Part I

She saw spots. Her head felt dull; that was the only way she could describe it. The air didn't seem fresh and felt recycled against her body. She was never able to describe how she felt.

Herself, although she may never know, is a sarcastic individual who will overlook everything in the mundane. In her home in the world of simplicity and tweed, she invents things in her head to turn everything into a tapestry. Her simple mind won't find the inspiration in dirt, but might make it herself. She doesn't know she is capable of doing this.

For once she'd like to tell everyone her train of thought. She'd like to feel as if she was unstoppable and in control. She'd like to tell Harry, Harry... and she'd like to feel real and not laugh at overused jokes. She wanted him to notice her as someone different and unique and not similar to anyone else, not even him.

Ginny would look at him and think of his pale chest with ultimate shadows. She'd remember that one night they were together and hear his gasps in her head. One night changed Ginny for all her years and Harry was unphased. When he dressed that night she watched him with the slightest indication of love; even her freckles sparkled like her eyes. It was her first time. But he left and she stayed quiet. She'd watch him go to her brother. The boys would talk amongst themselves and lock hands.

Their angular limbs would intertwine. Their jutting, boyish features close together. Ginny hated seeing them together. She heard them through the ceiling, one floor above her own. She'd stack her chairs on top of her bed and climb to the top and touch her ceiling with her ear. Balancing with her athletic legs, she heard every vibration and it magnified against her cheek.

Part II

What's that on your cheek, he asked poor little Ginny at the table. She gave her brother a heartless glare and hid the blue bruises on her cheek bone. There was a taste in her mouth kind of like the sour taste of acid in the back of the throat. She stopped eating her breakfast and retired to the garden.

Loving someone who loves another is hard, but she thought that loving someone who once loved you and not anymore is harder. Ginny fingered the threads of her clothes and thought of all the things out of life that she wanted. Harry had always been at the top. She considered, was the only reason she liked Harry since she met him because he was Ron's friend? Or did she possibly love him more than ever because he chose her own brother over her?

Little, naive, Ginny thought of all the most hateful things to say to her brother, her lips got dry and stale, cracking with the slight movements as she uttered things without making a sound. Then, to Harry. Harry, the boy who she loved. She cursed him in her head. And then, after her mind wandered, she felt anger for both of them and wanted the ultimate way to toy with Harry's mind. To cause him to feel disgust.

She waited for her opportunity. She clutched the book.

Part III

Walking underground, the air was thick against her face as she crept along, unsure. She could go back, she knew this. But she thought of it all that was behind her and thought of all in front of her after the next hour.

She wiped her sticky hands on her clothes, walking along a little faster. The stone walls were gray and cold, pushing all the humid air toward the middle of the corridor. She felt the underneath of her arms moisten and her hairline glistened like the sparkles in the rocky wall.

He finally came into view and there sat a tall, thin man, older than Ginny, yet younger than her eldest brother. When he noticed her, he stood, facing her quivering body.

Are you sure? he said, so low that it seemed he mouthed it.

Yes, Tom, and Ginny Weasley took her clothes, and put them in a pile at her feet.

Part IV

Ginny! Ginny!

She woke to see Harry, her hero, at her side. She wanted to smile, she wanted to say that she had him right where she wanted him. She wanted to smirk smuggly and let herself be rescued by Harry Potter, since she had been lodged far deep into hopelessness.