Ghost Of A Good Thing

I never signed on for this.

I was just a little girl, searching for my prince. Back then, he was just a little boy. Looking for his place. He had the heart of a lion. And a broken heart.

I had experienced love before, and it had left me tainted. There was a scar, a place of darkness, deep beneath the surface of my pale skin. He bore his own scar. He had lost his family, I had lost my soul.

I wanted to heal him. Needed him to heal me. Long after I swore I had given up, I still retained hope that he would see things my way.

And he did.

He dropped to one knee and slid a ring onto my shaking hand. The happiest day of my life. And look where it led me.

*~*

 

I’m not sure when it started. Maybe it was the first time I caught him. When he came staggering in, his breath smelling of fire whiskey and red lipstick smudged across his face. I asked him where he had been. He swung his hand back. It connected with my jaw, sending a jolt of pain through me. Tears sprung to my eyes and I sank to my knees as he walked to our bedroom and shut the door behind him.

I believe in you so much, I could die for the words that you say . . .

The next morning, I looked in the mirror to see a purple bruise on my cheek. It was easy enough to cover, but the knowledge of its existence was horrible in itself.

He came home early every night for almost a month, carrying flowers or candy or some other little trinket. Things were back to normal. Better than. Soon, I had forgotten.

But he reminded me in no time.

The second time was worse. My lips was cut open and bleeding. We had dinner with my family that night. He kept one arm around my waist for the duration. His touch made my skin crawl and the hidden wound throb.

Love is like a role that we play . . .

After that, it became a regular occurrence. He was always drunk now. Could never stay away from the bars for more than a week at a time.

I became very good at hiding the bruises and cuts. Magic could only do so much. I invested in regular cosmetics, and added several more long sleeved shirts to my wardrobe.

But it wasn’t all fists and blood and bruises. It ran deeper than that. He was angry at me for tying him down. He told me that I could never give him what they could. I wasn’t pretty enough, wasn’t smart enough. And I believed him.

I believe in you so much, I could die from the words that you say . . .

It escalated, getting worse with every strike and shout.

Until one night he left me coughing up blood on our living room floor. I Apparated to the Burrow. I remember seeing Hermione’s confused face before everything went black.

*~*

I woke up in my old bed, hushed voices all around me. Panic settled in as I realized where I was and what bad brought me there. I looked up into the worried eyes of my mother.

"Ginny, what happened to you?"

I opened my mouth to answer her, and shut it again. How could I tell her that her son in law, the hero of our world, had done this to me?

"Ginny, please, tell us."

Ron. With Hermione by his side, their hands laced together.

They would never believe me. He was their best friend. The golden boy. They would never accept that their lion had grown claws.

Just bend the pieces til they fit, like they were made for it . . .

 

And so I cried. The walls that I had built to survive him crumbled in an instant. I was sobbing into my mother’s arms as she stroked my hair.

*~*

I was awoken from my fitful sleep by the sound of his voice. My heart jumped into my throat and panic swept over me.

There were footsteps on the stairs. Slow, determined footsteps. Stopping outside my door. It swung open and he walked in.

His eyes were bright even in the darkness. I realized then that they had changed. They were as cold and hard as ice.

"I came home and you weren’t there," he said. "I was very worried."

I tried to speak but no sound escaped my lips. He sat down on the edge of the bed and rested his hand on my knee. My stomach turned as he slid it up, finally stopping at the top of my thigh. His other hand went to my hair. He gave a forceful tug, jerking my head back. I bit my tongue to keep from whimpering.

"You shouldn’t have left."

Tears were flooding my vision and I could taste blood. My mind flashed back to the night before, the dark liquid choking me.

But they weren’t made for it, they weren’t meant for this . . .

His right hand left my leg and brushed my cheek.

I slapped it away.

Before he could react, I jumped to my feet and ran out of the room, down the stairs and into the kitchen. My father was standing at the table. Out of instinct, I placed myself behind him, clinging to the fabric of his shirt.

"Ginny, what is the matter with you?"

At that moment, he stepped off the steps. I let out a sob and stepped closer to my father. He looked at Harry with confusion and suspicion on gentle face.

Harry took a step toward me. I took a step back.

"Mr Weasley, I need to talk to Ginny. We had an argument last night, and I want to apologize."

My father turned to look at me, as if asking for permission to leave me with Harry. I shook my head, my eyes wide with fear.

And all at once, he understood.

*~*

Chasing the ghost of a good thing . . .

Now I sit in this dreadfully silent office, my hands folded neatly in my lap as I wait for my name to be called. I can’t look up, can’t face the others here like me.

It has been two weeks since that night at the Burrow. The bruises have faded. The cuts are almost healed. But there is a hole inside me. A deep, gaping emptiness that aches incessantly.

I know that it, too, will become less painful over time. Leaving behind only memories, and another scar.

*~*fin*~*