Broken Glass


She hasn’t been okay since they all died. All of them died in the war. You’d think the fates would have spared one out of six, but apparently one out of seven was they best they cared to do. And as if having every single one of her brothers die wasn’t enough, three days after the last funeral, her father took a killing curse in his wife’s stead. It didn’t do much good because she died that night anyway. The healers said she died from a broken heart. Reportedly, her last words were about having nothing let to live for. I assume the woman forgot she still had a living, breathing, and physically undamaged daughter to live for.


It was from then on that she became a mere shadow, nothing like the fire that once gave me the barest hint of warmth, and the slightest possibility of a brighter future.


Alright, so if you want to get bloody technical, I am quite well off, as I always have been. That is what happens you pass on the information that makes the Dark Lord’s downfall and demise possible. However, as bitter and regretful as I am to use something so hideously cliché, money really cannot buy you happiness.


She pushed everyone away, hiding deeper and deeper within herself. Before, when we had begun to form some type of friendship, she confided in me that she was broken, damaged by the event that transpired in her first year. I can’t honestly say that I blame her. Being possessed by anyone, let alone the darkest wizard this millennium has seen, would leave even the strongest of wizards slightly off kilter.


She was different though; so resilient. She fought with everything she had to repress any lingering darkness. I respected her, and there are very few people I will admit contempt for, let alone admiration. That’s why I took it so hard when she shoved me away as well. I don’t hold it against her. I’m not exactly the model of stability, nor the poster boy for goodness and light. I just never thought she’d crumble the way she did.


There was one person however, just one, that she didn’t find the need to exclude from her life. The War Hero was accepted with open, beseeching arms. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t wished it was me she’d come to for comfort. But really, weren’t they always made for each other? And if she’s happy, that’s all I should care. At least that’s all I would care if I wasn’t a selfish egocentric prick. I can’t help what I am, or better yet, I choose not to.


It is my selfishness that brings me here tonight, brings me to this damned ball. My selfishness and perhaps the slightest bit of masochism. I still enjoy seeing her, dressed for all the world like a princess, and smiling for the cameras, because that’s what everyone wants to see. The public craves her smiles like the latest designer drug, and even if I tried to deny it, I too am addicted. Yet, my addiction hasn’t been fed for over a year. The masses, they can get by with her fake, make-up enhanced smiles only because they can’t tell the damn difference. They are blind to the haunted, starved, look that seeps from her chocolate gaze. They are blind because it’s so much easier to deny the things you don’t want to see.


This girl, the one who glides around the floor, in the arms of the Hero, is nothing like the one who once was. She’s miserable, and she’s in pain, and he, just like everyone else, is either too blind to see it, or he just doesn’t care. Frankly, I’d pick the latter. If I’m selfish, he has become a thousand times worse. His only concern is that the people continue to worship him, and praise him as if he were a god, gracious enough to be slumming it down here with those of us who will never be worthy of his presence.



The bastard. He has her eating out of the palm of his hand as if he is the only thing keeping her alive. She thinks that she needs him, but she couldn’t be further from the truth. I could be him. I would be more than him, more than anything she could ever dream of, but I’d still never be what she deserves. There is not a soul alive who could be even remotely worthy of her, of what she was, and what she keeps locked behind a perfectly painted smile.


She looks beautiful tonight; her black dress highlighting every curve she’s ever had. Oh, but let’s not forget the luminous smile transfixed to her face. I wonder if it ever hurts to smile like that? Physically I mean, I know it’s killing her on the inside, even if I’m the only one who will acknowledge it. She crosses the floor with a practiced ease. She used to tell me that she wasn’t graceful, but I always knew she had it in her.


The Hero has her by the arm, holding her tightly and never letting her stray too far. It’s like he doesn’t want her out of his sight. Neither do I, but I have a strange feeling his obsession has more to do with control. She is, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman here and I just know he’d be willing to hex any bloke who even thought about coming up to her.


I have never liked him. There were times that I tolerated him because it was necessary, or because she asked me too, it’s the same thing really. But now, I like him even less. It could be because he has what I have always wanted. No, not fame, nor money, not even power. I have those things, but I would gladly trade them for the girl in his arms.


I often find myself painfully imagining her smiling for him when they’re home. Smiling and laughing only for him. See that, that’s the masochism shining through again. It kills me to think that he’s the only one she’ll smile for now. It also kills me to think that any day now, he’s going to pull some expensive diamond ring out of his pocket and ask that she marry him. Demand, sorry, the Hero doesn’t ask for anything now. Not that he has to, he gets whatever he wants, that’s no secret.


I watch her whisper in his ear, and then with some difficultly, pry herself away from him. He doesn’t look to happy to see her go, in fact, I wonder if I’m the only one paying enough attention to see the irritation and anger in his eyes? That can’t be normal. No one around seems to see anything wrong with what just happened. They’re too busy fawning over the Hero and tripping over themselves to get a better spot, one closer to him. It’s pathetic, really.


My eyes however, follow her of their own accord as she drifts towards the doors. By the times she’s opening them onto the blackened night sky my feet have found themselves walking towards her. Before I know what I’m doing, I’m standing beside her on the steps.


Startled, she turns towards me, informing me that I shouldn’t be here. That if he found me with her he’d… But she trails off as if she doesn’t want to talk about what he would do.


I don’t want to talk about him either. All I want to do is kiss her and hold her until she smiles again. I go to put my hand on her back but she flinches away from me. This isn’t right. None of this is. The girl I know wouldn’t be flinching in fear, or be worried about what anyone would say or do. What has he done to her?


She asks me not to touch her, her voice is so quite I can hardly hear it above the soft hum of the orchestra still wafting from the closed door. What the hell is going on?


As calmly as I can, I ask her to look at me, but she refuses with a shake of her head. I swear I can see the tears in her eyes.


Please, she begs, please go before he sees.


Before he sees? Before he sees what? I know that something is wrong, I can feel the pressure building in my chest as something I always had in the back of my mind drifts to the surface. Something I think I might have always known but didn’t want to admit.


Oh God. I’m just like the rest of them, too fucking blind to see because I didn’t want to.


I lift my wand from the inside of my robe, she shrinks back, absolutely terrified. She actually thinks I’m going to curse her. With a gentle flick, I remove the glamour charm that she’s been wearing so well. That’s when I see them.


Ugly, finger print bruises line the insides of her arms. They match the purple and green blotches on her face and back.


I’m going to kill him. I am going to murder him slowly and painfully for daring to lay one God damn finger on her perfect body. He did this to her. He did this, caused her to become a whispered shadow of what she was. He, when she came to him for healing, screwed her over so much more than she was before. And I swear I will make him pay for what he has done. I don’t care that he’s the Hero; I don’t care what he thinks he might be able to do to me. I will find a way to make him suffer.


She’s crying now, trying so hard to cover up the marks, telling me that she did them, that she fell down the stairs. Stairs my ass; if there were stairs involved, then he pushed her.


Speak of evil, and it falls upon you. Here he is now, in all his fucking glory, throwing the front doors opens demanding to know what she’s been doing. He doesn’t even see me as her grabs her and shakes her.


She’s trembling too badly to answer him, sobbing, and begging him to stop. I can’t take it any more. This ends now.


With more speed then I knew I had, I grab him, pulling him away from her. For a split second I stop breathing as she sinks to the ground in a heap. I want to help her, my body aches to cradle her in my arms, but that moments hesitation is all it takes for him to slam his fist into my ribs. I let go of his dress robes immediately. Who knew the Hero had such a right hook?


“Is that what you do to Ginny?” I shout at him, shoving him back as best I can. “Do you feel like a fucking man now? You asshole.”


He tells me not to talk about thing I wouldn’t understand. I can’t tell if he’s challenging my masculinity or telling me that I don’t understand what he does to Ginny, but at this point I don’t care. I have him pined up against the brick wall before he can stop me, my wand pressed into his chest. It would be so easy to just kill him. There is no doubt in my mind that I have the anger to do it right now, and I know for all I’m worth that I’d mean it. But he deserves so much worse than an easy painless death.


I lean in just close enough to tell him he better start making plans for an Azkaban cell, before letting him go. Without hesitation, or a glance back at him, I scoop Ginny up into my arms. As I begin to walk towards the Apparition point, I can hear him screaming. He’s telling me that I can’t do this, that he’s a God damn hero. Right. We’ll see how well that defense holds up in court.


She’s still shaking in my arms even as I try to soothe her hours later. I’ve offered to put her to bed at least six times, but she begs me not to let her go. She could ask anything of me right now and I’d do it, without hesitation, without limit.


Just as the sun is beginning to stain the horizon with its rose and ginger of early morning, she stops crying. Eyes still avoiding mine, she whispers softly.


“I never thought that it’d be me. I always thought I was too strong to end up like this.” With a an empty, shuttering sob of a laugh, she turns to me, her eyes showing me exactly how deeply he’s destroyed her. “I don’t want to be broken anymore.”


With those words, I know there is hope. I know that the real Ginny is still in there, buried deep inside the broken edges.


My mother once told me that if you’re going to fix a broken mirror, you better be prepared to cut yourself a hundred times. I never understood what she meant, not when she could just use magic to meld the glass seamlessly back together, but with Ginny’s broken heart lying in front of me I know. I doubt she will ever be the same, but I’m willing to bleed for her, willing to fight to help her piece back together the wonder she once was.

Author notes: A/N: Well, that’s that. Reviews are very much appreciated. I have discovered that I absolutely love writing in first person, especially with Draco as the speaker.

The End.
Pipperstorms is the author of 21 other stories.
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