Orange Walls

Walking across and empty room. The lights are turned out. Orange walls appear red. Blood red. I wonder if this is a sign. If these walls could talk, they would have quite a story to tell. No one knew about the nights I spent in here. Falling asleep in your arms. Pale skin against pale skin, warm flesh against cool. Your lips in my hair and your breath tickling my skin and your heart beating in my ears.

"Ginny, dear, sit down."

Things changed when you got to school. All you talked of was a boy with eyes like emeralds and a lightning bolt scar. Your passion for him sparked one of my own. If you cared about him so much,he must be special.

"There’s something we need to tell you."

I was ecstatic to join you. But I quickly discovered that at school. the rules changed. You did not seem pleased when I crawled into your bed one night. I didn’t understand why your face turned red, or why you pushed me away, but from then on I stopped trying. I clung to the one connection we had: Harry. But all the while, I was slipping away. Being led into the darkness by a boy with dark hair and deceiving eyes. A boy made of ink and paper, who left his mark on my soul.

"What’s going on?"

After that year, you looked at me like I was a stranger. I had almost killed the two people you loved the most. I had almost killed him. Your eyes told me that this was unforgivable. How could I have almost extinguished the guiding light of your life? I no longer held your heart the way I once had. It belonged to him now. This knowledge ate away at me, slowly destroying me.

"Just say it."

Until one night, after your fifth year. Your crept into my room and I sat up slowly, staring at you as you stood, framed in my door way by a single ray of dim light. The silence between us spoke for itself and you stepped forward and eased yourself onto the bed beside me, sliding under the blanket. You looked into my eyes for a moment before pulling me into a fierce embrace. All night, I help you and played with the hair at the nape of your neck. You talked until tears sprung to your eyes and your voice was coming out in ragged sobs. You told me how afraid you were. Of the war, of losing him, of losing your own life. You said you were sorry, so sorry. You had been afraid of me, afraid of what had happened to me. Afraid that I had been changed. I whispered that it was ok, that I was the same. When did I become so good at lying?

"Oh, Ginny, it’s horrible...Ron..."

He left the next year. He left in search of Voldemort. Of his destiny. He knew he would only find death. And you followed him, didn’t you? Oh, you waited until you could slip out unnoticed. But one morning I went to breakfast and you weren’t there, and I knew. I sat across from Hermione, who had tears in her eyes. She had never been left out before. I couldn’t help but feel a little satisfaction at the fact that it wasn’t only me who had been left behind. But the pleasure lasted only for a moment, before the knowledge settled in, bringing with it a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I didn’t eat for days, and when Madame Pomfrey finally forced porridge down my throat, I ran to the prefect’s bathroom and retched.

"Ron is dead."

You didn’t understand how it worked, Ronald. He never told you about the prophecy, did he? You threw yourself in front of him. A loving sacrifice. Not that he will ever know that. He won, anyway. He won the battle and disappeared and no one has seen or heard from him in months. Poor Hermione, she couldn’t take it. Slit her wrists in the bathtub. Stained her water red. I wonder if she likes it where you are.

Your room hasn’t been touched. Except for when I snuck out the pocket knife that you kept in your drawer. You wouldn’t like what I do with it. You always used to say you loved how smooth my skin was. You wouldn’t appreciate me marring it with cuts and scars and blood. Perhaps you should have thought of that before you left me. You always were so loyal, Ron. You gave your heart and life to Harry, and your body to me. But, did it ever occur to you that I might want your heart as well? No, I don’t suppose it did. And it’s too late for that now. You are god knows where, and I am left to carry on without you. They took special care when telling me. They always knew we had been close. But they never understood, nor will they ever. We promised we would take it to our graves. You promised a lot of things. That is the only one you did not break.

I take one last look around, and close the door. The orange walls disappear behind the smooth oak surface. My hand lingers on the doorknob, and I think one last time of the nights I snuck in to sleep beside you. But past is past, and these things cannot be changed, nor can they be relived. It is time to let them go.