Disclaimer- As it has often been said, if I owned anything do you really think I would be writing on fanfiction? No. Everything you recognize belong to J.K. Rowling and whoever else she has sold the rights to.
It was during my 4th year that I made her cry. I was picking on her as usual, but this time I didn't just focus on insulting her family, or picking on her for loving the boy who never seemed to die, no this time I went into her looks. I starting telling her how ugly she is, and how she looks like a pumpkin with her ugly red hair, I told her no boy would ever touch her because of how ugly she was, how repulsive and pathetic she was. I don't know why I said the things I did, but at the time I just wanted to hurt her. She had said something about my father being a death eater and a murderer, how that he probably beat me at home and that the reason I treated everyone like dirt was because I was treated like dirt at home. I freaked when she said that. It was all true, and even at fourteen I knew my father couldn't love. She had hurt me when she said that, I don't think I knew it then but she had scared me. I tried to hide all my feeling, thoughts, and the reason I was the way I was, and in one second some pathetic little Gryffindor girl had figured it all out. I wanted to make her hurt worse than I ever had. Had it been her brother I would have just cursed him, or punched him, but I didn't like to use violence on girls. I had seen my father hurt my mother far too often to even imagine physically harming a girl just because I was upset. So instead I used words to hurt and humiliate her. I thought of all the things my so called father had done and said to me, and I took my anger out on her.
I don't remember everything I said and called her, but in the end no one was laughing any more. The hall was silent, and everyone stared. I knew I had gone too far this time, but she had to, and I was not about to let her get the better of me. When I was finished saying everything I wanted to I looked at her and saw her lips trembling, and her eyes shining with unshed tears. She was tough though, and no matter how much I hurt her I knew she would not let her tears fall until she had more privacy. The entire time I had been insulting her, she did not look away from my eyes. No matter how harsh my insults got she would not give me the satisfaction of seeing her break down. Again at the time of the incident I thought she was being stupid, or was too scared to look away. It was later on that I realized how brave she truly is.
After just staring at me for a minute she opened her mouth said she was sorry, turned, and walked away. It made me mad that she apologized. I watched her walk away, then turned and punched the wall. It was a rather stupid thing to do, punching the wall that is, I broke my hand and split me knuckles, then started cursing. Needless to say, nobody looked me in the eyes or talked to me the rest of the day. People parted in the halls as I walked to Madam Pomfrey's office later that day when the pain in my hand became unbearable. She gave me pain medicine but refused to heal my hand, that was the 3rd time I had broken it that year punching walls out of anger, and it was only October. She said if she let it heal the muggle way then maybe I would learn my lesson this time. That did nothing to improve my mood.
I have insomnia, and that night I knew I wasn't going to get any sleep. I decided to go up to the astronomy tower, being up there always made me relax. I stepped out on to the tower and immediately heard the crying. I looked around and saw a small body wrapped up in a black blanket. I stepped closer to the body and heard muffled mumbled words. Things like pathetic, ugly, and worthless repeated over and over. I knew who it was then. I recognized the voice, and when the wind blew once knocking the blanket off her head I saw red hair. I felt awful then, but what was I supposed to do. If I approached her I would probably get hexed, if I apologized I knew she wouldn't believe me, so I left and went back to my common room to think.
I knew everything I had said to her that day had been a lie. She was actually a very pretty little girl. My father would kill me if he knew I thought that, but you would have to be blind to not see how special the young girl was. Even at the young age of 13 you could tell she wasn't like the other girls at Hogwarts. She didn't paint her face every morning with makeup, and she never exposed herself the way the other girls did. She wore modest clothing, and the most makeup I had seen on her was a shiny chap stick. It was well known that you were more likely to see her on the quidditch field then gossiping with the pathetic girls in her year. She was tomboyish, and never tried too hard to look good, but the truth was she didn't have to. Yes her hair was red like the rest of her family, but unlike them it was much darker, and had a natural wave to it. She had brown eyes with golden specks in them, which just screamed kindness and love. She always looked happy, and like she knew something that no one else did. She was unique in her looks. She had pale skin that was dusted with freckles, but unlike her brother they didn't make her look clownish, just playful and innocent. Yes I had told her she was ugly and revolting, but I knew deep down known of that was true. Ginevra Molly Weasley was one of a kind, and I had crushed her.
I know that I should not have started a new story, but this thing popped into my head and would not leave me alone until I wrote it. Please tell me if I should continue?