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Author: Bekken Story: Untitled Rating: Young Teens Setting: Pre-HBP Status: Completed Reviews: 0 Words: 16,186
Chapter Four: Life Isn't Fair author's notes: Thank you, first of all, to all my reviewers for this story. You make my day with your reviews. Thanks also go to Amy, because…well, she's Amy. I'm sorry this chapter has taken so long, but what can I say – I procrastinate. I don't know how many of you know, but on October 7, a boy at my school committed suicide. This chapter is written in memory of him. * "I missed Ron. I knew I would, of course, before he left. But I never realised I would have no one to play with all day long, every day. Mum was sympathetic. She tried to find time to play with me, to keep me occupied. But she couldn't just romp around with me all day. I had to develop my own interest. Problem was, I found, I didn't really have any. I waited impatiently for Ron's letters, and when they came, I was so elated that Mum often had to threaten to punish me before I came down. I read each one ten times, and carefully crafted my response back. Before he left, Ron promised me he would write every single day. He did, at the beginning. But by the end of September, his letters were tapering off. He wrote maybe once every couple of days. That was fine. I could deal with that. As mum explained to me, he probably had a lot of homework, and that took up a lot of his time. But, soon the letters shortened to one a week, and then one every couple of weeks. Finally, Ron was just writing letters to mum and dad, and scribbling a little note to me at the bottom. I was upset. Why wasn't my favourite brother writing me? Wasn't he miserable without me, like I was without him? His letters didn't even say he missed me anymore. All they focused on was a certain Hermione Granger. I began to hate this girl, for taking my brother's affections away from me." Come to think of it, Harry didn't ever remember seeing Ron write home after December. Of course, Harry didn't blame him – there was a lot going on. But how much it must have hurt poor Ginny! "I found solace in books. I'd go to the Muggle library every day, and make my way through every book in the place. Once I'd finished the youth books, I went on to something that had caught my eye more than once – the romances. Oftentimes in the library, my eyes would go wide at what I was reading. I had never heard of the things that were being written about. My parents didn't discuss it with me, and certainly not my brothers. In fact, I would have had no idea where babies came from if I hadn't developed a talent for listening behind closed doors." Harry groaned. "Too much information," he muttered. He looked at the inbox on his desk, piled with papers. He really should get to work. He turned the page. "I remember one such passage very well – I think I must have memorised it, the number of times I read it over: 'His dark, midnight blue eyes looked into her brown ones. He gripped her milky white shoulders, and whispered fiercely, 'Because I love you, Caroline.' He brought her to her, and kissed her, holding her tight in his arms. Her body trembled from passion as his tongue began to explore every portion of her delicate mouth.' I shall stop there, because otherwise this book will not be suitable for even teenagers. I immersed myself in these romances. I found them fascinating. Why, I remember in one, a girl fell in love with her father – but she didn't know it was her father at the time. Meanwhile, her fiancé was trying to get them married quicker, and- But, I suppose I am boring most of you. Let it suffice to say that the books I read were certainly not suitable for a child my age." 'Wow,' Harry thought to himself. 'Oh. My. God.' "I became involved in romance stories, and began to wish such a thing would happen to me one day. When the boys came home for the summer, I kept thinking about what it would be like to be in one of those romances. And who else better for it to be with than my future husband?" "Not again," Harry said. He closed his eyes. "That summer, I drove myself crazy when I found that Ron had befriended Harry Potter and that he had asked him to stay. When Harry did arrive at our house, I wasn't expecting him. I squealed, and ran away. I had probably the biggest crush imaginable on him that year. I went to Hogwarts, and I was really upset. None of my brothers wanted to be my friend, and most of the other first years didn't like me very much – I don't really know why. In my school books, I had found a small, black notebook. When I wrote in it, to my surprise, it wrote back. It was Tom Riddle, better known as Voldemort, inside that diary. A memory of his sixteen-year-old self. He took possession of me. He used me to open the Chamber of Secrets again, to Petrify Muggle-borns. Even Hermione Granger, who I had expected to be stuffy and annoying, was rather nice. I Petrified her. I almost killed her. Tom took me into the Chamber. He almost killed me. And Harry Potter saved my life." Harry shuddered. He didn't like to think about his second year – about seeing Ginny lying lifeless on the cold stone floor, about facing Tom Riddle. "I don't think I had ever been so in love with him. I still had a crush on him my second year, but I hid it better (I hope). I found a friend my age at Hogwarts – Colin Creevey. Though most people considered him a bit annoying, I liked him – he was certainly better than being alone all the time. I was in my third year when one of the most significant events in wizarding history occurred. Voldemort came back. No one will tell me the details – my family still thinks I'm fragile. But, everyone knows that is when he was resurrected – during the Third Task in the Triwizard Championship. That summer was…wow. That summer was awful. Mum and Dad wouldn't let us kids go out into the gardens for walks anymore. We had escape plans in case Voldemort should come to the house – which he never did, thank God. Though Harry had stayed with us every other summer since Ron's first year, that summer, Dumbledore insisted that he remain at the Dursleys' for protection. Mum went into fits, and I was worried sick. What if something happened to him? But nothing did. We met up with him at the train station, and he was different. More tired, more scared, more…worn. He had grown up. I suppose, under the circumstances, he had to. I don't like to think about my fourth year. It was one of the worst of my entire life. But, I will share it, because I need to talk about it. When I was in fourth year, I went up to see the Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. I had been hearing strange noises outside of my window every night for the past week. I wanted to talk to him about it. He had spent a lot of time at my house that summer, talking to my parents, and I had got to know him pretty well. But, when I began to speak, he silenced me. 'Perhaps, Ms Weasley,' he said. 'Perhaps we could take a walk around the lake.' 'Alright,' I said, confused. He stood up, and we left Hogwarts. 'Ms Weasley, you have quite a future ahead of you,' he told me, and he smiled. We walked slowly – he told me he had been feeling a little under the weather lately. 'Top marks in fourth year, chance at prefect next year…You can be anything you want to be.' 'Er…thanks,' I said. I was confused. Couldn't he have said this to me in his office? 'Ginny, you…you…you have the power to change the world,' he said, with difficulty. 'Professor? Are you alright? Should I take you to the Hospital Wing?' I asked, nervously. He waved his hand. 'I'm fine,' he said, quickly. 'But, Ms Weasley, I meant what I said. You can change the world, and you will. I want you to know that…' He stopped in his tracks. 'What's wrong?' I said, worriedly. 'Oh, nothing,' he said. 'Nothing at all.' I looked at him, worriedly. He seemed to be short of breath, and he looked pale. He cupped my hands in his. 'Ginny Weasley, you are going to save the wizarding world, and you are going to defeat Voldemort. Not me, not Harry, not anyone else. You'll have help, but in the end our world's future will be in your hands.' He started to say something else, but he stopped in mid sentence. His eyes bulged. He started to fall, and I caught him, and struggled to support him. 'Professor? Professor, please wake up!' I half cried as he lay unmoving on the ground. I pulled out my wand quickly. 'Ennervate!' I screamed. Nothing happened. If he was merely sick, this would have woken him up. And then, Professor McGonagall's voice rang in my head: "Nothing – no spell, no potion, nothing – will reawaken the dead." She had told it to our class just that morning. No. Please, no. I'm crying as I write this. Albus Dumbledore died that day. I rushed to the Hospital Wing, but it was too late. His heart, which was so big in so many ways, finally gave out. He was gone." Harry had to shut the book. He couldn't take too much of this at one time. Dumbledore's death had been…tragic. The whole school was shocked, Gryffindors and Slytherins alike. He knew what pain Ginny went through – she saw him die. He had seen many people – too many people – die, but never like this. Never by natural causes, only by evil ones. The war on Voldemort had taken a nosedive when he died. With Dumbledore gone, most people thought that they didn't have a chance anyway, so why bother? Death and destruction were everywhere. He sighed. He hated to think about those awful years – how he, Ron, and Hermione had practically had to fight the war on their own. Sometimes, he thought to himself, life just wasn't fair.
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