Voices in my head, January 3.0
Title: Voices in my head
Summary: A young witch tries to sort out her feelings, and say that thing she doesn't want to hear
Characters/Pairings: Ginny Weasley, Draco Malfoy, the Weasley Family + Harry + Hermione too
Genre: Humor, romance
Beta: Nonce
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 but it's convoluted. It's supposed to be the thoughts of someone and we all know we rarely have nicely organised thoughts...
Medium: Words!
Word Count: 1128
Can the Order post to Tumblr?: Yes
If yes, your Tumblr username: tiramisu-misu
I know it’s the last thing you want to hear, but the truth is…
What is it, what is it? I ask myself, like a mad woman, looking at my reflection in the mirror.
I feel like I should be having this conversation, this talk with myself, me and I and the whole others such as Ego and ... Okay, I've run out of ways to say "I". “Je”! I can say “Je”! Thank you Fleur for that one.
I shake my head, and wipe the red hair out of my face, before looking again in the mirror. I look... dreadful. I shouldn't be surprised, but I am. This is a magical mirror, it could do something to boost my ego.
As I often do when I'm having these talks with myself, I am reminded of my first year at Hogwarts, and the unwanted head fellow who stuck with me. Bloody ruddy Voldemort. Or Tom. For some reason, I always think of him as Tom, like he was not the monster he was later.
Yeah, I'm a bit naive.
And a bit in love with monsters...
Get a grip, get a grip! I tell myself as I feel my cheeks burning. Malfoy is not a monster. He's just... misguided, or he used to be.
And I'm sort of a monster too, when you think of it. Not in the "red hair is unnatural" way, though I would love to jinx all the idiots who came up with that idiom and idea, but I am not the girl they think I am. Poor Momma, and Dad, if they knew the thoughts I entertain....
I blush again, and curse my Weasley blood. If my parents knew the thoughts I entertained, I would be locked in a convent, somewhere with muggles, and my folks would want me to get the whole therapy Hermione once mentioned, the one with the electricity flowing through your brain, and the punctured brain "lobotomy is way too nice a word for poking a hole in someone's brain) and cold bathes etc....
A hot bath sounds nice....
Get a grip, get a grip!
I move away from the mirror and take a look around me. I'm not fooling myself, I know the reason I stopped looking in the mirror is because I don't recognize the chick staring back at me, but I'm not ready to start analysing who I am and what I am, if I am a what at all...
Am I a what? I was possessed, much like a cupboard by a boggart...
And Tom would be my boggart?
Never mind what I said before, I changed my mind, bring on the lobotomy, it's way too crowded in that brain of mine. "Je" and "Ego" definitely shouldn't have joined us, I'm getting overwhelmed by all those people, all those voices...
I think of the Burrow, and I wish I could go back, and be a little girl, protected by her brothers (all of them, I miss you Fred, so much...). Wouldn't it be nice to just be us, the Weasleys, with Harry Potter and Hermione Granger? Just us? No one else, especially no ferret...
And there he is again. When Crouch Jr changed him into a ferret, he must have found his animagus form or something. He's just like a ferret, always running, uncatchable, running around my brain, making me think that this it, that I've reached my breaking point. I don't want to think of him. Yet, here I am, and guess what? He's there too, on my mind, as always, and I hate him.
But I don't. It's sort of the problem.
Sort of, my arse. It's a problem, or maybe the problem, or THE problem, all capitals on that the.
I breathe in and out, and again. I keep on thinking I've lost it, or that I'm so beyond repair, nothing can break me. I survived the Carrows. Hell, I even put up a fight. What kind of crazy person does that? This crazy person! I think, pointing at myself, like someone is in my flat and listening to my inner monologue.
I'm not broken, or I don't want to be. I'm not a doll, thought my beloved family tried to turn me into one for years and years. I'm not a broken doll, I'm just a girl. A woman, I correct myself. When you reach your mid-twenties, you have to stop being a girl, right? It's like this unwritten rule of the many ways life will suck forever and ever....
I'm a grown up woman, and I need to remember it. Heaven knows so many people try to make me feel like the first year student I once was.
Not him though... When he talks to me, even when he mocks me, or insults me, he had no pity for the little girl some people still see when they look me in the eyes. He just sees me, whoever that is. Hell, if he knows who that woman is, I'd love an owl, and a note letting me know what he sees, because I am lost. Even more lost than that time we lost the Snitch for almost 3 days and I refused to leave my post, until I was giggling, exhausted, famished and getting dumber by the minute.
I feel like I'm always trying to chase myself, trying to define who I am, but I just don't get there. I'm a Weasley, I’ve got red hair. I've got boobs, much to my brothers' sadness (did they expect me to turn into a boy after a while? When I grew boobs and became more feminine, you would have thought they were growing boobs too, and losing themselves).
I can't help but laugh thinking about Percy with a nice bosom, but I soon stop. I know they just wanted me to be their younger sister forever. I will always be, I just changed. I grew up, and it sucks.
I used to be able to get away with so many things, and now I just can't. I don't even give myself a free pass anymore. He doesn't either.
So I take a long breathe, and go back to looking at that chick in the mirror, sporting my face, and my body, and my mother's eyes.
"Hey Ginny," I say out loud. "I know it's probably the last thing you want to hear but... You're sort of into Draco Malfoy. In a mad way. You're madly into him, and the way he doesn't think you're little Ginny Weasley. Oh God."
I feel sick. The truth will set you free, they say. Bunch of liars.
Now I have to deal with the consequences of this admission I never should have uttered out loud.
Ash/Slytherin/38 points (if the calculator didn't mess with me)
Summary: A young witch tries to sort out her feelings, and say that thing she doesn't want to hear
Characters/Pairings: Ginny Weasley, Draco Malfoy, the Weasley Family + Harry + Hermione too
Genre: Humor, romance
Beta: Nonce
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 but it's convoluted. It's supposed to be the thoughts of someone and we all know we rarely have nicely organised thoughts...
Medium: Words!
Word Count: 1128
Can the Order post to Tumblr?: Yes
If yes, your Tumblr username: tiramisu-misu
I know it’s the last thing you want to hear, but the truth is…
What is it, what is it? I ask myself, like a mad woman, looking at my reflection in the mirror.
I feel like I should be having this conversation, this talk with myself, me and I and the whole others such as Ego and ... Okay, I've run out of ways to say "I". “Je”! I can say “Je”! Thank you Fleur for that one.
I shake my head, and wipe the red hair out of my face, before looking again in the mirror. I look... dreadful. I shouldn't be surprised, but I am. This is a magical mirror, it could do something to boost my ego.
As I often do when I'm having these talks with myself, I am reminded of my first year at Hogwarts, and the unwanted head fellow who stuck with me. Bloody ruddy Voldemort. Or Tom. For some reason, I always think of him as Tom, like he was not the monster he was later.
Yeah, I'm a bit naive.
And a bit in love with monsters...
Get a grip, get a grip! I tell myself as I feel my cheeks burning. Malfoy is not a monster. He's just... misguided, or he used to be.
And I'm sort of a monster too, when you think of it. Not in the "red hair is unnatural" way, though I would love to jinx all the idiots who came up with that idiom and idea, but I am not the girl they think I am. Poor Momma, and Dad, if they knew the thoughts I entertain....
I blush again, and curse my Weasley blood. If my parents knew the thoughts I entertained, I would be locked in a convent, somewhere with muggles, and my folks would want me to get the whole therapy Hermione once mentioned, the one with the electricity flowing through your brain, and the punctured brain "lobotomy is way too nice a word for poking a hole in someone's brain) and cold bathes etc....
A hot bath sounds nice....
Get a grip, get a grip!
I move away from the mirror and take a look around me. I'm not fooling myself, I know the reason I stopped looking in the mirror is because I don't recognize the chick staring back at me, but I'm not ready to start analysing who I am and what I am, if I am a what at all...
Am I a what? I was possessed, much like a cupboard by a boggart...
And Tom would be my boggart?
Never mind what I said before, I changed my mind, bring on the lobotomy, it's way too crowded in that brain of mine. "Je" and "Ego" definitely shouldn't have joined us, I'm getting overwhelmed by all those people, all those voices...
I think of the Burrow, and I wish I could go back, and be a little girl, protected by her brothers (all of them, I miss you Fred, so much...). Wouldn't it be nice to just be us, the Weasleys, with Harry Potter and Hermione Granger? Just us? No one else, especially no ferret...
And there he is again. When Crouch Jr changed him into a ferret, he must have found his animagus form or something. He's just like a ferret, always running, uncatchable, running around my brain, making me think that this it, that I've reached my breaking point. I don't want to think of him. Yet, here I am, and guess what? He's there too, on my mind, as always, and I hate him.
But I don't. It's sort of the problem.
Sort of, my arse. It's a problem, or maybe the problem, or THE problem, all capitals on that the.
I breathe in and out, and again. I keep on thinking I've lost it, or that I'm so beyond repair, nothing can break me. I survived the Carrows. Hell, I even put up a fight. What kind of crazy person does that? This crazy person! I think, pointing at myself, like someone is in my flat and listening to my inner monologue.
I'm not broken, or I don't want to be. I'm not a doll, thought my beloved family tried to turn me into one for years and years. I'm not a broken doll, I'm just a girl. A woman, I correct myself. When you reach your mid-twenties, you have to stop being a girl, right? It's like this unwritten rule of the many ways life will suck forever and ever....
I'm a grown up woman, and I need to remember it. Heaven knows so many people try to make me feel like the first year student I once was.
Not him though... When he talks to me, even when he mocks me, or insults me, he had no pity for the little girl some people still see when they look me in the eyes. He just sees me, whoever that is. Hell, if he knows who that woman is, I'd love an owl, and a note letting me know what he sees, because I am lost. Even more lost than that time we lost the Snitch for almost 3 days and I refused to leave my post, until I was giggling, exhausted, famished and getting dumber by the minute.
I feel like I'm always trying to chase myself, trying to define who I am, but I just don't get there. I'm a Weasley, I’ve got red hair. I've got boobs, much to my brothers' sadness (did they expect me to turn into a boy after a while? When I grew boobs and became more feminine, you would have thought they were growing boobs too, and losing themselves).
I can't help but laugh thinking about Percy with a nice bosom, but I soon stop. I know they just wanted me to be their younger sister forever. I will always be, I just changed. I grew up, and it sucks.
I used to be able to get away with so many things, and now I just can't. I don't even give myself a free pass anymore. He doesn't either.
So I take a long breathe, and go back to looking at that chick in the mirror, sporting my face, and my body, and my mother's eyes.
"Hey Ginny," I say out loud. "I know it's probably the last thing you want to hear but... You're sort of into Draco Malfoy. In a mad way. You're madly into him, and the way he doesn't think you're little Ginny Weasley. Oh God."
I feel sick. The truth will set you free, they say. Bunch of liars.
Now I have to deal with the consequences of this admission I never should have uttered out loud.
Ash/Slytherin/38 points (if the calculator didn't mess with me)