Warnings: Mentions of self-harm. depression, angst, and more angst. You've been warned.
A/N: Well, this turned out darker than I had esteemed it would. Welp. Enjoy.
Word count: 502
Cards Against Humanity Competition: Black card: "Maybe she's born with it. Maybe it's…" White card: "Poor life choices."
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry: Alchemy Assignment #10 – Write about a secret.
Ginny Weasley was not sure how she managed to drive her life down this road. The spiral of lies and all those secrets she kept to herself were slowly asphyxiating her, and she saw no way out of this endless loop she found herself in.
Supposedly, it had started back when the war was still going on, in her sixth year. Without Harry and without much hope for the future of the wizarding world, the redhead had little to pray for – especially in the environment that Hogwarts had provided. Life was gloomy and depressive, much like a shade of dark grey; was it even a surprise that she resorted to things she hadn't ever thought of before?
The first cut was always the worst. It was always full of pent up sorrow and hopelessness, accompanied by the pang of guilt for doing… that with herself, with her family, with everybody she knew. Still, it was better than the emptiness that followed her everywhere she went otherwise. At least there was pain; at least there was something to fill the void that the war had carved into her.
Even after the war wrapped up in the Battle of Hogwarts, she had not stopped. At night, she would still cry herself to sleep occasionally, and she would sometimes slip into the bathroom, ripping her, both mental and physical, wounds up over and over again, just because it was too hard to cope with the death of so many of her beloved ones – her brother, her friends, all innocent people that died before it was time for them to go.
Part of why she had never told anyone about it was because she felt somewhat ashamed of it. It was a weakness of hers, a weakness she did not want – she wanted to remain courageous like her usual Gryffindor self, so she sealed away her dirty little secret.
Where did the scars come from? It was that bloody cat of Hermione's.
Where did she vanish so often? She was just running some amends with a few friends from Hogwarts, or she was cleaning the house up. It was none of their business anyway.
Lie came upon lie about her whereabouts – no one seemed to notice how shallow her act actually was – or maybe they did, they just didn't want to acknowledge it. Or, better yet, they felt the same and had not yet found the answer as to how to stop the grief. Ginny didn't know, nor could she care anymore.
How did it come down to this? Maybe she was born with it. Maybe it was poor life choices. Maybe it was the terror of the war that had taken its toll on her.
Sitting on the cold hard floor of the bathroom, though, with a blade in one and a towel in the other hand, she once again succumbed to the despair and depression she had been holding back for so long. It was a temporary and bitter relief, but a relief nevertheless.
