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a/n: in response to xelusivememoriesx 's 'fun' challenge. And, hopefully, you'll read my other fics if you liked this one :P. 

As the Day Grows Old

The day grows old and the sun burns hot as her shriek of laughter is heard, an angelic sound envelopes the passive world. All is well, and all in the vicinity are enjoying a perfect day. 

There is no one around her to hear her laugh as a gnome scuttles past, not a soul to share in her happiness. But Ginny Weasley does not care. She is but six years old; her path unclear to her, but destiny is drawn out, calculated and decided upon before her very breath is drawn. Her feet, bare and unscathed, gleam silky white against the perfectly moist grass, the sun gently kissing her bare calves as a bird settles atop the glimmering lake. The bird seems to stare at her, looking for the answers to life, something which she cannot give, which she does not desire to give. For she does not have these answers which the bird may seek, which her people may seek. 

She does not know why she laughs, but her voice rings out pure and true, the symbol of innocence. Nothing in the world can match it, but so much could destroy it with a single blow.

 Sitting amongst the trees, the wood mesmerizes her with the sharp scent of pine. This causes a small smile to play across her freckled face. She curls her feet beneath her, quietly starring into the pale blue sky, absent in mind but quite present in thought.

 It has been this way since Bill left for school, now only she and Ronald remain.

 Another gnome stops to stare at the freckle faced child. She is careful not to scare it away, it, in turn, is careful to listen, enjoying the balance the world holds, cherishing it as if it is about to disappear forever, and, for all she knows, it may.

 She relays to the gnome her thoughts, her doubts, and her plans for life. It is a positive time that puts itself into a harmonious blend of sounds—the gentle breeze and the composure of insect symphony. Her voice melts them together, making it sound as if it is not three separate sounds, but one glorious song.

 A circle of gnomes surrounds her now. The gnome nearest, nameless but hers all the same, blinks two gentle black eyes, and Ginny chances to touch its wrinkled exterior in beautiful simplicity developed only over time. The rough creature does not squirm under her touch, but seems to think nothing of it, remains still, as the sun gleams over head.

Smoke curls from inside the place she calls home, a single imperfection in the world, the imperfection that happens to make everything perfect. Simplicity, she knows even now, is a gift, a gift which so few are fortunate enough to have.

And whether or not this simplicity remains in five years or ten, she knows not, but one thing remains clear to her.

 The future holds a life to be lived, one in which simplicity of years passed must be cherished. 

A/n 2: Ok, so, how many o you hate me for making it only 505 words? A lot of you, huh? Well, this is the shortest thing I have ever done, but I'm not sure how to make it any longer. Suggestions? PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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