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Chapter 1: Clean Break
Clean breaks aren’t that clean. No matter how straight the bone may seem, there is always a single splinter, a little strip, a single cell that has been broken in a way that can’t be repaired, no matter how much time it’s given to heal. And most of the time? The doctors can’t even see it. They just say it’ll be okay as they cast the bone in place. They say the bone will heal to be just as strong as it was before. They say in six to eight weeks, with a little bit of therapy, it’ll be as good as new. But what about that cell? That one lonely broken cell that gets ignored and almost forgotten?
It struggles. Like me, it struggles. It flops around on the ground, like a fish out of water...like a person without a soul. It fights the restraints that hold it back. It fights to become whole again; I fight to become whole again, to no avail.
Time has passed, since the end of the war, the end of Voldemort, the end of who I was. And every day since then, moments, single feelings from those moments hit me hard. They knock the wind out of me and leave me laying flat on my back.
There seems to be no way to escape them either. Every time I believe they’re gone, they sneak up behind me and drag me back into the dark. They drag me back; torture me by showing me who I was…who I can no longer be. They remind me of what I lost, of who I lost.
That would be why I’m back here: the cemetery. The resting place for those who didn’t make it through the battle, those who didn’t see the end. Part of me says they’re the lucky ones. They don’t have to deal with the aftermath of war: loss. But the other part of me, the part that cries the loudest, wonders why it had to be them. Why did they have to leave for the rest of us to live? Couldn’t they have lived to bask in these times without fear?
I take a deep breath, closing my eyes to block out the names on the monument, of the individual graves of people who didn’t make it. I breathe again, allowing the crisp cool air of November to engulf me and take me, mentally, away from here. I then let my head fall back, so my face is towards the sky. I let my head fall back, and I listen.
The far off birds, those early morning risers, chatter merrily to each other. They’ve been up for hours, since the sun first peaked over the horizon. The wind, light and cool, swirls my hair, tickling my face. The leaves high in the trees crackle and swish together as the wind comes likes waves in the ocean. It’s almost calming, with an edge. An edge that ruins the perfect façade I’ve placed myself in.
I open my eyes, automatically scanning down the list of names again. I catch ones I don’t know all that well.
A knife, with a sharp edge of sorrow, stabs through my stomach. I gasp for air as a tear rolls down my cheek. My eyes then go to the names that scream, the names that flash bright red every time I catch them out of the corner of my eye.
Another stab of the knife, this time to my chest, brings me to my knees. Air rushes out of my throat, forcing a sob out of my mouth. My eyes, burning with tears, focus on Fred’s name as everything becomes blurry. I wrap my arms around my body, trying to hold together the pieces of my heart as it breaks.
I don’t know whether the sounds left my mouth or not. I don’t know whether I’m thinking out loud, or crying out in my head. All I know is that I need Harry.
I dig in the pocket of my robe and pull out my wand. I slowly pull myself upright; afraid my legs won’t hold as they feel like jelly. I take a deep breath, clearing and focusing my mind before twisting my wrist. My eyes close automatically as the sickening twisting and squeezing that accompanies apparition comes and then disappears in a second.
I open my eyes to the dark entryway of Number 12 Grimmauld Place. A shiver runs through me as the warmth of the house overtakes the cold that filled me from outside. I slide out of my coat and put it on the coat rack before taking to the stairs.
I creep slowly up the stairs, trying to avoid the squeaky steps as it’s around 6:30 in the morning and Harry’s probably fast asleep. I pad quietly down the hallway and peek into his room. Sure enough, Harry is laying with his back to me, blankets pulled up as high as they can go. The blankets seem like a sort of cocoon: warm, inviting and safe.
A small smile appears on my lips, even though tears still silently are streaking down my face. I take a small step and then another so I’m in his bedroom. I watch his form in the blankets…they slowly move up and down, followed by the sound of his breathing.
I take a step closer, and the board beneath my foot creaks. I freeze as Harry rolls from his left side to his back. I slowly try to step back off the board and it creaks again. A smile appears on his lips and his eye cracks open ever so slightly.
“All the boards from where you’re standing to the bed creak.”
The words seem foreign…as if spoken in a different language. And the smile on his lips, going with the remark that was supposed to be comforting…supposed to be welcoming, seems unfitting from the twisted darkness coming in my head. The combination of those simple words meant to comfort seem more insulting as sobs from deep in my chest flow out my mouth, as if a dam in a river broke, spilling the pressured water free. They’re breath taking, and all powering.
“Aww, Gin, come here.”
I move forward, blind and unseeing, but needing contact with him; needing to know that he’s here, he’s safe, and that he’s not lying in front of Hagrid’s feet…dead. My knees touch the cold wood of the bed and his arms pull me onto the mattress. He pulls me close, pulls me into his cocoon of warmth and of love.
Wrapped safely in his arms, I fall apart. I give out on fighting the restraints of staying whole, I give up the fight that the cell, that single cell from the broken bone has no chance to win. I accept the truth. I get it. Clean breaks aren’t that clean.
This started as a 167 word vent. I was upset and hurt and needed to get it out of my system. The rest of it? Well, it sort of fell into place. It was more like a stream of conciousness, just with taking my stress and emotion into a different perspective...Ginny's perspective. So if it doesn't entirely make sense...well, I don't necessarily think it was supposed to. It's emotion. Emotion is irrational and rarely makes sense. And yeah...If you wouldn't mind, leave a review. Please?