if you think about it, probably everyone forgot.
probably ginny has ptsd. probably she wakes up in the night remembering the suffocating feeling of her life draining away, of the cold floor of the chamber of secrets under her and the solidifying presence of tom, her only friend, standing over her and gloating.
or worse, ginny dreams that tom still talks to her, still comforts her when no one else will, and she wakes up horrified at herself for missing that, for feeling comforted that in the dream tom still liked and didn’t blame her for ruining everything. because he tried to kill her — but still. he was the only one to talk to her all year.
probably ginny thinks she’s damaged, thinks she’s broken, thinks she’s stupid and young and probably she cries a lot her summer before second year, gaining color slowly when molly feeds her copious amounts of comfort food but waking pale and sweating in the nights.
probably ginny gets fed up with being coddled and being scared and being alone, alone enough for a predator to take advantage of her and isolate her. probably ginny makes an oath to herself in that summer, before she goes back to school, when her parents are tiptoeing around her and her brothers don’t know what to do with her, and the oath is this: she won’t be alone anymore. probably that’s when ginny resolves to talk to as many people as she can, to make friendships and study dates and to show off the curses she learned from charlie.
probably that’s the root of ginny’s fearlessness, the moment she throws off the covers and stands up and thinks i want to go back to school, the school where she almost died, because she isn’t going to forget and she isn’t going to let the memories stop her from living. from thriving.
they are not mutually exclusive concepts: remembering and moving on. probably ginny remembers the fear and the isolation every day, remembers the tight feeling in her chest whenever she’d been on the verge of telling someone her secret, that a boy named tom talked to her in her diary, that she woke up covered in blood and feathers, that she was eleven years old and losing her mind. ginny remembers that, and she learns how to tell people things, how to form confidences and have girl-talks and listen to her instincts. ginny kisses people when she wants to, and she looks after her friends, and she learns wicked curses and laughs freely and never, ever forgets the feeling of being under her best friend’s spell.
probably it’s easy for everyone to forget that ginny weasley, who can charm mcgonagall out of giving detention, was so quiet and mousy first year. probably even the girls in her year don’t know ginny as anything but a vivacious witch with a wide, challenging grin.
probably by the time ginny brings it up to harry, she’s over the humiliation of being trapped so easily, of being saved by the boy who lived. probably she’s had time to come to terms with it, and probably she’s learned to turn the shame to anger at tom, at being used, to help harry and ron and hermione and all who would fight tom, her best friend, her first friend, the ghost who nearly killed her.
probably ginny weasley is one of three people living who know voldemort as “tom.”
probably these things are true, but we’ll never really know because the narrative forgot ginny weasley, and it’s a fucking travesty.
Lillian Weber, a 99-year-old good Samaritan from Iowa, has spent the last few years sewing a dress a day for the Little Dresses For Africa charity, a Christian organization that distributes dresses to children in need in Africa and elsewhere.
Weber’s goal is to make 1,000 dresses by the time she turns 100 on May 6th. So far, she’s made more than 840. Though she says she could make two a day, she only makes one – but each single dress she makes per day is personalized with careful stitchwork. She hopes that each little girl who receives her dress can take pride in her new garment.