(A/n: welcome to the dinner. It will come with a few courses... and a special
dessert for those who are patient enough to wait.)
DISCLAMER: I do not own the Harry Potter characters or imaginary places. They are owned and created by J.K. Rowling, published by Scholastic Books Inc, Bloomsbury Books Inc, Raincoat Books Inc, Warner Brothers Inc, and others. No money is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Warnings: Self mutilation, Ginny with blue eyes.
Ginny sobbed. She cried hard into the night. She wrapped herself in the blood stained sheets. It was her only comfort. She was all alone. Hermione had chosen her brother just after school had ended. Ginny died inside.
The girl clutched the spot on her body where her heart should be. She felt no rhythms below her palm. Was there no beat? Or was she just numb? Maybe both.
She dragged the metallic object across her body. She felt no pain as it dug deeply into her flesh. Silent tears streamed down her cheeks. What once was her release of pain stopped hurting the way she liked. Numbness. Soulless.
"I'm dead," she whispered. "Dead," she repeated. It was her voice that passed her lips, but it didn't sound like her. She sounded hollow when she spoke.
The night slowly turned into a dawn, and the blood was dried on her body. Her thighs and her chest, she had gotten smart enough to stop doing it places people would notice. She was still awake when the sun peeked over the horizon. The sunrise was pink. She thought of the old sailor's rhyme she had heard from her mother a long time ago: "Pink sky at night, sailor's delight. Pink sky in morning, sailor's warning."
'Bloody perfect,' she thought, 'rain.' Then she turned over.
"Fucking hell," she murmured at the notice of her tainted white sheets. She begrudgingly stripped her bed. She liked to clean them the old fashioned muggle way.
Her father was a collector of muggle artifacts, so she went out to his shed and filled the wash basin with soap and water. She dropped in the stained sheets and scrubbed them against the washboard, slowly working out rust color. After she was done she did a quick drying charm and returned to her bedroom, careful not to make the wooden stairs creak. She put the sheets back on the mattress and made up the rest of the bed.
Her next stop was the bathroom. She turned the knobs and let the water start to get hot. She then turned the knob that made the shower head spit out water. She pulled her white tank top over her head; small dried red flecks fell to the tile. Down came her grey cotton shorts as well, no panties. Never panties to bed.
She smiled at the fact that she had failed to get any blood on her night clothes. 'Cutting the nude is always best. Like a sexual experience, only less gratifying. Or just gratifying in a different way,' she thought. Not that she had much experience in sex. Never actually had sex with anyone. Never came with anyone, and rarely, if at all, with herself.
She laughed. 'Sexually gratifying?'
"No," she said aloud as she stepped into the warm water. It was quick to dampen her auburn curls. Her hair slicked back easily. She watched the red swirl down the drain, as she lathered soap on her body. She paused as her hand reached the tuft of hair that was above the junction between her legs. She thought for a moment about touching herself, but decided against it. She couldn't right now. Granted, she was the only one home at the moment, just a little wouldn't hurt, except if she didn't finish she would be very horny the rest of the day, and Hermione was supposed to be there in a few hours. She would have a hard time entertaining if all she could think about was her crotch. She decided against it and continued with her shower.
Five minutes later she turned the water off and stepped out of the shower.
Harry Potter and Hermione Granger were due at the Burrow that morning. Ron wouldn't be there for their arrival, because he wasn't expected home until August 31. He was visiting Bill in Egypt, for the first half of the summer holiday, and Charlie in Romania, for the second. It had just been tradition for them to come. Harry was pretty good friends with Ginny, so it wasn't going to be so bad. Hermione and Ginny had a little bit of a falling out, just before the summer. For that pair, it would prove to be quite interesting.
She thought about Hermione as she toweled off her body. They had had a small fling. Not even a fling, really. They found comfort in one another, but then one day Hermione told Ginny that it wasn't working. Hermione had decided that Ron was a better candidate. They hadn't exchanged words since that day. Ginny had been very hurt. So she found solace in her razors. A twang of pain shot through her body as the towel went over the injured flesh.
"Shit," she seethed, through gritted teeth.
Her and Harry had kept in touch over the holiday. They had been owling back and forth. Ginny had been telling Harry how wonderful he thought Hermione was. Nothing but nice things, always nice things. He had smiled and agreed. He had no idea the things that had gone on. Or he did, but never told Gin that he knew.
She finished drying off and put her hair up in a wet, messy bun. She wrapped herself in her pink towel and walked into her bedroom. She searched her dresser and closet for something to wear.
"Why do I have to be so damn poor!? I have no clothes that are MINE. Hand me down from aunts, mom, grandma, and... and Charlie." Then she laughed. Charlie. He was her favorite brother. Mostly because they had something in common. They could talk to one another better than the others. She liked his clothes too
She decided on one of Charlie's old peasant shirts. Not ruffled at all, just plain black cotton that tied up the chest. It was very undersized on Charlie, which made it fit Ginny nearly perfectly, accentuating her slender, slightly curved form. Then she chose an old pair of his boot cut jeans. They were faded blue, with a hole in the knee. They were sort of tight on her butt, but sagged a bit, just the way she liked. Happy with how she looked she sat on her bed and read for a while.
There was a loud crash from the kitchen, and the hooting of an owl. Harry had arrived. Ginny plastered on a fake smile and sprinted down the stairs, jumping the last few steps into the kitchen.
"Harry!" She exclaimed. "Oh my gosh, it's so good to see you!" She ran to him and gave him a hug.
"It's good to see you too Ginny." He smiled. She seemed happy enough to him.
She gave him a sloppy kiss on his cheek, which was covered in soot. She stepped back to look at him. His hair, still an unruly mess of jet black hair. His eyes were still beautiful emerald. He looked nice. His clothes fitted him better. Maybe the Dursleys had been feeding the poor boy better in these later years. He looked a bit disheveled though, probably from floo travel.
He grinned. "So, Gin, you fancy me again or something?"
She playfully pushed him.
"Ah, so I see you still like Hermione, eh?" he teased on.
"Of course," she said shyly and honestly. "Sit down, please. Mother would have made you had she been here. She is shopping in Diagon Alley, so she won't be home until this afternoon. Meaning I am run of the house." A mischievous grin passed her features. "Would you like something to drink?" Before he answered she fetched him a glass.
He sat down and she poured him some lemonade. "How are you really, Gin?"
She sighed and her face fell a bit. She sat down across from him. "I'm fine. I mean no. I don't know."
He reached across ad put his massive paw over her smaller hand. "It'll be alright. I'm here okay? I am almost positive that things will be okay."
"Alright."
There was a crash, and the pair at the Weasley kitchen table jumped.
Hermione was sprawled on the floor, obviously quite shaken. Harry helped her up. She smiled when she realized who it was.
"Oh my! Harry!" she squealed. "I've missed you. Have those nasty people been treating you well?"
"Hello," he released her from his massive bear hug. "I am doing just perfect. How are you doing?"
"Great!" she said excitedly. Then she noticed the young red head standing awkwardly near the table. Her tone changed. It was now quieter, "Hi Gin." She stepped back from Harry.
She still had those big chocolate eyes. Like puppies have. And her hair was still bushy and brown, but a little tamer. She had the body of a woman, but was still a good six inches shorter than Ginny. She always wore green, black or brown muggle shirts, and tight girl's jeans. Or short skirts, that were really quite flattering to her bottom. On that particular day she was wearing a long sleeved brown shirt and a short pink skirt. Flattering indeed.
"Hello," Ginny spoke quietly. "Would you like some lemonade?"
Hermione didn't look Ginny in the eyes. "No thank you, dear."
"Okay. Then do you two want to get settled?" She inquired.
"Yes," Harry cut into the tension, "Let's."
Ginny lead them up the stairs. "Harry, you are in Ron's room. If its awkward sleeping there when he isn't here you can stay in Charlie's room, if you so desire."
"Mmkay. Thanks Gin." He pulled his trunk into Charlie's room. There was just a bed. He had moved out long ago.
"Hermione, my mother said you should stay with me, but I asked Percy, and if you think it would be too weird, you can sleep in his room.
"No, no that's fine," she replied rather nervously.
This was the girl she sat up late with laughing and telling stupid stories. This was the girl that kissed her on the quiddich pitch in the middle of winter. This was the girl that haunted her dreams. This was the girl who left her.
Harry came in as the girls were getting settled. He crawled onto Ginny's rather large bed and opened up the magazine laying there. It was some French fashion magazine. The page that he had opened to had Fleur Delacour pictured upon it, looking ravishing as usual.
"I would never have guessed," Harry said sarcastically to himself.
It began to rain, so they couldn't go out that afternoon. Molly had returned home some time after the rain began. She had been cooking while Hermione had reread part of Hogwarts: A History for the millionth time and Harry taught Ginny how to play cribbage, a muggle card game. A very uneventful afternoon.
After supper they all retired to their rooms. Hermione crawled in bed next to Ginny. She soon fell asleep and curled next to the younger witch, just like she used to. The auburn haired witch felt whole again. The hollow spot filled a little. She knew it would be empty again when the brunette woke up.
She slowly slipped out of bed and away to the bathroom, unnoticed. She sat on the toilet and examined her razor blade. There was still blood on it from the night before. She took her clothes off and stood in front of the mirror that was on the back of the closed door.
"Look at you. You are nothing. No one loves you," she whispered to herself and began to cry, sapphire eyes looking darkly back at herself. She took the razor and made several clean cuts across her abdomen, some intersecting or going over old scars from many nights in front of that mirror. She did not wince. She did not feel like she was doing it. It was almost like it wasn't her doing it. She laughed at herself. The leaned against the wall and slid down so she was sitting on the floor. She couldn't tell if she was laughing or crying anymore. She then blacked out.
When she awoke she took some bath tissue to stick on the wounds and redressed. She slipped back into bed and lay for another hour or so, feeling herself bleed and fell asleep to the throbbing.
(A/n: Hmm... I think I like it)
DISCLAMER: I do not own the Harry Potter characters or imaginary places. They are owned and created by J.K. Rowling, published by Scholastic Books Inc, Bloomsbury Books Inc, Raincoat Books Inc, Warner Brothers Inc, and others. No money is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Warnings: Self mutilation, Ginny with blue eyes.
Ginny sobbed. She cried hard into the night. She wrapped herself in the blood stained sheets. It was her only comfort. She was all alone. Hermione had chosen her brother just after school had ended. Ginny died inside.
The girl clutched the spot on her body where her heart should be. She felt no rhythms below her palm. Was there no beat? Or was she just numb? Maybe both.
She dragged the metallic object across her body. She felt no pain as it dug deeply into her flesh. Silent tears streamed down her cheeks. What once was her release of pain stopped hurting the way she liked. Numbness. Soulless.
"I'm dead," she whispered. "Dead," she repeated. It was her voice that passed her lips, but it didn't sound like her. She sounded hollow when she spoke.
The night slowly turned into a dawn, and the blood was dried on her body. Her thighs and her chest, she had gotten smart enough to stop doing it places people would notice. She was still awake when the sun peeked over the horizon. The sunrise was pink. She thought of the old sailor's rhyme she had heard from her mother a long time ago: "Pink sky at night, sailor's delight. Pink sky in morning, sailor's warning."
'Bloody perfect,' she thought, 'rain.' Then she turned over.
"Fucking hell," she murmured at the notice of her tainted white sheets. She begrudgingly stripped her bed. She liked to clean them the old fashioned muggle way.
Her father was a collector of muggle artifacts, so she went out to his shed and filled the wash basin with soap and water. She dropped in the stained sheets and scrubbed them against the washboard, slowly working out rust color. After she was done she did a quick drying charm and returned to her bedroom, careful not to make the wooden stairs creak. She put the sheets back on the mattress and made up the rest of the bed.
Her next stop was the bathroom. She turned the knobs and let the water start to get hot. She then turned the knob that made the shower head spit out water. She pulled her white tank top over her head; small dried red flecks fell to the tile. Down came her grey cotton shorts as well, no panties. Never panties to bed.
She smiled at the fact that she had failed to get any blood on her night clothes. 'Cutting the nude is always best. Like a sexual experience, only less gratifying. Or just gratifying in a different way,' she thought. Not that she had much experience in sex. Never actually had sex with anyone. Never came with anyone, and rarely, if at all, with herself.
She laughed. 'Sexually gratifying?'
"No," she said aloud as she stepped into the warm water. It was quick to dampen her auburn curls. Her hair slicked back easily. She watched the red swirl down the drain, as she lathered soap on her body. She paused as her hand reached the tuft of hair that was above the junction between her legs. She thought for a moment about touching herself, but decided against it. She couldn't right now. Granted, she was the only one home at the moment, just a little wouldn't hurt, except if she didn't finish she would be very horny the rest of the day, and Hermione was supposed to be there in a few hours. She would have a hard time entertaining if all she could think about was her crotch. She decided against it and continued with her shower.
Five minutes later she turned the water off and stepped out of the shower.
Harry Potter and Hermione Granger were due at the Burrow that morning. Ron wouldn't be there for their arrival, because he wasn't expected home until August 31. He was visiting Bill in Egypt, for the first half of the summer holiday, and Charlie in Romania, for the second. It had just been tradition for them to come. Harry was pretty good friends with Ginny, so it wasn't going to be so bad. Hermione and Ginny had a little bit of a falling out, just before the summer. For that pair, it would prove to be quite interesting.
She thought about Hermione as she toweled off her body. They had had a small fling. Not even a fling, really. They found comfort in one another, but then one day Hermione told Ginny that it wasn't working. Hermione had decided that Ron was a better candidate. They hadn't exchanged words since that day. Ginny had been very hurt. So she found solace in her razors. A twang of pain shot through her body as the towel went over the injured flesh.
"Shit," she seethed, through gritted teeth.
Her and Harry had kept in touch over the holiday. They had been owling back and forth. Ginny had been telling Harry how wonderful he thought Hermione was. Nothing but nice things, always nice things. He had smiled and agreed. He had no idea the things that had gone on. Or he did, but never told Gin that he knew.
She finished drying off and put her hair up in a wet, messy bun. She wrapped herself in her pink towel and walked into her bedroom. She searched her dresser and closet for something to wear.
"Why do I have to be so damn poor!? I have no clothes that are MINE. Hand me down from aunts, mom, grandma, and... and Charlie." Then she laughed. Charlie. He was her favorite brother. Mostly because they had something in common. They could talk to one another better than the others. She liked his clothes too
She decided on one of Charlie's old peasant shirts. Not ruffled at all, just plain black cotton that tied up the chest. It was very undersized on Charlie, which made it fit Ginny nearly perfectly, accentuating her slender, slightly curved form. Then she chose an old pair of his boot cut jeans. They were faded blue, with a hole in the knee. They were sort of tight on her butt, but sagged a bit, just the way she liked. Happy with how she looked she sat on her bed and read for a while.
There was a loud crash from the kitchen, and the hooting of an owl. Harry had arrived. Ginny plastered on a fake smile and sprinted down the stairs, jumping the last few steps into the kitchen.
"Harry!" She exclaimed. "Oh my gosh, it's so good to see you!" She ran to him and gave him a hug.
"It's good to see you too Ginny." He smiled. She seemed happy enough to him.
She gave him a sloppy kiss on his cheek, which was covered in soot. She stepped back to look at him. His hair, still an unruly mess of jet black hair. His eyes were still beautiful emerald. He looked nice. His clothes fitted him better. Maybe the Dursleys had been feeding the poor boy better in these later years. He looked a bit disheveled though, probably from floo travel.
He grinned. "So, Gin, you fancy me again or something?"
She playfully pushed him.
"Ah, so I see you still like Hermione, eh?" he teased on.
"Of course," she said shyly and honestly. "Sit down, please. Mother would have made you had she been here. She is shopping in Diagon Alley, so she won't be home until this afternoon. Meaning I am run of the house." A mischievous grin passed her features. "Would you like something to drink?" Before he answered she fetched him a glass.
He sat down and she poured him some lemonade. "How are you really, Gin?"
She sighed and her face fell a bit. She sat down across from him. "I'm fine. I mean no. I don't know."
He reached across ad put his massive paw over her smaller hand. "It'll be alright. I'm here okay? I am almost positive that things will be okay."
"Alright."
There was a crash, and the pair at the Weasley kitchen table jumped.
Hermione was sprawled on the floor, obviously quite shaken. Harry helped her up. She smiled when she realized who it was.
"Oh my! Harry!" she squealed. "I've missed you. Have those nasty people been treating you well?"
"Hello," he released her from his massive bear hug. "I am doing just perfect. How are you doing?"
"Great!" she said excitedly. Then she noticed the young red head standing awkwardly near the table. Her tone changed. It was now quieter, "Hi Gin." She stepped back from Harry.
She still had those big chocolate eyes. Like puppies have. And her hair was still bushy and brown, but a little tamer. She had the body of a woman, but was still a good six inches shorter than Ginny. She always wore green, black or brown muggle shirts, and tight girl's jeans. Or short skirts, that were really quite flattering to her bottom. On that particular day she was wearing a long sleeved brown shirt and a short pink skirt. Flattering indeed.
"Hello," Ginny spoke quietly. "Would you like some lemonade?"
Hermione didn't look Ginny in the eyes. "No thank you, dear."
"Okay. Then do you two want to get settled?" She inquired.
"Yes," Harry cut into the tension, "Let's."
Ginny lead them up the stairs. "Harry, you are in Ron's room. If its awkward sleeping there when he isn't here you can stay in Charlie's room, if you so desire."
"Mmkay. Thanks Gin." He pulled his trunk into Charlie's room. There was just a bed. He had moved out long ago.
"Hermione, my mother said you should stay with me, but I asked Percy, and if you think it would be too weird, you can sleep in his room.
"No, no that's fine," she replied rather nervously.
This was the girl she sat up late with laughing and telling stupid stories. This was the girl that kissed her on the quiddich pitch in the middle of winter. This was the girl that haunted her dreams. This was the girl who left her.
Harry came in as the girls were getting settled. He crawled onto Ginny's rather large bed and opened up the magazine laying there. It was some French fashion magazine. The page that he had opened to had Fleur Delacour pictured upon it, looking ravishing as usual.
"I would never have guessed," Harry said sarcastically to himself.
It began to rain, so they couldn't go out that afternoon. Molly had returned home some time after the rain began. She had been cooking while Hermione had reread part of Hogwarts: A History for the millionth time and Harry taught Ginny how to play cribbage, a muggle card game. A very uneventful afternoon.
After supper they all retired to their rooms. Hermione crawled in bed next to Ginny. She soon fell asleep and curled next to the younger witch, just like she used to. The auburn haired witch felt whole again. The hollow spot filled a little. She knew it would be empty again when the brunette woke up.
She slowly slipped out of bed and away to the bathroom, unnoticed. She sat on the toilet and examined her razor blade. There was still blood on it from the night before. She took her clothes off and stood in front of the mirror that was on the back of the closed door.
"Look at you. You are nothing. No one loves you," she whispered to herself and began to cry, sapphire eyes looking darkly back at herself. She took the razor and made several clean cuts across her abdomen, some intersecting or going over old scars from many nights in front of that mirror. She did not wince. She did not feel like she was doing it. It was almost like it wasn't her doing it. She laughed at herself. The leaned against the wall and slid down so she was sitting on the floor. She couldn't tell if she was laughing or crying anymore. She then blacked out.
When she awoke she took some bath tissue to stick on the wounds and redressed. She slipped back into bed and lay for another hour or so, feeling herself bleed and fell asleep to the throbbing.
(A/n: Hmm... I think I like it)