October 18, 2010
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related characters and shiz belong to JK Rowling, not me!
Random Author's Thought Note-y Thing: This reminds me of a mix of Tears and Snow. OMG. I'M RECYCLING IDEAS! DX
The homesickness hit hardest in October.
The warm colors of the trees as summer finally died, in all their red and orange glory, made her heart throb achingly, reminding her—how could it not?—of the Weasley family's tell-tale hair. She hadn't known how much she would miss her brothers, her parents, her lopsided house and the chickens out pecking in the yard, until she had well and truly cut off all contact with them.
But October was always the hardest month to endure. As the years passed, it never became easier.
Her mum used to bake cakes, tarts, and pies in celebration of autumn, her favorite season, and the house would smell sweet and cinnamony until Christmas. Ginny's recreations of her mum's favorite desserts never tasted quite the same, missing something that only existed at the Burrow. The cinnamon smell that permeated the flat after one of her attempts didn't sooth her, didn't smell like home. It was cloying and suffocating. An obnoxious odor tainting a warm memory.
The crisp weather of October was perfect for Quidditch. When she recalled the pick up games she used to play with her brothers, it always brought a smile to her face, though the memories were often accompanied by pain. She hadn't seen any of her brothers in nearly nine years. Did they still play Quidditch together? Did they ever think of her? Did they wonder what had happened to her? Had anyone looked for her?
The thing about October, though, is that it is a month of dying. Summer makes its transition into autumn, a transition that involves leaves falling, flowers wilting, trees burning bright with vibrant color before extinguishing like a flame. As the leaves fell, she used to think she died along with them, leaf by leaf, a little at a time, until she was like a naked tree, without life or purpose, waiting for the renewal of spring.
At some point, she began to see the beauty of the death. Life didn't end; it waited for something better, for the time when it could flourish. She no longer dreaded the harshness of the winter, which followed closely behind October. Without the autumn, there could be no snowfall, no cold nights in front of the fire drinking hot cider, no scarves or gloves or snow-witches and snow-wizards.
She missed her family, and October never failed to remind her of her father's love of Muggles, her mum's cooking, all of her brothers' dearest and worst habits. But October was the beginning of renewal. Life must die to be reborn, and she was no exception. She was a Weasley, but she hadn't felt like one in nine years, and it was only once October ended that she finally felt like the person life had made her, rather than an echo of the person she used to be.
She knew that her old life was one she could not return to. October used to be a month of resentment because of this. She couldn't go home because of the child drawing obliviously on the floor by the fireplace, because of her ice cold, gray eyes, her platinum hair that glinted like falling snow. Autumn reminded Ginny of the family she had lost, and the broken one she had gained. She used to wish she hadn't run away, that she had just given him the child like he had wanted, so she could live her life with her warm, redheaded family.
But now she saw the necessity of autumn and winter. She saw why the leaves had to die, why they turned from green, to orange, to brown, and she knew that this was where she was supposed to be, in the October of her life. When her daughter looked up at her with eyes like snow-bearing clouds, she knew she would survive the winter—just as she'd survived the last nine—and be reborn into spring once again.