When I get to the bottom I go back to the top of the slide
Where I stop and I turn and I go for a ride
Till I get to the bottom and I see you again.

Ginny Weasly sat down at the kitchen table, exhausted. She slowly wiped her hand across her forehead, examined it, and flicked it toward the floor. She'd had a very busy day. And by the looks of things, it was fixing to be quite the busy evening, too. Then again, this had been a very busy summer so far. Professor Dumbeldore was gone, and Harry...dear, dear sweet Harry...he was trying to stay alive, and make sure that he finally finished this. So far, she'd escaped the worst of it; holed up in the Burrow, watching and waiting, family around her. Safe, or at least as safe as she could be. She certainly didn't want to get involved any further; getting possessed by Voldemort once was more than enough for her, thank you very much. Nobody was going to pull her strings but her. And for the moment, that meant dealing with the mess around her. So many people...such a lot to clean.

She looked around, and decided that the kitchen could wait; the living room was the messiest right now - she'd start cleaning in there.

Do you, don't you want me to love you
I'm coming down fast but I'm miles above you
Tell me tell me tell me come on tell me the answer
You may be a lover but you ain't no dancer.

Don't get her wrong...she loved her family. They'd been around her all her life, a warm blanket, making sure that she didn't stray too far, run too fast. Not like Harry...dear, dear sweet Harry...up until they'd met him, they'd, she'd, never done a dangerous thing from one day to the next. All right, except for Bill; but he was kind of a 'freak' that way. The rest of them...quiet, unassuming, and...well...kinda dull. Normal. Safe. She needed something else. Something more.

But when she'd seen him; it was what, five years ago, six? She'd known who he was before setting eyes on him, yeah, but to see him...right there, as real as you or I or he or she or they...there would never truly be the words to describe it. Right then and there, all of ten years old, and she gave her heart to him. No matter the time it took, the crap that life would pull, when they pulled her heart out of her body, it would still be beating for him. Only him. She'd been excited, so much so that she'd disappeared into her room, and wrote the whole thing down in her book. The one that nooobody else in the whooole house knew about. Her Little Secret. Her Inner Thoughts. Even now, they didn't know about it.

Up until this last year had been very hard; all the stuff that'd happened, nearly dying...there'd been so many things that had tried to get between them. Her brother's attention; Hermione's brains, her mother's 'good advice', her family's concern...why'd they have to take the shrine? That was harmless; Muggle kids did it for entertainers all the time, and nobody made them get rid of the stuff. It had taken her ages to make it; piece by piece, little by little...they were only little things, and she was an impressionable girl. Did they want her latching on to some dreck like Malfoy instead?

And the dream of the last year, when they'd finally got together; it wasn't like heaven, it was heaven. To be able to kiss those lips, hold that warm hand, a hand that'd saved her, and know that he was all for her, to have and hold, forever and ever and ever and ever...just for her. Poor li'l Ginny gets something for her. Something nobody else had ever had, touched, tasted, felt...just hers. It was glorious.

So why'd it have to end?

Will you, won't you want me to make you
I'm coming down fast but don't let me break you
Tell me tell me tell me the answer
You may be a lover but you ain't no dancer.

Why?

She walked through the house, checking every room - just like she'd left them, a total damn sty. Not that anyone was in a fit state to help, but the place was a complete pit. Ugh. Layabouts.

Why, the only thing she'd ever wanted in her whole miserable life, why did it have to go? Oh, she'd said that she understood at the time, because this was at a funeral and you couldn't make a scene, oh no, couldn't do that, couldn't let them see how angry she was, how she wanted to haul off and punch him right in the face, scream her pain and loss at him, and she'd shed a few tears, that was expected, but she'd had to let it out when she got to the Room of Requirement, she knew how, it was still there, couldn't let it out in the dorm. They'd sure be surprised if they ever looked in there again. Not that it looked like the same room, anymore.

And then she'd come home. They'd come home safe and sound, and she'd been quiet for awhile, needed some space, they thought she needed to talk but there was nothing to say, what could any of them ever know, and there was a wedding to deal with, so many things to do...

They didn't know that she could do it.

When I get to the bottom I go back to the top of the slide
And I stop and I turn and I go for a ride
And I get to the bottom and I see you again

She giggles as she walks through the house, room by room, seeing what she sees. They didn't know, and maybe they should've. Should've paid her more attention than they did, too. She wasn't just some Fabrege egg to be treasured and wrapped in cotton wool, she was a real, live human girl, and she could use a wand, could use a flask, too. They knew that, oh yes they did. But with Dark Arts class...Hermione was a good role model, in hindsight. She brushed her hand through the girl's tangled hair, her eyes still kinda open, but mostly closed, as she went by, from living room to hall to Dad's study to kitchen again. Yeah, let'em rest. Hell of a busy day.

She'd had to make sure that all of the invitations had gone to the right people, that all the right people had been included; and a pre-wedding diner, cooked by hers truly, I mean, how good was that? Mum didn't have to make any effort, she could put her feet up, think of other ways to judge her, hold her down...just like that brother of hers, Fred George, Ron, Bill, it didn't matter, they all did the same thing. Kept her safe, they might as well have killed her stone dead, just like Hermoine, that snotty little bitch.

They'd all kept her from her Harry; all those years, all they'd done was keep her back, hold her down...but she'd seen through it all. She knew the score, what was real and what wasn't. Tom Riddle had helped, but he hadn't taken her far enough. He'd shown her the way; you wanted something, you took it. And when she'd got them all together, all nice and fed and warm and safe, family and Bill's bride-to-be, nice and stiff and under the influence of the potion, she'd told them all the Truth. Her truth; that she was Harry's, body and mind and soul and all, and that you know, she was a little upset that they'd got in the way.

And since she let them see her heart, hadn't been careful enough and let them see how it beat for only Him, now she was going to see their hearts. So she did. And the best part about the potion was that it made sure their mouths stayed shut this time, all those sibllings of hers, prattling about things they didn't understand, how could they know. Eight little, cold little nasty little spiteful little hearts, all safe and sound in the pot. It was a big mess, but she'd clean it up. She was good at cleaning, Good Little Girl, good at concealing.

And just one left.

The owl should've got to him by now, whether in that Muggle house, or wherever else he was, right now. And he'd be there soon; if she got the rest of the house clean again (some of those doses hadn't been quite right, she'd had to chase one or two of them down - not that them going at a snail's pace was that challenging), he'd forgive the kitchen. He was such a prince that way; her Prince, whose heart belonged to her, despite all that 'I love you but it's not safe' crap he'd spewed. Because the truth, Her Truth, was that his heart, dear, sweet heart, was true to her and only her - but the rest of the flesh...that Chang bitch had had that. She didn't want that. She wanted what was pure, was real. That meant the heart.

She had the time, the tools, the patience...the love. Oh my, she had that.

Her Harry was going to have the best homecoming a boy could have.

And she'd have his heart again.

Look out helter skelter helter skelter
Helter skelter

Look out, cause here she comes.

damn... that fits.

very good. i'll have to try my hand again when i have time. (my last was done in 15 minutes under threat of being kicked off the puter.)

very good work... i'll leave you to it.

Thanks man. I hope that everyone else likes it, too.