FILTHY ~ Drarry Fanfic

Chapter 5

As we walk out of the pub, the Weasleys scold me about paying for their food. When I try to pull out my keys, Ginny pulls them from me "You've had eight drinks. I'm not letting you drive."

I furrow my brow and ask "Ginny?" She furrows her brow and I walk up to the corner, pointing to the house on the opposite side of the street, one street away, and facing the other way "That's my house."

As she hands the keys back, I stumble towards my car, and grab my messenger bag from the back, before locking it and starting across the street.

Ginny walks with me as the others move their cars. As we walk, she asks "So, why are you being so nice, all the sudden?"

I chuckle, drunkenly, before stopping to tell her "My parents kicked me to the curb. I lived out of a car for nearly four years while I banged-and-banked my way through life. I've got no room to judge."

A gust of wind sweeps through, I can see her shiver. In an act of kindness, I take off my blazer and offer it to her.

As she wraps it around herself, I roll up my sleeves and a small smile plays at her lips "When did you get so many tattoos?"

While we continue walking, I tell her "I spent years trying to remove the dark mark. No matter what I did, it always came back." I hold up my forearm and declare "I finally decided to just hide it in a sea of other dark tattoos." I hold out my other arm and declare "And I got this arm all colorful, so people would look at all the pretty colors, instead of the dark. Like a facade."

As we turn to corner, she declares "You didn't answer my question."

I give a weak smile, before declaring "Last year."

When I step through the Weasley family to get to the door, I pull out my keys. As I unlock the door, I clarify "There's two bedrooms upstairs. Decide who's taking what, and I'll grab the cots."

As I open the door, I bend down to grab the post and start into the dining room as the Weasleys file into the house.

When I toss the post on the table, I notice Jamie's key and a note. I don't even read it before I rip it up and walk into the kitchen to toss it.

"Who wants the spare key?" I ask as I walk through the dining room to get to the living room.

Hermione raises her hand and I pass it over, before declaring "There's another one in the kitchen, somewhere. I'll look for it in a minute."

Hermione gives a weak smile, before I let my bird in, put him in his cage, and take him upstairs.

My house is one of the only things I've ever been proud of. I gutted the lot, and built it back with my own two hands.

When you walk in, you're faced with a cupboard, below the stairs. A hall leads straight back to get to the utility room. Outside the back door, which is in the utility room, is a little patio, where I grow my dittany.

To get to the utility room, you have to go through the kitchen, which has a white marble countertop wrapping around half the kitchen. It cuts off before meeting the corner where utility room turns to outside.

There are three doors to get into the dining room. In the kitchen, the living room, and through the hallway. The only contacts of the dining room, is the dark wood table and chairs, which I'll have to move to put a cot down. My birdcage used to sit there.

The living room windows face the street. The only way to get to the living room, is through the dining room. A large muted grey couch unfolds towards the fireplace, which is white. Two armchairs, one dark green wingback, one a maroon tub, sit on opposite sides of the fireplace. A glass coffee table sits between the three peices of furniture.

On the second floor, you happen across the biggest, second-floor, bedroom, first. The bedding, which was cleaned last week, is a periwinkle light blue, with dark electric blue sheets. The black, storage, queen bed is placed between the two windows.

There's a tiny closet where the stairs end, and, on the wall facing the side street, are two wardrobes, on either side of the fireplace canal.

In the second room, the bedding is pale yellow, with bright yellow sheets. The black sleigh bed is pushed into the corn closest the bathroom and the hall. Considering the door is right next to the first's, a wardrobe is shoved into the corner, right across the door. Two windows are in the corner, furthest the door. A black-trimmed, yellow-fabriced, Berger, sits in the corner. A round, black, button pillow sits in the seat.

The bathroom is all the way at the back. The flooring is the classic white tile with the fewer black.

A white clawfoot bath sits near the very back window, and possesses a shower head and clear curtains.

A small black towel wardrobe sits next to a black and white clothes hamper. They're across from the toilet and white vintage sink.

My room is on the third floor.

When you walk up the stairs, you're met with a white door, just like the other two. And like the rest of the house, the flooring is a dark brown, the walls are a soft grey, and the crown molding is white.

In my room, next to the door, are my two closets. The one to the right of the door, has been made into a little lab area. Beakers, notebooks, ingredients, and a cauldron. A stool sits in front of it.

My room has a very tall ceiling, that slants down on both sides. There's two ease storage spaces on either side.

My bed is in the middle of the wall facing the side street. It possesses dark green bedding and sheets. The black poster bed raises up to the four skylights. The king sized bed is the only king sized in the house, and there's a reason for it.

A big black trunk sits in front of the bed.

A black velvet fainting couch sits on the left side of the bed.

The birdcage now sits opposite of it.

Now, the reason this room is so different, is evident in several places.

The trunk holds many things I will not speak of. There on notches on the bed posts, from the countless sexual endeavors, that always leave me with a poor appetite and bury me in self-loathing.

Even as I stand in the room, I hate myself a thousand times more.

As I lift my shirt, scars shine through. The ones Harry created, in that lavatory, our sixth year, and the word that was carved into my skin.

The only thought that runs through my mind when I think of myself, will forever be carved into my skin.

I'm "FILTHY"