The Risk it Took
To prove that brothers never stop loving you.
Then the time came when the risk it took to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom. – Anaus Nin
She was angry at first, and that didn't surprise anyone.
She was furious, for no reason and for every reason – she hated that the garden still bloomed, and she hated when a flower died. She hated the food she ate but threw tantrums when she was hungry. She hated the captivity of her home but even more the wide and empty space of the outdoors.
Everything was wrong, wrong, wrong. Smiles were infuriating and frowns depressed her; photographs made her bitter, and yet without them she felt as though she had no past. Letters made her feel inferior, but no mail at all proved a point she didn't know she was making.
She hated to talk. Silence was oppressing.
Sometimes she couldn't believe that he had left her. Sometimes it felt like she was ten-years-old again. She was scared for him. She missed him, so much that sometimes it hurt just to think about it, because he was off with Harry and Hermione and she was just his stupid little sister, stuck at home as always.
And it made her so angry.
It was only when she found her mother's heart that everything spun out of control. It was small, and wooden, and when the Weasley matriarch laid eyes on it, her face paled and she cried so hard that there were no tears. Gideon made it for me, Molly Weasley explained to her daughter, wiping at her dry eyes. He said that it was a little piece of him to carry around with me.
She had pressed the necklace into Ginny's hands and smiled, the expression growing all the way up to her eyes. You have it. A brother's love is a brother's love.
And then Ron's face came into her mind, and everything collided. Her hate and her love. But a funny thing happened. Instead of an explosion, it all melted into one and formed a funny kind of patched salvation for her. A sort of … cracked broom one thousand feet above the ground.
Surprisingly, or perhaps not, Ginny did not feel afraid. Instead she grabbed hold, fastened the heart – a brother's love is a brother's love – around her neck, and allowed the broom to carry her higher, and higher, and higher into the perfect sky.