Damaged Goods

Rating: T

Description: Everyone was damaged by the war, and this is a few character's lives after the war.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I do, howver, own a beautiful, brand new copy of The Casual Vacancy.

Warnings: This doesn't exactly fit in with the M rating, but I'd say it definetely leans that way. Contains hints of rape and bad language.

A/N: I was drunk, this came to me, it's half three in the fucking morning. I know there's not much dialogue yet, but it will get there! Eventually... Enjoy, leave a review, yada yada. On with the story!


"Just tell him I can't fucking go," said Ginny Weasely, 22, wearily, as she blew a puff of smoke into her PA's face. His terrified expression almost stirred something inside her. It might have been pity. But it was only almost surfaced, before she quickly repressed it. The fuck use were emotions anyway? Pain and anguish and suffering... She had seen it all. And it all hated her.

One visit to the office she had in Diagon Alley was enough to convince anyone that miss Weasley was well off. On the walls surrounding her mahogany writing desk were framed Orders of Merlin, first class no less, certificates of excellence in OWL's and NEWT's as well as for many Quidditch championships she had won since turning 17 and immediately being signed on for the Holyhead Harpies and, consequentually, the England Quidditch team. A trophy from the 2002 Quidditch World Cup stood proudly on a shelf, along with a photo of the team. A thin layer of dust covered them both. But despite all this, she was obviously unhappy.

Ginny's PA (whose name is Declan, and would be happy as anybody's PA, that is, anyone other than a Weasley's) made a hurried retreat. Ginny could hear his complaining all the way down the staircase to the enterance hall. He was a nice guy when he started working for her, but she had worn him down, and turned his youthful face into one lined and surrounded by what once was blonde hair, but no was beginning to grey.

The visitor Ginny was so keen to get rid of was her fiance, mister Harry Potter himself. Harry Potter, who had \ll too often compared her similarity to his dead mother's, Harry Potter, who reminded her so much of Fred, Harry Potter, who she once thought she had so much in common with. Harry Potter... Who she felt she didn't even know anymore. Who she sometimes thought she hated.

The Boy Who Lived? More like the boy who didn't live. He moped around Grimauld place half the time, talking to Kreacher and refusing to see anyone but Hermione and Ron. Except, of course, when he wanted a booty call. But then, that was perfectly acceptable. As his fiancee, it didn't do to have him worry over her once. Just that he was sexually satisfied at least once a week. She hated to admit it at first, but gradually she realised that after each session she felt violated. She felt physically ill when she invisioned his hands touching her body...

A shudder passed through her. No she most certainly would not attend a charity ball with him. Besides, she was far to busy.

Ginny glanced to her desk, and almost laughed at herself. I say almost as that would imply she had anything close to human emotion left, although the idea that she was busy in any way, shape or form was almost funny to her. What did she do? Fly a broomstick. What time of the year was it? Out of season. She scowled at the ceiling. Why did it mock her?

Painted onto the ceiling was herself, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Luna and Neville. They were linked arm in arm and were laughing. It was painted by Luna four years ago. Four much happier years ago.


Five o'clock rolled around, and Ginny left her office. Luna was waiting outside with a flask of warm butterbeer and a hug like she had for the past four years. And, like every other day before it, Ginny smiled at Luna politely, and turned down the offer of both butterbeer and hug, before the two withches walked down the alley to the Leaky Cauldron.

"How was your day?" asked Ginny, stiffly.

"It was enyoyable, thank you for asking. How was yours?" responded Luna. This exhange happened every day, and there was nothing new about it. Luna was starting to get used to her friends less flirty and fun side by now. Ginny usually replied with a curt 'fine, thanks'. It was, therefore, to Luna's horror, dismay and a slight gladness that Ginny sobbed once, before continuing;

"Fine, thanks."

At least it's progress,thought Luna. At least we're getting somewhere. Ginny might come back soon.

The two witches parted ways at the exit to the pub in muggle London, Ginny to her flat, and Luna to the Burrow, where she had been asked to visit for dinner. So had Ginny, but, as with the previous four years, she had said no.


Ginny's flat had the same air as her office, although a lot more messy. There was no cleaner here to dust and pick up clothes off the ground. Her mud splattered Quidditch kit lay strewn across the ground. She struggled to remember the last time she had flown in it. Maybe a month ago? She didn't know.

An owl was on her table. She sat on a chair and looked at it wearily. She recognised the markings around the eyes and took it to be Harry's bird. It held its leg out for her to take the note, and hooted indignantly. The owl – Hero? Bianca? Apollo? - didn't like her. Ginny unfastened the note, and the owl – Hades? Juno? - flew off, scattering letters everywhere.

The last thing Ginny wanted was to read a letter from her bloody fiance, but she didn't want to keep him waiting. She ripped open the seal, and read the contents, disgusted by what she was seeing.


I want you here at half eleven tonight. On the dot. And I want you to participate as well. It feels like I'm fucking a corpse. Although with how dead you are inside, it's probably no surprise, slag.

I want you to be in costume for me. Something sexy. I didn't appreciate you coming as me last time, despite how flattering it was. I wanna see that tight ass of yours and plenty of boob.

Waiting and hard


She felt physically sick. Especially when she considered the letters.


Your Owner Harry.

He owned her. She was terrified of him, but he owned her.

As she sat in the corner of the room, rocking backwards and forwards in fear, maybe Ginny Weasley had some emotion left inside her. Although to see her leavean hour later, you'd believe pigs would fly. But this is the wizarding world, and anything can happen.