Current mood:

pleased

The Ginny Project.6 — Hagrid’s Tail
I reckon the amount of innuendo in the last entry made you squee yourself senselessly, and maybe even wonder if I did it on purpose, just because there was so much of it, dammit.

Well, yes, Ginny did choose the ‘knob celery’ (which does, indeed, exist – I didn’t make it up!) because it reminded her of masculine genitals. But no, when Remus grabbed ‘his wand’ to stop the music, he did not do so by pissing upon the player, or having sex with it, or anything like that that your dirty mind might have thought of.

That clarified… I have to say that I am most pleased about the way this entry turned out, which is a nice break from the *headdesking* I’ve been doing about the last two’s mild mediocrity. (Not to sound overly modest, or conceited about this one, or anything of the sort.) So without any further self-judging, here is Hagrid’s Tail (which has been betaed by potterfreak0515 [OMG!!! What a surprise, etcetera.]).

The Ginny Project: Entry 6
Hagrid’s Tail

~ In which there is sweat, tears and blood ~



Who shall I kill next?

That was the question that arose in Ginny’s mind at multiple points during the night. She was having a lot of trouble sleeping: unexpected gushes of rage blossomed in her chest repeatedly, secreting poisons that travelled her veins to twist and squish her heart. She was breathing heavily, in many short, intense gulps; her blankets were cold and wet; her hair was in such a mess that she had to get up thrice to comb it back in place. The September wind howled through her open window; the long, purple-but-recently-died-grey drapes Molly had made her flew in the room, revealing the increasingly waxing moon. After what seemed to be an eternity – it was now six a.m. – she finally decided it would be better to simply skip this night’s sleep-period, take a shower and go kill once more.

There was a voice in her head; she could hear it as she stripped off, looking at her sweaty chest in the mirror. However, admiring herself was not as pleasurable as it used to be; she was nervous; she could feel the adrenaline with every heartbeat. It distorted her vision, corrupted her mind, and she took a step in her shower, closing the glass door behind her.

She wanted to see blood. It was a craving; she could feel her need for it. Poisoning people’s celery might not be enough – another plan, to add unto the first one, might be required.

She pressed the shampoo bottle, started rubbing the thick liquid in her hair. It felt good; her scalp had been itchy with sweat. The voice, however, would not leave her alone: it wanted to see blood, to sink its broken fingernails in soft necks, to stab hearts and slowly poke eyes to flick the marmalade-like substance off its fingers.

In ordinary times, Ginny shampooed four times – she figured that, if normal people do it twice, as recommended, she would then look two times as beautiful. Today, however, she did not have the energy; even conditioning and soaping were out of the question. After having rinsed out the foamy shampoo, she sat down in the shower, knees to her chest, head looking down.

You want to see blood.

A chill ran through her back; her little finger twitched. ‘Yes,’ she muttered. ‘I do.’

Even if you are to die in the incident.

‘I have no more desire to live.’ Her voice was shaking. A tear ran down her cheek.

Good. What you need, Ginevra, is to find yourself an associate. Until then, however, go kill. Hagrid.

‘Hagrid?’

Hagrid.

Feeling the horrible presence sitting in the back of her head, Ginny turned off the water and towelled herself absently, looking over her shoulder repeatedly to see if someone were there.

But she was alone.

*
The door creaked open. The flicking of the switch enlightened the room, its peach walls busy with shelves and stuffed animals. Remus sat on a chair beside Theodore’s cot and dreamily watched his boy sleeping. For the past months, Teddy had been his life, his reason to be; whenever he was free to do so, he would spend his whole day with him. He brushed his son’s hair with his hand; Remus was, and had always been, happiest when around him.

Someone knocked on the front door, but it was as though it was only happening in another world, a world concocted of doors and fists; moments later did he hear slow-paced, muffled footsteps in the hallway indicating that Sirius was answering, anyway.

Slightly dizzy with fatigue, Remus continued to brush his son’s hair. The ‘Ah, Mr Black, how nice it is to see you again’ that could have been heard from the hall did not process through his brain; in instants, he was asleep, head resting against the cot, saliva dripping irregularly to the floor. In his dreams full of warmth and happiness, he could still feel Teddy sucking on his fingers as he slept.



*
‘So what brings ye ‘ere?’ asked Hagrid over his steaming casserole of tea.

Ginny smiled, rather businesslike. ‘It’s just that I haven’t seen ye – er, you – in a long time, that’s all,’ she said. ‘I missed you before, but not now, eh?’

‘Eh, eh,’ said Hagrid, nodding profoundly.

It seemed that tea was the key to make Hagrid’s voice normal again, and not huge and annoying like it usually was. Ginny was quite proud to have figured that out – she would be the last, after all, to do so.

‘It’s a shame ye had to leave so quick’y, yesserday,’ Hagrid continued, fixing her with watery eyes. ‘Dere was somet’ing me was wansting to tell ye. ‘ere it is. Me had a li’l’ op-per-ray-shon did on me yesserday!’

‘Yeah? For what?’ asked Ginny enthusiastically, caressing the butcher knife in her pocket. ‘I hope it went… well.’

‘Very well, yeah,’ started Hagrid, leaning forwards. ‘Ye see, Norberta had littol babies, an’ Charlie an’ all sents ‘em to me, sayin’ they couldn’t handle dem munchkins, right? But in der box, dey fought, an’ one o’ dem died, poor t’ing… And der drag’ns, right, dey ate ‘im up, right, but di’n’t touch his tail fo’ some reason, so I had ‘em attach the tail to me backside!’

Ginny’s mouth was currently shaped like an orange.

‘I’n’t dat great?’ Hagrid took another sip of his tea. ‘Me can show it to ye if ye likes!’

‘Er, no thank you,’ Ginny said. ‘I’m— I’m hungry; do you have anything to, er, eat?’

‘Yep yep yep, me sure does.’ Hagrid pointed to the cupboards behind him. ‘Ye wanna piece o’ cake? Me made it meself, dat one. Or, dere’s also some—’

‘Yes, that would be simply delightful,’ interrupted Ginny, still trying to recover from her moment of puke. ‘Oh, no, no, I’ll go fetch it myself, you just sit down on your giant arse.’ Naturally, the four last words were muttered in such a fashion that even Hagrid’s immense earlobes wouldn’t catch the sound waves.

Ginny looked in the cupboards, feeling sorry for the poor, poor surgeons; she heard mud-stomping-like noises behind her announcing that Hagrid was drinking – and digesting – his tea. Since the cupboards in question were behind Hagrid’s humongous spine, Ginny, still aimlessly rummaging around with her left hand, took out her knife with the other and stared as it shined in the morning sunlight. Its sharp edge was clean, overly sharp; it would be much more to her liking once thick, dark blood would drip from it, soaking the dirt-, feather- and hair-covered floor.

‘Ye know, me’ve always liked ye, Ginny,’ said Hagrid, looking out the window peacefully.

Still moving the cups and spoons around, with her foot, now, Ginny got up, holding the knife before her. She could feel the presence in her mind maddening her once again: it urged for blood. It felt as though her head were too small to contain them both; it could explode at any moment. The world was spinning around her, but that was normal. Now, however, it was spinning crookedly, and that was really bad.

‘Ye’ve always been a nice li’l’ girl, you was.’

Do it.

The blade plunged in Hagrid’s thick flesh, piercing slightly over what were his tail-enhanced buttocks. Ginny saw something in his trousers twitch, and it was his tail, she was sure of it. Looking away from it, into the blood, she let out a roar of laughter, took the knife out, and stabbed again, again and again, always around the lower part of his giant back, at eyelevel. Black blood spattered in her face; she licked it off her lips and, breathing rapidly, wet chest heaving and stained, backed away from the half-giant.

‘Why’re ye laughinin’, Ginevwa?’ asked Hagrid.

Ginny’s eyes widened. As if he was okay! And what if she had undertaken too big a job to handle? Literally? Would he see her, covered in his blood, and run away to tell Dumbledore what she had done, tail hanging low between the cheeks?

‘And could ye get the mosquito on me back? It’s really buggin’ me. Not buggerin’, mind ye, but buggin’.’

Thick blood was splashing on the walls, on the floor; how Hagrid could not realise this was beyond Ginny. After a short hesitation, she climbed on the counter and let out an angry howl, to then thrust the knife between two of Hagrid’s ribs, close to his lungs. He let out a moan, hiccupped blood; as Ginny stabbed him repeatedly, his weight started to slowly shift itself to his left, and finally, with an explosion of debris and dust, he destroyed his hut’s wall to die upon it. Ginny mounted Hagrid’s carcass, let the warm, orange sun shine on her face, eyes closed peacefully. Even if it was a warm morning, the forest was already starting to redden; the air was fresh and sweet.

And, although Ginny had thought murder would assuage her, it only enlarged her craving. The red and orange world would soon be dripping of blood.





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