TRIGGER WARNING: VULGARITY, SELF-LOATHING, SUICIDAL THOUGHTS, SELF-HARM
Ginny wasn't a bad person. Promise, she wasn't a bad person.
(Or at least she often tried to convince herself of that)
She often tried to refute the fact but then every single reason on the planet would fill her mind and she'd end up crying on her bed. And she wasn't a big crier, but she had done so many bad things and they couldn't be fixed.
The big flower ring on her finger mocked her horribly, whispering facts that she couldn't find the energy to deny. The ring from the boy that was being continuously drugged by love potions, that didn't love her and would never love her like the sharks wanted him too.
Her throat was tied with an invisible noose, tightening every day until sometimes she thought she couldn't deal with it all.
(How long until we stop breathing, her mind would whisper.
Not long hopefully, she'd whisper back.)
Somedays, she stares into her mirror and glare at the filthy girl looking back at her. Other times, she'd look into it and cover her face with cosmetics, hoping that it would hide the lies and destruction that besmirched her.
Some of her ugliness she couldn't hide though; her slightly crooked upper lip, eyes almost too-close together, bright red hair that ruined everything she wore, long legs that made her skirts look to short (a future slut she'd heard an upper-year Ravenclaw whisper once), long fingers that had knobby knuckles, freckles that covered every part of her. She hated it.
Spidery black lines covered her throat like a thorny necklace, choking her as she went about the day, and only she could see it. It forced strangled noises from her throat when she even thought of revealing the deeds of her mother and the Headmaster, squeezing and squeezing until she was chanting apologies and crying tears of disgusting sorrow.
Sometimes, she'd open her mouth in the privacy of her room and try to talk about Harry Potter or Hermione Granger (Astaron Riddle and Amaya Riddle she'd corrected so many times) and she'd try so hard (so so hard) to speak about Lily Evans, The Dark Lord, James Potter, but her breath would leave her, constantly escaping her desperate gasps, and she'd be left trembling as she tried to force the words out of her. And she'd smile as her lungs constricted and her heart sped.
(She did it often. She deserved the pain)
And then she'd smile that smile, the one that was all sharp edges and too many teeth, and flounce around like an innocent little girl.
She wondered how loud she'd have to scream for someone to hear her
Beautiful jewelry laid on her dresser though Ginny never wore it. They filled small boxes, only to be worn by a small blonde with a dreamy expression and a slow, soothing voice. Ginny would give her jewelry, dresses, gifts like Luna was the only goddess in the world. And to Ginny she was.
(You're not worthy of her, came the normal harsh whisper)
She was the goddess who would hold her when she cried, the goddess who would talk about creatures that didn't exist, the goddess who would hug her easily as though she wasn't covered in the dirty deeds of others, the goddess who braided her hair with flowers and make her a gorgeous creature of the forest, the goddess who would smile at her as though she was worthy of her goodness.
And Ginny would kneel and bow at her feet even after her knees were tired and achy, her hands scraped from the dirt and rocks, her back stiff and unmoving. But she'd do it, if only it meant she could drink from her pure waters and bathe in her soft words, cleanse herself even if only for a moment.
Because the moment she left her light, her beauty, Ginny would be pushed into the ocean of misdeeds, left to fight the horrid creatures that were Molly Weasley and Albus Dumbledore.
With her throat choked by an invisible noose and wrapped in a thorny necklace would get no words for help out; her hands with tight shackles binding her could write no plea for a rescuer; her mind tortured by terrible magicks could form no rational thought, she'd go through her day, all big smiles and limitless attitude.
And every day she woke, Ginny would continue pretending that the blade on her sink wasn't taunting her mercilessly, and tick off another day on her calendar.
One less day to wait until she was 17, and she'd be free. She'd be free from the sharks that ruined her.
There were days where she was wondering how she would make it.
She'd have to leave her goddess, but she'd beg her pardon through endless letters, hoping that her goddess wouldn't be angry with her, and forever keep her away from her holiness. Ginny wasn't sure she'd be able to survive that.
But she would do it.
She could do it.
No she couldn't.
She was going to make it.
No she wasn't.
(HELP ME PLEASE)
(Don't help me. I don't need it)
A/N - I KNOW IT'S VERY DARK- and yes, I do know that I'm making Molly and Dumbledore rather evil, but I hate them with a passion. Even the book versions I hated them. If you don't like it that's fine.
This one was short I know, but it's more a fill chapter than a real chapter.
I'LL GIVE YOU A LIGHTER CHAPTER NEXT TIME I PROMISE!
