Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all its characters belong to J.K. Rowling and other associated companies. I do not claim to own any of these, though the views expressed are my own. However, use of original plots/themes/ideas will not be tolerated.
A/N: This is my first HP posting, though I've read quite of a ton of fanfics. I've decided to experiment in other fandoms, though they don't inspire me as much as Saiyuki. As usual, this is just an angst one shot inspired by a doodle I did.
I might experiment with other characters sometime before I write an actual fic (if I ever do). I hope you guys enjoy it... Feedback would be luverly!
She held the knife steadily and cut a light line across her wrist. Another one to add to the collection. Another mark that proved just how much of a coward she was, unable to do a deep slash for once and for all.
But maybe it was better that way. Maybe it was better for her to suffer for what she'd done, for having fallen so many times into the dark side, for having always been the one to be tempted....
Unlike perfect Potter. She'd been so much in awe of him at first, when he'd saved her from the Chamber of Secrets. She'd adored him, loved him, changed herself in the hope that maybe one day, he'd notice her.
But that didn't work. She remained his best friend's sister, and that was it. It hurt to know she wasn't worth his attention.
After that, during Potter's seventh year, the final battle with Voldemort had taken place. She shuddered. As much as she was told to call him by name, it still gave her the creeps. Instead of picturing the monster he'd become, all she could see was Tom Riddle's smiling face. And it sickened her to know that he was the only one who'd even pretended to care.
That was unfair on her family, and she knew it. They did care. But it was hard being the only girl. And it was hard to get the attention she craved when there were (or it seemed) a million other family members who had excelled much more than she had.
She'd passed her exams, lived at home for a while and looked for a job. Everyone had turned her down. No one wanted her.
Fred and George had finally taken her in, probably following her mother's orders. She was the manager of their joke shop in Hogsmeade, while they were busy opening the new one in Diagon Alley.
The pay was good, but it wasn't what she wanted. She'd wanted to become an Auror, or work in the Ministry, anything to feel like she was contributing and taking care of others. She'd even considered becoming a nurse, but she hadn't passed the qualifications.
She hadn't been able to do anything she'd wanted to do after Tom Riddle had entered her life once more.
Voldemort was only a few steps away from immortality the few months before the final battle. He'd regained his youthful face, and had contacted her. He'd swayed her over and she'd passed on information. She'd convinced herself that he wasn't as bad as he seemed, and that she was a good influence on him. That he wouldn't kill Potter, but just teach him a lesson.
What foolishness. He'd allowed her to continue believing in her own lies until he'd had no more use for her, and then he'd discarded her. He'd tried to kill her, actually, but perfect Potter had to save the day again.
That was when she'd decided to never call him by his first name. He'd acted so condescending, and was so angry that she'd betrayed them, as if it had been completely her choice! As if she hadn't been pushed into doing it!
When he'd calmed down, he said he was hurt and felt betrayed.
"Bloody hell!" Ginny exclaimed, narrowing her eyes at the thought.
He was the one that had hurt her in the first place. He was the one that had betrayed her. He was the one that couldn't even be bothered to notice that she was no longer Ron's sister but Ginny, a person in her own right.
She hadn't expected him to go out with her, but couldn't they have been friends? Or was Hermione so smart and wonderful that he didn't need anyone else?
She pushed the thoughts aside and looked down at the cut she'd just made, which had already started to clot.
With one finger, she traced the lines on her palm, as if she could somehow find something hidden behind them.
She thought back to the palm reader in Hogsmeade who'd offered her a free reading.
"I'll tell you about your hidden secrets, and what awaits for you in the future!" the old woman had crowed.
As if she didn't know everything about herself already. As if she wanted anyone else to know her secrets. Anyway, what could these wrinkles on her hand know about her? They were only natural scars... the life line, the heart line.... That crone wanted to read her palm to know more about her?
She should've told her to read her wrists. Ginny touched the scars on her wrists, and then the most recent one. It was too light. It probably wouldn't even leave a scar.
"Read my wrists," she repeated out loud. "They speak more of my life than these stupid wrinkles I was born with."
After all, she thought, I carved these myself. One line for every tear... and I've shed millions.