Abyss by estherbraga
29 years. Ginny’s head came to this number when she’d just finished her night shower before sleep. In her mind, she tried to figure out how to ignore what it meant: late. 29 opportunities, minus some few ones when she wasn’t actually conscious of her own humanity, to grow, to achieve, to reach for the stars (or whatever that meant), to accomplish, to fill up the gaps... 29 missings...
But she wasn’t going to miss the date that engraved on history how many losses for which she had held herself accountable.
And there she was, grumpily waking up whereas her mother yelled from the kitchen it was time to go to work. Since it was, after all, Ginny’s birthday, Molly restrained herself and her mother instincts to chastise Ginny for her immature behaviour. Every morning the Weasley’s matriarch complained how ridiculous it was to remind her adult daughter when to eat, sleep or wake-up to arrive at her job on time.
George usually received this kind of reprimand, but since Fred’s decease, he’d been forgiven more easily. It was comprehensible. Losing half of yourself and still opening a shop everyday was remarkable, no matter what time in the morning you executed it.
Ginny argued that she was doing what she had to do. There was no need to keep treating her like a child. Nevertheless, her mother insisted that she was late and sloppy. This way, ‘she would never thrive’. How could she, when instead of giving her best, Ginny’s offered the barely minimum? Even less.
Theories about giving up had been elaborated. How much potential she’s thrown away? What a promising young woman she was. How come she wasted her genius, an innate ability to learn and perform a myriad of spells and potions?
She didn’t know. All Ginny knew for sure was how she mourned her adolescent ambitions every birthday celebration she attended.
Fulfilled by gloom, the redhead arrived at her office. Opening her door, she was surprised by a loud explosion of multicoloured confetti accompanied by a handful of floating balloons that spelled "Happy Birthday!", changing every two seconds to her own name. Hermione, Ron, her dad and an awkward Harry waited for her reaction, all (well, except for Hermione, who reprimanded everyone for making a fuss in the bureau) wearing fun pointy hats and blowing birthday whistles.
Their joy was infectious and Ginny allowed herself to cheer up a little, throwing a large smile.
She thanked everyone, proclaiming the terrible cliché “You shouldn’t have done it”. They really shouldn’t, but it had been nice to receive unconditionally appreciation. She returned their affection with warm hugs.
Ron amicably joked about taking a day-off to celebrate and Hermione gave him a crass stare of unspoken disagreement. As if she would allow them to fool around when there was a ton of paperwork to assess.
That was their cue to part.
After some “Happy Birthday, Ginny! », everyone emptied the room, leaving her to the quiet mess they’d concocted. Later that night, they reminded, a small party would be thrown at Hogsmeade, to commemorate. “Great”, she thought. More awkward encounters. Exactly what she needed.
The routine continued with few complex tasks to perform. She looked around, gazing at the important wizards and witches’ frames that preceded her and fell a bit deeper on her chair. Then she turned to the clock on the wall. 11 a.m. One more day of underestimating the ‘honour’ of being Ginny Weasley. And it had just begun.
Now she felt ungrateful for how she underrated her friends and family’s caring. Even more after her reprehensive conduct toward them; especially at the night they’d granted her nothing but trust and affection. What she gave them in return? Betrayal.
Ginny detested being that person. The person who enjoyed an entire Quidditch match, laughing and cheering with Draco Malfoy on premium seats while her loved ones were worried to death about where she was. She’d exchanged her best friends for an evening side by side an old enemy.
Once more, she felt selfish. But at the time, trapped in that platonic flirt, Ginny immersed on a vortex of sad and exhilarating nostalgia. The sport’s magic entranced her and all she saw was Malfoy and the game. Reality was a postponable subject.
When the true world rearranged its orbit, Ginny locked eyes with Draco and said goodbye. The spell had been broken and she was to explain to everyone what happened.
As the fraud that she was, Ginny invented a sudden illness that would have had prevented her from attending the game. She was cautious, changing the subject every time someone intended to bring it up in front of her mother, who was, in fact, at home at the time. With brevity, all was forgotten. Others matches happened; hers and Draco’s was no longer relevant. Their secret a coin of no value.
Past the lovely party, the guilt came back to haunt her. Ginny then sunk even more on her seat, beating her head on the desk repeatedly. She was ready to self-flagellate once more when Draco appeared on the upper corner of the dark wood door.
He smirked whilst analysing her surroundings. Ginny’s still hadn’t cleaned the small celebration’s remainders. At the moment, it looked a little more depressing: the balloons’ spells started to fade and there were few letters missing.
« I guess congratulations are in order », Malfoy cheerfully enunciated as he entered the room, picking-up some confetti from the ground. « For the looks of the decoration, I assume I arrived too late”. Ginny discretely rubbed her forehead as a way to conceal possible bruises. She returned to gather some papers, faking normality out of her little tantrum.
“You are not late. My mom said I was born at noon, and, after six kids, she only remembers feeling hungry... », he quietly listened, almost laughing at her family memories of self-depreciation. « Anyway, you are actually a few minutes early to my transformation into a year older loser. Fantastic, isn’t it? »
« First, spare me your Weasley hillbilly tales. Second, I was a 29-year-old myself. Not a loser, off course. In fact, I was a tremendous success. Didn’t I tell you? I was back in London, drinking some butterbeer alone while some paparazzi gladly took my picture to prove to the Wizarding World that my trajectory as a Death Eater led me to doom and loneliness. I don’t remember the exact words, but the headlines included ‘choke on Devil’s Cake, Malfoy’. Clever, I might add. »
Ginny lifted her face to better absorb his tragic comedy.
“At least you were the cover of The Daily Prophet that day. »
«Rita Skeeter and her dumb assistants could have done much better. I mean. I’m 29, with an envied criminal record and even after all their attempts to make me look bad, I’m still one of the most desirable bachelors of this country»
« You are conceited, aren’t you, Malfoy? It must be great to have your self-esteem. »
« When you are this good-looking, it’s not that difficult. »
After those silly comments, Ginny freely laughed, hard. Draco had this power over her. He supposedly cared too little about what people thought about him; he was at the same time a genius and defenceless. All with some elegance that made her lighter as well as a little jealous.
Wondering how his presence and humour had weirdly brightened her days, she made a hasty decision, not quite reflecting about the consequences: « Well, you could take your handsome-self to my birthday gathering tonight.”
When his eyebrows raised and eyes widened, Ginny realised how insane her proposition was.
‘Okay. There was definitely a way out’. She still could obliviate him, or punch him. Either would be better than the horrible shame that instantly overwhelmed her.
Draco was taken utterly and completely by surprise at her invitation. Albeit their amazingly good interaction alone, he knew that Weasleys and Malfoys’ did not coexist peacefully. Keeping distance was self-defence. Beneficial for both sides. An old wizard, William Shakespeare, terribly mistaken for a muggle, once exemplified with a deadly ending how brutal an enemies get together could become. This wasn’t worth the risk.
It would be rude to decline, ‘though. But since when he cared that much about being rude?
Well, since her whole body began to shiver and search for a safe resort under the table before her. Ginny held her wand with fingers moving in a convulsion. The redhead tried to erase what she’d just said seemingly by force. Regret stamped all over her face.
Hair and demeanour enrubesced, suddenly, her entirely self had become monochromatically red. Shockingly, it kind of suited her.
« You-don’t-have-to-go...off-course-not... If-you-don’t-want-to...» Ginny babbled with an incredible speed, breaking the long silence that hovered them. Unbearable uneasiness that actually lasted no more than a few seconds.
The young witch stood up on a rampant, stifled in her minuscule perimeter, desperate to increase the distance between the two. With just one step towards her and her confusing pacing, back and forth, Draco dismantled her plan to escape, even metaphysically.
« I’ll probably finish some reports tonight. Your father’s orders. And Granger’s. Since your whole family and friends outrank me, they’ll overload me with stupid errands, so they could gloat for leaving early as I stand here, doing their dirty work. It’s hard to be a proletarian, you know”
Both finally exhaled. Draco’s pathetic speech worked well enough so the two could quickly pretend nothing had happened. Their breathing steadied as the they interchanged relieved glances, gathering some courage to speak again.
Ginny was the one to initiate their recovery. She pushed her small figure from the wall as to reach momentum to approach him once more and placed her wand on the desk, now, only armed with crumbs of bravery. «Well, it would have been great having you there: as my solo blue-collar fellow of the Ministry. » He contemplated the idea of touching her upper arm, or hand. Instead, he offered her a subtle smile, savouring her features like it was the last time he would see them.
« Blue is not my colour, Weasley. ‘Though after so much time with your family, I might start wearing some hand-me-downs, or appreciating canned ham... If I try hard enough, I’ll fit in... » Both chuckled, defeatedly fighting their inner battle against staring at each other until the clock’s cuckoo’s sound reverberated throughout the building.
12 p.m.
Ginny immediately awoke, remembering and quickly explaining she should be meeting Hermione for lunch. Draco then stepped aside, exiting the office as she grabbed her things before leaving.
« Perfectly on time. », Ginny’s couldn’t hide her confusion whereas Draco watched her eyebrows lift, questioning what could had he possibly meant. He retributed her bafflement with a teasing silence, resuming his way out. When she finally gave up solving his dumb puzzles, he turned around, meeting her gaze halfway. He pointed at the clock while enunciating from afar, for only her to hear: « Happy Birthday, Weasley »
Something snapped inside her. Along with an old balloon, a weak smile popped from her lips.
But she wasn’t going to miss the date that engraved on history how many losses for which she had held herself accountable.
And there she was, grumpily waking up whereas her mother yelled from the kitchen it was time to go to work. Since it was, after all, Ginny’s birthday, Molly restrained herself and her mother instincts to chastise Ginny for her immature behaviour. Every morning the Weasley’s matriarch complained how ridiculous it was to remind her adult daughter when to eat, sleep or wake-up to arrive at her job on time.
George usually received this kind of reprimand, but since Fred’s decease, he’d been forgiven more easily. It was comprehensible. Losing half of yourself and still opening a shop everyday was remarkable, no matter what time in the morning you executed it.
Ginny argued that she was doing what she had to do. There was no need to keep treating her like a child. Nevertheless, her mother insisted that she was late and sloppy. This way, ‘she would never thrive’. How could she, when instead of giving her best, Ginny’s offered the barely minimum? Even less.
Theories about giving up had been elaborated. How much potential she’s thrown away? What a promising young woman she was. How come she wasted her genius, an innate ability to learn and perform a myriad of spells and potions?
She didn’t know. All Ginny knew for sure was how she mourned her adolescent ambitions every birthday celebration she attended.
Fulfilled by gloom, the redhead arrived at her office. Opening her door, she was surprised by a loud explosion of multicoloured confetti accompanied by a handful of floating balloons that spelled "Happy Birthday!", changing every two seconds to her own name. Hermione, Ron, her dad and an awkward Harry waited for her reaction, all (well, except for Hermione, who reprimanded everyone for making a fuss in the bureau) wearing fun pointy hats and blowing birthday whistles.
Their joy was infectious and Ginny allowed herself to cheer up a little, throwing a large smile.
She thanked everyone, proclaiming the terrible cliché “You shouldn’t have done it”. They really shouldn’t, but it had been nice to receive unconditionally appreciation. She returned their affection with warm hugs.
Ron amicably joked about taking a day-off to celebrate and Hermione gave him a crass stare of unspoken disagreement. As if she would allow them to fool around when there was a ton of paperwork to assess.
That was their cue to part.
After some “Happy Birthday, Ginny! », everyone emptied the room, leaving her to the quiet mess they’d concocted. Later that night, they reminded, a small party would be thrown at Hogsmeade, to commemorate. “Great”, she thought. More awkward encounters. Exactly what she needed.
The routine continued with few complex tasks to perform. She looked around, gazing at the important wizards and witches’ frames that preceded her and fell a bit deeper on her chair. Then she turned to the clock on the wall. 11 a.m. One more day of underestimating the ‘honour’ of being Ginny Weasley. And it had just begun.
Now she felt ungrateful for how she underrated her friends and family’s caring. Even more after her reprehensive conduct toward them; especially at the night they’d granted her nothing but trust and affection. What she gave them in return? Betrayal.
Ginny detested being that person. The person who enjoyed an entire Quidditch match, laughing and cheering with Draco Malfoy on premium seats while her loved ones were worried to death about where she was. She’d exchanged her best friends for an evening side by side an old enemy.
Once more, she felt selfish. But at the time, trapped in that platonic flirt, Ginny immersed on a vortex of sad and exhilarating nostalgia. The sport’s magic entranced her and all she saw was Malfoy and the game. Reality was a postponable subject.
When the true world rearranged its orbit, Ginny locked eyes with Draco and said goodbye. The spell had been broken and she was to explain to everyone what happened.
As the fraud that she was, Ginny invented a sudden illness that would have had prevented her from attending the game. She was cautious, changing the subject every time someone intended to bring it up in front of her mother, who was, in fact, at home at the time. With brevity, all was forgotten. Others matches happened; hers and Draco’s was no longer relevant. Their secret a coin of no value.
Past the lovely party, the guilt came back to haunt her. Ginny then sunk even more on her seat, beating her head on the desk repeatedly. She was ready to self-flagellate once more when Draco appeared on the upper corner of the dark wood door.
He smirked whilst analysing her surroundings. Ginny’s still hadn’t cleaned the small celebration’s remainders. At the moment, it looked a little more depressing: the balloons’ spells started to fade and there were few letters missing.
« I guess congratulations are in order », Malfoy cheerfully enunciated as he entered the room, picking-up some confetti from the ground. « For the looks of the decoration, I assume I arrived too late”. Ginny discretely rubbed her forehead as a way to conceal possible bruises. She returned to gather some papers, faking normality out of her little tantrum.
“You are not late. My mom said I was born at noon, and, after six kids, she only remembers feeling hungry... », he quietly listened, almost laughing at her family memories of self-depreciation. « Anyway, you are actually a few minutes early to my transformation into a year older loser. Fantastic, isn’t it? »
« First, spare me your Weasley hillbilly tales. Second, I was a 29-year-old myself. Not a loser, off course. In fact, I was a tremendous success. Didn’t I tell you? I was back in London, drinking some butterbeer alone while some paparazzi gladly took my picture to prove to the Wizarding World that my trajectory as a Death Eater led me to doom and loneliness. I don’t remember the exact words, but the headlines included ‘choke on Devil’s Cake, Malfoy’. Clever, I might add. »
Ginny lifted her face to better absorb his tragic comedy.
“At least you were the cover of The Daily Prophet that day. »
«Rita Skeeter and her dumb assistants could have done much better. I mean. I’m 29, with an envied criminal record and even after all their attempts to make me look bad, I’m still one of the most desirable bachelors of this country»
« You are conceited, aren’t you, Malfoy? It must be great to have your self-esteem. »
« When you are this good-looking, it’s not that difficult. »
After those silly comments, Ginny freely laughed, hard. Draco had this power over her. He supposedly cared too little about what people thought about him; he was at the same time a genius and defenceless. All with some elegance that made her lighter as well as a little jealous.
Wondering how his presence and humour had weirdly brightened her days, she made a hasty decision, not quite reflecting about the consequences: « Well, you could take your handsome-self to my birthday gathering tonight.”
When his eyebrows raised and eyes widened, Ginny realised how insane her proposition was.
‘Okay. There was definitely a way out’. She still could obliviate him, or punch him. Either would be better than the horrible shame that instantly overwhelmed her.
Draco was taken utterly and completely by surprise at her invitation. Albeit their amazingly good interaction alone, he knew that Weasleys and Malfoys’ did not coexist peacefully. Keeping distance was self-defence. Beneficial for both sides. An old wizard, William Shakespeare, terribly mistaken for a muggle, once exemplified with a deadly ending how brutal an enemies get together could become. This wasn’t worth the risk.
It would be rude to decline, ‘though. But since when he cared that much about being rude?
Well, since her whole body began to shiver and search for a safe resort under the table before her. Ginny held her wand with fingers moving in a convulsion. The redhead tried to erase what she’d just said seemingly by force. Regret stamped all over her face.
Hair and demeanour enrubesced, suddenly, her entirely self had become monochromatically red. Shockingly, it kind of suited her.
« You-don’t-have-to-go...off-course-not... If-you-don’t-want-to...» Ginny babbled with an incredible speed, breaking the long silence that hovered them. Unbearable uneasiness that actually lasted no more than a few seconds.
The young witch stood up on a rampant, stifled in her minuscule perimeter, desperate to increase the distance between the two. With just one step towards her and her confusing pacing, back and forth, Draco dismantled her plan to escape, even metaphysically.
« I’ll probably finish some reports tonight. Your father’s orders. And Granger’s. Since your whole family and friends outrank me, they’ll overload me with stupid errands, so they could gloat for leaving early as I stand here, doing their dirty work. It’s hard to be a proletarian, you know”
Both finally exhaled. Draco’s pathetic speech worked well enough so the two could quickly pretend nothing had happened. Their breathing steadied as the they interchanged relieved glances, gathering some courage to speak again.
Ginny was the one to initiate their recovery. She pushed her small figure from the wall as to reach momentum to approach him once more and placed her wand on the desk, now, only armed with crumbs of bravery. «Well, it would have been great having you there: as my solo blue-collar fellow of the Ministry. » He contemplated the idea of touching her upper arm, or hand. Instead, he offered her a subtle smile, savouring her features like it was the last time he would see them.
« Blue is not my colour, Weasley. ‘Though after so much time with your family, I might start wearing some hand-me-downs, or appreciating canned ham... If I try hard enough, I’ll fit in... » Both chuckled, defeatedly fighting their inner battle against staring at each other until the clock’s cuckoo’s sound reverberated throughout the building.
12 p.m.
Ginny immediately awoke, remembering and quickly explaining she should be meeting Hermione for lunch. Draco then stepped aside, exiting the office as she grabbed her things before leaving.
« Perfectly on time. », Ginny’s couldn’t hide her confusion whereas Draco watched her eyebrows lift, questioning what could had he possibly meant. He retributed her bafflement with a teasing silence, resuming his way out. When she finally gave up solving his dumb puzzles, he turned around, meeting her gaze halfway. He pointed at the clock while enunciating from afar, for only her to hear: « Happy Birthday, Weasley »
Something snapped inside her. Along with an old balloon, a weak smile popped from her lips.
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