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Everyone was born with a spiral on their left hand, slowly but surely growing shorter until the minute they meet their soulmate. Their soulmate, the love of their life. The one that would love them until their last breath. The one they would love, cherish, and be with forever. It was definitive, and was always the single most joyous moment of one’s life. Everyone obsessed over their soulmate, especially after meeting them. Everyone loved the security of knowing who they would love and stand by for the rest of their life.
8:47am. My soulmate spiral only had ten minutes worth of spiral left, which means that I would meet the love of my life at exactly 8:57am. I had recently turned sixteen, and it was the first day back at Hogwarts. The class was Herbology. I sat in my favorite spot right next to the door for a painless escape at the end of the class. The room was silent, save for the habitual ticking of the magical clock, reminding me that with each passing second, I grew closer to the end of my wait. My stomach turned in knots, so to distract myself, I pulled out my "Flesh-Eating Trees of the World" textbook and flipped to a random page. I poured over the cannibalistic plants, feinting interest in their characteristics and abilities. I could not bring myself to focus on the words, because I knew my soulmate would not only possess this book but also very likely be in my class. We would, at some point, read these same words, and know the same cannibalistic plants.
8:48 am. Growing up, my parents were vocal on their opinions about soulmates. To them, it was a sacred covenant with Destiny, a bond so pure that can never be severed. Hypocritically, they also believed that the only sacred bonds were the ones between a man and a woman. If, for instance, two women were to be soulmates, they would question the authenticity of their bond, and insist that they were attempting to ruin the sanctity of love between soulmates. To them, it was merely a political statement, an amoral perversion. Such views are extreme by most wizards’ standards, though most prefer an aloof position, that so long as such perversions did not affect their own lives or family, they will pretend it doesn't exist.
I never really thought about my soulmate until my spiral only had twenty-four hours left. I found myself ignoring the topic altogether, doing my best to avoid discussions and fantasies. In fact, when my brother Ron found his soulmate, Hermione, I avoided discussion of him for nearly a year because the thought of such romantic love repulsed me. I would go so far as retreat to my room. This proved to ostracize me, as nearly all my classmates were obsessed with meeting their soulmate and fantasizing about their appearance, meeting, and so forth. I suppose I did not understand how wonderful it will be, never having to wonder who would love me for me. My parents were “blood traitors”, and this way, I would never have to worry about not being enough. That was the desired effect, anyway.
8:49 am. I had attempted to curl my long, red hair, which still fell in random places despite my efforts. I had even worn my best robes, which I hoped counted for something. I figured, since I could not sleep the night before, I would wake up early and do my best to make myself presentable. Though, I nearly fell asleep during breakfast and almost spilled my pumpkin juice.
I think the reason I was so terrified of everything soulmate related was because I did not feel pretty. I was average. I had hooded eyes, my lips were thin, and I had a round face. My body was nothing spectacular, either; I had small curves, and my bum and chest were flat. I felt like I had a childish figure, and based on my knowledge of how boys were (thanks to my older brothers), I felt inadequate. What boy would want me? I was always Ron’s little sister, and I desperately did not need further infantilization. Sure, I was tough, intelligent, and a bloody good Chaser. However, those qualities did not make me unique. I had decided that my inadequacy was objective, especially considering the amount of boys who did not want to date me.
8:50 am. The spiral that was once on my right hand was only a solid black sliver. I ran my fingers over it, making sure it wasn't a dream. A few attractive boys had arrived and sat on the opposite side of the classroom from me, which was a relief: none of them were not my soulmate.
Professor Sprout came in. She was a stout, older woman, with greying hair and round cheeks. I sighed in relief that she was also not my soulmate. Unable to read my book anymore, I closed it, opting instead to open my parchment and set my quill on top of it. I attempted to stare forward, but my eyes grew heavy. I should have visited Madame Pomfrey last night.
8:51 am. Professor Sprout hurried around, rereading her notes, prompting me to continue to sit in my seat, frozen, unable to move. I realized how little time I spent preparing myself for my soulmate, and instead pouring into stories of other people's lives. I never related well to my peers, and consequently, I retreated to the safe haven of Quidditch, which proved ineffective for producing meaningful friendships with other people. I was popular, though I never forged meaningful connections with other people. I knew their names, and which house they belonged to, but other than that, I did not connect with people. I focused on Quidditch, and if I was not practicing or thinking about Quidditch, I was reading about girls who did not marry men at the end of the story.
It was almost an attempt to pretend that I would not eventually have to pretend that I was hopelessly in love with my male soulmate. Surely, soulmates weren’t an instantaneous perfect romance (Ron and Hermione proved that well enough). It was merely an indication of a possible attraction. If that were the case, soulmates were utter codswallop. Though, I'm certain that I could grow to love him, since he would be the perfect person for me. After all, he was practically made for me.
8:52 am. I shot up from my seat and dashed towards the door. I took my time returning to class, enjoying the mindless chatter of my fellow classmates. Most conversations were focused on soulmates, much to my chagrin. I wanted an escape from them, not to be bombarded with them. I passed by Ron, Hermione, and Harry, giving them an unenthusiastic smile. They casted concerned looks at me, but I ignored them, rushing back to my classroom. More attractive young men and women had entered the classroom, and none of them were my soulmate, either.
After today, what would I read about? Would it be unbecoming of a young lady to continue to seek out literature in which the female protagonist fails to marry a man at the end? Did I care? Would I be forced into a box of conformity, lest I upset my soulmate? What would he think of me if he knew the truth about me? Would I even love him?
8:53 am. Time seemed to be traveling faster, and my anxieties were all but quelled. In four minutes time, I would meet someone completely new, and we would be effectively be stuck with each other until our last breaths. If I already knew him, I wouldn't be here, losing my mind because my spiral would have already disappeared. People such as Ron and Hermione were lucky when they meet their soulmates young, because they can focus on personal development and growing with each other.
What if he's insufferable, or worse, unsuccessful? My greatest fear was that he would depend on my success, and effectively live off me. I didn't want to be pressured to settle for a stable career in order to support my soulmate and myself. I want to pursue my dream; I want to play Quidditch for the Holyhead Harpies, and not have to worry about financial uncertainty anymore. Hopefully, he was studying to be an Auror, or going towards any other high-paying career. Though, I suppose that was not my choice what he did, even if it impacted me directly.
I realized, to my horror, that I would have little in common with him. I was interested in Quidditch, reading, and writing, but besides Quidditch, what else would we have in common? What if he didn’t even like Quidditch?
8:54 am. I think, ultimately, my greatest concern was that my soulmate and I would be stuck together with this notion that Destiny wanted us together and nothing else holding us together. I did not want a loveless relationship in which the only commonality between us was Destiny. Would he be hopelessly in love with me? Would it be love at first sight as it was for Ron and Hermione? Was love at first sight even possible? How could I love a mind and soul that I had not yet even uttered a word to? Many people have beautiful faces, but if appearances were all that mattered, I would be doomed to a life of unhappiness and dissatisfaction. The last thing I want is a surface-level relationship in which we found each other physically attractive, but were not emotionally compatible. Hopefully, these were mindless worries, and my soulmate and I were perfectly emotionally compatible.
More people who were not my soulmate pour into the room, filling up the once empty classroom. I was suddenly wondered if every part of me was lovable. What would I do if he rejected me for being so plain? What if I was too headstrong? Would my soulmate find that attractive, or distasteful? Would he force me to quit Quidditch? My stomach dropped, and my heart started beating fast. My head grew dizzy, and I put my head on the table. I reasoned with myself that if I based my self-worth on the opinions of my soulmate, I would be setting myself up for a lifetime of pandering to an individual who may not even be worth the suffering. Because honestly: would he be worth the heartache if he made me choose between him and my passion?
8:55 am. If I left the classroom again, would I meet him sooner? The spiral was a graying sliver, so thin it was almost impossible to see anymore. The anticipation was slowly but surely driving me to the brink of insanity. As nervous as I was, this was the start of something new, and I had to be mindful of that. I tried to be excited, but a familiar sense of dread overwhelmed me. Wasn't I happy? Who wouldn't be happy in this scenario? Most people were dizzy, dreaming about all the different adventures they would soon embark upon with their soulmate. Hermione had been planning their wedding for the past five years, and had been on more adventures all the while. Why was it not the case with me? Didn't I want to meet my soulmate, marry him, and bear his children?
A beautiful woman had walked in, her hips swaying rhythmically to a seat near me. She wore her black hair in a bun, which she took out in one swift hand motion, and with a graceful shake of her head, her hair bounced down to her shoulders. I suddenly wanted to run my hands through her hair, wondering how soft it would be.
I continued to switch between staring at her and the wall. She had a lovely I had the startling thought: “What if my soulmate wasn’t a man?”
8:56 am. It was certainly not the time for an identity crisis-- I would meet my soulmate in approximately sixty seconds. The thought produced more anxiety, but in a masochistic way, it was comforting to know that I wasn’t necessarily stuck in a relationship where I would be perpetually unhappy. Conversely, the only person that wouldn’t mind would be me, and I would likely be kicked out of the house. Thankfully, this was my sixth year, and I would be able to live on my own after my seventh year. Hopefully I would be able to continue to play Quidditch.
What would it be like to kiss another girl? I felt my cheeks heat up, and I turned around me to confirm if anyone had noticed my blushed state. Thankfully, everyone was on their cell phone, and my professor was even sitting behind the computer with his phone in his lap.
As preferable as it would be to have a female soulmate, it would ultimately be Destiny’s sadistic retribution for every transgression I had ever committed. What would I have done to deserve such a cruel life sentence? I never felt so conflicted in my life. On one hand, I reveled in the safety of a male soulmate. No one would hate me. Everyone would be happy for me. Everyone would coo at my future babies. In the end, I could freely love him. At the same time, I wasn’t sure if I would be satisfied with that life. On the other hand, a female soulmate would mean a turbulent life of uncertainty, danger, and ostracization. No one would congratulate me on my relationship. Everyone would hate me. No one would be happy for me. No one would support us having children, lest we poison the future generations with our political agenda. Though, I could find joy in such social rejection. It would be easier to eliminate conditionally supportive friends, and would allow me to surround myself with only the most accepting of individuals. Ultimately, I left it up to Destiny to decide.
8:57 am. The time had come. When someone did not instantly start kissing me, I grew disappointed, and even anxious that I was one of the unlucky few whose soulmates died before meeting them. My stomach breeded butterflies, and I began twirling with my hair with my left hand while staring intently at the other. The black sliver was as thin as a strand of hair. I took deep breaths in a futile attempt to remain calm. The truth, though, was that I was terrified, because no matter the outcome of this minute, I would either be unhappy or unsafe.
Suddenly, someone burst through the door, causing everyone to snap their heads towards the door. It was the most gorgeous man I had ever met: he was tall, with deep brown hair and a masculine, pointed jaw. He was dark-skinned, and he wore robes which hugged every outline of his body. His legs were so toned, they may have fallen off without the support of his tight pants. He was also a Gryffindor, judging by his red and yellow tie. We made eye contact, and I stared into his chocolate brown eyes dumbfoundedly. I realized how obsolete any emotional connection with him would be, considering how attracted to him I was. I looked down at my right hand. My spiral was gone.
He instantly looked down at his hand, and shook his head in disappointment. He left abruptly, and I followed after him. Catching up to him, I said, “Hello, I’m Ginevra Weasley, but everyone calls me Ginny.”
“I know,” He huffed, walking faster. My heart sank, and I followed suit. “I was in the wrong class. Look, I’m sorry, but this isn’t going to work.”
“I’m sorry?” I blinked. He stopped walking.
“No offense,” he said hurriedly. “You’re just not my type. I have to go.”
“What do you mean?” I whispered, choking back tears.
He looked down, shaking his head. “I wanted someone more, you know, filled out, more attractive. Nothing personal. Really sorry.” With that, he ran away.
“But I never got your name!” I called after him. He didn’t respond. He kept walking away from me, until he was out of sight.
8:58 am. Returning to the classroom, tears spilling down my cheek. Once sitting, I reflected. I knew it was likely that I would be rejected, so why am I so surprised? I supposed I did not anticipate my fears becoming reality. I sat on the bench, too numb to cry anymore. I realized that I would likely be alone for the rest of my life. I realized that self-worth and desirability were separate entities, yet were not mutually exclusive. Because I’m hideous, I find myself unworthy of love, even from myself. I thought I was plain, but it clearly was the rose-colored glasses that warped my perception of myself.
I looked down at my hand, almost expecting it to restart. But with soulmates, there were no restarts. There were no second chances. If one’s soulmate left, that was that. One was essentially sentenced to a life of incompleteness due to one’s undesirability.
Perhaps that was only one boy who did not find me attractive, and many others do. Unfortunately, none of them were my soulmate. I sought his approval, for him to perceive me as the most beautiful girl in the world, even though I knew that it was an unattainable desire. He was honest, and he did not think I was valuable simply because I did not meet his standard of beautiful.
He did not respect me as a human being; he saw me as a trophy, possession to be shown off. I was more than an object. I’m tough, intelligent, and great at Quidditch. I was anxious, and I place too much emphasis on people who add no value to my life. I was Ginny Weasley, and no one could take that away from me.
8:59 am. The sound of someone running down the hallway brought me back to reality. A girl with beautiful blonde hair and rosy cheeks had ran into the classroom, her robes falling off her shoulder. She struggled with her books in her hands. Approaching me, she asked, “I’m not late yet, am I?”
“No,” I stated breathlessly. She was potentially the most beautiful girl I had ever met.
“Are you okay?” She asked politely.
“I’ve been worse,” I smiled. “I’m Ginny.”
“Luna,” she repositioned her books, extending her right arm for me to shake. Her soulmate spiral had ran out as well. “What happened to you, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“My soulmate rejected me.” I almost choked on my words again. “I suppose it was for the best, though.”
“That’s terrible,” Luna shook her head. “You’re really too pretty to deserve that. I understand, though. My soulmate rejected me for being Loony Lovegood.”
“Coming from you.” For a moment, we just stared at each other. In a sudden moment of bravery, I took her hand once more. My heartbeat increased rapidly, and her skin felt warm and inviting underneath my touch. She blushed, smiling with a glossy look in her eyes.
“We should see each other soon, after class. ” Looking into her eyes, I realized how insignificant Destiny was. All it did was restrict me from happiness in all its unpredictable glory. I never knew why he was my soulmate, and I never knew why he was meant to be my soulmate if he was going to reject me anyway. All I knew was that I could forge my own fate, and while nothing was certain, that was okay. I was going to be okay.