warning: CW/GW means WEASLEYcest!

The Sin of Omission

She had waited for his arrival at the Burrow with desperation, literally counting the days, which seemed to drag on and on and on.

It was hard not to think of him, not to conjure his image in her mind’s eye, lovingly going over every detail of his face, of the look in his eyes. On summer break from Hogwarts, Ginny didn’t really have much to do to keep her occupied.

Ron had his inseparable friends over, as was now customary for every holiday, so she alternated between flying with Ron and Harry over the fields surrounding Ottery , and making small talk with Hermione who, as usual, was sharing Ginny’s room during her stay.

After nearly four years of knowing each other, both girls had come to terms with the fact that if they weren’t close by now they probably never would be. But they were comfortable in each other’s company, and sometimes would just sit in the same room and read, each lost in their own books.

All the while, through her mild and mildly boring activities, Ginny had thought of him, wondering when he would come, anticipating the moment when she would be able to gaze upon his face, after so long.

And then one day, there he was.

Charlie, with his strong, yet light quidditch seeker’s build, fierce red hair and intense blue eyes, so much like hers. Charlie with his easy charm and good looks, and his crooked smile. That famous grin that gave his face warmth and openness, as if he were permanently sharing in some irony with everyone.

Charlie, her brother, standing in the hallway with his arms full of suitcases, startled blue eyes blinking rapidly when he saw Ginny.

In that brief instant, Ginny took him in, noting all the little changes since she had last seen him, nearly a year ago. His dark red hair was longer, his frame was stronger, and his smile not quite as open as she had expected. In fact, something was different. He almost looked...nervous?

Nervous, about seeing me? Ginny wondered, puzzled.

Then her eyes shifted, past Charlie, focusing on the girl who stood behind her brother, all pale blond hair and nervous smiles. Following his sister’s eyes, Charlie turned and smiled at the pretty blonde, and setting down the suitcases, which Ginny now understood to be hers, spread his hand out for her to take.

A sinking feeling seemed to have settled at the pit of Ginny’s stomach, a mix of steel and ice and understanding as she watched the unidentified guest put her small hand in her brother’s large callused one.

“Everyone, this is Kara, my, um, girlfriend,” Charlie announced, blue eyes never once setting on Ginny.

Behind her Ron, Hermione, Fred and Harry, gazed at the couple with interest.

Ginny’s eyes darted from Kara to her and Charlie’s joined hands, and back to Kara again. With a pang of realization, Ginny knew that she was looking at Charlie’s future wife. And she found she couldn’t look at her brother, and realized that she felt oddly betrayed.

In that moment Ginny also realized that time hadn’t passed in vain, and understood for the first time what it truly meant to be Mature...Mature, the word she’d been hearing forever on her mother’s lips, directed mostly at her brothers and sometimes at her.

Why can’t you be more mature...

When are you going to grow up?...

So, this is what it meant to be Mature. To feel the need to kick, to scream, to cry and deny, and yet just stand there, impassively. To want to run, run run run run and never look back, to get out of here, to break out of here. And yet just stand there. To fight the tears, the howls of rage and pain. Because you must.

That was Mature.

She didn’t run, but she knew she must get out of there immediately. With a calm that was completely incongruous with how she felt, Ginny turned and exited, murmuring a causal “I’ll go get mom”.

She made it as far as the hallway bathroom, managing to lock the door behind her before breaking down.

Falling on her knees, she bent over the toilet bowl and vomited violently. When it was over, she sat back, trying to breathe deeply. Her shaking hands went to her face, and patting her pale, cold skin, Ginny tried to convince herself that this was real. Things swam around her as her vision clouded over, and miserable little tears trickled over and spilled down her cheeks.

Ten minutes later, she emerged from the bathroom to find everyone gathered in the kitchen, where Molly Weasley was serving tea and cranberry treacle, while conspicuously eyeing her son’s new girlfriend. In truth, everyone was curious about the pale blonde, since she was the first girl Charlie had ever brought home with him.

“I don’t understand how you didn’t get that owl though…” Charlie was saying, “I sent you a letter telling you that we would arrive today, and I sent one to Ginny.” His eyes quickly searched for her, found her, looked away.

Ignoring the free fall feeling in her stomach, Ginny went to stand behind Ron, who sat between Fred and Hermione at the kitchen table. Leaning on Ron’s back she processed this new information. So Charlie had sent her a letter, telling her in advance of his imminent arrival. With Kara. She wondered how he had gone about it, what words he had chosen to explain...

Her eyes darted back to her brother, took him in quickly, longingly, and then looked away. It was strange to see Charlie in Molly’s kitchen, sitting comfortably at one of the stools, as if he had never left. It was strange to hear her name on his lips, to hear him speak of her, strange in a way that would make her glow inside, that would make her smile with pleasure. But the warm feeling soon faded when she saw Kara sitting next to him, accepting the cup of tea from Molly’s hand with a warm, slightly accented “Thanks.”

“Well, of course we didn’t get the owl. Why on earth would you send anything important using that lunatic of an owl you have? He’s worse than Pigwidgeon!” Molly was saying, shaking her head. “But it hardly matters. What’s important is that you’re here, now.” Their mother’s face softened as she looked at her second eldest, sighing at the memory of happier times, when all of her children lived under her roof. “Your father will be so happy to see you, darling.” She patted her son’s cheeks affectionately. “And you, of course, dear,” she told the woman next to him.

“So, Kara,” Fred piped up, in the voice he used when he was trying to make himself sound older and interesting. “Tell us about yourself...”

“Yes, Kara," Molly agreed, “What do you do, where are you from?”

Kara smiled, and after taking a sip of tea, explained in her slightly accented but excellent English that she was a herbologist from Finland, and lived in Romania where she was doing some sort of complicated research on the magical properties of a plant.

“The Ceruleum Garvandriniae, named after Sergei Garvinder, who discovered it in 1987, is found only in certain parts of Transylvania, and has many and varied properties,” Kara explained with growing excitement.

Charlie listened and smiled into his tea cup.

“Such as regeneration of dead tissue. It can interact with dermatomes, activating and perhaps even creating, tissue generating enzymes!”

“Oh!” Hermione said with genuine interest.

Everyone else just stared.

“So anyway, that’s where I met Charlie...” she finished, gazing at him lovingly.

“Oh,” Molly said, also with interest. “So how long have you been together?”

“Almost a year, by my calculations," Kara answered. “Charlie counts differently, though...” The two smiled, apparently at some inside joke.

“Um, I’ve heard so much about you all,” she continued, green eyes wandering over her audience. “Mom, the twins, Ron. And you,” she said, turning to look straight at the fiery headed girl behind the one named Ron, “You must be Ginny,” she said sweetly, as though talking to a small, impossibly cute child. “Charlie talks about you non-stop.”

Ginny curved the corners of her mouth mechanically into what she hoped was a polite smile. She could feel Charlie’s eyes on her face, and fought the urge to look up at him.

Conversation continued, and Ginny was thankful that she didn’t have to speak, that Molly and Charlie did most of the talking, with the occasional witty intervention from either Fred or his twin,George, who had joined them some time later.

From behind Ron, Ginny watched as Kara took Charlie’s hand over the table top, and how occasionally he would turn to her, to make sure she was fine.

Merlin, this was torture. Her heart lay bleeding in her chest, as if someone were driving tiny little needles into it, scrawling the name Charlie...

Finally the ‘getting-to-know-you’ session was over, and Ginny was able to excuse herself without appearing uninterested and rude. Flopping down on her bed, she hoped Ron would keep Hermione occupied long enough for her to actually have some privacy in her own quarters, at least for a while.

Apparently it was not to be so, because soon after she heard the door to her room creak open. Not bothering to open her eyes, Ginny lay on her side, her head cradled in her arms.

It wasn’t long before she felt someone’s weight on the bed next to her. Perhaps if she hadn’t cried so a moment earlier, her nose wouldn’t have been stuffy, and she would have been able to smell his personal scent, the one she had yearned for that very same day, the one she knew so well, and often imagined enveloping her. But she assumed it was only Hermione, and kept her eyes shut stubbornly, hoping to deflate any attempt at conversation.

This gave Charlie a chance to study his sister’s face freely, not worrying that others might notice and think it strange, or that she might notice, and think too much of it.

He looked her over freely, beginning with her high forehead, her pale eyebrows, and delicate eyelids. Down the elegant curve of the bridge of her nose, to her full, supple looking lips, unexpectedly sensuous in a face dominated by childish features.

Her rosy cheeks, round and soft, inviting to kisses and bites. Her fine hair was spread over her pillow, a fiery curtain of silk that covered part of her face. He deliberately avoided looking down the rest of her body, where some obvious changes had occurred. He had already noted earlier, to his distress, that Ginny had breasts. At fifteen, her body was decidedly feminine and beautiful. She was a woman.

As he took her in, he felt the urge to stretch out his hands and touch her, to feel the softness of her skin against his rough hands. He had been home for nearly three hours, and they had not yet touched.

Just then her eyelids twitched and fluttered open, and he found himself gazing into her slightly unfocused eyes. Disbelief and surprise registered briefly across bright blue eyes. And then nothing. She looked at him blankly, wordlessly.

“Gin-Gin,” he said softly, for all greeting. “Mom wants you to know dinner is ready.”

She didn’t acknowledge him, but remained silent, watching him.

Charlie lay on his side across from her, his posture mirroring hers. A strand of his hair, which was almost the exact shade of red as Ginny’s, had fallen across his eye. They locked eyes for the first time since he had arrived.

They lay there like that for a long time, neither speaking nor moving. Finally, when his muscles ached and he could hold the same position no longer, Charlie shifted and began to move into her, inching closer until they were nose to nose. Ginny froze.

Charlie brought his face up to hers, and pressed his lips against her cheek softly. She exhaled, and realized for the first time that she had been holding her breath.

A moment later Charlie’s face was still pressed to hers, and he could feel her warm sweet breath on his face.

"I’m sorry...” he murmured, not knowing exactly why he was apologizing, but feeling he must, just the same.

"I had mentioned her before, remember?...” Immediately he winced, for it sounded like a poor justification, even to his own ears.

Ginny said nothing for a while. And then, “Do you love her?”

A pause.

Then, “Yes...yes, I suppose I do love her.”

“When are you going to tell everyone about the wedding?”

Charlie stiffened, drew back to stare at her in surprise. “How...?”

Oh, never mind. He should have known she’d notice. So perceptive, this little one. Not so little, anymore, actually.

“Mum knows, too,” she commented, not looking him in the eyes.

“I suppose she must,” he said softly, admitting to himself for the first time that their relationship wasn’t a normal brother and sister one. How else could he explain his feeling of guilt, the need to justify himself to her, and her obvious grief at the news of his upcoming wedding.

“I’m twenty-five years old,” he said, as if that answered some question.

Then he got up, and sat in a corner of her bed, with his back to her. “She’s a good woman, she loves me. She asks for nothing that I cannot give...”

“I don’t care,” Ginny said quietly.

Charlie turned and looked down at her, her sadness now almost palpable to him. He could almost feel it, almost see it, a halo surrounding her, permeating onto everything, seeping out of her. It occurred to him that if he kissed her he would taste her sadness on her lips.

Immediately he perished the thought, wondering if it was vanity that made him respond to Ginny in this way. He prefered that to the alternative...that it was real attraction.

“Gin, I…” he began, but fell silent when she met his eyes.

What was there to say? What could he say?

I know that you’re in love with me? I love you too? I’m your brother?

All these things she knew, all these things would be painful to say, and even more painful to hear.

He cursed himself for letting things reach this point. He had always known how fiercely possessive Ginny was of him, that she loved him to the point of adoration, and that there was something inherently wrong in their relationship.

He couldn’t explain what it was, he could not have put it into words, but it was there, and he knew it to be his fault, for just letting it be, for having gone with the flow of their strange brother-sister bond.

And then, as if she could hear his thoughts, Ginny tore her eyes away from his, and averted her face.

“…I love you, Gin-Gin,” he said softly, using his nickname for her, and patting her head awkwardly.

“I know,” she replied, quickly brushing away her tears with the back of her hand, before he could see them. And when she stood and left him, he could sense the tear in the fabric of their relationship, feel it cut, deep and ragged, through his very soul.

Sighing, he stood and followed after her, down the stairs, to dinner.

THE END.