used to be, on the surface. She's so happy, so carefree, so filled with unadulterated joy at the prospect of simply living. I love that about her. And yet, sometimes, on rainy days and dark nights, she'll look out the window with something akin to wistfulness on her face. A look that tugs at my heart.
She
says take me away
And
take me farther
Surround
me now
And
hold, hold, hold me
Like
holy water
She's my little sister. I want to protect her from the world, from everyone that will come and steal her heart and her innocence. I don't want to acknowledge the fear that maybe I can't do that.
Maybe, just maybe, someone else can. When Ginny trusts her heart to someone, it's forever. When she finds the right boy, corny as it may sound, she'll never get over that. She's so enthusiastic about everything, and she'll throw herself into that love with the recklessness of someone with nothing to lose.
She
wants someone to call her angel
Someone
to put the light back in her eyes
She's
looking through the faces
And
unfamiliar places
She
needs someone to hear her when she cries
Ginny is such an oddity, normal as she may seem at first glance. Her beauty, though apparent on the surface (She is a Weasley, after all), runs so much deeper than appearance. Her true beauty lies in contradiction.
She can be anything and everything. She loves both Quidditch and shopping, gossiping with her friends and hanging with the guys. Her personality is however she feels that day. Some days she's a serious scholar, some days a ditzy teenage girl. She's unpredictable, sporadic and spontaneous.
She needs a rock. Someone to balance out her insatiable curiosity at the world with their own strength and steadfastness. I was that rock for her childhood, but now I've realized that I can't be her rock indefinitely.
She
just needs a little help
To
wash away the pain she's felt
She
wants to feel the healing hands
Of
someone who understands
Hermione leans over and whispers something into Ginny's ear that makes Ginny laugh, a twinkling, happy sound weaving it's way through my troubled thoughts. And I am not the only one.
Harry turns from his intense contemplation of the scenery flashing by to observe the two girls, both grinning and talking in low voices. Ginny laughs again. Harry looks back to the window, a frown creasing his brow. Then he looks back. A half confused, half pensive expression suddenly appears on his face.
You can look at someone for years and years, yet never really see them. Then, when you do see them, it changes your whole life. Something that takes you completely by surprise, and yet you find yourself wondering how you hadn't seen it before.
I recognize the look on his face, having seen it in my own reflection that fateful day I first began to really see Hermione.
Harry shakes his head slightly, a move so subtle I almost miss it, then turns back to stare out the window, a contemplative half-frown on his features. Ginny cuts her eyes to him, a protective and wary look that makes me realize the utter truth.
When Ginny gives away her heart, it's forever. She will never get over Harry, says the watchful undertones in her eyes. Hermione, looking quickly between Harry and Ginny, starts to smile a little half-smirk that makes my stomach flip.
She catches my eye and drops me a wink. I just smile at her. For it's so obvious, so wonderfully there, that there's really no use in denying it.
Harry, it seems, is my little sister's rock. Her holy water.
She
says take me away
And
take me farther
Surround
me now
And
hold, hold, hold me
Like
holy water