Killing someone would always be considered a hideous crime. Unforgivable. It’d demand an immeasurable amount of cruelty to execute such an action. For some, it was the ultimate proof of viciousness. Others agreed that the end couldn’t be more reprehensible than the path towards violence: to torture, to gloat at someone’s suffering.

However, when that someone was yourself, the issue became a lot more nuanced. Ending your own time on Earth was the subject of much discussion and no final conclusion. Ironically, one could say.

Throwing away this only chance of experiencing life in its plenitude... Was it punishable?

In the end, there would be no one to blame but self. On the other hand, when living becomes a burden too heavy to carry, when breathing asphyxiates and smiling poisons, could anybody inflict culpability in lieu of atonement? Is the executor really a villain? Or a hero of their own narrative?

Ginny’s story came to a similar turning point. Perhaps too sudden to unacquainted eyes. But to her, those cords that tightened around her neck had been entangling themselves, ready to push her to oblivion, for an amount of time no human could fathom measuring.

It was a happy occasion: her birthday. And, initially, she felt like she could enjoy herself unapologetically to her prior missteps. She’d been content a great part of the afternoon, occasionally catching herself laughing at Draco Malfoy’s bantering memory. His pathetic charm inebriated her thoughts, guiding her towards a happy present, instead of drowning both in their past sorrows.

There were his sneaky stares at their secret Quidditch match, the gleam of his skin whenever the afternoon light reflected upon his epidermis: pale, rosy… Regardless of this angelical aura, some diabolical mist clouded his thoughts. Malice that somewhat attracted her. Ginny wondered if it was his villainous core that pulled her to him, their similarity instead of obvious differences.

Perhaps he wasn’t the night, obscure, to her sunnier character. Against all common sense, she asked whether they were equals, phosphorescent when convenient yet essentially dark.

Routine engulfed her on the usual procrastinator’s guilt ‘til it was time to leave. This time, she would not go home, but to a party. Her party.

Her whole family was already in Hogsmeade, at the Three Broomsticks, when she arrived alongside Hermione and Ron. The whole room had been decorated accordingly: with balloons shaped like her name and little brooms that flew through the air. Every 20 seconds, some broom exploded into confetti, quickly replaced by a new one, restarting the festive cycle.

Soon, her prior companions momentarily parted from her at Harry’s arrival. Not by any surprise, the trio left her as old friends entered the room. She wandered through her reminiscences; a strong sense of déjà vu had taken over. Luckily, she was used to abandonment. She actually preferred being forgotten for a while. Solitude usually meant freedom, liberation of social bindings and protocols.

It didn’t mean she wasn’t capable of enjoying company. She did.

Someone whose company she’d always valued was Neville’s, and she felt glad as he came into sight, politely greeting everyone he knew in the room. As soon as he found Ginny’s spot, he embraced her warmly. Instantaneous realisation struck her. How life had tricked them, setting both too far apart, losing touch of each other to the point where they’re on the verge of becoming ancient photographs.

« How are things? The kids are alright? », Ginny asked with genuine interest. It was no secret that Neville was happily married to some Beauxbatons’ herbologist. After his parents passing away and all the pain Voldemort and his followers caused him, he finally found peace. Not only peace, but well-deserved joy.

« Oh, the kids are great. As you already know, I’m teaching Herbology and my elder daughter is 8, so soon she’ll join me in Hogwarts. She’s excited now, but I’m sure she’ll be embarrassed when the time comes. »

« She’ll be ashamed. There’s no doubt. But you are a great professor, so she’ll be proud as well. Just keep those mandrakes away from the poor girl. » He smiled, nodding in a gentle response. He introduced his wife, and, when they started to discuss some plants they’d recently discovered being able to cure the winter flu, she felt trapped on a dead-end conversation.

Smiling anxiously, she excused herself saying she had to keep mingling. “Birthday girl’s duties. Sorry!”, she said as she waved a brief goodbye to the couple who hadn’t looked that affected by her departure. Their discussion on the newest healing powers of said bud had gotten quite heated.

Ginny then chuckled, both amused and relieved.

The night continued with some very awkward, some less awkward, encounters with old acquaintances. Padma Patil had become a novelist, Colin Creevey the new Daily Prophet’s photographer, Seamus a healer... A list of blissful journeys, tales of resilience, fortune, success, or even resigned serenity.

What was her story?

At her parents’ house, loitering through her days... She still hadn’t learnt to ask the right questions whereas her mates already had all the right answers. Those very few she had weren’t that exciting either.

She tried to put those thoughts aside, chewing on a chocolate frog she’d found. But just as fast her demons, her parents caught her.

Her dad, often a source of fondness, looked positively disappointed as her mother exuded anger. Thankfully, they had no intention in delaying expressing their disapproval any longer.

« We’ve been informed at the Ministry that you’ve been perceived as absent. », her dad began taking the stand, nodding to his wife to wait.

« Absent? I’ve never missed a day of work!”, Ginny protested, visibly disgusted.

“But you are always the last to arrive and the first to leave! You’ve never done more than you’ve been told to. This is unacceptable, Ginny! You should do your best... Not act like this! ». Ginny’s mouthed gaped, realisation striking her. She knew her dad was right. She’d been mediocre. She underperformed. She was unacceptable.

« Your father got you this job so you could find some purpose! Instead, you do nothing? What’s wrong with you, Ginny? You are so talented, so smart. You’ve done so much at Hogwarts. The most brilliant potion brewer», her mother added, waiting for an explanation. When she got none, she continued. « Your brother George tries every day. Bill spends most of his time figuring out how to handle his lunar outbursts and still he’s thriving, working hard and being recognised for it at Gringotts... Tell me: why are you sabotaging yourself? »

There it was, the word that chased her for months, then years. According to all her family, she’d been sabotaging her future, deliberately missing opportunities to succeed. It was like she shackled herself at the bottom and refused to use the keys profusely thrown at her.

She’d chosen to fail.

Tears now sparkled on her eyes. Reality, another that she persisted to evade, hurt. Badly.

She’d done nothing to earn praises. So many people overcame their difficulties and persevered. Her excuse? She was pathetic, despicable. No effort was worth anybody’s while.

Yet, her core begged her to defend herself, as an instinct. Stupid self-preservation that contradicted her own wishes to let go.

“I don’t know... I just wake up every day, I reflect upon all that have happened... And I realise that there’s no reason to keep doing this. I’ve said to myself so many times that I hate, hate what I am, that this agenda of make-believe it’s been eating me inside. Could you just stop reminding me of I already know? I just wish it all to be over!”

The truth finally erupted from Ginny’s drenched lips. Body and soul shaking, she held her gut as an attempt to prevent herself from vomiting her spirit. Or what was left of it. Her parents gaped, astonished, saddened by her statement. And it hit her even harder. She’d never wanted to harm anyone.

Every day she was told she’d been used to an addictive cycle of inertia; lethargy befriending her. She just couldn’t escape…

How many mornings she’d barely opened her eyes? How many days she wished she had skipped?

Disgusted with herself, throttled by her crying, she stormed out of the room as her mom and dad tried to initiate some sort of consolation. The stinging pain had grown too big. She had to go.

The guests were too distracted with their own conversations to be alarmed at the young woman running, bumping recklessly into anyone who was on her way. She was too agitated to realise she could have simply apparated out of there.

Gladly, no commotion arose. So, the party continued.

Aimlessly, Ginny ran as fast she could. If she stayed, everyone would pour at her love proclamations and self-help speeches. They would try to dissuade her off the throbbing pain that consumed her. After all, how could a beautiful, intelligent twenty-nine-year-old woman feel so helpless? At her own party even, they could name a few wizards whose traumas were bigger, who had less potential than her.

Promising Ginny Weasley. Amazing at all she’d set her mind to. How come she could have underwhelmed them this much? The answer, only Ginny possessed. All the promises she couldn’t keep had never been made by her. At least, not willingly.

Deep down, she must have known that her grades weren’t that great, that her skills weren’t that exceptional. Nevertheless, she deluded herself that she was invincible. The war came, life came, and she got stuck in those assumptions. She could become a seeker, a chaser... But those who were actually talented collected the prize. In this race, she’d gagged on winner’s dust.

Those who were close to her denied the fact that she was blasé, average. However, if she indeed disappeared, there would be no void everyone hadn’t already witnessed.

Completely out of breath, Ginny comforted herself on the lightness of utter extenuation. Screening through her memories while walking by the nearly empty street, she asked herself where would it be safe to go.

The Zonko’s storefront took shape as she found a resort on a bench right before it.

The cold wind had already dried her tears and numbed her limbs. The freezing weather was somewhat cosy. Meanwhile, warmth inflamed her insides as she watched the pranks’ store windowpane. There was so much colour; trickery spells and candies moved on a beautiful frenzy. All seemed magical until the whimsical spectacle began to dizzy her, twisting her insides.

Wobbly, she leant farther behind on the cold bench. Fred’s images started to fill her chest with nostalgia. How she wished he was there. Her extraordinary twin brother would never be found in this position. He would never deceive his family or himself. He was the one worth living.

Ginny light streams became a torrent of tears down her cheeks, rapidly reaching her chin. Low whimpers escaped from her sticky lips. She ignored the repugnant snot that smudged her coat and searched for a way of ending her soring spirit. So much self-hatred wounded her soul that her hands were convinced to finish this in real bruises. Asphyxiated ‘though fully oxygenated, she placed her fingers on her throat, pressing it weakly.

Her coughs and moans became louder. Hesitant yet powerful, her knuckles folded mildly over her salient jugular. It still pumped life. Against her will.

Ginny’s brain wouldn’t allow her to erase its existence without a fight. So, her heart tried to cooperate, releasing her grip and settling for more sobbing. Again, she’d been too coward to finish something.

Looking at her hands, she felt deeply ashamed. Not because of the few streetwalkers that watched her, but for her complete lack of courage.

She rested at the same spot until figuring out she’d better be moving if she wished not to be found. Ginny walked a bit through the town. As the shop owners quietly shuttered their stores, an epiphany opened up her eyes.

Then rushed into the night.

When the redhead arrived at the Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop, it was almost closed. Its proprietary was ready to throw her an angry look when she met Ginny’s washed-out face. The latter’s appearance was such a disgrace that, with an unspoken supplicate, she received a merciful nod. She could enter.

Since it was indeed quite late, the teashop sheltered only a handful of customers. Balancing her weight on the tip of her toes, Ginny examined the room quickly, trying not to bother the gentle lady that let her in. Her roaming eyes found her target near the cashier. She sighed, feeling a bit relieved.

At least one quest she had executed successfully.

« Aren’t you supposed to be at your party, Weasley? », said Draco, completely swept away as he met Ginny’s gaze from across the room. His grey eyes widened, shifting focus to the redhead that just appeared. Distracted, he almost forgot to retrieve the delicate rose paper box for which he had come there on the first place.

« You’ve mentioned your mom loved Madams Puddifoot’s raspberry scones. So, I figured it was the perfect time to try one”, Ginny’s words were enunciated with difficulty. They sounded heavy. Lungs seemingly too weak to air them out. The humorous façade that she tried to pull out had become unbearable to maintain.

Draco watched her exhausted chuckle trigger water droplets on her eyes. He knew she had come to meet him. And albeit her meek effort to sustain their usual bantering, he decided not to point that out. Instead, he offered her comfort.

« Would you like to sit? Take some hot chocolate?”, Madam Padfoot employee shot him a threatening stare and he realised the gravity of the situation. Quickly, Draco surrounded Ginny with his arms, taking back his proposition and leading her out of the teashop, “Or not. Perhaps we should go somewhere else.”

Ginny said nothing as Draco gently rubbed his slender fingers on her shoulder blades. They were now on the street. And despite the freezing weather, he patiently waited for her to break the icy silence.

« I’m sorry, Malfoy. This is none of your business, I didn’t mean to ruin your evening...», Ginny began, almost stuttering, and suddenly was interrupted by Draco’s disapproving reaction.

“You didn’t ruin anything. After an entire afternoon transcribing magical apparitions to bewildered bloody muggles, being here with you is a strong contender in this scarce competition for the highlight of my day. So…We were close to happy this morning. What happened? » Draco already knew she hadn’t been well for a while, but not like that. This Ginny wasn’t just slightly unsatisfied; she was hopeless. He had recurred to darkening and fading metaphors, but this night, she looked like she had been deprived of more than just glimmerings of joy, she was a vacuum, soulless.

Ginny opened and closed her mouth. She stared at the handsome man before her and asked herself what had not happened. It wasn’t his concern, of course. But why she had come there in the first place? Because Malfoy wasn’t honourable. Because he had despised her for almost their entire life. Thus, harming herself wouldn’t affect him just like it started to numb her.

This was a safe space where she expected no forgiveness. Just visceral honesty. Which she so badly needed.

Ginny felt rushed to explode. There was no time to hide. Bile, grief, burnt her insides. She didn’t have the guts to hold it all in. Like a flood, it poured out of her, pushing any barricade that she could’ve built. Her necrotic heart had to come out.

« I’m through, Malfoy. I’m through with pretending I’m okay, but it’s also so unfair to others who have always been there to take care of me to absorb the mess that I am. I’m not smart or passionate, or charismatic...I’m not even hardworking! Everybody wants to believe it, but I can’t get better! And I know what looked like years ago, when I cared. I looked ambitious and perspicacious, but it was false! Just as false as the mark you have in your arm » now she dared to touch his biceps. Her grip was delicate in spite of the violence she spat. It surprised him, but he kept focused on her words.

« It has to be a lie, because if it was once true, I have no explanation nor solution how to bring myself back. It just seems easier to believe that everything was already broken. My existence would mean less, and end it wouldn’t hurt that bad. » Draco said nothing, just stared at her, waiting for her to finish. No pun intended to lighten the mood. Salty streams poured out of her eyes; her hands hung weakly beside her bent torso as if they were connected to strings, pushing her to the ground

“I think of how great Fred, and Tonks, and Remus...They were extraordinary. They were brave, noble, worthy... I wish I could switch places with any of them, all of them... I’d dry my blood, burn my flesh, to bring them back. They deserved to be alive so much more than I do. Their lives mattered.”

“Your life matters to me, Weasley. », Draco was shocked with his own words. Candour in his world had always been a rarity.

« Don’t, Malfoy. Please, don’t. It is excruciating enough not being sufficiently brave to end it myself. I remember my family and realise that terminate this twinging ache would only cause them much more of it. I am a ghost, a spectral reflection of others’ desires... So, I hang by this thread...Wishing someone would cut it and let me go. » Ginny fell. All said, she waited for his verdict. She believed had chosen well: a judge with no fear of blood on his hands.

Thus, she waited for the clean cut.

«I’m not a good person. My stock of good advices has never been refilled. I just wish you saw yourself as I see you. I appreciate your whole self and, despite your persistence in denying me your company, I must say that it makes me glad knowing that you’re alive”. Ginny begged for cruel bluntness and to Draco's bewilderment, only honey escaped from his lips. The blonde man projected venom, but his heart had become so enamoured by the sound of her squeaky voice, that his mouth found no alternative than proclaiming balm for her bruises.

“Please...You are making this worse. » Draco stepped closer to her, taking her arms, pulling her up from the imaginary strings. Even though she breathed, her body felt lifeless. He then slid his hand through her jaw, hoping his body heat could reanimate her damp cheeks. «I can’t do it alone. I’m begging you.” Ginny didn’t fight his touch, she succumbed to it, resting her head on his palm. Her hands, meanwhile, held her wand close to his chest, handing it to him. Eyes closed. Mouth trembling. « Hate me again. You’ve done before. Trust me. It’s not that complicated. » Her voice was demanding, hoarse and hurtful.

Watching her like that stung him more than any Dementor at Azkaban had ever done.

«I’ve never hated you. Now, It’s unconceivable a life without you. I’ll act like a Malfoy and I’ll be selfish. I won’t let you go, because I want you with me. I don’t give a fuck about your family, or Potter. I need you and I won’t lose you» The blonde’s lips made a light twist upward on a subtle grin, desperately intending to inject some humour in her. She stared at him, stunned, searching for a comeback whilst trying to escape his embrace.

Contrary to her wishes, his words reignited a weak flame on her amber eyes. «Why can’t you just do one thing right? » He loosened his grip on her arms, reducing even more the distance between them. Draco then grabbed her wand and returned it to her right pocket.

Grief had deprived her from her ability to argue, so she rested one hand on his chest, closing it on a fist. In her mind, punching him looked like a sudden good idea. However, there was no ounce of stamina in her body or soul. Even her breathing was difficult as his face approached her own, lips only a few inches apart.

«If you wanted right, you should have asked Potter to do it.” Draco’s lips brushed hers lightly. Everything went on gently as he quickly moved them to her cheeks, absorbing some of her tears. Ginny relaxed to his touch, allowing his fingers to place a few strands from her hair behind her ear to clear the way to his own mouth. «You can’t be wasted, Ginny»