Send in the Clowns

Send in the Clowns
by The Eighth Weasley

Isn't it rich? Are we a pair?
Me here at last on the ground;
You in mid-air.
Where are the clowns?

Ginny knew Harry was doing it for the best, but it still made her angry. Angry, annoyed, bitter, upset... She could think of a million adjectives for how she felt, but none of them quite fit. It was ironic and infuriating, and all she could do was lie down and accept it. It was humiliating, incapacitating.

Sitting on her bed in Gryffindor tower, the curtains closed and charmed quiet, all Ginny could do was laugh as the tears streamed down her face.

Isn't it bliss? Don't you approve?
One who keeps tearing around;
One who can't move?
Where are the clowns?
Send in the clowns.

Harry was going off on another of his adventures, like Bilbo Baggins had so many ages ago in the legends; though unlike Frodo, Ginny doubted she would follow with an adventure of her own, even grander and more important than his. No, she was supposed to stay here and be safe, sit tight and wait for him to come back--if he came back at all.

She had taken such risks with Harry, too. She'd fallen head over heels, arse over teakettle, madly, abruptly, scarily in love with him from the first time she'd seen him. No, not entirely true, Ginny realised. She'd seen him, liked the way he looked, and then once she learned who he was, she'd fallen, become obsessed, and that had turned over the course of a year or so into a burning conviction that it was love. Even it it hadn't been real love to begin with, it surely was now: If she weren't in love, how could he have broken her heart?

Just when I'd stopped opening doors,
Finally knowing the one that I wanted was yours,
Making my entrance again with my usual flair,
Sure of my lines, no one is there.

Fourth year had been a determined attempt to get over him. She would do it; she had to do it. At fourteen, it was time to start seeing boys, start dating, kiss a little, be kissed a little more, and experiment. It was fun; it made for intrigues and excitement and evenings of gossip with her friends. And yet through all of it she'd felt like she was simply doing things in the meanwhile, waiting for something else to happen.

The thing was, it had. The right person had shown up in the common room and kissed her, and life had been wonderful for a little while. Just a little while, and now it was all crashing down around her ears.

She felt so very, very alone.

Don't you love the farce?
My fault, I fear.
I thought that you'd want what I want--
Sorry, my dear.
But where are the clowns?
Quick, send in the clowns...
Don't bother, they're here.

If she hadn't been living her life for the past fifteen years, Ginny would have thought that it was an entire colossal joke: a wizard bent on killing everyone who didn't support him, and a boyfriend whom she loved desperately but who also happened to be the one destined to destroy the evil wizard. She wished that she could fast-forward a year, five years, ten, however long it took for this to be over, and settle into a normal life.

But it wasn't a joke, it was really happening, and she'd have to live through the hell of the next years before anything like normality took over. Then again, normal was only defined by what wasn't it; so for her, normal was this state of perpetual anticipation, this waiting for the sunrise--no, the sunset. Things were going to get darker, weren't they? But the sun wasn't setting yet, and she was simply waiting.

Isn't it rich? Isn't it queer?
Losing my timing this late in my career?
And where are the clowns?
There ought to be clowns.
Well, maybe next year.

Ginny thumped her bedspread angrily, then grabbed up her pillow and cradled it close to her chest. Her tears made a wet patch on the slipcover. Perhaps if she'd made her move on Harry sooner... perhaps if she'd not pretended last year, not tried those other options... If she'd only told Harry earlier, if she'd only realised it herself, it would have been wonderful--

If. If.

Ginny laughed, and the tears fell.

~fin~