Unravel
You shouldn't have come, he says, and his voice does not waver.
I didn't come for them, she tells him as she carefully does not look at
engraved stone.
I know.
She kneels beside him and lays her hand delicately on top of his. Both palms
are cold; she supposes this is appropriate.
Why aren't you wearing gloves? she asks, because she has learned that
the only way to breathe is to focus on the mundane, the edges of a life that no
longer belong to them.
He does not offer a reply because none is expected. He looks at her but does
not see her, and the twist of revulsion in his stomach causes him to pull his
hand away. He registers no absence of warmth. And he knows now that the fire of
her hair will always remind him of blood.
I'm sorry, she whispers, and suddenly he hates her, hates her far more than
whatever cruelly good magic left his parents crumpled, but not more than
himself.
You're not, he says, and when he hears an empty laugh ring against white trees
he does not recognize it as his own.
I'm sorry, she says, trailing her fingers through frozen grass, because you
loved them.
I didn't love them.
…
I don't much approve of the company you've been keeping, son, he says, lacing
the last word with poison.
He does not rise to his father's bait. If there is one thing in his life that
he has learned from him, it is absolute control. And so when his father bends
to whisper in his ear that she is dirt, a liar, a whore, the gray of his eyes
does not flash and he does not open his mouth to defend her.
…
At seven, she decides that she wants to be a princess, but scoffs at the idea of a prince. She weaves a paper crown and ties green ribbons in her hair, the ends of which are destined to unravel into threads.
…
I heard the craziest rumor today, Gin, her brother tells her in the common
room.
Really.
Yeah. I heard – he rolls his eyes at Harry – we heard that you, you and Malfoy – he spits the name out. I mean,
it's not true, is it?
She smiles up into her brother's face and feels the lie spill easily from her
lips. Of course not.
…
She puts a hand on his shoulder now, and pretends not to notice when he
flinches.
Do you miss them? she asks quietly, because she has learned to recognize his
lies.
He stands up abruptly and doesn't answer. Why are you here?
I wouldn't want you to freeze to – she stops.
His features twist into a wry smile. You don't need to worry about me, he says,
a trace of a smirk lingering in his words.
I know, she says simply, but does not leave his side. Want to get a drink?
He looks at her, and she imagines that maybe this time he sees. I don't want to
see you anymore, he tells her.
She steps closer, accepting it as a challenge. Prove it.
He kisses her harshly and does not let her breathe. She accepts the anger as
necessity; it would have been a miracle if he did not hate, and Ginny has long
stopped believing in miracles.
I will never love you, he hisses into her ear, and in the cold his lies begin
to bleed.
(the end)