I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters, only this plot written by me
The way she stared at the grave was soft. Weak, and ambivalent maybe. Suicide's so messy, she thought. There's a careful balance in finding the relief and recognizing the distress. So she just stood back emotionless. The toes of her shows aligned neatly before the stone, and the clean white bundle of daisies she held with evenly cut stems were as meaningless as the symmetrical tears that fell from each eye. Her face wasn't sad. She traced the engraving of her name on the headstone with her eyes and rehearsed loss and sadness. Motion pictures of her last days projected on the mist of her glazed eyes, and it was as obvious as a romantic comedy's plotline.
There was a decency to her actions. Her courtesy was feeling what should be felt as everyone looked on around her. Sad, and sympathetic, their eyes stared. But she was alone here, left to trod on the roof of the dead who had asked to be damned. Her stare was blank and each flutter of her eyelash was perfectly calculated. They were once red, like her hair. Her eyelashes, that is. But late night after late night of black running mascara had tainted them to a dark and stained normality. The wedding band on a large and protective male hand made goose bumps rise on her faintly freckled shoulder.
"C'mon," Harry whispered in her ear. With a half-clockwise turn, Ginny faced him, examining his black attire. Her own black dress clung longingly to her bosom, as it had on their nights out together, just girls, but the worn gray cardigan hid the sexuality of the party-night basic. She stood solid and unmoving. Harry leaned towards her, leaving a single long kiss on her tidy red fringe. The mathematics of their actions made her want to scream. Break out someway. Their play was disgusting and vulgar. Denial or fear subdued them. They were both as transparent to each other as they were to themselves. Protecting their emotions like children, they were forced empty. Once you let a human know your internal workings, they're free to be shot at, beaten, broken down. They've been let loose. A person's fancy can mold them to their hearts desire, and they can use them as they please, when you really just needed their ears. Desires of the world intertwine and the pulling and pushing means no one ever gets what they really want, and people are destroyed in the seeking of futile dreams.
Her discovery of this had driven her through bottles of prescriptions drugs, plus extraneous liquor, as she, Hermione, put herself slowly and violently to rest. Ginny and her both wished she had chosen a different way. She couldn't stand mortality because she couldn't take its refusal to give her what she deserved in turn for her work. Her human weakness showed that she was a part of what she hated all along.
-R/R por favor-