Jigsaw

Chapter 3: Watching My Life Spill To The Floor

When she arrives in the Great Hall for breakfast, Colin is already there. When she sits down, he hands her a schedule with her name at the top.

"We have Snape first," he says, making a face. "With the sixth year Slytherins."

Ginny says nothing, though she feels he expects a negative reaction. She simply folds the paper and slides it into her pocket, then takes a bite of toast. It feels dry in her throat. Difficult to swallow. She sets it down again and looks at her plate. Nothing arouses an appetite. Not much has since . . .

She stands and throws her school bag over her shoulder.

"Where are you going?"

"Class," she answers shortly.

Colin looks at her like she is insane, and as she walks away, she hears him mutter "nutters" under his breath.

She walks towards the dungeons, her head low. When she hears a familiar and irritating voice, she swears under her breath.

Sure enough, Draco Malfoy is sauntering her way, having just exited the Slytherin common room, and obviously on his way to breakfast. He is on his own, possibly for the first time in Hogwarts history.

As he sees her, he smirks.

"Well, Weaslette, we meet again."

"So I see, Ferret Boy."

His eyes flash. "All alone, again, I see."

"And you. I thought those goons were an attachment. Did you have them surgically removed?"

"You wound me, Red. I am perfectly capable of traveling these dark halls alone."

"I’m sure," she mutters. Then, rolling her eyes, she says, "I’m late," and attempts to bustle past him.

He steps in front of her, his eyes glittering.

"Get out of my way, Malfoy," she says, spitting his surname like a curse.

"Temper, temper. You Weasleys are all the same. It must be all that red hair, addling your brains."

She feels anger rise in her chest and raises her hand to smack him.

He catches her wrist in his hand, his grip as strong as iron.

"You’d better be careful, Red. If you step too far over the line, there’s no going back."

She wrenches herself free of his grasp, throwing him a daggering look. He laughs cruelly and walks away before she can say another word.

Not that she wanted to, anyway.

~*~

By the end of the day, it feels as if there is a tiny insect living beneath the flesh of her arms. It makes her skin itch and crawl, and no matter how much she scratches, it will not cease.

And though Ginny tries to deny it, tries to tell herself she will not do it again, she knows what she must do to make it stop.

The razor blade feels like an anvil in her pocket.

She paces the corridors, searching for a place to go. The Gryffindor tower is too crowded. The showers not private enough.

Finally, she catches a glimpse of an empty classroom with the door slightly ajar. The Muggle Studies classroom. Glancing around to see that no one is watching, she slips inside and closes the door behind her.

The room is pitch dark. There are no windows through which the moonlight can shine. There is only the thick blackness of the night, all around her.

She finds she likes it this way. She feels as though it is proper for the occasion. Fitting, somehow, for the act she is about to commit.

She slides to the floor, closes her eyes, and replays the day’s low points in her head. She wants to be sure it deserves what she is about to do.

Potions had been a disaster. Setting the theme for the rest of the day. What had been one of her best subjects seemed to be completely above her head. She could not concentrate on any of the instructions, and her truth drought had smelled strongly of rotten eggs.

The worst, though, had begun at lunch, when she had found Harry waiting for her outside the Great Hall.

"Hey, Gin," he had said, clearly uncomfortable.

She had looked at him, but not said a word.

"Look, I was just checking to see . . . To see how you’re doing," he said, looking down at his feet. "I know you were really close to – to all of them, and I know this has to be hard. It’s not easy for me, either . . ."

He had trailed off and raised his eyes to hers. Those brilliant, emerald green eyes that seemed to peer right through you. And she knew, she knew what was coming. One of his famous this-is-all-my-fault tirades. She couldn’t handle one of them right now, even if part of her felt it really was his fault.

So she said, "I’m fine" and forced a smile to prove it, and he, satisfied, had walked away.

The worse had turned to unbearable when Luna Lovegood caught up with her on her way out of Transfiguration.

"Do you miss your brother?" she had asked.

Ginny hadn’t answered straight away. She had merely stood there, her brows drawn together and her head buzzing from the impact of such a simple and powerful question.

"Well, do you?"

She had opened her mouth to respond. She had felt the words nearly springing from the tip of her tongue. But they broke under the weight of a sob that it took all her strength to swallow. And she had walked away.

Now, the question rings in her mind.

Well, do you?

"Yes," she says aloud. "I miss him so much it’s killing me inside."

She chokes on the last words, and, without warning, tears begin pouring down her cheeks.

Shaking slightly, she pushes back her sleeves and pulls the razor blade from her pocket.

In one swift motion, she draws the blade across her skin. Slowly once, pressing down only lightly. Then, pressing slightly harder. Then, angrily swiping it as fast and hard as she can, so that the skin splits open almost a centimeter wide, and it takes the blood at least a minute to fully rise to the surface.

She does this again, and again. Varying pressure and speed. Her breath coming in short gasps and her tears flowing in angry torrents.

And when her tears begin to subside, when the anger and pain begin to ebb away, she lets the blade drop from her hand, now limp and tired at her side. She watches as the dark blood drips down her wrist, over the palms of her hands, onto the floor. And as the blood flows, her energy leaves her, and she is suddenly very exhausted.

And so she sits on the floor, perfectly still, watching the blood making patterns like spider webs over her flesh, and a small smile lights her worn, tired, and tear stained face.