𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒖𝒏𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒔 (ʟɪɴɴʏ)

𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕠𝕟𝕖 | 𝘨𝘭𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘶𝘴✔️

Gladiolus. The word derives from the Latin word "gladius" or sword from the pointed edges of their rigid petals. They come in many colours, such as white, lavender, green and like the one above, a rosy-pink. Gladioli have come to represent primarily strength, faithfulness and even a growth of character.

-~o~-

ᴘʀᴏʟᴏɢᴜᴇ

Ginny Weasley stood in the door unbeknownst to Harry, Ron and Hermione. She had improved at sneaking around, though perhaps that was because the three of them no longer valued her presence in their conversations. One thing she had decided however and Ginny thought must have been a sign of maturity, was that whatever they were discussing must have a good reason to be so private, in the dark times they lived in. Lights flickered out in the hallway and at last Ron looked up to see Ginny, elbowing Harry to signal him to stop talking.

They sat in a circle on Ron's bed. They seemed to be not fighting anymore though Hermione and Ron still looked defensive. Ginny remembered the argument she could hear from two rooms over, Harry's voice echoing through the entire top floor of the house.

Fred and George had been spitting wisecracks from the room over. Ginny resignedly turned her music up, arguments being a normal occurence at Grimmauld Place. Though the adults tried to keep their voices down to irritated whispers, the attempts were fruitless.

She would open the window across from her bed, the first time spending nearly ten minutes clearing out spiderwebs so the window would open and cleaning off layers of dust with grimy hand-towels. Ginny still had no idea where exactly the window looked towards, a mirage of suburban housing and cityscapes, jade-green young trees and calm meadows, sunsets and deep blue skies, swirling occasionally to make the shapes disorted silouhettes.

"Oh! Hi, Ginny," Harry muttered sheepishly.

Ginny's tell-tale fiery red hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail and an ever-present smirk graced her lips. Her brown eyes flickered with amusement. She was wearing a knit V-neck sweater and ripped, cropped jeans that had once been... Percy's? An uncomfortable sort of tingle rose through her at the knowledge. It was an irrational sort of discomfort, but part of her wanted to forget that the Percy who sided with the Ministry and the one she would nick the things of were the same person. He used to pretend he didn't know, leaving the things he didn't want in a corner of his room for the taking. She wanted to be the kind of person Percy would see and regret ever choosing his career over his family.

"Come on, mum cooked dinner," Ginny gestured to behind her.

The four of them climbed down the staircases of Grimmauld Place unfazed by the creaks of the steps. Ginny let her fingers linger on the dusty wooden handrail, looking up at the plain navy-green embroidered with black paisleys on the walls. Turning to face forward, Harry climbed down the steps tentatively. He definitely had been since the horrific happenings of the Triwizard Tournament. The screams - the people puking in their seats, clutching people's shoulders and arms and all unified in fear. Ginny shook her head. She'd gone over it too many times in her head.  

With the raven hair that wouldn't lay flat, brown skin and emerald green eyes behind his round glasses, one would understand why so many were smitten with The Boy Who Lived. Taking a long, hard look at her former crush, she noticed the dimples she used to admire, the scruffed sleeves of his shirt that reminded him of the boys her friends liked. It didn't feel the same way it used to, when she met him at ten years old. 

Now, she wasn't so sure. It was like her mother's celebrity crush on Gilderoy Lockhart, except Ginny'd grown out of it. Her mother wouldn't dare use his books anymore. Every time she'd tried, the family would protest and complain.

Ginny winced, trying not to think of when Percy would roll his eyes as they teased her.

Horrible fights seemed to be sewn into the wallpapers of Grimmauld Place, inscribed in the hand-painted harsh paint strokes. The careful shimmering half-circles reminded her of Luna, her wavy hair and iridescent nail colours. Ginny had been anticipating an answer to her letter about her family for three whole days. She resented this place, its dusty walls and the distance from Luna, who was usually just down the road. Summers were usually spent with her in the green grass, the sun illuminating the flyaways in her dirty-brown hair until they were gold-tinted and bright.

 Percy had visited only once through the summer, early July. The day had been pleasant. Light poured through her window, music that she'd fallen asleep to still playing quietly as she got up.

What had felt peaceful had been ruined by yells piercing the air. Ginny heard them coming from many floors down the house, pots and pans clanging, perhaps someone cooking, as the yells got louder. A shrilled one, stuttering as she spoke but talking with increased infuriated determination could only belong to her mother.

Ginny could remember the things Percy had called her mother and later her father when he had run down the steps to join Molly's side. Blood traitors and a whore and disappointments and unworthy and ungrateful.

Sighing, Ginny sat down at the table, to the right of Hermione. The room had a happy, busy air. She looked up at the people seated around her. This was her family, never mind Percy. Chatter arose from the table, filling the room. Ginny nor Hermione participated in the conversation.

She didn't once stop to look over at Harry.

Hermione elbowed her. "You're really over him."

She smiled softly. "Yeah."

Hermione smiled back at her, one of the only people to sincerely be happy for her in a long time.