Ginny Weasley. Remember her? Red hair, brown eyes. Pretty. Charming.

Traitor.

That's what they call me now, a traitor. That is, when I'm spoken of, and that's very rare. Not a whisper about the last Weasley, the one that went dark.

No longer a Weasley.

I really don't know how it happened, but I was pulled in, and now, I am a traitor.

People spit on my grave, on my 'body'.

The body that's been Polyjuiced.

You would think that I would feel horrible. My family is ashamed of me, my name is hated by everyone in the Wizarding World, and my friends wish they never met me.

But I really don't care, because it's all true. I betrayed them all, and I was happy doing it. Harry never noticed me, Ron never cared about me, the Mudblood thought of me more than an annoyance than a friend, and my family were all in awe about everyone else to notice.

They never noticed me slipping out at night to meet with Draco. They never noticed all the make-up on my forearm. They never cared about the way I was so jumpy, or why I didn't stop the Slytherins from insulting the Mudbloods and blood traitors. They never noticed the way I wasn't around anymore, or why several Slytherins were always hanging around me.

I don't care. I don't care that my eldest brother was killed by my own hands. I don't care that I've cruico'ed more people than I can remember. I don't care that I've killed more people than I've said hello to, and I don't really care if I've had sex with every Death Eater, or that my boyfriend, Draco, has raped so many women, even he get tired. I really don't care.

The Dark Arts are so wonderful, filling up all the dark, empty holes that were made by my family, the blood traitors. I put every ounce of effort in them, exhausting myself. I'm passionate about the Dark Arts, and I can't believe how stupid I used to be.

I used to believe in fairy tales, and happily ever afters. Now I know that if you want to be happy, you have to torture. I get such a thrill, a wonderful rush of excitement every time I see another Mudblood writhing on the floor, screaming from pain. I love hearing their pleas, relishing the way their eyes widen and voices turn hoarse. I can keep my crucio the longest of all of the other Dark Lord's followers, because I enjoy it so much.

I don't mind not being a Weasley, a blood traitor. At least blood traitors were once purebloods.

Actually, I enjoy leaving that cursed family, because now my flesh is clean and no longer touched with the filth of mudbloods and blood traitors.

Traitor.

I don't mind being a traitor to my family, because they are traitors themselves.

Filthy little mudblood – collaborators.


Disclaimer: I own nothing.