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      Always A Mere Image
      Category: Books » Harry Potter  Censor:  PG   Genre:  Romance   Reviews:  
      26
      Author: Fallen Grace  - Select Font -VerdanaTimes New RomanArialGeneva 
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Always A Mere Image
by Grace 
A/N: This is my first fanfiction, and your input is really appreciated. I did 
this in a really short period of time, so it prolly sucks, but it would be 
really nice if you would review it... just no flames, please, or I might never 
write again. Wait, that could be a good thing... Oh, and, um, I don’t own any of 
this stuff, either. 
 
"Live, then, and be happy, beloved children of my heart, and never forget that 
until the day when God shall deign to reveal the future to man, all human wisdom 
is summed up in these two words,--'Wait and hope.' " - The Count of Monte Cristo
When you’re not only the youngest, but also the only girl in a family full of 
annoyingly lovable brothers, you learn things. For instance, you learn to hold 
your own in backyard Quidditch games on the rare occasion that you’re asked to 
play; you learn to hide your diary in places no normal girl would ever think of; 
you learn quick reflexes; but most of all, you learn to guard your thoughts very 
well. 
Not to say that I don’t love or trust my family enough to tell them things that 
matter; it’s just that they wouldn’t understand if I did. We’re all much better 
off when the people around me think of a me as a silly little sister to protect, 
and so they can’t know what I’m really thinking. It would ruin the image. 
What I’m really thinking is that I’ve always been, and probably always will be, 
out of place somehow, everywhere I go. It’s a terrible feeling of detachment 
that I can’t share with anyone, not even my mother or Percy, who is probably my 
favorite brother for some reason I can’t really explain. Maybe it’s because I 
sense a little of the same isolation in him that I see in myself, even though he 
has got Penelope. I don’t really know. All I know is, I’m alone even when I’m in 
the middle of a crowded room with every single member of my family, all of whom 
love me dearly. 
I thought it would be differrent at Hogwarts –– no, I prayed it would be 
different at Hogwarts. It just had to be. In the midst of all those people, 
there had to be one, just one, that would understand me. That was what I really 
needed, you see. 
But of course, it wasn’t different at Hogwarts. By the end of the first week, I 
had sucessfully alienated every potential friend in my year and had instead 
claimed a very cozy chair in a far corner of the common room where I would 
never, ever be noticed by anyone. I watched people. When I had something to say, 
which was quite often, because I think too much, I told it to my journal. 
I wondered then, and I still wonder now, if I will ever be understood, or if I’m 
just going crazy. This isn’t for a lack of people who love me, but for a lack of 
people I can relate to, even just a little bit.
Which brings me to Harry. Potter, that is. I read about him in some storybook 
when I was six, and became rather obsessed. OK, fine, I stalked the poor guy for 
years. We all do things we regret sometimes. Ironically, I finally snapped out 
of it just when my biggest fantasy (well, sort of) came true. In my first year 
at Hogwarts, Harry Potter, my night in shining armor, saved my life against all 
odds. He did it in a rather dashing manner too; he had a sword and I distinctly 
remember flying to safety. 
The thing is, when I woke up after my near death experience (sorry, no white 
lights or singing choirs involved), the first thing I saw was twelve-year-old 
Harry himself. He was so pale, so shaken, and relieved, that I just cried for 
him. Well, not only for him, but he was part of it. And as he helped me to my 
feet, I looked into those brilliant green eyes through my tears and... I dunno. 
I had one of those moments. It just hit me, this is REAL. Not a childhood 
fantasy or a daydream during History of Magic, but REAL. And in that reality, I 
saw Harry for what he was, which was not a hero in the fairytale sense, but the 
same kind of person as me. He was alone, and scared, and loved by many but never 
understood. Yeah, okay, so he was misunderstood in far different ways, but 
still, we were alike. 
I’m not saying I’m in love with him –– I won’t even allow myself to think that, 
even though it may be true. I will say, though I’ll never admit it to anyone, 
that I see some kind of hard escape from this life in both of us; mine in him, 
his in me. If he feels half of what I do, he definitely needs it. Hell, the only 
reason I’m still going is because he went to all that trouble to rescue me, and 
it’d be a very bad payback if I went insane or murdered myself or something. 
I wonder if he ever knows, with that sixth sense he has, that I’m not really who 
I appear to be. The only other person who’s ever not treated me like a 
cat-loving crybaby, besides Harry, is Percy; but he doesn’t really understand. 
All he knows is that there’s more to me, because I let him see the deeper Ginny 
every once in awhile. Wait, did I just say the deeper Ginny? Oh, God. I am going 
crazy.
At any rate, I know Harry’s different than he looks. I know he needs love and 
loyalty, and I can provide both of those, because I’m very loving and loyal. 
Besides, he’s got plenty of people in the wizarding world who can supply both of 
those elements. What he really needs is understanding; someone to listen to his 
problems, and not freak out at them. As far as I can tell, he doesn’t have 
anyone like that. That is one thing I can do for him because I love him, whether 
it’s as a friend or a girlfriend. But one of us has to reach out first; and it’s 
not going to be him. If I knew how to talk to him without looking like an idiot, 
God knows I would, but I don’t. Someday I will, but for right now I’m just going 
to wait and hope. 
 
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