His Princess in the Tower
feels like she can’t breathe.
Astronomy – she loves it actually, loves it so much she has considered becoming
an Unspeakable, just so she could study the night sky. She likes Charms, and
Herbology, and has come to love Potions, although she will always loathe
Transfiguration with a burning passion. Still, she does her homework every
night and works on her essays so diligently that Hermione would be proud.
feels like a fraud.
She’s captain of
the Quidditch team, which feels so unspeakably wrong that sometimes she wants
to throw up. Every time she pins the badge on her chest she thinks of dead
man’s shoes, and shivers. She doesn’t want to be captain. Nor does she
want to be Seeker, but all the other people who tried out were so appalling
that she has no choice, and Demelza leads the Chasers well, with a little
feels like all she can do is cry.
She tries not to
linger in the places they used to go, but it’s hard. The table by the fire was
always their spot, and part of her wants to lay fierce protective claim to it,
because maybe they are gone, but Ginny will be damned if they’re not coming
back. She finds herself tearing up at the oddest moments – seeing two girls
chattering on the sofa as she and Hermione used to do, watching the Creevey
brothers argue, or…. She prefers not to look at any couples.
wants to flee Hogwarts for the real world.
In school they
chat and gossip, and her friends talk about who's kissed whom, who ought to
kiss who, and who will kiss who, but never comment on the students who vanish
when something appalling happens. It’s desperately important to them that she
win the Cup, and she can feel her skin crawling under all the expectations.
thinks she’s going mad.
Ginny scours the
Daily Prophet every day to hear who has lived
and who has died, and to see if there is any hint, any trace of what they
have been doing. Her best friend Louise has been unconscious since an attack
on Muggle Liverpool during the summer, and her other best friend is out doing
God knows what, and it makes her crazy because no one else can ever
will run for a day or two on pure rage.
written to her. Not once. She doesn’t know if they’re alive or dead or in
some ghastly state in between. He hasn’t written to her. Not once. He says –
well, he doesn’t say, which makes it all the worse – that he loves her too much
to have her in danger. He doesn’t love her enough to let her know he’s not
dead. She wants to kill him for this, because Parkinson or Nott or Zabini will
taunt her every day, saying that Potter is dead, along with her brother and her
best friend. They joke about three of the people she loves best in the world
being dead, and Ginny can’t help a paroxysm of fear that it might be true.
has to fly and fly until she has no breath left.
Harry took away
her choice, and someday she’s going to hate him for it. It would be selfish
and stupid of her to run away and beg to join the Order, because…Ginny can
guess what Voldemort might do, what that might mean for the wizarding world –
always supposing Harry was sincere. So she doesn’t do what every
natural instinct impels her to do, which is to fight, fight against the vicious
cruelty that has embroiled them all. If she stood up for the light side, she
would only make things worse.
wants to vomit.
There are people
dying out there. Every single day brings news of some new death, some family
torn apart in a new and horrendous way – and Ginny goes to lessons, and plays
Quidditch, and writes essays. She hates herself for it. She’s a slug,
sitting pretty and safe in a fairy tale castle, while the people she loves are
out fighting to defend her. It’s weakness, that’s what it is, and there are
moments when Ginny can’t believe she’s allowed Harry’s words to bind her in
has to go to the Owlery and scream.
If she left…if
she joined the fight, it would kill her mother. Fred and George would
worry themselves to death and spend more time defending her than watching their
own backs. Bill would rather lock her in a dungeon than send her out to face
But it’s killing
her. They go into battle, they fight with everything in them, heart and
mind and soul, while Ginny has to wait, not knowing what horrors they have
faced, just waiting for Professor McGonagall to find her, with a sad and sombre
Sometimes she is
so torn she can only sit in sloth.
She thinks there
is no more ugly or despicable word in the English language than useless. Harry
at least can fight, can stand up to Voldemort – Ron is his most faithful
friend, his companion of choice, and Hermione is his most essential resource,
his most trusted source of knowledge, and Ginny is his Princess in the Tower.
She knows they
all want her to be safe – knows that it is an entirely admirable and
understandable emotion for them to feel, but…she wants them to be safe too, but
she has not locked them away.
Ginny is a powerful witch – she knows
this. She could help, she could actually make a contribution, she could be a
valuable asset. She knows a lot more than most people give her credit, and she
will learn on her feet if necessary.
But, she’s not
foolhardy enough to imagine she could duel Voldemort and survive. And that is
what she faces – and she accepts that. She remembers Tom Riddle too well to
imagine he would not stoop to use her against Harry. But if Ginny has to die to
make sure that people like Hermione and Louise and Dean and Harry are allowed a
place in her world, she’s willing to do so (the fact that she can admit this to
herself frightens her). She is willing.
But Harry is not
willing – at least she thinks he’s not willing, though there are times, when,
stupid as it sounds, she almost deludes herself that it was all a dream. If he
really cared he would let her know he was alive, damnit, because he
would have some inkling that the ignorance is slowly tearing her insides to
is not the only factor in this equation. She rather suspects that Ron would be
equally unwilling to let her face death, and Ginny knows Hermione too well to
pretend that her sentiments would be any different. They are not willing.
But they are
also not there. They have not written to her. They do not have to feel guilty
for doing nothing. Their consciences are clean.
She turns the
question over and over in her mind, not knowing what would be better. Is it
right to sit on the sidelines, doing nothing, while people are butchered all
around her? Ginny thinks not.
But is it right
to intervene, when doing so could, but only could, create a worse
situation? Could, but only could, lead their one hope of salvation to destroy
It is not in her
nature to be passive – but it is not in her nature to wilfully risk the lives
of those she cares about either, and so she turns the question over and over in
her mind, until she no longer knows left from right. And it is all for Harry.
wants to be him.
He does not have
to question his every impulse. He does not have to restrain himself as she
does. He is with Ron and Hermione – and perhaps he sees the twins sometimes –
and he is doing something. While Ginny is an exile from her family, in a
school where petty words and games and lessons shroud the fear that stalks them
all, and where there is no one for her to talk to. She loves Neville and Luna,
and all her friends, but their dilemma is not the same as hers, and never will
be. They cannot understand.
Each day she
must expend more energy to restrain her desperate urge to fly home and join the
Order. Each day she must force herself to sit down and do her homework, rather
than writing long rambling letters to Harry, or her Mum, or Hermione, or
Louise’s mother, or to the twins or Ron or Percy – at least if she writes to
them, though the letters may never be delivered, she feels close to them. And
each day she feels more and more trapped in the towers of the castle, more
culpable for every death, more weak and contemptible for her inaction, more
bitter that Harry’s fear makes her a slug.
It is becoming
harder and harder to swallow those feelings; harder to strangle them before she
screams out loud; harder to lock them away in her heart so that no one will
know her desperation. She is terrified that one day it will all come pouring
out in a hopeless stream of babble – terrified of exposing herself so utterly –
yet she knows that a crisis is upon them. She must soon decide, and that fills
her with terror, because there is no right choice.
But that choice
is coming – perhaps because she can no longer bear to sit idle, or perhaps
forced by some outside event – and by the feelings that simmer in her heart she
knows it is coming ever closer.
feels like she can’t breathe.