Unofficial Portkey Archive

Life and Times

Rating: R

Ship: HHr (main emphasis)

The (unlovely) procedure: all rights go to JKR for previous plot and characters, Scholastic, Warner, and whoever else has their hands in HP.

Author Note: Hey there! Yes, I know I haven't kept up. Between graduating from college and now, my time has become limited. To be honest, I'm sick and that's the only thing allowing me to slow down to write. Sad, isn't it? But, I'm still willing to finish my story one way or another. The chapters may come slow, though. No promises.

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Chapter Twenty-Three - Ginevra

***

I wish I hadn't done it.

I wish I'd done it sooner.

Love is a funny concept. It's true what they say, that it can come in many forms; that it can come out of nowhere. You'd never think of the taboo. It's not right, right? I'd never tell Mother. Dad might not go ballistic. He always was the cool cannon opposed to the loose one. I could see Mother having a conniption, literally her face cracking and some sort of demon expelling from her to attack me. I was her only daughter. I'm supposed to be the girl-the apple of her Mother's eye-homosexuality never should enter this picture.

She is my best friend. She's been my best friend. I think the first time I met her I felt…something. In the beginning it was probably envy, the emotion. I mean, Hermione knew every bloody thing. You could ask her anything, even when she was amidst of doing something she'd always have an answer-the best answer, the right answer. Oh, how I hated the attention she gathered from the guys, Harry, even my own brother. I'd secretly curse her. By the second year of my time at Hogwarts, however, we were two peas in a pod. We'd share every, little secret and every little lie we told.

I usually had all the secrets and lies, and she'd be the listener… But, that's beside the point.

Puberty hit me quickly the next year, and suddenly I was the centre of attention. Everything I heard the guy's say behind their back about Hermione now came full on at me. The guys clamored over me-or my boobs. Being one of the first girls my age to grow boobs, I was the number one favorite female to be hit on. At first I liked the attention. I mean, I really liked the attention. I went from one guy to the next. I'd line one up to catch me the second I'd dump the one I was with. They were like pawns and I'd use them.

I matured, or rather, I began getting used. I started finding out things weren't as they were cracked out to be. I started wanting more than just the little boys. I wanted the security. I wanted to feel wanted, and not just in the sexual way. I wanted to laugh without making myself. I wanted to smile genuinely. I wanted an actual intelligent conversation. I wanted…

I got all these things when I was with Hermione. I got confused-my feelings, the tug and push from Mother after every bloody vacation on, "How are things with him?"-the boy I'd talked about months ago. The birds and the bees never discussed the actuality of liking-loving-my best friend. The bee pollinates the stamen. The bird lays the egg. There's no grey area-it's always male and female. Male and female. There's nothing wrong with it…just difficult to understand when my eyes linger that extra second on Hermione as she'd yawn while reading in the Gryffindor commons from my corner of the room.

I had to act my role, too. Hermione was interested in boys-men-as she'd question why boys had to do such immature things. I'd express myself per my role, giving her what she wanted and always afraid of the reply I'd get if I said, "Who cares? How about me?" I didn't want her to laugh which I'm she she'd do promptly the second afterward. If I waved the laugh off and really meant it, then I'd probably never see her again-scare her away. Something…if that would ever happen…

So, I stayed Ginevra Weasley: the best friend of Hermione Granger. Talks? Ginevra Weasley. Walks? Ginevra Weasley. Study sessions? Ginevra Weasley. Holidays together? Best friend: Ginevra Weasley. Of course, sometimes I just couldn't help it. I'd do things…stupidly in after-thought, but would get away with it. Play-hugs and play-snogs, tickling, cuddling, sleeping…"platonically". I stayed in the background and pursued Harry, instead. Why? Because that somehow filled the hole everyone wanted me to fill. I even "asked" Hermione for advice about how to get Harry. By picking the one guy the whole world admired, I knew that if I had him, I wouldn't want Hermione-that I'd move on, as if my emotions were a sickness needing a dose of heterosexual. "Normalcy" by society, by my Mother's standards.

I got him. I got Harry. Of course I would. I was the most desirable girl at Hogwarts. I snogged him to death. Our make-out sessions, albeit isolated from view, could break records. I'd prompt them, continued them, made them last longer. I think I bored Harry at times, kissing for an hour, and then another, he'd make some excuse to go. Potions? Yeah right.

I cried when he wasn't around. I cried, especially, when no one was around. I cried because…after getting everything…I didn't get everything. I was being torn. Torn once by the influence of what was going on with Voldemort and torn again by the falsity of my feelings. I became tired of putting on sixteen thousand masks. I only wanted to put on one mask-the true mask.

Before all Hell broke loose, one memory continued to taunt me. Everything was right, but all was wrong. I couldn't take advantage of Hermione. I couldn't even dream of the stress, the friction running through her. She was the rock within our core group, the group that led the way, the group that will forever remain in wizarding history. Without her brilliance and critical thinking skills, the certainty of us being here alive would be dim.

One moonlit night I heard the curtains of my bed being pulled away. I wouldn't have even heard, or saw that it was a moonlit night had I not already been awake. But, I laid in bed in thought. We'd just had one of our group rallying meetings, our old, trusted DA members for the future of what was to come. We'd discussed all possible outcomes, good and bad, until our heads hurt. We practiced our defensive measures, studied some literature from the restricted section about the Dark Arts for countering purposes, and inch by growing inch we could feel the wrapping hands of Voldemort around our throats. My mind wasn't really on anything else besides until I saw a streak of blue from the shadow filter across the porcelain skin. Her slightly darkened eyes blinking, her approach cautious as the light coming onto my bed had her eyes adjust.

I made a move to show her I was awake when she asked me:

"…Did I wake you? I'm sorry…I'll…"

She began to leave.

"No, no," I whispered quietly. I could sense Hermione's fear…and that made me fearful. Hermione could look Voldemort in the face and not flinch. But now I see her…and she's shaking ever-slightly. "Are you okay?"

My voice was hurried at the end, and I quickly pulled away the sheet to allow her in. I felt her arms around me, her warm body clutching my own. She held onto me tight as we both settled. I put my hand to her cheek, her face near my neck. I felt her stutter a breath and I knew she was holding back tears. I didn't want to say anything. I didn't want her to cry, and the moment I opened my mouth I knew I'd set her off. So I held her, and I could feel my heart pounding.

"…Next week we'll be on the train home…"

She spoke, and I just listened-role-reversal.

"…I just don't know what will happen…"

She spoke in soft haste right into my form, her mouth close to the cloth of my pajamas.

"My parents and friends, all my loved ones… Well," She began, and I could tell she was frustrated. "Don't just let me babble! Say something!"

"Everything will be okay," I spoke fast, and I spoke in a lie. I didn't know what was going to happen…what was happening… Hermione was the strongest person I knew, and that doubled into the fact that I couldn't control my beating heart my mind unraveled. I said the first thing to calm her.

I felt her arms withdrawal from around me. I thought I'd set her off. I thought she caught onto my own fright, but she collapsed. She withdrew into me. With my hand reaching behind Hermione, I ran my fingers through her soft, bushy brown curls and held her as she began to cry.

I wanted to tell her that I loved her.

I loved her.

That, I wanted to love her.

For all I knew six months, three months, a month from now we'd all be dead and alas, I'd kept the truth to myself to the grave-a fate scarier to myself than envisioning Voldemort and his thousand Death Eaters.

My mouth missed her lips a few inches away.

Instead, they met with her forehead and that's how it ended.

We'd leave for train and our lives would still stay the same with me on mute.

Now, I've opened a can of worms I could never close. Under the influence, my emotion ran wild. What I'd been longing to do for years came to a sudden conclusion: I kissed Hermione, and in doing so everything changed. At first she didn't speak to me…and that in itself drove me crazy. Like a child in tantrum, I threw it back. I made it a point to dissolve her from my life-to not speak with her, to try not to breathe the same air she breathed. But, to what end? I was only hurting myself in the process. I was hurting myself, and I was hurting Neville-the man I would soon be wedded to.

I love Neville Longbottom. He's witty and smart. He takes care of me. We have this sense of humor only we understand and he knows me. But, this cannot be solved like any mathematical equation. There cannot be a grey area. I have to choose, but I don't want to. Some nights I find myself wanting to die than to choose Neville over Hermione, or Hermione over Neville. For myself, that is…for surely Hermione hasn't the same intertwined feelings for me. She has Harry-she wanted Harry. After my enormous dolt of a brother, abusing her as he did and seeking help for it, I gave her Harry by any means possible.

Why would someone do this? Why would I do this when I hurt seeing them smile at each other in that goofy sort of way, or see them kiss, or hear them talk about their wonderfully good lives together and know quite well he's shagging her? Because… I love her. I want to make Hermione happy, and if helping her achieve her happiness is what I can do and only do, I'll do it. No questions asked. I did it, but my heart still longs for her… Seeing her wrapped in some silky, see-through negligee and wanting me that way! Smart and talented…funny…down-right gorgeous with just a hint of tom-boyish charm…

I could see myself. I could see myself walking. I was on the sideline watching myself walking down an aisle, between desks. It wasn't odd that I saw myself walking between desk or that there were two of me. It wasn't odd that it was snowing almost glow-like flakes into the Great Hall where students sat taking an exam or that Doleres Umbridge was behind the owl-studded pedestal observing them. In full-Hogwarts attire, I saw myself making my way in light-step to the front of the room. I followed me from afar, pacing at the same speed as my double, maybe younger in age. No one bothered to notice me-not a soul-not even Umbridge who scowled at the fifty or so students seated, quills in hand.

I had my wand out by my side. I saw the target settled on as prey. I knew, by the unkempt black hair from the back and how he rolled up the sleeves of his jumper who the prey was. Harry, diligently working at his exam with Hermione on one side, Ron on the other, the rest of us surrounding him and all into our examination. I saw yet another me behind the group ahead of me-the older ones of the year before me. Never once were we grouped like this, but there I was with those years taking their test.

I wasn't with the group, but I saw myself trying to keep up with the rest of them. My quill flew as hastily, my eyes catching the others as they'd drop the point into their inkwells to go again. I felt empathy, sympathy, my heart sinking as I saw myself never completely keeping up with the rest and feeling left behind-the one that felt always felt the lesser-a child among giants.

Myself, the one with the wand had made her way to the front and stood before Harry. Either they all simply ignored that me, or…I couldn't understand until I saw her raise the wand and immediately noticed the familiar green hue produce at its tip. I went to call out, but my voice clung to my throat. I went to move, to tackle that me from her action, but remained frozen to my spot.

The two most dreadful words were spoken…and Harry's face planted into the top of his desk. The lifeless body rolled from the weight and he fell to the floor from his chair. I went to cry out again, to scream, to ask myself, "Why?!"-to expel nothing, soundless. I began to run again and tripped, falling over a desk. I lifted my head to see Ginevra, the murderer, step atop and through Harry, her eyes dark and her lips curled into the most sinister of grins. I looked from my left, to see the test-taking Ginevra still working away at her exam, and then to my right at all the other students not taking any notice into the killing that unfolded a foot away from them.

I felt a heavy, stale breath at my ear and closed my eyes.

I began to cry, and I found myself falling from pressure.

I felt as if someone had taken a sledge hammer to the back of my head and heard the words of any nightmare streak through my mind.

"…Very good…," He exclaimed with utmost joy that made my blood turn cold. "…Never disappoint, child…"

I fell for what seemed like centuries in open, sightless space to awake in bed. My bed, the one in my house. Startled, I jolted from my slumber only to catch myself, smacking my forehead when I realized it all but a dream…a nightmare. I kept my hand to my head and breathed a sigh to calm down. Pulsing, I could feel palpitations emote from my body.

My hand felt cool…and then, wet…

I didn't understand and slowly left my forehead to feel a substance sticky and unnatural, making my fingers struggle to pull apart from one another. Sanguine…smelling of iron when the substance passed my nose. My eyes instantly lit up. I felt them dilate, fixating on first the blood dripping from my hand to the Hogwarts student outfit I was draped in. Blood splattered helter-skelter in huge, irregular splotches. I couldn't make out the slightest bit of a clean, white shirt beneath the pink color it gained from mixing with body fluid.

I went to turn, to feel for Neville beside me to find him…his body mauled and lacerated as if millions of knives were taken to him. I couldn't distinguish a feature about him, utterly ripped to shreds, detailing down to bone and muscle fiber.

The door boomed open, falling off the frame and into the bedroom like there hadn't been hinges applied. Through my gaped mouth and bright eyes I saw Hermione, wand at the ready. She looked at me in disgust, in shame, and screamed at me, "HOW COULD YOU?!"

I wanted to throw up, but couldn't. I felt the rich, rancid acid rise to my throat but nothing came out.

I struggled to make sense of everything-or anything at all.

"Ginny," Mother was already at the sink by the time I'd gathered up the rest of the dishes. Her hands were over up to the elbows in suds. I guess the other utensils, dancing their way to cleanliness by a charm wasn't enough to get all our dishes done. "Did you-"

She turned to me to see more containers, pots and the like buried up to my neck.

"Ah--," She tapped the top of the counter. "Set them here, dear. Thank you."

"Mum…," As I laid them down to be washed, I slowly crept up the courage to ask my question.

"Hm?" Mum's eyes dawdled on one dish after another.

I leaned my hip on the rim of the countertop and grasp the edge…as if that didn't give away how nervous my voice came out. "…What would happen if-"

"Hand me that there sponge, Ginny dear," she pointed beside me, far from her reach. "The blue one."

I did as she asked, and she replied with a, "Thank you."

I sighed, Mother obviously too busy to tend to me.

I went to escape, to trudge to my room once again to have her say, "What was it, dear? I'm here, just busy, busy, busy."

I turned around, closed my eyes, let in a deep breath and blurted out, "I love Hermione."

"We all love Hermione, too, dear. She should come over more often during the holiday."

"No…," I shook my head, my eyes flicking from my Mother's hands to the side of her face-the only side I could see as she kept on the dishes. "…I mean, I love Hermione. I'm in love with Hermione, and I don't-"

My voice halted as a dish Mother had in her hand slipped from her fingers and banged into the sink below. Silence filled the room and my heart stopped. I heard a brief chortle come from Mother's pierced lips followed by, "Don't you have some work to do before going back to Hogwarts this term? Shouldn't you be seeing to it?"

"Mum, I-"

Her head flipped around at me, and I thought she was going to hit me.

"Listen…dear. You're confused," Her grim look quickly turned into a…smile. She'd bent toward me, but moved back into her original position. She cleared her throat and said again. "You're confused. It's a phase. It's puberty and all the boys are probably acting like gits, so you think of something else. It's hogwash-it'll pass."

"…It's not like I'm sick, Mum…"

"Your father married me, Charlie is getting married, Percy has Penelope, George has Angelina, Fred is dating all sorts of girls, Ron's trying to figure girls out and you will figure boys out, too-it's a phase. Period. Now," She cleared her throat again. "Run to your room and finish your summer work, dear."

"But-"

"Be a good girl, I said, Ginny!"

The voice of my Mother shouting was drowned out by another.

"Shut up, I said! I'm sick and tired of coming home to have you on my case about something! It's always something!"

I'd grown tired of my idiot brother scolding Hermione… I really did. I swore if he ever made a move…

I sat on our family sofa and watched the scene parade down the staircase. Hermione followed his decent, waving her arms around as she did while saying, "Well, if you ever did something instead of coming home and coming down on me like I'm some child!"

Ron swung around and met Hermione face-to-face. His eyes pierced her and I could tell something bad was coming. I saw what I thought was his hand raise and I was up off the cushion. He fell to the floor where I took a good shot. He yelled at the pain I delivered and pushed me off, my fist bloodied after punching him square on the nose.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?!" He shouted, his eyes ablaze and mostly filled with tears. He held his swollen appendage, it coming to a color of purple. He winced and yelled again, "Fuck!"

I hopped from the floor and pointed a finger at him, "And if I ever see you raise a hand to her again, I'll break your fucking nose a second time!"

"What is going on in here?!" Mother came in from the garden. Her arm held a wicker basket of vegetables which swung at the crook of her elbow. Her face lit up when she saw Ron squirming on the wall, life pouring from his nostrils. Hermione stood on the bottom step stunned and looked from Ron, me, and now Mother.

"She's mad, I tell you! Mad!" He told Mother. "Lock her up in the loony bin! Throw her in Azkaban!"

Mother was already at Ron, having pulled away his hand to see the cartilage twisted wrong. From upper lip to the sockets of his eyes the skin swelled. Mother turned to me first, of course, and noticed the evident slather of blood across my right hand's fingers. "Shame on you, Ginny! Violence is not the answer to everything! Go to your room! I'll be up to speak with you after fixing your brother's nose!"

"I'd do it again," I said defiantly. I peered at Ron. "What I told you wasn't a threat-it was a promise. Hurt her and-"

I swung my hand and made a "POW" sound when my knuckle collided with my left hand.

"GINEVRA! GO TO YOUR ROOM THIS INSTANT!"

"...The moment Neville and I find a house, we're out of here." I started my trek upward and crossed behind Hermione. She glanced at me as I went on by.

Mother shouted up the stairs, "While you're under this roof, you'll do as I say, Missy!"

I laughed, and made it loud enough for Mother to hear.

With each step, the wood of the stairs would echo less. The grain became denser. The color of the Weasley Burrow moved from a stained orange to a dull grey. The walls of the staircase wound upward and straightened out into a darkened hole leading out into a shimmer of light. Where my room was now lay a cave, and outside the cave-for I continued on-lay a ledge. Rocky ridges I stepped on, pacing to the edge. I heard the waves, smelled the sea salt in the winds as it furiously blew at my hair. There wasn't a sun, cloudy and overcast with a fog rising from below. I couldn't see the water, but I saw the spray as it hit the hidden rocks.

From around me, and in me, I heard Neville.

"I love you."

I grimaced, a tear dripping down my cheek.

I closed my eyes.

"…You don't deserve me…"

"Please…don't do this…"

"I'm hurting…," I took in a breath of the salty air. "It…hurts me to hurt you…"

"Please…just let me in…"

A part of me willed me not to do what was to be done, but I shrugged it off. My heart had failed me. My mind was in disarray. I couldn't tell up from down or left from right. I was tired of fighting the world, my family…myself. I felt warmth surround me, but moved away, back into isolated cold. The tips of my toes slipped over the edge and I let myself go. Arms out, it sort of felt like flying. My hair blew behind me as I heard it rip through the air behind my ears. The noise, the sound of the waves grew in crescendo as I approached.

Every barbed stone, every sharp spike hit me with such a force.

I'd be lying if I said it didn't make me even the tiniest bit happy.

***

Footsteps arrived quietly around the sofa where Ginny lay. She was sprawled across the cushion. Her arms every which way-one hanging off the edge where it stayed motionless on the floor and the other dangling off the armrest. Her body, contorted oddly, looked painful. Her face, buried into the dark nook made by said armrest, was covered by her flaming locks. An empty bottle of vodka sat disturbed on a table beside her. Partner in crime, the glass had been tipped over and whatever remains of the alcohol fumed as it dried into the treated material. The television wasn't on. No stereo to be heard. Only silence and darkness held.

Neville stood there for a while, staring at his beloved Ginevra. His eyes were tired, woken when he didn't feel her beside him in bed. He'd come to find her draped haphazardly. He reached down, bent down, and felt the rise and fall from her torso. He sighed, mostly in relief that she was still with him. He didn't pass judgment, as any other person would have probably shaken their head at way presented before them. He slowly just glided his arms around her and carried her off to bed.

After tucking in his fiancée, he tiptoed back downstairs to clean what was left of her night. The vodka bottle and a liquor bottle tipped over out of previous view were thrown in the trash outside. The glass was taken and washed; then, properly put away in the kitchen cupboard. Evidence of marijuana was disposed of, flushed down a toilet. Quietly he came back to Ginevra lying soundless where he put her, and quietly he slipped beside her.

Somehow he made it to sleep.

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