Best Kept Secrets

Ginny

When she was six years old, she heard her parents arguing.

 

More correctly, she heard her father yelling at her mother.

She couldn’t believe the things he was saying. Calling her fat, disgusting, and other things Ginny couldn’t bear to repeat.

And she would never tell anyone about the sickening crack she heard from the top of the stairs, headed down to the kitchen to get a glass of warm milk to help her sleep.

And the next morning, when she saw her mother performing charms on her lovely face, and asked her what she was doing, she was told that Mommy was touching up her rouge.

But Ginny saw the ugly bruise on her cheek.

She tried to forget about that night. Tried to pretend that it had been the first and last time, rather than the first of many. And tried to forget the fact that no one but her seemed to care.

~*~

When she was ten years old, something happened that no memory charm could ever erase.

When Ron came into her room in the middle of the night, she thought nothing of it. She figured that he had heard her parents fighting, and, just like her, needed comfort.

So when he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly – almost too tightly – she didn’t mind. She burrowed deeper into his arms.

And when he whispered, "I love you Ginny. In ways you will never understand," into her ear, she smiled and said she loved him, too.

And even when he kissed her, she was only slightly uncomfortable, because it was on the lips rather than the cheek like she was used to.

But it wasn’t sick. It wasn’t disgusting, like when he slid his tongue in between her lips, tangled it with her own as she tried to tell him to stop. But only a muffled noise came out.

It was then that she got scared. It felt like a weight was pressing down on her chest, making it hard to breathe. But she tried to keep her fear in check. This was Ron, she thought, her brother. He would never hurt her.

That thought fled her mind when he crawled on top of her, pinning her down to the mattress. She tried to push him off, but even at the age of eleven, he was much stronger than her. He pushed himself down harder on her, and she felt something hard. Panicked, she bit his tongue. But rather than stop kissing her, he kissed her more insistently.

She felt his hand sliding up the hem if her nightgown and tears gathered behind her eyes.

But she didn’t cry , even as he was sliding into her. Even as she felt the pain, like she was being ripped apart.  

When he was done, he pulled back on his pajama pants and told her not to tell anyone.

But he didn’t have to tell her. She wouldn’t have told anyway.

When he was gone, she curled into a ball and let the tears fall.

She didn’t sleep at all that night. She just laid in her bed, now soiled with blood and semen, and sobbed until the sun came up.

~*~

When she was eleven, she met Tom.

Tom was perfect. Tall, dark, and handsome.

And he understood her so well.

He listened to her without complaint, and assured her that all her dreams would come true someday.

How did he know, she asked.

He told her that he would make them.

And that was when he showed her his world.

His world was dark, but wonderful.

There were shadows everywhere, but everyone was dancing.

He brought her to a mirror and told her to look. She was reluctant. She knew that she wasn’t anything special.

But he insisted, so she looked.

And her breath caught in her throat.

She, Ginny Weasley, was beautiful.

Her limp orange hair fell in magnificent, coppery waves, resting just below her bare shoulders. Her freckles seemed to fit well with her porcelain complexion. Her muddy brown eyes were a shimmering brandy.

Her bare shoulders were creamy white, her collar bones jutting out perfectly. And in the black gown, her stick-thin figure looked amazing.

She turned to look at Tom, and he smiled down at her.

This, he said, is what I can give you. Perfection.

Her eyes traveled back to her reflection, and watched him hang a delicate ruby pendant around her neck.

Here, he promised, he can’t touch you.

She didn’t ask how he knew. It didn’t matter.

And when he took her to bed, she didn’t mind. He was gentle compared to Ron, and he whispered sweet nothings into her ear.

And when Harry took him away, though she cried, she knew he wasn’t gone forever.

And the ruby pendant still hung around her neck.

~*~

Ron seemed to know. He seemed to know about all that had happened with Tom.

He brought her a washcloth and told her to wash everywhere Tom had touched.

He wasn’t satisfied with the job she was doing, so he took it upon himself.

He scrubbed her skin raw, and then he took her to an empty classroom.

He took her, rough and hard, and she knew he was reclaiming her as his own.

And from then on, every time he saw her with someone else, the punishment got worse.

He gave her a black eye for Michael Corner.

He bruised her ribs for Dean.

When he found out about Draco, he nearly killed her.

And after every beating, after every night that left her bruised and stained with his seed, her mind went back to that first night.

I love you Ginny. In ways you will never understand.

And she wondered just what kind of love he was talking about.