Wish It Was Yesterday


Disclaimer: I own nothing!


Summary: SEQUEL to 'The End Of The World'. It's a year after Harry's apparent death at the hands of Voldemort. Things have changed in ways Ginny NEVER expected. What will she do when she gets the opportunity to go back and change things? (D/G, NOT a time-turner fic)


(A/N/A.K.A. 'Author's Rant': Sorry – this has been a – er, long time in coming ::snorts:: Anyway, first chapter's here. This is going to be a little confusing at first.

If you HAVEN'T read 'The End Of The World', I politely suggest you do, else you probably won't get this.

It starts after Harry has a big showdown with Moldy Voldie just after the end of his Seventh year. (Big surprise there.) Harry's disappeared, presumed dead – yeah, real original – and Ginny, believing it's her fault, makes a wish that throws her back to her fifth year just before she and Harry finally 'connect'. Hence the title. You can guess what's going to happen, I'm sure.

I know it's not original, and damn it, I refuse to turn this into 'another' time-turner fic – NOT that I dislike them at all, but I'll drive MYSELF nuts trying to do one! I may as well be doing one, but that's beside the point. ::cough:: Plus, yes, there are about a ton of song lyrics in here – I am incredibly sappy, if you haven't figured that out yet. SORRY!

Anyway, hope you guys like it, feel free to flame me if you think it sucks, just make sure you tell me 'why' it sucks. Be helpful, you know? ^_~

Thanks! ~Lee

P.S. Finally got my Fan Art scanned – if anyone has the desire to see some, let me know!)


"Something just ain't right

As I turn out of the light and go to bed

Pictures of you in my head

Beneath the hazy purple sky

You incidentally lied – I gotta say

I'd be better off dead

Though the good news and the bad

The happy and the sad

I was always true

How come I feel like I'm losing you

I wish it was yesterday

'Cause today pulls me under

Place your bets on tomorrow's game

I wish it was yesterday

I need a lucky number

Well, something's gotta change

I wish it was yesterday today

If I could only find a way

To make you stop and say you won't let me go

As you walk out that door

Tuesday morning blues

I'm working on the clues and you know

I feel worse than before

As I hang dry the roses that you sent

This only just began

How come it feels like the end?

Something just ain't right

As I turn out the light and go to bed

Pictures of you in my head

I wish it was yesterday today"

- The Tuesdays, 'I Wish It Was Yesterday'




"This is something I have to do, Ginny," Harry told her, his green gaze steady on hers. There was no pleading for her understanding in his voice, no regret – they were far past that. He'd been trying to make her understand for hours, but her fear for him was so great she'd steadfastly refused to listen.

Harry sighed roughly and shook his head, turning from her to open the door.

"You can't do this! You know it's no use – he'll just kill you, and then Sirius too! There must be another way!"

He looked back over his shoulder at her, his patience at an end. "I don't have time for this, Ginny. I love you, but if you won't understand why I'm going, then maybe we were never really meant to be."

"I hate you, Harry!" She shouted impulsively, and he froze, the muscles in his back tensing.

 Across the room, Ginny paused, the pain in her chest making her search for something that would make him feel as bad as he'd made her.

"I – I knew I should have stayed with Malfoy!"

After a long silence, the front door of the Burrow slammed shut so hard it shook the crooked little house to its very foundations.

Ginny stood staring at the door with furious tears burning her eyes. He was actually going to do it!

God, Voldemort's power was at its peak! Everyone knew – and Harry, that idiot, was going to hand himself over because Sirius had been taken hostage…

She felt for a chair and fell into it with a sob, burying her face in her hands. It was a nightmare. Sirius Black was, in all likelihood, already dead.

She'd just sent Harry off to his doubtlessly agonizing death thinking she hated him.

Maybe Harry was right – maybe they really never had been meant to be.

Ginny rubbed her temples and sighed shakily.

What the hell had happened to 'happy ever after'?


1. Poisoned Fairytale


One Year Later


Ginny was staring at the floor in the attic of the Burrow, something she'd gotten really good at lately.

Her Mum was sifting through the contents of about a hundred dusty trunks and boxes left behind by generations of Weasley's, and she was supposed to be helping.

"Ginny, dear, hand me that vase, will you?"

Ginny kept staring, her head resting on her hand, oblivious to her mother's request.


Still, no answer.

Molly Weasley, her bright red-orange hair hidden by a ragged blue bandanna, popped her head up out of the tower of boxes she'd created around herself and sighed impatiently.


Ginny's brown eyes snapped up at last, and she looked at her mother with disinterest.


"The vase?" Molly pointed.

"Oh, right." Ginny moved listlessly to retrieve the god-awful ugly brown thing, and pushed it into her mother's grasp.

"Thank you dear." Molly immediately began wrapping it up and repacked it gingerly.

Ginny sighed and looked around the dingy, cramped attic, thankful for the cooling charm her Mum had used to chill the air. It was the end of June, and the air outside was fairly boiling.

"You know, it occurs to me, you could help me with this lot, like you promised – we'd be done a good bit sooner," her Mum said in a light reprimand.

"Er – sorry. I was just thinking," she said in a soft, distant voice, absently running the tip of her finger through the dust on one of the battered trunks.

"Thinking? You were blaming yourself again – and it won't bring him back." Molly commented gently after a moment, and then made a suspicious sniffling sound from behind the boxes.

Ginny crossed her arms, fighting the pang her mother's words brought to her middle, and moved to poke cautiously through an old box which seemed to hold mostly moth eaten robes, trying to avert herself from her familiar dark thoughts.

"I wish everyone would stop talking about him as if he were dead. No one knows for sure if he is – and I'm sick of everyone calling him, 'him', or 'he'. His name is Harry," she found herself saying crossly, instead. "He practically saved the world and no one seems to be able to bring themselves to say his bloody name out loud!"

Molly's head popped up again. "Virginia Weasley!"

"It's true," she continued bitterly, pushing the clothing aside. "And Draco – "

"Don't you dare say that boy's name in this house!"

Ginny paused and glared at her mother through the dust motes swirling thickly in the air. This wasn't the first time they'd argued about this particular subject.

"He did not kill Ron, Mum! He didn't deserve the Kiss!"

"I won't talk about this with you again, Ginny! Let the dead rest!" Molly stood up, tears tracking through the grime on her round, suddenly pale cheeks, and she quickly turned and left the silent attic. Even the resident ghoul seemed to go quiet and still in her wake.

Ginny sat down hard in the middle of the floor, but she couldn't bring herself to cry. She hadn't tears enough to shed for those she'd lost.

Harry, Ron – and Draco.


"Every now and then it just remains all the same

We try to move ahead but get held back

In the game, somehow now I'm living

In the past

I'm still with you, please don't forget

'Cause this ain't over yet

Every now and then I seem to do nothing but wrong

I blame it on my pride yet that as such, is almost gone

Everyday there's choices to be made

And memories are lingering, the future seems to fade."

-The Tuesdays, 'Changing The Moods'


After a long, unbearably solemn dinner with her mother and father that evening, Ginny returned to the attic, drawn there for some unknown reason.

Or maybe it was just that it was quiet, and held memories of a happier time.

She lit a lamp with her wand, and settled hesitantly before Ron's old school trunk. The pain she felt at her brother's loss was still too fresh – but she had to be close to him, some how.

She unlocked the dusty trunk, her hands shaking, and opened it slowly, listening to its lid creak. She caught herself smiling at the sudden memory of Ron telling Hermione why he never oiled the hinges to stop it making the ear piercing noise.

He'd rolled his blue eyes and shrugged. "If it's making that bloody awful racket every time it's opened, I won't have anyone sneaking about trying to have a look in it, will I?"

To which Hermione had pointed his flawed logic, going on about Silencing charms and what not – and then, very abruptly, a sharp look had come into her eyes, and she'd asked exactly why he was so worried about anyone having a look in it.

Ginny shook her head, remembering the ruddy blush that had come up on Ron's cheeks.

She sighed deeply, and pulled out the neatly folded sets of black school robes that lay folded on top of the trunks contents.

It was nearly too much. Everywhere she looked inside the trunk there were memories that hacked away at her self-composure.

The scorch mark on the cuff of one of the robes, the slightest hint of that terrible cologne Fred and George had given him one Christmas, a worn, scribbled on, bright orange book of loose-leaf parchment with the Seeker from the Cannon's still flying doggedly across the front.

There were souvenir's from the one Quidditch World Cup he'd gotten to go to, and several funny little gifts he'd saved, from Harry and Hermione. She found his rubber-banded collection of cards and remembered Ron's frustration at never having been able to come across a Rowena Ravenclaw.

When she came across the sugar quills, she had to take a deep breath, and set them aside. They'd been his favorite, aside from chocolate frogs, and Bertie Bott's –

A dog-eared black book suddenly captured her attention, and sat back on her heels, frowning.

Ginny opened the book, and saw that it was filled with photographs.

The first pages were plastered with moving, waving pictures of Harry, Ron, and Hermione in their first few years at Hogwarts. Ginny turned those pages quickly, and frowned breifly at one of herself in her first year, looking gawky and pale and frazzled.

The last pictures were mostly of Ron and Hermione, but there was one of her and Harry, at their last Yule Ball. The lighting was dim, but she could make out their expressions – and, she swallowed hard suddenly, the figure of Draco far in the back of the picture, nearly unnoticeable, looking at them.

He'd gone alone that year, she recalled, and the first glance she'd had of him in his dress robes had made her choke on something she'd been saying to Harry. She'd watched him, distracted, almost all evening, as he danced and flirted with half the girls present. She'd been hurt, and jealous, at first, but then she'd caught him watching her with a smug smile, and realized she'd been playing right into his hands.

Finally noticing she'd been holding her breath, Ginny closed the book, and put it back. She started shifting things, to put the objects back, when she caught sight of a couple of old Playwizards in the bottom and snorted.

No wonder Ron hadn't wanted anyone looking in his trunk!

She shook her head, an unwilling smile on her lips, and reverently closed the trunk lid.

She stood up, and turned away, wondering if she'd ever get used to them being gone, of living her life in memories, with her dreams torn and tattered like something out of a fairytale gone wrong.

As Ginny walked toward the doorway through the maze of boxes, the toe of her shoe caught on something, and she tripped, falling forward.

A dozen thankfully half empty boxes tumbled down onto her when she finally landed, and she moaned, feeling the points of objects pushing bruisingly into her skin all over her body.

"Owwww," she groaned, moving her limbs experimentally, pushing boxes off.

"Ginny? What are you doing up there?" Her mother called in concern up the stairs.

"What's it sound like," she muttered, pushing herself to her knees and wincing. "I'm trying my best to bloody kill myself."


"Nothing – I just dropped something. I'm fine," she called back moodily.

"All right – just try not to break anything up there, will you?"

Ginny exhaled roughly and rubbed a particularly sore spot on her shin. "Right."

As she slowly started righting things, knowing her Mum would flay her if she left the mess, a dull gleam caught her eye.

Ginny squinted in the low light, and bent over, pulling a small trunk that had toppled over, upright.

There was a soft, nearly imperceptible tinkling sound, and she was almost afraid to look, for fear she'd broken something – but when she looked inside, instead of seeing the broken glass of some family heirloom as she was expecting, she found a small square of crystal, about the size of a playing card, wedged into the rotted velvet lining of the trunk.

Frowning, Ginny reached in and yanked the object loose.

She brought it into the light and turned it. As she touched it, an odd luminescence seemed to glow from within it.

It was flat, had rounded corners, and strange inscriptions carved into it's surface.

It looked like something Hermione would be interested in.

She'd been meaning to pay the other girl a visit for the past few weeks, anyway.

Maybe she could tell her what it was.

Curious, Ginny scrabbled around, found an old, discarded velvet pouch, and pushed the square of crystal into it.

"What have you got there, dear?"

Startled, Ginny swung around to see her Mum standing in the doorway.

"Oh, er – this. I found it." She pulled the crystal back out and held it up. "Do you know what it is?"

Her mother blanched slightly, and she fought the urge to drop the crystal.

Was it something bad?


"I – it's nothing, dear, really. An old trinket – "

Ginny wasn't falling for any of that. "Mum, there's a reason you were in Gryffindor, you know – you can't lie. Now, tell me what it really is."

Her mother seemed to hesitate, and Ginny looked at her pointedly. "Mum, I can just take it to Hermione, you know – "

"No! No, for goodness sake, don't do that! Besides, she wouldn't know what it is anyway," Molly mumbled, and stepped into the attic.

The ghoul in the far corner started in just then and Molly shushed it threateningly.

Molly looked at Ginny and sighed. "It's a Wish."

Ginny frowned again. Had she heard her right?

"A what?"

"It's a wish, dear, do open your ears." Molly looked at her daughter's confused face impatiently, and held her hand out for the crystal. "I just wasn't sure if you were ready for it, yet."

Ginny reluctantly relinquished the thing, watching as it's odd bluish glow instantly turned to a dead black as her mother took it into her hands.

Taking a deep breath, Molly explained quietly, "It was a gift. Generations ago, you know. From one of the Fae folk."

Ginny felt her eyes widen. "A Fairy?"

"Yes, dear. One of my so many great, great grandmothers rescued her from a dragon – this was back when the family lived in Scotland, you know – "

"It was Great Grandma Pegeen wasn't it? She was the one always running around doing that highland warrior princess bit, wasn't she?"

"Hush, have some respect - and let me finish. Anyway, she gave her this in thanks, and told her that she could have one wish, and only one, of it, during her lifetime. Then it could be passed down to her daughter, and so on." Molly ran a finger across the cold stone and smiled remorsefully.

"You can see, I've already used mine. See how the light is gone?"

Excitement was already building inside of Ginny. "Are you saying, I can wish for anything I want?" It was too good to be true! Instantly possibilities began racing through her head –

But no. Her mother was shaking her head, a serious look crossing her softly lined face.

"I know what you're thinking dearest. Bit it can't bring back those who have already passed on."

Ginny felt a bitter disappointment rise. "Then what good is it to me then?" Suddenly, the dozens of same old 'if-onlys' and 'what if's' started running about her head, making her crazy.

"Ginny – "

She sat down in a rickety old rocking chair and let her shoulders droop. "It's a good thing I didn't have that as a younger girl. You know very well what I would have wished for," she said ruefully, a slight smile on her face.

Molly winked. "Why do you think I've had it up here hidden away all these years?"

Ginny closed her eyes tiredly, and felt her mother push the 'wish' back into her hand.

"It's yours now, dearest – just use it well."

Ginny looked back up at her mother, biting her lip. "I don't know if I really want it, Mum."

"I know. It's a great responsibility, isn't it? I know you'll choose wisely." Molly patted her shoulder and turned away with a suspicious wetness in her eyes.

Looking at the glowing stone in her palm doubtfully, she inhaled deeply.

"What did you wish for, Mum?"

Her mother only shook her head.

"You needn't use it just now, you know. I was thinking, maybe you should finally see about those Medi - wizard classes at the University. We could go up to London tomorrow."

Ginny nodded absently, deep in thought.

"You could make some plans, you know, start thinking about the future."

She thought about all that had happened since her fifth year, and shook her head.

"I don't like to plan too far ahead. You never know what's going to happen."

Molly nodded, and turned away again.

"I love you, Mum." Ginny found herself saying impulsively.

"I love you too, dearest," Molly whispered back, and disappeared out the door.

Alone, she looked down at the stone in the guttering lamp light, and after long hours of reflection, finally made her wish.


"Fate does not come to meet us; rather, we turn to meet our fate."


There was complete silence, no sensation whatsoever.

So it was wildly disconcerting when  she suddenly felt as if she'd fallen from a great distance, to land with a jolt in a both well known, yet oddly unfamiliar place.

She couldn't see - something was blurring her vision.

Ginny reflexively blinked, and felt hot tears spill down her cheeks.

Her heart jumped into her throat as she realized someone was speaking to her.

"-  bloody blind, aren't you?"

She gaped at boy in front of her, watching avidly as he turned away, running her disbelieving eyes over his back, touching on the soft, silky white-blond hair curling slightly behind his ears -

 "You think I don't know what you're going through? What it's like to love someone until your heart bleeds from it, and to know they don't return it, don't even think about it?"

She caught her breath, nearly overcome by her emotion by the sight, a sob choking her throat.

"D – Draco?"


And the end of all our exploring

Will be to arrive where we started

And know the place for the first time

- T.S. Eliot