I sit here, looking into the mirror.
There are purple sleep marks indicating exhaust, and wrinkles in my cheeks. I look three times my age, and the once lively chocolate brown that twinkled out from my eyes with a passion for life has dwindled to a dull hue. My once thick, smooth red hair has been falling out, ever since that one day. Ten years ago.
Ten years ago. That's when I died. 'Dead?' I hear you ask, 'How can you be dead? You're breathing, talking, and your heart is clearly still beating.
But that's where you're wrong.
You took him away. You took him away ten years ago, and I couldn't do a damn thing about it. I had to sit on the side and watch it happen.
Ten years ago, I died. I died that day, along with my passion for life, my energetic and curious personality, my brother, my best friend, and him.
Yes, I died with him. It's undeniable.
And being stuck here with you has made it even worse.
I understand why. I understand. But I do not agree.
Despite what you may think, I have been screaming at the top of my lungs. Screaming for help. I have been screaming for someone to rescue me, someone to put an end to this. To put an end to this life with you.
Of course, screaming doesn't do much good if no one can hear you.
I could be found on your arm at every important social event. I was always dripping in expensive jewelry, wearing the latest and most fashionable robes. But do you think I was ever really there?
I remember the day I found out. The day I realized my life would either be composed of complete bliss, or that I would live like this. Live like a prisoner in a world I no longer wanted to inhabit.
I sit here, looking into the mirror.
Carefully, I pick up the towel. I gently wipe the makeup off my face. I reveal to the world what you do to me. But no one can see it. Because I am alone. Now and forever.
I could have told someone. I could have retaliated. But do you think I cared enough?
My life evaporated that day. Ten years ago, my soul left me.
I finish wiping the powder from my face. There is a large bruise on my left cheekbone.
The world will see what you've done to me.
I look across the room at you. You stand there in your black robes, looking haughtily into the mirror. I can see your sneer that has permanently engraved itself on your face.
I cast one more look into the large vanity mirror. My eyelids are heavy, and I cannot seem to bring myself to care anymore.
I can hear your smug laugh as you finally choose what outfit to wear. Your sleek, blond hair held back with scented gel.
I hate that scent.
You look at me as I stand up. I hear your voice call to me.
"Where are you going?" I hear you ask.
As if you really care.
It's okay. Everything will be okay. My part is done. And if it isn't, it doesn't matter. I cannot carry on.
I feel the stairs beneath my feet. The stairs your child sulks down every morning.
The door opens, and I step outside. The wind whips in my face, but my cheeks have felt more pain than the biting cold. You should know.
Before I know what happened, here I am.
My favorite place in the world. And yet the one that causes me so much pain.
He died ten years ago. Physically. I died ten years ago. Mentally.
I hit the grass on my knees, and press up against the large, granite stone.
"I miss you," I whisper.
I can hear him talking back to me. He's been watching me every day since he left. Watching me die.
He's watched you, too. And he knows everything.
He also knows I didn't have a choice. He understands.
I played my part in this war. And now its time to end it.
I died that day, ten years ago. The day you took Harry's life. I had to watch.
That killed me.
I have no emotion.
I had no emotion the day I heard the news. The day I learned I would have to marry you. The day I learned I would have to carry your child.
It was never my baby.
Someone else was supposed to be the father of my child. But that hope died that day, ten years ago. As did my child. My real child.
I'm sure you didn't know. And you never will.
I look once more at the gravestone before me.
I think of Harry and my baby. Waiting for me.
I've done my part. What more could you ask? What more could you want?
Slowly I reach into my pocket.
My hand rests on a short, yet potentially deadly, blade.
I pull it out and hold it against my breastbone.
"I'm coming, Harry."
*~*~*~*~*~*
I feel myself lifting up. There is a comforting light, and it warms me from the inside.
I start to walk forward, and I can see a figure in the distance. I know who it is.
Closer I get, my smile growing with every step.
I see his face. He breaks out into an incredible grin, and he is holding a small bundle.
My baby.
"Ginny," he says in a loving voice.
I've waited ten years to hear that voice call my name.
"I missed you," I say.
He beams at me, and says in a heavenly tone, "I know."
I look into his arms. My baby. The one I never knew.
I glance up at his eyes to make sure. Harry only nods and hands me the child.
"We've been waiting," he says, putting his arm around my shoulder.
And together, we walked into the warm, light place that has been waiting for us.
*~*~*~*~
*
A/N:
I don't know what possessed me to write such a sad story. But I had the idea, and I cried as I wrote it. Literally. There will be no follow up or prequel. Thank you.
There are purple sleep marks indicating exhaust, and wrinkles in my cheeks. I look three times my age, and the once lively chocolate brown that twinkled out from my eyes with a passion for life has dwindled to a dull hue. My once thick, smooth red hair has been falling out, ever since that one day. Ten years ago.
Ten years ago. That's when I died. 'Dead?' I hear you ask, 'How can you be dead? You're breathing, talking, and your heart is clearly still beating.
But that's where you're wrong.
You took him away. You took him away ten years ago, and I couldn't do a damn thing about it. I had to sit on the side and watch it happen.
Ten years ago, I died. I died that day, along with my passion for life, my energetic and curious personality, my brother, my best friend, and him.
Yes, I died with him. It's undeniable.
And being stuck here with you has made it even worse.
I understand why. I understand. But I do not agree.
Despite what you may think, I have been screaming at the top of my lungs. Screaming for help. I have been screaming for someone to rescue me, someone to put an end to this. To put an end to this life with you.
Of course, screaming doesn't do much good if no one can hear you.
I could be found on your arm at every important social event. I was always dripping in expensive jewelry, wearing the latest and most fashionable robes. But do you think I was ever really there?
I remember the day I found out. The day I realized my life would either be composed of complete bliss, or that I would live like this. Live like a prisoner in a world I no longer wanted to inhabit.
I sit here, looking into the mirror.
Carefully, I pick up the towel. I gently wipe the makeup off my face. I reveal to the world what you do to me. But no one can see it. Because I am alone. Now and forever.
I could have told someone. I could have retaliated. But do you think I cared enough?
My life evaporated that day. Ten years ago, my soul left me.
I finish wiping the powder from my face. There is a large bruise on my left cheekbone.
The world will see what you've done to me.
I look across the room at you. You stand there in your black robes, looking haughtily into the mirror. I can see your sneer that has permanently engraved itself on your face.
I cast one more look into the large vanity mirror. My eyelids are heavy, and I cannot seem to bring myself to care anymore.
I can hear your smug laugh as you finally choose what outfit to wear. Your sleek, blond hair held back with scented gel.
I hate that scent.
You look at me as I stand up. I hear your voice call to me.
"Where are you going?" I hear you ask.
As if you really care.
It's okay. Everything will be okay. My part is done. And if it isn't, it doesn't matter. I cannot carry on.
I feel the stairs beneath my feet. The stairs your child sulks down every morning.
The door opens, and I step outside. The wind whips in my face, but my cheeks have felt more pain than the biting cold. You should know.
Before I know what happened, here I am.
My favorite place in the world. And yet the one that causes me so much pain.
He died ten years ago. Physically. I died ten years ago. Mentally.
I hit the grass on my knees, and press up against the large, granite stone.
"I miss you," I whisper.
I can hear him talking back to me. He's been watching me every day since he left. Watching me die.
He's watched you, too. And he knows everything.
He also knows I didn't have a choice. He understands.
I played my part in this war. And now its time to end it.
I died that day, ten years ago. The day you took Harry's life. I had to watch.
That killed me.
I have no emotion.
I had no emotion the day I heard the news. The day I learned I would have to marry you. The day I learned I would have to carry your child.
It was never my baby.
Someone else was supposed to be the father of my child. But that hope died that day, ten years ago. As did my child. My real child.
I'm sure you didn't know. And you never will.
I look once more at the gravestone before me.
I think of Harry and my baby. Waiting for me.
I've done my part. What more could you ask? What more could you want?
Slowly I reach into my pocket.
My hand rests on a short, yet potentially deadly, blade.
I pull it out and hold it against my breastbone.
"I'm coming, Harry."
*~*~*~*~*~*
I feel myself lifting up. There is a comforting light, and it warms me from the inside.
I start to walk forward, and I can see a figure in the distance. I know who it is.
Closer I get, my smile growing with every step.
I see his face. He breaks out into an incredible grin, and he is holding a small bundle.
My baby.
"Ginny," he says in a loving voice.
I've waited ten years to hear that voice call my name.
"I missed you," I say.
He beams at me, and says in a heavenly tone, "I know."
I look into his arms. My baby. The one I never knew.
I glance up at his eyes to make sure. Harry only nods and hands me the child.
"We've been waiting," he says, putting his arm around my shoulder.
And together, we walked into the warm, light place that has been waiting for us.
*~*~*~*~
*
A/N:
I don't know what possessed me to write such a sad story. But I had the idea, and I cried as I wrote it. Literally. There will be no follow up or prequel. Thank you.