WARNING: This story contains references to drug use and withdrawal. If you find any of this disturbing, or if you fear that these references may trigger something unpleasant for you, do NOT read this chapter. You have been warned.
She sat on the floor of the bathroom, her body shaking and trembling. Her skin was as cold as ice, and yet, despite this, she broken out into a cold sweat. Her red hair was matted to her pallid, hollow face.
It had taken time for him to realize what was happening to his wife. He felt guilty. Perhaps he had chosen to pretend that he could not see what she had turned into, or maybe he dismissed the signs because he wanted to refuse any responsibility for it; he would have been able to pretend he had been a good husband. But those signs had become blatant now. There was no denying it, and he could not pretend any longer that she had just changed without reason.
Her weight loss, the brittleness of her hair, the way she was always cold, the way she would never allow him to be close to her. It all made sense, as soon as he allowed his eyes to open. As soon as he looked at her and realize what she had become.
The sight of his wife in a state of such extreme fragility and helplessness shattered his heart as though it were nothing more than a solid block of ice. He fell to his knees in front of her, gathering her up in his arms and pulling her fiercely against his chest.
And he cried.
She was so lifeless, so broken, so empty on the inside. He fell to pieces, holding her and rocking her steadily in his arms. Even if only partly, it was still his fault, if only because he had been so blind to what had been in front of his face. It was his fault she had become a shell of a person. His tears poured from his eyes so forcefully that he wasn't certain he'd ever be able to stop.
"Oh, Ginny," he managed to say, his words haggard as he choked back his sobs. "I'm sorry, baby. I'm sorry."
She said nothing. Her body would not stop convulsing, would not stop shivering. Her entire semblance of self had dissipated into nothing. She wasn't Ginny Weasley anymore, nor was she Ginny Malfoy. She was nothing more than a body, barely alive and barely breathing.
Hollow and lifeless, shivering and cold, she used every ounce of strength she had to return the embrace. She could not squeeze him, could not hold him the way that he was holding her, but at least he knew she had understood, and she had forgiven him for letting her drown.