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Whispers of a Boy
By Anneliese

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Category: Pre-OotP
Characters:Albus Dumbledore, Draco Malfoy, Harry/Ginny, Hermione Granger, James Potter, Lily Potter, Luna Lovegood, Minerva McGonagall, Neville Longbottom, Remus Lupin, Ron Weasley, Severus Snape, Sirius Black
Genres: Action/Adventure, Comedy, Drama, Fluff
Warnings: Death, Violence
Rating: PG
Reviews: 11
Summary: *** The author has been reminded via the e-mail address on file that this story is listed as incomplete and has not been updated since 2004 ***

Ginny Weasley has grown up hearing the name of a boy. As a little girl she imagines him, what his life must be like, what it would be like to be part of that life. Following Ginny from the beginning of the Harry Potter series, this story will eventually go all the way through her fourth year. As she grows, Ginny's impressions of Harry Potter change from those of a romantic little girl to those of a strong and tender woman.
Hitcount: Story Total: 6485; Chapter Total: 2133







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The woman who does own these characters and situations is currently driving me insane with tantalizing hints about The Half Blood Prince. I love you, Jo, but if you could hurry it up a bit I'd be much obliged. Oh, and I dont own any of this, so dont sue me.
A/N~My stupid computer is being very mean to me, so I hope that this can get to the public...The stupid thing wont let me insert paragraphs, no matter how much I beg or how many goats I sacrifice... :) Here's hoping!





My earliest memories contain whispers about a boy. Being gently rocked in my mother’s arms, the fire casting shadows on her pretty face as she spoke softly to me and we both gazed out at the star strewn night sky. Most children, when they are as young as I was then, are told fairy tales before their parents tuck them in for the night. Not me. I wasn’t told of damsels and knights and happily ever after. No, I was told the story of Harry Potter.

After my brothers had all been put in bed for the night, and my father had retired to his shed in the garden, that was my special time with my mother. We sat in the living room, just the two of us, and I would ask for a story. She would oblige me, asking me which story I would like her to tell that night. For as long as I can remember, I wanted only one. She would always begin the story with words that I still hear at night, lying in bed in my dormitory.

"Well, darling Ginny, this particular story happened not so very long ago...”

And on it went, the familiar tale about the infant boy, just Ronnie’s age, whom had his parents taken from him by a wizard... But, when I asked about this man, who was he and why would anyone do such a thing, my mother smiled at me and smoothed my hair from my eyes, saying softly that she didn’t think that I needed to know the details of their deaths.

I learned when I was very young that it would do me no good to argue with my mother, so I would not ask about the wizard again for the rest of the story.

I say that there were no fairy tales in my youth; but that may not be entirely correct. The story I begged for every night was about as close to a fantastic tale of princes and princesses as the real world gets. I was told of a man who was as handsome and talented as he was kind and brave. This man fell in love with a girl the moment he set his eyes on her, and it happened that she returned that love.

The girl he loved grew into the woman he married, stunningly beautiful and greatly powerful, full of love and laughter and life. I loved to say their names. They slipped off my tongue like the rustle of leaves in the wind. Lily and James Potter. I loved the story of how they had fallen in love, had faced down the man my mother called You-Know-Who, (though I didn’t) and had escaped with their lives and love three times before that night.

My mother always grew quiet when she told me of their deaths. All she would say is that he found them. They tried to protect each other, but it was no use. They did not suffer any pain. Though I think that she made this part up to spare my imagination. Who wouldn’t think of dying as painful? Especially at the hands of so terrifying a man.

Then she told me of him, for the first time in her tale. “Ginny, the days after You-Know-Who fell were some of the most incredible that I can remember. Singing and dancing in the streets, people crying with relief and with remorse. I remember people shouting that little boy’s name.”

“Harry Potter!”

I would cry aloud when she paused, pleased that I knew the most important bit of the story.

“Yes, darling. He was only a baby when You-Know-Who tried to kill him, but he survived. No, Gin, I don’t know how. I don’t think that anyone does.”

“What happened to him?”

“He lives with some Muggles now, dear. The sister of his mother and her husband.”

My mother’s face always contorted with distaste when she told me this. She had wanted to take Harry Potter in, but a great wizard whose name I couldn’t say without stuttering had said that he should live with his relatives until he was ready to rejoin our world.

I grew up imagining Harry Potter. I imagined that he would be skinny, like Ron, but with the dark hair that I had seen in pictures of his father. In fact, I imagined him to look a lot like his father, but that was only because I had nothing else to go on.

Other than these details, my picture was hazy. I imagined a life with Muggles, cut off from the magical world. I wondered how he survived. My dad said that Muggles were just like wizards, but slower to do things. I didn’t think so. I thought that it would be dreadful to live with Muggles, no magic and no Quidditch and no clue as to who you were.

Always being rather a romantic, I imagined Dumbumbled-dore saying that we could go to the Muggle’s house and get him, sweeping him away from them never to be heard from again. I imagined him coming to The Burrow wide-eyed and ready to learn all about being a wizard.
I also had more secret dreams that did not tally with the wishes of my whole family. I dreamed that when Harry Potter came, he would see me and fall in love with me at first sight, like I had heard of his father with his mother so often. We would grow up, learning side by side at Hogwarts, and then we would leave school to fight the evils of the world like his parents, and mine.

*~*~*~*~*

Ron received his Hogwarts letter with excitement. I greeted its coming, however, with a little less joy. I longed to go to school, rather than stay at home all year with no Ron to play with. I cheered up a bit when Mum said that I had to go with her to drop the boys off at the train, because I couldn’t go to Luna’s. She and her father were away, somewhere in Switzerland.

When we arrived at the station, I looked around me in wonder. I had never seen so many people in my life! Diagon Alley could be very crowded at times, but it couldn’t hold a candle to the frenzy of the station platform. The Muggles whisked past me on all sides, chattering and laughing like ordinary people. Ron looked like he was going to be sick, so I squeezed his hand reassuringly, though I knew that I would be terrified, too, were I in his situation. He smiled at me gratefully, and I noticed the smudge of dirt on the tip of his nose. I turned my head so he wouldn’t see my smile.

That’s when I saw him.

His bright green eyes were confused and a little scared, his dark hair falling untidily onto his forehead, where I caught a glimpse of a thin scar in the shape of a bolt of lightning. It was like a picture of James Potter was floating before my eyes in the station platform. It was as if he were the only thing there, never mind the Muggles flying about in such a hurry, or my mother directing the boys through the gateway to Platform 9 3/4.

The power of my gaze must have drawn those extraordinary eyes, because they flicked towards me at that moment, then at the rest of my family, then returned to me. He smiled, and I might have imagined a sigh of relief as he walked towards us. My heart almost stopped.

“Excuse me.” His voice was quiet, and a little apprehensive, as though he weren’t used to speaking without a reprimand.

“Hello dear!” Mum greeted him brightly, apparently still not with the slightest inkling of whom he was. This puzzled me. The resemblance between this boy and the pictures that I had seen was so obvious, uncanny, really.

“First time at Hogwarts? Ron’s new, too.”

The rest of that conversation is only a blur in my memory. All I could do was to gaze stupidly up at him, speaking with Mum shyly. All of my imaginings came back to me in a torrent. All I wanted to do was speak to him, but my mouth had gone dry when I first spotted him.

At last, Harry Potter gave Mum a grateful smile, but those bright eyes still held uncertainty. He turned from them and walked towards the bricks of the barrier. Then he disappeared into the wall, onto Platform 9 3/4 where I knew that the Hogwarts Express would be waiting.

*~*~*~*~*

After Ron had melted into the wall following Harry Potter, Mum and I looked carefully around for any over-curious Muggles and trotted through after him. The platform materialized in front of me, bringing a scarlet steam engine into view between the groups of people, puffing gently, ready to leave.

Fred and George bounded up to us, looking as excited as I had ever seen them. As Mum lectured them about their delinquent habits, and after they had harassed Percy thoroughly, they got to the news that I knew they were itching to share.

“Oh, Mum! Can I go on the train and see him? Mum?”

The only thing I wanted to do at that moment was to gaze into those emerald eyes once more. When the twins had told Mum that he was here, on the platform, with his scar to attest to his identity, I had begged Mum to let me see this boy from my childhood stories once more.

“You’re not old enough, Ginny.” Those were the words I had come to hate so, living in a house full of older brothers, always experiencing things before I was “Old Enough”. “Besides, you’ve already seen him.”

But that didn’t stop me from wanting to see him again! After living my short ten years with a vision always in my mind, how could she not know that seeing the center of my imaginings right before my eyes would be all I ever wanted?

As Mum finished talking to Fred and George, tears of frustration came slowly to my eyes. As the whistle blew, I could not hold them back any longer.

Fred must have misinterpreted my emotion. “Don’t Ginny. We’ll send you loads of owls.”

As they jumped onto the train, which had started to move slowly, I heard George call, “We’ll send you a Hogwarts toilet seat.”

“George!” Mum looked scandalized.

“Only joking, mum.”

And then Fred and George vanished inside a compartment. The train was gathering speed, but I ran after it, waving to whomever was looking out of those dark windows, hoping it was one boy in particular. I was still angry with Mum, having wanted to spend one more minute in his presence, but I was laughing through my tears.

There was always next year...

~*~




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