Author's Notes: Probably classified as formatted poetry, a little bit of a
one-shot I wrote to start off my account at a Harry/Ginny fanfiction
archieve. To be honest, it turned okay, as I am currently on a hiatus from
all fanfiction writing. Still I was aiming for it to be atleast a page
longer, but I found myself pushing just to get one page done. Written in
half an hour in the height of boredom, a little rushed, but I'm pleased,
send me a review and tell me what you think.
She stares; she thinks he cannot notice her, her large eyes pulling him down. Watching him laugh and embrace his friends with such good will, but they know not what he has done to her. They don't know, nor not want to know the truth.
She looks still, thoughts of pain whirling in her mind; does he not care how much he has hurt her, inside? She fiddles with the folds her elaborate skirt, the silky material soothing her fingertips. The dark velvet red shade, sliding though her hands. Slipping like her sanity, sanity gained from friendship, lost in desires of love. Madness, receding, but only for a few moments, while the sharp taste of wine washes her taste buds.
She places the glass down, begging somehow for it to smash, echoing the thoughts of her soul. Still she stares, watching him while he embraces old friends. She wishes for him to look at her, to see what he has done, to take note of what he knows not. Her closest brother marches over to her, his cheeks flaming with an alcohol rush. He slurs a request, which she ignores.
He begs for her to join then, to experience the happiness of the celebration, to at least bid a good evening to her old friend. She pushes him aside, aiming to find another dark corner to wallow in. Old friend, not likely. What friends dwell on ruining binds? She places herself down on an vacant chair, positioning her hands in her lap. She watches the bride, evil envy pulsating through her veins.
The bride's long golden locks run down her back, tumbling in tresses. Stolen beauty she has, but her small figure is her down fall. Her tight pearl coloured dress clings to her, but she sits still, grinning at her new husband.
Husband, she watches still, settling a menacing gaze on the bride's new 'husband'. She wants to be angry; she wants fury to take her. She wants to be as glowing red with anger as the shade of her hair. But still, she loves him; toffee butterflies flutter around her stomach. Silencing her pain for another moment, but it does not last. She looks down at her hands, tears prickling her eyes. A crush from years ago, morphing into a fanciful delight.
She wanted to tell him, she wanted to let him know, but she could not, it was too late. He had married now, not her but that Luna. They had known each other for a long while, spent countless evenings in the common room, talking about the Dark Lord. Things she was too 'young' to handle. That was always the problem, she was always the essence of innocence the relied on. She didn't want to be the one they lay upon when things got tough, she wasn't some pillar of support.
She had heard them, nattering away in their own world, knowing what they spoke of, topics that she knew nothing of. She supposed they were related in some sort, as both of them had lost someone dear to them. She knew not that, to them she knew nothing.
The bride joined the groom, and they danced, the great Harry Potter at last finding his own angel, but she wanted to be his angel, not her. She stood, tears now flowing, how was she to get over this, not ever.
She needed to go, she needed to run, but she could not. Pure pain spread through out, this was heartache. this was the lost love of Virginia Weasley. because there she stands, always watching, never knowing. forever loving her hero, who belongs to another.
She stares; she thinks he cannot notice her, her large eyes pulling him down. Watching him laugh and embrace his friends with such good will, but they know not what he has done to her. They don't know, nor not want to know the truth.
She looks still, thoughts of pain whirling in her mind; does he not care how much he has hurt her, inside? She fiddles with the folds her elaborate skirt, the silky material soothing her fingertips. The dark velvet red shade, sliding though her hands. Slipping like her sanity, sanity gained from friendship, lost in desires of love. Madness, receding, but only for a few moments, while the sharp taste of wine washes her taste buds.
She places the glass down, begging somehow for it to smash, echoing the thoughts of her soul. Still she stares, watching him while he embraces old friends. She wishes for him to look at her, to see what he has done, to take note of what he knows not. Her closest brother marches over to her, his cheeks flaming with an alcohol rush. He slurs a request, which she ignores.
He begs for her to join then, to experience the happiness of the celebration, to at least bid a good evening to her old friend. She pushes him aside, aiming to find another dark corner to wallow in. Old friend, not likely. What friends dwell on ruining binds? She places herself down on an vacant chair, positioning her hands in her lap. She watches the bride, evil envy pulsating through her veins.
The bride's long golden locks run down her back, tumbling in tresses. Stolen beauty she has, but her small figure is her down fall. Her tight pearl coloured dress clings to her, but she sits still, grinning at her new husband.
Husband, she watches still, settling a menacing gaze on the bride's new 'husband'. She wants to be angry; she wants fury to take her. She wants to be as glowing red with anger as the shade of her hair. But still, she loves him; toffee butterflies flutter around her stomach. Silencing her pain for another moment, but it does not last. She looks down at her hands, tears prickling her eyes. A crush from years ago, morphing into a fanciful delight.
She wanted to tell him, she wanted to let him know, but she could not, it was too late. He had married now, not her but that Luna. They had known each other for a long while, spent countless evenings in the common room, talking about the Dark Lord. Things she was too 'young' to handle. That was always the problem, she was always the essence of innocence the relied on. She didn't want to be the one they lay upon when things got tough, she wasn't some pillar of support.
She had heard them, nattering away in their own world, knowing what they spoke of, topics that she knew nothing of. She supposed they were related in some sort, as both of them had lost someone dear to them. She knew not that, to them she knew nothing.
The bride joined the groom, and they danced, the great Harry Potter at last finding his own angel, but she wanted to be his angel, not her. She stood, tears now flowing, how was she to get over this, not ever.
She needed to go, she needed to run, but she could not. Pure pain spread through out, this was heartache. this was the lost love of Virginia Weasley. because there she stands, always watching, never knowing. forever loving her hero, who belongs to another.