isn't it delicate?

"what's that on your face?"
"mh?"
"there" Ginny points to the corner of Neville's brow, only having noticed the small scar as they eat breakfast in the great hall.
"new scar"
"how?"
"oh carrow"
"which one?"
"mrs" it's funny, she muses as she watched Neville shovel toast into his mouth unceremoniously, how quickly a war ages people, even the ones who aren't really fighting, how so suddenly her friend is all crooked frowns and small scars where there used to be childish chub and shining eyes. she must look the same she supposes, unintentionally glancing at the teachers table towards the Carrows who eat as if they belong there, as if it isn't an honour, as if they care.
"McGonngal told us to stop getting into trouble with them" that earns an eyebrow raise from Neville as he smiles at her like she has grown a second head.
'who are you and what have you done with Ginny?"
"piss off" she nudges his shoulder, hiding a smile.
"no seriously, you're the one who bribed the house elves to get her to eat the twin's sweets"
"yes but you're the one who manages to end up needing to go to the hospital wing twice a week" the topic itself is one that has been spoken about frequently, both feeling as though they need to help in some way, both unable to stand back and do nothing as hate and horror spread through the castle like a plague willing to infect anyone in it's way.
"she was teaching the first years the cruciatus curse" Neville looks down, hiding himself with a curtain of hair, as for Ginny, hatred swirls in her stomach the anger building everyday.
"it's sick, it's so fucking sick"
silence engulfs them, both too engrossed in their own thoughts to carry on with a conversation, to appear as if everything is fine. because it's not, and ginny fears it never will be. Her hand reaches for his and gives it a squeeze, trying to show him that it's ok, that she understands why he hates it so much.
"I hope you did something bloody good" that earns a small smile out of him, one she prides herself for.
"somehow managed to get Peeves to distract her and kidnapped the whole class."
"ah the perks of having Peeves like us this year." she says, secretly quite fond of the poltergeist for which she blames Fred and George, the ones that taught her to have such a scheming streak.
"yeah well, her detentions are getting worse."
"lets just hope the noseless git gets offed soon" she tries to keep it light, tries not to think about Hermione or Ron or
harry.
tries not to believe that it is hopeless, tries not to wonder where they are, if they are safe. If harry is ok. she is forced out of her musings by the eery feeling of being watched, when she lifts her head she finds her eyes meeting professor Snape's, his piercing gaze freezing her in place. He looks away sharply, but the uneasiness doesn't settle, and she still feels on edge as her and Neville, and what's left of the Gryffindors begin to make their way to classes.
-----------
Luna waits for her by the charms classroom, her blonde curls held back by her pink goggles that help her spot the nargles. Over the years, Ginny has become used to Luna's weirdness, she loves her openness and despite what it might seem like, Luna is very knowing and wise. "alright luna?" her bright blue eyes focus unsteadily on ginny, her face lighting up from seeing her friend, and Ginny's heart warms at the sight. they head into charms where professor flitwick waits to start the lesson. The day is going fine until in potions they are set new seats, and ginny is paired with Mulciber, the Slytherin quidditch captain. The way he looks at her, with an intense look as if to burn her identity into his memory starkly reminds her of tom, of whispers that hiss I know who you are. He makes her feel like a commodity and she hates it, hates with her every being. "where's your boyfriend?" his voice is cool and unfeeling, despite not looking her way she can tell he's mocking her, goading her into what she doesn't know but she stiffens all the same. Hogwarts is many things, but quiet is not one of them and the rumours and harsh comments of her character and who she is follow her around the corridors. It's as if every step, every breath she takes is proof of her insignificant existence, every move she makes is one more reason to add to list of why Harry Potter left her, why she never deserved him, why she was using him, why he left her for Hermione granger. her skin is beautiful, but her blood is as dirty as the clothes she wears. her laugh is pure gold, but her books are second hand and robes too shabby. her smile is honey, but her words are poison. she's brave, cool, strong and yet she is nothing but yet another Weasley, the youngest, the weakest. a girl. a slut, potter's whore. worthless. "if you are still annoyed that he put your dad in Azkaban, hate to break it to you but you actually won't be able to make him pay as I'm sure you believe you can, you won't be the one to make him fall"

"are you truly so stupid to have hope that that half blood will outdo the dark lord?" he scoffs, a cold sound that sounds nothing like the funny sound Ron would make any time a dig to Percy was handed out.
she doesn't want to think of Ron, because then she has to think of how much she misses him and his stupid lanky form, and his stupid self, and she has to remember that he is far, out of reach, far where she cannot reach him.
And harry, harry, a star, that shines so brightly for the world to see and yet he is untraceable, he is too far to reach and yet close enough to find in the diamond sky and make a wish on.
Mulciber is looking at her expectantly and suddenly she is back in the stuffy potions room, vapours of different colours sweetening the stench of a class of sweating pupils. she looks away from his face, and focuses of chopping the baneberry.

they stand as far from each other as one can, and yet she feels his presence, suffocating, looming, looming. her hands shake with the thought of looming, her thoughts always finding dark soulless pits that tell her she is ok, that she is fine, that she is alone, that she is his.
it's easy to feign sickness, Slughorn has grown fond of her since she has been part of the slug club, and she escapes from the room, from him ,him ,him. but she feels a different pair of blue, calculating eyes burn through her back and wonders if she will ever truly breath again.
she rests her head on the cool wall, gasping and gulping for air.
it's almost an unconscious decision to take the route that avoids the toilets now, something done without a thought, something that still churns her stomach at the thought.
how, she thinks desperately, how is she still so affected, when people like harry, good, strong harry have survived so much more, how can she still not dare touch a book she doesn't recognise?

Mulciber sits just an inch closer next lesson, a smile stretching his lips, one that doesn't reach his cold eyes, but instead that promises danger, promises destruction. A look that is too familiar it leaves her gasping for air the next time, and the next.