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Just for you my one adoring fan...

Okay this is a work in progress! Please forgive me but I wanted to put something up for comment. I have been working on this and expanding within the fic as well as at the end so it really is in the midst of the process

So here is the fic temporarily entitled "Butter Dishes"

I have stopped putting my elbows in butter dishes.

I have given up my crush on The Boy Who Lived, because I want to get to know Harry Potter. Aren’t they the same person, you might ask. No they are not and I have slowly over the past two years come to know that.

Maybe it was the way that his whole horrible life was splashed across the Daily Prophet during my third year that really helped me start to let go of the crush that I have had since I can remember. There may have been inklings before that, but I am sure that was the one of the first lights of understanding that I saw. You see, since I have been conscious and aware I have known that there was a boy who was almost my age that saved our world. And I loved him for it. I was amazed when I saw him getting on the train with my brothers when I was ten and in my childish thoughts he was the most amazing being on the planet. The Boy Who Conquered the Dark Lord. He was the wizard that made the world safe and I was going to marry him. We were going to live happily ever after. There was probably even a castle built for us somewhere in my head. I also built a picture in my mind of The Boy Who Lived. He was a tragic hero and an orphan. He made the safe wizarding world that I grew up in. He was the best wizard in the world. He was perfect and noble. And, he became my brother’s best friend.

But I know now that it was not The Boy Who Lived who got onto that train with my brothers, it was Harry Potter.

When he came to my house I was in eleven year old raptures, The Boy Who Lived was eating sausages at my kitchen table. I thought that I had died and gone to heaven. I was rendered speechless in his presence. I know that Ron noticed because nothing had ever rendered my speechless before. Of course I had heard that he was friends with my brother, my parents spoke of it often when they found out. They said things then that I could not understand about him just being another boy who deserved a normal life. The first thing I remember uttering in his presence was to defend him to the Malfoys. I wonder know if that was the moment that sealed my fate in the mind of Lucius Malfoy; the protest of a girl defending her hero. And then I went to school, and poured out my heart to the memory of the most evil wizard who ever lived because I worshipped the idea of The Boy Who Lived. The diary, Tom Riddle and the Chamber and The Boy Who Lived saved my life. The Boy Who Lived knew what had happened to me and he still did not tell anyone that it was me, he didn’t want to, I knew. He saved me and then he tried to protect me. Again there were raptures of a young girl, mixed with the evil and fear. But how could The Boy Who Lived love a girl who set loose the heir of Slytherin? Still though, I could not let go of my childish hopes of noble forgiveness and professions of love in the future.

But I know now that the Boy Who Lived is not the one that saved me that day deep in the Chamber as I lay in the grasp of Lord Voldemort. The Boy Who Lived did not beg me not to be dead. Harry Potter did.

What I saw, when the Dementors came into our train compartment in the beginning of my second year, I am sure you can guess. They brought back the horrors of the Chamber and the cold evil voice of Tom Riddle as he ridiculed my childish crush all the while drawing the life out of me. When I saw what they did to The Boy That Lived, I was terrified. Maybe that planted a seed. I am not sure, it is hard to say when it really started forming. When the Dementor left, I saw The Boy Who Lived lying on the compartment floor and I was confused. Wasn’t I the one who was lying on the cold hard floor just a moment ago? No, I had to stop myself. The Boy Who Lived saved me from that and now here he was sweaty and shaking on the floor.

But it wasn’t the Boy Who Lived who was lying there battling unknown horrors, no it was Harry Potter. I know that now.

When His name came out of the Goblet of Fire, I thought that it was another amazing feat of the Boy Who Lived. If there was something as monumental as the TriWizard tournament happening, The Boy Who Lived was sure to win. The Boy Who Lived had defeated Voldemort, he could do anything. Who else should have been the school champion? The Boy Who Lived was already a champion in my mind.

But it wasn’t The Boy Who Lived that walked down the silence between the house tables. It was Harry Potter. I know that now.

Rita Skeeter in her hungry ambition to sell papers helped show me that. You see when I read that article about Harry crying over his mum and dad, I wept too. I hated that my hero had to be so brave. But then Hermione told me that it was all rubbish. I began to realize something that would change my life. I was I love with The Boy Who Lived, but I didn’t even know Harry Potter. I didn’t know what was real and what was fabricated by that bug of a woman. I knew nothing of Harry and the way he felt about loosing his parents, I knew only that his Muggle relatives were awful and that I had learned from my brothers. Everything I knew of The Boy Who Lived had been second hand. The only exception was that I knew that I owed him my life. But I really did not even know to whom I was indebted.

It took a while for it to really sink in. It took awhile to mourn my crush. It took awhile to realize that I was mourning a picture in my head. I was mourning all the things that I thought The Boy Who Lived was. I needed to let go of all of those things if I was ever going to know who Harry Potter really was. It was hard to admit, even to myself, that I really didn’t know the boy I had fantasized about for so long. I was a little afraid to find out who he was to be honest. What if he was nothing like I thought he was? But I was at the age where I started to understand what it meant to really care about someone. You can’t care for some one that you don’t even know. It was not easy to forge on and let go of The Boy Who Lived, because all year he seemed to be the hero that I had always thought that he would be. But I realized slowly how small and unsure he seemed of himself when he faced those tasks. I knew that even though I was around him quite a bit, still silenced by his presence, I didn’t really know him.

I am not saying that I did not curse in my dorm room after Ron suggested that I go to the ball with Harry. Of course, after I had already agreed to go with Neville. The crush on The Boy Who Lived reared its head again that night with a vengeance. But I see now that it was probably for the best. Harry would have had a silent partner if I would have been his date that night. And what good would that have done either one of us?

And after hearing Hermione and Ron arguing later, and who couldn’t hear that one, I finally realized something else. The Boy Who Lived didn’t know me either. How could I expect him to like me when he had never even seen me? I know he had seen me over and over again, at my house, in the common room, in the Great Hall; but he had never seen me. He wasn’t as bad as Ron, of course, as it was really my fault. I had never been able to be myself in front of The Boy Who Lived. And I missed being me! Here I was at school where I could hex my brothers into oblivion for every snide comment and I didn’t because I was afraid of what The Boy Who Lived might think. And so when Michael Corner asked me out I said yes. I wanted to be myself again and not worry about what anyone thought about it. And Michael had seen me being myself when Harry wasn’t around and he liked what he saw. It was a relief really. Even if I didn’t like Michael as much as he liked me the attention was nice. And I needed it a little bit then as well.

Of course, spending the summer in the headquarters of the Order helped as well. Hermione, my brothers and I were bound together because we were shut out of everything. It was a time for me to shine really, to show Fred and George that I had been paying attention and that I could sneak and eavesdrop with the best of them. And I became even closer with Hermione with all those boys around. I told her that I was seeing Michael and that I had “given up” on my crush on Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. But we had more important things to worry about then. Voldemort was back, and the ministry was in serious denial. My dad was in danger of loosing his job if anyone found out that he was friends with Dumbledore. Every time Tonks knocked something over we were assaulted with insults of being “blood traitor brats.” Sirius was still wanted for murder he didn’t commit. Aurors were coming and going their voices hushed and worried. And mum was making us hunt up doxies and puffskeins! All the while telling us nothing. Knowing that the whole wizarding world is on the verge of destruction has a way of making a person, even a fourteen year old girl, look at things differently. It made me look at Harry Potter differently too.

I listened in as much as I could. I sat beside Ron and Hermione as they agonized over not being able to tell Harry what was going on. I heard them talk about how angry he would be; not knowing what was going on. But Dumbledore made us promise, all of us. Not that I had any right to write a letter to Harry Potter.

And then we heard that Harry was attacked and that the MoM had tried to have him expelled from school. Of course Dumbledore wouldn’t let them get away with that, but we all knew that Dumbledore’s reputation was being trounced just as bad as Harry’s was. It was like walking over a frozen lake and never knowing when the ice was going to crack. We did our best to take our minds off of it, the twins working harder than ever on their new “products” as if they had been sent on a mission. I know now that they had. They had gotten their inventing orders directly from Harry. I was still seeing Michael and that made it easier to make the decision that I made before Harry arrived. The crush on the Boy Who Lived had been laid to rest. I had let it go completely. I enjoyed being Michael’s girlfriend and I made up my mind that as soon as he arrived I was going to let myself enjoy becoming Harry Potter’s friend.

And then Harry arrived and things were different. For one thing I spoke to him as soon as I saw him, and for another Harry was over flowing with anger and snapping at his best friends. And I realized something very profound that first night he was there. He wasn’t perfect and I liked him better that way. It made it easier some how to just be his friend. We were in this together and after all the rumors and slander in the Daily Prophet over the summer, Harry needed his friends around him. There were more important things going on in the world than stupid school girl crushes, and Harry needed help.

My middle name is not Molly for nothing. I am my mother’s daughter as much as that idea scares me from time to time. But my mother taught me how to care for people. She taught me a lot more than how to knit jumpers and make treacle fudge. She taught me everyday through the way she loved her children and her husband and then later how she wanted so much to love Harry. She taught me that you never give up on those you love. She has not given up on Percy, she still loves him. The way that she spoke of Harry the hushed and whispered tones of fear for him made me realize something else. I realized that summer that I am part of Harry’s family, at least the only thing he has ever know that comes close to it. I realized that, now there was a different kind of love that I could give Harry; one with no strings attached. I realized that it was my duty to stand beside him and even check him when he needed it, because that is what I would have done if he were my brother. I wasn’t going to let him sulk and wallow in self pity because that was not helping anything. I am a strong girl and a very competent witch, and there was a war coming we all knew it. Even if I couldn’t join the Order, I could join Harry. And it was about time that Harry Potter got to know Ginevra Molly Weasley as an ally, a friend, and a person.