Sing for absolution
I will be singing
Falling from your grace
Divination has always been dull. I don't know why I even bothered doing it. I guess it was because I knew it was a bludge class.
I don't usually pay attention to anything we're told or what we're supposed to be doing (even though I'm top of the class, for some strange reason). It's not like it actually matters. No one in the whole class is even remotely capable of 'Seeing'. Not surprising though, they're all indolent little shits. I'm the only one who does my homework out of the whole class. And when we have assignments set, mine does the rounds of Gryffindor Tower and by the end of the night everyone has a copy of it, albeit with a few variations.
And so now I'm sitting in the stuffy little room at the top of the North Tower, almost falling asleep where I sit in the back of the class, by myself.
No one's actually doing anything. We've been studying the meanings of dreams for about a week now and as part of it we're supposed to keep a Dream Diary. We were told to keep the descriptions short and brief but somehow managing not to lack anything. So far I have three rather thick diaries sitting on the table in front of me.
See, I have a lot of dreams and to fully understand what I've written I need to add every single little detail, or I'll forget it and the dream will become nothing to me.
Trelawney walks around every lesson checking our diaries, interpreting them for us, telling us every time that tomorrow we'll drop dead on the spot in the middle of the day sometime.
No one has yet.
Right now she's just starting her doom predictions at the first table, everyone staring disdainfully or half-heartedly at her and listening as she predicted the first in her long list of Fateful deaths.
Absently, I started picking at the long scabs running across my forearm. The half healed skin came away easily and painfully. I watched as the blood started to pool in the gash I had just reopened, overflow and run down side of my arm, creating a deep red puddle on the dark mahogany tabletop.
I remember the first time I cut myself. Ron had been yelling at me about taking a book from his room, of all things. His yelling kept getting louder and more frantic the longer he went on about it. By the time Dad had made him stop I was in tears. And I still don't know why I cut. But I did and from then on it became my addiction, an unbreakable habit that tore me apart. I did it when my emotions would become so strong that I couldn't handle them and I'd release them the only way I knew how. Then I started doing it because I couldn't feel. I had gotten so used to releasing my feelings through the blade that they disappeared altogether, and then I begged the knife to give them back to me. But all it gave me was hate, scorn, cynicism, every one of the worst emotions possessed by human beings.
But what I find really strange is the fact that the blade never took away all my love. It left me just enough to go on loving Harry, just enough to not attempt my own destruction again.
Yes, who would have thought it? Ginny Weasley, such a beautiful, bright youth, without a care in the world, tried to kill herself over the summer.
Truth was I did have many cares in this world. Like the offer to join the Dark Lord I received at breakfast during the summer, before my attempt. Like the conversation I had with Draco Malfoy about joining the Dark Side yesterday. Like my loosening grip on reality. Like the insanity that waited for me around every corner. Like the fact that my only grounding in life was moving out of my reach, even though I go and see him almost every night.
Trelawney's voice is close now. I quickly heal my wounds as she steps over for my diary.
"My dear?" she asks all airy-fairy and 'mystical'.
I handed her my latest diary and she flipped through it, staring with distaste at the long paragraphs of unemotional scrawl depicting my latest dream. She's didn't even bother reading it.
"My dear, I asked you to keep your diary entries short as to further make more productive use of the classes."
"I'm sorry" I say flatly, matching her stare with an impassive face. "I don't work that way."
She eyed me distastefully before setting down my book and floating back to the front of the class.
"Miss Weasley, would you like to read your latest dream to the class. We'll see what everyone else makes of it shall we?"
I stood up. "My dreams are none of the classes concern. If you wish to know what thoughts run through my head you would do well to learn Occlumency, I'm sure Professor Snape would be more than happy to teach you."
Trelawney's face paled at Snape's name. It was no secret that they both detested each other, but Trelawney was absolutely terrified of him.
The class just sat there in their seats and gaped up at me.
A bell sounded behind me, signalling the end of class. I picked my books up and went to the trapdoor. I kicked it open and descended the ladder without so much as a backwards glance at the silent classroom.
On the lower level of the tower a class was already assembled. Amongst them two smiling faces I did not want to see right now.
Harry was standing next to an open widow with his eyes closed. Ron was at his side, laughing maniacally at something, his eyes screwed tight and gasping for breath. He was attracting stares from everyone gathered around him, some people muttering behind their books, others snickering along with him.
He managed to settle down slightly, though still chuckling, and open his eyes. He caught sight of me and gestured me over.
As I walked over to the pair I heard other footsteps coming down the ladder. If I wanted to get out of here without an interrogation about my dreams I had better make this pretty goddamned fast.
Ron took hold of me and draped his arm over my shoulder. I immediately pushed it off me and took a step away from him. Ever since I had caught him and Hermione I had not allowed him once to touch me. At first he was angry, yelling at me at the top of his voice about being rude and telling me that I could at least try to keep up appearances and act as though nothing had happened. I told him to 'Shove it' (in my head, the 'it' meant several things, ranging from his wand to his head, and implying quite clearly what orifice he was supposed to place the numerous objects.)
Ever since, we had both refrained from talking to each other unless in public or in case of dire emergencies. Right now I'm guessing this occasion was for the former.
"Hello Harry." I said quietly before turning back to look at my older brother. "What's up?" I reverted back to the more popular, less eloquent and graceful way of speaking in public. It drove me mad to have to speak like that so I had made it clear to Ron that I did not want to speak to him unless necessary.
"Guess what?" he gasped.
I raised an eyebrow at him but said, nonetheless, "What?"
"We just walked past Malfoy in the hall and he and Parkinson were having a fight. Apparently, she was breaking up with him! And guess what?"
I sighed. "What, Ron?"
"It's because she's gay!" He broke down laughing at this. And now I realized why others were smirking and snickering too. They weren't laughing with Ron, per se. They were laughing at him.
It was my time to be hurtful. "Ron, you idiot, everyone knows Pansy's a lesbian. It was so obvious. She's gone out with half you're grade and the most of mine!"
Ron straightened and let the information sink through. He had an odd expression on his face as all the information I had just fed him was processed in what was proving to be a very small brain.
It was at that point that Harry caught my eye. He was staring at me... or, rather, staring at my arm- the one with the cuts. When he noticed me watching him watching me he just gave a look that said "We're going to have to talk".
Oh shit was about the only coherent thought I could come up with... unless you call long strings of obscenities coherent.
I covered up my arm and headed straight down...