Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/11154879.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Ron/Ginny, Ginny_Weasley/Ron_Weasley
  Character:
      Ron_Weasley, Ginny_Weasley
  Additional Tags:
      Extremely_Dubious_Consent, Sibling_Incest, Explicit_Sexual_Content,
      Explicit_Language, Underage_-_Freeform, very_underage_(though
      unspecified), probably_takes_place_during_book_2, Loss_of_Virginity,
      Childhood_Sexual_Abuse, Brother/Sister_Incest, Unsafe_Sex
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-06-09 Words: 1530
****** Mystery ******
by annabeth
Summary
     Ginny is the youngest, the only girl, a mystery to all of her older
     brothers.
     Except one.
Notes
     Warning for dubious consent. Ginny is giving in because it's her
     brother, and Ron doesn't really understand--or realize--that she
     doesn't actually want what he's doing to her, so be aware.
     This was written years ago. In 2004, I believe.
     (Gifting this to you, Icicle, because I wanted you to see it. This
     one shouldn't need to be fixed, though if you see anything--!)
"Tell me you'll always love me," pipes the childish voice at his elbow. Ron has
always felt protective of his little sister. She is fond of using this voice to
get what she wants—she knows it makes her irresistible and adorable. Ginny is
the youngest, the only girl, a mystery to all of her older brothers.
Except one. Ron pushes her hair around on her forehead and smiles up at the
ceiling. He can't see her face, but he can picture it, angles and curves and
strawberries, her lips and her teeth and her hair, and she looks like the
family, with the colours of her skin and her nails and her knees, but she is so
different. Ron has held her for years when she couldn't sleep, and he
knows—sometimes before she does—her thoughts and her dreams. He is alone,
separate from the other, older boys, close to Ginny, because he and she are two
of a kind—both separate, clinging vines to the life of their family. Alone and
uncompromised, the only girl, the youngest boy, who else should she love best
of all but him?
"Tell me, Ron," she insists. He drags a finger softly over her eyelid, and says
into the predawn darkness,
"I'll always love you, Ginny. I'll always be here even when everyone else is
gone." His fingertips find her lips and he feels her smile with his words, and
he smiles again at the ceiling he can barely see. She is his, he thinks, she
has asked to be forever. He will take care of her, he thinks, like Harry always
tries to protect his friends. Ron is lonely, he can't help it. Harry and
Hermione each have their own parts—like a full production of a play—and he is
just the understudy. But not to Ginny. To Ginny, he is her everything, her big
brother, her protector… her lover? Ron doesn't know where these thoughts come
from, but he does know that he's still older than she is, and that he has vowed
to be there for her like no one else.
And he will. Ginny is his; she will always love him with the wide-eyed,
trusting gaze of a child, even when she's grown.
"Ron," she whispers, "I'm cold."
He turns towards her, glancing at the top of her head. He will warm her, he
thinks. It's an invitation, he thinks. Outside, everything is silent, still,
waiting for the first burst of light, which breaks the world into sound and
colour. It's like the atmosphere is waiting, breath held, for Ron's decision,
Ron's choice. His.
She wriggles in his arms, her light shift caught beneath his right knee, and
she growls in the back of her throat in frustration.
"Ron, move, you're on my gown." She pinches him and giggles. Obediently he
lifts his knee, and she tugs her shift away from him, and makes to take it off.
"What are you doing?" he asks sleepily, the breath still held next to his ear,
the windowsill digging into his elbow.
"I want to put something warmer on—" she starts, but Ron finishes, suddenly
rolling onto his side, his baby sister silhouetted in the lush first streaks of
dawn. The birds have yet to call, and he catches his lip and his breath in his
teeth. She is startled, but snuggles closer to his chest, and then his hand is
stroking downwards, his fingers cold, her skin warm despite her protests. She
asked him to warm her, he thinks. His love for her boils under his skin. Two of
a kind.
They had to stay together—no-one else could understand them. She will breathe
his life and he will hold her soul, and no-one, not Harry or Hermione, will be
able to interfere. He will claim her, he decides, for his own, once and for
all. Then he will belong.
Her thighs are still thin like a child's, her breasts still budding, her lips
still full with childhood. His hands span her hipbones, his fingers reach, he
strains—
His middle finger brushes the softness of her outer lips, and he can't breathe.
So beautiful. He doesn't hear her gasp, suddenly try to squirm away. He pulls
her closer.
"It's all right, baby, you're my sister, I love you, I have to protect you. I
know Mum hasn't said anything to you about this, but you said you wanted me to
love you for-ever—" he can't speak, her skin is so hot against his questing
fingers. She stops trying to move away, but her body is still resistant to his
touches. He breathes into her hair, and Ginny tenses, then relaxes. His hand is
cupping her now, completely, and he feels full of his sister, her scent her
smile her ears her tongue her thighs her knees—even her feet—
This is the way love is supposed to be, Ron thinks, huddling the knowledge
close to his breast. He slips a finger inside of her, and she trembles.
Dampness spreads against his hand, and he knows she likes what he is doing to
her. He begins to pump his fingers, and she whimpers in pleasure, and he
thrusts harder, more fingers, into her virginity. Something slick coats his
fingers, and he knows it's blood, he has broken her hymen with his
fingers—larger than hers, rougher than hers—he closes his eyes and kisses her,
taking her lips into his, her teeth, her tongue— He swallows, moans, kisses her
harder. Her blood is on his hands. He rolls on top of her, tearing at his
boxers, pulling himself out of his clothes and positioning himself over her,
the blood on her lower lips so beautiful— He dips his head below and licks the
outline of one plump lip, then traces around to the other, her blood sticky and
sour on his tongue, and then her clit is between his teeth, and Ginny is
trembling, shuddering, mewling. She loves him, he can tell, her voice is weak
and beautiful in his ears, her blood is his blood and he holds it on his tongue
as long as he can.
Of the same blood, two of a kind, he pushes into her. She cries out and he
covers her mouth, no-one can hear them, he knows that. They would never
understand. He loves her! He is fucking is baby sister, he realises, but he
doesn't stop. He clenches his thighs, and she breathes so loudly in his ear.
Out the window the birds are singing, the silence broken, the bated breath let
out.
She wanted him to love her forever, didn't she? She is irresistible and
adorable, he thinks, just before he comes inside of her. She doesn't need to
manipulate him, because he couldn't say no to her if he tried. He pulls out of
her and licks her knee. He wants to explore the valleys of her body, but he's
tired, and so he doesn't. But she is lying sprawled beneath him, a tangled
disarray, displayed against the blue sheets, white skin and fiery hair an
imprint on his consciousness. He closes his eyes and tugs her against his
chest. His shoulder is damp and he doesn't know why. So he whispers to her, his
sister, his love, his favourite.
"I'll always love you, Gin. Don't you love me too?"
"I," her voice hiccups, "You're my best big brother. You play with me and love
me, and no-one else wants me around..." She trails off. She gulps. She starts
again. "I'm special now, right, Ron? I was good, right? I love you so much. I
need you so much." Ginny clings to his chest, eyes closed.
"You'll always be special. My special, beautiful sister. No-one understands me
like you, Gin. No-one understands you like me. You see that, don't you? No-one
will ever love you like I do," he says fiercely. He can feel her nod against
his chest; her hair scrapes over his nipple like fire.
"I know it, Ron. Kiss me all over again, Ron," she whispers.
"Later, for now, just watch the sun come up, okay?" He almost can't hear her
breathing anymore. The window is so close he thinks he could fly through it,
that's how euphoric he feels after fucking—yes fucking!—his sister. Ginny is
warm, but a slightly trembling burden in his arms, and he needs her like he
needs oxygen. She will always be his.
He presses his face into her hair, kisses her eyelids, tastes salt. She's still
naked from the waist down beneath him, as is he. And he can taste that salt,
and he wonders at it.
Ron listens to her heartbeat, which is rapid and wild, and he wonders at that
too. Why does Ginny cry? Doesn't she know that he loves her? He will reassure
her, he decides.
"It's all right, Gin. You can always have this love, whenever you want it. But
you can't tell Mum or Dad or anyone else..."
"They would never understand," she says dutifully, closes her eyes again, but
the tears continue to leak down her cheeks into her ears.
                                     end.
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