Disclaimer: All belongs to the honorable JKR. I've merely written something based upon her characters for the sake of writing. I'm gaining nothing from this, save the satisfaction of writing something semi-decent. Woo!
Author's Notes: Complete rant that made my way from my mind onto my hard drive, and later I realized that the words could apply to Ginny and her feelings for Harry, or lack thereof. I realize that this is pretty dark, I put it at an R rating just because it's not exactly a fluffy bunny… This is my first fic, so any and all feedback would be greatly appreciated. (Unless you want to tell me that I suck.. I'd kind of like to avoid that one. J)
~~~Denunciation~~~
You look at me, expectantly, obviously waiting for some sort of reaction. Your eyes penetrate mine; you try to see me, to see what I'm thinking. You can't. That thought alone almost brings a smile to my lips. Almost. Outwardly, I remain calm, unaffected. Inwardly, I am laughing at your idiocy, shaking my head in disgust at your ignorance. Are you blind? Obviously.
I'm not really sure what you were trying to accomplish when you told me the news about you and Hermione. I know that you wanted to get some sort of reaction. I'm just not sure what kind you were looking for. Would you like me to cry? To gasp out in pain, clutch at your shoulders, beg that it isn't so? I suppose I could do that… if you really want me to. But we both know that it would be a lie, if I did.
I suppose I could have reacted in the opposite way, also. I could have laughed, nodded my head curtly, and said, "About fucking time." I could have shrugged, dismissed you with a wave of my hand. This reaction seems so much more appealing to me: I honestly don't care.
But right now, I'm in the mood to be evil. I can see how your brow creases slightly. Awww, did I frustrate you? Here, let me pat your cheek reassuringly: everything will be okay.
So, what would you like me to do? I can tell that my lack of emotion is just torturing you. Although I can keep my thoughts hidden, you cannot. I can see in your eyes a look that borders along panic, desperation: Why isn't she responding? I can hear your thoughts, boy. Contrary to popular belief, I'm not as stupid as I look. And I can't help but be a bit gleeful when I see that you're becoming more upset than I. Things backfired on you, didn't they? You've grown used to seeing my emotions, seeing me blush, seeing me cry. But that is a part of the past. I haven't blushed or cried over you in a long time. And oh, it's just eating you up inside, believing, knowing that I could honestly care less. Knowing that you're suffering more from this than I. I can't keep a smirk from forming on my lips. I watch you as you cringe.
I feel a sick satisfaction wash over me as I see your demeanor change. I should be feeling bad, should be guilty for the pain and confusion that I've caused you in the last five minutes. And two years ago, I would have felt bad. Maybe even two months ago. But I'm not. I can't help but relish in this power, just for a bit. Because I know that this is the last chance I'll have in making you feel this way. This is the last chance I'll have to make you see the truth. After this, it's over. I will not let you affect me the way you have before, simply because I will not be with you. You will be living your own life, with her, and I will be living mine.
If anybody should be feeling anything close to remorse due to my attitude, it should be you. You made me this way. Before you, I'd never hid my emotions. I'd never been able to hide my emotions. But your constant presence, and the pain that came with you, is what taught me to hide. If you feel any anger for the absence of emotions, it should be directed towards yourself. Because you and that damned Chamber are the only reasons that I am the way that I am. I could blame Tom, but he's gone. And really, it wasn't him. Sure, he manipulated me, but it was different. He used me, he hurt me, but ultimately, he was going to kill me. It would have ended there. And then you showed up, you and your heroics, your scar and your green eyes, and you saved me. Or you thought you did, at least. But you hurt me much more than Tom ever could have. Because with each look you gave me, each brotherly hug, each word of reproach, you ripped me apart. And you expected me not to mind, to continue following you, admiring you, allowing you to tear into my soul.
This is your fault, not mine: I had no control. You had the control the entire time. You had it, you took it, and you abused it, destroying me in the process. If you ever felt pride for making me who I am today, I hope that you choke on it. I hope that you feel guilt, and grief, and pain. I hope that it rips you apart, as it has me. Because face it, Mr. Boy Who Lived: even though Tom could not stand against you, you are not invincible. Just because I may be younger than you, outclassed by you, less powerful than you, I can still stand against you, still defeat you, magic or no. Chew on that, Mr. Potter.
But I can see in your eyes that you are guilty, that you do realize what has happened to me, to us. You really need to learn how to hide your emotions, my dear. People can see right through you. I could see the exact moment when realization hit you, when you placed the blame on yourself. Now, there is no need for words. Because even though you cannot see what I am thinking, you know, in your heart, what has happened. About time you stood up and took the blame. Bastard.
Your eyes look into mine, no longer searching, but pleading. They beg for forgiveness. I stand, and they follow my motions, pleading with me to stay, to forgive, to talk. I look at you, and I smile. You flinch at the cold that is brought to the surface. I hold your gaze for a moment. I lean down, and place a gentle kiss on your cheek. You shudder, but I know that it is not from pleasure. "Good-bye, Harry Potter," I whisper in your ear.
I turn, and walk away from you.