By chopin
-------------------
All her life, they told her stuff.
You know; stuff.
Maybe they were lies.
Insults. Things that should have made her feel worthless.
Stuff.
And they told her a lot of stuff too. They told her she would never be anything great; she would never be a great artist because her drawings were horrid, she would never be an actress because her cries were too fake, she would never be a teacher because she was too stupid.
And they laughed at her, jeered at her, taunted her to no end. They teased her about her ratty, hand-me-down clothes, taunted her about her ugly red hair, taunted her about being
Ginny Weasley.
But you know what?
Despite all that, her chin never went down.
No, she refused to. Maybe it was because her heart was made of steel, or maybe because she was odd, insane, crazy, stubborn and impossible—but she told them that she didn't care.
That she would be an artist, and one day her painting would be hanging upon the walls of museums, and she could be an actress, and one day she would be crying heart-wrenchingly in the movie you're watching, and she would be a teacher, and one day she would be teaching your child.
And that they were all wrong, so they should 'Shut up!'.
Shut up, shut up, shut up, you fools.
That's what she told them.
But one not-so-special day, there was a boy.
A gray-eyed boy who caught her interest. And she clutched her books under her chin as she watched and marveled at his cold beauty, and she
Fell in love.
And when they told her that he wasn't the one for her, that he would never love her, that she was too ugly, too fat, too skinny, too short, too tall, she told them to shut up too.
Because one day, she would be an artist, actress and teacher, married to the most beautiful boy on earth.
But her dreams.
Oh, god, her dreams. Poor, poor, Ginny found out that they were just dreams, and that maybe they were all right, and that maybe she shouldn't keep holding her chin up high, telling them all to shut up.
She told the boy—I love you, Draco.
And he stared at her with those gray eyes, blinking and blinking and blinking.
Then he laughed mirthlessly and his laughter echoed off the walls and suddenly, she felt so empty and alone.
' You—love me?'
' Don't you love me?'
' No. I would never love you. Ever.'
Oh, how she wished he was wrong, oh, how she wished she could change those words to yes.
She suddenly felt worthless. And suddenly, she did feel like she would never be an artist, actress or teacher.
Her eyes filled with tears as she contemplated this, and she let herself be beaten; she let her proud chin face the ground.
For she was speechless to him; the boy she loved, the boy who made her feel worthless in a way no one had before.
In an instant, her defenses, her stone walls, everything that had protected her fell; shattered.
' No. I would never love you. Ever.'
She couldn't say shut up to that.