A.N.: I saw these two poems in my precious little quote book that I carry around everywhere, so I just had to use them. (I carry three things wherever I go: my PQD [Precious Quote Dictionary], my FWN [Fanfic Writing Notebook], and my FWP [Fanfic Writing Pen.]) It's just a little look at Ginny's perspective on life before and after the the CoS incident. Have fun reading and remember to always REVIEW!
Disclaimer: HP stuff belongs to J.K. Rowling. The two little poems belong to William Blake, I guess. I own only the plot/idea.
Pity, a human face;
And Love, the human form divine;
And Peace, the human dress.
-William Blake (Songs of Innocence, from "The Divine Image")
Ginny sat down at the table for breakfast after an early morning. Her best friend, Maria, had awoken her at five that morning. "You stupid girl!" Maria had yelled. "What are you doing with MY nightgown on! You know how much I love that thing!"
Ginny had shrugged sheepishly. "Sorry Maria. I was just tired and had nothing to sleep in, and this one looked so comfortable."
"Well how d'you think I felt, having to sleep in my robes last night instead of my oh-so-COMFORTABLE nightgown?" Maria yelled back.
A small tear escaped Ginny's right eye. She hated confrontations, period, and when she had to have one with her best friend...well, she'd just leave it at that it wasn't her favorite thing in life by far. "I'm sorry, Maria," she said. "I'm really sorry."
"Oh Gin," Maria said, "I didn't want to upset you that much. It was just a stupid piece of clothing. C'mon, let's go down to breakfast." And the two headed down, reconciled with one another and happy.
Yes, Ginny decided, Mercy was definitely part of the heart of us.
She remembered the night before Hermione had been Petrified, when she had gone to Hermione in tears, confusion, and sorrow. She couldn't say just what it was -- she just felt sad and confused about everything.
And Hermione had gently taken her hand in hand, let Ginny's head drop on her shoulder. She let Ginny talk and ramble on forever about everything -- confusion over everything, sadness of it all, unrequited love -- everything. She hadn't quite let out her confusion about her role in everything, but had come pretty darn close.
And Hermione had listened and comforted and taken pity. She was everything that Ginny's brothers, mother, anyone else couldn't be. Ginny was eternally grateful for that pity, as she was for Tom's.
And she was sure from Hermione's face that a human's face had Pity.
She recalled the day she had left for Hogwarts for the first time. The truth of the matter was, despite how she had been going on about how much she yearned to go there, she was scared. She was worried she'd be homesick, wanted to bring her mother and her house with her while she was at it. She didn't want to have to leave.
But her mother made sure she was loved that last day. "It's OK Ginny, you're going to be fine. She had hugged her and given her a kiss and told her that she loved her and everything was going to be all right. Ginny smiled remembering how much her mother loved her.
She felt embraced by love, covered in it. Everything would be okay because she had love.
Love is a human attribute as well, she decided.
She looked around the room, calm and peaceful. Even her brother Ron and Draco weren't fighting now. Everyone was just chowing down food and being merry and peaceful. To her remembrance, she had never witnessed anything unpeaceful.
She'd grown up in a peaceful environment. Never seen a huge fight -- the largest one she ever saw was between Ron and Draco. The only war in her lifetime -- that with Voldemort -- she was too young to remember.
She realized that humans were certainly clothed with peace.
Cruelty has a human heart,
And jealousy a human face--
Terror, the human form divine
And secrecy, the human dress.
-William Blake (Songs of Experience, from "The Divine Image")
Now Ginny sat, solitary and blue, at a small table, sipping hot cocoa in contemplation of the days soul-racking events.
When she recalled the inner soul of Tom, she shivered. Cruel, evil, terrible. Out to seek to be cruel to others, as though it was his only purpose in life -- and perhaps was it?
He had chained her up and wished her to die, wished Harry to die, wished everyone he didn't like to die. He wanted death. How could someone want others' death? It was a question incomprehensible to Ginny, yet she now had to come to terms with the question -- and the answer that, for whatever reason, he certainly did.
That, she realized, was what was the human heart: Cruelty.
She had seen it in his face, too: jealous. Not the jealous, "He has a toy and I want it too." The jealous, "You are not following me and therefore I hate you." It was something constant and consistent on the drawn, ugly face.
He hated everyone except those who did his will. He hadn't hated her until she knew about him and stopped doing what he wanted. Jealous asshole.
That was the human face: jealousy.
She could still feel terror racking her very body, soul, and mind, those which had been so healthy and rejoicing before. It was invisible, something she couldn't quite pinpoint, but it was there, surely there.
The feeling she had taken her down and she'd realized he was an evil asshole for the first time, even before she knew he was Voldemort. The time she had realized that he wanted her dead, he wanted Harry dead, he was the man behind the petrifying. Terror, pure and blind and simple. Just terror.
It reeked of Terror in that place and in that man. As a place of evil reeks of death and killing, this reeked of terror and fright. Not quite in the literal sense, for quite literally you couldn't smell these things, but in every other sense.
She thought that love was what the human form was. Wasn't that what she had seen? Yet here this was all she saw in the human form: the terror, the fright which Tom, which Voldemort, had caused her.
That was the true human form: terror.
How could Tom have done what he did? The secrecy with which he withheld the truth, the terrible truth. How could he have made her trust him in the first place when he was really one to not trust so much?
She always believed people. Always thought that they meant well, or that they were, at least, telling the truth. Now she knew that many told drastic lies. How could she not have realized this after Tom?
She now knew that humans cloaked themselves in secrecy.
For what she thought she had known was held in the volatile, short-lived creature we call innocence; the truths she knew now were held in the only thing which is steady and everlasting: experience, tough experience.
A.N.2: Hope you enjoyed it and you review, but even if you didn't like it, please review anyway!