Chapter Text
Ginny Weasley is 15 years. Ginny Weasley is the only girl of seven children. Ginny Weasley is the daughter her mother always wanted—and she tries to be, she really does. Ginny Weasley is a Gryffindor, like every person in her family for the past three generations. Ginny Weasley is a damn good Chaser, though she’s never had the chance to prove it.
Ginny Weasley is alone on the Hogwarts Express on September 1st, the first day of her fifth year.
She isn’t sure what to do at first, staring around at the compartment that she had claimed for her own. Girls giggle as they run down the hallway, catching up loudly about how they spent their summer. Ginny used to have that. She’d made sure she didn’t anymore— but, no . She will not regret her decisions.
She’d decided that long ago.
So, she sits and waits because there is nothing else to do but watch the students that meet up in the corridor, clinging to one another out of neediness or happiness, she doesn’t know. Sometimes, when Ginny’s bored of that, she turns to look out the window to the Platform. She can pick out the parents of first years, easily .
They’re the ones trying not to weep, but they always look just slightly red-eyed.
“Come on, mate? Aren’t you excited? Quidditch Captain!”
Ginny’s brother’s voice is instantly recognizable. She sits up straighter, turns to look out the compartment door again. Her brother is always accompanied by two others.
“Come off it, prefect ,” another familiar voice says.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” A woman’s voice now. Hermione Granger.
Ginny swallows hard as she stares out the glass. She wonders if Ron will notice her, makes to bang on the window to invite him in. Then, she sees the two trailing behind him. Hermione Granger’s curls take up most of the space around her, a dark mass that perfectly compliments smooth brown skin. She grins up at Ron and then turns to their de facto leader, saying something that makes Ron roll his eyes.
Harry Potter doesn’t even seem to notice her.
Ginny laughs to herself. She isn’t sure why she thinks he would.
Just behind the ‘Golden Trio’, the Death Eaters stalk by. Ginny watches curiously as the Lestrange brothers lead the group, followed by Rosier and Nott, and rounding out the group: the Head Boy, Tom Riddle, and his hanger-on, Bellatrix Black. Bellatrix looks up, sharp and fast, as if she smells blood in the water. She looks through the glass and her purple lips spread to show teeth just a little too white, just a little too sharp. She leans over to whisper to Riddle.
Riddle’s smooth expression doesn’t shift, but Nott and Rosier both break into laughter, casting looks at Ginny. Ginny’s eyes narrow, her mouth tightens, because there isn’t anything she’d like to do more than put Bellatrix Black in her fucking place .
Before she can even think to stand up, the compartment door opens— finally .
“Hey, love.”
Dean Thomas grins at her. Almost immediately, Ginny relaxes into her seat, offering up a slow smile. Dean slides into the compartment and leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to her lips.
They haven’t had a lot of time to do this outside of the one time that Ginny had snuck off from helping in her brothers’ shop to meet Dean in London. They’d kissed for hours, in alleyways, in Muggle stores, on the street, on the pavement. She’d licked every centimeter of his mouth and didn’t think of anything else.
“Hey, you,” she says when he pulls back. “How was the rest of your summer?”
“Good. Glad to be back, though,” Dean says. He drags his trunk in, and looks over his shoulder. “Give me a hand, mate?”
“Absolutely.” Seamus Finnigan grins behind him, dragging his own trunk in. “Heya, Gin.”
“Hi, Seamus,” she says.
He pushes his way into the compartment, helping Dean heave both trunks over top with as little grunting as possible. Ginny almost yelps when Seamus jostles her, nearly hip checking her in the face to push the heavy trunk overhead. They both seem out of breath when they finally collapse into their seats, Dean tucked against Ginny’s side and Seamus across from her.
“How was your summer?” Ginny asks, looking at Seamus, almost awkwardly.
They’ve spoken before, between illicit Firewhiskeys by the lakeside and strained, charged conversations between Ginny and Dean, when he wasn’t yet hers.
“Good. Spent it with me mum and Dad. Went on vacation too. Venice,” Seamus says with a grin. He leans back in his seat, turning more fully towards Dean. “Magical Venice, mate. It’s insane.”
“Bet it is,” Dean agrees, goodnaturedly. He loops an arm around Ginny’s shoulders, pulling her in against him and she relaxes. “What are you taking this year, by the way?”
“Just about everything. No idea what I want to do, so I took a leaf out of Granger’s book. Ancient Runes, Defence, Potions, Charms, Transfiguration—” Seamus was saying.
Ginny speaks up. “If you take Arithmancy, you could be a curse breaker.”
Seamus looks at her out of surprise.
It’s like they forgot she was there. Ginny swallows her rage and smiles because this is Dean’s best friend, and she wants to be friends with him too. She needs to be friends with him.
“Curse breaking?” Seamus asks.
“Yeah, my older brother is a curse-breaker—” Ginny starts.
Seamus grins. “Which one?” he snorts, breaking out with laughter.
Dean laughs with him until he realizes that she isn’t laughing. He coughs into his fist and leans back in his seat, looking over at Ginny with a lazy smile.
“This will be you next year. Taking as many classes as you can, preparing for NEWTs. You’ll have your career advising meeting too,” Dean says, rubbing his cheek on top of her head, mussing her red hair. “Do you know what you want to do?”
“It’s okay if you don’t. I don’t,” Seamus insists.
Ginny purses her lips and wonders if she wants to tell them about all she wants to do, all she wants to be, all the in-between.
“You’ll figure it out,” Dean insists.
Ginny’s lips twitch. “And you’ll be the first I tell,” she says because she thinks he’s the only one that’ll want to hear. She tilts her chin up, offering her lips.
Dean takes the opportunity, smiling against her lips as Seamus makes a disgusted noise. Kissing Dean is always easy. Ginny falls into the rhythm, the feel of his jawline against her hand, the way he tastes. She ignores everything and focuses on this because it is easy.
It is perfect.
There’s a knock on the glass.
Ginny swallows as she looks through the windowpane of the compartment.
Romilda Vane looks good. She’s not dressed in her robes yet, instead wearing a sturdy pair of high-waisted denim jeans and a t-shirt that Ginny recognizes as one of Dean’s. She’s shaved the right side of her head, curls sweeping over her shoulder. Ginny remembers when they’d talked about doing something like that. That had been the plan that summer, but Ginny’s mum was having none of it, and then Ginny had started talking to Dean, hanging out with Dean and—
“What is she…” Seamus says, voice dragging out.
Romilda tips her chin and then flips Ginny the bird.
She turns, whipping her hair sharply and the continues stalking down the corridor.
Ginny disentangles herself from Dean’s arms, sliding into the corner of the compartment. The air feels heavier, suddenly. She curls up, pulling her knees to her chest, closes her eyes, and tries not to cry. She feels a hand on her knee.
When she looks up, Dean is staring at her with an unbearable amount of kindness. His knuckles rest against her knee, palm facing up. She laces her fingers with his.
It’ll be okay, she tells herself.
Somehow, she doesn’t believe herself.