A/N: It's official. You can officially call me sick, a pervert, a psycho. I have accepted it. Sort of. (I'm sorry.)
For Amber's One Hour Two Drabbles Challenge which I failed this time because this wouldn't happen fast enough, dammit. I ended up with incest, manipulative!Ginny and dead!Harry and Hermione. How do these things happen? How?!
Prompts were Ginny Weasley and scratch and I am so sick that RonGinny was born from them. NO REGRETS.
dead dead dead
He whispers it over and over and over until the shape of his lips becomes nonsensical and strange, until the names Harry and Hermione stop trying to slip out between his words, until Ginny is closer than she should be and his breath ghosts her cheek.
She scratches her name into his wrists with her nails. A scratch for every time he speaks into the stony silence, every time he open his mouth and lets the panic slip out.
The door swings on its hinges and the house is too empty.
The moon hangs low outside the lone window; the light paints his pale skin even paler.
Her name shines on his wrist like a scar, like a memory.
dead dead dead
He whispers it over and over in between sobs and deep breaths, in between moments of silence and panic and I'm so alone, in between frantic kisses from someone who shouldn't hold his heart quite so tenderly.
She scratches her name onto his back with her nails. A scratch for every time he is a little too rough with her, every time he bruises her hips with his.
The door stays locked tonight and no one is there to open it.
The sun shines through the threadbare curtain; the light makes her glow, an angel.
His name shines on her lips like a truth, like a promise.
dead dead dead
She whispers it over and over to the cracks in his fingers, to his shoulder blades, to the space behind his ear.
they are dead, she says, they are dead
i am here
i am always, always here
And she scratches her name onto his neck with her teeth and she whispers.
dead dead dead
they are dead
(don't ever leave me)
