Never Let Go

Dawn had not yet broken, but I already lay awake in bed, staring at the bare walls that hours earlier had been adorned with posters depicting my favorite muggle rock bands. It had been many years since I had seen the color of the paint, and seeing the bare white wall unnerved me.

It unnerved me because it symbolized the end of my life in America.

In a matter of hours I would be returning to the cottage in the English countryside, I would be returning to a war torn country that was struggling to find peace. It would not be an easy transition, it would be one that would test me, but I was determined to thrive in my native land.

Would it be difficult?

Of course it would, but nothing worth having in this life is ever easy. The things that are worth having, the things that are truly meaningful require sacrifice and a determination to see things through even in the darkest moments.

And I was determined to see things through.

I was determined to lead a life worth living, to lead a life that would please my deceased parents. I wanted them to know that although they had died, their dreams had not. I would fight for justice, for equality, I would honor them by upholding the beliefs that they fought for.

My grandfather said I was crazy for thinking that way.

He told me that I should focus on my studies that I should leave the fighting to the adults who were better suited for combat but the real reason he tried to discourage me was the fact that he was afraid of me getting killed.

That fear was rational.

During the First Wizarding War, seven of his eleven children were murdered by Death Eaters. He felt that he had lost enough, that his family didn’t have to sacrifice in the new war but he was wrong.

We had to sacrifice.

We had to carry on the work that they had given their lives for.

Those thoughts vanished from my mind, when my eyes landed on the tattered photograph that rested atop my nightstand. It was a photograph of my parents on their honeymoon in Mexico and if the stories were true, then the photograph was taken the same day that they heard the story of Emiliano Zapata, the man whom I would later be named after.

They were amazed by his story, riveted by his life and when they heard his most famous quote, they decided that they would one day name a child after him.

The quote in question was a simple one, but it was incredibly profound.

It is better to die on your feet than live on your knees.

That same quote was inscribed in a silver locket that they bought me for my Christening. To this day, that locket still hangs on my neck, it always will; it’s one of the few things I have from them.

Two hours passed before my grandmother knocked on my door to tell me to get ready to leave. I quickly slipped out of bed and threw on the clothes that I had left out the night before. As soon as I was ready I walked down the stairs with my enchanted suitcase in tow.

“Morning Nana, Morning Grandpa,” I greeted when I walked into the living room.

“Morning Millie,” they smiled.

“Did you sleep well?” inquired my grandfather, Thomas Renner.

“Not really,” I answered honestly. “The anticipation kept me up.”

“Well then, would you like us to get going to the cottage and have breakfast there or would you rather us stop by a restaurant here?”

“Thomas, I told you that we were going to have lunch with Molly,” interjected Rosalind, my grandmother.

“But lunch isn’t until noon, we must eat something before then or else we’ll faint!” Thomas exclaimed overdramatically.

“Have you really forgotten that Devon is five hours ahead of Washington?”

“Is it really? I could have sworn it was less.”

“It is five hours and I fear that the years of politics have begun to take their toll on your aging mind,” teased Rosalind.

“Very funny, my dear,” Thomas clapped his hands together. “Well, then, best be on our way.”

“Wait,” I interrupted. “Where should we apparate to? Are we going to the cottage first or to The Burrow?”

“The cottage,” answered Rosalind. “We can freshen up a bit before heading over to The Burrow. Oh, this is so exciting. Aren’t you excited, Millie? You’ll finally get to see your friends after all these years! It’ll be a reunion of sorts.”

Truth is I was nervous, very, very nervous.

It had been five almost six years since I had last spoken to any of The Weasley’s. In that time period they had to have changed. They weren’t going to be the same kids that I had known growing up. I hoped that they hadn’t changed too much. I had always been fond of them, just as they were.

“Are you ready, Millie?” Thomas asked.

“Yes,” I answered, clutching my suitcase tightly.

“Right then,” his brow furrowed. “Are you sure you want to apparate on your own? We can so side along apparition, there’s no shame in that.”

“Grandpa, I got it,” I smiled inwardly; he was terribly overprotective with me. “I passed my apparition test with flying colors, I’ll be fine.”

“Alright then,” he huffed. “But if you splinch yourself, it’s on you. Understood?”

“Yes, Grandpa,” I replied.

“But are you . . .” he began.

“Thomas, she’ll be fine,” declared Rosalind. “Now, let’s be on our way, don’t want to be late for our first outing.”

And that being said, she apparated.

My grandfather wished me luck before he followed her example. Shortly after, he apparated, I did the same. The sensation that accompanied apparition was not one that I was particularly fond of, it felt as if someone had thrown me into a zip lock bag and was sucking out all the air, thankfully the sensation only lasted a few seconds.

Although many years had passed since I had last set eyes on the cottage, it was exactly the same as we had left it. The same paintings hung on the walls, the furniture was in the exact same place, nothing had been moved; everything was in its right place.

Our time at the cottage ended very quickly and soon we were on our way to The Burrow.

I spent the walk in silent contemplation, readying myself for the reunion with The Weasley family. I wasn’t expecting them to burst into tears when they saw me. Truth be told, all I was expecting was for Ron to blurt some horribly awkward statement out when he saw me.

Awkward statements had always been his thing.

“Do my eyes deceive me or have you truly arrived?” exclaimed Molly when she opened the door.

“We have arrived, my dear Molly!” Rosalind exclaimed in an equally excited tone.

They lost themselves in a warm embrace which turned into a session of complimenting one another. If I hadn’t known any better, I would have thought them a pair of sixteen year old girls that had just gotten a make over.

When Molly realized that my grandfather and I were standing there, she made her way over to us; welcoming him before she did me.

“My word, Rosie, she is absolutely beautiful!” complimented Molly. “Oh, dear Millie, you have your mother’s eyes and father’s smile. It does me good to see you so grown and brimming with life!”

“Thank you, Mrs. Weasley,” I smiled kindly.

“How many times have I told you not to call me Mrs. Weasley? More than I care to remember, I am sure of it, so call me Molly or else I shall be offended, come now, say it.”

“Thank you, Molly,” I stated.

“Merlin’s beard!” laughed Molly. “You sound like an American. When on earth did you lose your accent?”

“I'm not really sure, it just sort of happened over time.”

“Well, I think it sounds lovely.” Molly hugged me tightly. “What do you say we go in? The twins are in the living room and they’re going to be very excited to see you.”

Sure enough, they were.

When George saw me, he leapt from his seat on the couch. “Bloody hell, is that you Millie?”

“It is indeed,” I replied.

“Oi, Fred! Millie talks like a Yank!”

“Those years without us has ruined her!” cried Fred overdramatically. “But do not worry, my dear, for we shall de-Americanize you and make a proper British subject out of you.”

“I’d rather stay a savage Yank,” I fought back my laughter.

“Look at you, the girl we knew would have never made such a statement,” George wiggled his brow. “Isn’t that right Fred?”

“Quite right, George, but I must say that this Americanized Millie is quite delightful. Don’t you agree?”

“Very much so,” George looked to Millie. “Come on Millie, there’s a ginger that wants to see you.”

“I don’t think he’s awake yet,” stated Fred.

“Since when has that stopped us from going into his room?” asked George.

“That’s true, come along then Millie, we’ll stop by Ginny’s room on the way, might as well bother her before we bother Ron.”

I began laughing. “You two haven’t changed at all.”

“Of course not!” they exclaimed in unison. “We’re going to be the same until we die and even after we die, we’re going to continue this way in heaven.”

“You sure you can get in?” I asked.

“Do you honestly think God could deny entry to his finest creations?” was their only response.

The reunion with Ginny was more emotional than the reunion with the twins. I had always gotten along very well with her, I viewed her like the sister that I never had and I was looking forward to resuming my friendship with her.

“Oi, Ron! Open up!” shouted George as he pounded on the door.

“Wait up! I'm getting dressed!” was Ron’s response.

A devilish smirk spread across George’s face and, without warning, he threw the door open. Fred followed suit and left me standing their in the middle of the doorway.

“What’s wrong with you wankers!” cursed Ron.

“Now, Ickle Ronniekins, is that anyway to speak in front of a lady?” scolded George.

Ron scrunched his nose. “Have you completely lost your minds? There is no lady here.”

“Actually there is,” I spoke.

Ron turned slowly, his eyes widening in horror when he saw me in the doorway. He grabbed a shirt from the pile on the floor and threw it over his exposed body, but it had been too late, I had already seen Ron in all his freckly glory.

“It’s nice to know that you still wear red undies,” I joked.

At those words his ears turned an alarming shade of red.

It was nice to know that Ron was still the same boy I had met all those years ago.