first fan fic ever. please dont hate on me too hard. this will eventually be a romancey story, but starts pretty angsty. you have been warned.

I do not own any of these characters (obviously) because if I did, I would be married to Ron Weasley, not Hermione.


I cannot tell you where I am. Its not that I don't want to tell you. Its not that at all. I wish I could. I wish I could tell you and have you swoop in and save me. I wish that I could be the one worthy of being saved this time. You have saved so many, but not me. Never me. I wish you would appear, and carry me off into the sunset, like in those fairy tales I pretended not to read. Those stories I pretended not to love. The ones where my prince would come and save me, and we would live happily ever after. I wish with all my heart that you would fix everything here. If only I could tell you… But, I can't.

I can't tell you, because I don't know. I don't know where I am. I don't know how I got here, or how long I have lay here, amongst the barely breathing bodies. I can feel my body deteriorating, slowly, painfully. I can feel the darkness seeping into my soul, breaking my spirit, blinding my eyes. The cold rain seeps in sometimes, but not often enough. The rain stings my eyes and the places where my skin has broken. The rain feels like bullets and shrapnel raining from the hell that I believe lies above, below, beside me.

The blood red rain falls from the bars. I cannot be sure what it is that stains the rain. Someone says that it is the blood of the fallen, the blood of the escaped, or the dead. Others try to explain the rust to me, how the rain creates it's own dye. To me, its all the same. Discarded, useless iron runs down on me. My face is stained with red and orange, not that it matters, not that I care. My pale, gaunt face hides all imperfections because I, by definition am imperfect.

My clothes billow on my bones. I am not made of much else these days. Bones, bones and a little skin. The shackles on my leg, the tattooed mark on my arm, they itch and burn my skin. They burn my soul. I am dirtier here than I have ever been before. But not because I lay motionless in the dust day after day, but because of the things I had to do to make it here.

Please come find me.

I'm lying under the crowded ceiling, staring at the lines that run from one side to the other. A series of small lines that must mark something, must mean something to someone. Who left these here? Was it me?

I cant remember.

I cannot tell you for sure why I am here. My memory fails to recall things for me. My memory betrays me like everyone I ever loved has. But I know it was bad. It had to have been bad. Terrible, soul crushing – bad. To have deserved this, to have asked for this, to have this, means I must have committed some crime so heinous, so heartbreakingly awful. To condemn someone to a life like this, is unthinkable. If only I could see the light again. If only I could see your face.

Save me.

Please save me.


I missed my alarm clock this morning somehow. But to be honest, I had nothing else to do today except lie in bed with Gin, so I wasn't too concerned. The sun streamed through my blinds and I reveled in the warm sunlight for a few moments as I gathered my wits about me to face the day.

I rolled over to snuggle in closer to Ginny, but her side of the bed was cold and empty. I lay there for a moment, just inhaling the smell of her shampoo. I sat up slowly feeling for my glasses and as I put them on I realized that the bathroom door was open. i swung my feet to the floor and padded over to the bathroom, after a quick glance I determined that Ginny was no where to be found. I slowly made my way downstairs stretching leisurely as I went.

As I rounded the corner into my kitchen I noticed a distinct lack of Ginny. Had she mentioned anything about going to work early? I went to pour myself a cup of coffee and on the pot, was a note from Ginny.

Dear Harry,

Unless you are completely blind, you will probably have noticed how we've grown apart over the years, how we lost all our fire, and passion. I am so sorry Harry. I love you so much, but that's just not enough anymore. I'm leaving you. Mother wants you to know that you are still welcome at the Burrow anytime.


I grabbed my coffee cup and the note and collapsed into my kitchen chair. I put my coffee down and dropped my head into my hands.




I feel so numb.

Is that normal?


There's got to be something wrong with Harry, but I cant quite put my finger on it. Every time I ask, he swears he's fine and I'm going batty. He swears I'm turning into a real Mrs. Weasley – that I'm finally living up to my name. But I can tell that he's lying to me, deflecting.

Ever since Ginny left he just sits and wallows in his self pity. He waits around, pining, as if he is waiting for her to come back – which is absolutely preposterous because he knows she won't. Harry made his mistakes, so Ginny left. It's nothing complicated. There was no huge blowout there was no dramatic falling out. No one cheated, no one was abused, they didn't even fight much. They just fell out of love.

She finally got what she deserved if you ask me. Finally found someone who could love her right - not that harry didn't love her, because he did. But not in the way that he should have. He kept her around, leading her on, all the while not knowing that he didn't love her the way he should have. He loved her as a sister, not as a lover, even someone as dense as him should have realized that. I wait for the day when I can finally explain to him what I mean, the day he meets someone who lights him on fire the way he deserves, someone who makes him the boyfriend, husband, man – that I know he can be. One day he will wake up and know that he wasn't really in love with her.

I swear to Merlin that man is increbibly dense sometimes.


So oblivious! Especially when feelings are concerned.

So thats chapter one. chapter two should be up in a few days :)