If you are lucky enough to grow up with a
childhood such as mine, you have many good memories, but people often forget
that with every golden memory comes a stain of darkness. When I was six years
old, my Mum took Percy, the third eldest of my brothers, to go shopping at
Diagon Alley for his school supplies. I begged to go with them, for I'd never
been outside of Ottery St. Catchpole and I longed to see people my own age that
weren't related to me. She could never refuse me, but if she took me, then all
of us younger siblings would come as well. So with strict orders to Fred, George
and Ron, she left us at Quality Quidditch Supplies and took Percy to get
his school things. I didn't come to Diagon Alley to see a Quidditch shop, for
goodness sake, and even the glossy wood and shiny snitches couldn't entice me to
stay. I was a willful child, even at age six, so I walked out of the store and
into the street to have a grand adventure, like those I'd only read about in
stories. I don't remember how long I wandered, but I do remember how dazzled I
was by the size and sights of the Alley.
Eventually I bumped into a group of three boys. They were big boys, at least
compared to me, and were maybe two years older. I can't recall what they said,
but I do remember the pain of that day. They no doubt teased my ill state of
dress, for my robes were cheap and frayed, and I'm sure they pulled my twin
braids of red locks. I was surrounded, and there wasn't anything I could do
besides stand there with tears trailing down my reddened cheeks as they poked me
with sticks and threw rocks at me. Suddenly a whirlwind of freckled limbs and
red hair attacked, and my three assailants were running down the Alley, tails
tucked firmly between their legs. I was enveloped in the warmth and love I often
associated my childhood with as my three brothers all hugged me and cried and
told me how sorry they were for leaving me.
I have many similar memories of my brothers, like the time Bill and Charlie
healed a gnome bite on my hand after I'd told them that the gnome wouldn't hurt
me and went to touch it. They didn't admonish me for it; Charlie sat me down and
held me steady, for I had been most assuredly thrashing, and Bill took out his
wand and waved it over the red, swollen wound. I found later that they didn't
even mention the incident to Mum, Dad or any of the younger boys to tell them
what a foolish girl I'd been.
Even Percy was a wonderful brother. While all my other brothers would snap in
irritation when I pestered them with my idle questions, Percy would patiently
sit and try to explain the answers to all my questions to quench my ever-present
curiosity when no one else would. He fed my hunger for knowledge with the type
of kindness and patience that is a rarity among young boys.
My brothers were my best friends since as long as I could remember. They were my
protectors, my confidants, my companions. They meant the world to me--no, they
were my world, all I ever knew. I defined who I was by them and the name Weasley.
Whenever anyone would laugh at me and my ill-fitted clothing and poor toys, I
would stand tall in my knowledge that I had a brother who could charm a goblin.
I had a brother who could tame dragons. I had a brother who could face mockery
to do what he believed in. I had a brother who could make a centaur grin just
for the fun of it, and another who understood the nuances between making someone
laugh and letting them cry. I had a brother who would face anything in his
loyalty. What did those rich children have besides a few baubles? I loved my
brothers with a love that some may never experience, and I thought it would last
forever. It seemed that forever had a deadline, for when I was eleven years old
I realized that I lost them.
It was a gradual process, but sometime during the summer before my first year I
realized I was no longer their cherished sister, but a - a hindrance, a
tagalong. Unwanted. Bill and Charlie were long gone, and not even in the country
- how could they watch over me? 'Sorry, Gin, can't come for your birthday.
We'll make it next time, though.' Percy was far too many responsibilities to
answer questions for his little sister. 'I don't have time for this,
Ginny. Ask Mum or Dad.' Fred and George were too busy making mayhem and
working on their latest creations to try to cheer me up. 'Ginny, this is top
secret for Weasley's Wizard's Wheezes! You can't be here!' Ron...well, he
had best friends. Not just any best friends, either, but the "smartest
witch in a century" and the famous Boy Who Lived. 'Ginny, we're trying
to talk about something private here! Bugger off.' None of them could be
bothered with me anymore. I was just the little nuisance they needed to absently
give orders to and then pat themselves on the back for being such wonderful
brothers.
Each rejection made my heart constrict, and my eyes burn with unshed tears. I
didn't understand when I became unimportant to them, and why it happened. Didn't
they see that I needed them? That they were hurting me?
I didn't just feel sad; that would have been all too easy to understand. I also
felt anger bubbling up inside of me, consuming my soul in a blind fury that make
me unable to even talk to them for fear of my anger spilling over into the world
of spoken words. I couldn't speak of my anger; it would make it too real, too
tangible. I didn't want to be angry with my brothers; I loved them so very much,
but this feeling, this horrible feeling of betrayal refused to leave me. How
dare they write me off? How dare they think that their jobs, their pranks, their
friends be more important than me? How dare they abandon me? I was their sister.
Poor Mum and Dad - they couldn't have understood. They were so sweetly clueless
when it came to my need for my brothers. They thought I felt jealous that my
brothers' got lives outside of our family. Jealous? Perhaps I was, but despite
all their outside lives, their family should have come first. I should have come
first.
One day, I searched through my school things and found a small, leather bound
diary with the initials T.M.R. and the side, tucked within the rest of my
supplies. I remember the day I first wrote to Tom. Harry-bloody-Potter came to
stay with us and Ron was ignoring me more than usual - I couldn't even look at
the Potter boy without getting red with anger and embarrassment at my brother's
blatant disregard for me. Ron thought I had a crush on Potter--it was more
likely that he did with the way he talked about the exalted Boy Who Lived.
Though I had the diary for a while, I never found a reason to write in it, but
when I did, I was delighted to find Tom and indeed, I felt a vindictive joy at
my all of my brothers' expense. I had a friend of my very own. An intelligent,
charming, witty friend, and he belonged to me. He was mine and I was his and we
were happy. If they could replace me so easily, than I could replace them, as
well, and Tom could play the role as older brother better than any of them. In
turn, I adored Tom; perhaps even loved him. He spun his web of lies so sweetly,
and wrapped them around my with care, and I fell into them like a masochistic
fly, who knows the invisible web is near but flies into it regardless. I wanted
to believe Tom, because if Tom were lying to me, then who else could I trust?
Who could I rely on, tell my secrets to? Certainly not my brothers. I needed
him, like a needed air, and he breathed life into me when I thought I couldn't
go on, for how can a little girl go on without her big brothers?
From the beginning I knew Tom was using me, but I waited for him. I waited for
him to tell me what he was doing with me, because I thought he would. I thought
he would spill his soul to me. Instead, he stole mine.
He didn't understand. I would have given it. If he had simply asked, I would
have given him my soul. I would have given him anything, if he had just asked.
But Tom let me down, just as my brothers did. He lied to me, and that I could
never forgive, so I spurned him at the very end. Tom lied to me, so I let him
die. I didn't mean for him to die, though. I just wanted to punish him. I could
have saved him from Harry Potter, and Merlin knows it would have been profitable
for me to have that boy dead, but I wanted to teach Tom a lesson. I renounced
him and everything we had together. So while Tom gloated for having a fly caught
in his web, he tripped and fell into it himself. I gave him every chance, you
know. I gave him every chance to tell me the truth, but he never would. Why do I
feel this way, Tom? I would ask. Why can't I remember, Tom? But he didn't
understand; he wouldn't apologize, so I needed to punish him. When Tom was gone,
I didn't just feel sad--I felt powerful. I survived when he did not. A heady
feeling, that. And, it made me realize that perhaps I didn't need Tom at all.
Perhaps I didn't need my brothers, either.
After Tom, my brothers came back to me, and coddled me like they did so many
times before. I should have made me happy to have them back, should have felt
that warm glow of love like I used to, but the anger didn't go away. That
undercurrent of anger burned beneath the surface even as I reassured them that I
was okay, that they couldn't have done anything about it, that it wasn't their
fault that they ignored me all year. Lies! All lies, from both of us, and what's
more is that we knew they were lies. The truth was that it wasn't like before
because unlike the times in the past, this time, they didn't save me.
I was angry, but I decided I would let them make amends. Let's see how long this
mockery of our old life would last, I thought. Let's see if it can become real
again. I gave them another chance. Let's hope that they won't squander it as Tom
had, for I would hate to have to renounce them as well, because what I realized
was that I could. I didn't need them, as I didn't need Tom. Love had nothing to
do with it--I loved Tom, didn't I?
The name Weasley is an unjust definition. My family is very important to
me, and I love them very much - but I don't need them. They will never define
me again.
finis