I know you've all read something like this before, but this is based on actual events, and I decided to give poor Ginny the task of acting it out. Of course, I don't own Ginny, Harry, Cho, or any of the Weasleys, but the plot and Ginny's feelings, obviously, are my own.
Ginny was tired of crying. For the past three days, all she had done was sit in her room, alone and afraid, not sure if her heart would keep beating for another day or even if she wanted it to. The occasional knock on the door went unanswered, as the rest of the Weasley clan waited uneasily for their youngest member's reappearance. It now seemed that a repearance might never happen, but Mrs. Weasley still insisted firmly that Ginny be allowed to heal at her own pace. She, after all, was not the first girl in the world to have her heart broken.
But now she was tired of crying.
She had replayed the scene in her mind a hundred times. Harry. His eyes brimming with tears and his voice trembling as he told her that he had fallen for someone else. That he hadn't meant for it to happen. That he hadn't meant to hurt her. That he wished he could go back in time and stop it all from having happened. That the only thing that stopped him from continuing his relationship with Ginny was that he couldn't bear deceiving her. That Ginny deserved better.
"I do love you," he had said, the words bursting into Ginny's ears like a bell ringing out of tune. "I just can't help what I feel for Cho. It's like she's captured my mystery, you know? Like I want to find out more about her. I'm just completely fascinated by her. I wish I'd never met Cho, then this would never have happened. But now that it has, I can't help myself. I can't do this to you any longer."
Ginny had felt as though she had never cried before. Like she had never before felt what pain was. Like her insides were being wrenched out of her, slowly and methodically, but that unlike actual physical pain, there was nothing she could do to stop it. No medicine, no ice pack or bandaid would stop her mind from spinning dizzily out of control. And in the three days that had passed since she had spoken to Harry that last time, her final words kept echoing back to her. She didn't know if she regretted them or not. If she could have said something, anything, to change Harry's mind.
"I wish I had never met you!" she had sobbed as she ran from the garden into the house, slamming the door and causing the entire birthday cake-like structure to shudder.
And the tears kept coming. Her head ached from the loss of fluid, tissues littered the floor, and the timid knocks from her brothers became more and more frequent as their worry for her increased.
But now, Ginny was tired of crying.
And when the small redhead emerged from her room three days after the family had last seen her, it was a new girl they saw. One who had been hurt, but who had survived. One who bore scars more painful and burdensome even than the one that adorned Harry's forehead. The Ginny they saw had lips that smiled when Fred cracked a joke, but eyes that remained serious and pained. This Ginny would later joke with her friends about boys and dating, but inside she would see it all as a hoax. A very well staged joke that had her fooled from the time she was little girl old enough to dream about what love was. That those characters she saw in the serials on Witchvision and in Muggle movies were not real, and neither were the feelings they supposedly possessed. Love? What is that. All her life she had idealized love. Love was a feeling unparalleled by any other human emotion, a force that overcame men's souls and solved all the problems in the world. A force Romeo and Juliet died for and that Odysseus killed for. But what was love really? What had love ever done for Ginny but caused pain, despair, and tears?
No. Ginny was sick of it all.
And she was tired of crying.