Note: I do not support or condone suicide or cheating. If you are especially sensitive to these topics, you may be upset by this story and so I suggest you do not read it.
Disclaimer: JKR owns all. A Beautiful Mess lyrics belong to Jason Mraz.
A Beautiful Mess
You've got the best of both worlds
You're the kind of girl who can take down a man then lift him back up again
You are strong but you're needed, humble but you're greedy
And based on your body language and shotty cursive I've been reading
You're style is quite selective though your mind is rather reckless
Well I guess it just suggests that this is just what happiness is
And what a beautiful mess this is
It's like picking up trash in dresses
Well it kind of hurts when the kind of words you write
Kind of turn themselves into knives
And don't mind my nerve you can call it fiction
But I like being submerged in your contradictions, dear
Cause here we are, here we are
Although you were biased I love your advice
Your comebacks they're quick and probably have to do with your insecurities
There's no shame in being crazy, depending on how you take these words
I'm paraphrasing this relationship we're staging
But it's a beautiful mess, yes it is
It's like picking up trash in dresses
Well it kind of hurts when the kind of words you say
Kind of turn themselves into blades
And the kind and courteous is a life I've heard
But it's nice to say that we played in the dirt
Cause here, here we are
Here we are
And through timeless words and priceless pictures
We'll fly like birds not of this earth
And tides they turn and hearts disfigure
But that's no concern when we're wounded together
-Beautiful Mess, Jason Mraz
As with all things, it had started with a simple word. Her name.
"Ginny."
She turned, her red hair flowing softly across her back and her brown eyes widening as they met an intimate green gaze. Crimson flooded across her cheeks accompanied by a soft heat, involuntarily, without her permission, as they always had whenever she saw him, and she dropped her gaze shyly, before speaking softly, "Yes, Harry?"
Her heart quickened, adrenaline singing through her veins as it always did, always had, when she talked to him. Her body reacted, an animalistic, natural instinct, to the sound of his voice.
His voice, it rang softly through the air, softly serenading her ears.
A quill. Her heartbeat slowed and her mind groggily tried to comprehend his words. He wanted a quill. Reaching into her bag, her mind harshly berated itself for ever hoping, ever even believing for a second that it would happen, that after all these years he would open his eyes and actually see her. She picked up a quill, its point deadly, scraping against her sensitive skin, drawing red traceries against the creamy color.
Passing it to him, her hand grazed his, feeling the rough fingertips, the smooth backs, the strong veins etching a pathway beneath the bronzed skin as time passed slowly, the hourglass seeming to have lost all sense of reality; the exchange had lasted for years, she thought, and yet, not nearly long enough.
The entire class period, her mind was filled with daydreams, thoughts of rough hands and emerald eyes, the feel of jet-black hair tangled between her gentle, ivory fingers, a soft mouth on hers, his tongue slipping in to explore the corners of her mouth hidden behind sweet lips. As the professor had droned on, pacing back and forth across the classroom monotonously, a dark cloak dragging behind, she had begun twisting her thick hair between her fingers, her quill scratching little hearts into the margins of the blank sheets of parchment that were meant to be her notes.
And then, she suddenly snapped back to reality, the passion-induced fog fading as quickly as it had come, as if the sun had suddenly burst from the confines of her mind, illuminating all the things she had been dreaming of and revealing them as they truly were: impossible, only dreams. The feeling that she had been floating above the rest slowly dissipated, leaving her to fall from the heavens and land back among her classmates in the dark, gloomy room.
Thankfully, mercifully, the bell rang, assaulting her ears like a siren. She turned once again towards the green-eyed boy to ask for her quill back, her hand reaching up to push back a string of red hair as she did so, only to see that the desk was empty, he had already left, escaped.
On the dark, polished wood sat her quill, its tip gleaming savagely, droplets of ink slowly falling from it., to land in a small, ebony puddle like a miniature size of the Black Lake. Beside it sat a piece of ivory parchment, folded in half, her name scrawled in a hasty, non-delicate way. Her heart began to flutter once again.
Her hands pulled the onyx door quietly shut as she stared down at the crimson rose he had handed her when she had entered the hidden room some hours before to see a dark, wooden bed, luscious curtains thrown carelessly around it, the moonlight slanting gently onto the crimson covers. She smiled down at the rose, her red hair the same shade of shocking ruby, as the memories of the night's events flowed gently through her mind. Its petals, full and alluring, curled softly like a hand gently caressing the face of a lover. Sighing softly, she leaned against the door and slid to the floor, leaning her head against the dark wood as she closed her eyes.
Images flitted across the dark canvas of her vision as the night replayed behind her eyes. Rough hands gently roamed over her skin, exploring the planes and curves of her body as she sighed into a tender kiss, her dark eyes staring into his green ones. She clutched his muscled, ropy arms as she wrapped her legs around his waist, trailing her hands gently down his chest.
The past four months had been blissful, her heart beginning to pound with every glance he gave her, her mind wandering during class to think of him and the nights they spent together, making love as the moon rose, accompanied by the friendly stars, into the dark canvas of the sky.
Standing, she gently tilted the rose petals to her face, taking in a deep breath–the smell of roses and passion and love wafting beneath her delicate nose and flowing inwards, invading her brain with its intoxicating scent– as she closed her eyes and saw emerald ones staring back at her.
She tiptoed down the hall–away from the Room of Requirement, the room they used when they sneaked off at night, for Harry shared a dormitory with her brother–back to the safe confines of her bed.
Pulling the hem of the black dress she was wearing down over her knees, Ginny shivered in the cold air of the castle before briskly walking towards her dormitory. As she turned a corner, she saw a dark figure standing in the moonlight cast by a stained glass window, his face turned upwards as he stared seemingly lost in his own mind, at the stars above his head, as if trying to solve all the mysteries of the universe, or maybe just all the mysteries of his own life. The light glanced off his pale hair and Ginny gave a small gasp before turning to leave.
It only took a word to stop her. Her name.
"Ginny."
She turned, pulling her dress down self-consciously, to see he was only a few feet behind her. Her brown eyes widened in surprise; she hadn't heard him move. His arm wrapped quickly around her waist, pulling her against him, while his other hand tugged at her fingers pulling her dress down around her knees. When he got her to loosen her grip, he leaned forward, his lips grazing against her ear.
"Don't cover yourself up. You're too beautiful."
Ginny closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of cigarettes and soap, the contradictory smell of dirty and clean as memories flooded her mind, memories of a blond, silver-eyed boy as he stared silently at her as they passed one another in the hall between classes. When she opened her brown eyes, she saw that he was gone. She was left standing in the dark hallway, with only the faint scent of smoke and soap to remind her that it hadn't been a dream.
That had been the night to start off an unforeseeable chain of events that would irreparably damage each of their lives.
Ginny began sneaking off to see the silver-eyed boy whenever Harry's back was turned. Each boy fed part of an addiction, pulling her in two separate directions so that she no longer knew exactly who or what she wanted. Or even who she was.
The rough feel of Draco's mouth on hers brought an image of Harry's gentle caresses, while the way Harry sweetly put his arm around her during classes made her think of Draco shoving her harshly against a wall, pinning her hands above her head as he ravaged her body with his mouth, making her gasp aloud in ways no one else could.
Each boy brought a craving that neither could satisfy.
They were two parts of a whole, each two different people who, only together, could complete Ginny.
With Draco it had been quick, with Harry slow and gentle. One was rough and passionate while the other soft and sweet. One coarse and rude on the outside, unafraid of hurting her, with the other was sensitive and caring, each touch soft. Draco was daring and thrilling, his actions swift and unremorseful; he never paused to think about his actions, never regretted a word or action. He lived in the moment. His mercury eyes grazed over her body like the paws of a lion; he never thought twice about kissing her roughly on the lips, his mouth compressing into hers passionately as his fingers weaved their way through her tangle of red hair, his other hand wrapping around her waist and pulling her towards him. Harry, on the other hand, was the opposite; he was tender and considerate, chivalrous at times. He planned every move he made around her; inside, he was terrified of ruining their relationship and she knew it. He made every move gentle, ever touch sweet and caring. He held open doors, his green eyes silently worshipping her. His touches were tender, a soft caress of his rough hand on her cheek, a cautious kiss, his hand softly finding hers under the table during dinner.
With Draco it was an all-consuming passion, unstoppable and unpreventable; fingernails scratching his muscled back, a red blush rising to her face, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist. With Harry, it was love, soft and sweet and utterly simple; hands laced together, fingers intertwining, a soft peck on the lips.
She had been completely in love; a small fluttery feeling sparking in her stomach every time her brown eyes met his emerald ones, tingles running across her skin like small electric pulses each time her fingers grazed his. She had thought she had everything, until she met Draco.
Draco had been the one with the power to shake up her perfectly complacent world, where everything was happy and joyous and in its rightful place. He had given her what had been missing.
Passion.
Mystery.
Excitement.
Harry had been tame, while Draco was wild.
She had known it was wrong, had understood that, if Harry ever found out, it would completely destroy him. She knew it wasn't fair to either of them. She knew it was cruel, an incredibly ruthless pain to inflict onto another human being. And she knew the anguish, the agony that would pierce his heart and torture his mind and soul if he ever heard whisper of the extracurricular activities she was participating in as she crept through the dark.
She completely understood all of that, but she couldn't stop herself.
She had no control over the situation.
She felt a magnetic pull towards both of them, yanking her towards either boy.
Tears dripped slowly down her face as she stared quietly at her hands where they lay gently on the crimson silk sheets of her room. Her body, her mind, her soul, they were all numb, all still with shock. It was as if an electric current–too strong for her body to handle– had been sent through her heart, damaging all nerves beyond repair. She knew she would never be repaired, never be the same. And yet, a small voice in the back of her head told her, if she had to do it all over again, she probably wouldn't have changed a thing.
She had always let her emotions rule her actions; to her, there was simply no other way to live. She lived without regrets, without remorse. She felt without second-guessing. Even when she had been a toddler, stumbling around in a dress and untied shoes, her knees scraped and a thick mass of red hair falling around her face, they had said her temper was as fiery as her hair.
They had been right.
Ginny had never understood why other people felt the need to hide their emotions, to keep it all hidden inside, where it would turn dark and nurture a feeling of hate, caged inside her soul until one day, inexplicably, the hatred she felt–so fierce and powerful, it would surprise even her–burst through the walls of the iron cage of her heart and tore everything to shreds. No, she had always thought it was better to allow her emotions to run wild, to be free from any sort of cage or boundary.
Until now.
Now, there were secrets to be hidden, emotions to be kept locked up in a caged heart, the key hidden in a long-forgotten memory.
The sun silently peaked through the stained glass window, illuminating her tired face and the bags under her eyes as she sat quietly in her bed, the crimson silk sheets tangled around her legs. In each hand laid a photograph, each equally worn from being taken out and stared at for far too long, each creased down the middle where she had folded it.
One, however, depicted a dark-headed man, his jet hair rumpled, the emerald eyes beneath his glasses burning as if he could warm her with them through the photo; it was the same look he gave her when he stared into her eyes as they lay together on his bed, their bodies grazing one another as their lips brushed.
In the other sat a blonde man, his chin held high, a small, curling smirk on his face the only expression, his eyes hiding any sort of emotion, though Ginny knew how they burned when he held her, his muscled arms curling tightly around her waist as if to protect her from all the hurt in the world.
And yet, he couldn't protect her anymore.
The tears, alongside the constant ache in her heart and the inability to keep her food down, had kept her company the entire night, flowing slowly down her face as her nose turned pink and tickled as if she had sniffed spices.
A few nights ago, Harry had confronted her in the common room, cornering her. She had been wrapping herself in the smell of cigarettes and smoke, running her hands through pale blond hair, staring into mercury eyes. When he had rolled off of her and her breathing had slowed, she had looked at the clock on the wall to see it was nearly four in the morning. Picking her weary body up, she had gathered her silk nightgown and pulled it on before kissing Draco goodnight.
Her hand on the onyx doorknob, she had turned to see Draco lying on the bed, luscious emerald sheets tangled around his legs and torso, before she pulled the cold door closed, but not before she heard the words, whispered from lips she had felt ravaging her body, worshipping it, only moments ago, "You're only a distraction, a beautiful distraction."
Her heart ached from where his words had stabbed her and tears momentarily filled her eyes before she cleared them. He doesn't mean it, her mind insisted, it's the way he copes with accepting what he's doing. After all, you're two different people and let's face it: Draco Malfoy isn't supposed to look at anyone the way he looks at you. He's supposed to be cold-hearted. He isn't allowed to love.
She tried desperately to listen to her head, but her heart was too stubborn. The words burned still, thrumming through her heart like small electric pulses.
She tiptoed up the stairs, her feet cold on the stone, as she pulled her ivory nightgown around herself. Finally, she walked into the common room minutes after the clock struck four a.m. Sighing she headed towards her room, feeling her shoulders droop and her eyes close as she thought of the warm feel of silk sheets wrapped around her body and the sweet blissfulness sleep would bring her weary body and mind.
She stepped towards her dormitory, but never made it.
A smirking, shadowy, green-eyed figure stopped her in the doorway, stopped her as a word left his lips.
"Ginny."
Her brown eyes widened as he continued, "Where have you been all night?"
His smirk grew wider as her heart raced and she scrambled for a lie, words to keep him away from the truth, to keep him from leaving.
Words to keep her addiction with her, hidden.
But the words never came.
He yelled. "Don't even try to lie to me!" Reaching into his jacket, he brought out a folded piece of parchment and Ginny felt her stomach drop. She knew she should have destroyed that dreaded piece of paper earlier; it was an invasion of privacy. She should have burned it when she'd had the chance.
Shaking her head, she cleared her thoughts before her mind began to race again, trying to find a way to make him stay with her, she couldn't live without him, she was too dependent on him, too addicted.
"I'm sorry Harry, but I–I can explain!"
Harry scowled at her, his eyes blazing harshly, a look she had only seen him throw at Voldemort himself. Even Draco had never earned that gaze from Harry. Her tears began to well in her eyes as she realized that he hated her as much as he hated the man who wanted to kill him, who he was destined to destroy.
"I don't want to hear it, Gin! You lied to me!" He dropped his voice, moving his hateful gaze away, as if he couldn't bear to feel that much anger, as he asked, "For how long?
The days passed and nothing changed. Ginny felt more lonely with each passing day, forced to spend her class periods meticulously taking down each word her professors said, trying to submerge herself in her work and nothing else, as the black-cloaked teachers paced from each side of the classroom, their wands raised to demonstrate this spell or that potion, and yet, she saw none of it, heard none of it, felt none of it. She felt nothing, nothing but panic and a deep craving, itching at the back of her mind constantly. It was something she couldn't forget, something she could never rid her memories of: all the nights spent with each boy were scattered like the piles of homework on her bedroom floor, so she couldn't avert her eyes from them.
She was forced to stare ahead, to unfocus her eyes, to pretend she didn't see him, sitting in class as if nothing hurt him. She was forced to pretend that it wasn't killing her that they weren't together, that she could never talk to him. She was forced to ignore the tearing at her heart and to swallow the tears that rose every time she stepped foot into a room she could hear his laugh emanating from.
Every time she passed Draco in the hall, her brown eyes connecting with his silver ones, the ones she had once stared deeply into as he curled his arms around her, she heard the words repeated in her head, the words he had whispered as she left.
Draco had tried cornering her in the library once, as she tried desperately, failingly, to hide from her sorrows. He had lifted her chin softly, his gaze unusually comforting, as he asked her to visit him, his voice soft like hands reaching out to grasp at the hem of her skirt and pull her gently, soothingly, under. She had opened her mouth, her heart wanting desperately to reply yes, to leap into his arms and have someone take away all the pain, to forget all her worries and to give in to the blissful oblivion that came with her concentrating only on Draco's presence, but her mind had repeated his words, endlessly, distorted.
You're only a beautiful distraction, nothing more.
Ginny had jerked her chin from his grasp, her red locks flying through the air as she gathered her books and ran in search of somewhere to hide, leaving the silver-eyed boy to stare at his shoes, his hands in his pockets, his shoulders slumped, as he tried to hide the pain he felt and the towering, book-lined walls seemed to slowly close in over his head.
As she stepped into the transfiguration classroom one day, swallowing the rising knot in her throat as she stared absently at the floor, watching her foot slowly take the shaky step that would put her closer to him, she felt a shaking in her heart that told her she couldn't continue this.
Throwing her books down on the ground, the fearless redhead took off down the hall, tears streaming down her ivory skin as she raced to find a sanctuary, somewhere she could die alone, somewhere no one would ever find her, where they couldn't remind her how much her heart hurt.
She had finally found herself wandering into the hospital wing, stepping foot slowly into the sterile, white walled room, lined with identical crisp beds, the air smelling distinctly of illness and the sweat that came with urgently trying to rid the room of any semblance of sickness. As she walked in, her eyes glanced around the room until something in the corner caught her eye.
It was the date.
In the corner of the room hung a large piece of paper, the date largely and proudly scrawled onto it by magic.
Ginny felt her stomach drop suddenly as Madam Pomfrey approached her, the sweet black haired lady smiling as she asked if she could help. Ginny nodded slowly, communicating that she needed to lie down and going to do so robotically, without looking at anything around her.
The crisp, cool sheets of the hospital bed scratched at her skin as she stared unblinkingly at the white ceiling, her mind tormenting itself further as it recounted how many days it had been since the curse was supposed to inflict its monthly ill-will upon her body.
But it never had.
Petrified, she anxiously racked her brain, searching through her memories for a night of a forgotten conception spell, but they piled up against her, all demanding her attention but yielding nothing, she had no idea who it was. Whose it was.
Her next days had been filled with panic, with tears and sleepless nights. She had no idea what to do.
Her mind continued to repeat the same mantra, as if it was a broken record repeating the same chorus, torturing her mind like auditory water torture.
I can't do this.
There were so many things she couldn't do. The list overwhelmed her, demanding her attention as they yelled at her and scared her, cramming into her mind until she was pushed into a small dark corner, where she curled up and tears fell slowly.
She couldn't find out who the father was. Even if she did, she couldn't ask for his help, she wouldn't. Not after the pain she had inflicted on them and the pain they, in return, had caused her. She couldn't. She was alone, completely and utterly alone. No one talked to her, no one cared that she never smiled anymore. No one noticed the dark rings around her eyes or the red tinge to them from staying up and crying. She was alone, trapped behind a glass wall isolating her from the rest of the world. She was completely alone and suddenly, she couldn't find it in herself to even care. She had lost all ability to care as her eyes glazed over with indifference. She was drowning and no one would throw her a life preserver. As the waves crashed over her and the current dragged her under, she finally stopped struggling and sunk to the depths of the ocean.
She couldn't raise a child on her own. Every single time this thought crossed her mind; she devolved into a mess of tears and hair pulling. It was impossible for her to do this.
She couldn't get rid of it. There was no possible way, especially not without her family finding out.
She couldn't function like this. She couldn't continue to live. She hadn't slept in three days. She couldn't pass either boy in the hall without breaking into tears. She couldn't eat anymore, the thought of food made her pale complexion become tinged with green. Her heart was no longer as care free as it had once been; now a monster lived in it's depths, clawing through the layers of tissue and muscle as it tried to reach the surface, to eat her alive. And it was succeeding. She spent her days and nights staring at the ceiling in her room, wondering what to do.
And one day, she finally knew what she would do.
Her heart felt as if it was throbbing as the monster continued to shred it. The torment was unbearable, indescribable, unbelievable. She could no longer cry; there was no release, no escape from the pain. There was no feeling in her body but the pain, so extreme and acute it overshadowed all else. As she ran her hands along the sheets of her bed, she knew they were silk, but she felt nothing grazing against her fingertips. Absolutely nothing.
The few times she stared into the mirror, she only saw the monster, the one hiding in her heart. She could see it seeping through to the surface, overtaking her body. Before, she had thought she was beautiful, she had been conceited and vain, she had loved gazing into that lovely piece of reflective glass and grooming herself until she knew she was positively irresistible. Now, she threw a towel over the mirror, turning away from it and avoiding it. She couldn't bear to look into it any longer. Beauty no longer existed in her world.
She was trapped in an ugly, harsh world of black and white, where the red no longer ruled, with only one way out. She needed to escape, to run away. She had to, there was no longer any choice.
Soon, though, she would feel nothing, she would be numb. Soon she would leave this world of torment and sink into another, where she was finally happy.
She slowly stood, dragging her sore, broken body off of her bed and crossing the room to her desk, where she found a pen and paper.
She quickly scrawled a message, the pen leaking black ink onto the white parchment in a thin thread, detailing the pain she could no longer endure, the peace she would finally find. She never mentioned the baby, it would be too much for her family to handle, something neither of the boys needed to know.
She left them nameless, refusing to include a plural, leaving a cryptic message to speak to them both individually. It was a final goodbye to each of them, a final concession to let each of them think she had forgotten the other.
The truth would remain unknown, she would be buried and forgotten, and the world would continue to revolve, people would continue to grow, spring would soon come once again and with it, new life. But not hers.
That was the way it was supposed to be, she had decided. She spilt a few tears as she wrote the letter, but not for herself. She no longer had pity for herself, only the pain she felt. It was for her mother, her poor mother left in that ramshackle house with all of those boys. But it was far better, she reminded herself. Far better this way, far better that everyone simply continue to live and forget her.
The pain and hatred would soon be erased from both Draco's and Harry's hearts. Soon enough, they would find someone they truly loved, someone they didn't hate. Someone who didn't inflict such terrible pain upon them.
As with all things, it ended with her name. She signed the bottom of the page, staining the pure white with dark ink forever as she tucked a strand of red hair behind her ear.
Breathing deeply, she conjured a chair and a rope, knotting the thick, white cord into a small loop before she stood on the chair, her bare feet sinking deeply into the plush, red pillow. She slowly lifted the cord around her neck, closing her eyes and focusing on the pain, focusing on saving herself, focusing on saving Harry and Draco, focusing on saving the unborn child from all of the pain of this world.
She envisioned an open field spotted with colorful flowers, the sun shining brightly. She opened her eyes one last time to see her world, black and white, cold and harsh, before returning to that warm world she envisioned.
She stepped off of the chair, knocking it to the floor and, as the letter slowly fluttered to the ground, Ginny and her child traveled to the world she had envisioned, a world where they could live a colorful, carefree life.
Where their hearts wouldn't be filled with pain, destroyed by monsters.
Where they could be happy.
Review. I can see a ton of you who are reading this but not reviewing. Really, 80 people have viewed this, but I've only gotten one review? That sucks.
I want everyone to review, to tell me whose side you choose. Even if you just send me a name, that's really all I want. I want everyone to choose.
Also, once again, I do not support or condone suicide, cheating, or any other behavior demonstrated in this trilogy. This is a commentary on incidents and how there is always more that one side to every story. It is also meant to raise awareness of depression, as many of the symptoms are demonstrated in this.
As always, keep reading.
Katy