All belongs to JK Rowling.

"How the fuck did I end up here? When did everything start being so difficult?". Those were in about Ginny's thoughts while she leaned against the toilet door,

tears streaming down her face, trying to stifle the sobs. Of course, how she had ended up here, wasn't exactly the pressing question but rather how she was

going to get out again. Yet in those moments where the world around you seems covered in dark curtains, the problem-solving rationality is generally not in its

best state.

And of course, she knew how she had ended up here. Those questions popping into her mind, while she stood there, were merely feeble attempts of denial.

Denying the fact that she, Ginny Weasley, had now reached the point, where the will to continue had gone amiss, or rather was reaching that point over and

over again, caught up in between despair and the real world, where you pretend that you're normal and fine, as anyone else. Somehow it had started with

Tom Riddle. Probably. Somewhere along finding out that he had betrayed her. Before, she had glorified him, adored him, trusted him with everything. He had

been her legitimation for being the way she was, because he cared and understood, like no one else ever had. And then, in the blink of an eye, her only real

and true haven of personal orientation had been shattered. Invaded by the troops of betrayal and cruelty. Burned down. And as that haven fell into its

crumbling ashes, so did Ginny's picture of the world as a beautiful place, where harm may happen, but rather by accident, and not in this deliberate and

calculating way, in which humans inflict pain on their brothers and sisters.

Maybe her mistake had been, to define Tom Riddle as her point of moral orientation, or even more, to believe that there is anything worth glorifying in this

world. She had learned from that mistake, she stopped trusting anything, or seeing anything as simply right or good in an absolute way. She had started

questioning. And with each question she had maneuvered herself deeper into the swamp. She had torn down wall after wall, every authority she had

previously taken for granted, she revealed as flawed, and driven by low motives, stupid, pointless.

Crowds of people, pushing in a direction, while she stood in the middle of the crowd, stunned and unable to go back to shoving in one direction, just because

everyone else did.

So now here she was, Ginny Weasley, leaning against a locked door, having discovered that her life had been deprived of a deeper sense, if it had ever even

had one, and knowing, that soon she would have to go back to the others and continue getting by somehow.

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