The Forgotten 7th Year

I'm OK

Ginny's 's POV

I yanked a comb through my red hair after showering hastily. I didn't care that some strands were being ripped out, or that pain was flaring though my scalp.

Even though it was all in my head, I could've sworn I could still feel his hands on me.

I wanted to curl into a little ball and cry my eyes out, but I couldn't do that. I needed to be strong. I needed to be.

There really was no reason to be acting this dramatic anyways. He hadn't actually..... God, I can't even think it, what's wrong with me?

When I clomped down the steps and into the living room, George didn't look up from his newspaper that covered half his face when he greeted me.

"Welcome, young sister." He glanced up, and remarked. "You look terrible."

"Way to boost my confidence, and don't call me young sister, you're not even that much older than me."

"Ah, but I am older than you nonetheless." I crossed my arms, and he went back to reading the paper. A frown tugged at his lip.

I didn't need to look to know what he was reading.

"Anyone we know?"

"Not directly." His voice was tired, and there was no hint of a laugh on his face. He looked different without it.

"Some friends of friends, but..." But at least it wasn't family. "There's a parent of a classmate too, but she's not dead. Just missing. Small mercies."

I didn't know how to respond to his flat tone. Instead I asked,

"How do you know? I thought the Prophet was only printing rubbish."

In response, he shows me the paper, and I see a wanted poster. A blurry picture of a woman is printed, and the only recognizable feature is that she's blond. She's probably safe for now, nobody's going to identify her in this.

As George had said, small mercies.

George handed me the paper, and got out another one. But on this one the pictures remained stationary. News of death, destruction, and horror splashed across the front page.

I didn't want to be reading this, but it seemed impossible to look away. My eyes sucked in every detail, and something inside me began to break.

And then I saw it. A picture of a woman out of the corner of my eye. But a part of my brain spiked in recognition. A stocky woman with hunched shoulders, and ugly brown hair.

My eyes flew to the picture, and I breathed a sigh of relief when I examined the photo. It wasn't her. Just some stumpy old woman who was suing because of something bogus. But still... the hard, mean glint in her eye, and the way her lip was curled.

It was all too much.

I felt tears threaten to burst, but I choked them back. No. I didn't even excuse myself, and tripped over my feet in my haste to get away. 

I dashed into the bathroom, and slammed the door. I put my back against it, and slid down into a tiny ball. When I'd regained composure, my hand trembled at the knob. I didn't want to, but I stepped back outside.

George was still there, the Muggle newspaper still covering l his face. When he saw me, he didn't ask where I'd been, or why I'd run out like that. But I could see he wanted to.

"Do you know Jason Moon?" He asked instead. I was confused.

"Yeah, he's in Dumbledore's Army..."

"Well, I know he's a cowardly little squint, but don't be too hard on him." He turned the paper, and I saw an obituary.

In loving memory of Eric Moon. Father, Brother, Husband. 1951-1998

Eric died too soon for a man so full of life. But his 47 years were a blessing to those around him. His family s-

I couldn't read anyone, as I felt the tears threaten to burst again. Poor Jason. No wonder he wanted to be in Dumbledore's Army. He probably wanted revenge against the Death Eaters who'd killed his father.

"Young Sister?" George looked concerned.

"D-don't call me that." I was very close now to crying. I'm being stupid. This doesn't have anything to do with Amycus, or the Carrows, or anything else that might be affecting me.

I crammed all the hurt and fear and pain down into a little ball, and stuffed it deep inside.

The threat of tears gradually subsided, but my brother was looking at me with even more concern.

"I'm fine." I practically spat.

"I never said you weren't." He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.

"Good." I snapped. I tried to storm upstairs, but tripped, and landed flat on my face. My frustration was building, and I wanted to scream in his face. He saw my expression and exclaimed,

"I didn't even do anything!"

The anger that had been building deflated in a puff. My lip quivered.

STOP IT! I mentally screamed at myself. STOP WITH THE MOOD SWINGS, AND THE TEARS! And then a much quieter, but no less deadly voice hissed.

Maybe I'm just broken. And maybe I am. I don't know anymore.

"Hey, Ginny." George's hand was on my shoulder. I shook it off.

"Ginny, what's wrong!" His tone was stern.

"Nothing!"

"Ok, I won't press. But if you want to talk..."

Warmth spread through my chest. Just the fact that someone cared. Someone cared that everything in the world was crumbling down to dust, and blowing away on the wind.

"Thanks George." A look of confusion crossed his face.

"I'm Fred."

E✨M✨O✨T✨I✨O✨N✨S

Ok, this is the last chapter devoted to how traumatized Ginny is.

Probably

Idk, I just think the actual HP books aren't emotionally realistic enough. Like, you can't go through what Hermione did at Malfoy Manner, and then duel the same woman who tortured you three months later, and not have emotional side effects.

It just doesn't work like that.

Although this chapter has a lot of hidden foreshadowing. Some of it obvious, some less so. So, it isn't just about feelings.

But, sry this chapter took so long, I had no motivation.