Disclaimer (1): I am not JKR nor her publishes, and as such all copyright retention applies.
Disclaimer (2): This story has been written for the Houses Competition being hosted by MoonlightForgotten. All appropriate details can be found in the Author's Note at the end of the story.
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"May I be dismissed, Professor?" I ask in a whisper. I've waddled to the front of the classroom with my legs tight together, and I'm sure to everyone it looks as if I might have to use the restroom. There'll be a comment later, I'm sure, but I pay the worry no mind. They can talk if they want; I think I need to go to hospital wing.
"What for, Miss Weasley?" Professor McGonagall says in her dismissive tone. She's grading papers while the rest of the third-year students do their assigned reading. I barely read one paragraph because I've spent the last five minutes debating how I might make it to this desk without revealing my circumstances. It's not that I care much about people knowing so much as I hate the inconvenience of it.
Professor McGonagall looks up at me. A nervous smile forces my lips together even though I'm trying to breathe through the fact that it feels as though I've just unwillingly wet myself. She takes inventory of my appearance, gauging if I'm pretending to be ill to miss the lesson. She has to be cautious. Fred, George, and Ron all are shamefully good at faking an ailment of some sort to avoid their studies. They're all smart in their own ways, but they have no personal desire to be good students.
"Might I inquire as to why?" There is a tinge of awareness in her voice. She's probably been through this too many times to count, so I look down at my skirt to imply that I don't wish to say it aloud. She misses my gesture, though. I end up using my hands to balance against her desk as I try to suck my guts up into my body. That would be proper magic, wouldn't it?
I pucker my lips and explain lowly; "I need supplies from Madame Pomfrey. I need them urgently." All at once she understands what is happening. She wants to escort me but I adamantly decline. I levitate my belongings to the door with calculated movements so that I can leave in one quick flourish. My charms work impresses even me at times. Then I make the longest trek of my life to the hospital wing.
Upon arrival, I find that there are three other students needing attention. One is vomiting, the other has bubbling and bleeding skin over her stomach, and the last is a face I know all too well. As far as I can see, Ron has nothing wrong with him.
"Oi, Ginny, what are you doing in hospital wing?" Nosy as ever, no surprise. It is not that I don't love my brothers, so much as that all of my big moments seemed to be shared with them. Even my first date to the Yule Ball won't be my private business because half of my siblings will be there to watch! Anger licks the edges of my thoughts but I keep my mouth shut.
"None of your business." I say coolly, minding that I don't take a seat on the white sheets. Ron looks as if he'll try again but he does no such thing.
"You don't have to be rude about it." Ron groans as loud as the chair I'm sitting on, "Mum'll want to know that you were here." The thing that made Ron different from my other brothers is that he always wants to know if everyone is okay without letting them know that he cares. It'll cause him problems eventually, probably with Hermione in particular - since he can't seem to admit that he fancies her.
Under any other circumstance, I wouldn't make a quip or two at Ron's expense. I have to consider what I want to say since I've decided not to insult him, but I end up settling for the straight-forward approach; "It's personal."
Ron thinks on my comment, occasionally checking the clock for the time. Meanwhile, Madame Pomfrey is working with the other students and I'm stuck sitting an uncomfortable chair with my legs crossed tight as I can make them. With any luck I'm not making a mess of the brown leather beneath me.
"Oh," A murmur alerts me that he's realized what I mean by statement, "Do you want chocolates or tissues, or something?" His offer is unwanted and outdated, as far as I'm concerned. I'm not some blithering baboon with a need to cry and be comforted. Having a period is normal; though sharing my first period with him is less so. I furrow my brows before I decide what I'll say to him.
"Carry those items with you, d'you, Ron?" I sneer, "I suppose you've been a bloody mess since the Beauxbatons girls have arrived." My language is chosen specifically to make Ron uncomfortable. Though I know his efforts are genuine, I neither want nor need either of those things. All I want is for this moment to belong to me, and to get back to my usual schedule. Life goes on, period or not.
And brother or not; "Don't talk to me, yeah?"
An understanding settles between us. It's not that I don't want to talk to him. I just don't want us to talk about this, what's going on with me, any further. To fill the awkward silence, and apologize I think, he tells his embarrassing reason for being in hospital wing.
Author's Note:
Ravenclaw, Drabble ("Don't Talk To Me"), 900 words exactly.