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Yellow Brick Road

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This story is No. 2 in the series "Scars". You may wish to read the series introduction and the preceeding stories first.

Summary: The 'Scars' series. Summary: Everyone has a journey to make.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Harry Potter > Dawn-CenterednicowaFR131016,68021814,37730 Nov 0616 Jan 07Yes

Wake up!

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, its the property of one JK Rowling.

AN: Curse words below. Don't say I didn't warn you. (One word, repeated twice, nothing drastic.)

Ginny Weasley, Journal Entry

Its been three weeks. Three weeks since the funeral and Ron is still at home. I don't know what to do, how to help. Mum took me home from school yesterday just to see if he would respond to me, we were always so close growing up, the two youngest. It's just... He's so closed off. He doesn't even move around that much.

Bed, chair by the fireplace, bathroom, chair, bed. And the only reason he gets out of bed is because Mum drags him out of it. It's beginning to feel like he might as well have died that day as well.

He hardly eats, he's lost so much weight now he looks like a walking skeleton, only without the walking bit. Mum can only get him to eat a few mouthfuls before he's lost interest and ignores her pleas for him to eat just a little bit more. Pleading with him like he's a baby again and he won't eat for Mummy.

He's just given up.

Passive suicide.

Mum's tried to get him to talk, open up a bit and maybe he'd feel better. But he just stares at her and she leaves him alone. She can't stand looking at those unfamiliar eyes sitting in Ron's face. They're the same colour, the same earthy brown, but it's like all life has leached out of them.

It's like he's gone. Like he got up and left one day and forgot to take his body.

He's breathing but not living.

The light is on but nobody's home. Maybe if Hermione was here she'd be ablt to get through to him. But she's not here and Mum's all out of ideas. Dad was never good at these things.

Something has to be done.

Someone has to do something.

Looks like it's up to me.


Ginny put down the diary, her journal, she calls it because the word 'diary' hurt too much. Too much a reminder of him to be friendly. The fact that she writes at all is a testament to her strength.

At least that's what her family say. But they don't know the whole truth.

They don't know the nights spent crying into her pillow or waking from nightmares knowing that there was someone in the darkness waiting to hold you till the shudders left your body and you could feel warm again. Or the hand that held hers when she couldn't sleep for fear of more nightmares. Tho one who made her a cup of hot chocolate in the kitchen when even laying in her bedroom was too hard. Sitting talking keeping the darkness at bay for her.

She swallowed against the memories. Even now, more than three years later, it still chilled something deep inside her to think of that time of her life.

He helped her when she needed him and now she would return the favour.


Ron was sitting by the kitchen fireplace when she walked in, like usual. His face was turned to the fire, staring unseeing at the dancing flames.

Mrs Weasley always had the fire going now, even thought the warmth of the summer had not yet faded away. It was lit to heat something colder than the weather.

Mrs Weasley was baking and chattering, to herself since Ron couldn't, wouldn't, listen.

Ginny stood in the doorway watching them for a moment. Ron, so far away it seemed like nothing could touch him. Her mother doing what she could to ease the silence, withing and without.

She walked up to Ron then and Mrs Weasley stopped talking.

She recognised that tall, still back, the straight form telling her in more than words that Ginny had had enough, and, more importantly, she was going to do something about it.

"Ron. Look at me." He didn't stir. "Ron! Look at me, now!"

Maybe it was the force of personality behind her words, or maybe it was that childish part of him that remembered how much he hated the shrill voice of his little baby sister trying to boss him about, that made him react even that little bit. Whatever it was, he turned to look at her, lifting his chin so that he could look up at her towering over him.

He had to have seen the blow coming, but he didn't move, didn't try to stop her.

It was a good slap. Ginny's hand hurt from the sheer force of it. Ron's head flew to the side and back, knocking against the back of the chair, giving his head a double blow.

He didn't move.

Ginny panted as if the effort had taken a lot out ot her. She stood tall, hands on her hips waiting for him to react, hoping he would react.

Slowly, he turned back to face her. His hair half covered his face so Ginny couldn't see his expression clearly, but he looked angry.

He reached up slowly and gently touched his lip. His fingers came away with blood.

Read, pearly drops clung to his fingertips. He stared at it like he'd never seen blood before.

Mrs Weasley let out abroken sob and he lifted his eyes to look at her. Even from where she stood she could see the tears in his eyes.

"He didn't bleed." He managed to choke out, looking at the floor as he said it. Mrs Weasey made a move as if to go to comfort him, but stopped herself.

Ginny knelt before him and gently brushed the hair from his eyes. He stared at her, his eyes no longer emotionless.

They blazed with such hot anger that Ginny thought he would burn from the inside out at their heat.

"He didn't bleed. He just twitched and twitched and... and you know it hurt like fuck... that it was tearing him up inside." He stared at his bloody fingertips. "There was no blood, he was so white, but there was no blood. And I couldn't touch him, couldn't hep. Fuck, Gin, he couldn't even scream and... and he just stopped moving. But... there was no blood. That's all I could think of. He couldn't be hurt that badly if he wasn't bleeding. I didn't think... I didn't... And then he was gone!" He sobbed, leaning heavily on Ginny.

"He died and I just watched it happen. We all just stood and stared 'cause we didn't think it could happen like that. The Boy who Lived. You know?"

Ginny nodded, her own eyes filled with tears.

"I know, I know," she said uselessly, grasping him by the shoulders, afraid he'd fall out of the chair adn into the fire.

"how could that happen, Gin? How could he do that? He left! He left me here alone. He went away and now I can't be there for him any more. We were meant to be together through thick and thin. Through everything that Voldemort could throw at him and us. And he just left like that."

He lifted his head to find his mother there with them.

"I don't understand, Mum!"

She shook her head.

"I don't understand either." She looked him dead in the eye. "Some things we're not meant to understand. We're not able to understand death as an abstract thing, how are we meant to understand it when it happens to someone we know."

She pulled them up from the floor.

"We just have to keep going." She gave Ginny a gentle push. "Put on the kettle, dear, I think we could all use a cup of tea," she said gently.
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