Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/14125188.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Rape/Non-Con,
      Underage
  Category:
      F/F, F/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Lucius_Malfoy/Ginny_Weasley, Harry_Potter/Ginny_Weasley, Hermione
      Granger/Severus_Snape
  Character:
      Ginny_Weasley, Lucius_Malfoy, Harry_Potter, Dobby_(Harry_Potter),
      Hermione_Granger, Neville_Longbottom
  Stats:
      Published: 2018-03-28 Chapters: 16/16 Words: 68300
****** The Seduction of Ginevra Weasley ******
by hadeschild
Summary
     In her sixth year, while the trio focus on taking down Voldemort,
     Ginny finds herself increasingly isolated at Hogwarts. When she
     begins a violent and sexual relationship with Lucius Malfoy, she
     finds her morality beginning to blur as she struggles between who she
     is, who people think she is, and who she could be.
Notes
     I wrote this years ago and just found it on my hard drive (isn't it
     fun when that happens?) so decided to share it here. This was written
     BEFORE the publication of The Deathly Hallows, so do keep that in
     mind. Also, I apologise for any spelling errors.
     I had also written it as part of a duology, with the partner story
     written by a friend who was going to focus on the Snape/Hermione
     section, but she didn't end up finishing it, so I apologise if the
     Hermione sections may seem a little strange.
     Otherwise, I hope you enjoy!
***** Chapter 1 *****
There is blood on her hands.  She never could figure out how it got there, but
in the light of the moon it is always there.  The first time Harry had seen it
he had asked her if she’d spilled her wine; the wine he’d managed to smuggle
out for just this occasion.
A picnic by the lake and it was so sweet that she almost wanted to vomit, if it
weren’t so very perfect, just as she’d imagined.  Then he’d taken her in his
arms and that was the first time they’d made love.  It was ‘making love’ that
time and it had surprised her, her, the school slut who was deflowering Harry
Potter.  That’s what they were saying.  Slytherins mostly, but don’t think she
didn’t know that the Ravenclaws were thinking it.
What did they know?  This was Harry Potter and she was Ginevra Weasley and
everything that she wanted was slipping a hand under her robes as the giant
squid did the breaststroke across the lake.  Somewhere something howled in the
Forbidden Forest and her bra came open for him.  It wasn’t hard to do, once you
got the hang of it, and Harry was really good at acting under pressure.  His
eyes had looked like emeralds and as her hand slid along his face, the red of
her palm glinted against them.  He had laid her down and sure he hadn’t lasted
long, but when it was over he had told her he’d loved her and didn’t mind that
she hadn’t saved herself for him.  She wanted to laugh at his naivety, but when
you’re the saviour of the known world, you do tend to expect people to be
holding their breaths for you.  He said that it was why he loved her, because
she hadn’t, but there was no way he could hide that look of disappointment when
she’d slipped her hand into his pants and confirmed the rumour that she was,
indeed, the easiest member of Gryffindor since McGonagall.
Of course, that was before Dumbledore died and she was still the love of his
life.  That was before now when he was off saving the world and being a hero
and she was the little woman waiting at home, getting the education she
wouldn’t need to raise the children of their saviour.  It wasn’t that she
minded, really, it was what she had always wanted.  It’s what her mother had
and it was what most pureblood mothers did, because as much as she hated to
admit it, their family did maintain some of those chauvinistic traditions.  It
wasn’t that she was angry with Harry; he had to do it and she admired him, but
being left behind while your brother and lover and best friend are working to
rid the world of evil isn’t easy to do.
She sighs and drops her hand as an owl calls to her from somewhere in the
Garden.  ‘The Garden,’ is what they call it at the Ministry because it’s the
only one for twenty city blocks in any direction and since most of the wizards
rarely leave that radius it’s the only garden they know.  An average
arrangement of flowers and plants and what is supposed to be a rock garden for
meditation, but that is more often used for luncheon trysts than any attempts
at self-improvement, or at least self-improvement of a different variety.  The
moon echoes off the rocks and wills the night-flowers to open as she finds a
bench. 
The bi-annual Ministry ball had been dull to say the least and she had eagerly
escaped to the Garden as soon as she could.  Middle aged government employees
and their children dressing in their best, which was really only so-so and
having a ‘charming’ evening, when most of them would probably have preferred
remaining home with a good pornai potion.  Not that she blamed them, really. 
The only vaguely interesting moment had come when Trelawney had gracelessly
broken into her dance with Neville to insist that she, Ginevra Weasley had best
watch out, because he would bring her demise.  Neville’s look of fear belied
the comedy of that moment and Ginevra had been sure to take careful note so as
to mention it to Harry in her next letter.  He would get a kick out of it.  If
anything it would be moderately gratifying to read his flash of jealousy when
he heard about her evening with Neville.  She had to wonder sometimes if Ron
hadn’t been training Harry in how to be possessively annoying.  She would talk
to him about it when it was all over.
A lot of things were starting to fall under that heading.
That is when the man walks by.  She had never seen him before tonight: small,
really, with a head so smooth it glints against the stars and he doesn’t see
her.  A man who would never be noticed in a million years and he doesn’t notice
her. She bemoans the occasional cruelty of the universe as a second figure, a
small house elf with her pillowcase dragging the ground scampers after the man.
“Master!  Master Malf-“
The man, having previously ignored his servant turns with a flourish uncommon
for a man of his stature and mumbles “Crucio.”  She isn’t sure if it’s the word
itself or the sudden shriek that flees the house elf, the sound of ice and
metal, that causes the small chill to hit her.  Her mouth falls open as the
house elf writhes, her master smirking in a manner that is too familiar for
comfort.  She wants to stand and watch, only just able to see them around a
large oak.  She moves slowly, lifting her skirt, a long red compilation of silk
that she is now regretting, as she attempts her stealthy advance.
The bark is rough but yielding as her fingers run along it, the texture rubbing
reality home as she peers out at the tortured house-elf.  The hard skin of life
running like velvet across her finger tips.  The master raises his chin and
taps his wand, silently ending the creature’s misery.  It lets out a groan and
slowly gets to its feet.
“You insolent whelp!”  The man snarls and Ginny’s jaw nearly strikes the tree
as the voice swims through her memory.  Silk running over her skin and she
shivers at the memory of what he had tried to do to her.  “I told you how to
address me.”  His lip curls and he twitches his wand again, causing the house
elf to flinch and Ginny with her, although no curse grasps her this time.
There were other memories of him too.  Her first attendance at the Ministry
party watching the infamous Mr. Malfoy as he lead his wife to dance, swirling
across the octagonal dance floor in a rush of blonde, to show the rest of the
aging Wizarding population what a Waltz really calls for.  His smile to her,
despite her father’s warnings, followed by the touch of his hand that led her
to dance.  Never asking, just leading.  He pressed against her more than he had
with Narcissa and her heart had jumped.  She feared him, looking into his eyes
and knowing that his hand had almost ended her life, but feeling that same hand
on her back and breathing in what was almost definitely sage and feeling his
soft hair brush her shoulders did a good job pushing that away.  His hand led
her into a twirl and around his shoulder she saw the rage building on her
father’s face, two splotches of red developing on his rounded cheeks, but she
didn’t care because this was the first man who’d really been able to dance with
her.  Not the awkward counting of her brothers but a natural step, a man who
directs her where to go.  An unexpected movement forward and she felt his warm
body pressed against her.  She moves back and his arm tightens, holding her
against him.  He smiles a pleasant smile with eyes that glint red as the
moonlight hits them through the skylight.  The smell of sage grows stronger. 
The dance ends and she shivers when his warmth is gone, one hand still grasped
in hers as he dips his head to kiss her gloved hand. 
Ever since then she’s never worn gloves.
She’s smiling when the man twitches his wand again and the creature falls
forward.  “Stop.”  Its moan is pitiful and as her smile fades she feels
something strong pull at her chest.  Not in the way it should, not in the way
that would lead her to pull out her own wand and stop him but in the other way
that we don’t talk about.  The thrill a child gets when pulling the wings off
flies.
Her fingers run the length of her wand, dwelling at one end before running back
along it and he still doesn’t see her.  She can easily be the hero, a hero to
match her non-boyfriend -- the woman who brought down Lucius Malfoy.  Lucius
who gave her a book that nearly destroyed her life.  Lucius who kissed her hand
and pushed the hard part of his anatomy against her in the middle of a twirl. 
Her teeth clamp down on her bottom lip and she releases the wand.  The wind
tickles her back and just as the elf begins to give up the curse is gone.  Its
breath comes in long rasps, but she knows all about house elf anatomy and she
will recover quickly.  A strange concept that a creature would cherish its
servitude to such an exacting taskmaster.
“Master . . .” it wheezes.  “Master . . .”
“Well, what is it?”  The snarl is better than Snape’s and Ginny has no doubt
that the former potion’s master learned his lip curl from this master of the
art.
“Master Draco, sir . . . he is dead.”
“What?”
“Mister Harry Potter, sir.  He killed him.”
“Where?  When?”
“This evening, sir.  He died in Hogwarts.”
For a minute Ginny thinks he’s going to crucio the animal again, but his face
and arms fall.  The servant doesn’t even attempt to stand as it continues to
wheeze against the cool evening air.  A low moan covers the Garden and Ginny
can’t immediately tell if it’s the house elf or if it’s Lucius himself, the
primal cry of mourning sending a rush of lightning up her spine.
If she’d blinked she would have missed their exit.  A sudden twirl of the wand
and the look of misery that is so out of place on a face that isn’t Lucius’.  A
look that would have been even more out of place on his own countenance.  She
shivers as the breeze touches her back and the sharp flash of the house elf
apparating is the only thing that breaks the silence.
***** Chapter 2 *****
It’s only when you get close to the torches that you can see the detail of
their bases: hands, skeletal-thin stretching from the granite walls and
grasping the triangular room’s only sources of light.  Hands that wouldn’t have
been out of place on a Dementor and she could have sworn that one thin, stone
finger twitches just as she turns away.  The room is brighter than she had
expected, but the light cast about the room in a brilliant fog allows for no
warmth and none of the heat from outside dares to step within these walls.  She
certainly doesn’t wonder why.
The parchment is rough as her fingers fumble for it in her robes, the hideous
ones that were probably from her mother’s maternity collection and brilliantly
patterned in red and white.  Hermione’s long and elegant script spells out the
items she needs to retrieve for her from this . . . eclectic collection and
Ginny looks around, eager to escape as quickly as possible.  How Hermione had
ever heard of the place was not something she particularly cared to know, nor
had the use for any of the requested items been something that either of them
brought up.  Although that was less from a lack of curiosity as it was from an
overwhelming desire to feel useful and she finally did.  Even if that was
simply in the capacity of an errand girl traveling to one of the most dangerous
areas of London to retrieve ingredients that she had certainly never heard of
in any potions or herbology class.
A jar of eyeballs, a rusting lid holding them like tightly packed olives
catches her own eye and she stares a moment, watching as the eyes slowly lose
interest and turn away from her.  Her initial anxiety is thoughtfully pulling
away for the rising fascination and curiosity.  Momentarily ignoring the task
at hand, she moves across the store to where a blind bat is circling madly
about its metal cage.  With a startling thunk the bat strikes one bar and falls
to the ground.  It takes more effort than she would like to admit to hold
herself from laughing at the cruelly comical situation.  She continues watching
as it repeats this process, getting up like a wounded house elf before taking
flight.  She can’t help but wonder where it thinks it’s flying to.
It’s not as though Hermione will notice her absence anyways, she quickly
reasons, moving onto an innocent looking love seat with one too many warnings
adorning it for comfort.  Ever since Snape had brought Draco’s dying body to
Hermione with the single command to get Madame Pomphrey the older girl had
barely slept, pouring over texts and setting up camp in the Restricted Section
of the library, complete with her own personal owl for an almost constant
correspondence with . . . well, Ginny didn’t quite know who.  She assumed at
least some of these letters were bound for Ron and Harry.  Hermione was their
self-appointed researcher and they would require frequent contact, after all. 
Knowing them, they were probably sitting around drinking butter beers and
waiting for her to contact them with instructions.  A rush of what she pretends
isn’t annoyance hits her and she smirks as the bat rams head first into the
door, rattling the cage as though it were about to fall to pieces over its
captive’s head.
There’s another light in one of the room’s corners and seeing a large sign
advertising potentias powder, number four on her list, she continues down a row
of shelves towards it.
“Ms. Weasley, I presume?”  Her heart stops and for a moment she thinks that the
torch rising high up the wall has addressed her, but the soft click of a cane
striking the ground and the gentle warmth of another person behind her makes
her turn.  She stares a full moment at the bald man who she knows all too well
and his lips rise into a smirk.
“Mr. Malfoy.”  Her voice is soft and calm and her eyes follow his arm to his
cane, not the usual one topped distinctly by a metallic snake but a far simpler
one that is as unnoticeable as the man himself.
“Very good, my dear.”  His eyes flash with the fire that dances above her head
as he steps towards her, she backs up, the tongue of the flame looming in each
eye.  “Not lost, I hope?”
She raises her chin and meets his eyes, jaw held tightly against the
threatening chatter of her teeth.  “No, sir, not lost.”
He takes another step forward and, feeling the cool granite scratch against her
back, she presses herself into the rock, willing herself through it and into
the lane.  Looking up she can see the skeletal hand as it now shifts around its
torch, apparently carrying it away from them into the next row.  This does not
help calm the solid thump of her heart as blood rushes to her ears.  She jumps
and lets out a small cry of surprise as the bat crashes into his cage with a
horrible screech somewhere around them.  The rounded metal ball topping his
cane grasps and holds her attention as he drags it across her cheek.  He is
getting so close that she holds her breath.
“That was quite a show I gave you the other night.”
Her mouth opens but she can’t for the life of her speak.
“Don’t pretend you weren’t there in The Garden.”  Now a chuckle, low and
taunting rides from him and he leans in towards her.  “Don’t pretend you didn’t
enjoy watching poor little Dip.”  He moves only centimetres back from her.  “I
would never have expected it.”  He releases his cane, which hovers where he
leaves it, bobbing up and down and his hands freely run circles along her
wrists where he grips them, lifting her arms above her head.  Her hands are
limp and it’s only after she feels them pushed into the wall that she thinks to
fight but by then his body is pressed against her.  The chill of the granite
encircles her wrist and it takes her a full moment to realize that a second
pair of hands has emerged from the wall to embrace her arms, holding her in
place.
He steps back, languidly retrieving his cane and without touching her he grasps
the hem of her atrocious robe and tears it, splitting the red and white pattern
across her body.  He’s up against her faster than she can comprehend and his
mouth, warm and wet, is pressing his teeth against her neck, firmly imprinting
them. She pushes herself as best she can against his portly form, pushing at
him and trying to force him away, but really only succeeding in rubbing against
the length of his cock as it’s warmth spills through his robes.
His hands and lips and smell are as potent as she remembered and now those same
leading hands are insisting their way into her underwear.  When she closes her
eyes the cool air of the store tickles her thighs and she turns her head away.
She feels herself go red as he parts her lips and finds her clit, running a
thumb across it once, twice, and repeat as he teases her. She bites her lip,
trying to regulate her breathing, but finally sucking the air in as a ragged
gasp. He chuckles, smearing her wetness across her thighs before slipping two
fingers firmly into her. He works them in-and-out several times before
returning his attention to her clit.
“Good, I would have hated dealing with a virgin.”  His voice is hot against her
ear and she gasps again when something cold presses her opening and as his
fingers continue to rub and press her swollen clit he drives his cane into
her.  She cries out as the long metal shaft is worked in and her body, almost
naked through her torn robe, presses into his.  His fingers work her hard and
his staff continues to slide into her.  Her eyes open wide, catching the fire
in his as her body tenses, the orgasm rushing through her.  Her cries echo from
one corner of the store.
Her breath is ragged as she struggles against the thick air for oxygen.  It’s
only as his cane slips out of her and he steps back that she forces her eyes to
focus, her legs to support themselves and her ears rush as a second flood of
blood flushes her cheeks.  She focuses on the cane, its end still glistening
with her fluids and, although she tries, she can’t quite seem to turn to him
and so continues to stare at it.
Suddenly he grasps her chin, squeezing it hard and forcing her to look at him,
lips drawn into a snarl.  He pulls her towards him, her arms straining against
the wall that still holds her in place as her shoulders feel as though they
will pop from their sockets.  “My son’s murderer never made you cum like that,
did he?”  Without letting her answer he forces his lips against hers, anger
pushing them open and biting at her lips and tongue.  When he steps away, he’s
smirking again, but without speaking he waves to the wall which releases her
and she drops to her knees.  He pulls her towards him and slipping his robes
open he leads her mouth to the tip of his cock.  It looks ready to burst when
she takes it between her lips.  His breath hisses as she dips her head and his
hand tangles amongst her mandarin coloured hair, leading her to a steady rhythm
as one of her hands squeezes and scratches his balls.  It doesn’t take him long
and he moans, pulling his cock out of her mouth and grunting as his cum spills
across her chest.  He grasps at the air and before she can think to catch her
own breath, he grips her wrists again and pins both hands behind her.  One of
his hands returns to its previous work, teasing and rubbing against her clit so
she’s groaning against him when suddenly he stops and pulls away.  She moans at
the loss.
He merely smirks.  “We don’t always get what we want, my dear.”  He lifts her
to her feet and presses her back into the wall, his mouth finding her ear
again.  “Perhaps next time.”  As she desperately tries to regain her footing
and her breath she feels his hands and body fall away and watches his small
form turn and exit the row, head glinting against the torchlight.  She takes a
breath and somewhere in the store she hears the door close and the bat runs
headlong into his cage.
***** Chapter 3 *****
Ginny doesn’t remember returning to the school, speaking with Hermione or even
if she had brought her what she needed.  Although considering that the elder
student doesn’t waken her later demanding her supplies, she assumes that she
has done exactly what was required of her.  All she knows next is that her skin
is red and tearing small droplets of blood that is caught and carried off by
the rushing shower of water.  Droplets of salt press from her eyes and she
watches as they roll to join the blood and water as it pools and escapes down
the drain.  She hates to think what else is being beaten from her skin.  She
hates it more to think that it might not come off.  Her hair falls forward and
the red that won’t ever wash away cuts across her freckled skin, the sponge
rubbing and pushing away the offending flesh.  The room and water is hot but
she shivers against it and turns the cold water completely off as the scalding
water pours over her face.  The tiled wall rushes up to meet her as she falls
against it, arms folded together and holding her upright.  She pulls the
steamed air into her lungs and her eyes fall closed.  It was surreal really,
that she had done that.  It had been a different person, but not.  A dream both
horrible and fantastic but combining with reality to form the most horrid kind
of nightmare because she’d enjoyed it.  Enjoyed Lucius Malfoy’s hands and smell
and the way he knew just where to touch her.  Her body heaved as the tears roll
across her arms.  He’d been right, of course, Harry never had made her cum like
that and now she would never be able to look him in the eye again.
The weeks pull her through, schoolwork and Quidditch distracting her mind
enough to get by.  The fall is the warmest Hogwarts has seen in years, ever
since the time of Tom himself and the endless blue casts little shadow on what
is still a world of children.  Children laughing, children playing and children
learning in their light summer robes.  Mrs. Norris is now infinitely posted on
the castle steps, watching and pressing her excess fur away with a small pink
tongue.  Ginny shivers standing in the sun, the heat drawing beads of sweat
from her pale skin but the ice burns beneath it and she shakes for want of
warmth.  Turtlenecks and jumpers can hide the bites and bruises but they won’t
push the cold away.  No one notices that she’s dressing as though in the depths
of a Canadian January and she isn’t sure if it’s this or the fact that Harry
hasn’t owled her in over a month that angers her more.  That’s something else
that she doesn’t think about.
A week turns to two weeks of study and with October she’s finally no longer
thinking about Harry but she also isn’t thinking about what she’s done and so
she reaches a small level of happiness, or mediocrity in the very least.
Somewhere between the weeks Lucius’ escape from Azkaban is released.  A
snarling picture of his true persona stares at her from the front of The Daily
Prophet and she doesn’t look along the names and pictures of those who died
during his escape.  She doesn’t have to look to know one of the faces that will
stare back, the one that has become emblazoned on the back of her eyelids.  She
looks anyways and he had been a good man, smiling and twirling his daughter
about in the picture that just begs for sympathy but all she can think is how
glad she is that he’s dead.
She doesn’t hear Neville when he says that the little girl looks just like her.
She feels her eyes focus and blur with her thoughts, watching the coffee carafe
as it politely fills itself for her.  Hogwarts’ large kitchen is silent, the
stillness broken only by the occasional click and whir of the giant stove. 
Even when the oven is off, the room is always several degrees higher than the
comfortable average of the rest of the castle.  Perhaps that’s why Ginny has
come to sitting here whenever she can, only house elves for company, but she
still shivers.
“Ms. Granger’s coffee is ready.”  Dobby looks as though the two-dozen hats
crowning his thick head are about to pull him over as he totters, one thin
finger motioning towards the now full and hovering carafe.  She smiles, holding
herself from laughing openly at the house elf’s odd sense of fashion although
she supposes that she really isn’t one to judge, considering the questionable
taste of her own lineage.
“Thank you, Dobby.”
The house elf nods as Ginny transfers the carafe to a tray, already stocked
with cookies and the coffee implement, which Hermione will need.  “Dobby is
always pleased to help one of those close friends of Harry Potter.”  The elf
grins beneath his doe eyes and Ginny thanks him again.
They both stand in the kind of silence that passes between strangers awaiting a
bus and when no mode of transportation pulls into the large kitchen, Ginny
turns to leave, still smiling at the tottering house elf.  As she reaches the
door she turns without thinking.  “Dobby?"
The small creature with four gloves on one hand appears beyond pleased at her
sudden attention and smiles, eager to assist.
“What was Mr. Malfoy like?”
The elf’s face falls fast and he begins violently shaking his head, eyes
squeezed shut and hands covering his ears.  “Mr. Malfoy . . .” his hands move,
clamping hard over its mouth and she’s sure that he’s going to fall over.
“Dobby!”  Ginny’s voice is loud in the quiet room, echoing off the tile, but
Dobby doesn’t hear her.  “Dobby!”  She shouts this time and he slows his
violent shaking, one eye slipping open to peer out at her.  “I’m sorry, Dobby,
it was cruel of me to ask.”
Slowly the elf’s hand slips from his mouth.  “I’m sorry Ms. Weasley.  Dobby
doesn’t like to think about that . . .” he shudders.  “ . . . wizard.”  He
shakes his head and begins twisting two fingers together in a manner that Ginny
didn’t think were possible, even for a house elf.
“I’m really sorry, Dobby.  Forget about it.”  She turns and leaves, the stone
of guilt dropping to her stomach and she really doesn’t know what she was
thinking, but she tries her best to push all thought of that from her mind as
she balances the tray between her hands.  She’d easily lost count of how many
similar trays she’s dropped on her way between the kitchen and Hermione's
chambers and had quickly concluded that service was not what she was made for.
It’s late and the school is quiet, but McGonagall had unquestioningly extended
her after-hours privileges if only to ensure that Hermione remained
sufficiently nourished.  A school Prefect, thankfully a Hufflepuff who isn’t
prone to overturning her tray nods to her in greeting as she passes and she
does her best to smile back.
"Uh, who's there?"  Hermione's voice is nervous and Ginny can hardly see her
through the darkness.  A small fire is falling to embers and the shadows
selectively light the room around her.
"It's Ginny."
“Oh, Ginny!”  She’s as surprised by the personal acknowledgment as Hermione
sounds and the two girls stand at either ends of Hermione's personal rooms,
watching each other in the stillness.
“Where are you going?”  Ginny is the first to speak, coming up next to
Hermione’s well-organized desk and laying the tray upon it.  Her older friend
was obviously dressed for a journey, head and robes covered in a thick cloak
that shimmers with a contrapluvia charm, designed to hold back even the
heaviest of rains.
"Uh . . . why do you think I'm going anywhere?"
Ginny scoffs.  "The cloak kind of gave it way."   She smiles.
“Fine.  There’s a Deatheater raid tonight.”
Ginny blinks at this response.  “What?”
“Snape . . . he informed me.”
“And you’re going?” Ginny is shocked to say the least as she moves to face her
friend.
“Well . . . I have a chance to help-"
"I'm coming with you."  She can help.  Hermione might be being stupid and
rushing into a situation that is way out of her league, but at least she can
help.
"You can't!"  Hermione is protesting, but Ginny's hands are on her and she's
pulling her towards the exit.
"We can do more if there are two of us.  Besides," Ginny smiles, "someone has
to look out for you now that my brother's gone."
"Wait, wait, I have to grab some healing potions before we go."
Ginny's surprised by Hermione's lack of protestation, but she isn't thinking
about that, glad that she's finally able to do something for the Cause.
Hermione rushes back into her chambers, emerging moments later stuffing the
well-bottled potions into her cloak.
"We have to leave, now."  Hermione is agitated and Ginny watches as her friend
flicks her wand, turning her school robes into a black cloak.  Ginny's wand is
in her hand as they rush from the school, Hermione apparating them to wherever
it is that they're needed.
Ginny isn’t entirely sure how they had become separated so quickly after
arriving and the sense of panic grabs her chest as she turns in a quick
circle.  The barrage of rain obscures all but several metres in either
directions and Ginny knows that this isn’t the kind of rain that usually falls
near Hogwarts.  She’s not surprised when Hermione later tells her that they’re
actually nearer Littlehanglington than Edinburgh.
“Hermione?”  Her voice is barely audible as it calls in to the dark haze, rain
and fog so thick that she is surrounded in darkness.  “Parvus lux.”  She
whispers to her wand and a small light emerges from the end, extending her line
of vision but only slightly.  “Hermione?”  She tries again, but only the sizzle
of rain returns a word as it eagerly beats the field around her into mud.
A flash of black from the corner of her eye and a stream of relief hits her as
she rushes to catch her friend.  Lightning flashes and suddenly the world goes
from black to white and the figure that is now far too tall to be Hermione
turns.  She doesn’t think to command darkness and the panic returns as the
man’s white mask comes into view.  The roll of thunder covers her shriek but
her wand is ready and before even thinking she shouts “Petrificus totalis!” 
With a flash the figure stops and falls forward, hitting the mud hard.
She stands in understandable confusion before her mind commands her feet to
move and she’s at the figure’s side, rolling him onto his back and stripping
him of his mask.  She knows what she’s going to see before she does, the thin
face grown gaunt from imprisonment and white-gold hair that is spattered with
mud.  His expression isn’t even one of surprise but as she leans over him she
could swear that his eyes sparkle, dancing in the amusement usually only
reserved for Dumbledore and men of his disposition.
She can’t move although her muscles are twitching to run and the two figures
watch each other in painful stillness.  His hand twitches but she doesn’t see
it and it’s only when he blinks against the rain that she knows he’s broken the
hex.  Her feet find the ground and with more speed than she knew she had but
less than she would like she falls into a run.
The mud is thick and bubbling against the pelting water and her pounding feet. 
It grasps at her, the end of her cloak and robes becoming heavy with clay and
she could have sworn the muck was really hands reaching up and pulling her
down.  With a shriek of surprise that isn’t covered by a clap of the sky her
foot slips and she comes down.  Now there are hands on her and with little
breath and far too much adrenaline she fights them, pushing and scratching as
the man’s form becomes solid above her head.  She slides against the mud and
his hair is white in the darkness, streaks of black grime cutting across his
face as she struggles against him.
Suddenly that same low and taunting laugh escapes him and her arms begin to
burn with the effort.  “You still have your wand, girl, use it.”  His eyes are
black and she can’t possibly trust him, but he’s right and she quickly aims. 
“Crucio.” echoes around them, but she can’t remember saying it.
His full weight falls atop her and he’s screaming, chest shuddering and
pressing against her.  She gasps for air but all she can reach is his pain and
the screams are around her, swimming through her and drowning her.  With a
strength she is unaware of she pushes him off her and watches as he writhes and
slides against the mud.  A part of her she doesn’t want to acknowledge wants to
laugh.  Her fingers swell and her face flushes, heart pounding but she quickly
taps her wand to release him.
He’s free and moving more quickly than she can comprehend and his arms grasp
her as he pushes “Crucio” back into her ear, his thick wand pressing into her
chest.
The yellow pain rushes and covers her eyes, dragging all sound and feeling and
thought away as a scream, long and sharp pulls her down, down, down.  Her skin
both burns and freezes, bones aching to shatter and screaming apart and when
she looks at her body she could swear that it’s dissolving amongst the falling
rain, bubbling along the wet ground.
She doesn’t hear him when he ends it, but it’s all suddenly gone and the rain
and wind and reality return, his arms holding her tightly against him as her
weak limbs attempt to regain control.  Her face is pressed into his neck,
cheeks hot and with a hiccup she knows that she’s crying but the absence of
pain and the feel of anyone keeping her whole is all that she can consider as
her arms lift and surround his neck.
“Turn about is fair play, my dear,” and with lips that are warmer than they
should be, he presses a kiss to her cheek.  “Power is a marvellous thing, isn’t
it?”  He mumbles into her skin.
“Yes,” she answers without thinking and she knows he’s watching her although
her eyes are closed.  She pushes her vision open and his eyes are dark, even
when the lightning washes the world out.  Later she wonders exactly what she’s
thinking and the truth is that she isn’t, when her freckled hand cuts through
his hair and drives his lips against hers.  She bites at them, nipping and
sucking and she can still feel the tears rushing her cheeks, although maybe
it’s just the water that’s running from his hair across her face.  All she can
smell is water and sage and mud as he presses her back against a thick elm that
she didn’t know was there and her arms are weak but the taste of blood rushes
from where her teeth are tearing small holes in his skin.  He mutters something
that she doesn’t hear over the rush of rain and blood and her feet slip.  She
thinks that she’s falling and her arms grasp him, holding herself tightly to
him when she’s lifted against the tree.  She drops her head back and laughs at
the absurdity.
His hands are hot as he pushes her robes above her knees although the rainwater
now striking them is cold, running rivulets down her skin.  His fingers are
firm but longer than in his polymorphed form and she moans into his neck as he
slides them across her clit and up into her.  Her teeth come down again below
his ear and all she can think is how she wants desperately to hurt him and how
fabulous his fingers feel dipping inside her while his thumb runs circles
across her clit.  He moans as her teeth draw blood again and her hands move to
reach within his own thick robes.
His cock is wider than it had been and her hand, still wet with mud and water
runs over it, teasing and stroking the thick head.  He pushes against her, her
back grinding against the rough bark as her hand fists and strokes his hard
member.  She moans and insistently leads his cock towards her opening, feeling
the moisture as it runs over her fingers.
“Patience, my dear,” he hisses and she cries out when he takes control and
begins grinding his member against her.  Her legs circle his waist and she
pulls him to her, angrily pushing his lips open with her tongue.  His thick
cock is already running with pre-cum as he pushes it against her clit and rubs
the length of him along her cunt.
With a sudden thrust he drives himself into her and she cries out, feeling his
thick cock spread her open.  None of the boys she’s had were as thick and she
moans as he leans in and grabs at her earlobe with his teeth.
He slams into her and she flinches, feeling the sharp pain as she rips, her
body remoulding itself around him.  The bark scratches hard against her back
and as he continues to slam into her he roughly grasps her clit, squeezing and
rubbing it.  Her vision blurs and she feels her body begin to spasm as he
drives her over the edge.  Her screams are muted against the mud and rain but
as she cums, head falling back, her muscles tighten around him.  With a loud
grunt he thrusts into her and she feels him spill over inside of her.
Her clit is still on fire when he slides out of her and she whimpers, drawing a
long silken laugh from him.  “You are insatiable.”  He laughs again, but grasps
her neck with his teeth and pulling her skin between them she moans as he
firmly marks her in a way that will be hard to explain away.  Although right
now she really doesn’t care.
There’s a female voice shouting somewhere but it takes her a moment to
recognize her own name and by then Lucius has pulled away from her.  She hovers
against the tree a moment and he smirks, watching as his white seed leaks out
of her.  With a laugh, he releases her and she drops hard to the ground.  She
isn’t watching when he retrieves his mask and hood before turning and rushing
into the rain.  She looks up into the dark sky and shivers.  Somewhere just
beyond her, she can see the faint glow of her still lighted wand as it is
pounded by the rain.
“Ginny!”  She’s only just grasped the wand, her robes awkwardly in place when
Hermione emerges through the haze.  “Oh thank Merlin!  Are you alright?”
She blinks slowly against the rain and finally nods to her older friend.  “I .
. . slipped.”
Hermione’s eyebrow strikes her hairline and she laughs.  “I can see that.”  She
smiles and offers her arm.  “Let’s go home.”
Ginny eagerly allows herself to be helped up, feeling the wetness, sticky and
slick begins to seep between her legs.  She almost moans as her still sensitive
clit slips between her lips. 
"Wait."
"What is it?"  The older girl sounds urgent again.
"What about the raid?  What you were hoping to accomplish?"
"Oh." Hermione's laugh is forced and Ginny frowns.  "I managed it without you."
Ginny starts to call her friend on the obvious lie, but the sheets of parchment
pulled from Hermione's robes stop her.  They are old, but marked with the dark
mark, clear and unmissable. 
After a moment, Ginny nods and Hermione hooks her arms with her own, preparing
to aparate.  She stops for only a moment, tipping Ginny a strange look.
“What?”
“It’s funny, you . . . you smell just like sage.”
***** Chapter 4 *****
The stationary is just what Ginny would have expected of a Malfoy.  She wants
to laugh, really at the absurd way in which the paper, tinted so lightly green
that she could have imagined it, unfolds itself and lies expectantly across her
plate.  The owl, brown and nondescript in colouring, has large green eyes that
blink slowly from its perch and its insistent hoot is one of the many which are
now echoing through the Great Hall, various mail-carriers demanding their
rewards.  She smiles and passes a large piece of pancake to the creature that
hoots in appreciation before jumping to flight.
“Who’s that from?”  Neville’s mouth is full, but he manages to push the
question out and Ginny tips him a warning glare.  He knows how much it bothers
her when he does that.  He swallows before continuing and her eyes have time to
scan the page.  “Is it Harry?”  His voice is edged with the childish excitement
that he never seems to lose and that she’s always envied him.
“No.”  She slowly shakes her head as the room fades and she takes in the
letter.
My Dear,
Your presence is requested at the Partial Panther on the sixteenth day of
October of this year in order to discuss a matter of mutual interest.
Yours,
      LM
Her hand closes around the letter and all noise of breakfast conversation
rushes back.  One of the snakes, deftly curling around the Malfoy crest hisses
as her hand continues to squeeze the paper into its former pulp.  Today is the
fifteenth and tomorrow is the sixteenth and one of the most hated men in
Britain is inviting her to a hotel.  One of the most opulent hotels she’s ever
known and one which her family would never dream of having the money to step
inside.  A newspaper rustles and Ginny watches its headline advertising last
night’s raid, the raid of the fourteenth, the raid at which she had last seen
Lucius.
“Ginny, what’s happened?”  Neville’s face is white and he’s stopped eating
entirely as she pushes the crumbled letter into his hand.  He pulls it open but
before he reads a word she snatches it back and buries it in one pocket.
“No, nothing, never mind.”
The pocket is warm where the letter continues to rest and she can’t tell if
this is more of its enchantment or if she is simply imagining things.  She
shakes her head and then she’s in potions and when Professor Slughorn isn’t
looking she slips it out and almost drops it into her fire.  Somewhere behind
her a potion begins to smell like mud and rain and sex and she starts to laugh,
the letter falling back to her pocket as she tries to control herself.
In Care of Magical Creatures Hagrid is saying how he’s received a letter from
Harry, but, although he reads it to her, she isn’t mentioned.  Considering that
she’s the only member of Hagrid's sixth year class he would have mentioned it
if she were and this is when she begins to actually consider going.  Not
seriously, but in the way that a child considers fleeing its parents for
keeping a precious toy from him.  Somehow the hundeworm that she’s caring for
has tied itself in several tight knots and she watches it whimper and struggle
before Hagrid rushes to save it.  Neither of them can imagine how the little
creature had managed to find such a position.
At lunch Hermione is in the Owlery and Ginny considers leaving a note along
with her roast-beef on rye but thinks against it.  The older girl would insist
on coming along, in the very least, to ensure that Lucius is taken alive and if
he is she knows just what he’ll say and what will happen to her.  As she passes
Madam Pince, rationality kicks in and she begins to think of what good she can
do.  Sure she’d be sleeping with an evil man, but what is that compared with
the information she could get from him?  She could help Harry.  She could be
doing something and when she reaches for the letter again it’s been properly
refolded in her pocket.
After The History of Magic her father floos, the jumping green flames startling
her sleep-ridden brain as she tromps back through the Griffindor common room. 
He smiles politely and without saying ‘hi’ asks if she’s had any word from Ron
or Harry today.  He doesn’t ask how she’s been, how her courses are doing or
hey, just while he’s on the subject, if she happens to have shagged his mortal
enemy up against a tree.  She doesn’t have a chance to offer the information
before he rings off and by now she’s so angry that she’s tempted to floo him
back and tell him.  The first year that she nearly crucios doesn’t know what’s
hit her as Ginny flees to her room.
She’s in bed, rain pelting the roofing with the gentle clop-clop of a horse’s
hoof.  Across the room her roommates – but not friends – breath with a steady
in-out that she ignores as she thinks ahead to the next day: slipping away to
Hogsmeade after dinner, then onto the Partial Panther which is so large and so
exclusive that it has its own station.  If she could apparate it would be
easier, but that will come soon enough and she really doesn’t mind the journey
by train that will allow her time to slip into a robe that is vaguely more
appropriate for the expected ambiance.  She pretends that she hasn’t been awake
all night wondering what to wear.
The train is halfway to the hotel when she begins to question her decision,
heart suddenly pounding as she berates herself for her stupidity.  That’s when
the door slides open, but she doesn’t look up and really anyone who is over
apparating age and traveling to the Partial Panther in second class really
isn’t worth looking up for.  She breathes deeply, trying to regain her
composure and trying not to think about the rather obvious trap that she’s
probably chugging towards.  More importantly, she wonders how she’ll be able to
avoid it.  ‘It’ naturally meaning her prospective capture and imprisonment by
Deatheaters.
“What a charming robe?”  The voice stops her heart completely and when she
looks up Lucius’ smirk from across the compartment starts it up again.
“What are you doing here?”
He laughs.  “Don’t be so offended, my dear.  Or at least don’t be offended by
me.”  He sniffs the air as though something foul had died in their compartment
and he is now seeking it out.  “I am on my way to a ‘rendezvous’ and there’s no
reason that we can’t be . . . amiable before then.”
“So this isn’t-“
”A trap?  No, but I am impressed that you brought along such staunch defences
against the prospect.”  His sarcasm is not lost on her and she frowns.
“I can defend myself.”
He smirks again, laughter running like water from his dark form.  “Can you?” 
“I would have thought that you’d learned that the other night.”
“I learned something the other night, but I don’t think it was that.”
She scowls and this only draws more laughter from him as he slides across the
seat to place himself next to her. 
“If you came here only to be offended by me you should have at least paid more
for the accommodations.” 
She looks at him, her chocolate eyes mixing with his of steel but she doesn’t
speak, trying desperately to find something witty and, hopefully, biting in
response.
“Why did you come, my dear?”  His voice is soft and although he’s come no
closer it feels like silk running through her, the deep baritone strumming
against her ears.  “Alone, practically unarmed . . . defenceless?”
“I can defend myself, Malfoy.”  She repeats, words spit gracelessly but it
doesn’t matter because his fingers are suddenly against her neck and he presses
her hard into the window.  Her head strikes the glass with a bang and the
screech and movement of the train reverberates through it as she’s pressed into
the wall.
“Can you really, my dear?”  His gloved fingers cut deeply into her neck, thumbs
pressing over her larynx and she gasps, sucking and grabbing at the air.  His
body is pushed against her’s, holding her down.  She tries to fight but can
barely move and if she could breath at all she would scream, just as her mind
is.  Screaming that it was right and she was wrong and it’s a trap and now
she’s dead.  Her air is almost gone, but she grasps her wand and pushes it
against him, her lips moving desperately, forming any spell she knows but none
will emerge and when he laughs, she pushes against him all the harder.  He
still doesn’t move but after a moment he’s gone completely and she gasps
gratefully as the air returns to her lungs.  He slips across the compartment. 
He smirks and looks as though he’s going to say something oh-so-clever and
probably gloating, but she still has her wand and before he can stop her, her
eyes go yellow and she repeats “Mollis” under her breath.  His wand is in his
hand and he jerks it, not speaking, but easily deflecting the curse and now he
does laugh.
“Have they taught you nothing at that ridiculous school of yo-?”
“Crucio!”  She shouts, pouring the anger into the word, but he deflects this
too.
“My dear this is-“
She screams, throwing her wand to the side as she jumps at him, her nails
barred and he slips partway down the seat as she genuinely surprises him.  Her
fingers scratch at his face and eyes and now it’s he, who is trying to fight
her off, keep her down.  One hand grabs her waist and pushes her hard, but her
full weight is on him and it takes longer than he would ever admit to regain
control.  Her head spins when he suddenly flips her over and she hears the
thump as she is slammed into the long bench seat.  His hands are around her
wrists, holding her in place and she feels his hair cascade around her face
when he leans into her ear.
“You hate me, don’t you?”
She growls in response, eyes narrow and her breath coming hard as she pushes
back against his weight.
He chuckles and pointedly rubs his cock against her.  “Then why do you enjoy
this so much?”
“It’s you who’s enjoying it,” she snaps.
He grips her hands together and mutters “Conligarus,” a spell that she’s never
heard but she watches as her hands bind themselves together.  His hands are
still gloved in what is probably very expensive leather and as he continues to
hold her still-bound wrists, he slips the other beneath her robe.  Her breath
hisses when he expertly spreads her lips, one finger dipping inside her,
spreading her open and moistening itself before flicking against her clit.  She
moans, riding his laughter, but he quickly pulls his hand away and presses his
wet finger against her mouth, pushing it through her lips and the taste of her
mixes with the heady smell of leather as she swallows.  “Don’t contradict me,
my dear.”  With a flick of his wand, her hands are free and she pushes herself
from under him, scampering to retrieve her wand.  Grasping it, feeling the
comforting and familiar wood between her fingers she turns to him, eyes
burning.
“Alright, I enjoy it,” her growl is low and she hardly recognizes her own
voice.  “Petrificus totalis.”  She smirks as his body goes stiff, falling back
to the floor and she moves back over to him, leaning in close.  “And now you’re
going to watch me enjoy it.”  She moves to straddle him, legs pushing hard on
either side of his hips while her robe bunches around him.  Her fingers move
into his trousers and quickly extract his member, thick and hard even before
she’d stiffened the rest of him, and she teases the moisture from her own
opening, finger working deftly dipping and sliding over her clit until her
juices spill over her hand and his cock.  Her breath is coming hard as she
squeezes her clit, moaning as she watches his face, his eyes still on her but
otherwise completely unmoving.  Her finger, scratching and rubbing quickly
grows tired and she drops her weight onto his cock, which is already slick from
her fluids.  She rubs herself hard along it’s length, not letting him enter but
pressing her sensitive clit hard against it.  She’s firmly sliding herself
along him until she moans and her muscles tense, his head pressing against her
clit and she gasps, continuing to rub along him as the world fades and she
collapses on top of him.
She’s still weak when he regains control, turning her suddenly and her head
spins again, but instead of the familiar push of his cock against her opening,
he slaps the backs of her legs.  “On your hands and knees.”  His voice quivers
with rage and she quickly obeys, her muscles still tingling from orgasm, as he
stands behind her.  She screams when he slams into her, his entire length
filling and spreading her opening, which is still sore from their previous
encounter, and the pain squeezes through her.  He pulls out completely and
slams into her again, grunting as he does, but this time reaching down and
squeezing her already sensitive clit.  She moans as he presses and massages it,
before he pushes her forward and slams her backwards again onto his thick
cock.  Her opening is running with moisture and blood and as he splits her
open, working himself into a steady rhythm she reaches down and begins
massaging her clit herself.  He moans against the air and she’s groaning when
he feels her insides tighten as she prepares to cum again.  He grunts, but
pulls her hand away, denying her what she’s almost attained and he presses
forward, his own orgasm wracking through him as he spills into her.  He stands
for a moment over her back, grasping at the air and he reaches between her legs
to give her clit a final flick before pulling out.  She doesn’t moan or
whimper, although she desperately wants to.  When she returns to her feet she
feels the mixture of fluids run in rivulets down her thighs and it takes her a
moment to regain her balance against the slowing train. 
He retakes his seat and watches the passing tracks, glinting yellow in the
night sky as though he hadn’t just had sex on the compartment floor and was
concerned with nothing more than their arrival time.  Awkwardly she follows
suit, thankful that her robes are wrapped with a thick cloak as she feels the
stain beginning to spread on what had been her good robes.
As the train pulls to a complete stop he turns, not to her but, apparently to
no one and calls out.  “Dip.”  His voice is insistent and when a house elf
appears a moment later he glowers at it.  “When we’ve arrived get her cleaned
up and then show her to my room.”  The house elf bows low, although her owner
isn’t watching either of them.
“Yes, master.”
***** Chapter 5 *****
Ginny isn’t sure how she gets there, the burst of water as the cool ceramic tub
slowly fills around her.  The warm water throws a vast contrast to her goose-
pimpled skin and she shivers, absently watching the house-elf busy herself. 
She runs between several tables, feet dragging against the grass-covered floor
as she prepares and mixes various soaps and potions, which she occasionally
overturns in the rising liquid.  It flashes pink and then blue as two separate
powders dissolve and Ginny feels herself relax.  The room is large, but only
holds a few pieces of furniture: the tub and two tables stocked with bathing
implements.  When she looks at the walls, they’re dark, shimmering with glass
as they look out into what seems to be an abyss.
The lights above her are made of stars, each dimming and brightening as their
distant fires combine to light this room.  She blinks and in the darkness
between the stars she remembers passing through the hotel’s lobby, Lucius
motioning to the Veela concierge as she follows behind Dip.  She is following
Dip who is following Lucius.  Lower than a servant, and as she holds her cloak
tight she begins to feel this knowledge – that she is in fact his whore –
sinking in.  Maybe she’s even worse than that because she isn’t getting paid. 
Nobody’s watching her, but she catches their glances and she starts to wonder
how a wanted murderer could dream of setting foot here undisguised.  She looks
at him and he shimmers, the light of him pushes her eyes away and it’s then
that she realizes that those who do glance in their direction are only looking
at her.  A shower of metal and the golden galleons reflect across the Veela’s
face.  Money buys anything and his anonymity is complete.
The water stops and looking up Ginny watches Dip approach her, a large sponge
in one hand.  She reaches to take it from the elf, but the creature holds it
away from her as an unseen breeze dances through the grass.
“I’m sorry, Miss, but Master insisted.”
There’s a loud plop as her hand drops to the water and she does her best not to
glare.  “You can tell that ra-“
”Please, miss!”  The house elf openly interrupts the coming insult.  “Master is
very particular about things.  He wouldn’t like it if I don’t-“
”It’s my body isn’t it?!”
The house elf is breathing hard in panic and then Ginny remembers the Veela,
breath coming in short bursts as her eyes roll across her soiled form.  “Does
your mistress need a room to . . . clean up?”  The Veela asks from the lobby
and Lucius’ smile to her is one that pushes her eyes to the floor, cheeks
blazing with fire.  Her eyes find the solid-water floor, ripples forming around
her feet as the liquid holds them up and he confirms that she would.  Ginny
doesn’t deny the title nor will she later because she knows that she will
probably retain it for a while.  Until Harry’s back and she’s killed this man
whose long hair flows with every twist of his horrid head.  Until she watches
the life slip from him and steals her redemption from him.  Until he’s told her
everything he knows.
Dip is talking but her eyes are focused upon the bath, where the water runs in
waves from her body.  She turns suddenly and her hand snaps out, striking the
elf hard across the face.  “Get out!”  She shouts, wishing that her wand were
here beside her and not resting on the table across the room.  The elf’s thin
fingers tremble and the sponge slips through, bouncing dry upon the green, dew
covered floor. 
“Get out!”  She repeats and the small creature snaps its fingers and is
suddenly gone.  It takes her longer than it would have taken the elf for her to
emerge from the tub and when she’s thoroughly dry there’s a loud snap as she’s
carried away.
The Veela had laughed while she stares blankly at the four keys laid out,
comfortably bedded in a rectangular box lined in thick red velvet.  She looks
up at him.  He smiles and his eyes shine and then he shimmers and her eyes are
forced away from him.
“Do choose, my dear.”
The Veela’s laughter is music, something distant and sad and patronizingly
mirthful.  Ginny’s eyes return to the keys and later on she remembers that
she’s moving very slowly.  Four keys, four ways, four doors and four rooms
behind those doors.  Identical keys with the familiar Malfoy snake crawling and
curving about the four Malfoy crests topping the long iron.  One of the
twisting creatures hisses as her hand moves towards it and rather than be
dissuaded she grasps its cold metal form.  He smiles behind the shimmering
mist.
Now she blinks and although she’s naked, she doesn’t immediately notice the
fact because the room is warmer than normal and she almost feels clothed.  It’s
only when she thinks about it that she sees otherwise and whatever the room’s
enchantment is, it’s making her head float and her skin tingle.
There’s a picture across the room and she nods to the woman, long and strongly
coloured and if she knew anything about art she would have known an El Greco
when she saw it.  The woman eyes Ginny and then turns away with a look worthy
of a Malfoy.
There’s a loud snap and she lets out a yelp of surprise, something hard and
solid striking the back of her thighs.  She turns and it’s then that she sees
how far the room extends on either side of her, ending in tall elegant walls
surrounded in silk and canvas.  She looks down and the only piece of furniture
is spreading out from beneath her feet in a large table that sinks and rises
under her like a mattress.  She turns around, spinning against the malleable
surface but not even nearly losing her balance.  He smirks to her, still fully
clothed as before but now armed with a riding crop that stretches out long and
thin from his hand.  
Without asking she falls to her knees on the soft material, if only
uncomfortable by her sudden increase in height and he seems to approve,
although merely raises his head as he appraises her.  Walking around the table
the leather crop slaps casually against his palm and he looks entirely at home
both in this room and with said device.  She shivers against the warm air.
“I don’t like to be kept waiting.”
She doesn’t reply, but matches his gaze, chin rising on it’s own as though to
defy him.
“And getting poor little Dip into such trouble,” he shakes his head and his
words rush smoothly over her skin.  “Really, my dear, you are asking to be
punished.”  He’s behind her then and as she turns her head to continue watching
his circling form the crop lashes out and strikes the backs of her thighs with
a sharp pang.  She jumps with the shock of it and his smirk widens.  “A dirty
little blood traitor who converses with Muggles condemning an innocent house
elf.  It would be disgusting if it weren’t so very marvellous.”
“Ididn’t hurt her,” she growls, realizing her mistake only after she’s spoken.
“Didn’t you?”
She doesn’t answer again and feels a rush of blood as her cheeks colour.  Her
chin raises another centimetre and she winces when the crop strikes her again.
“Alright,” he laughs and the warm leather holds her eyes as he runs it firmly
between his fingers.  “But don’t think I’m not going to punish you for thinking
that I would ever leak the Dark Lord’s secrets to a little traitor.  And simply
for spreading her legs.”  He shakes his head and she feels her heart drop.  Her
mouth gapes as she gasps for a breath of air and he continues to laugh.  He
slaps her hard, again and, as though on queue she falls forward, hands sinking
against the soft surface.  Later she would swear that the room had told her
what to do and as he brushes the crop’s end against her pussy she could swear
the deep gasp is from the room itself and not from her.  “Or is it that you
simply love the feel of Lucius Malfoy inside you?”  She moans when he continues
circling.  “Your father’s enemy, the man who almost killed you making you cum?”
She leans forward, feeling the warm breeze of the room tickle her pussy as the
mattress pushes against her breasts.
He finally comes to rest behind her.  “Yes, my dear, you certainly need to be
punished for that.”
She cries out when the riding crop comes down hard across her backside, harder
than he had before and harder than she expected it would.  It comes down again
and she feels her skin tingle with the sharp pain as it rides across her
flesh.  She moans and feels her eyes squeezed close, pushing uncontrolled tears
to fall upon the black mattress.  In the darkness the pain is harder, sharper
and she opens her eyes again when it comes down once on her pussy, the sudden
pain striking her clit to life.  The sting grows and her skin throbs, the soft
flesh becoming red against the hard lash and after an eternity he finally
pauses to speak.
“Do you want it to stop?”  His voice is a hiss and immediately precedes the
lash. 
She nods, forcing her head to move from where it rests against the table.
“Do you?”  He roars above the silence and she groans, rising to rest on her
hands.
“Yes!”  She gasps and could swear that he’s laughing, only now it’s joined by a
female giggle.  She looks over and watches the painting as it openly mocks her.
Something brushes her hand and it takes her a moment to realize that her wand
is beside her, motioning her to work.  Blindly she grasps it and tries to turn
against him, give him what he wants.  “Cru-.”  With a flick of his wand her
words are interrupted and between her legs she watches him shake his head.
“No, my dear, make me stop.”  Another lash falls and she cries out, certain
that the skin has split against the falling crop.
She gasps against a sob and turns again.  “Imperio!”
His hand pauses mid-way through his follow-through and she grasps at the air as
the pain is finally eased.  His frozen body is almost comical and she focuses
hard against the throb, forcing his hand to toss the crop away and she doesn’t
hear it land across the room.  His snarl is held still by her curse and she
edges her way towards him on her knees, feeling the remaining moisture as it
runs across her cheeks.  She sniffs and with a flash she slaps him hard, nails
out and she watches the claw-marks form across his well shaven cheek.  Her wand
drops as she moves and he’s suddenly pressed against her as she loses her
control of him.  His body is heavy as he leans over her, pressing her back into
the soft table and, although it’s silk, it rubs and pushes her sensitive
backside so that she moans in pain.  He grinds against her, his thick cock
pressing through the fabric of his robes and her hand goes to rub it through
the cloth.  The warmth of it rushes over her and she tries to reach through it
and grasp hold of him but he pushes her away.
“We’re not done, yet.”  His wand is in his hand again and he aims directly for
her.  If she hadn’t known better she’d swear that a rock had dropped in her
stomach as her limbs hold in position and he silently freezes her.  “You seemed
so amused by my own torture, now it’s your turn, my dear.”  He backs away from
her and she struggles against the curse, trying to move, panic rising as he
seems to move towards the fallen crop.  Instead his head suddenly dips and his
finger, warm and controlling, splits her open.  She tries to moan, but can’t as
his thumb works against her clit and she wants to scream in frustration when he
quickly replaces it with his tongue.  Her eyes burn against the soft warmth of
the room and his tongue and lips suck and pull at her swollen clit as two long
fingers firmly penetrate her.  She’d be breathing hard if she could take in
more than small, shallow breaths and her vision blurs as her body screams.  The
wand is still firmly held in her hand and if only she could speak she could
break his hex and could scream as his soft, warm tongue pushes and massages her
clit.  She thinks she’s going to burst as his teeth graze it, nibbling and
sucking.  When she thinks she’ll die of frustration her mind screams the
counter-curse in silence.  She blanks her mind and tries to push the
overwhelming sensation from her thoughts as they focus hard and she shouts the
counter-curse.  With a blink she can move again and as his teeth suck her clit
hard she screams, hands grasping at the mattress as she falls hard into her
bliss.  He bites down on her sensitive nub again before crawling up her body
and pressing his lips against hers.  His tongue dips and plunders her mouth and
she knows without his saying that this is what she tastes like when he makes
her cum.
“Very good, my dear, you learn quickly,” and his hard cock is pressed against
her opening.  Her pussy aches and she moans in the moment before he presses it
into her, her entrance taking him more easily than before.  She groans as the
heated sensation accosts her senses.  His hair falls in a shower around her and
she’s swimming in blonde and sage as his cock moves quickly inside her, rubbing
and teasing her clit as it moves.  Later she’ll wonder if this was
unintentional or if he knew that it would drive her mad.  Her hand is pressing
and rubbing one swollen nipple and he roughly pushes it aside as he takes it
into his mouth.  He sucks hard, biting and pulling the hard nub as his cock
pushes into her and her hand drops to grasp hold of his balls, squeezing and
rubbing them and feeling them swell.  She moans as he thrusts hard and with a
noise that she’s come to know all too well, he cums, cock twitching as he fills
her.  He sighs and she relaxes back, the softness of the table reaching around
her and holding her in the warmth that follows.  His hands grasping her cheeks
shake her from the peace and her cheek stings as he slaps her hard. 
“You’re not done yet.”  He pulls out of her and pulls her roughly off the
table.  She is kneeling before him, his cock limp and glistening with their
combined fluids in the room’s light.  He mumbles something and she knows that
he’s still holding his wand and his cock twitches.  She leans forward, his hand
burying itself in her tousled hair and he pushes her mouth against his dripping
member.  She takes it quickly, tasting their musky combination as she licks and
sucks it clean.  He’s hard again before she’s done and although she’s heard of
spells that make men ‘come back to life’ she’s never seen it used.  She can
feel his moisture, white and thick as it runs out of her pussy and he lets one
of her hands drop to rub the liquid around her swollen clit.  He fills her
mouth and she tears up as she tries to take him all down her throat, his hand
pushing her mouth further and further down the thick shaft.  She’s moaning
against it, one hand working the length that won’t quite fit and the other
rubbing and pressing her clit, moving her closer and closer to a second
orgasm.  His robes are smooth where they press against her breasts and as her
fingers rub hard he grunts and pushes her roughly down over his member.  It
twitches in her mouth and she tastes him, salty and bittersweet as he spills
over her tongue.  Her fingers are still pressing her clit when he slips out and
she feels a trail of his seed drip from her mouth, lips falling open as her
screams of pleasure dance about the room.  She collapses to the ground, hand
wet and dripping from his cum and she doesn’t expect it when one of his hands
firmly slaps against her backside.  He grasps her and roughly throws her onto
her back, the soft floor moving like water to catch her.  His wand is out as he
forces her legs apart and presses the wooden tip against the inside of one
thigh.  “Manifestus Malfoy.”  He whispers and she gasps as a sharp pain runs
along her skin.  When she looks back a moment later the sting has subsided and
in its place a small green snake, twisting and entwined with a mate curls in a
tattoo.
“It will be easier to call on you.”  He seems to explain and turns suddenly
away as she’s left to stare at this strange gift.  She moves to stand, legs
still weak, but she forces herself to rise and face him.
His back is to her and in an odd realization she discovers how easy a quick
Avada kadavra spell would be.  Then he’s turning and she wipes the final drips
of him from the corner of her mouth and she sees that he’s holding a small
cage.  Her eyes drop to it where two small birds hop and tweet from branch to
branch. 
“This is for you, my dear,” and for a moment she’s beyond confused by the gift
before she takes the cool metal into her hands.  “I expect that you’ll be well
practiced the next time I call for you.”
She doesn’t have to ask what he wants her to practice.
***** Chapter 6 *****
The dawning sun casts shadows of orange and gold across the speeding train. 
Her eyes squeeze shut against the glare and she hunches, her back pushed up to
the broad window that looks out on the rushing fields.  Despite the prevalence
of beds, she did not sleep in the hotel, opting to catch an hour’s rest as the
train drags her back to Hogsmeade and the reality of her life.  Her body
tingles from the remaining charm of the room and it only reminds her that
she’ll have to visit Madam Pomphrey for a contragraviditaspotion that most of
the sexually active students were more than slightly familiar with.  If she
would talk, the elderly nurse could have told you the sexual habits of nearly
every student and teacher at Hogwarts and it’s only because of her penchant for
secrecy that she has the knowledge.
The second-class blind is broken and gone, appearing to have been torn from the
wall and Ginny gives up completely on the rest that her body is demanding.
She lets out a sigh as her stomach gurgles but doesn’t growl: she’s never been
less hungry in her life.  The memory of the breakfast that Dip had laid out for
her after Lucius was gone is better than any she’s had and dragging her tongue
across her lips brings a burst of flavour to her mouth.  The train curves along
its track and the sun strikes her eyes.  She blinks against it and when they
open again she’s in the Great Hall, a second but far less opulent meal was laid
out before her.  Nobody had noticed that she was gone and now no one notices
when she doesn’t eat.
There’s a screech as the owls charge above them, a flutter of wings and papers
and with a crash a linen bag drops to her empty plate, followed closely by the
same brown owl, eyes blinking like Muggle traffic lights against the flame-lit
room.  She steals a large piece of toast from Neville’s plate and pushes it to
the bird, spurring him to take flight.
“What’s that?”  Neville pushes around a large sausage and Ginny’s eyes reach
within the bag.  They widen to match the fleeing owl’s and her hand closes hard
around the bag, holding the several thousand galleons closed from the rest of
the Great Hall.
“N-nothing.”  Her heart thumps in her ears and her fingers tingle.  Her hand
squeezes around the linen, which is growing warm and damp with sweat.
“Ginny, what’s wrong?”  Neville looks concerned and her eyes flash about the
room, catching and passing the glances of those who have noticed the large sack
on her plate.  She feels the adrenaline flare against her chest and she’s not
sure if she’s more angry that he would pay her or that this is what people have
noticed her for.  It’s then that she notices Neville’s hands fumbling with a
green-tinted envelope in the light.
“Hey!” She rips if from him and hauling the large bag in her arms she stands. 
Her voice grates against her throat and she is immediately struck with the
sinking guilt as Neville’s face drops.
“Ginny!  Calm down!”  One of the sixth years is saying but she doesn’t listen
and rushes as best she can from the bustling room.  Her room is empty and it’s
only once she gets there that she tears the envelope open.  The matching green
and twisting snake greets her with a familiar flick of the tongue.
My Dear,
As always your presence made my evening infinitely more enjoyable.  The
enclosed galleons are neither to offend your ridiculous pride, nor to be taken
in any other way as a form of payment; a Malfoy would never dream of paying for
a witch’s company.  However, that witch ought to, at least be appropriately
attired and I would rather not deprive your family of food in order for you to
be properly clothed.  As I’m sure this is more money than you have ever dreamed
of, enclosed is a list of appropriate stores for your perusal.
Yours,
                  LM
The letter folds and replaces itself in the envelope as she pulls the bag
open.  The weight of the galleons press down upon her legs and she tentatively
runs her fingers through the coinage.  She never had seen quite so much money
before and it is hard to stop from smiling at what could be done with it.  She
would buy a couple dresses and have enough left to afford something for her
parents that they had always wanted.  She started laughing: she could probably
buy them a whole new house with all this money.  It was all so marvellous and
her hands continue to tremble as she buries the sack deep in her trunk and
grasps her books to head to class.
The gold dances through her drowsy mind and when she’s no longer focused upon
brewing glory or potting fame her eyes drift closed and for the first time in
her life she enjoys the prospect of what she will spend her galleons on.  She
hardly notices that Neville avoids her with the look of uncertainty that she
hasn’t seen on him since he was a second year.
It’s not until the next day when her roommate begins shouting about her bloody
pigeons keeping her up that her heart drops and reality strikes.  A simple
silencing charm and the birds fall quiet in the morning light of the room.  The
girls sigh but Ginny can’t fall back to sleep, the galleons and clothing and
Harry flitting through her mind as she watches the small creatures bounce about
in ignorant bliss.
She rolls away from them and it’s a week later.  The robes, which were far more
expensive than she dreamed that clothes could be are folded away, hidden behind
a childhood jumper and a robe stained with her fourth year potions exam. 
The winter sun is far from rising when her eyes open, breath short and hair
thick with her own sweat.  She gasps, feeling tears press against her cheeks
and she muffles her sobs into her pillow.  Those dreams come rarely now, the
remnants of Tom wreaking a silent and occasional havoc on her unconscious
mind.  Images of death and blood and her own destruction interrupted with the
overwhelming sense of mirth as she watches London burn; London bridges falling.
She looks at her hands in the darkness and as the moonlight glints against the
window they run red.  Buried beneath the covers and all the silencing charms
she knows won’t stop the screaming.  She still hears it, distant and echoing
against the cage.  The birds are watching her from where they sit against the
window, the silver cage glistening white against the darkness.  They watch her
in the silence, eyes blinking lazily and she knows they should be asleep, but
they watch her.  She sniffs against her running nose and the birds blink, both
singing suddenly together.  The charm is still in place and they make no noise
but somehow between her tears and the continued screaming she hears their
laughter through the silence.  Their thin beaks move quickly open and closed
and the tears are rushing hot across her skin.
The wand beneath her pillow is out and her eyes slide closed against the
stillness.  Somewhere down the row a girl mumbles and the sound of bedding is
loud as she shifts in her sleep.  Ginny can hear nothing but the laughter and
it continues grating along her back and balling in her stomach.  A flash of red
sparks the room as her mind shouts Crucio and it reflects green spots upon her
eyes.  The silence returns as she watches the grey figure tense and fall back
from its perch.  It twitches, beak moving quickly against the stillness and she
holds the spell a moment watching it.  The other bird hops madly from perch to
perch, banging hard into the cage’s bars and falling against its friend.  It’s
now that she cuts the spell short and both birds jump about their enclosure,
tweeting madly and flying hard against the bars to escape their unseen
torturer.  At least they won’t be laughing at her now and the wand slips back
to its cover.  Her breath is loud and rough against the night.
Days pass and the frightened animals are no longer safe.  Ginny’s trips to the
library lessen and she watches the birds even when she’s not alone.  She talks
to them in the daytime, cooing and petting and promising kindness with every
extra handful of food.  She can’t keep it and when the red returns to her
hands, they begin laughing and the daytime vanishes.  She hears the Veela
concierge in that silence, her ringing laughter drawing the red shame to her
cheeks.  She hears her brothers laughing when blood had first stained her
underwear years ago and she had run crying to her mother, thinking she was
dying.  Knowledge of the realities of life was not something she had been armed
with.  The snickers of everyone after she has lost more house points for
snogging, seeking out the realities she has been denied.  The birds laugh and
she controls their movements, a simple flick and they fight each other, tearing
with their beaks.  She holds one still and lets the other have its fill before
another flick repairs the bones and mends the flesh.  Her teachers are beyond
surprised by her sudden proficiency in wand-less magic and healing spells.  If
only she could demonstrate what else she was becoming good at, but at least
they aren’t laughing now.
She’s alone when he calls her next, the time between Charms and Defence Against
the Dark Arts passing in the solitude of watching her captives twitter about,
wings occasionally meeting as their glances dance together across their cage. 
Words of pity roll off the metal and she promises that one day she’ll set them
free.
The sting against her thigh is unexpected and she looks at the three weeks and
four days since the pale green scar cut itself into her skin.  She pushes her
robe away from her legs and watches the two snakes twist and move madly
together.  Her skin burns and she struggles to stand thinking only of the long
gowns running behind her clothing as she digs them like jewels from her
closet.  The cloth smells like summer and the ocean and she lets one fall over
her head.  The blue sparkles in the mirror, glistening in the autumn light. 
Her eyes flash and she moans against the pain, she could swear that one of the
snakes is digging its long fangs through her flesh.  She unties her hair,
letting it roll red across her back but she hardly feels it as her wand presses
the scar.  She doesn’t have to know how to apparate for it to work.
The pain is gone with a flash of light and she’s still blinking when she feels
the ground land solid beneath her feet.  His hands are warm on her neck but
when she turns towards him he holds her still and suddenly her vision is gone.
“Hey-“ she reaches towards where she can feel him tying the thick blindfold
behind her head but as it’s tied tightly he grasps her hands and moves them
away.  He doesn’t have to tell her ‘no’ and she stops.  He releases her and she
can only vaguely hear him step across the solid floor.  Her hands reach forward
and her breath catches against the rising panic of the unknown.
“Come here.”  His voice is farther away than she would have thought and echoes
about the room as though it were a hollow cavern and not a hotel.  She listens,
hearing a rush of water as it runs somewhere in the room but it, too is
echoing.  She steps forward, her foot sounding a small plop around the room and
she understands that they’re within the hotel lobby.  Strange that she can’t
hear any of the other patrons, although she could swear that she can hear the
Veela laughing as she takes another step.  One step, two, three and she feels
his hands against her own, one slipping around her waist and her head drops
back, expecting the hot moisture of his lips.  Her skin itches.
There’s a strum of notes and she grasps his shoulder while the music pulls them
away.  She gasps and her heart leaps into her throat as he gently shifts her
hands and then she’s dancing, body catching the steps as he leads her through
the darkness.  Her feet play like raindrops striking water and once she’s
caught his steps she listens as his own feet drop and play with hers.  When she
blurs the sound she could swear their feet carry the music and not the other
way around, strings balanced on the drop-drop of their steps.
“Very good, my pet,” he hushes towards her and she smiles, laughs and the sound
is awkward against the music.
He twirls her and the shower of applause that follows as she falls against him
is the first indication to her that they’re not alone.  She jumps, but with a
tightening arm Lucius holds her still.  Bows hit and run along their strings
and as he turns her and quickly pulls her back against him she feels the hand
around her waist shift and she flinches, something cold and metal suddenly
pressed against the small of her back.
“Do you know what that is, my dear?”
She feels her forehead contract as she focuses to make out the form of the
object through her robe.  A chill rushes through her when she recognizes the
cool outline of a knife and his breath contrasts it where it rushes hot against
her neck.  He twists her arm again and she twirls, her long robe and hair
swirling round her.  He pulls her to him, a gentle motion that moves well with
the soft instruments and the pair continues moving in a backwards waltz when
her back is pressed against him.  His arm falls around her stomach and she
feels his cock, hard, as it always seems to be brushes the small of her back,
taking the place of the knife.  She’s shaking when his other arm comes around
her and the long blade is pressed against her throat.  His body warms her but
she shivers, almost whimpers when her teeth press down around lips and stop it.
“It’s power,” she thinks he whispers, but against the rush of blood she isn’t
sure.  Her breath catches and holds when the knife moves languidly across her
skin and she suddenly can’t feel it, but hears the sharp slice as it runs under
her robe’s thick strap and cuts.  She feels the brush of fabric as the sliced
material drags against her arm and with another push and spin they’re dancing
normally, the blade again pressed against her back.
“Do you trust me?”  There’s a sudden pressure on her back as the knife tears
away the thick fabric there.
“No.”  She flinches when the blade’s edge touches her skin, easily parting it
and she feels a small trickle of moisture when it’s pulled away.
He laughs and she feels them turn together, drop-drop-drop as their feet rain
across the floor.  “Good.”  His hand is hot where it seizes her shoulder and
the blade slips along it, tearing and clearly removing her other strap.  It
falls too, the silk rushing against her back where it lies, but the dress is
tight and won’t slip free so easily.  It’s not until later that she realizes
that he is destroying a thousand galleon dress for his own amusement.
She twirls and somehow the blade is between them although she could swear that
his hands are on her back and in her other hand, but he presses them together
around it.  His warm breath on her cheek is the only indication of what’s
coming next but she’s taken off guard when his lips are thrust against hers. 
His tongue digs into her mouth and she moans against it, almost forgetting the
blade and her own mortality when, with a sudden thrust and tear the blade
slices between her breasts, rising to her cleavage and pulling the fabric there
away.
The loose cloth slides to her hips and she shivers when her naked breasts
tickle the air.  Another tear that she doesn’t feel and the fabric slides along
her hips and legs to pool around her on the floor.  He leads her, still dancing
from the crumbled ring.  He chuckles against her and as the music stops his
lips find one nipple, sucking and pulling and making her moan as a shower of
applause surrounds them.
“Now, pet-“ his voice is sticky and she edges closer to him, pressing against
his body but with a loud hiss he pushes her away.  Her feet slip on the dry-
water and she lands hard, barely holding herself up by her arms.  The blindfold
slips and she blinks around it, turning to watch Lucius hunch protectively
around his arm, the Dark Mark glowing.  He glances at her and his grey eyes
glint but without speaking he turns and rushes from the room.  She gapes after
him but only after he’s gone does she remove the blindfold completely and,
glancing about she recognizes her mistake: what she had thought to be the lobby
is simply another of his rooms, water rushing dry across the floor and
spreading in small pools around her.  The blue walls stretch out, thickly
canvassed in paintings, which are the only audience they’ve had, the subjects
of Rembrandt and Goya watching her in mild amusement.
There’s a flash and when she opens her eyes she’s sitting on her bed in
Hogwarts, one bare nipple glistening in the evening light where his mouth had
been.  She moans and her fingers slowly rub against the nub while her other
hand travels between her legs.  The birds bounce and twitter as the moans and
cries are quickly pressed from her.  She doesn’t hear when the word ‘Lucius’
hisses from her.
Three days later the news of the attacks begin.  The first in Nuremberg where
ghostly Nazis begin marching through the city, smashing stores and burning
houses before sinking beneath the cobbled streets to rest.  Four days after
that and a large section of Paris vanishes before Muggle eyes.  A week later
and the Deatheaters in the Americas begin acting up with Muggle killings an
almost daily occurrence.  Every picture of masked killers chills the students
but Ginny stares, tracing thin outlines with her fingers and wondering who is
beneath the mask.  She doesn’t remember that Harry still hasn’t written
her.                             
A week after Lucius is called away from her the Ministry announces that they’re
placing a hold on the Malfoy account at Gringotts.  Two weeks after that and
Narcissa Malfoy announces that she’s auctioning off Malfoy treasures to support
herself, fighting for the top story with a massacre of Muggles in central
Canada.
It’s at this point that everyone begins theorizing on where, exactly, Lucius
has gone.  All recognize that the pride of a Malfoy would never sink to
auctioneering and so the house’s head must have disappeared for Narcissa to
dare.  The general consensus is Bulgaria where the Dark Lord’s supporters are
strong.  Some suggest that he’s returned to his family’s native France, home of
the family’s lineage until coming to Britain with William the Conqueror.  No
one who had even heard of the Malfoys would have been unaware of this
connection.  It’s even suggested that it is he who is leading the North
American Death Eaters in their recent flare up, refining and training their
tactics in a sort of exile for his family’s failure, for Draco’s failure; sins
of the son.  It’s only the readers of the Quibbler, those with cork necklaces
or carrying the mark of Malfoy who support this theory.
She is not surprised by the scope of Malfoy manor when she arrives, but her
father and mother and a barely pregnant, but overly pampered Fleur gasp in
wonder at the large brick building.  It rises against the dreary British
afternoon, gables and buttresses (flying and otherwise) thick with the winter’s
snow and throwing further shadow over the already clouded countryside.
A small and sickly house elf, not Dip, but probably her relation holds the door
wide for the stream of bidders and gawkers as they file into the house.  Only a
small section is open to the public but the large ballroom into which they’re
ferried is larger than the entire Burrow and easily holds the hundreds of
wizards who’ve come to watch the purebloods fall.
“Here we are.”  As Head of the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of
Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects, Arthur had overseen the
care and inspection of the items to be auctioned and so had received a personal
invitation to the event itself.  The row of chairs, cheap and wooden and more
than a little out of place in the elegant room are marked with their
reservation and Molly helps Fleur relax back into one chair.  Ginny silently
smirks at the thought of how large her sister-in-law will become; Weasleys
never have easy pregnancies.
The young woman remains standing for a moment, eyes running across the room as
the current audience disappears in the face of the history of the place, gowns
and waltzes pushing away the modern disgrace and filling the room with warmth. 
For the first time in months her thick sweater slips off as she drops into her
chair. 
Her head rises and her eyes jump from head-to-head, seeking out the blonde and
trying to spot the woman she’s wronged.  The woman, it seems that the world has
no trouble gawking at, mocking, simply because she’d married the wrong man. 
Had the wrong son.  Ginny isn’t surprised when she doesn’t see her.
They’re late and the auction starts almost immediately as Molly pampers Fleur,
asking what she needs and if she’s comfortable and Ginny rests back as a
solitary observer.  Her father tries to ask if she’s heard from Harry and Ron
but Cornelius Fudge, proud to have something important to do speaks over him,
beginning the sale of priceless pureblood possessions.  Someone says that this
is a great day, a historic day and Ginny openly starts to laugh, as though this
is what it’s going to take to bring that evil man down.  She ignores her
mother’s look and her silencing hand.  She never listened when she was a child
either.
The bidding starts and she really couldn’t care less as her mind wanders about
the house, wondering whereshe is, where Draco’s room was and if his Slytherin
quidditch flag still flies there.
The item is sold for more than it’s probably worth and another less impressive
piece of furniture is brought up.  She ignores it, doesn’t even notice it as
she wonders what his room is like.  Would it be elegant and normal or revealing
the perverse underside of the Malfoy disposition?  If he lines the walls of his
‘harem’ with El Grecos and Rembrandts, what would she find here?  Her hand
twitches and she watches her parents as they stare about the room, hands
clasped as though they need protection from the large armoire.  As though it
will rip their unborn grandchild from their lives and the two coming
grandparents lean in towards Fleur.  A slight of hand: keep your eyes on the
birdie while your daughter slips away.
She almost does when two men carry the furniture away and with a flick of the
wand reveal a small case where a silver watch glistens against the fire-lit
chandeliers.  The auctioneer’s wand twitches and they can see it closely, the
chain long and moving, a tongue flicking from it’s clasp and she has to remind
herself that it’s not a real snake when he opens the bidding.  Two men parley
across the audience, wands raised as identifiers and the first dance of the
night spins across the ballroom.  There’s a hiss between her thighs and her
wand arm is out, the thin wood wrapped in her hand.  Someone gasps and she
hears Fleur demand to know what she’s doing, but she doesn’t answer.  The duet
becomes a trio, three wands glowing against the evening light.  The trio drops
to two and she watches the chain turn to study her across the room as her wand
counters her opponent’s impressive bid.
“Ginevra, if this is a joke, I’m not laughing,” her mother hisses and she holds
back a chuckle.  Let the woman squirm and her family finally notices her.
“Sold to the pretty little lady.”  The gavel claps and the watch is hers as her
parents stare.
“Gin-“
Now she does turn to her father and she smiles.  “I did some work for Fred and
George in the fall-“
“And so you thought you’d buy yourself a Malfoy trinket?!”  Her mother is angry
but Ginny cannot figure out why, the woman’s high voice grating against her.
“It’s my-“
“Did you want a souvenir of the man who tried to kill you?  Would kill us all
if he could?”
Arthur sinks back in his chair and Fleur is watching the far side of the
ballroom as though she would prefer to be sitting there.  Ginny doesn’t
particularly blame her.
“It could be dangerous!  Do you really think that-”
Ginny stands up, ignoring her mother.  “I’m going to get my watch.”  She’s
shocked them, she knows, but doesn’t care.  Little Ginevra, her mother’s pet,
now circles her waist with a Malfoy snake purchased with Malfoy galleons.
The noise of the room and strike of the gavel disappear behind her and she
finds the house proper.  The hall is quiet, leading grandly to the staircase
that she follows to the second floor.  They’re not allowed there, the plebs and
the rabble, but she moves in silence across the lush carpet.  The snake bites
down again against her thigh and she turns into the room, more than a little
disappointed by the as-yet unremarkable second floor.  The door is silent as it
swings open, quiet praise to the house’s servants and she slips within what she
finds to be a library that Hermione would probably die to see, one that she
would be seeing if she weren’t stuck in Hogwarts with her precious research.
The shelves extend upwards, stretching into the dark ceiling and she wonders if
they aren’t more for show than study.  Unless a broom comes standard with
Malfoy reading and she wanders between the plush chairs and thick wooden
furniture.
It’s then that she realizes that she’s not alone and her body freezes as the
tall woman, long hair falling like water across her silk robe watches her in
the gloom.  A spot of sunlight slips from between the long curtains, running
and falling between the unblinking pair.
“Are you here to kill me?”  The woman’s chin rises on her long neck and she
stares down at Ginny.  “Did my husband send you?”  Two questions, one thought. 
She feels colour jump to her face, indistinguishable in the room.  The woman’s
hair glints silver in the darkness and her eyes flash.
“No.”
“Oh.”  Her voice darkens, realizing that she is little more than a gawker. 
“That’s too bad.”  Mrs. Malfoy doesn’t say anything more as she turns back to
the curtains, watching them as though they parted around a window instead of
blocking out the light.
Ginny doesn’t know what she’s supposed to say or even if that was a gentle bid
to go, but when a small white mouse climbs the elegant woman’s shoulder and
rests on hind legs she stops.  The pale creature’s nose sniffs in Ginny’s
direction.
“You have my permission to leave.”  Mrs. Malfoy’s quiet voice commands her and
she turns and quickly returns downstairs.  The house calls her, warming her and
sheltering her, but her heart is pounding.
Her mother doesn’t speak to her on their way back to London and Ginny feels her
stomach knot: she hadn’t wanted to hurt her mother, she had simply wanted the
watch that was now quietly twisting in her palm.
The face keeps time well, a fact which she quickly learns and when she looks up
from its hissing form, slipping it back into her pocket she’s in Care of
Magical Creatures and Hagrid is explaining again how delicate the Persian
beetles are.  She doesn’t care as she watches two of the horrible and hardly
magical bugs crawl over each other.  Something twitches against her thigh and
she feels her foot accidentally fall on the two creatures with a loud crack.
It’s the middle of December when her mother speaks to her again, her large red
head popping through the fire and demanding to know when she’s planning on
coming home and if she’d like to help with Christmas shopping for the boys. 
Another muggle attack in Quintana-Roo and Ginny knows that she won’t have
anything else to do this weekend.  She leaves the watch behind in an effort at
conciliation with her mother.
London is busy with snow and shoppers and Ginny has long ago given up trying to
hear her mother as their feet click against the cobbled street.  She shivers
and pulls her cloak more tightly around her and her mother comments on
something mundane for her brother Charlie.
“What is the room you exit without entering?”  The poor man who speaks is
beyond dirty, hunched against one wall and lacking even the motivation to
stand.  His wand lies broken and forgotten at one side as he asks his question
of the pigeons.  They ignore him and he shakes his head, resting as it is
against his fingertips.  “What is the room you leave without entering?”  His
voice cracks.
Ginny’s feet bring her closer and he doesn’t see her in the crowd.  Somewhere
behind her, her mum is seeking her out.
His eyes catch her feet and he leans towards them, staring.  How easy it would
be to hurt him now.  “What is the room you-“
“Womb.”  She cuts him off.  “Womb.”
His eyes follow the length of her body to her face and it’s only then that she
sees that his dark eyes continue to twitch, even after he’s smiling at her. 
“Yes!  Yes!”  He repeats and his hands slap together.  Both of his thumbs are
missing and the sound is oddly hollow.  “Womb!  Womb!”  Before she stops him he
grasps her hands and dances her in a quick circle.  People are starting to
notice them then and the man’s cheeks colour, glowing beneath the thick dirt.
“Ginny!”  Her mum is beside her and pulling on her arm but for some reason
Ginny laughs.
The man stops moving at the noise and drops her hands, staring into the crowded
street with eyes that glisten.  “He’s going to kill me!  Womb, womb, womb!”  He
shakes his head and Ginny follows his eyes to the tall man pressing through the
crowd, not towards them but away from them.  “A shower of gold!”  She doesn’t
see the man rush away from her as she focuses hard on the blurred moving
figure.  Before she’s even sure that it’s him she rushes after him, slipping
between couples and families laughing with the season and as she rounds a
corner she catches his hair with her eyes and she knows for certain that Lucius
is back.  Her feet don’t stop and somewhere behind her, her mother is calling
her.  She can almost touch him and her mind goes blank: ‘Imperio.’  The word
swims through her mind when she watches him tense and she holds him still.  She
feels him fighting harder than the birds ever had and he moves like quicksilver
as she grasps for him.  She comes up behind his frozen form and someone in the
crowd mumbles a curse at them for holding up the traffic.  He smells just like
him when her lips press against his ear.
“Is this power?”  She commands him to walk and he does, finding an adjacent
alley and turning into it.  It’s empty and the tall brick walls close them in
and flood them with silence.  He slips on the snowy cobbles and she moves to
catch him, but as her attention wanes he slides free and with a silent smirk
presses her hard against the wall.  The brick is damp and grimy where her
fingers press into it and she cries out against the pressure, stone grinding
against her skin, his hand against her neck.
“Is this?”  He counters, but drops his hand and raises his wand, her mother’s
cries for her echoing against the rising brick.  “Non posse videri.”  She
watches the air around them glimmer and they’re invisible as her mother’s wide
figure struggles past the alleyway.  He smirks at her.  “What are you going to
tell her?”
“Anything.”  Her hand grasps the back of his head and she pulls his head down
so that their lips grind together, skin bruising and aching where it’s
pressed.  Her tongue pushes into his mouth, tasting and swimming in him as he
nips at it.  She feels his cock twitch to life between them and his fingers
pull at the buttons of her atrocious orange coat.  Their breath rises like
steam against the December air and as her coat and robe slip open, she
shivers.  Her hands are working his buttons, fumbling from one to another, but
when his pale skin glints through them she mumbles a warming spell.  If she
were looking, she would have seen the snow around their feet begin to melt, but
she’s looking at him when her lips find one nipple and he groans.  He’s hard
and rubbing against her now and her hand finds itself inside his trousers,
cupping and rubbing the large member.  His palm is suddenly around her neck and
he pushes her head back, slamming it hard into the wall.
“Merlin, I missed this.”
She isn’t certain if he said it or not as she feels his hand slip into her
panties and run one long index finger against her slit.  She’s already dripping
into his hand and he presses hard against her clit, lifting a groan from her. 
He forces her panties aside and his cock tickles and teases her opening.  When
he forces into her hard, she groans in sheer bliss.  Her head falls to one side
and from down the alley she can see several concerned bystanders glance down
it, seeking the invisible source of the noise.  His lips press against her as
he casts the familiar spell, lifting her against the wall.  He pulls out
completely and she whimpers for him to fill her again as his tongue flicks and
rubs hers.  She whimpers again, louder and her hand grasps his cock, rubbing
her moisture along its thick length.  His breath comes with a hiss and he
unconsciously thrusts into her hand.  His lips jump to her neck and he pulls
the skin into his mouth, his tongue and teeth drawing moans of pleasure from
her as she leads his member back to her slit.  With another thrust he’s deep
inside her and she feels his teeth break her skin.  One hand quickly finds her
clit, pressing and rubbing it as he pounds her against the wall.  Her other
hand wraps around his swollen balls and she squeezes and rubs them, his member
moving quickly inside her.  She pinches her clit and as his lips grab hers
again she rides him and her finger and she moans into his mouth.  She pushes
herself to the edge and her muscles tighten around him, her cries of pleasure
echoing from the alley.  He moans and with two final thrusts he cums inside
her.
Their bodies hunch back against the wall and his breath is warm and heavy on
her neck.  He lets her down, feet touching the ground as his limp member slides
from her.  She feels as it drags a trail of their mixing fluids against her
thigh.  He doesn’t have to tell her that he’ll call for her again soon.
Her mother is near panic when she finds her and Ginny’s certain that she drips
with the scent of him, but Molly says nothing.  She asks where she’s been and
Ginny answers with something she doesn’t remember later.  They’re almost
heading home when Molly has to remind her to get something for Harry.
***** Chapter 7 *****
The Great Hall is quiet with the concentration of students, all focusing and
remembering as their quills rush across parchment and they reproduce, as best
they can in written words, the effects of the cruciatus curse.  Ginny smiles as
they quill quickly records the experience and her mind rushes over the
twitching and screaming form of Lucius, that first day she had used it.  She
knows that she’ll do well, few if any of the other sixth years would have been
privy to the details of the unforgivable curses and she would automatically
have an up on them for this fact alone.  The new Defence Against the Dark Arts
teacher clears her throat and the students’ eyes turn to her.
“There are ten minutes remaining.”
Quills strike parchment with a kind of desperation but Ginny’s drops hers to
her desk as her eyes scan the completed paper for spelling or grammatical
errors. It’s been a week since she was awoken by the laughter of her ‘pets’ but
their agony and her own is fresh in her mind as she reads over the details of
the curse.
That’s when she feels it, a tingle between her legs, beginning at her thigh and
crawling slowly towards her slit.  She tenses, her muscles freezing and her
eyes stop halfway through one sentence: ‘The cruciatus curse is one of the most
painful experiences-“ she re-reads it, trying to gain it’s context while most
of her is focusing on the fact that her lover is almost certainly about to
summon her to his presence.  Somehow Ginny doubts that the professors will
accept this excuse lightly.
Her muscles relax and although the strange sensation of crawling skin
continues, the sharp pain does not appear.  Confused, her eyes force their way
across her parchment, but she gasps suddenly as a thin, wet tongue rolls its
way across her opening.  The boy to her left glances at her and she stares at
her parchment although her eyes can’t possibly focus on the page.  She does her
best not to moan as the tongue flicks her clit and she knows that somewhere in
the world Mr. Malfoy is laughing at her.  Her breath becomes short and the
snake tattoo shifts against her thigh, the tongue becoming firmer as it’s
joined by the second snake, a second long tongue dancing with the first across
her engorged clit.  Thank goodness she didn’t wear underwear today, although
she knows that she can only hope that the pool of liquid, which is rushing from
her, doesn’t soak through her robe completely.
Her hands tense around the table and her eyes slide closed as two sharp teeth
nip at her clit and one of the snakes begins to tease her opening.  A moan
slips through but she doesn’t see if anyone’s notices as the snake flits and
writhes against her opening.  A second moan slips free and as her muscles
tense, she bites down on her lip and holds back the cry of ecstasy as she
releases in a short orgasm.  She gasps, her clit engorged and dripping as the
snakes shift and she knows that they’re not going to stop, just because she’s
enjoyed one short release.  She can’t say that she’s particularly disappointed.
Her eyes open and the parchment is bunched in her arms as she carries it to the
front of the class.  The teacher looks surprised when they’re dumped onto the
desk and Ginny gasps behind the tumult of falling paper as one of the snakes’
thick tails slip into her.
“All done, Ms. Weasley?”
She nods, mostly because if she tries to speak her voice will, in the very
least, crack, and at the very most, cry out against the artificial sky.
Her feet and breath are loud as she rushes from the Great Hall, snickers and
the call for silence following after her.  She doesn’t care what any of them
think, but her face is hot and she wants to turn and glare if only the two
snakes between her legs weren’t raising her pressure and tensing her muscles as
she gets close to a second orgasm.
The hall is quiet but she rushes on towards the Gryffindor common room,
climbing stairs and ignoring the stares of the passing portraits.  The statue
which she falls behind, a frozen portrayal of Godrick Gryffindor doesn’t move
as she strikes it’s base and her head drops backwards, moaning against the
silent hall as one snake continues to lick her clit and the second thrusts
inside her.  One hand slips beneath her robe, pulling several of the buttons
loose as it massages and pinches at her nipples.  With a sudden cry the snake
bites down, fangs tearing through the soft flesh of her thigh, while the other
continues to lick and nip her clit.  It only takes another moment and her cries
echo through the empty hall, the snake licking and drinking her as the last of
her orgasm shakes from her.  Her muscles relax and she gasps for breath,
feeling the two creatures move slowly down her thighs with her own moisture and
finally come to a standstill in their former place.  Somehow Ginny doubts that
the Dark Lord’s marks hold such . . . devious purpose.  She almost laughs.
Two days later and the students abandon the school en masse, feet finding the
train and their parents as the obligations of education fade behind the comfort
of holidays.  Hogwarts hadn’t been the same at Christmas without Dumbledore’s
childlike decorations and brilliant colour schemes.  McGonagall had, of course,
attempted to overcompensate, but the floating holly and bells had only made
their former headmaster’s absence all the more apparent.  Ginny isn’t the only
student who pities McGonagall for what she has to live up to.
Ginny’s breath is white against the Burrow’s air, the quick trip by Floo from
the train station having been one she had taken alone for years.  She didn’t
expect her parents to meet her and they hadn’t disappointed her, although she
had hoped that they would, at least, have waited for her inside the house that
now shakes against its snow capped roof.  Ginny can’t help but wonder how
Lucius is spending his Christmas, warmed by the fire and the spiced eggnog that
Dip had surely prepared.  Glancing about her own cosy kitchen and living room
she ignores the slight disappointment when she sees that she is entirely alone
within the house.  She sighs and pulls her large trunk of gifts up to her old
room, pictures of Quidditch stars and the pink that she had chosen for the
walls as a four year old still thoroughly in place from her last visit.
She jumps as the kitchen door bangs closed and Ron’s deep voice echoes through
the house, floorboards shaking against the young man’s baritone.  “Oi!  Mum!” 
Ginny’s feet race her down the stairs and before her brother knows what’s hit
him she’s thrown herself into his arms.
“Ron!”  Her lips land hard on his cheek and she grins at him, his large arms
lifting and spinning her in a quick circle.  If she hadn’t known his voice she
probably wouldn’t have recognized him, his thin body having thickened
significantly and a thin scar tracing itself from one ear to his chin.  “What
happened to you?!”
Ron drops her with a pleasant thunk and his fingers trace the long white scar. 
“Oh, you know, saving the world stuff.”  She laughs and doesn’t release his
arm.  “Cool, isn’t it?”
She nods her agreement.  “You look just like Charlie.”  The grin Ron treats her
with is worth coming home for her and her throat tightens of its own accord. 
It takes all the restraint she has not to hug her brother again and, for the
first time she realizes just how much she’d missed her older sibling.
“Have you got one of those for me?”  Harry’s behind Ron and looks remarkably
the same, but she smiles, although her chest suddenly begins to ache and she
can’t remember why.
“Harry.”  His arms wrap tightly around her and she hears Ron shift
uncomfortably against the floorboards.  “How are you?”
He grins and leans in towards her, lips reaching for hers, but she pulls out of
his arms and he stands awkwardly, eyes narrowed.  She smiles, as though this is
the only explanation they need and quickly changes the subject.
“Where’s mum and dad?”
“We were just going to ask you.”
“Oh.”  There’s another silence and the wind rushes through the house.
“Well, we should go unpack.”
“Right,” Ron agrees with his friend and the two escape upstairs, leaving Ginny
alone in the kitchen.  With a sigh she flops into an oversized chair and pulls
her socked feet beneath her, eyes glancing at the clock where the family’s
pictures are pointing in various directions.  Fleur, Arthur and Molly are all
pointing towards the small marker reading ‘shopping’ and Ginny has no doubt
that Fleur is dragging the future grandparents from children’s store to
children’s store as they prepare for the arrival.
Her eyes follow the fire, flames licking across the fireplace as the room is
warmed to a cosy glow and the familiar smell of Christmas with pine and sugar
cookies filling the room.  Still she feels the rising guilt no longer hidden
beneath the layers of schoolwork and Quidditch practice as she tries to ignore
the man who’s walking around upstairs, probably talking about her with her
brother and wondering why she pulled away from him.  She can’t think of the
other man, the man who is less a wizard and more a demon who’s mark slowly
twists against her thigh.  She doesn’t even think about what she’s been doing
and the fire calms her mind. 
There’s a ding from the kitchen and Ginny goes to the oven, sliding the
prepared but untended cookies from their hold and laying them upon the stove’s
surface.  Her finger grazes the pan’s edge and she gasps at the pain.  Her hand
is red where it’s touched the metal and she watches it, very consciously
bringing her other hand towards the heat source.  Her skin screams when she
presses her palm against it and her lip is compressed between her teeth.  For
the first time in her life she’s understood the House Elf’s need for self-
penalization, although she doubts that Dip would take much comfort in this. 
She tries not to wonder whether she’s punishing herself for betraying Harry or
for not wanting to give Lucius up.
“Oi, Ginny, those ready?”  Her hand almost sighs in relief when it’s pulled
from the steaming metal and Ron’s wand twitches towards the pan, lifting a
cookie free and carrying it to him.
“Be careful, they’re hot.”  She can hardly move her hand from the pain, skin
burning and fingers occasionally twitching against the sting.  How long would
she have to suffer this to feel that her penance had been done?
There’s a sudden flash behind them as the sugar cookie rolls around in Ron’s
mouth and Molly’s sigh of exasperation is cut short when she spots her son. 
“Ron!”  Her eyes are already brimming with tears and her youngest boy falls
into her arms.
“Hello, mum.”  He, thankfully, swallows before he speaks.
“My dear!”  Her arms hold him against her thick form and she runs kisses across
his cheek, stopping when she comes across the long white scar that marks him. 
“What have you done to yourself?!”  She demands, one thick finger tracing the
white line.
“Nothing, Mum, I’m alright.” 
She’s glaring around her tears.  “Well, be more careful!”  She hugs him again
before the boy is passed onto his father and they share an equally touching
moment.  By the time Harry comes downstairs everyone’s in tears as Fred and
George step out of the fireplace.  It’s three days before Christmas, three days
which pass quickly as the siblings, finally reunited rush around the outside of
their house, throwing snowballs and flitting about on brooms that were probably
recalled decades ago.  All thoroughly enjoying themselves the way people can
only when they’ve returned to their childhood.
Her hands heal, the flesh and muscle reforming where it’s been burned apart and
by Christmas Eve she lets Harry kiss her again.  The familiar flash of guilt
strikes her and now she’s consciously wondering who she’s betraying, but it’s
all so confusing that she ignores it and allows Fred to pour her a second glass
of Wizard’s eggnog, the ingredients to which she never dared ask.
It’s the afternoon of Christmas eve when she’s alone with Harry.  Ron’s joined
his sister-in-law and brothers on a quick trip to London to do the shopping
which they never complete until the last minute anyways and she and Harry are
outside alone.  His green eyes sparkle in the chilly air and she smiles at him
when he kisses her.
“I’ve missed you, Ginny.”
She doesn’t answer and lets him kiss her again, cool lips pressing together as
their breath rises around them.  She pretends that she doesn’t feel something
twitch against her thigh.
“How have you been?”  The question almost makes her laugh, but she holds it
back and shrugs, knowing that whatever she says will somehow turn into the
confession that she will never live down.
“How about you?”  His forehead presses against hers and the British countryside
stretches with white towards the grey sky.  An oak, thick and tall blocks her
family’s house from her eyes and if she tried, she could imagine that they’re
completely alone in the world, but she doesn’t try.
“It’s hard.”  He smiles.  “But I don’t want to think about all that now, it’s
Christmas.” She doesn’t say anything, the warmth of his forehead pressing
against the cool of hers.  “And you’re safe, which is what matters.”
“Do you really think that he won’t come after me if we aren’t together?”  It’s
an honest question, but his eyes drop and she feels his glasses, cold against
the winter air slide down his nose and strike her between the eyes.  She starts
to giggle.
“I . . . don’t know.”  He kisses her then and his mouth is warm as it slips
open and laps gently against hers.  Now something has definitely moved against
her thigh and she does her best to ignore it as Harry’s hand slips into hers.
“I still love you, Ginny.”
She doesn’t want to answer so she presses their lips together again and feels
him fall back as she pushes him against the tree, their young bodies aligning
and moving together as their lips do.
Now her thigh is burning, but she continues kissing Harry, Harry the chosen
one, Harry the murderer, and she holds the salt back from her eyes.
His member is hardening beneath his robes and although her body is responding
some part of her is screaming as her thigh burns, burns like her hand did and
she wonders if he’s punishing her for this.
“Ow!”  She suddenly cries out and drops back from Harry, Harry the man she
loves, Harry the man who hasn’t written her in months who happens to have
murdered her lover’s son.  She trips, falling backwards in the snow.
“Ginny!”  Harry is beside her, but the pain is still there and the cool snow
only does so much to ease the pain.  “What’s wrong?”  She wants to cry when she
looks at him and so her eyes stay on the snow, cool and white and a little too
similar to his hair than she would like.
The pain is still there, but she blocks it out, pushes her consciousness from
this place and now he’s calling her away from here, away from her childhood and
her family and the man she’s supposed to love.  “I’m sorry, Harry, I-“ she
interrupts herself, no idea how to tell him that she’s screaming because Mr.
Malfoy’s mark is slowly chewing a hole through her leg.  “I don’t feel very
well.”
“Maybe you should go into the house, lie down?”
She nods and lets him help her to the house although she knows that she could
very well carry herself there on her own.  Her parents worry, her brothers
worry and Harry’s pacing across the attic floor drives her to sleep as the
afternoon passes to evening and she tries to ignore the man who is calling her
from her home.  The sleep isn’t restful and she awakens to the feel of salt and
water on her freckled cheeks.  Her hair is damp with sweat and her cries of
pain echo easily though the house.  Each time her mother’s gentle voice asks if
she’s all right and Harry’s pacing eases her back to sleep.  The final time,
when the moon is high and Harry’s pacing has stopped, she stays awake, mind
focused on the pain and her skin is sticky with the sweat that her family
thinks is feverish.  It’s then that she gives in and it takes more effort than
she would like to admit to press her wand against the tattoo and she relaxes as
the air blurs and she is carried away.
“You’re late, my dear.”  His voice is thick and when she sees him, he’s as she
would have expected, feet raised in a large armchair and an empty bottle of
Wizard’s eggnog sitting beside him.  The room doesn’t smell like Christmas and
she shivers, glancing at the cold and empty fireplace.  The pain is immediately
gone and she feels the wash of relief cover her and she almost laughs with the
freedom.
“How dare you call me away on Christmas Eve?!”  Her voice shakes with the
pleasure of release although her hands clench in anger.
“How dare I?”  He doesn’t even smirk, but stands slowly and comes towards her. 
It’s only when his breath, heavy with the alcohol blows against her that she
realizes why he’s moving so slowly.
“You had no right.”
Then he does laugh, long and hard and she feels her cheeks colour.  “No right? 
You’re not worthy of a Malfoy.”  He stops and comes close to her.  “Mr.
Potter’s girlfriend.  Do you enjoy fucking murderers?”
“Him or you?”  She spits back and his eyes narrow.  His hand splits across her
cheek and the little strength that she retains drips from her and she drops to
the ground.  Her wand is still in her hand and as he smirks down at her she
raises it, mind automatically shouting an unforgivable curse.
He drops, the alcohol making him an easy target and his body falls beside her
as the cries of pain stretch from him.  She’s shaking as she stands and pulls
his wand from him before she drops him from the curse and he lays still.  She
pretends not to notice that his cheeks are wet.
“You don’t deserve to speak Harry Potter’s name,” she growls and one foot
strikes him hard against the ribs.
With a sudden thrust he throws himself at her and her legs crumble beneath
their combined weight as his hand stings her cheek again.  She can’t move
either wand as he holds her down and his lips grind on hers in the sort of
frenzied passion she had pushed on him in the rain.
“But I’m apparently good enough to make his girlfriend my whore.” 
She lets out a cry of protest as he kisses her again and her nails scratch at
his cheeks, screaming dark welts in his skin.  His cock is hard where he rubs
it against her stomach but she continues to fight him, pushing and edging away
from him as he easily overtakes her efforts at escape.  His hand tears open the
front of her sleeping robe and she’s suddenly very still beneath him, shaking. 
He stops and watches her lip quiver.  The taste of eggnog and firewhiskey is
strong when their lips touch, again, but his kiss, oddly gentle for a Malfoy
presses past that and he moves off of her.  He’s no longer touching her and she
has to sit up to even see him, where he’s thrown back another glass of eggnog,
the bottle re-filled since her arrival.
“Go home.”  He swallows again.  “I’ll call you when your pathetic family isn’t
celebrating.”  When he looks at her his eyes make her shiver.  “It is one of
their last opportunities, after all.”  He turns back to his bottle, pouring
another glass and sipping it.
It takes her a moment to notice that her anger is gone, the empty threat
washing over her like so many others and he doesn’t see when she moves behind
him, the smooth wood of his wand laying on the table beside his liquid courage.
“This isn’t because of Harry and me.”  She doesn’t know why she makes the
statement, but it makes him turn, the flash of red filling his eyes and his
fingers curl around his wand.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
She knows he isn’t lying.  “Then what-“
“Don’t think for a minute that I have to explain myself to you.”  His sneer is
perfectly condescending, but it rolls from her.
Her hand traces the rough stubble of his cheeks, breathing in the combination
of him and alcohol and she’s never known him to be anything but cleanly
shaven.  As the answer to her question fills her mind, for the first time in
her life she pities him.  How hard Christmas must be for someone who’s lost a
child.  When she brings her lips against his again he’s surprised and she’s
surprised but she’s glad and all memory of her anger and objections are lost. 
He tastes marvellous, like eggnog and sweets and her tongue pushes into him,
lapping and tasting the strong liquid as his hands burn through her robe.  She
shivers as the cloth, still damp with her own sweat presses against her but she
moans, one hand slipping into his robe and warming itself on his chest.  The
sound of cloth tearing rips the room and her mouth is on his chest, tongue
running in hot circles around each nipple as his head drops forward and waves
of blonde fall around her. 
“Is this what you do to Mr. Potter?”  But his voice is empty, the comment the
desperate slash of a kitten against its owner, as his hand suddenly finds her
neck and he pushes her backwards so she’s sitting in his armchair.  The velvet
arms and back rise around her and she’s dwarfed by the large chair.  His hand
falls hard against her cheek and she yelps at the shock.  “You should have gone
home when you had the chance.”  He lifts her again and through his split robes
his hard cock rises thick against his stomach.  With a push she’s over the
chair’s arm and he lifts her robes above her head.  The dark yellow fabric of
her sleeping-robes covers her in darkness and she feels the cool air tickle her
backside.  He slides his wand between her thighs, gently spreading them and one
long finger parts her lips and slips into her.  She moans and he suddenly pulls
it free, hand coming down hard against her backside.  She feels herself jerk
forward at the heavy strike and as his hand comes down a second time she
whimpers against his soft laughter.  Laughter that is not like that of the
Veela or of the birds, but laughter that makes her moan and she feels the
moisture begin to run between her legs.
“You brought this on yourself, you know.”  And his hand comes down again
against her backside as one finger of his other hand travels between her legs
and presses against her clit.  She moans and he slaps her hard, the finger
pushing and rubbing her clit and she moans.
“I know.”  She gasps and thinks that there was something she should be feeling,
someone she should be remembering and going back to but another slap makes her
forget.  He grasps her hair and pulls her firmly to the ground where she
sprawls under him and she turns over, rising to her hands and knees as his
thumb tickles her clit and his other finger dips inside her.  His hand comes
down again and she feels his cock pressing into her opening.  She moans as he
fills her and his hand moves between her legs, flicking and rubbing her as he
begins to pound inside her.  His hand spanks her again and she feels her cheeks
begin to grow hot from the misuse.  With a final flick of her clit she cries
out and he continues to pound into her.  Her muscles tense and the world
disappears around her pleasure.  When she finishes he’s still moving and, with
a dexterity that she would not have expected, he turns her onto her back, her
tender backside rubbing against the carpet and he rams into her.  Her hand is
buried in his hair and she pulls his lips hard against her own, tongue slipping
between his lips.  With a loud groan he spills inside her.  For a moment he
hunches over her and she watches his wheat-coloured hair pool on her belly. 
His breath returns quickly and she isn’t disappointed when he stands over her,
cock glistening in the low light and he grasps the bottle of eggnog, spilling
it over his cock and watching it drip onto her.
She doesn’t need to be told what to do and rises to her knees, takes as much of
him as she can into her mouth, licking the sweet tasting fluid from his
member.  She drops his cock, as it grows hard again, to lick the drips of
alcohol from his balls, sucking one into her mouth and he moans, the flask
overturning and spilling eggnog over his cock and across her lips.  He’s
thrusting into her mouth as she sucks him dry again and she’s certain that he’s
going to cum when he pulls out and grasping her hair lifts her to her feet.
“Get on the bed.”  She obeys, only then noticing the large bed capped in green
silk that rises in one corner of the room.  It doesn’t take much of her mind to
realize that these are his own quarters, wherever it is that he's managed to
hide himself and she would have been shocked that he would allow her here, if
only she were thinking of anything at all.
He slaps her backside again as she climbs onto it and the silk is cool and
soothing against it.  He pushes her legs apart and the decanter turns over her
chest, running over her stomach and between her legs.  Her hand drops to her
opening and she begins running the thick liquid against her clit, groaning as
his mouth drops to her breast.  His tongue flicks her nipple and she moans as
her finger works between her legs, her moisture, his and the sweet alcohol
mixing and filling the room with the smell of sex and Christmas. 
“Lucius,” Her voice is thick in her mouth as his tongue follows the trail of
eggnog between her legs and finally flicks her already swollen clit.  She gasps
as he teases it, running his tongue around it before flicking it with his
teeth.  Her head drops back against the pillow and her hips thrust as he licks
and sucks her clit, pulling and sucking her to the edge of climax.  He lifts
his head and climbs her body, his body shining with sweat and he presses his
tongue between her lips.  The eggnog is strong and her head whirls, swimming in
a combination of arousal and alcohol.  His member presses her hole and with a
thrust he’s inside her again, pushing into her as his tongue swims with hers. 
He pulls back and the eggnog rushes her senses as he turns the bottle over her,
letting it run across her mouth and down her throat before he presses their
lips together. His tongue laps and lips suck the remaining eggnog from her
while his cock pounds into her, rubbing and slipping along her clit.  She
moans, thrusting with him and his lips drop to her neck, licking, drinking the
droplets of alcohol that run across her skin.  His cock presses her clit and
she cries out feeling him pound inside her and her body tenses as he pushes her
to climax.  The world goes dark and her muscles tense, his fingers grasping her
clit as she rides him and with a thrust and cry he fills her.  He falls
forward, arms catching him above her and she moans, his lips dipping and
sucking what remains of the eggnog and her climax from her mouth.
Her mind swims as her head relaxes back into the pillow, a small moan of
satisfaction slipping from her.  Before she thinks better of herself her head
drops back and she feels the pillow pull her relaxed muscles into the gentle
waves of sleep.
She awakes early, the darkness of the room still heavy with night as her mind
temporarily returns to consciousness.  Her eyes open and the gloom of the room
pushes her back towards sleep, but she stays awake, listening.  Someone is
speaking and she first thinks that it’s Harry before the soft voice becomes
clear.  She can’t hear him through the fog of her own mind and the sheets slide
around her legs as she shifts, his warm breath suddenly on her neck.  She still
can’t understand what he’s saying, but he hasn’t noticed that she’s awake and
as much as her mind is telling her that this is important, she let’s her eyes
close and she slides back into unconsciousness.
When the morning comes she doesn’t remember that she’s supposed to be anywhere
else.  The dawn rising with the sort of light that should come through an open
window, but without the window, floats like magic across the bed.  Who is she
kidding?  Of course it’s magic but when she sits up it doesn’t matter where the
light is coming from and only that she is warm and alone.  The sheet is wrapped
tightly around her chest and she struggles to come loose from it.  When she
finally rises to her feet and turns to find her discarded clothing, she finds
instead that she’s not alone.
“Would Miss like some breakfast?”  Dip step towards her from one corner and she
grabs the sheet, wrapping it around herself in embarrassment.
“Were you watching me?”  She demands, spotting her wand as it rests beside the
bed and grasping hold of it.
The House Elf blushes as much as it is possible for a House elf to blush and
shakes its head. “No, Miss is very much alone.”  The elf starts to laugh but
one hand quickly cuts it short as her own fingers cover her mouth.
Without thinking Ginny glares and the curse slips through her mind, the easy
curse that is becoming ever easier to let fly.  The House Elf writhes, but
doesn’t shout or cry out as Lucius had done and later she supposes that it’s
had too much experience with this very curse to be as effected by it.  She
couldn’t imagine that, but she doesn’t try to and she quickly drops the elf
from the pain.
“I’m sorry, Miss.”
The laughter is still in her words, or Ginny hears it and her heart pounds, but
she can think of little else to throw at the House elf and so grasps her by the
ears, letting the sheet slip from her chest as she moves and throws the
creature hard against the stone wall.
“Get out!”
The creature whimpers in surprise and Ginny’s a little surprised herself, but
her heart is pounding and she’s no longer laughing so it’s all right.
Behind her someone else is laughing, but she knows it’s him as the waves of his
soft base float over her.  She turns, forgetting the house elf and greeting her
lover with a small upturn of the lips.
“Don’t be so cruel, my dear.  It’s only natural for a . . . lesser being to
appreciate such an obviously superior creature.”  He steps towards her and a
hand runs over her heavy breast, one finger flicking her nipple and she holds
back a small moan of appreciation.  Her eyes are heavy when she looks up at
him, but he’s not looking at her and it takes that to remind her that they’re
not alone.  She turns back to the servant, her Master’s hand still cupping her
breast.
“Bring my usual and quickly.”  Lucius flicks his wand towards the house elf and
there’s a snap of light against the elf’s backside, the crack of an invisible
whip, as it hurries to apparate away.  His hand continues to rub against her
nipple and now she does moan, leaning back against him and the sheet falls to
the floor.
“That was verygood, my dear.”  A second hand joins his first, this one moist
with his own saliva and he rubs her other nipple.  His arousal is obvious
through his dressing robe and he rubes it firmly along her backside, the silk
of the cloth rushing over her skin like water.  “See how good it was?”  His
lips and tongue find her neck and nibble at her while one of his hands fall
from her breast, circling small trails down her stomach to fall beneath the
curls between her legs.  She reaches as best she can into his robes and
whispering a moistening spell, her hand becomes damp.  She encircles his
engorged member, slowly squeezing her hand around its thickness and dragging it
along it.  He groans and his teeth come down hard on her neck as his fingers
tickle her lips.  She moans, urging him to spread them but he doesn’t and she
removes her hand from his cock, instead dragging her fingertips along the moist
member.
“Imperio,” she gasps, unable to focus clearly enough to cast the spell
wordlessly, but holding his mind as his hands hold still and she commands him
to continue pushing his fingers between her lips.  It’s awkward at first, like
the sticky fumbling of teenagers in the astrology tower as she tries to get the
rhythm right, moving his hands against her and using his fingers to flick and
rub her swollen clit.  She moans, but focuses hard to maintain her control as
he struggles against her hold of him.  It’s only as his fingers begin to flick
and pinch her clit and she moans, leaning back against him that he regains
himself and his hand immediately stops, pulling away and turning her so that
she faces him.
The green of his robe is striking against his pale skin and echoes off his grey
eyes but his lips turn up in his glorious sneer.  “You’re learning quickly.”
There’s a noise behind her and she’s more than conscious of Dip’s presence as
Lucius’ grip on her relaxes and she turns, angry that she would interrupt
them.  Not interrupt them, watch them.  Watch as her Master fucks her and laugh
as she succumbs to the enemy.  Her vision goes red and her heart pounds “Avada-
“
His hand on her wand shocks her and when she turns he’s laughing, his lips
grasping at hers and his tongue pressing her to silence.  When he pulls away
he’s holding her wand and she doesn’t remember why she was angry.  “Please
don’t kill my servants, dear, not when your boyfriend already cost me my
best.”  His voice is a harsh whisper and his breath is hot in her ear.  She
moans when he steps away from her.
She’s focussing on finding her cloths as the smell of pancakes and breakfast
fills the room and she doesn’t see what he’s doing before he comes up behind
her.  His hand on her backside is soft, pushing her forward and with a thrill
she falls to her knees, spreading her thighs and presenting her wet entrance to
him.  One of his long fingers flicks her clit and she moans, expecting the
familiar press of his cock, but it doesn’t come, instead something cold and
metal touches her opening and she tenses in surprise.
“Relax, my dear.”  The metal, long and cold and almost painful with its
hardness pushes into her.  He stops as her body adjusts around the hard metal
and she feels his hands working, wrapping a leather piece around her waist and
holding the metal cock in place, a small metallic ball pressed against her
clit.  He mumbles something and the metal inside her twitches and the part
against her clit suddenly shifts, becoming malleable and moving slowly around
her clit.  She groans as the magic flicks it, slowly moving about her opening,
but not moving nearly quickly or firmly enough to do anything but torture her. 
With the toe of his foot he nudges her onto her back, legs still spread and
thighs running with moisture as the metal cock moves slowly and she moans,
almost screams as she wills it to move faster.
“This, my dear, is a libido dolori.”  She feels him press her wand back into
her fingers and when he turns away she struggles to stand around the twitching
and moving between her legs.  “Rick.”  There’s a flash and Ginny blinks when
the homeless man from the streets appears, face still dirty and eyes
twitching.  He looks around in confusion and Ginny almost reaches for a sheet,
but when he sees the devices between her legs his eyes widen, thumb-less hands
working together and she stops.
“Allow me to demonstrate how it works.”  His wand flicks towards the man and
when he falls forward, Ginny knows the Cruciatus curse has been mumbled her
heart breaks as the man twitches and she turns to Lucius, wand pointing at
him. 
“Stop it.” 
The man moans and Ginny gasps as something firmly flicks her clit and she
blinks around the pleasure as she watches the desperate man.  Lucius laughs and
Ginny moans against the lapping of her clit.  He releases the man who remains
in place, tears running from his eyes as her head shakes.
“Do try it, my dear.” 
The libido dolori has returned to a slow motion and her thighs are slippery
when she steps towards her lover.  She fights it, the slow movement and gentle
manipulation driving her mad and she wonders if Lucius ever fails to get
exactly what he wants.  Her wand turns and she twitches it, eyes closing, and
her mind shouts the unforgivable curse towards the poor man and half of her
wants to die because it was just so easy.  He writhes but when he moans and
whimpers again she feels the object shift.  She cries out with him as it licks
and sucks at her clit and the firm shaft slides in and out of her more
quickly.  The man begins screaming and the device pounds into her, nipping and
licking her clit and she falls forward.  She doesn’t see that Lucius is
standing there to catch her as her feet slip from under her and the man is
screaming hard.  Any remaining guilt disappears as his hands hold her steady
and her cries over-power those of the small man’s; her climax overtakes her and
she moans in delight.  She can barely think to release him as her muscles shake
from the remains of her orgasm.  Lucius is still holding her tightly against
him and his cock is hard as it presses through his robe.  When she stands, she
can feel the tears biting at her eyes and before he can move her hand whips
out, deep welts appearing across his cheek.  He smiles and she wants to do more
than hurt him, wants to murder him and her wand is slippery between her
fingers.  Their eyes catch and she can see her guilt reflected there.
"Just going to stand there, my dear?"
Her mind is shouting, shouting unforgivables at him, but she can't manage to
make the magic work.  Her wand slips away and she runs her fingers beneath the
cloth of his dressing gown, parting the fabric around him, pushing it from him
as her lips grasp his in a twisting kiss.  Her mouth trails down his chest,
landing at one nipple as her fingers tease his cock and he groans; she knows it
won't take him long. 
Her lips find its head quickly and she dips it into her mouth, taking as much
as she can and sucking hard.  The device is still inside her, moving and
twitching slightly and her sensitive clit continues to be teased when her lips
suck Lucius’ engorged cock.  He grasps her head and pulls her mouth down over
it, lips taking in more than she can and she gags as he fills her throat.  It
twitches against her tongue and the salty fluid spills into her.  She coughs
when he slides out, desperate to swallow the remaining liquid as he pushes her
backwards, the room’s gentle carpeting catching and holding her while he
spreads her legs.  The device slides out of her and she whimpers as the air
brushes her opening.
“You don’t know how glad I am that you enjoy this so much.”
She’s certain that something biting is on the edge of his lips but he doesn’t
continue as his finger runs up her slit and flicks her clit.  She moans and his
chuckles wash over her.  “You did enjoy that, didn’t you?”
She’s doing her best not to think about what she enjoyed or how much she
enjoyed it as he leans over her body.  His hair drapes about them and his cock,
thickened by a silent charm, is rubbing her recently vacated opening; he slams
into her and she moans when his finger flicks at her clit.  For a brief moment
of clarity she wonders how muggles possibly have sex without the use of potency
charms as his hard cock slides inside her again, the thought disappears around
the pleasure of him.  He pushes her legs backwards until her knees are resting
over his shoulders and she gasps at how deep he is.  Neither of them take long,
his finger pinching and pushing her to climax and as the world disappears
around her ecstasy, he lets out a cry and slams deep into her, filling her with
his seed.
He collapses over her, but she moans and her wand is quickly in her hand as she
imperios him.  His eyes flash with surprise and she pushes him off her, rolling
him onto the floor and eagerly commanding his cock to return to life.  Her
tongue slides along it as it grows thick again but when she’s ready she
straddles him, his own moisture dripping out of him over his cock and she uses
the moisture to grind against it.  His head flicks her clit as she smoothes the
moisture along it, and he moans when she drops him free of the curse.  She’s
surprised when he doesn’t overpower her and tentatively she leads his cock to
her opening.  With a thrust, she slides him into her slowly, one hand reaching
between her legs and rubbing her clit.  She moans and her other hand finds her
nipple, massaging it quickly as she flicks her clit and slides him inside her. 
“Faster.”  He hisses and she intentionally slows, dragging his hard member in
and out of her as she continues to work her own clit.
“What do you say?”  Her voice is heavy with lust and power and he moans as she
speeds up, but only a little.
His sneer is worth having to wait for, but she lifts her chin and she looks
down at him.  “Please.”  She rises again, feeling him move inside her and she
begins to shift over him more and more quickly; her fingers pulling her own
clit and dragging her to the edge while her heads drops back.  Her breath comes
in short bursts and she moans, her muscles tensing and his hands grasp her
hips, forcing her down hard and holding her still as he grunts and fills her
again.
When Ginny slides off him to stand she reaches for her wand, the thin wood
tingling between her fingers as her body sighs at the incredible release.  A
glob of his essence drops to her thigh and she point her wand towards herself,
the cleaning spell running fresh in her mind, but his hand grasps her wand and
she looks at him.  He stands, hand still on her wand and pale body glistening
in the morning light.
“No.”  He releases the wand and she lets it drop to her side and his voice is
angrier than she expected.  “I want you dripping with me when you return
home.”  He pulls her roughly against him, lips pressing to her ears.  “I want
you smelling like me while you enjoy your pathetic holiday.  I want them all to
know that you belong to me.”
Now she does remember where she’s supposed to be and what day it is and how
they’ve probably got the whole Ministry looking for her, Harry Potter’s lost
girlfriend.  He laughs as she searches the room for her pyjamas and she glares
at him over the pile of twisted bed sheets.
“If they find me here they’ll-“
”Kill me?”  He continues to laugh, but then stops suddenly.  “If they’re even
looking.”
She glares but doesn’t correct him as she tells herself that they must be
looking for her by now.
When she pulls her night robe on he’s filling a small espresso cup with coffee,
dropping two sugars cubes into it and she watches him while her fingers push
the buttons together.
He’s not looking at her and she sees the flinch when he catches sight of the
cover of yesterday's newspaper: ‘Happy Christmas!’  He looks up at her as she
steps towards him and his eyes narrow, carrying the familiar sneer to his
lips.  “Go home.”
She knows she smells unpleasant, a combination of him and her own sweat and sex
but she’s beside him and her lips grab a hold of his as her hand finds his
neck.  She wants to say something to him, but can’t and doesn’t and instead she
presses his bottom lip between hers, sucking it and nipping it.  Something
moves in her pocket and she pulls away from him, shocked at the sudden
sensation.  His head rises as though challenging her, testing her and still not
trusting her, although neither of them can claim to do so and so she doesn’t
particularly care.  Before she thinks twice her hand slips the moving watch
from her pocket and he’s still looking at her when she presses it into his
fingers.  The Malfoy watch, her Malfoy watch now back in Malfoy hands.  His
face doesn’t change when he sees it, but the snake immediately twists around
his hand and he watches the face move in the soft light.  He doesn’t look at
her and she glances away, only then noticing that the homeless man, who she was
trying not to think about for any number of reasons, had been sent away.  She
hopes it was before their marathon sex but, knowing Lucius, she can never be
sure and really she doesn’t care to think about it enough to acknowledge that.
“My dear.”  His voice is the kind of soft that she never would have expected of
a Malfoy as the watch runs through his fingers and he slips it gently into the
pocket of his dress robes.
“Narcissa-“ she starts to tell him about the auction but he cuts her short.
“Yes, I know.”  His voice is biting and she forces a kiss upon his lips again.
He doesn’t say anything until she steps away from him and moving to where her
wand lies across the room. She grasps her wand, preparing to leave and
wondering how she can get him to send her home without disturbing the awkward
silence she seems to have created.
“Pet,” she comes back to him as though he’d summoned her and his lips run
circles over hers.  Her fingers find his hair and their tongues lick together
as she breaths him in.  “Ginevra.”  He whispers it and she claims his lips
again, revelling in the smell and taste and feel of him in the post-coital
bliss.
His hand finds her hair and before she notices it, he pulls her head backwards,
her lips dropping his as he drags her away.  One arm is still around her and
his eyes study hers, the steady pressure against her scalp holding her back. 
She blinks and his hands have moved and something cold is around her neck.  For
a moment she feels herself panic, but she calms immediately when she feels his
fingers clasp something behind her neck.  Her hand touches the necklace without
seeing it but before she can get a feel for what it is, his lips are pressed
against hers again.  His hand falls between her legs and his wand presses her
tattoo, the twirling snakes pulling her home.  She blinks and his warmth is
gone, her comforter wrapped around her as she’s brought back to her bedroom in
the Burrow and somewhere in the distance her mother is humming Christmas songs
to herself.  The morning light through her bedroom window shows just how early
it is, not even time for the boys to be awake and she wishes what she shouldn’t
be wishing as she slips into her daytime robes.  The house’s familiar air
touches her skin and she shivers.
***** Chapter 8 *****
She's quiet for the following week.  Christmas is over and with it goes Ron and
Harry, her older brother whining and complaining about Hermione almost
constantly and driving everyone thoroughly mad.  Although that really is no
different than usual and she can barely say goodbye to them without crying. 
She showers and bathes, but she can feel Lucius smell clinging to her, the sage
and sex and evil of the Malfoys imbedded in her skin and coating her hair and
she knows that they can smell it.  They all can see it oozing from her skin as
she kisses Harry as he leaves, his lips warm and kind, and her chest aches
because she isn't thinking about him.  He says that he loves her and she can do
nothing but smile before hiding away in her room and everyone thinks that she's
mourning his absence.  They have no idea.
She can't speak for the following week.  That's not true, of course, she says
things, thank yous and pleases and Happy New Years but she doesn't speak.  She
listens when she can to her parents and remaining family as they talk and tease
and whisper, all disgustingly happy, and her chest feels empty when she should
be cheerful.  She wants to be with them again, but as much as she tries she can
do nothing but remain silent.  All she can think of is her lover and how she
tortured an innocent man for her own pleasure.  She can see his face, distorted
and running with tears as Fred and George discuss their business.  Flushed red
with the pain as her body screamed pleasure, and her mother mends a sock.  His
eyes dark and staring as Lucius held her up and she wants to cry because she
should hate herself, but she doesn't.  Instead she nods and smiles at their
stories and pretends to be a happy part of the family.  She should hate
herself, when really she would kill to be back there with him.  She can't put a
word to it, but she hates the desire because it's the very definition of
'wrong'.
School begins and her mother comes with her to the station, all the way to the
train and as she hugs her goodbye, her mother asks if she's all right.  Ginny's
throat catches as she holds her mother: her mind is screaming to say that no,
she really isn't, no she is nowhere near all right.  She wants Molly to tuck
her in and tell her that the monsters in her bed don't really exist, but she
can't seem to get around that lump in her throat.  Her mother looks worried,
but what else can they do as Ginny boards the train and speeds away from her? 
An owl between them only says so much.
Back to Hogwarts and the Great Hall is filled again with the cheerful blather
of growing Britons, comparing gifts and trips and missing each other while
pretending not to mourn the loss of the holidays.  Ginny wants her mother,
wants to be held and protected and she knows that she looks it as Neville raves
about his grandmother's Christmas pudding.  She wants to hug him and tell him
never to grow up but she doesn't because then he would know that something is
wrong and she can't have that.  She doesn't answer when her older friend, her
escort to the Yule Ball and agent in the making-Harry-Potter-jealous design
asks her where she got the necklace that she's forgotten is dripping around her
neck.  She touches it, the warmth of the green stone touches her hand and she
holds it, mumbling something about Harry and Ron and Neville can't help but ask
how they're doing.  His eagerness hiding the overwhelming desire to be special,
to overcome mediocrity and she certainly knows how he feels.
Hermione is still at work, hiding in the library and mumbling something about
Snape and Avada kadavra, when she comes upon her with her tea.  Ginny tries to
ask about Ron, about why he was moping and demanding to know why Hermione
doesn't simply put him out of their seemingly joint misery and shag him up
against a bookshelf.  She hardly hears, annoyed at being interrupted and Ginny
goes back to her schoolwork and Quidditch practice.
The third game of the season and her broom shoots her about the field.  The
players are all so boringly normal, so boringly polite as the Hufflepuff team
fails to make another goal.  She shoots after the quaffle, broom carrying her
through the sea of wind and mist and she hardly notices when she collides with
another student, clipping their broom and sending them spinning down into the
crowd, but she's got the ball and is rushing down field as the Hufflepuff try
desperately to overtake her: she doesn't notice anything else.  Later, the game
won, her team doesn't speak to her and that's good, because she really doesn't
feel like speaking with them.  Someone tells her that the player will be with
Madam Pomfrey for at least a week and she wants to laugh.  Later it makes her
want to cry.
It's the middle of the day when an owl arrives, addressed to Ginny Weasley in
her mother's far from perfect scrawl and when it opens, her mother's voice
rings loudly, telling her that she's going to be in Hogsmeade this weekend and
they really should meet for butter beers.  Ginny doesn't wonder why her mother
will be there, hardly a coincidence with her finally having noticed that her
daughter's falling apart.  She wonders how long it will take anyone else to see
it.
The weekend approaches more slowly than she would ever want it to, potions and
charms dragging with the kind of tediousness that is usually only reserved for
the History of Magic, and when she finally finds herself outside of the Hog's
Head she almost can't believe that she's finally there.  Can't believe that she
isn't eighty with twenty grandchildren it's taken so long to arrive.  Her
mother is there, already well through her second glass of butter beer and she
smiles, ordering two more and Ginny wonders if either of them are going to be
for her.  Her mother would probably be half the size, after all, if not for her
penchant for the sweet drink.  They hug, her mother's arms holding her tightly
and Ginny wants to cry from the joy of having her here, here in a dark corner
of the pub finally to herself and for only herself.
"It's good to see you dear," her mother quips into her ear, but quickly
releases her daughter as their drinks arrive and they both sit down to them.
"Mum, what are you doing here?"  The sweet beverage sticks in Ginny's mouth and
she almost chokes from the sugar.  Is it just her or have they made these
sweeter since the last time she had one?  She tentatively takes a second
draught.
"You know why I'm here, dear."
"No, why?"  As always, ignorance is the best policy and if she starts assuming
things, she'll start saying things and before she knows it her mother will know
all and Lucius will be a sticky spot on his hotel room floor.  She can't think
about the fact that she's protecting him and takes another sip.
"Ginevra, don't play dumb.  I know when one of my children needs me.  I may
have seven of you, but I'm not ignorant."
Ginny can't decide whether she wants to smile or cry and feels her eyes fall
into her butter beer, the milky-brown liquid bubbling up towards her.
"Dear, what is it?  It's not Harry."  She says it like she knows it already,
but Ginny knows her mother, knows she's simply testing the water, not wanting
to assume, but jumping to the most obvious cause for her daughter's distress.
"No, it's not Harry."
"Then what?"
"Mum," she looks up at her mother, feeling the guilt and loneliness and
desperation written clean across her features, but her mother doesn't see. 
Sees nothing but the eyes turned diamond in preparation for tears and lip
folded roughly between her white teeth.  She breathes sharply inwards, trying
to avoid the tears but the breath exaggerates the tightness in her chest and
her mum, now ignoring her drink, reaches and takes her daughter's hand.
"You're not in love with someone else?"
The thought makes her want to laugh, makes her laugh, that she could be in love
with him.  "It's not love."  It can't be love.
"But there is someone else."
Ginny nods because there's nothing else she can do.
"And you feel guilty because of Harry."
Her heart drops into her stomach and their fingers release.  A tingle rises in
her chest and anger suddenly blossoms there.  "Of course I feel guilty about
Harry, about Harry and about everyone and everything."  She feels the tears
begin to run now and her mother looks like she's going to die from the pain of
it while all that Ginny can think is how glad she is.  Maybe now her mother
will see what's going on in her daughter's life, will see what she's doing and
who she is and why she is exactly why they shouldn't have gone for that seventh
child.
"Why are you in this if it's so bad for you, dear?"
Dear.  Dear.  As though she were six and being picked on at school instead of
sleeping with an evil man, torturing for him and falling apart for him.  Her
neck folds under the weight of her head and she falls forward into her hands,
fingertips growing wet as tears course over them.
"I can't help it."  The words squeak out, but her mother doesn't catch them. 
Ginny takes a breath and looks back to her mother.  "I've done horrible
things."  She shakes her head.  "How do I ever make up for that?"
"Ginevra, don't be silly."  Her mother's voice is harsh, holding the slight
tremble behind it.  "I know you and you are not an evil person."
"I am.  I do horrible things for him."
"Well, then stop doing them!"  She sounds exasperated now, desperately curious
to know what her daughter has done and equally desperate to make her stop
hurting herself.  "My dear, you have to stop listening to what we want.  Harry
loves you, we all love you, but the person you have to account to is yourself. 
That's the only person who you need to answer to.  Now I simply don't believe
that you would ever do anything so horrible as you are implying."  She shakes
her head.  "Follow your heart, dear.  When all else fails, ask yourself what
you can live with, what you want to live with and who you want to be and the
answer will come."
"Mum, that's horribly corny."
"Don't give me that!  I raised seven children on that philosophy and I believe
that each and every person would be better if they did."  She sighs and almost
harrumphs, reaching for her glass and downing the remainder of the butter
beer. 
Ginny wants to hug her mother again, but the answer can't be that simple.  She
looks inside herself and feels empty, feels a vast expanse of darkness and
mystery where all should be clear.  What does she want?  Who does she want to
be??  She wants to cry again when the only thing she can think is that she
wants to feel the way she did when she hurt him and she never wants to feel
that way again.  There's music behind them and the laughter of joy and drinking
on a Saturday afternoon but she doesn't turn around.
"Do you feel better, dear?"  It’s a simple question.  She wants to scream that
no, of course she's not all right, she doesn't feel better and she never will,
never never never.  He won't go down without a fight and she knows just how
good he is at fighting.
"Yes."  She lies but the hope that she hears in her own voice makes her want to
cry again.  "Thanks mum."
Her mum is smiling and reaches to take Ginny's three-quarter full glass and
begins to sip at it.  She hugs her mum; somehow the butter beer and the rest of
their conversation has passed in the moment and the men are still laughing when
they turn to go.  One looks right at her, eyes glinting in the dim lighting of
the pub and she looks away as his guffaws start anew.  She doesn't think about
it as she leaves the pub and walks with her mother back to the station.  She
hugs her again and hears as her mother whispers that she loves her and she
responds, really meaning it for the first time in what seems like ages, and she
waves the train out of the station while her mother pulls away.  The sun is
bright, glinting off the white covered earth and she finds herself moving on
her own, up the walk to the castle, up the stairs and through the students and
up into the headmaster's room.  Maybe she doesn't realize her plan before she
gets there, but she knows just what to do, just what to say when she finds
Headmistress McGonagall hunched over a book and looking slightly older than she
had before.
Dumbledore greets her from where he hangs on the wall and she responds, feeling
awkward and more than a little uncomfortable at his presence.  It's a hard
enough confession to one professor whom you respect, let alone two.
"Headmistress."
"Ms. Weasley, what a pleasant surprise."  McGonagall flips the large tome
closed and stands behind the tall desk to address her student.  "I assume that
this is not a social visit."
"No, Headmistress."
"Then what can I do for you?  Ms. Granger is getting on alright?"  The stab of
annoyance hits her square in the chest and Ginny frowns despite herself. 
Always, always, it’s everybody but her.
"Last I heard she's fine."
"What is it, then?"
"I . . ." she stops and her mind is screaming.  How hard is it to say?  I'm
sleeping with Lucius Malfoy.  I'm fucking Draco's father.  "I . . ." I'm having
the greatest sex of my life with a complete monster.  McGonagall's eyes are
digging into hers and she feels her face colour.  "Um . . ." this is
important.  Say it.  "Um . . ." this is potentially what could turn the tide of
the war.  Say it!  "I . . ." SAY IT!  "I'm Lucius Malfoy's mistress."
All colour drains from the Headmistress' face and her arms cross.  "Ms.
Weasley," her voice quakes with anger.  "That is not amusing in the slightest. 
Two-hundred points from Gryffindor for a horrible joke and detention with
Filch."  She stops.  "For a month."
"But I-"
"Ms. Weasley, you're lucky that is all for such a disgusting joke."
"I'm not-"
"Please leave."
Ginny's breath is coming hard, the tears ready to spill and her hands shaking. 
"Please, Headmistress."
"Leave."  The Headmistress is a strong woman for her age, fingers of iron
slipping around Ginny's arm to escort her out, and it's all that Ginny can do
to flip back her robe and expose the circling, coiling snakes to her. 
McGonagall stops.  Her fingers continue to dig into Ginny's arms and one snake
turns and hisses at the new face.  Ginny's cheeks are wet and it's only when
she hiccups and McGonagall releases her arm that she realizes that it's because
she's crying.  Somewhere behind them the portraits are talking amongst
themselves, whispering and snickering and she quickly drops her robes back to
place, her face turning a deep red.  Dumbledore is the only one amongst them
not moving, staring at her and she can't look at him, doesn't look at him.
The Headmistress turns as the robe drops and paces back to her desk, throwing
it open and pulling her wand free, she approaches Ginny.  "I'm sorry to do
this, Miss Weasley, but would you lift your robe again."  Ginny complies,
lifting her robes for whoever asks is becoming too easy of a thing, and the
witch's wand presses gently against the mark.  "Aperio".  The tattoo glows
green a minute, sickly green, before it drips away, leaving her freckled flesh
just as it had always been beneath the twirling snakes.  The Headmistress slips
her wand away and Ginny's robes fall back into place. 
"I'm sorry, Miss Weasley, I'm sure that you can understand why I wouldn't be
prone to believing it."  Both women swallow in what would be a comical moment
if it weren't so very grave.  "I have to say I still don't quite."
Ginny doesn't know what to say now that it's out and there's a horribly
uncomfortable moment in which both women try to wrap their minds around what
has happened.  "I want to help."
"I'm sorry?" 
Ginny clears her throat and speaks again.  "I'm in a valuable position here. 
It's why I accepted, I suppose."  She tries to smile, but fails and gives up. 
"We can use him, we can use this situation to get close, to get me close and we
can use this to help Harry."  Her voice croaks when she says his name.
"Why did you do this, child?"  McGonagall shakes her head and a string of hair
falls clear of her bun.  "I don't understand, why you would do something like
this."
"I . . ." Ginny is almost crying again, her eyes and head aching already from
letting loose so many tears.  "I thought I could help.  I thought I could help
Harry."
"How long has this been going on?  Does anyone know?"
"No, I've told no one and it's . . ." she stops speaking as another sob
threatens her and she looks down to where her balled fingers are slowly cutting
into the palms of her hands.
"Never mind, you had your reasons and you've told me now."  McGonagall sounds
almost sad and she lays a hand on Ginny's shoulder.  "You are right, of course,
this puts you in a unique position.  Have you learned anything so far that we
might be able to use?"
"No . . ." which hotel he's staying in.  That he's responsible for the deaths
in America.    "No, I don't think so."  That he took part in the raid on
Nuremberg in October.  Which spell he uses to cloak himself.  She stops listing
the things off in her mind as her heart sinks.  She tries to move her lips to
correct herself, but McGonagall is speaking again.
"No, but that will come with time."  McGonagall sighs.  "I will need you to
keep me informed, when he calls for you, what you do, anything you see."  She
sees Ginny flinch.  "Nothing intimate my dear.  Anything important that you
do."
"Alright."
“I suppose there’s no way I can talk you out of this?”
Ginny shakes her head sharply.
“No, I thought not.”  The Headmistress sighs.  "I will have to inform the
Order, of course."
"No!"
"They will have to know about this, certainly!  I can't simply show up with
information on the Death Eaters and expect them to take it on faith."  She
looks away, pretends not to be glancing at the portrait of Dumbledore as she
speaks.  "We both know that they are no longer as prone to trusting spies as
they once were."
"No, please, my father would kill-" she swallows,  "-me."
McGonagall's eyes crease in nothing if not sympathy and she nods.  "We can keep
your identity a secret, for your own safety we'll say, but I will have to let
them know that we have someone in this position willing to help.  No names. 
Would that do?"
"Yes.  Thank you."  She sniffs and the Headmistress turns back to her desk,
over turning a few drawers until she comes across what she seeks. 
"Here you are, Ms. Weasley, this should help you to feel better."  The dark
chocolate lands warmly in her hands and she quickly breaks off a piece and lays
it in her mouth.  "I'm truly sorry child."
She's in her rooms without knowing how, the large chunk of chocolate still
grasped in one hand as a second piece dissolves on her tongue.  The bed is
soft, but not comfortable as her entire body aches, back, head, eyes, chest,
everything, but she's not tired.  The birds twitter in their cage and she
ignores them, pushing them and their laughter and whispering away because she
really can't think about that now.  She knows there's something that she should
be doing, something that should be distracting her from the fact that she's
trying to follow her heart and she still feels horrible.  Feels the lump in her
stomach and salt in her eyes and still wants to bury herself somewhere and
absolutely never come out.  Maybe she regrets telling, but she knows it was
right, if nothing else, if treachery can be right.  But whom is she betraying,
really?  She can't think about that because the bile is rising in her throat
and she only just gets to the washroom before spilling her stomach into the
toilet.  She dry heaves and she's crying again, fallen sideways on the hard
tile and retching into her arms because she still feels guilty.  Still feels
angry.  Still feels horrible. 
Her arms are dry and the toilet is flushed when she finally stands and faces
herself in the mirror.  Her face is blotchy and hair sticky from where it
dangled as she vomited.  Who do you want to be?  All that she knows is that she
doesn't want to be who she was today.
Four days pass and nothing happens.  She feels like rubbish, body and soul
aching with guilt and regret, mind burning to figure out what she's regretting
and of what she is guilty and so she beats herself for everything.  Guilty of
everything and her schoolwork is the only thing keeping her from flying apart
while she waits for him to call her.  Maybe then she'll be able to figure out
what she wants, but somehow she doubts it.
It's three days after that that he contacts her, waking her in the middle of
the night she screaming from the burning thigh.  Her neighbour shifts in her
sleep and tells her that she's only dreaming and to get back to it, already on
the way to her own dream world.  Ginny's dreams are fleeting but the mark, in
it's green glory stings her and wakes her completely and it's no struggle for
her to slip on one of her hidden robes and squeeze into the hall, down to the
yard, outside the grounds, so that she can apparate in peace.  A noise,
somewhere behind her startles her, someone's following her but no one's there
and she's stopped thinking about that as her wand is pressed against his mark.
Her eyes are blurred when she appears, world spinning back into existence as
though she were creating it around herself and she grasps for something to keep
her from falling over.  She's not surprised that he is there, behind her and
her hand grasps onto his arm and keeps herself steady.  She doesn't turn and he
holds her still, reaching in front of her and, once again, securing a thick
blindfold behind her head.  She doesn't protest, closing her eyes with the
cloth and breathing in the marvellous scent of him.  He releases her again and
the familiar rush of panic as the unfamiliar blindness overwhelms her.
"Come here."  He's far away and she knows, or thinks that she knows what's
coming next and walks towards his voice.  She feels his hand on her wrist, not
quite circling it as he leads her to what feels like a mattress, but not
quite.  After a moment's thought she identifies it as the large, mattress-like
table, which resides in his hotel room.  Or did the first time she was there.
"Get on."  His voice is rough and she obeys, feeling the silk of her dress robe
slide under her knees as she awkwardly stands.  "Get undressed and lie down." 
He might as well have been telling her to make him a sandwich for all the
interest he shows, but she obeys, tossing her dress to one side and she doesn't
even hear it hit the floor.
The bed is soft against her back and her heart is pounding as she hears him
moving about behind her . . . and in front of her and her head is swimming as
she tries to figure out just where he is and what's coming next.
Then she feels it, hair, long and soft draping over her thighs and she smiles,
reaches down towards him but his voice, harsh and rough tells her "No."  Funny,
she thought it came from behind her, but his hair brushes her thigh again and
she pushes all ridiculous notions aside.  His hands smoothly spread her legs
around him and with one finger, longer than she remembered it being, he spreads
her lips, dwelling on the moisture that's building there.  His finger flicks
her clit and she moans as his mouth comes down and ravenously begins to suck
hard on her clit.  Her eyes squeeze shut while his tongue tickles and flicks
her clit while one long finger slides inside her.  She moans and reaches down
towards him again, but remembers his warning and her hand drops inertly beside
her on the table.  It doesn't take her long, the glorious waves of tongue
massaging and she moves her pelvis, bringing her clit closer to him as her back
arches and her moans echo through the room.  The tongue continues to lap,
languidly pushing the last of her orgasm from her before the head pulls away. 
She's still resting, moaning and wondering what in the world he's going to do
to her now when a moist, heady smell hits her and she feels something moist
press against her lips.  It pulls back slightly and only then does she realize
that it's another set of lips, another clit, another woman being pressed
against her.  She moans, mind still reeling from the orgasm and she flicks her
tongue outwards, the taste strong, but not entirely unpleasant and there's a
second feminine moan somewhere above her.  Her tongue goes out again and she
quickly finds the woman's clit, rubbing and flicking it, the way she thinks she
would want it done.  It takes her a moment to get used to it, the taste, the
smell and the entirely different organ than she is used to going down on, but
after a moment the woman is moaning loudly.  She raises one hand and one finger
slips inside the woman who feels so different and yet so similar to Ginny's own
body.  She speeds up, lapping and massaging her clit, adding a second, and then
a third finger and she's pumping the woman hard.  With a sharp cry the woman
spasms and she tenses around Ginny's fingers.  She follows the woman's example
and gently continues to run her tongue over her clit as the woman catches her
breath before sliding off of her.
"Did you like that, my dear?"  His voice is in her ear suddenly and she didn't
even hear him approach, but isn't surprised when he kisses her, tongue forcing
her lips open as he bites at her lips.  He grasps her and pulls her into a
sitting position and his cock, hard and ready is pushed into her mouth.  She
chokes around it as he shoves it down her throat, but he doesn't ease up,
doesn't give her a chance to catch her breath and she grasps his balls,
massaging and rubbing them as he pumps into her mouth.  The salty pre-cum is
rolling over her tongue and just as she thinks he's going to finish he pushes
her backwards and she feels his warm seed spill across her breasts.
She's gasping for air when two hands, too gentle to be Lucius' free the
blindfold and she turns to catch the dark eyes and dark hair of the woman who
she's just fucked.  The woman smiles, not a warm smile, but a mechanical upturn
of her lips.  She stands, her beautiful body shimmering in the room, and Ginny
knows it’s Bellatrix.  Bellatrix LeStrange.  She wants to laugh at herself, but
the woman is beautiful, thin with long legs and a gorgeous flat stomach that
Ginny would kill for.  She feels so inadequate next to such a beauty but her
gaze is transfixed.  She's watching this gazelle of a woman walk around the
table and doesn't feel as Lucius reaches around her and quickly attaches a
thick strap-on.  She stares at it, not noticing as Bellatrix re-approaches the
mattress, but when she does the older woman flicks the fleshy-coloured cock and
she feels the touch reverberated along to gently massage her own clit.  She
moans and Bellatrix looks over her shoulder to Lucius who is quiet and seems
almost absent as he motions for her to lie back.  The cock is long, rising out
from her pubic bone and Ginny knows just what she's expected to do, leaning
forward over the older woman, she awkwardly finds her entrance and with a not
quite satisfying thrust, enters her.  For a moment Ginny wishes it were more
than a strap on so she could feel it, just as a man would but with a second
thrust it moves across her clit and she ceases to care.  She's building up a
rhythm, thrusting in and out of the now moaning Bellatrix as her own clit is
slowly massaged. 
Lucius' hand around Ginny's back surprises her and he leans her forward,
suddenly pressed against her entrance and he's inside her.  She can feel his
thick cock filling her from behind and as he thrusts within her, she rocks
inside Bellatrix, her own clit massaged and pressed until she's moaning.  She
reaches between them and presses Bellatrix's clit, rubbing it and flicking it
until the woman cries out, finishing suddenly and her body tenses around the
strap on.  Lucius continues to thrust, his lips against her ear and the sound
of his rough breathing blocks out all other sound.  She can feel his hair
draping around her shoulders and the pungent smell of him surrounds her.  She
continues to thrust into the older woman, who smiles her first real smile of
the evening and cums as she continues to move and Lucius continues to pound
into her.  It's only a moment later when he finishes, pulling out of her
quickly as she extracts herself from Bellatrix.  The two go their separate
directions, Bella to find clothing and she has no idea where Lucius is as she
slowly unbuckles the strap on and lets it drop to the floor.
"It's been fun, kids."  Bellatrix smiles to her, her clothing and hair
magically back in place and she turns to Lucius.  "See you Thursday."  With a
flick and a swish of her wand, she's apparated away and they're alone.  He
comes back towards her, face red with what she can only think to be anger and
before she can ask him why he grasps her neck and pulls her from the mattress
to the floor.
"On your hands and knees."  His voice is a snarl and as she moves, he pushes
her into the requested position.  It's only as his cock presses against her
anus that she realizes what's coming next.  With a thrust the world goes red
and she screams, but doesn't even try to get away.  He won't listen if she does
and he slips out completely before slamming into her again.  She cries out a
second time, feeling her eyes blur as she wants to cry, but she holds it back. 
He's trying to hurt her now, really hurt and scar her but she won't give him
that as his hands hold onto her shoulders, slamming her down onto his cock. 
She hiccups, but doesn't cry out this time and when he brings her down again
she feels her skin ripping, but doesn't make a sound.  He growls, leaning over
her back and pushes the words into her ears.  "Cry and I'll stop."  She bites
her lip, wanting him to stop and wanting to cry and wouldn't that just solve
everything but she doesn't.  She catches the tears as they rise in her throat
and he slams her down again.  It seems to go on forever before he finishes and
when he slides out of her she can see that his cock is coated with blood.  She
tries not to whimper but when she falls forward she does.
She lies there for what seems a long time, fighting her desire to cry and
trying not to think about how much her body aches.  She feels the sticky fluids
coating her backside as they flow out of her and she knows she should move,
find her clothing and scour the room until she finds a way out but she
doesn't.  She can't move and she can't cry and after a moment the pain is too
much and she can't think.  She wants to scream and in a moment she will be
screaming but a cold hand on her shoulder jumps her back to reality and she
sits up.  Dip looks frightened as her own annoyance towards the creature raises
a scowl to her face.
"Does Miss wish to be cleaned up?"
"Yes."  The house elf looks pleased with itself and Ginny doesn't notice how
but a moment later she's resting in a porcelain tub, water and bubbles slosh
onto the grass floor.  Immediately her tender skin is eased and she allows her
eyes to close as Dip ministers to her needs.  The elf is humming slightly and
in the moment of tranquility that she has attained Ginny can't imagine why she
would ever want to harm such a creature.
"Dip?"
The animal instantly tenses, hand poised with the sponge partway up Ginny's
leg.  Funny that she hadn't even noticed the animal cleaning her and she
motions for it to continue.  "Yes, Miss?"
"Did you ever know Dobby?"  It's something, anything to ask to hold herself and
her mind in this tranquil place.  She can't imagine what she'll be thinking
when she leaves it.
"Dobby?!"  The sponge falls from the small creature's hand and plops down into
the bath beside her.  "I'm sorry, Miss.  Please don't be angry."
Ginny fishes around for a minute before handing it back to the servant.  "You
did know him?"
"Of course, Dobby and I were . . . good . . . friends."
"Good friends.  That's nice."  Her eyes close again and her mind drifts away,
as she tries to ignore the gentle ache in her chest.
"Miss?"
She doesn't open her eyes.  "What is it, Dip?"
"Does Miss know Dobby?"
"He works at Hogwarts where I go to school." 
There's a pause and then, "Would . . . would Miss tell something to Dobby,
please?"
"Of course."
"Oh, Miss is too good to Dip."
"Dobby is my friend, too, Dip, I don't mind helping a friend."  Ginny's eyes
suddenly open.  "Would you do something for me, Dip?"
"Oh, anything, Miss."
"Would you . . . promise never to laugh at me again?"
The house elf looks confused and the first tingling of annoyance rises in her
breast.  "If you promise me that, I'll tell Dobby anything you'd like."
"I don't think I've ever laughed at you, Miss."
Now she is getting annoyed.  "You don't have to lie about it, just promise not
to do it anymore."
"Oh.  But . . . Miss, I feel sorry for you, see?  I would never laugh at you."
"What?"
"I mean, we're the same, we're just the same both servants, both scum with that
. . . that evil man."  Dip's hands clap over mouth and the sponge falls back in
the tub.  Ginny sighs, at this rate it would probably have been faster to wash
herself.  "I should not have said that about my master."  The creature's head
bounces off the side of the tub and reverberates through the water.  Ginny
begins to shake and her wet hand whips out to hold the house elf back. 
"Please don't do that."
"Thank you, Miss, but I really must."
"How about later, then?"  Ginny hands the sponge back to her and she returns to
work.
"Alright, Miss.  If you say so.  But just the same, I don't understand what
Miss means.  You . . . if I were a pretty young witch I wouldn't . . . well, I
wouldn't let anyone treat me the way . . . he treats you."
Ginny doesn't respond for a minute, her hands shaking slightly in annoyance at
the house elf.  "That's none of your business."
"Oh, I know, Miss."  She speaks quickly and then almost under her breath
continues.  "I would just never laugh at you, is all I meant, Miss."  By now
the sponge was simply dabbing at her, poking her in the shoulder and really not
cleaning anything and Ginny grasps it from her.
"Merlin's beard!  I didn't ask you to feel sorry for me, I asked you to promise
me and if you won't, just say so!"
The house elf's trembling is almost more than she can stand and she lets the
sponge fly, watching it bounce off poor little Dip's nose and plop back into
the water.
The house elf opens her mouth to speak but with a flash, they're no longer
alone and the tranquility that was already tenuous snaps.  Lucius looks around,
looks strangely lost and almost surprised to see her before his features harden
and he speaks.  "You will stay here tonight."
She laughs despite herself and stands up.  "I don't think so."
"Oh no."  Dip's voice is small, but she politely hands Ginny a towel as she
stands and the bubbles run in rivulets down her body.  Still staring at Lucius,
both accusing and defensive, she steps out of the tub.
"Pardon me?"  His growl is so perfect that she could frame it and put it on her
wall.  If she had any desire to put a growling picture of Lucius on her wall
and the thought makes her laugh again.
"I do believe you heard me the first time."
"Since when do I obey you?" 
He sneers and she's certain that she's supposed to feel like a house elf but
she doesn't.
"I'm not staying." 
Dip is hopping from foot to foot, singing something about how Ginny should just
be quiet and obey, but no one is listening to her.
"Why not?"
"Because my life's ambition is not to get raped in the arse and then spend the
night, thank you."
"Don't be mellow dramatic, nobody raped you."
"No, certainly not."  Her sarcasm drips from her, mingling with the bubbles and
forming a small puddle on the floor.  By this point, Dip is jumping up and
down, arms waving and the song has reached some strange pitch that Ginny wasn't
even aware existed.  The two wizards stare each other down before Ginny finds
herself across the room, wand in hand and pointed at Lucius, almost pressing it
against his chest as she holds her towel up with her free hand.  "Send me
home."
"No."  His snarl is back and they stare.
His hand moves, but before he can do a thing her mind has shouted crucio and he
falls hard, head slamming against the table and his limbs twitch and shake.  He
doesn't scream, but Dip is moaning and shaking behind her and she whirls on the
small creature. 
"Get out of here!"  With a flash the animal is gone and Ginny turns to bend
over Lucius' prostrate form.  "Scream and I'll stop."  She sneers the words. 
He's trying not to, bottom lip shaking and eyes bulging but it doesn't take
long and his scream is pathetic, long and strained and she's as good as her
word, freeing him as soon as it slips clear.  He doesn't move immediately and
her wand drops, which is always a mistake because when she does he's up and on
her.  His lips are pressed against her ear and her back against the invisible
wall that holds the room from darkness.
"I'm not sending you anywhere."  His hand strips her of her towel, dropping the
dark blue cloth to the grass-floor as he lifts her against the table.  "You're
mine, dammit."  Her legs spread around him and her hands dip into his dressing-
robe, eagerly pushing it from his shoulders and she wonders how she can want
more of him.  Their lips come together, teeth grating against skin, and his
tongue forces its way into her mouth.  She moans and somehow his cock has
already found her entrance, as eager for her as she is for him and it's as
though they haven't fucked in days when he thrusts into her.  He's pounding her
against the table, the small structure rocking under her weight.  His cock rubs
hard against her clit and she's moaning into his mouth, teeth gnashing against
her tongue as she laps up the taste of him.  With a loud grunt he thrusts hard
and empties himself into her, but instead of slipping out of her, he lifts her,
a simple movement, and they drop to the floor.  The smell of grass fills her
but she has no time to even think about it as he raises her legs above his head
and begins anew, cock hard again as he presses deep into her.  She moans and
his hand drops to flick her clit, using the cum that's dripping out of her to
moisten and massage it until she's moaning, as the room crashes down upon her,
she screams and cums hard against him.  She can barely think, barely move but
he's still inside her and still fucking her, his face focused hard on her
forehead and as he thrusts again, he fills her with his seed.  She moans when
he slips out of her, her clit aches and twitches with the sudden release.  He
begins to chuckle, his laughter deep and throaty and she knows that he's
laughing at her, but somehow it doesn't bother her.  This time she doesn't
care.
***** Chapter 9 *****
The dream is painful.  She can't figure out why, but she aches everywhere, her
hands, her face, even the insides of her ears and she's moving slowly. 
It's dark. 
It's dark everywhere, but she's moving and she knows where she's going so it's
all right. 
It's dark.  
There are monsters in the darkness.  She hears something squeaking somewhere
and she's afraid.  Squeaking in the darkness and squeaking in fear, but then
maybe it's just as afraid of her.  She doesn't relax.  Monsters more
frightening than those she knows are in the darkness, hiding, waiting for her,
and she's afraid. 
A hiss and she could swear that something brushes past her feet.
The dream is painful as she reaches out in front of her, reaches out, searches
for something, a wall, a door, a tree even.  Something that tells her where she
is, that she isn't lost in the Forbidden Forest or locked within the Riddle
mansion or still in the Chamber of Secrets waiting for Tom to steal her life
away.  Tom and she can almost hear him laughing.  Laughing because she was
stupid and he was good looking and charming to her little mind.  Tricking her
into the dark side and she swore that she would never let him do that to her
again. 
There's a click behind her and she knows the monsters are around her now,
waiting.  She whimpers and doesn't mean to, but she's still moving.
The dream is painful, her head aches as though she's stood in the sun and her
skin burns as though that's just what's happened so maybe she has and doesn't
remember and maybe that's why the lights are off.  The darkness is so much
nicer against her skin.  She's wrong of course, but she hurts and she can't for
the life of her figure out why.  The monsters are there still, not moving but
she can hear them breathing and she wonders why they haven't attacked her,
ripped her skin from her body and eaten her alive.  She's among them and they
haven't moved.
The dream is painful and she sees a light ahead.  Don't go towards the light, a
voice is saying, Harry's voice and he's laughing but she goes.  Come back,
don't go towards the light and she remembers why he's saying it.  It was a
joke, some muggle joke about their thoughts on death and no one was laughing
but Harry.  Harry and Arthur because he thought he got it but he didn't.  The
light is growing larger and maybe it's only the moon that she's coming down
towards, but it's something and she can almost see it.  Almost make out more
than a yellow blur against the darkness. 
The dream is painful and there's music coming from somewhere.  She gets closer
and it's Dip walking along beside her, singing.  She can't hear the words, but
the creature is flailing about, arms waving, legs dancing and eyes flashing
into hers, but she can't hear the words.  She needs to hear the words because
they're important and she can't.  She yells for Dip to speak up, but she
won't.  Somewhere in the darkness Lucius is calling for her and Dip turns and
scampers back into the night.  Calling for her, she comes running, but the
light is closer now and she can see that it's a door.
The dream is painful, but it's not really bright at all.  Against the darkness
the door is a star and she can hardly see inside it until she's there, on the
threshold and looking in; Looking in and knowing the room and the curtains and
the books and knowing that she's in the Malfoy's house.  She’s in Malfoy manor
without her Malfoy snake.  She hears noises beneath her, but who knows what
that is, because the auction has long been over and there's no one else here,
no one but her.  There's a squeak and the same white mouse scampers from the
door behind her and rushes in.  Only a single candle lights it, a single candle
dripped almost to nothing where it stands in the middle of the room, but the
mouse runs to it and rises up beside it, facing her.
"Are you here to kill me?  Did my husband send you?"  Two questions, one
thought.
The dream is painful and for a moment Ginny thinks the mouse has spoken,
raising its tiny chin in question.  Before she answers the woman moves and she
knows they're not alone.  Moves and steps away from the window, it's curtains
now pulled to the side, but the woman's back is to it.  Ginny watches her step
forward, watches the candle, watches the mouse and watches the British
countryside as it runs away outside the window into the night.  The stars are
few and far between.
"Are you here to kill me?  Did my husband send-"
"Yes."
The woman smiles, nods and turns back towards the window.
"It took a long time, didn't it?"  Ginny's voice sounds rough, out of place but
when she looks down her feet are bathed in gold, her body wrapped in green and
she feels more at home than she ought to.  The woman's dress has holes from
where her friend has chewed through it and as Ginny watches the mouse slips
through one and climbs to top the woman's shoulder.
"Yes, it took a long time."
"I'll make it quick, then."  She should feel guilty, but she doesn't.
"It hasn't been quick."
Ginny watches her own wand, in her hand but not her hand and her fingers twist
about its base.
"One minute, please."  The woman speaks and picks her mouse-friend from her
shoulder, holding it carefully, lovingly in her palm.  She raises it and looks
it in the face.  Says a goodbye, maybe.  Albisiyinia.  Her finger strokes along
its spine before she sighs, mouse and woman as one and places the small
creature on the floor.  With more brutality than Ginny expected her foot comes
down hard on the white form and when she steps back, nothing but a smear of
blood and fur is left on the floor.  She made it quick.
"Alright."  She turns back and looks out the window.  "I'm ready now."
Avada Kedavra.  The thought is tangible as the sticky green light spills
through the room and the woman is bathed in brightness before she falls to the
floor. 
Hardly a sound as she lands and the dream is painful.
It hurts.
***** Chapter 10 *****
"Did you hear that Harry was here?"  Neville's excitement is grating.  One
pancake, sliced to eight distinct pieces and he methodically forks one before
raising it to his mouth.
"No, when was Harry here?"  Her voice is dead because if she shows emotion at
all it will be anger and she's trying not to be angry.  Angry at anyone, not
even Harry and not even him.  Anger will lead her that way, the way of wanting
to hurt him and hurt people and hurt everyone including herself so she's not
going to be angry.  She doesn't do anger.
"Yesterday.  You didn't see him?  I would have thought he would go to see
you."  A drop of syrup runs down Neville's chin and Ginny uses a napkin to wipe
it clean.  He grins and reaches for the second slice of pancake.  "Thanks."
"You would think."  Her voice is a single tone and she should be eating but for
some reason her arms won't work.
"You don't sound too upset about it, you guys have a tiff?"
"We're not together anymore, Neville.  I guess he has no reason to come."
"He was probably just in a rush or something."  Always the optimist, always
thinking the best, he swallows.
"Don't defend him."
"I'm not, I'm just . . . sorry."  He sounds pathetic and she feels bad.  A
third piece joins the second as he chews it into nothingness and Ginny shakes
her head.  "He loves you, you know."  His smile is warm and she can't help but
smile back.
"I know, Neville.  Thanks."  He takes a fourth bite and she pulls a pancake
onto her own plate.  The syrup globs from the bottle attractively and plops on
the puffy pastry.  She almost smiles because Neville seems to think that he's
her personal connection to the local goings on and really, he sort of is.
"Oi, did you hear about Mrs. Malfoy?"  He swallows.
"No . . . why?"  A sinking feeling in her stomach and her knife and fork freeze
in her hands.
"Her husband killed her."
"What?"  Her knife drops.  "What?"
"Yeah, they found her body this morning, she'd been . . . you know."
"WHAT?"
Neville is watching her closely and shifts, uncomfortable that she's making him
say it.  Making him say the words.  "He Avada Kedavra'd her."
"What?"
Now Neville does laugh.  "You look like you've seen a ghost."
She moves, picks up her knife and continues slicing her pancake into small,
mouse sized pieces, but the thought makes her drop her knife again.  "How did
he get in?"
"That's the thing, they're not sure."  He swallows and reaches for the paper
which Colin has left lying beside him as he desperately attempts to take a
candid picture of Jessica, his crush of the month.  "See here's a picture of
the room.  They're not sure, 'cause the Aurors warded the house against anyone
who wasn't in the Order."
Ginny's eyes scan the page, taking in every detail of the room as Neville
continues to talk behind her.  She focuses, brown eyes narrowing, trying to
find the tiniest details, searching for the splotch of red on the carpet or the
burnt out candle but the picture is too small to be sure.  An owl, late on the
delivery screeches through the hall and she shivers.  She knows her face is
pale.
"Creepy, isn't it?"
She nods but can't speak, words trapped between her throat and her teeth and
she clasps her mouth closed because she can't think to say anything that isn't
a full confession.  A full confession of what?  She stands and mumbles
something about getting breakfast for Hermione before she runs from the room. 
A first year is laughing as she runs by and she sends him a look that makes him
fall from his bench.  At least he's not laughing now.
Where is she going? 
To McGonagall, her feet steer her there but she stops, sags, out of breath
against one wall.  She hasn't been breathing and she forces a shuddering
breath.  Breath.  Why?  Why McGonagall?  To confess to something she dreamed of
doing? 
"Oi, Headmistress, I dreamed about killing my lover's wife and now she's
dead." 
They'd lock her up.  Hell, they probably already are going to lock her up.  An
exhibit in Azkaban next to the empty form of a Dementor-Kissed Lucius and Tom's
Journal as visitors are shown the mementoes of the war.  And this, children, is
Miss Weasley, the girl who single-handedly broke our hero's heart.  They're
giggling but she's looking at Lucius' lifeless living body and she wants to
scream.  Almost does scream, mouth open and gaping as a gaggle of Ravenclaw
fourth years herd past.  She can hear them giggling and she continues moving.
Where is she going??  Not to McGonagall.  Not after her scant information a
week ago about Lucius and Bellatrix doing something on Thursday.  Something on
Thursday and if she wasn't trusted she is now because not far past midnight,
two hours into Thursday, the Supreme Courts of Scotland crumbled into dust. 
Literal dust.  She can practically hear Bellatrix's sweet laughter over the
remains, but at least she's trusted now.  She wishes that she could trust
herself.
Her mark tingles all day, doesn't sting but tingles and she could swear that
he's going to call her.  Any minute from potions and she'll be gone and part of
her hopes that he waits until History of Magic because she can't very well skip
out in the middle of class.  Maybe that would make Slughorn finally stop
inviting her to his little parties but probably all that would happen is that
he would give her an automatic O and the rest of the class would glower. 
History of Magic disappears and in Care of Magical Creatures Hagrid wonders why
she's distracted, what she's possibly thinking about and why she doesn't seem
to take any interest in the inert little bugs that look to her more like glass
caterpillars than anything of magical interest.  Where are the hippogriffs and
dragons in her year??
It's dinner and then nighttime and her evening is mostly spent in the kitchen. 
None of the house elves bother her there and she can't speak to Dobby.  Not
that he's not rushing about busy with his own career but she doesn't look at
him, can't look at him and she doesn't want to wonder what relationship he had
with Dip.  Of course she does, ignoring her charms homework.  She wonders about
the sad, unsated lifestyle of a house elf.  She truly hopes that they don't
suffer for their love lives the way wizards do.  Even muggles must have it
easier.  How could they not without magic and politics to complicate their
lives?  They don't have to sleep with the enemy in order to learn his secrets. 
For a moment she wishes she were a muggle, no concerns greater than dental
hygiene and rubber duckies.  So unaware as to how close they constantly are to
their own destruction, their own enslavement.
She looks up and it's past eleven, past the time for her to be in bed and out
of the halls, but the mark, the tattoo, the scar is stinging now and she needs
to be going anyways.  Funny that she hardly noticed it and she wonders why. 
She doesn't bother changing from her school robes; she hasn't needed the fancy
wear he insisted that she buy and she's annoyed enough not to bother.  She's
not angry anymore but she's annoyed.
Dobby tries to say something to her as she leaves, but she ignores him and
slips passed a Prefect on her way through the halls.  The halls are bare and
her thigh is burning now, a branding sharp pain that seems all the worse now
that she's noticed that it's there.  Her eyes are blurring and she almost runs,
unseeing in the dim hallways and she cries out when two arms catch her and she
tumbles to the floor.
"Bloody hell!"  She could swear that it was a man's voice, a familiar man's
voice but when she stands up it's only Hermione struggling with her robes and
rising to her feet.
"Miss Weasley."  Hermione's voice is still strange.
"Miss Granger."  She mocks and the older girl shifts uncomfortably.
"What are you doing here?"  They both ask and Ginny should be laughing but
she's not.  Her heart is pounding and her teeth are grating against the burn.
"Nothing."  Hermione sounds suspicious and Ginny tenses, freezes and she really
starts to wonder why the older girl is out of bed.  Out of the library, more
accurately.
"Good."  Ginny slips past her, heading for the main entrance hallway and the
doors.  "I have to go to bed.  I lost track of time."
Hermione nods, but still looks strange, is holding herself too stiffly and too
nervously and Ginny's heart is more than pounding now as her teeth compress the
pain into her lip.  She rounds a corner and Hermione is gone, but is she gone? 
She turns and sees no one in the darkness, but she could swear that she can
hear something, something shifting although maybe it's nothing more than a
distant stairwell as it moves along its hinges.  Then again, maybe not.  She
speeds up, blinking and she's out the school's doors.  Running, maybe and the
world is moving quickly even before she's out of the building's reach and a
quick press of the wand against her skin apparates her away.
Where is she?
She knows the room, but can't immediately place it.  Can't immediately place it
and she turns full circle.  It's not a large room, not as large as she would
have expected, nor as large as she probably would have liked.  A large bathtub
dominates the interior, it’s sunk into the floor and carved from the stone of
the building as at least a dozen faucets feed it.  She walks around it, her
shoes clicking against the floor, the sound reverberating against the walls,
against the walls and back through her.  She shivers, watching as the faucets
start up; turning of their own accord, six distinct streams of something red
patterned between six equally crystal gushes of water rush the tub.  The sound
of the liquid is overpowering, the rush of rapids and the sweet smell that
floats with it, ethereal.  She breathes in the sweet and woody air and she
knows it's wine that she smells, mixed spirits filling the deep basin.  Part of
her relaxes and she realizes suddenly why the room looks as familiar as it
does, the design almost certainly taken from that of the Prefect's bathroom at
Hogwarts.  Ron had only ever let her use it once and as best she can, she tries
to match the room's landmarks with this one.
The mermaid.  Her eyes go to the window and meet the dark sea creature's as it
quirks it's head at her.  The bath is certainly the same, the hooks against one
wall and but for the lack of door, it's a complete match.  How many students
had fantasized about just such a scenario as this and she wants to laugh,
thinking that she might be about to play out his.  How quaint?  Her hand drops
to her pocket, a quick pat and she knows that her wand is still there, still
secure and easily accessible because she's not going to be his toy today.  Not
going to follow through with this without getting what she wants from him. 
She's strong but not angry.
The faucets turn themselves off as quickly as they had started and she walks
towards the pool, ominous in its depth and she looks down into her reflection
there.  Freckles and eyes and mouth held tightly as usual and she's almost back
in Hogwarts when a hand grasps her around the waist and his reflection joins
hers there.  She tries to turn but his arms are around her and her feet slip so
he's the only thing holding her away from the dark pool.  Their eyes reflecting
back makes the pool even darker and he smiles.  She shifts into his warmth
without thinking.  He's laughing and she could swear that she can hear music
coming from somewhere, an orchestra with a distinct tempo and rhythm, playing
something painfully familiar to her but when he's quiet she doesn't hear it
anymore.  A loose faucet drips and they're breathing.
"Let me go." 
He laughs into her ear, breath brushing her hair and when his hands loosen she
feels herself slipping towards the pool but he quickly catches her again.  "No,
I really don't think that's what you want."  He slides backwards and she
regains her footing, standing just as his arms release her and she shivers in
the sweet air.  She turns to face him, heart pounding.
"A fantasy of yours?"  Her voice is stronger than she expects, stronger and
richer and more confident than she's ever felt.  One look into her face and he
knows it's empty but she holds his gaze, just the same.  She'll survive on
sheer willpower if necessary.
He doesn't answer and instead circles her, taking in her school robes and loose
hair but, with a burst of confidence driving her, she pulls her wand free and
he stops moving.
"My dear, please."  He's smirking at her and there's fire in her belly, but
she's not angry.
She takes a deep breath and her voice is calm.  "Did you kill your wife?"
His face is serious now, creased for a moment before it returns to nothing. 
"Did you kill your wife?"  She says it again and the demeanour slips, voice
rising just enough to make him smile.  Tell me that you killed your wife.
"No.  She is dead though."  It's a statement of fact and the lack of emotion
makes her chin rise.  Should make her heart stop, should make her shudder but
she doesn't.
"Very good."  She doesn't want to sound like him, but she does.  Tell me that
you killed your wife.  "Did I do it?"
He laughs.  "How in the world should I know that?"
"Did you make me do it?"  Tell me that you made me do it.  "Did you curse me?" 
You cursed me.  "Did you imperio me?"  You must have.
"Hardly."  He scoffs.  "Why in the world would I want to kill my wife?"
"Why indeed?"  They match gazes.
"My dear this is pointless."  He looks away, looks at the mermaid who's
watching him right back and Ginny doesn't remember how she knows this, because
she's still looking at him.
"Did you tell me to do it?"  You told me to.  You did it.  She's dead because
of you.
"This is pathetic."  He sneers.  "I had nothing to do with her death."  His
eyes bite into her.  "Did you?"
She almost curses him, raises her wand to do so but he jumps forward and grabs
her hand, pushing it upwards and the silent crucio bounces off the ceiling,
evaporating against the wall.  The mermaid jumps and crosses her arms.
"No."  His command makes her stop struggling and he moves her arm to her side. 
"My wife is dead."
"Very good."  She doesn't want to sound like him, but she does.  Tell me that
you killed your wife.  I didn't do it.
"You're slipping, my dear, you already said that."
"And your observation isn't any more astute now than it was before."
"What big words for such a little tongue?"
"Did you kill your wife?  Did you make me do it?!"  Her voice quakes, but she
isn't angry.  Desperate.  She doesn't do anger.
"I don't kill pure bloods."
"You tried to kill me."
He laughs.  "You're a blood traitor, not a pureblood."
Her hand snaps out, strikes him, palm stinging against his cheek and they're
both surprised but she's not angry.  He steps towards her and she steps back,
the wand in her hand is there but she doesn't remember to use it.  She's too
near the tub now, feeling her heel as it nearly misses the floor, nearly drops
her into the red pool.  She's not angry.  He steps forward again and she
doesn't move.  Don't.  He slowly slides his arm around her back, his hand
fanning between her shoulder blades and as he moves he pulls her closer.  Her
breasts are pressed against his chest and he nudges her head to one side.  The
hand moves and she moves.  Watch the crank turn and she pops out.  Ginny-in-a-
Box.
"I didn't kill my wife."  No semantics.  "I didn't tell anyone to kill her."
"You're a murderer."  Her voice is hard, but her eyes are closed.
"So are you."
"I haven't killed anybody."
He's leaning in towards her and his teeth grab her ear, tugging at the lobe and
his tongue slides behind it, below it and along it and she tries not to moan
because she's trying to focus on what's important.  What's important . . . 
"Neither have I."  He smirks and she can hear the music again.  Dance, dance,
dance marionette, dance.  She feels herself go limp against him, back sagging
and arms sliding up to circle his neck.  The wand is still in her hand and she
doesn't care.  His lips travel down to her neck, sucking her into his mouth and
his hair falls across her face, falls down her shoulder and mixes with hers,
wheat and oranges slipping together.  The smell of wine fills the room and you
can't spell 'grape' without 'rape.'
He releases her suddenly and with a small push she's tumbling backwards,
tumbling and suddenly very wet, very warm and very wet.  Her clothing is
clinging to her and she's trying not to choke on the wine and water, but it's
not so very strong and it slides down her throat before she hits the surface. 
She coughs, but she's still holding her wand.  She's out of the box and he's
smirking but with a flick of her hand, a flick against the cool air she pulls
him down, down and he's in the water too.  Swimming in wine and the grapes are
running through his hair.  She pounces him, as best she can in the liquid and
her legs circle him slowly. 
Limbs pushing the water around them, her teeth press against his neck, press
and nibble and her tongue is running along the skin as she pulls it into her
mouth.  He groans and his hands are running through her robes, pushing the
cloth that's thick with water and wine away from her body.  It doesn't take
long to be unclasped, she's come undone and the cloth waves through the bath. 
She's out of it and on him and it's floating away from them.  Her fingers are
working through his clothing and she laughs against his skin when they come
loose, floating and drifting with hers and the bath is so large that it doesn't
matter where they've ended up. 
He's nude now and her under-things are easily done away with.  His fingers are
running down her legs, running her panties to the ground and her head dips
below the surface of the water.  Her hair dwells at the surface a moment as she
sinks down and her lips come easily to his chest.  Her mouth grasps hold of one
nipple and pulls it, licking and teasing it and his moan reverberates through
the bath.  She's running short on air and when she comes to the surface she
hardly has time to grasp a breath before his hand is on her head, pushing,
insisting her into the water.  She can't see against the thick colour but isn't
surprised when his cock is pressed against her lips.  She slides it into her
mouth, her tongue twirling around it and she sucks it hard.  His groan reaches
her even in the water and his hand forces her head down over it again, before
letting her go and she's sucking and dipping to her own pace. 
Her hand grasps, cups his balls and she squeezes, caresses them with her nails
while she pulls up on his cock, tongue lapping along it before her mouth slides
down it again.  She's running out of air, running out quickly but his hand
returns to her head as she tries to hit the surface, pushes her down towards
his member, forcing her lips over it.  She coughs into the water, drinking the
sweet liquid as her body demands oxygen, but she forces control upon it and her
tongue and mouth swirl around his cock.  He grunts suddenly, thrusting hard
into her mouth and the salt of his cum is biting against the wine.  She
continues sucking at him, drinking him and he cries out again, voice echoing
through the room and into the water as his seed spurts again and fills her
mouth.  His hand releases her and she gasps to the surface but he's not moving
for a moment as she catches hold of the air and sucks it in. 
He's watching her where she stands, breasts just covered in water and the wine
running red against her skin. His fingers against her clit startle her and he
smirks.  She can feel her juice running and mixing with the bath – he's barely
touched her but she sinks back against the wall.  He brushes her clit and she
moans but he's up against her quickly, his head buried in her neck so her moans
are muffled against him.  She reaches to grasp his cock and her fist begins
pumping it, squeezing the head and shaft as his fingers tease her clit,
flitting over it, flicking it and she wants to scream it's so good.  She does
scream in a moment, his cock moving towards her entrance as her eyes slide
closed.  His finger rubs her clit hard and she screams into his shoulder, teeth
coming down on his neck and lips running bruising kisses along it.  She's still
fisting him, lost in her orgasm.  Her muscles tense, twitch, and with a grunt
he thrusts against her cunt, not entering her but his cum spills over it,
shoots against it and it easily slides off to join the liquid around her. 
Washed away. 
Her eyes are on him, her clit still twitching from release as she slides down
into the water, tongue lapping at it before her mouth dips into it.  She pulls
it into her mouth, the thick white stream of him running between her teeth and
her hand grasps hold of his balls, massaging and rubbing them as he moans.  She
moves towards him and her other hand grasps his head and pulls it down to
hers.  Her lips grasp his bottom lip and her tongue pushes between his teeth,
spreading the sweet, heady flavour of the wine into his mouth.  He moans again
and laps against her teeth, arms finding her waist and he draws her over to
him.  She finds his cock quickly, legs sliding around him as his tongue
continues to bat with hers and with a thrust he's deep inside her.  She groans
as he fills her, her sensitive clit rubbing his shaft and she shudders.  His
lips drop hers and her head falls back against the tub's edge as he shifts over
her, thrusting again and the angle is just that it slides along her clit again.
"Mmm Lucius."  Her mind is swimming in red, senses blurred and he continues
thrusting into her, long easy strokes that grate her clit and with three more
thrusts she cums, fluids running down his cock and spreading through the
water.  "Lucius."  She says it again and then as his shaft rides along her
pussy she's screaming, muscles tensing and vision fading for a moment.
He nearly pulls out completely as she's still cumming and slams hard into her,
hips striking against her thighs and she knows that she'll be bruised later. 
He forces her head back, one hand pushing her chin until she's staring at the
ceiling and he dips his head to grasp one nipple as it dances in and out of the
water with each thrust.  Their breath is coming in hard gasps and he bites down
on her breast, teeth grinding sensitive skin but he releases it just as quickly
and with a hard thrust his cock twitches and his seed is screaming through
her.  He moves to slide out of her but one hand grasps his ass, fingers digging
into the skin and the other pulls his neck down towards her.  Her lips are
trembling when they find his ear.  "Keep going.  Merlin, please keep going."
He chuckles and it rumbles through her, making her smile and she can feel his
cock hardening as his wand twitches slightly.  She doesn't see it, only feels
him stiffen inside her.  "As you wish, my dear."  Mocking as ever, but he
grasps her hips and slams himself into her.  Her back strikes the stone edge
and she cries out at the sudden pain as it rocks through her, but he pulls back
and slams into her again.  His cock is still riding along her clit with every
movement and it's not long before her mind rushes into silence and her body
tenses.  She cries into his hair, his thrusts rocking her and when she grabs
his lips with her own he bites down, blood sliding through her skin.  His
bottom lip is red with it when he slides back and thrusts hard before moaning
and his hips rock once, then stop and he's filling her again. 
The copper taste of blood rushes her mouth and she feels it slip down her chin
as he grunts with the last thrust.  She lets out a moan as he slides out of
her, lost in post-coital peace and the swim of wine.  He grasps her hair,
orange-red hair held hard between his fingers and he pushes her head into the
bath.  She coughs, choking and forcing her limbs back to life as she sucks the
musky liquid into her, trying not to breath and it slides down her throat. 
She's more than dizzy when he pulls her out and is it just her, or has the
spinning world spun her right into him?  She can hear music again and if she
could move she would run and find it, but she can't move as his lips land on
her own, sucking the blood and wine and water and cum from her lips.  His hand
grasps her head and holds her still and she could swear that he moans into her
skin.  "Ginevra."  Her head is spinning and when she opens her eyes his are
already on her and he pushes her back.  The liquid is still high, lapping
around their chests, catching her as she moves backwards and holding her
steady. 
His eyes narrow suddenly and his hand is moving towards her, moving towards her
face but it's moving so slowly that her hand goes up and grabs his wrist before
he hits her.  She's moving slowly too, throwing his hand back and she backs up
towards the wall.  His other hand rises this time, but she catches it too and
his lips are thin, frustrated but she isn't angry so she laughs.  He's dripping
out of her and trying to hurt her and she laughs, but the world spins and she
doesn't remember much after that.
She opens her eyes and they're heavy, stiff and painful and she gasps for
breath.  Her lips are dry, cracked and her eyes slide closed, but she's thirsty
and definitely won't sleep.  She sucks in the air and her mind is swimming back
towards the unconscious but her body is screaming and stabbing it to stay
awake.  She groans and moves, limbs weighted and she's lying on something
soft.  Something cushioning the alcohol as her body rids it from her mind.  She
tries to move, find the washroom, water anything to sate her aching thirst but
when she moves someone shifts and she isn't in her room at Hogwarts.  He's
talking and there's a bright green line across her vision, blocking him and the
words and anything but the thirst.  A line and she blinks as it floats around
the dark room, fading not quite as quickly as she would like but he's talking
and she should be listening.  What's he saying?
. . .
She can't hear him and she moves, turns, and he stops for a moment so she makes
some noise, some noise to sound asleep and it's really not flattering in the
slightest but it seems to work and he continues.  What's he saying?
" . . . I should kill you . . ."
This is important.  You should be hearing him.
"I think about you constantly." 
She should be tense but her limbs ache and her chest aches and she's thirsty,
but she should be listening.
"I should . . . I really should."  He stops.  "You're no use to me at all.  If
I were any kind of a man I would."
She turns 'in her sleep' because it's so much easier to hear him that way and
he doesn't even stop to see if she's awake.
"You worthless bitch."  He moves, rolls over as though he wants to sleep but he
doesn't.  She's drifting off, sleep and her aching mind pulling her down, down,
down into the sheets.  She's thirsty but somehow it can wait.
Her mind screams awake when she feels his face close to hers and she can't open
her eyes and she can't hold her breath because then he'll know that she can
hear and it takes all of her control to maintain stillness.  "I want you
constantly and I should hate you.  I hate you more than your miserable Potter. 
I want you to kill for me, to go mad for me, to die for me, to moan for me and
never to think of anyone else."  She's dreaming.  She's in some horrible dream
and she can't wake up, can't open her eyes, can't breathe deeply and sit up. 
"I want you to love me and I want to break you completely."  Her heart is
pounding, pounding against her chest and demanding that she awaken, but she
can't.  His breath is hard against her ear.  "If I were any kind of a man I
would kill you now."
***** Chapter 11 *****
                                                        Lacrimosa . . .
Someone is breathing into her ear                              but she can't
hear them.
Someone is whispering into her hair                      but she can't see
them.
                                    She opens her eyes and she's not alone.
                                                                                          
She's never alone.
            She opens her eyes and she's in a crowd.
                                                                                   
But nobody sees her.
She's in a crowded room and everybody's laughing.
                                                           She doesn't remember
not to be angry.
            Nobody's screaming yet.
                                           Her hair is around her shoulders,
but it's not red.
                        Polyjuice and boomslang . . .
Her eyes are the same but
                                                                        her
hair is dark
            her skin is olive
                                                                                   
her freckles are gone.
 She opens her mouth to laugh and everybody stops.
 "You've brought us a toy."  The sound is echoed.  You've                  
 brought
us                                a                                 
plaything."
 There's someone next to                                             her.
                         Someonerightbesideher.
                                                  His hand is on her shoulder
and she's warm.
He                   is.
  smiling at her
                                                                                    
She                    is.
                                                                                   
     smiling at him
            She steps back and she's wrapped in his chest.
             "She's no one's toy
                                            but mine."
 The other man scowls.
                                                                        Frowns.
                        His face is covered in hair.
            0 it's peeking through the eyes of his mask 0
                                     it disappears
                               down    his    neck
                                                   She shudders and sinks back
against him.
His hair falls around her and she's safe.
 Lacrimosa.
                                    Where are they?
           A flash of lighT.
                                                Someone else is there.
             "Lucius, Greyback," A snarl from beneath the new mask.
                                                                        There's
sandalwood in the air.
"Severus."  He hummmmmms and she smiles.
                           "Why'd you bring her, then?"  The hairy one is
demanding
                                                Everyone's laughing but she's
safe.
                        She raises her wand                            it's
what she wants.
The new arrival is on the ground and nobody's laughing.
                                     The new arrival is screaming and nobody's
laughing.
                                                            Nobody's laughing
except for him.
Laughing
in                                                                            
to her ears.
 
"That's
enough,                                                                   
            my love."
                                    The air is quiet.
 
Lacrimosa.
 
Severus stands and his wand is pointed at her but he's behind her.
Severus                       She's safe between them.                   
            Lucius.   
"Are we going to do this?"  Somebody’s angry
                                                                        but
it's not her.
                                                                                    
            "Of course."
                        His hands are on her
and she flies                                                    apart.
                                                 Flying . . .
            Wind blowwwwws.
The ground is hard when she lands.
                                                They land.
                                                                    His hand is
still on her shoulder.
            They're still around her but they're not looking.
             Not watching.                         Eyes
turned                                   away.
 She shivers but they're inside.
                                                                        Her
dress is white.
                        Her skin is bare.
                                                            Her hair is brown.
             She shivers and nobody's looking at her because he's moved away.
 There are other people here. 
                         More   than     the       four     of        them.
             Lucius grabs one of the girls.
                                                                        She's
not a girl.
                         He grabs the woman.                          Her hair
is brown.
He grabs the mother.                                       Her dress is white.
                                    Grabs her and commands her still.
                 She's             shaking
         around     imperio      the
                        curse.
 I think I love you.
                                                                                               
            Liar.
             The wolf-dog-man's hands are on someone else.
                         A woman.                   She's not a woman, she's a
girl.
 A girl's hair is in her hands.    Her own hands.
                                                             It's dark and her
hands are red.
                        The girl's hair is black over them.
 Someone is crying.                                                    
                                                                                               
            Lacrimosa.
                                    They've all got one, now.
 One each.  Three girls and their mother and them.
                                                Four killers and four muggles.
                        A perfect match.  <3
                                                                              
            Someone is crying.
                 Something is ripping and Greyback is tearing off his girl's
clothing.
She's small and young.
                                    "We don't have time."  Severus is growling
and his girl
            is
                                                                                               
                              falling.
 
already dead
                                     The mother screams.
             Stabat mater
                                                                                   
dolorosa.
                                     Ginny's not moving and her girl is
fighting her.
            There are nails in her skin.
                                                                        Someone
is screaming.
                                    Greyback is laughing.
 "Hurry up."  It's said slowly.
                                                            Crucio
                                                                                   
Everyone is screaming
            but she's laughing.                  Laughing and her girl is
screaming.
                                                                                                
"I said hurry!"
                        Another girl
                                           falls.
Greyback's hands are empty.
                                                                        Ginny
is shaking.
            SOMEONE IS POUNDING ON THE FRONT DOOR.
The mother is crying.                          Stabat mater dolorosa.
       Avada        lacrimosa          Cadavre.
 Her feet are warm where the body lies.
                                                                                           
I think I love you.
Liar.
             There are wands coming towards them.
                                                                                   
Eyes flashing.
She's laughing because they're not amused in the slightest.
                                                                               
            They've seen her.
                                     His hand is on her back and she's gone.
                         Somewhere the mother is moaning.
                                                                         Stabat
mater.
***** Chapter 12 *****
She's never cared for muggle studies, but she does now.  The large tome that is
surely incomplete lying spread eagle across the library desk and she's
reading.  Her head is pressed against her hand, her hair is falling over it and
she's less than comfortable but it doesn't matter because she's reading. 
Common Myth: It is common practice amongst American muggles to eat their own
young when the long winter months have left them little else to consume.
The myths are ridiculous in the most generous sense of the term.  The truths
are disgusting and she soaks them in.  Muggles have been at war with each other
for centuries.  Complete peace has never reigned while they grow stronger,
build machines that come closer to magic, reaching for the ideal while simply
pumping chemicals and waste into the earth.  Poisoning their planet, their
planet and Ginny chuckles, laughs quietly in the silence and someone clears
their throat.  The Department for the Preservation of Animal Species and the
Environment, circa 1964, is one of the many Ministry departments and is one of
the most important.  It's an ever-growing department as the muggles'
'technology' becomes worse, originally holding four members of staff, they now
number over two thousand.  The muggle damage is greater and Ginny feels ill. 
Muggles may not eat their young, but the eat everyone else's.  Rhinos missing
their horns.  Sharks fished to extinction.  Cows and pigs and chickens driven
to insanity for the cause of a muggle's cheap meal.  Nuke the whales.  Burn the
rainforests.  Enslave the world.  Nobody will stop you because it's your right
to co-exist.  It's your right to kill everything.  We'll just have to clean up
the mess.
If only their self-degradation stopped there.  Patenting water in a poor
country and letting the people die of thirst because they can't collect the
rain.  The rain.  The next time Ginny's outside she closes her eyes and listens
to it, the sizzle of it against the ground, the pop of it against the leaves. 
It washes over her face and she breathes it in, she loves it all the more
because she doesn't live in a place where it is not her right.  A right of
every being on the planet and the muggles are killing each other.  Children
starving to death, children with heart problems because they eat too much. 
Teenagers starving themselves, teenagers prostituting their bodies for a meal. 
Her head spins and the evil of her world doesn't seem quite so bad anymore.
If it weren't for them the muggles would be gone, would have destroyed
themselves.  The world would be gone and everything she loves about the planet
would be nothing.  If it weren't for them . . . she looks up into the sky,
clouds coloured and moving with the rising sun and she feels something pulling
at her chest.  It's pulling at her heart and she loves the sky more than
anything else in the world because it's there.  It's brightening and raining on
her and it's her right as a witch, as a creature, as a life to enjoy it.  The
muggles have no idea.
She's never hated anybody quite so much.  Her hand is around her wand and she's
pacing back and forth.  Back and forth and she wants to do something.  Maybe
she's trying to justify herself and what she might have done, but that didn't
take long and now she's angry.  She doesn't mind being angry about this.  She
has to be angry about this.
She's in the library, she's perfectly still and the page turns.  She reads on. 
A girl covered in napalm runs screaming towards the camera, burning alive.  A
pile of starving corpses piled in concentration camps.  Turn the page for a
silent scream in Rwanda.  Monuments to great killers.  Napoleon the
slaughterer.  Churchill the murderer.  Trojan's column to destruction rising in
Rome and everyone stops to snap a picture.
She flicks her wand and she can hear music.  She wants to hear something other
than the screams of muggles, the screams of animals and the screams of anything
that the muggles touch.  A harmony of flutes and violins and she can't hear
them screaming.  She wants to hurt them.  The book is closing because the bile
is slipping up her trachea and she needs to calm down.  Needs to calm down
before the Slytherin heading in her direction says something really snippy and
she hexes him into a spinning wheel. 
Too late.
There are students milling around the library's entrance, pushing around
Hermione Granger and asking her questions.  Hermione Granger returned from a
week with her parents and it's the second coming, the return of a hero who
hasn't really done anything but sit in the library studying and reading.  Ginny
can't stand to think that her friend knows, really knows what the muggles are
doing and doesn't want to stop it.  Starting an organisation for the house
elves but what about everyone else??  The music is quiet in her ears and she
picks up pieces of what they're saying.  An attack on Hermione's muggle
neighbours, it would seem.  A woman and her daughters, three of them dead and
Ginny wants to cheer.  Wants to scream that it's about fucking time while the
students cluck around the older girl, demanding to know if she's okay. 
Demanding to know if she got in on the action and what they can do to help. 
Hermione is pushing through them, an armful of books her only desired companion
on this journey.  Ginny tries not to stop, tries to look away and not make eye
contact with her friend but it's no use.  The red hair standing out in the
midst and her friend calls to her.
"Ginny!" 
Someone is laughing, but she's too busy to care and she tries to push on.
"Ginny!" 
She looks up, catches her friend's eyes and smiles.  Smile like a good little
witch and Hermione is waving her over because what Ginny had to do couldn't
possibly be important.  She's calling Ginny over and pretending that her
lineage isn't destroying the world around them.
"What do you want?"
Hermione looks insulted and Ginny doesn't care enough to dispel the notion.
"Just wondering how you are."
The look of scepticism on Ginny's face isn't lost on her friend.  "Alright."
"I know, I've been so distracted with . . . well, with everything."  She
swallows and the students around them have started to dissipate.  "I'm sorry."
"It's fine, I get it."
The older girl's hand on her arm makes her stop.  "No, you don't."  They both
stop moving.  "Can we go somewhere private?"
Hermione's rooms are private enough and the girl quickly closes a large tome
before setting herself down against her desk.  Ginny tries not to glance around
the room, and obviously scholarly room and books are stacked in strange columns
around the room.  She narrowly dodges one as she comes closer to her friend.
"What do you need, Hermione?"
"I need . . . to talk."
"What?"
"I need to talk about the raid."
"Oh."  Ginny swallows, the lump of fear sliding against her throat because she
couldn't possibly have figured she and Lucius out.
"I told you that Snape told me about it."
"Oh."  She almost smiles at this drastically different direction for the
conversation to take.  "Well, what about it?"
"We've been working together quite a bit and . . . well."
"You and Snape have been working together?"  She swallows.  "You trust him?" 
The irony is not lost on her.
"Well . . . yes, frankly."
"But . . . why?"
"We're working on a . . . well, a very important project for the Order."
"Oh?"
"That's not what I want to talk about."
"Well, then what?"  Ginny sighs.
"I . . ." her friend looks nervous as she works a quill slowly between her
fingers.  "I'm in love with him."
"What?!"  Ginny smiles, almost laughs, but pushes the expression away.  "You're
in love with Snape?  Greasy Potions Master Snape?"
"Ginny, I know how ridiculous it is but . . . he's really very kind."
"You're talking about the man who killed Dumbledore here, Hermione."
"I'm not daft!"  The quill slides along the desk's surface as she tosses it
down.  "He's absolutely brilliant and really really-"
"Don't tell me!  Please!"  Ginny takes a breath and tries her best not to allow
the grin that's threatening her lips from breaking free, the laughter from
bubbling up her throat.  "What are you going to do?  Everybody . . . hates
him."
"I know."  Her friend's eyes focus on a spot on the carpet and her mouth is
pulled into a tight line and anyone who knows Hermione knows that she's
focusing hard.
"Does he care for you?"
"I . . . don't know, I guess.  I think he might but-"
"Well, I would think that if you two have . . ." Ginny blinks and shakes her
head, almost in an attempt to avoid the very thought.  ". . . he must at least
find you attractive."
"Yes."  Hermione doesn't explain the note of doubt in her voice and her lips
twist together.
"Well, if you don't know, perhaps that's what you ought to find out."
"I can't simply ask him!"
"In Merlin's name, why not?"
"Because it's the Greasy Potions Master!"
"And I'm sure he's going to be incredibly prone to confessing his feelings to a
student."
"Former-student."
"Alright, but you're going to have to be the one to make the first move here." 
Now Ginny does laugh.  "I can't believe I'm giving you advice on this."
Hermione sighs.  "You're right, of course."  Her eyes refocus on her younger
friend and Ginny really begins to doubt Hermione's aptitude as a hostess, her
legs beginning to tire from standing.  "How do you think Ron will take it?"
"Well, I should hope that you don't mention who it is that you're leaving him
for."
"Obviously not."
"You know Ron, he . . . doesn't deal well with jealousy."
"I know.  I just . . . I don't want to lose him as a friend."
"Mione, I think that's a risk you're going to have to take."
It doesn't take long for her to be ushered back out of the room, words of
thanks and we should do it agains echoing in the stone chamber.  She almost
doesn't notice that her friend has not even asked how she's doing, how she and
Harry are doing or whether or not she happens to have become a spy for the
Order.  Almost forgets to notice that she doesn't see her friend for almost
three weeks after that and almost forgets not to be annoyed.
Two days pass and Ginny isn't thinking about him.  It's been two weeks since
she's seen him and she isn't thinking about him.  Two weeks and three minutes
and almost . . . yes, exactly twenty seconds, but she's reading about the
specifics of apparition, preparing for her coming test and she isn't thinking
about him.  She's written the test's time down somewhere and thank goodness for
that because she has no idea exactly when it's supposed to be.  She isn't
thinking about him, but somewhere in her stomach she wants him.  It's hurting,
but not quite hurting, tingling and bubbling when she thinks and so she
doesn't.  Her throat tenses when she does, tenses and she hiccups.  She's
smiling and doesn't know it.  She laughs before picking up her quill and
pushing her books into a pile on the corner of her desk.  Fresh parchment and
fresh ink but what the hell is she doing?
She pushes it away too.  Who would she write to?  Who could she talk to who
would understand this?  Who could explain it to her?  She wants to be
productive and her potions book is in front of her again.  She wants to be
productive and is thinking about what she can do.  What she can do to help. 
McGonagall has no suggestions, nothing more than to keep up the same charade. 
Gain trust.  Gain loyalty.  Watch your soul change and shift into something you
never imagined that it could be.  She is no longer smiling and her eyes are
against her palms.  She can't do this.  She can't be this person.  How is she
helping anybody?
She stands and her books are behind her.  Who cares if they disappear?  She
still has enough of his money to buy whatever she wants.  She's still a very
wealthy man's whore but she can't think about where he's getting his money now,
now that his funds are frozen and his house is empty.  There's blood and fur on
the carpet, but you can't make much of that and somehow he's still rich.  The
green proof of that fact is dripping from her neck.  It warms her chest.
She dreams sometimes but she doesn't think about that.  She watches her pets
and Crookshanks has taken to watching them with her.  Watching them from the
windowsill because the other girls won't let him inside.  Watching them while
she tortures them and twitching and moving when they do.  She doesn't know what
he's thinking and she wishes she did.  Occlumency would be a marvellous skill. 
She's standing in her nightgown and she's holding the cat.  The window is open
now, open and she's reached out and pulled his furry form against her.  He's
warm and rumbling with the affection.  She's stroking him and brushing him with
her nails and whispering to him.  Her roommates are sleeping around her and she
can't hear them.
She's moving and she can't control herself.  The birdcage opens and she pulls a
bird out, presents it to the cat.  The two creatures study each other, the
cat's eyes sharp and bright as it watches the dull, flighty bird cock its head
towards her.  The cat isn't moving and she's getting cold here by the window
but they're still looking at each other.  One bite is all it will need.  The
creature is small where it's standing and she could crush it between her
fingers.  The cat mews and something shifts behind her.  It takes her a moment
to realize that it's only her hair moving in the breeze.  She shivers and
pushes the bird back into its cage.  The cat is looking up at her, demanding
something, but she isn't sure what.
"You had your chance."  It's back out the window, hands pushing the furry form
and sliding the wind away from her.  She turns away from the birds and although
her hands are red, she doesn't care.  They're not interesting anymore.  They
watch her and their bones are almost pushing through their skin.  Almost
falling apart and she doesn't notice that she's holding her wand.  There's red
in the air and they're twitching and shifting because she can't sleep.  A
moment longer and she ends it, but they don't seem to care.  She can see the
moon through her window, a perfect half-slice.  The muggles put a man up there
just to show that they could.  One hand is stroking her wand as she dozes off.
She wakes up next to him.  She knows before her eyes open that she's not at
Hogwarts, not at home and the sheets are marvellously slippery around her
legs.  They're warm and when she opens her eyes she's swimming in the violet of
them, one limb tangled amongst them.  The rest of her is buried within them. 
She turns over and feels the morning in the air.  She should be somewhere else
but she'd rather not be.  The air is comfortable and there's silence.  She's
pulled close to her dreams again but the Sandman denies her entrance.
He's still asleep and she doesn't know what to do.  She's never seen him
sleeping and he's frowning even now.  She starts to laugh.  He's frowning and
his eyebrows are curved inward.  His face is older when he sleeps.  His cheeks
are cleanly shaven still but his hair is imperfect.  Flying away in various
directions but only enough to be noticeable.  Hers is probably the same.  He's
frowning in his sleep and she's still laughing because it's really quite
funny.  No rest for the wicked.
He opens his eyes and she can't tell if he's glaring at her or if his eyes are
narrowed in sleep.  There are creases beneath them and his mouth becomes
straight.  His voice is wakeful, eerily normal and confident and she's swimming
in it when he speaks.
"Go back to sleep."  It's a snarl and his eyes try to close but she isn't going
to sleep and she's still smiling.
"No.  I need to go."  She doesn't sound as she would like, her voice groggy and
dragging the words around.  Her tongue is heavy and she's glad that it's now at
rest.
"I don't care."  She can't remember when they got to bed last night but he's
asleep again.  She frowns and he must be pretending.  She watches her hand fly
out and strike him across the face.  He blinks and sits up, eyes now wide
although his face is still creased.  He isn't frowning now.  It takes her a
moment to realize that his wand is in his hand.
"Go back to sleep."  He's so very serious and she's laughing because she wants
to.
She opens her eyes and it doesn't smell like morning anymore.  She's not sure
what it smells like, but the light is bright and she sits up.  The sheets have
been kicked away from her, blue and silky smooth where one foot remains wrapped
in them.  She shivers and breathes in the smell of the room, sage lingering
with the heady smell of sleep.  She blinks and genuinely can't figure out if it
was a dream or not.  Her feet slip to the ground and the room is empty.  It's
his room, again, the empty fireplace lying cold before a single armchair.  A
book lies at its side and she picks it up; a book of poetry that she doesn't
understand and she lays it down, again.  She never would have imagined him to
be any kind of a poet and starts to laugh.
"I certainly don't find Virgil as amusing as you seem to, my dear."  The room's
not empty and maybe it never was.  She turns and he's standing behind her,
fully dressed and smelling like the outside world.  He motions to her and she
comes towards him.
"What time is it?  I have to get back to Hogwarts."
He laughs and his hand goes to her neck, slides to the back of it and he pulls
himself down to kiss her.  He tastes sweet against her morning breath, but the
taste overwhelms her, his tongue sliding into her mouth and soon he's all that
she can taste and all that she can smell.  Her mind is blank and her arms are
around him but in a moment, he's pushed away from her and he's laughing again.
"You certainly slept late."
She doesn't ask what time it is, because she knows that he won't tell her.  "I
probably ought to be getting back then."  Good, her voice is strong and she
sighs back on her feet.
"There's no hurry."
"I have to go back."
His hand is on her neck again, pulling her against his mouth and he bites down
hard, fingers slipping around the front of her throat.  She gasps against his
mouth and pulls away from him, dragging her lips away.  "You don't have to do
anything that I don't tell you to do."  His hand is pressing down slightly
around her throat and his lips are snarling.  She feels the tingle of blood in
her mouth and she gathers it against her teeth and spits.  The glob of saliva
strikes him just below one eye, running red and bubbly down one cheek and for a
moment, she thinks that he really is going to kill her.
"I'm not your slave."  She can feel her heart pounding.  "Take your hands off
me."  She almost can't stand when he does release her, perhaps more astounded
that he listened to her than anything else.  A handkerchief appears in his hand
and he wipes the spit away.  She snarls at him, stepping out of his reach. 
"Who's obeying who now?"  She knows its coming, knows more than she knows that
her hair is red that it's coming and she almost laughs when his lips are mashed
against hers.  He's becoming so easy.
Her body feels small although it's not as he wraps her against himself, arms
pulling her to him and his hands are digging through her hair.  She pulls her
lips away from him and she's attacking his neck, teeth coming down and his skin
is pulled into her mouth.  She's rubbing it against her teeth, bruising it and
marking him.
"You drive me mad."  The words are around her and she's laughing against his
neck.
"Fuck me."  It's a command more than anything is and he lifts her.  She feels
light against him, although she knows that she's not and her legs wrap
themselves around his waist.  She should be getting back to school but he feels
so much better than DADA class.  His lips are on hers again and they feel as
fantastic now as they did the first time in the rain.  His tongue is running
over her teeth, finding her own tongue and lapping against it.  She moans, her
legs wrapping around him and she can feel his erection pressing against her
through his clothing.
"Fuck me now."  Her mouth is on his ear, catching some of his hair as she licks
and nibbles his ear and she's being leaned against something, something soft
and firm.  After a while, she realizes that it's the edge of his chair.  Her
hand is in his robes, in them and the buttons are too much to worry about so
she rips them.  A single movement and they're open, cutting across his groin
and chest.  Her mouth moves to one nipple, tongue traveling out to lap it to
attention before her teeth come down and he groans, thrusting against her bare
stomach, his cock already running with precum.
Her legs are around him and pulling him towards her entrance.  Her mouth is
still on his nipple and her hand is surrounding his member insisting him into
her and in a moment, he will be.  There's a thrust and she moans, his cock
pressing her walls and his finger goes down to her clit.  She doesn't remember
when she's moved, but she's kissing him, her tongue pushing into his mouth, and
he's thrusting into her.  He's growling against her tongue and his teeth come
down on it.  She whimpers, feeling the blood spill over her lips but he's
pounding inside her, bucking and thrusting, bruising her.  His fingers are on
her clit, squeezing it and her head drops against the chair as she cries out
with the feeling of it.  She's going to be cumming in a second but his hand
drops and he let's out a cry.  It is not quite a roar and not quite a moan but
it's filled with fury and frustration at being denied the pleasure he had
almost given her.  He rocks, cum filling her and she moans as his hand drops
from her clit.  She moans, feeling his cock slip out of her, depriving her of
yet another pleasure, and her clit twitches, aching for his attention.
"You'd better not be through."  She growls it and his hands are burning against
her back when he moves her to the floor.  She's under him, and for a moment,
she thinks that he's going to enter her again, her cunt screaming for it, but a
hand over her face pushes her backwards.  He turns over and his cock is
pressing, wet and hard against her mouth.  Her lips pass over it, mouth still
hung with the iron of her bleeding tongue and it stings when she swirls it
around his member.  He moans and her clit is still aching for him but she sucks
at the husky fluids and he's thrusting into her mouth, forcing his hard member
down her throat.  She doesn't cough.  She wants to, the back of her throat
closing and contracting in a gag, but she continues to suck and lick at him as
he thrusts into her.
His tongue is suddenly warm against her clit.  Warm and sure, maybe she's
already wet and dripping from him, but it's damp and wonderful as it moves. 
She groans around his ministrations, her tongue going lax as his teeth grab her
flesh and roll her clit between them.  She wants to scream but his cock is hard
and forcing its way into her mouth.  Her eyes roll and her fingers find his
hair.  She cums against his lips almost immediately but he doesn't stop, tongue
and teeth consuming her as his cock pounds into her throat.  A mixture of
saliva and pre-cum dribbles from her lips as he continues to work her pussy. 
He adds two fingers now, three, all sliding into her and fucking her as his
mouth laps up her wetness.  He moves his fingers inside her, curling his digits
and brushing against something that she hadn't known was there.  She moans as
best she can around his cock and he repeats the motion.  Twice more and she is
screaming for him again.  He bites down on her clit and as the world swims
around her, she thinks he's going to tear it off but she doesn't care as long
as his fingers continue to touch that magical spot.  She is rewarded when, as
she holds his head down, he continues to bite her clit and pump his fingers
into her, touching that spot each time.  She sucks hard and her tongue runs
beneath his head, licking along the ridge between his head and shaft and with a
shuddering movement, he fills her mouth.  He's not moving, grunting and her
ears are humming around her release as she drinks him down her throat.
He slides off her quickly and before she can relax at all, he pulls her up. 
She sinks to her knees, expecting the familiar taste of his cock entering her
from behind but he slaps her hard on the ass and she stands completely.  He
circles her, smirking and she can feel him running out of her, her thighs
slippery.  He hits her ass again and the sound echoes in the small room.
"Get on the bed."  He growls and she doesn't take long to obey.  He's mumbling
something behind her, but she doesn't understand the charm as she turns onto
her back.  He comes towards her, is on top of her quickly and his mouth is
consuming her, grasping the skin of her collarbone and grinding it between his
teeth.  She moans and he pushes her legs above her head.  His cock is at her
entrance and it's screaming for him to enter but she blinks up at him, a second
cock pressing against her anus.  She tenses and he's smirking at her, mocking
her but she wants him badly and moans.  She can feel the pool of liquid forming
beneath her and with a thrust he's inside her, completely inside and both
entrances strain around him.  It doesn't hurt as much this time, but then maybe
he's being gentler and she starts to laugh.  Her knees are around his neck and
he's pushing into her, slowly filling her completely and she can feel her own
flesh spreading before him.
"Please," she whimpers and he smirks.  His hand comes down against the back of
her thighs, the sting swelling her flesh.
"Don't tell me you don't enjoy this."  He snarls and he slides out of her
before thrusting into her again.  Her body is moaning from the shock and she
almost whimpers but his fingers are running slick along her clit.  This time
she does moan and a flood of sensations washes over her as he fucks her.  She's
twitching against his fingers, groaning and her mind rushes with blood as her
vision goes blank and she's shouting from the pleasure.  She's drowning, his
lips and tongue forcing their way inside her and her muscles are screaming. 
His weight is pressing her legs too far back, but he feels marvellous, tongue
training over her lips.  His thrusts are growing shorter, quicker and his body
shudders, his lips loosing their grip as his face comes to rest against her
cheek.  His hips are holding him deep inside her and she can feel him twitching
as he fills her with his cum.
He breathes into her ear, against her face for a moment, the gold of his hair
spilling across her vision but he's off her in a moment, standing completely
with his regular anatomy intact.  The remains of his robes still drape around
him but in a moment of disgust, he slides them down his arms and tosses them to
her.  He's completely nude and she watches him, her muscles aching from their
coupling and her clit moaning from the pleasure.  She stands and joins him,
running one hand across his chest, dwelling on one bruised nipple before his
hand is in her hair, grasping it and he pulls her against his mouth.  His hands
are on her ass, holding her against him and his limp cock trails moisture along
her stomach.  After a moment, he pulls away and his wand is out.
"Go home, little girl." 
She can't even speak before his wand is on her scar and the world swirls her
back to Hogwarts.  The afternoon is bright and thank goodness, no one is around
as she slips his torn and tattered robes around herself, securing them as best
she can and feeling as he continues to leak down her thighs.  The snakes are
coiling and uncoiling quickly, moving about in the slippery liquid as she
rushes across the grounds towards the school.  Her head is down and she's
willing her face not to flash red as she slides through the quietest entrance
and makes her way to her rooms.  She could apparate away now, a fully-fledged
apparating wizard but she slinks back to her school.  She could be anywhere in
the world but she's here.
She tries to shower quickly, but they'll be looking for her and she only needs
to remove the smell of him enough to not be entirely foregone when she meets
someone in the halls.  Her cunt is still damp, a puddle of him still running
into her panties as she slips her school robes on and tears through the
hallways towards McGonagall's office.  She doesn't see Neville as she crashes
into him on her way through the common room and his hands are stronger than she
would have expected as they hold her there.
"Ginny!" 
She wants to move, wants to run away but he's holding her still and she can
feel her lover's semen coating through her underwear.  She hopes to Merlin that
she doesn't smell.
"Where have you been?"
She swallows.  Something plausible, please.  "I had errands to run for
Hermione."
"Oh."
"Are you alright?"  Changing the topic, always a good decision when you've just
fucked a royally evil man three ways from Sunday.  She tries to laugh and does
a believable job of it as Neville's hand lets her free.  "You look terrible."
"I was just . . . worried, Ginny."  He smiles.  "I'm sorry."
"Well, I've got to go-"
"Hermione needs you."  He sounds disappointed and she wonders if he was trying
to play the hero, save her from whomever it was he thought had captured her.
"See you at dinner."  The Fat Lady swings and Ginny is out of the room and
heading for McGonagall.  She has nothing to tell, but that she's alright. 
Royally fucked, but alright and the older witch seems relieved, but worn.  Her
eyes are creased more and more and her step is a little slower.  Her cat's-nose
twitches and Ginny tries to stay far enough away to keep the scent of him away
from her headmistress.  It almost certainly doesn't work and the woman looks
sad.  She looks like she wants to ask a question for a minute, demand, maybe,
if she gets anything out of it and the sparkle in her eye lets Ginny know that
McGonagall is more than aware that she does.  Dumbledore looks disappointed,
two-dimensional and disappointed but she's back in the Gryffindor bathroom,
back in the shower and scrubbing herself clean before she thinks to emerge
again.
***** Chapter 13 *****
The cat is watching her birds again.  Watching her birds and it's all that
Ginny can do not to curse the stupid animal from here.  Its nose is twitching
against the glass and the birds are watching him back.  Their beaks twitter and
Ginny can't hear them.  She shifts in the darkness of the room, her roommates
mumbling softly in their sleep and she strains over the soft noise to hear. 
Crookshanks is speaking now, mewing at the small birds, one paw pressed against
the window.  She's out of bed and her feet are cold against the floor but she's
by the window now, straining hard to hear.  The animals all stop their
discourse and turn to look at her.  Crookshanks' head falls to one side as it
studies her and the birds go back to nothing, saying nothing and thinking
nothing.
"What do you want?"  The cat is still looking at her and it mews once, the
sound barely audible through the glass.  "What do you want?!"
"Holy shit, Ginny, go to sleep!"  Someone is behind her and yelling.  She could
be, should be cursing them.  Her wand is in her hand and she could be cursing
them but the red is on her hands and not in the air.
"Sorry . . ." she mumbles and the rustle of fabric rushes through the silence. 
What do you want?!  The cat looks indignant now, tail waving against the breeze
and the birds are still watching it, expecting it to do or say something.  Do
or say something to their advantage and Ginny's mouth is tense.  The air is
hissing into her and the Kneazle/Cat turns on the thin windowsill, presenting
its sternum for Ginny's inspection before turning back around to face her.  The
window is open and the wind gusts against her, she feels her night robes
twirling around her feet and her hair is dancing.  The cat begins to come
towards her, expecting affection, acknowledgment, some kind of tenderness but
Ginny's hands are on it and before she thinks twice, she forces the cat back
onto the sill, onto the sill and outwards towards the sudden drop.  Its nails
scratch against the stone and it mews once before toppling from the window
ledge.  The wind is still moving her dress and hair and she doesn't watch as
the cat plummets from view, sliding through the air to hit the ground several
stories below.  She should feel guilty but the truth is that she doesn't feel
anything.
The birds are looking at her, now, twittering and demanding to know where their
friend-in-arms went and if he'll ever be back.  She wants to say something
snippy, curse them and tell them that they're alone and they'll always be alone
but she doesn't.  Her hair and robes stop moving as the wind is pushed out of
the room and she heads to the girls' toilet before returning to bed.  The cat
must be dead but she falls to sleep quickly.
It doesn't take her long to figure out what's going on with her body, the
occasional illness and increased malaise.  She knew what it was.  Her sexual
activity had been inconsistent and although she had tried to be religious in
her procuring of contraceptive potions, she knows that she's forgotten several
times to take them.  Maybe she should have been more careful, but then she
would have been thinking and that doesn't seem to have been in the plan at all
recently. 
She suspects long before she knows, the little breakfast that she's choked down
purging itself into the toilet and a half-formed piece of strawberry rolls
amongst the yellow liquid floating in the porcelain bowl.  This alone makes her
ill a second time and she's never going to eat strawberries again.  Maybe she's
crying, but she still has hope because there has been a faulty batch of Berty
Bott's Every Flavoured Beans and maybe she's simply downed a bad box of them. 
Two days later and she knows that it can't be the beans but she's not thinking
about that and life moves slowly onwards.
Schoolwork and Quidditch drown out what she should be contemplating and maybe
she's drinking a little too much of Parvati's homemade schnapps but then again
maybe not.  No one will notice if she starts bleeding in the middle of the
month and she can chalk it up to an early period.  She's not thinking about
that because she's already missed one cycle, although that has happened on
occasion; she's enjoying the high-proof beverages and the companionship of her
compatriots in early alcoholism.  They're not really friends, of course, other
girls mostly gathering and discussing the snog-fests they've shared with
various members of the student body and their first sexual experiences.  Ginny
isn't laughing at them, she's laughing with them, but she doesn't share her
own.  How could they possibly compare although everyone knows that they're just
waiting to hear what Harry is like in bed.  She doesn't even make something up
and remain alone, enjoying their company.
In the morning, she's ill again and maybe it's the alcohol being cleansed from
her system but by now, she's sure that it's something else.  What else could
she do?  Madame Pomfrey would be more than accommodating in providing her with
a solution but then McGonagall would know and soon everyone would think that
she was aborting Harry Potter's child while he was off saving the world.  She
wants to cry and she's going to in a minute, but she's in the middle of the
Great Hall and that wouldn't help anybody.  She's in the hallway and she is
crying now.  She can feel the tears heavy on her cheeks and her stomach turns,
turns with something she doesn't want to be there and she would tear it out of
her if she could.  The salt is wet against her cheeks when she's passing the
group of Slytherins who try to trip her, taunting her all the time for missing
Harry.  Boo hoo, poor girl.  She could hurt them, really hurt them but part of
her wants them to be successful, to knock her clean over and watch her tumble
down the stairs.  A broken arm, a twisted neck later and she won't have to
worry about this.
She's in front of the porcelain god again, head draped over it in silent
worship as her stomach acids burn up her trachea.  She moans into the basin,
watching the salt from her eyes drip down to join what's left of her stomach.
"Ginny?"  She pushes herself backwards, away from the toilet but she looks as
horrible as she feels and when Hermione's shoes click across the girls'
lavatory she tries to stay quiet.  "Ginny is that you?"
A hiccup gives her away and she starts crying again because, really, she
doesn't get any breaks.  She takes a breath, swallowing it hard and trying to
force a steady calm into her voice.  "What is it?"
"Open the door."
The door lock echoes as it clicks open.  She can feel something wet where it's
smeared on her cheek and the heel of her palm pushes it clean.
"Ginny, what's going on?"
"I'm sick."
Hermione laughs and the door starts closing, but the older girl's hand holds it
open.  "You've been sick a lot lately."
"I'm surprised you noticed."
Hermione isn't making eye contact now and Ginny watches her fingers slide up
and down the door's wooden edge.  There's a loose sliver of wood and she can
almost feel the texture as her friend's fingers move over it.  "Lavender told
me . . ."
"Oh."
"Do you think that you could be . . .?"
She wants to cry but she doesn't.  She wants to shake her head but when she
starts to move all that emerges is a loud hiccup.  It doubles, reverberating
off the old tile and she can feel her lip moving, jumping up and down despite
the pressure from her teeth.  "I . . . yes."
Hermione is smiling and it's all Ginny can do not to slam the door in her
face.  Not to press her wand against her friend's cheek and whisper some kind
of unforgivable.  "Does Harry know?"
She shakes her head and swallows the rising bile enough to form a cogent
sentence.  "You can't tell him."  She turns and flushes the toilet, a large
glob of something yellow swirling and mixing with the water before being sucked
down and drowned out.
"You've got to tell him!"
"For Merlin's sake, Hermione, it's not his!"
"Oh . . . then-"
She can feel tears biting at her eyes and her hand is shaking.  The sound of
running water is rushing behind her as the toilet bowl refills itself.  Make it
quick.  One tear and it's off.  "I've been sleeping with Mr Malfoy."
Hermione's pale cheeks go entirely white.  "Ginny-
"Please don't tell me to be serious."
"But . . . you can't be serious."
Ginny sighs and the girl's eyes are digging into her, demanding the truth,
demanding answers or an explanation and Ginny wants nothing to do with any of
those things.
"I need to get rid of it."
"You can't tell me this!"  Hermione's eyes sparkle against the toilet's dim
lighting.  "What the hell are you doing?"
"Maybe I don't know!"
"You're sleeping with Lucius Malfoy.  You're pregnant with his child."
"That would be the blunt truth of what I'm saying, yes."
"That's disgusting."
"Oh fuck you, Hermione."
"Me?"
"You who're sleeping with Dumbledore's murderer while my brother waits for
you!"
"He's not evil!"
"Oh really?"
"He loves me."
"If you believe that then you're more naive than I am."
"At least I'm doing some good."
"You think I would do this for nothing?"
"Oh."  Hermione's voice is small as she finally realizes what exactly is going
on.  "You're a spy."
"Very good."  She swallows.  "I can't . . . I need . . ."
Hermione's hand is on hers and their argument seems to be lost.  "Don't worry. 
I can help you.  Come with me."
The potion burns her stomach.  She's barely swallowed it, but it's eating
through her belly and she moans.  Thank God, Hermione isn't here because she
falls backwards on her bed, arms surrounding her body and face flush with the
pillow.  She moans and a shudder rushes through her body but at least it will
be gone soon and her mind is eased.  Her body is screaming at her, but her mind
is relaxed.  How much better things are this way?  Someone is playing a piano
somewhere nearby and the music is taunting her mind, but she's better this
way.  The fingers are skilled across the keyboard, pressing notes and scales
together into coherent music, into real music and if love is the strongest
magic there is then music must take a close second.  Fingers rush down the
keyboard, hands dancing together and the player is counting.  She finds that
she's counting the seconds herself, one-two-three-four.  Counting the bars
between the stabs of pain that rush through her abdomen.  Counting the
intervals of peace.  One two three and her head is sinking down into the
pillow.  One-two-three and she's dozing off but the pain is there again and
she's moaning in her sleep.  Moaning in the semi-consciousness.  There's a
pillow pressed against her stomach but it's not helping.  At least there's no
blood.  Hermione promised that there would be no blood as the child, as the
creature was removed.  She's squeezing her eyelids together because it's not a
child but a demon that he had planted in her body.  She wants to vomit again,
but her head is drilled to the pillow, her mind is moving sluggishly and she
can't move well enough to walk, let alone crawl to the washroom.  She wretches
but nothing comes up, the taste of rotting flax fills her mouth and she moans
again.
"Ginny, you alright??"  It's Parvati, the older girl with a flask of schnapps
clutched in one hand and Ginny shakes her head.  Dear Merlin, she's not all
right.  "Should I get Madame Pomfrey?"  She shakes her head again.
"No."  It barely squeaks out.
Parvati is laughing and the schnapps is running down her throat.  It's purple
where some of it slides across her perfect brown skin.  Ginny's eyes close. 
"You started before us, didn't you?"  Her eyes are closed and she doesn't
answer, but Parvati laughs again and heads off to join her friends, the order
of the grape.  The music has disappeared and they're laughing somewhere below
her.  Her thigh is burning and she doesn't notice it around the pain in her
stomach but her legs are moving and directing her to obey.
She blinks and she's standing in front of him.  How that happened is entirely
beyond her and her head still swims to consciousness.  Her legs are shaking and
she can't imagine how she got off the Hogwarts grounds.  How she traversed the
staircases and hallways and made her way here.  The thought of it is making her
feel weaker still and she wants, more than anything, to simply sit down and
rest.  His face swims towards her, pale and frowning and his hair looks like
rain as it falls down his neck.
"Have you taken to not bathing at all?"  He sneers at her and she knows that
she does smell atrocious.  She can smell herself and she smells like sweat and
sleep and she can still taste the flax.
"What?"  She laughs and now she is falling, falling backwards and her eyes are
closing because the fall feels so very good.  The rush of the earth towards her
but his hands on her shoulders keeps her up.  "You smell wonderful."  She's
nuzzled against his neck and her eyes are still closed.
"You're drunk."
She starts laughing because she really isn't drunk, isn't anywhere near drunk
and he really does smell marvellous.  "I'm really not."
"You're a poor liar, my dear."  He snarls and she should be intimidated but her
stomach is hurting and her legs are shaking as he holds her up and she can't
even think about what she's supposed to be feeling.
"I never lie."  She's laughing, because she's entirely ridiculous.  She blinks,
eyes opening and trying to see him through the thick fog.  There's a green fog
that feels like silk against her cheek and she's trying to see him through it. 
She's laughing again because it's not a fog at all; the smooth green texture is
his shoulder as she leans against him.  A piece of his hair falls in front of
her face.
His hand is on her chin, lifting her face and she's looking at him and
laughing.  He kisses her firmly, tongue slipping easily into her mouth and she
neither fights nor kisses him back as his lips force hers apart.  When he pulls
away from her, he's looking surprised and she's still laughing.  The sound is
ringing through her and she could dance to it if only she didn't hurt so very
much.
"Why do you taste like flax?"  His hand is on her neck, pushing her backwards
and somehow she manages to remain standing.  "Why do you taste like flax?!" 
His voice is shaking and she's still laughing because he's figured it out and
it was really so obvious.  It shouldn't have taken him nearly as long. 
"I was given a potion."
"You were . . ." he stops and the colour from his face has drained into the fog
surrounding them.  She can hardly see him through it now.  His hand is
squeezing her chin, fingers digging into her cheeks and forcing her eyes into
his.  They flash red against her.  "Was it mine?  Was the child mine?"
"It doesn't matter."  Her words are slurred and she wishes to Merlin that she
were still in bed.
"Was it mine, you fucking whore?!"  He's shouting at her, spitting into her
face as his rage echoes through her ears.
"Of course it was yours."  He's not touching her anymore and she totters as her
knees strike each other.  "What was I supposed to do?"
"You killed my . . ." he stops talking and turns, robes whirling but she
doesn't know what he's doing and sitting down is really so much more
important.  The ground rises up and smacks her behind as she falls back and
she's sitting which is just so very comfortable.
"What was I supposed to do?"  She says and she doesn't think that he can hear
her so she's yelling too.  "What was I supposed to do?!  Give it to you?  Give
it to my parents?" 
He's laughing at this, but he's not smiling at all.  "You killed my . . ." he
really can't say it and her stomach is yelling at her.  It's so loud and the
ground is hard against her backside.  Lying down really would be so much more
comfortable but she stays upright.
"Would you have me raise it myself?  Tell it that its father was a murderer? 
That I hated him and wanted to kill him every time he touched me?"  She can see
his wand where it just hangs from his hand and it's shaking.  Maybe he'll kill
her now and wouldn't that be nice?  Merlin it's hard to sit up.  She starts to
chuckle but her voice is hard.  "I would rather die than have your vermin
child!"  She's hissing as he turns towards her, the wand clutched tightly in
his hand.  His face is contorted, shifting into shapes and angles that she's
never seen before and the world flashes red.
She's screaming, the echoes of it running through her mind and now she is lying
down but really, it's not so very comfortable.  Her mind is bursting in her
head and the ache in her stomach is completely gone around this new pain. 
She's screaming, the shrieks hardly hers and he's smirking down at her, her
limbs dissolving around his curse.  His foot hits her in the face, she can see
it coming, the toe of his boot aimed squarely at her noise and she feels it
break, feels the bone snap in two but her skin is still burning.  She's on
fire, she can see it but when she tries to breathe in, she's choking on her own
blood, breathing in and sucking in the thick fluid as it rolls down her face. 
Her mouth is wet and she's sucking in the air, trying desperately to hold onto
life as the liquid burns down her throat.  She's almost begging him but she
can't breathe nearly enough to speak as the curse twitches her limbs.  Her
fingers are tearing holes in her hands and she can see her own veins popping
beneath her skin.  Her eyes are barely open, barely seeing as he turns and
walks away from her.  His body seems limp but he's rushing away, leaving her in
the curse and a moment later, he's completely gone.  She sucks in the breath
and lets out a shuddering cry.  That's when the world goes black and she can't
open her eyes because if she does they'll crumble to dust.
She can't record the passage of time, can't count the seconds or the minutes of
pain but she knows that it's been forever.  Maybe he's going to leave her like
this to go entirely insane.  She doesn't deny that it's a very real
possibility, as her body becomes nothing more than a puddle on the ground. 
It's a long time before she sees anything, before she hears anything but her
own screams and when a hand is laid on her she doesn't feel it.  Doesn't hear
as a small voice releases her from the curse and her limbs and body are
tingling with the freedom.  She forces her eyes open but she can't see
anything.  With a shuddering heave, she vomits and the taste of iron is strong
in her mouth as she turns to her side and blood and acid slide out of her
body.  She can't move and there's a voice, a quiet voice singing to her but she
can't move and she can't see.  She's crying but her eyes are dry and she can
barely breathe.  There's a stone in her chest, hard and solid and she wants to
do something but she can't even scream now.
"Shh, Miss, it's alright."  There's a bottle at her mouth, thin glass emptying
something marvellously blue and sweet into her mouth.  "You'll be alright." 
The voice is small and afraid, but the hands on her are comforting.  The last
thing that she remembers is the hands lifting her and she can't think of
anything else as she drops into sleep.
Her mind is heavy when she is finally conscious of it.  Her eyes are stiff as
she tries to push them open and her limbs are barely movable but the world is
bright and she doesn't know what she would do for a moment if she could move
because she has absolutely no idea where she is.  The smell of fire warms the
room and she smiles against her pillow.  "Mum."  She's speaking but she knows
that it's all wrong.  The silk of the sheets around her tingling legs are
certainly not from the Burrow and she's trying to see around the light.
"No, Miss, it's Dip."  The voice is still afraid, but the hand is cool on her
forehead.
"Dip." Her tongue is heavy.  "Where am I?"
"Don't worry about that, Miss, you're safe, for now," the last part as almost
an afterthought and Ginny tries to roll to one side, but she shouldn't be
sleeping now and she pushes her eyes to adjust to the haze.  Slowly the world
becomes solid and she smiles at the house elf that is shifting slowly from foot
to foot.  The sheets are green and she snuggles down into them.
"Where am I?"
"You're safe, Miss."  The answer as vague as ever and Ginny would be annoyed if
she could move enough to be.
"How long have I been here?"
"Two days, Miss."
She should be getting back, but she can't move and what would she say if she
could?  "Two days . . . you've looked after me the whole time, Dip?"
"Yes, Miss."
"Thank you, that was very good of you."
"No Miss, Dip was only following instructions."
"I don't understand."  Ginny is struggling to sit up and she didn't mean to
voice her confusion, but she did.  Her fingers are tingling with consciousness
and she's pushing herself to sit against the headboard.
"Is Miss hungry?"
"I . . . don't know."
"Miss must be hungry."
"Alright."  She acquiesces because it's so much easier than speaking and she
should be thinking, really.  Why isn't she dead?
The house elf is fussing about and Ginny's mind goes blank with the hangover of
sleep and the dozen healing potions she must have had pushed into her.  Her
hand goes to her nose and it feels fine, the same as ever and she smiles at the
house elf's skill.  She sighs against the headboard, the two pillows behind her
easing her muscles around them as she sinks back.  It doesn't take long for Dip
to return with a tray full of breakfast food, but Ginny has no idea if it's
actually morning or not.  The pigs-in-blanket smell tasty just the same and she
wonders if there is anything that Dip is incapable of perfecting.
"Is there anything else that Miss needs?"  The elf looks eager to escape but
Ginny really doesn't want that.
"Would you . . . talk to me for a while, Dip?"  She doesn't want to be left
alone, but she doesn't say as much.
"Of course, Miss."  Her fingers are twisting together again in the oddly
transfixing way that looks unhealthy even for a house elf and Ginny catches
herself staring.
"Unless there's something you have to do, of course."
"Oh no, Miss, I'm just . . ."
"What's wrong?"
"You . . ." The small creature's head is shaking slowly back and forth.  "What
did you say to Master?"
"I . . . I don't understand."
"He . . . he's . . ."
"Where is he, Dip?"
"He's . . . in his office, Miss."
"Has he been in there this whole time?"
The house elf is nodding frantically.  "Yes, Miss."
"What's he doing?"
"He's . . . oh, Miss, he's crying."
"What?!"  Her voice is loud.
"Yes Miss, he's crying and shouting and . . . and throwing things."  Her
fingers look like they're entirely broken to pieces now and Ginny can't stop
watching them.  "It's horrible."
"He's . . ."
"Yes, Miss.  Please, pleasetell Dip what you said to him.  I've never seen him
. . . except over Master Draco, of course.  What did you say to him?"
She doesn't know why she answers, but what else is she going to do?  "I had an
abortion."
The house elf's eyes go wide.  "Oh, Miss."
"What?!  Is it really so shocking that I wouldn't want to carry that horrid
man's child?"
"No . . . no, of course not it's just . . ."
"What is it?!"  Ginny has little doubt as to why these creatures are so often
abused.  If only they weren't so bloody thick headed, so very hesitant to
speak.
"Miss doesn't know about . . . about the curse, then?"
"Unless you mean the bloody crucio he cast on me, then no I certainly don't!"
The elf nudges closer to her, head leaning far over Ginny's eggs and pumpkin
juice and she gives up all hope of eating before this conversation ends.  Her
stomach growls in frustration.  "The Malfoys were cursed, Miss."
"Dip, if you don't tell me now-"
"Please, Miss, I'm saying it."  She swallows and her voice is a harsh whisper. 
"You know, of course, that Master's first name is . . . is a Roman name?"
"Of course."
"His family was important in the Roman empire.  An ancestor of his was a
General, Miss, a muggle General who was with Caesar at the invasion of
Britain.  He . . . he raped the daughter of a druid priest, Miss."
"Oh, bloody hell."
The house elf is nodding.  "She became pregnant and . . . the girl's father
cursed the man . . . cursed him and his line that they would only ever produce
one heir and only ever with a pure-blooded wizarding family."  The house elf
starts to laugh at her master's apparent misfortune.  "As a half-muggle the
wizard child would have been an outcast, even then.  It would have been hard
for it or any of its line to find a pureblood family to join with.  As long as
I have been with the family they have worked hard to marry their heirs into
honourable pureblood families."
Ginny swallows.  "So . . . Draco was the only Malfoy heir."
"Yes, Miss, yes."
"But I don't understand, how could I have become pregnant if . . . if he . . ."
Dip is nodding now.  "Nowadays and . . . for several centuries no Malfoy has
died without producing an heir."
"And they assumed that they would have one and only one chance to do so."
"Yes."
"And with Draco dead . . . he can have another child."
Ginny's stomach turns and she closes her eyes.  She doesn't know what it is
that she should be feeling but she's feeling everything at once and her hand
raises to her forehead.
"Oh, Miss, are you feeling unwell again?"
"It's . . . fine, Dip, I'm just . . ." she stops.  "It's a lot to take in." 
She's looking hard at the house elf whose hands are now over its mouth and
tears seem to threaten its large eyes.
"Oh, please, you must not tell Master that I told you this, he would be very
angry."
"He certainly would be."  The colour runs from Dip's face as the deep baritone
of her master's voice lilts through the room.  His movements echo around them
and Ginny's limbs become tense.  The house elf is hopping from foot to foot,
head rocking in its hands.  "Get out," his teeth are clenched together and Dip
snaps her fingers, fading around the movement and disappearing from the room.
"I see you're finally awake."  His face is unreadable, but his eyes are heavy,
dark circles beneath them and his chin is brushed with a barely-noticeable
layer of blonde stubble.
"No thanks to you."
His chin rises in an automatic sneer.  "Indeed?"  He comes up next to the bed
and seems to be considering her where she lies.  Her hands are cool where they
circle the tray's edge, moving it from her lap onto the table beside her. 
Several bottles, blue and pink with potion rattle together as they move against
the tray.  "So now you know."
She raises an eyebrow.  "Now I know."
"My wife and I were biologically compatible, you see, and so we married."
She blinks around his seeming confession.
"You will understand why I was not broken up by her death."
"Not entirely, but alright."  Her hands fold over her stomach.
"I married her because my father told me to."  He sneers.  "How can there be
any question of someone of your family understanding that."
"I'm still a pureblood."  She smirks.  "Probably dating farther back than your
family line."
"You don't want to have this conversation."  His lips turn up in a snarl.
"Why?  Are you going to crucio me again?"
His head tips upward, but he leans down towards her.  "I will do whatever it
takes."
"Whatever it takes for what?"  She's whispering against his lips, eyes watching
his.
"For you to obey me."
She laughs, her voice is high and grating.  "You'll have to kill me then."
"Don't think that I haven't ruled that out."  He snarls and she moves the
centimetre between them, bringing her teeth softly down over his lips.
She pulls away, running her tongue along her mouth before speaking.  "And what
if my goal is the same?  To get you to obey me?"
He's laughing now, too, his lips turned up in an uncharacteristic smile.  "That
is hardly likely."
Her arms slip around him, pulling his body down against her as her tongue
snakes out and laps at his lips, but he's holding them closed and she stops. 
"Is it?"  Her hand is in his hair, bringing him down towards her and forcing
his lips to hers.  He doesn't move as her lips grasp his and her tongue slowly
laps at his teeth.  One hand trails down his abdomen and slides between the
ties of his robe.  He groans into her, biting at her tongue suddenly and she
withdraws it from him.  His hand is on one breast, sliding beneath the sheets
and rubbing his thumb over her nipple and she moans.  He's smirking into her
lips as their tongues rub together and her mind sinks into a wonderful haze as
his hand slides around her waist.
"Lucius," her voice is soft against his ear and he's leaning over her, grabbing
the sheets and pulling them away from her naked body.  His dressing robe is
still intact when he crawls over her, lips grasping hers again as her fingers
slide the tie of his robe apart and it comes open around her.  She's swimming
in him, curtained by his hair and robe and she moans as he continues to kiss
her, holding his body just out of her reach.  Her hand goes towards his
hardened cock but he moves back, grabbing her hand and pushing it down.  She
hadn't noticed the ties of cloth wound around the bed's headboard and he
efficiently wraps her hands around them, tying them tightly and holding her
down.  He slides off her, standing next to her and his robe slips to the
floor.  She moans and he comes towards her, slips his fingers between her legs
and pushes them apart.  They dwell over her slick folds for a moment before
slipping away and she moans again.  He turns and moves away from her, reaching
into a cupboard at the end of the room and pulling the same riding crop that
she knows too well and coming towards her.
She opens her mouth to speak, what, exactly, she isn't sure, but before the
words slip out the whip comes down hard over her stomach.  She whimpers against
the sting and it comes down again.  He stops, then, a red welt fading into
appearance over her skin and the crop slides between her legs, spreading her
lips and tickling her clit and she moans.  He lowers his mouth over one nipple,
breath drawing goose pimples to her skin and his tongue teases the small nub to
attention.  She shifts against her bonds, arms straining as she tries to get
closer to him and the crop is circling her clit so slowly that she thinks, for
a moment, that she'll go a little mad from it.  She's moaning loudly, blood
rushing through her but he stops moving suddenly, pulling the crop away and
bringing it down over her stomach again.  His hands are under her, cradling her
lower back and with a single movement, she feels the world spin and she's lying
on her front.  The straps have become tighter around her wrists as they twisted
and the crop comes down hard on her ass.  She hears it whistle through the air
and the sharp sting is biting against her sensitive flesh.  Her legs are still
spread and she feels the bed shift as he comes to rest between them.  His hand
slides under her stomach and pulls her up to her knees.  He slides into her
quickly, her pussy slick and waiting for him and she moans with him.  Her clit
is hard and waiting for him as he thrusts into her, but he seems to have no
intention of helping her, grunting as he moves inside her.  She moans as he
slides in and out of her, the crop coming down suddenly, again.  He shudders
against her, hips rocking and with a cry, she feels his cock twitching inside
her as he cums.
He slips out of her and she groans in agony as his cock slides along her clit. 
He chuckles and his hands turn her quickly again.  "I'm not through with you
yet, my love."
His lips are warm, wet and she bites up at him, straining for the contact as
his tongue forces its way into her mouth.  "Mmm," she hums against him but he
quickly pulls his lips away.  Her legs are moving over his shoulders again and
she can feel his cock dwelling at her entrance.  He rubs it over her clit once,
the firmness of the head flicking it and she shudders, moaning and almost cries
out in her own release but he stops, abandoning her clit again and sliding into
her.  He's slamming himself into her, rocking her body and pressing himself
down over her legs as his cock is drilled into her.  Their breaths are coming
quickly and the air hisses into him as he grunts and his seed shoots into her,
again.  The crop comes down over her legs as he finishes and she whimpers into
the thick air.
"Oh Merlin, Lucius, please."  The final word is drawn out and he's laughing
down at her discomfort.  His cock is hard when he pulls it free of her.  His
laughter is rocking through her when he pushes it against her clit and slowly
grinds against her.  She moans and the world is rushing around her, her body
screaming for the coming release and she's thrusting with him as he grinds and
thrusts along her pussy.  He's moving quickly, grinding the head against her
clit and her head drops against her arms as she cries out, the world going
white and her muscles clenching.  He continues grinding against her, the crop
coming down again against her legs and she's shuddering as he thrusts along
her.  He's moaning and before he comes a third time, he slams into her.  His
eyes roll back and his hair is falling, curling around her legs when he comes,
grunting and her pussy is aching from the misuse.
She's still moaning from the final release, head spinning and she should expect
it, but isn't when he pulls her legs down around him.  He frowns at her bonds,
grasping his wand and mumbling a quick charm, they undo themselves and her
hands are swimming over his body.  They find his head first, hair thick around
her fingers as he pulls his lips down against hers.  His back is slick where
her hand is running and her tongue is tying itself up with his and drinking him
into her.  He's moaning into her mouth as her fingers move down his chest,
raking her nails across his nipples and his cock is pushing its way inside her
again.  She can feel his cum running out of her and onto the sheets, soaking
into the fabric beneath her as he pounds into her again.  His lips loose their
hold on her mouth and they're grabbing her neck, biting her and moaning into
her skin.
"I'm going to fill you with sons," he's growling into her and he shifts over
her.  Her teeth find one nipple, pert and his cock is thrusting with long
strokes as she bites down over it, tongue lapping at it and he groans when his
blood trickles over her tongue.  She continues lapping at it and he changes his
angle, shifting her legs so that as he slides into her he's rubbing her clit
and with each thrust, she's moaning.  His movements are sharp and she screams
into him, the world going bright and her body is screaming with her.  She's
shuddering against him, legs wrapped firmly around his back as he continues to
fuck her and her muscles continue to tense as he moves.  He lets out a noise,
not quite a cry and not quite a growl as he comes to rest inside her and she's
smiling as his semen shoots into her.
Her legs disengage themselves from around his waist and he slips off her,
retrieving the crop where it's fallen on the ground, he lays it to rest upon
the side table.  Her food is cold, but she's too tired for food, anyways and
she is watching him, has no idea what he's doing as she drifts back to sleep.
***** Chapter 14 *****
She's never walked amongst muggles before.  Never really stood with them and
listened to them and smelled them.  Never really experienced the essence of
mugglehood.  She's not supposed to leave Hogwarts but then she hasn't been
there in days and he lets her go wherever she'd like now.  He trusts her maybe,
but that definitely makes her laugh.  The muggles aren't prepared for her.  Not
now that she knows what they are.  Princes Street is running with people.  Busy
people.  Busy muggles who all look so painfully the same, so painfully self-
involved and it's all she can do not to start laughing.  She is laughing in a
minute, the wand slipping from her sleeve into her palm and her laughter is
high and grating.  People are looking at her, this girl in the purple jumper
and green pyjama pants who's holding a stick of wood and looking like she
controls the universe. 
A woman bumps into her.  A woman in glasses with a strange piece of plastic
pressed against one ear.  She's talking into it and she's far too busy, too
serious to apologize.  Ginny turns and a curse would be so easy now, but she's
in broad daylight.  Standing in the middle of Princes Street and there's a
castle rising up in front of her.  She turns, looks down the street, the long
street with the red-yellow-green lights flashing at strange intervals and
beyond that she sees a hill of monuments.  Above that is the sky and there's no
monument for it.  None of the people are looking at it, none of the muggles are
looking at the castle and the ancient stone and appreciating the history, the
age.  Their lives, their blinking lights must be so important, so important to
ignore the people starving and dying of curable diseases a thousand miles away,
so important to murder another family in order to pull black gold from the
earth.
The street smells and someone else hits her, another woman with the same weird
device and she doesn't say anything either.  Maybe Ginny's laughing but she
isn't going to curse her.  Isn't going to kill her.  She flicks her wand and
the woman's hair, long and horribly black flies loose.  It hits her in the
eyes, in the face and she jerks but keeps moving.  Trying to move her hair and
talk and look busy, she isn't seeing what's around her.  The bus hits her with
a satisfying crunch and she's on the ground.  There's blood on the windshield,
glass cracking in long lines around it and she's not moving.  It was too easy. 
She moves her wand again and the plastic device is in her hand, someone is
talking through it, but she folds it closed and it goes quiet.  Ginny slips the
thing, still warm from the woman's hand, into her robes, a gift her father will
really enjoy.  People are crowded around the body, the bus driver is
apologizing and everyone is so horribly concerned.  Nobody is looking at the
sky.
She opens her eyes.
The room is dark and she's breathing deeply into it.  She closes them again and
Sleep dwells there, hesitant to slip away.  He's speaking and she isn't
listening.  She doesn't really care and she rolls over to face him, eyes open. 
He's quiet now and her lips catch a hold of his as they droop to say
something.  His hair is shining in the darkness.  She doesn't know where the
light is coming from but it's there and she can see him in it.  Sleep is
dwelling on her eyes, they're stiff and heavy but it's long gone from her body.
His hand on her chest pushes her backwards.  "How long have you been awake?" 
He sounds angry and she doesn't care.
"Forever."  She smirks and he frowns as she grabs his lips again.  He doesn't
really seem so evil now.
"You heard-"
"Everything," her tongue is running along his lips and his comes out to greet
it.  "I heard everything."  Her hands are in his hair, holding him against her
and he smells marvellous.  "Now shut up."  She growls, but she's laughing and
their lips play together.  He moans, almost smiles and her knees are pushing
his hips downwards against the bed.
"Get off me," he's hissing but her knees are pressing against him and her lips
are on his neck.  His hands are pressing against her, one pushing up on her
breast and the other holding her shoulder back and she sits back on her
haunches, pussy falling on his cock.
"You don't want to talk to me now that I'm awake, is that it?"  She smirks. 
"You don't want to tell me that you're not a man because you can't kill me?"
His palm strikes her cheek and she nearly goes over but she gasps for breath
and stays put.  She's giggling, his cock rubbing against her clit and his hand
comes out again, knocking her.  Her heart is pounding against her ears and
she's laughing but her hand is out and he blinks when it strikes him hard, not
quite against the cheek, but right across his mouth.
"Don't ever hit me."  He snarls and her fist comes down against his face.  His
lip is running with blood and he growls but she's laughing as his hand stings
her cheek again.  "Don't ever hit me."
She leans over him and her hands circle through his hair.  Her own red tangles
fall around him and her lips grasp his bottom lip, sucking the blood from it. 
It's still stinging her mouth when she pushes her teeth against his neck. 
"I'll do what I please."  She doesn't realize that she sounds just like him.
"You'll do whatever I please."  He's supposed to be growling, but her lips are
running over his skin, biting down and he moans.
"Shut up."  His hands are on her hips, holding her still but she moves against
him, pressing against his groin and grinding along it.  She leans forward, lips
missing his and dragging along his chin as they search for his mouth.  Her
tongue slips out, lapping at his lips and he grasps her head, forcing their
tongues together.  She slips off his lap and her hand goes to his groin,
fingers sliding around his head and using her own fluids while twisting around
it.  Her other hand drops between his legs, her fingernails grazing his balls. 
He moans into her lips as her hand becomes a fist and his cock slips into her
palm.  His teeth come down over her bottom lip, tugging at it and his hand is
firm against the back of her neck.  Her hand is moving torturously slowly and
he thrusts into her fist.  Her nails scrape along his balls as her other hand
loosens its grip on his cock.  Her fingertips slide along his head, running
just beneath it before sliding him into her fist again.
"Don't move."  She's growling against his neck, teeth sucking the skin between
her lips and biting down.  "Don't you dare move."  Her hand is moving slowly
but he remains still as her fist slides down his shaft.  She turns her hand
around it as she moves back up, dwelling around the head before sliding down
again.
"Merlin, please."  If she hadn't heard it, she would never have believed it but
his hand is buried in her hair, orange spreading over his skin as her hand
begins to speed up, continuing to turn as it runs along his cock.  Her fingers
are massaging his balls, nails taunting them as her other hand works her own
wetness along his shaft.  He's groaning now and with a sudden thrust into her
fist he grunts, his cum spilling over her hand and splashing across his chest. 
Her hand continues to pump his member and he thrusts again, the last of his
seed shooting out.  Slowly she slips her hand away, moving over him, she lowers
her tongue to his stomach, lapping up his spilled cum before running her
fingers into her mouth and sucking him off of her.
"Ginevra," he groans and slides his hands around her waist, pulling her on top
of him and she's laughing.  His hands are in her hair and hers are in his as
their mouths are forced together.  Their tongues are mashing together and she
moans into him, his fingers are between her legs, spreading her already
dripping lips.  His fingers are around her clit, sliding up the sides of it and
mimicking her former ministrations, teasing and circling it as she moans into
his skin.  Her teeth run down his cheek, grabbing his ear lobe and biting down
onto it.  He grunts as she breaks the skin and her nails are running over his
chest.  Two fingers slip inside her, then quickly snake out and they're running
softly over her clit again.  She moans and pushes herself against him, but he
pulls away.  Somewhere around her he's chuckling, but his earlobe is still
between her lips and her tongue is lapping behind his ear.  His fingers are
over her clit and with a sudden groan she loses hold of his ear and moans into
his hair.  Finally his finger comes to stay on her clit, pushing and massaging
it and she cries out, body tensing and her eyes blur.  Her skin tingles as she
comes to rest, clit twitching.
His hands are on her hips, lifting her and forcing her upright.  She moans and
he brings her down suddenly over his cock.  She groans, feeling him fill her
and her muscles are tingling as he thrusts up into her.  Her hands come down on
his shoulders and she moves her hips, feeling her pussy rise and fall over his
cock.  She moves slowly and his hands are on her hips forcing her down but she
laughs into his cheek and grabs his lip between her teeth.
"Beg for it."  She moans, sliding down his cock before slowly slipping up it
again.  His hands slide down to her ass and with a movement he turns her over. 
Her nails are digging into his neck as they move and the bed is soft against
her back when he drops her to rest.
"I never beg."  He's growling and her legs come up to circle his waist.  She
cries out as he slams into her, his hips bruising against her thighs and he
repeats the motion.  With a sudden movement his hand flashes across her face
and she hiccups with the surprise.  "I'm going to make you plead for me to
stop."
She's laughing and he drops his head to one breast, grabbing her nipple and
sucking it between his teeth.  She moans and bucks against his thrusts as his
teeth squeezes her areola and his tongue laps over it.  Her head drops and her
hands are holding him in place.  Her pussy is singing as the blood rushes
through her and she cries out, his tongue lapping her nipple before he pulls
the skin roughly between his teeth.  Her flesh tingles and her pussy tenses
around his cock as she cums, the world swirling as her eyes close.  He thrusts
twice more before his own eyes roll closed and with a grunt she feels him
twitching inside of her.  His head is drooping, but she grasps it and pulls his
lips against hers.
"Fuck me," she's speaking into his mouth and pushes him away.  Her lip curls. 
"Fuck me, you asshole."  She's laughing and the gentle rumble of his own
amusement quakes through her.
His hands are squeezing around her waist as he pulls out of her, slipping her
body onto her front and raising her hips.  His fingers are bruising tiny
fingerprints into her hips and he slams himself into her.  She moans and his
hands are running over her ass as he slams into her again and she groans.  Her
hair is rushing over the pillow and his hand slides over her cheeks, between
her legs and grasps her clit.  He's still moving inside her, thrusting and
grinding.  He pulls out and slams into her again.  It doesn't take him long
until he cums again, grunting as he fills her with seed.  His fingers dwell
over her clit, but they start up again quickly and she screams into the
pillow.   Her clit is twitching as he pulls out and she knows it's coming as
his cock, still dripping wet presses against her ass.  She tries to relax as he
pushes into her, growling as he does.  Her muscles are twitching around him,
still not used to the feeling, but his hand is on her clit again.  She moans
and he's thrusting quickly, his balls striking against her pussy.  The sound is
horrible but his fingers are rushing his seed over her clit and the feeling is
wonderful.  Her sensitive nub is screaming again and she cries out with it.  A
moment later he groans, pressing deeply into her as he empties himself.  His
chest is pressed into her back and his hair is falling over her head. 
"Have you had enough?" 
She pushes him back and he slips out of her as she turns to face him.  Her lips
grab a hold of his and her tongue pushes into his mouth, lapping at him and he
nips at it.
"Why, have you?"  She's growling and a quick spell cleans him off.  She laughs
and he seems to be laughing, too, as her hands circle him.  He pushes her back
down against the mattress and she's smiling against his lips.
"I want you in my office.  Now." 
She smirks.  "Should I bring my quick-quotes quill or will short hand be
sufficient?"
His hands are on her back and with a twirl, the world is whirling around them
and when her vision focuses they're in a room she's never seen before.  The
carpet is soft beneath her back and she sighs under the weight of him.
He slips off of her, body glinting with sweat in the nightlight as it drifts
through the window.  "Get up."  He growls and she obeys, feeling the remnants
of their coupling as it runs over her thighs.  His office is large, bigger than
her family's living room and she's surprised by the pervasion of books.  Their
library was apparently not his only supply of reading material, but when she
looks out the window she realizes that it's the same view she saw from the
library.  A large desk rises in front of it and she moves behind it.
"We're in Malfoy manor."  She's stepped towards the window, watching the
moonlight flitting over the British countryside.  His hand is on her hip,
sliding up her side and around to grasp her breast.  "How is this possible?"
His cock is rubbing against her back and his teeth grasp her neck.  "The house
has been in Malfoy hands for hundreds of years.  A pathetic ward wouldn't keep
me out."  Ginny had read about houses that had gained a connection with their
families and she wasn't surprised in the slightest that this house would allow
its owner's entrance despite steps to the contrary by the Order and the
Ministry.
His hand grasps her neck and pushes her towards his desk, a huge mahogany
structure stacked with papers.  She stumbles along the dark carpet, hand
grasping the edge of the desk and he pushes her over the top of it.  Her heels
thump against the solid legs of his chair behind her and he pushes it out of
the way, the chair's feet scrapping against the carpeted floor and he's behind
her.  His wand runs between her legs and he whispers a cleansing spell.  His
other hand slides around her waist as the tip of his wand circles her clit. 
His cock is pressing against her backside and she moans, rubbing herself
against his hard member.  The tip of his wand is riding along her opening,
dipping into her, before sliding out and over her clit.  She's dripping wet and
he moves his cock down her backside, running between her lips to slip into
her.  She moans and with a final flick she cries out as he slams into her and
her mind goes blank.  Her arms are shaking against the surface of the desk as
her muscles shutter around him.  He continues to pound into her and his wand
drops from her pussy.  With a grunt he rocks against her, filling her and his
hands are sweaty as they bruise around her hips.
He slips out of her and she slides to her knees, arms grasping hold of the
desk's edge and keeping herself up.  He pulls her around, hands pressing into
her shoulders and he's seated in his chair, the velvet-purple back rising
behind him.  His fingers are buried in her hair and pushing her mouth down
towards his hard member, but she fights him, forcing his hand away and she
stands.  Her legs are quaking but she straddles him, sliding down over his
cock.  She's laughing, lips grabbing his still bloody ear and her tongue slips
out to flick it.  He groans and she's sliding up and down his member.  His
teeth come down on her shoulder and his hands are raking across her back as she
continues to move.
"I hate your freckles."  He's moaning as her hips move.  "I wish I could bite
them off."  His tongue is lapping against her skin and she grabs his hair,
pulling him away from her shoulder and letting her tongue trail up to his lips.
"I hate your nose."  Her teeth graze the skin of his nose and she's smiling. 
His hand grasps her scalp and pushes their mouths together.  With a grunt he
thrusts up into her and she grinds herself down over his cock as his cum fills
her again.  His eyes are dark and she moans into him.
Their lips are resting together, tongues teasing and he moans, fingers trailing
down her back to rest over her ass.
"Are you tired yet?"  She moans against him and he grunts.
"Never."
Her limbs are relaxed when the ground becomes solid beneath her feet.  She's
smiling and she doesn't know how long it's been but it's funny because Hogwarts
looks absolutely the same and she's still smiling.  Her robes are comfortable,
they're flowing around her and maybe they're just her school robes but they
feel wonderful.  If she didn't know any better she'd say that she'd had a
couple of sips of that marvellous Schnapps and isn't it convenient that
Lavender Brown is walking by?
"Ginny!"
"Hey!"
"You're back."
"Apparently."
"How was your parents'?"  Obviously the convenient lie by the Headmistress to
excuse her from class.
Ginny smiles but shrugs and Lavender cringes sympathetically. 
They're walking away from each other and Ginny is still grinning.  The school
comes upon her quickly and McGonagall's office is easily discovered.  What the
hell is she going to say?  But she's still smiling.  What has she done in the
past week other than sleep and fuck and eat and how can she possibly tell her
headmistress this?  The stairwell twists upwards and when she reaches the
headmistress' door she steps in.  She's still smiling, but she won't be for
long. 
"Ginny!"  It's not the voice she was expecting and her face drops as her mother
rushes towards her, grabs her arms, but she releases her just as quickly.  She
turns away and her eyes are sparkling with tears.  "Ginny," her voice is weak.
"Mum, what are you doing here?"  It's stupid, even as she asks and she looks
away from her mother, failing to catch the gaze of the headmistress.  She
almost misses her father where he's standing in a far corner, desperately
studying a splotch on the floor.  Small spots of red have tingled to the
surface of his cheeks.
"What am I doing here?!"  Her mother's voice is quaking and there are tears on
her cheeks.
"I'm sorry, I-"
"What did he do to you?" 
That tense ball in Ginny's stomach is winding more tightly and her hand is
shaking.  She can feel the muscles in her shoulders tingle.
"Mrs. Weasley."  McGonagall's voice is too calm for anyone to be listening.
"He-"
"WHAT DID HE MAKE YOU DO?!"  Her mother's hands are tight around her arms,
forming bruises to match the ones that are still on her hips and thighs.  She's
looking at the far wall because if she looks at anyone she just might die.
"Mum-"
"MRS. WEASLEY!"  Everyone stops talking and the Headmistress steps towards
Ginny.  "Are you alright, Miss Weasley?"
She nods because she can't speak for the life of her.
"Alright.  Do you have anything to report?"
"I . . ." now she is looking at her father and he's looking right back at her. 
His cheeks are burning but his face is blank.  "I . . ." his hands drop to his
sides and he looks so very tired.  She should feel bad.  She does feel bad but
most of her is wishing that she hadn't come back.  "How long have I been gone?"
"A week and a half."
"Oh."
"You don't have anything else to say?"  Her mother is shaking which works out
well, since everyone else seems to be shaking too.
"How long have you been here?"
"A week."  Her mother swallows and there are tears on her cheeks.  "When
Minerva told us . . . what you've been doing."
Her breath is coming in bursts and she wishes that she could vomit if only to
give them something else to think about for a while.  Something other than the
fact that she's spent the last week and a half in her father's enemy's bed.
"I'm sorry . . . mum."
A silence that hurts pervades the room.  It sinks into Ginny's neck and she
almost screams.
"Why did you do this?"  The question that no one seems to be able to answer
floats from her father's end of the room.  "Why would you do this?"  The silent
"to me" echoes at the end of his sentence.
"She was trying to help, Arthur."  Molly sounds tired, too.
"I want to hear it from her!"  His voice is loud, angry and she hasn't heard
him this mad since . . . the last time she saw him and Mr. Malfoy quarrel. 
It's so ridiculous and she wants to laugh.  The floor reverberates with his
footsteps as he moves towards her, hands grasping her shoulders and shaking
her.  "How could you do this?!"
She's laughing.  She doesn't know where it comes from but she's laughing and
the tears are stinging against her eyes.  The world blurs and she rocks in her
father's grasp.  She smells like him and her father is shaking her.
"ARTHUR!"  Her mother is pulling her father off of her and she's still giggling
as his hands release her and she falls to her knees.  "Ginny, darling."  Her
mum is touching her and she isn't laughing, but the smile is there.
"Why did you do this?!"  Her father is shouting and she's never heard him shout
before.  Her mum's hands are on her, trying to hug her but she shoves her away
and a shriek escapes from her.  She's still smiling, but she's also screaming
and a moment later she will be crying too.  Her hands are shaking over her eyes
and she wants to be laughing, but she's screaming.  She wants to go home.
"Miss Weasley."  Ginny looks up and her mouth closes as her eyes open.  Her
parents are gone and McGonagall's hand is pressing something into her fingers. 
Ginny lifts the chocolate to her mouth.  The sweet texture floats over her
tongue and she feels her muscles begin to relax.  She doesn't know how long
it's been but they're alone in the room, salt quickly drying on her cheeks.
"Thank you, headmistress."
The woman's hand on Ginny's arm helps her up.  "I'm sorry about that, Miss
Weasley.  I had hoped that . . ."
Ginny smiles.  "There was no good way for that to happen."
"I'm sure you understand why they had to be told."
She's nodding and she still wishes that she hadn't come back.  "Of course."
"Did anything happen that we should know about?"
She's shaking her head and McGonagall's eyes are creased.
"In a week and a half you learned nothing?"
"I didn't exactly get outside the bedroom."  Or his office.  Or . . . well,
Britain.
McGonagall flinches.  "I think we need to stop this."
"What?"
"Miss Weasley, I never should have allowed you to put the war ahead of your
psychological well-being."
"The war ismore important than me."
"You're not helping."
"Excuse me?"
"You haven't given us enough information for this to be worthwhile.  We're
pulling you out."
"The hell you are!"  Ginny's eyes are shining, her tongue tingling with the
last remnants of chocolate.  "I thought I was supposed to be in there gaining
trust!  Well, that's what I've done, I'm not pulling out now that I might be
able to do something!"
McGonagall looks more than uncomfortable.  "Are you sure that you're handling
this?"
Ginny nods.
"Would you like me to talk to your parents for you?"
She shakes her head.  "No.  Although I . . . don't know what I can possibly say
to them."
"The truth, Miss Weasley, is always a good start."
She's laughing at the pure naivety.  "The truth?  What truth??  That I'm
regularly fucking a man whom they hate?"
"That you're doing it to help Harry."
She laughs, a single 'ha' spreading through the room that she immediately
brings her teeth down over.  "I'm sorry, headmistress."
"You've had a trying couple of weeks, I understand."  The woman's kind hand
cups Ginny's cheek.  "Sleep.  Your parents will still be here in the morning
and you can discuss this with them then."
"What about my classes?"
"As far as anybody knows your parents haven't been here in thirty years and
you've been visiting them at home.  I believe that's how it ought to stay, but
you will have to catch up on the schoolwork.  I wish I could omit this but-"
"No, I want to keep up with my studies."
A smile curves across the headmistress' lips.  "I'm glad to hear it."
"How many people know about this now?"
"The members of the Order, of course.  We've had them out looking for you for
about a week now."  And to think she was in the most obvious place, really.  No
one thought to check the empty Malfoy estate.
"Do Hermione and Ron know?"  She swallows.  "Does Harry know?"
"I'm afraid that Miss Granger has been quite distracted with some work of her
own, but I do believe that your brother and Mr. Potter have been made aware of
what's been going on.  I'm sorry."
The letter is waiting for her when she gets to her room.  Propped against her
bird cage and they almost look happy to see her.  She breaks the seal with a
swift movement and pulls the paper free.
Ginny,
I don't even know what to say to you.  What you're doing might be one of the
most important contributions to the war effort but I hate that you're doing
it.  I hate it more than I hate Voldemort and I swear to you that when this is
over I am going to personally watch Mr Malfoy suffer.  I don't care if I have
tocruciohim and get sent to Azkaban for the rest of my life, but he's going to
pay for this.  I'm sorry that you've been drawn into this and I'm sorry that I
wasn't there to stop it from happening.
I still love you and I forgive you, absolutely.
Yours always,
Harry
PS. Ron is being a git and won't write. He's angry, maybe angrier than I am and
you know how he is. He'll get over it.
The letter is in the fire before she can blink, paper crusting yellow-brown and
then black around the boy's handwriting as the paper turns to ash.  The gray
pieces of soot flit on the orange snakes of flame and shoot up the chimney. 
She can barely remember what he'd said to her, but she isn't trying to as she
pulls a piece of paper from her school book, ignoring the fine layer of dust
that's brushed over them and she quickly scrawls a note back to him.
Harry,
I don't need your forgiveness.
GW
***** Chapter 15 *****
"Ginny, what's going on?"  Neville looks different.  A week and a half doesn't
change much, but the boy looks older, his face slightly gaunter and his
forehead creased in concern as he comes towards her.  The Great Hall is loud
and she should be with her parents but breakfast is a fine escape and one that
she takes full advantage of.  She smiles, pretends gaiety in the face of
Neville's heightened sense of alarm.
"What do you mean 'what's going on?'  It's called 'breakfast' Neville, I
thought that you would have picked up on that by now."
His eyes flash with anger for a moment but she doesn't really care.  So many
people are angry with her right now.  Her stomach is stinging with hunger and
she forces three waffles onto her plate.
"Where have you been?"
"At my parents'.  Anyone could have told you that."  She's speaking around a
bite of waffle and Neville's eyes narrow at the uncharacteristic behaviour.
"You're a bad liar."
"I'm not lying."
He's quiet for a long time, sitting perfectly still between the eating young
people and it's only as she's finished her second waffle that he speaks up
again.  "You smell different."
"Don't be stupid."
"I'm not being stupid!"  He's breathing hard.  "You smell like sage and . . ."
"What, Neville?"  Her tone is mocking, attempting jocularity although she knows
that she's been caught.
"Don't mock me!" 
Her smile drops away.  "I'm sorry."
"Where were you?"
"I can't tell you that."
His voice is hushed suddenly.  "You're cheating on Harry."
"What?!"
"You're cheating on Harry!"
"We're not a couple, Neville!"  Her voice is raised and several people from the
group behind them turn and look.  "So I couldn't possibly be cheating on him,
now could I?!"  She drops her fork atop her half-finished waffle and stalks
from the Great Hall.  She didn't escape breakfast with her parents to deal with
this but he's behind her still.
"Who is it?"
"What?" She's laughing but there's a knot in her stomach.  The halls are
thankfully empty and her voice echoes along it.
"Who are you sleeping with?"
"This is none of your business, Neville."
"Do you love him or are you just fucking him, like all the other boys?"
Ginny's wand is in her hand and in Neville's face so quickly that he almost
walks into it.  She steps towards him and the blood is rushing rapids through
her ears.
"You don't want to say things like that to me."
"Ginny, I'm sorry."
Her mind is tempting her to shout a thousand curses at him, but she's holding
herself in check.
"Oh, you're sorry, well that just makes everything better."
"Stop this!  I'm sorry!"  He sounds genuinely scared now and she steps towards
him again as his feet slip backwards, trying to edge away from her.  The snakes
on her leg are curling around her thigh and she almost smiles.  Her wand is
practically touching his cheek and he's trembling.
"You don't want to know what I could do to you."
"Excuse me, Miss." 
The wand disappears up her sleeve and she turns, facing Dobby as he stands,
tottering from the weight of his clothing, waiting for her attention.  She
smiles.  "What is it, Dobby?"
"Miss, some . . . people . . . are waiting to speak with Miss.  They're staying
in Professor Binns' rooms, Miss."  Her parents.  Merlin, this morning was going
to get so much worse before it got any better.
"Thank you, Dobby."  She doesn't look at Neville as she hurries down the hall,
away from one fight and into another.  What is it the muggles always say?  Out
of the frying pan and into the breadbox?  That's not quite right, but it's
giving her something to think about so it doesn't matter.  Neville is staring
after her and her heart is pounding.
"Ginny."  Her mum is trying to smile as she comes into their room.  The
previously empty room which the ghost professor had leant her parents for their
time here is still sparsely decorated, with little more than an old dresser and
large double bed pressed into two opposite corners of the room.  It seems as
though her parents' luggage had exploded, spitting clothing and various
accessories around the floor.  At least the cobwebs are gone as she steps over
one of her mother's half finished jumpers and the door closes behind her.
"Where's dad?"
"He . . . went home."
"Oh.  Is he okay?"
Her mother isn't looking at her but they move over and perch on the edge of
their bed.  The comforter is still twisted into a long ball, stretching across
the bed and the sheets are white and cheap in the morning light.  "I don't
know, Ginevra."
"Are you?"
"You mean am I ever gonna get over Lucius Malfoy's touching you?"
"Well, yeah, I guess."
"I don't know, Ginevra, I . . . knew this war was going to be awful."
"It's not that terrible."
Her mother doesn't believe her and she looks it.  "Don't sugar coat it."  She
swallows.  "He's made you do horrible things."
"What?"
"That's what you said.  This is what you were talking about and I didn't
listen."  She looks like she's going to cry again.  "Merlin, why didn't I
listen?"
"You gave me good advice, mum."
Her mother's eyes are digging holes in Ginny's face, but she doesn't look away.
"I told you to follow your heart, not become a spy."
"This is important, mum, I can help."
"What has he made you do, dear?"
Ginny's hands are the most fascinating things in the world right now and she
stares at them.
"You said he made you do something horrible, what did you do?"
"I can't talk about it."
"Ginevra, I don't need you to protect me.  What did he make you do?"
"I can't tell you!"
Her mother is breathing hard.  "Have you killed for him?"
"I can't tell you!"
"Why not?  I'd like to know!  I'm your mother!"
"And I'm Lucius' mistress.  And I'm a spy.  And," she stops.  "And I don't know
what else."  Her fingers are rubbing the nerves in her forehead, pressing and
massaging.
"Lucius?  You're Lucius' mistress?"
"Well I don't bloody well call him Mr Malfoy!"
"I don't know how you can talk so casually about this."
"How else am I supposed to deal with it, mum?"  She swallows.  "Is dad ever
going to forgive me?"
Her mother shrugs.  "I don't know dear.  He's a darling man but he's so . . ."
"Hard headed?"
Her mum nods.
"Yes, it does seem to run in the family, doesn't it?"
"When it's over, dear.  When all of this is behind us he will."
Her mother's hand is warm where it presses against her fingers and a week has
passed.  She's spending her evenings in her mother's 'room' as Professor Binns
continues to harass them all to have his rooms returned to him.  Although
whatever he needs it for is entirely beyond her.  Her mother's arms are around
her waist, circling it and holding her against her as they lie together on the
bed.  She's talking but Ginny doesn't care what she's saying.  She hasn't been
listening for hours, but her mother feels wonderful under her head.  Her thigh
has been tingling and she wishes that she were alone but she really doesn't
want to move.  Her skin is running with electricity and her mother is still
talking but she pulls out of her grip.
"I have to go."
"What?"
"I . . . have to go."
"Oh, I'm sorry, dear, I guess you have schoolwork and things."
She's nodding, smiling and laughing because the excuse is so simple and her mum
is walking her towards the door.
"I'm sorry that you're cooped up in here, mum."
"It's either here or the Burrow."
She laughs but there's a shock running along her leg, stinging her skin and she
breaths in, suddenly.
"Ginny, dear, what is it?"
There's a knife between her legs, cutting into the skin and she can feel it
almost grinding against the bone.  There's really nothing there but she wants
to scream.  It's never been this painful before and her eyes are tearing over. 
"Oh, Merlin."  She squeezes them closed.
"What is it?" Her mother is panicking and she doesn't know what's happening. 
McGonagall only told her so much.
"Mum, I have to go."  She takes in a sharp breath.  "I have to go."  She's
speaking slowly and her mum finally gets it.
"Oh."  Her face is dead but Ginny isn't looking at her anymore.  "Then . . .
go, dear."
She can still see her mother's face as she leaves the grounds alone.  One of
her dress robes, one of his dress robes, really, green and shining off her
eyes, floats around her.  Her wand touches her mark through the clothing and
the familiar tug of apparition pulls her away from what is no longer a very
comfortable world.
She should be angry when her feet alight upon the ground again, but she's not. 
She's thinking about her mother and her father and everyone who knows that
she's his whore but she isn't angry.  She really isn't and she's laughing when
his arm circles her waist.  His hand is sliding along her silk robe, easing
into the small of her back and he's kissing her, tongue wandering between her
lips.
"I'm glad you dressed appropriately."  His sneer rolls over her tongue and she
bites down on it, slipping away from him.
"If I were dressed appropriately I would probably be naked."  She laughs but
he's not smiling.
"We're going out."
"A dinner engagement?"  Now she is mocking him and he frowns, grasping her
freshly cleaned hair he pulls it, crinkling it between his fingers.  She
flinches against the pressure.
"Hardly."  His cloak is smooth against her fingers and the blackness of it
pulls her mind to silence as his white mask slips over his face.  She feels his
fingers release her hair.  "You'd better start trembling now.  The Dark Lord
will not be as kind as I am."
She's laughing, even though her heart has just dropped a full metre.  He's
still holding her when his wand presses into the Dark Mark as it slithers over
his forearm.  The world is spinning again and this time she's nauseated from
the movement.  Her heart is pounding in her ears when they land and he releases
her at once.  He backs off and she almost stumbles but remains upright, looking
desperately around the circle of faces.  The circle of masks as they stare back
at her.  She only knows him from the streak of blonde barely visible beneath
his hood.  She stares at him, unmoving and she can hear nothing but the breeze
as it rustles the grass beneath their feet.  The stars wink at her, knowing
something that she doesn't and she takes a breath.  Her wand is in her robes
but she doesn't reach for it.
"At last, Lucius, I had thought for a moment that you weren't coming."
She's turning and when the Dark Lord’s eyes capture hers she stops moving,
stops breathing.  His eyes narrow, tiny slits and when his chin rises he
smiles, small, sharp teeth pushing between his lips and he slowly steps towards
her.
"How kind of you to join us, Miss Weasley."  His voice is nothing like Tom's. 
Gone is the sultry youth who had slipped into her mind and distorted her first
year but this monster is the same man and she's still not breathing.  His eyes
are the same as they grasp a hold of hers.
"Crucio."  His wand is captured between his fingers and pushing against her
forehead as she drops to her knees, a cry of surprise sliding from her.  She
screams as the ball in her stomach expands and begins to melt her entire body. 
His wand is no longer on her forehead and the curse is gone but she's breathing
hard.  She isn't crying yet.
"Ginevra Weasley."  He's hissing and when he speaks she could swear that his
thin tongue flicks out at her.
"What do you want?"  Everyone is holding their breath and the breeze is loud
through her hair.
The Dark Lord is laughing and Ginny's head drops.  Her hands are shaking and
she wants to stand, rise from her position of subservience if only her limbs
would support her own weight.  "I wanted to ask you the exact same question."
What do you want?  The words are echoing in her head and she can feel him
there.  He's stronger than Tom was and any resistance she had gained from that
experience is easily smashed against the rocks of this towering mind.  Her
skull aches and he's digging through her memories.  Someone is screaming and
he's pushing aside the thoughts of her parents, spitting on the memories of
Harry and even scorning the fresh thoughts of Lucius.  He's digging down
finding not memories but emotions, feelings, her own desires and he comes
across the thought of death.  She's on her feet and she's trying to push him
out of her, but he easily shoves her to one side.  She is trembling now as she
drops back to her knees.
So you thought that our dear Lucius would give up my secrets to your Order, did
you?  Her stomach is knotting and she feels her body retching, dry heaves into
the night air.  What do you think he would have to say about that?
He's laughing into her skull and she can't answer, can't speak and her eyes are
rolling back into her head.  Then he hits it.  The part of her she buries away
and never thinks about or worries about unless Lucius is with her or she's
dreaming and even then it's not something she likes to admit to.  His laughter
is loud and grating, stinging her ears and mind and her head is screaming
against it.  What is it that you want, my dear?  His voice is mocking her and
she's crying.
“I want . . .” her voice is cracking out of her.
I want to destroy the muggles.
Say it, you pathetic creature.
I want to kill.
“I want power.”
He’s still laughing.  “I can give that to you.”
Tell me what else you want.  I can see it already.
“Lucius.”  His name is a whimper and she can’t even hear it. 
“My Lord, please.”  It’s not her voice hissed into the evening air, begging him
to stop.
I can give you that too.
How?
Don’t ever question your Lord.  His wand pushes the curse back into her skull
and she can’t scream as he holds her mind.  It doesn’t last long but her
fingers are numb as he drops her from the cruciatus.
“What do you want?”  Her voice is quaking and he’s still in her, not moving,
not sifting her thoughts about as he was before and she rests back on her
heals.  The grass smells freshly cut and she’d be getting grass stains on her
expensive robes if they weren’t already green.
“Your obedience.  Your subservience.”
Your soul.
“I can give you that.”  Her voice is wheezing out of her.  “My Lord.”
He’s laughing.  “I know you can.”
Will you?
“Yes, my Lord.”
You will obey my every command?
Yes, my Lord.
“Say it!”
“Yes, my Lord!”  Her voice is quaking and the stars wink down on her.
He’s laughing when she feels him slip out of her mind.  Her body lands on the
ground with a thud and someone’s hands are on her, but all she sees is green
and she sucks the night air into her lungs.  His hands are warm and there are
tears on her cheeks.
“Get back!”  The hands disappear at the master’s command and Ginny sits up,
stands up and is looking into her Lord’s eyes.  He grasps her arm and his wand
burns through the skin, a snake slithers from the wood’s tip and ties itself
around a dark skull that’s forming on her forearm.  The pain does not abate
when he removes his wand and she stares at her arm, watching the snake curve
across her reddened skin, coming to rest between the skull’s eyes.  She doesn’t
think about what this means.
“Atrum vestitus.”  The Lord’s voice echoes across the sky and Ginny feels a
dark mist rising around her.  It circles her legs, rising and becoming solid
cloth.  It takes her a moment before she realizes that the smog is forming a
thick cloak around her.  A white mask appears over her face and the air is
stale as it sucks through to her mouth.  She doesn’t want to, but she looks
down at herself, vision surprisingly clear through the mask’s small eye slits
and the breath wheezes into her.  Her arm is still stinging and she falls to
her knees.
“Thank you, my Lord.” 
His wand twitches and she rises to her feet, stepping backwards and sliding
between the other masked figures.
“I expect that you all have more important things to be doing.”  He sneers at
them and in unison the group falls to their knees.
A chorus of “Yes, my Lord” echoes around them.
“I trust that you will show Miss Weasley a pleasant evening.”
Her arm is still stinging when the Dark Lord disappears, a circle of red smoke
lifting him from them and taking him wherever it is that he is needed.  His
hand is on her back and his other arm surrounds hers, holding her against him
and she moans into his warmth, head falling back onto his shoulder.
“Pet,” he moans into her ear and his arms encase her.  He flicks his wand and
they disappear, a series of flashes break the night around her and his hands
slowly loosen their grip on her.  She has little time to react, to relax, to
release the pain that is digging through her stomach and he lets her go.  The
wand is in his hand and she quickly follows suit as the group of masked figures
move up the cobbled street.  Lights are going on in the houses and the
screaming has started.  He ducks into a house ahead of her and she follows. 
The lights are bright and her arm is burning as the door thunks open.  Someone
is shouting at them, the accent strange and very foreign and there’s something
long and metal pointing at them.  They're moving towards the muggle, backing
him into his own living room, their wands drawn on him.  The man is shaking as
he points his own strange weapon and there’s an explosion, fire and smoke
filling the room and Lucius falls forward. 
"Petrificus totalis."  Ginny’s eyes flash and a yellow light fills the room. 
The man is frozen and he falls backwards.
“Lucius.”  There really is blood on her hands when she touches him and her
heart is pounding.
“Where are you . . . where are you hurt?”
“It’s not bad.”
Her fingers are pulling his cloak free and she finds the wound, deep and
bleeding where a chunk of lead is imbedded in his arm.  Muggle weapons are so
crude.  “What was that?”  Her wand is moving over the wound, the small piece of
metal sliding from the bloody hole as the flesh braids and weaves together.  A
cleaning spell removes the blood from his skin and clothing.  He flexes his
hand, curving it into a fist and releasing it again before reaching up and
slipping her mask from her face.  She breathes in and pushes his mask to the
ground.  A smile grabs his lips and she leans down to do the same.  He breathes
her in and she moans before he leans further into her.  “I love you.” 
Somewhere behind her the metal bullet drops to the ground with a clunk. 
She pulls back and her tongue trails along his bottom lip.  “I hate you.” 
She’s smiling and so is he but she leans into him and presses their mouths
together.  She pulls back and presses his mask against his face.  He
reciprocates and they stand together.  There’s blood on the carpet and she
picks up the bullet, staring down at the muggle.  His face is blank but there
is fear in his eyes.  “What is that?”
“A muggle weapon, a gun.”
“Really?”
She can see the smirk behind his mask.  “A crude piece of machinery that uses
an explosion to project a metal shard towards their opponent.”
“Oh really?”  She moves her wand and the muggle is blinking, his hand still on
the trigger.  He’s shifting the gun, thumb pulling back the hammer but she
twitches her wand again.  “Imperio."  His hand is shaking on the gun's base,
but he's not moving and she easily holds him in place.  Her eyes slip to her
lover.  "May I?"
"Please do."  His voice is silk across her and she's smiling behind her mask.
Her eyes flit back to the man at her feet.  "Are you alone here?"  She holds
his hand still but allows him to answer.
"Yes," his eyes flick towards a closed door then back up to her and she holds
his tongue, moving it and calling out to whoever it is who is hiding in the
kitchen.  "Come out!  They've gone!"  His voice cracks against the room's air
and the kitchen door comes open, creaking in the silence.
"My love?"  She cocks an eyebrow towards Lucius and his wand twitches towards
the door.  The hinges creak open and a young man slips through the entrance. 
His face is blank as he steps towards his father.
She moves her wand, a graceful arc and the man's hand moves, the gun taking aim
at the young man and with a flick there's a second explosion.  Fire flashes
yellow and the young man cries out, body twitching backwards and he crumples to
the floor.  There's blood running from the wound, soaking through his night
clothing and he's breathing hard.
"Dad . . ." the word slips out of him, his hand pressed against the wound and
tears are running from his father's eyes.  Her foot strikes against his face
and he coughs around the tears.
"Oh, dear, that really is cruel."  There's laughter in Lucius' voice and she
turns to face him.
"It's my first time with one of these, perhaps my aim is not what it should
be."
He moves up behind her and his hand snakes around her waist, holding her
against him.  She feels her control of the man slipping and his hand is shaking
around the gun.  A stream of smoke is running from it.  The air smells sweet
with the weapon's release.
"Stop, please!" 
She looks down at him but lets him speak.
"Please spare my son."  She can practically hear Lucius' flinch behind her.
"And why would I do that?"  Her voice drips through the air.
"I'll do anything."
"Perhaps you shouldn't have tried to kill him then?"
"I'm . . . sorry."
"Are you really?"  The curse runs through her mind and the room flashes red. 
The man is screaming and the young boy is still crying as the fluid runs his
life out of him.  Her wand moves and the cruciatus curse drops.  The man is
hardly moving, the gun lying limp in his hand.  She allows him to turn his
head, eyes watching as his son twitches, pupils rolling back and the carpet is
nearly black with the boy's blood.  There's a horrifying gurgle and his limbs
fall still.  The man lets out a cry and Ginny is smirking down at him, finally
releasing him from the curse and he remains motionless, sobs wracking his
frame.
"Aren't you going to finish him, my dear?"
"I think the punishment will be all the worse this way, don't you?"  She
doesn't turn around, grasping the man's mind again and whispering the
suggestion that he can't possibly shoot at either of them again.  Doesn't want
to hurt them in the slightest and wants to let them wander from his house,
unharmed.  The man's hand tightens over the trigger and pulls the hammer back
again.  The weapon is shaking as he levels it towards her but after a moment it
drops.  He releases a long cry.  Lucius is chuckling against her back.
"What have you done to me?!"  His voice is high and he levels the weapon again,
but can't fire.
Ginny smirks and Lucius' hand on her hip edges her towards the exit.  The door
swings closed behind them, the cool night air tickling their robes but she
can't feel it.  Somewhere down the street a woman is screaming, her bare
breasts bouncing with each footfall.  There's a flash of green light and she
crumbles to the ground.  The air is not quite silent and she can hear the man
they've just tortured shrieking.  Their feet are moving away from the house and
it's a moment later, they're standing in the town square, when a shot bounces
off the air behind them and the town falls silent.  His hand is hot around her.
"Are you quite finished, my love?"
"If you are."  She cocks her eyebrow at him although he can't see it.  The mask
really is something to get used to.  A third masked figure is moving towards
them and he stops in front of them. 
"Lucius, Miss Weasley."  Snape's voice is easily recognized but hard, blank,
and Ginny's chin rises.
"Good night, Severus."  Lucius voice almost makes her tremble.
"Rushing off so soon?"
"We have . . . other matters to attend to, Severus."
"Indeed."  She can hear the raised eyebrow in his voice.  "Enjoy your evening,
then."
"You too, professor."  The title slips out despite herself, but it doesn't
matter because he's walking away.  Lucius' wand flicks and they've apparated
away, gaining solidity more quickly than she expects and his hands are on her
neck, pulling the mask from her face and she's doing the same.  She can just
see his bedroom around them and their mouths are together more quickly than she
can think, his tongue stabbing between her lips.  Her hands slide into his
robes and their identical black cloaks slip to the floor. 
"You should be wary of him."
"What?"  He's snarling as her hand pushes his neck backwards and she turns his
face, grasping the skin of his cheek and sucking it gently.  "What?"
"Professor Snape.  I don't think that he's quite what he seems."
"What do you mean by that?"  His hands are still on her body, one on the back
of her neck and the other clamped to one breast.
"He's helping Hermione."
"Helping her, with what?" 
"I don't know."  She smiles and her lips run down his neck, pulling the buttons
of his robe open and her tongue flicks his nipple.  His hands grip either side
of her face and he pulls her to his level, eyes digging into hers.  Her eyebrow
jumps upwards.  "They're working on a potion and . . . they have feelings for
each other."
"What?"  His hand circles her neck, but she doesn't flinch.  "Don't lie."
"They're shagging."  She sneers.  "They love each other and he's helping her."
Lucius is laughing, his head tossed back and his lips press against hers, teeth
grasping her bottom lip.  He stops and whispers, "You may have just saved our
side, my love."
She's smiling and their lips are back together, hands lifting her and she feels
the edge of his dresser pressing into her ass.  His tongue teases hers and her
hands drop back inside his robes, circling his back and pulling him up against
her.  Her robes are shimmering green around her as he slides them from her
shoulders and she's standing naked in front of him.  His hands grasp and
squeeze her ass as her head drops to his chest, tongue flicking and laving his
nipple. 
"I think you should be rewarded for that."  His hand is under her leg, lifting
it over his elbow and her muscle strains against the movement.  The air tingles
against her opening and she moans when he presses his cock against it, sliding
into her.  He slips out and thrusts back into her.  The air is cold as she
sucks it through his teeth and his cock presses inside of her.  He slams into
her again, growling, and the illusive spot inside her is pushed again, urging a
moan to her lips.  He presses it again, before sliding in and out of her
quickly, tapping and hitting the same area of flesh each time.  Her toes are
tingling, pussy aching as his cock slips along her clit before striking that
spot inside her and her nails are tearing into the back of his neck.  Her leg
presses the back of his arm and she grunts, the blood flushing her cheeks and
her skin tingles.  The colour is rushing her eyes and with a cry her muscles
tense and release around him.  Her head drops forward and her clit is spasming
against his cock as she moans and he continues to throb inside her.  Her lip is
trembling when she finishes and he stops just long enough to swoop down and
suck it into his mouth, before dropping it and thrusting hard.  Her inner wall
is tingling as he spills his seed against it and she moans.  He slides out of
her and her leg is numb when it hits the ground. 
Her fingers slide into his open clothing and push them from his body.  She
drops to her knees, fingers grasping his ass and pulling his cock into her
mouth.  Their moisture is heavy between her lips, the thick fluid rolling over
her tongue and she dips her head, taking his entire cock into her mouth before
sliding it out.  She drops her head and slips her tongue over one testicle. 
Her lips follow closely, tongue lapping at it before she sucks it into her
mouth and he groans.  His cock is wet as it rubs her cheek and she moves back
to it, swirling her tongue around the head before dipping over it.  He grunts
and thrusts as she slips him into her mouth.  Suddenly his hand is in her hair,
grasping it and throwing her back onto the carpet.  She squeaks in surprise and
he uses the toe of his boot to nudge her legs open as he drops to the ground. 
His face is between her legs and his tongue laps out, tasting her clit and she
moans with the expectation.  She sees his wand moving but doesn't think about
it until she feels something snaking around her neck.  Panic rushes her and her
hands rise to her throat, digging beneath the piece of cloth that's tightening
there, closing her trachea.  He's above her and pushing her hands away, holding
them at her sides and his breath is in her ear.
"Relax, pet, you'll like this."
She doesn't listen, a whimper slipping through and she tries to suck in a
breath of air.  His head is back between her legs and his tongue is more than
teasing her clit, washing over it, waving softly against her skin and the world
is blurring, although whether from lack of oxygen or from the marvellous
feeling between her legs she isn't sure.  Her mouth opens and she sucks in, but
nothing enters her mouth and her lungs are burning but his tongue continues to
move, hands holding her thighs down and her hips begin to buck against his
ministrations.  Her eyes are closing and her body has gone numb as her mind
tingles.  Her lungs and pussy, both burning, are all that she can feel and
she's going to pass out in a minute but he continues to lap at her, rubbing his
cum over her clit; her vision is splotchy behind her eyes.  With a thrust of
her hips she tries to cry out, the sensations overwhelming her and her hands
hold his head against her.  She'd read about 'explosive' orgasms, but she'd
never believed it until now, her fingers tingling and her entire body is
screaming.  Her eyes roll and the darkness behind them is pulling her down,
even as her mind and clit twitch and moan.  The fabric is gone from her throat
and she sucks the air in, consciousness returning and although her eyes open,
they splotch and she thrusts one final time against his lips, his teeth
grinding her clit between them.  She moans, feeling it twitching with her
release.  His fingers turn her to one side and she doesn't fight it, breath
surging into her lungs and limbs entirely incapable of movement.  She's
laughing when his arm slips around her and his fingers taunt one nipple.
"I told you you'd like it."  He's growling, hard cock pressed against her
backside and he shifts her, moving her still numb limbs, spreading her legs and
his shaft nudges her pussy before sliding into her.  She moans, flesh still
tingling and he's thrusting hard against her, fingers rubbing and massaging her
breast.  He's breathing hard and his member is pushing up into her, her mouth
dry and pulling the air sharply between her teeth.  With a push he lets out a
guttural cry, teeth digging into her nape and letting out a long cry as he
rocks, cumming hard.  His cock slips out of her as he does and she can feel a
stream of cum striking her labia before he buries himself in her again and
finishes emptying himself.
He's breathing into her neck and she can finally move of her own accord, limbs
weakened and her breath wheezing into her as she turns to face him.  Her arms
snake around him, pulling his lips down to her but she can't hold it long and
drops her head to the floor.
"You have to get back."  He's growling but not moving and he's so warm against
her that it doesn't matter.
Her face buries itself in his neck and she moans, nuzzling against him.  "You
don't want to send me back."
He's laughing against her hair.  "What I want and what you need to do are
entirely dichotomous, my dear."
"Is that so?"  She sounds bored, voice slurred into him and her mind wants so
desperately to sleep.
"Get up."  His voice is suddenly hard and she pulls away from him, blinking
into his face.  "I said 'get up.'" 
She obeys, despite herself, legs wobbling against her weight.  She stumbles,
but the dresser is near by and holds her up as she reaches down to retrieve her
robe from the ground.  It's slipping over her, silk rushing against her skin
but it doesn't entirely drop as his hand snakes between her legs.  His finger
pushes his own fluids over her clit and she moans, limbs loosing their hold on
stability and she drops against him but he pulls away.  Her robe slips back
into place and she moans, cloak soon joining it around her and she buries the
mask within its folds.  No one needs to see that.
"Go home," he sneers but his hand is wrapped in her hair and his teeth are
bruising her lips, tongues lapping together.  She feels his wand on her leg and
she moans into his mouth, before the tip presses into her thigh and the world
spins her back to Hogwarts.
***** Chapter 16 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
She's whispering in her sleep but when she opens her eyes she's not beside
him.  She sits up, sunlight rushing through the open blinds of her dorm room
and she blinks, pushing her fingertips into the corners of her eyes and rubbing
the sleep away.  She can't remember how long it's been since she was last with
him . . . six weeks . . . four days . . . not quite that but it seems like
forever.  Maybe he's dead and she doesn't like to think of that.
"You sound like you were having a good dream."  One of her room mates smirk and
she blushes at them, smiles, but she's still grasping onto reality and her feet
shift to the cold stone ground.  She can hear a younger student calling for his
cat somewhere in the distance while her other sleeping companions dress and
preen around her.  Her arm is stinging still but she doesn't look at it,
keeping the freshly painted mark well hidden beneath the sleeve of her sleeping
robe.  She stands and her birds are twittering in the morning light, their
bodies no longer quite so gaunt and she pushes food through the bars to them,
cooing and whistling herself.
"You'd better hurry up, Gin."
She nods an acknowledgement as two of her roommates file out of the room,
giggling and teasing but she's looking at her birds and they're looking right
back at her.  She smiles and runs her finger down the bars, the metal cold
against it.  They twitter and smile and she's looking into their small eyes. 
Her hands move away from the cage and slowly lift the window from its place. 
There's always a breeze in the tower and the papers littering the table begin
to flit about in the breeze.  They whisper and as the wind moves through the
window and over them she could almost swear that each burst of air is a
separate wave slapping against her.  She opens her eyes and the birds are still
looking at her and she's still smiling.  Her fingers are fumbling with the
lock, turning the simple mechanism that they would never figure out and the
door squeaks open.  The metal groans as it shifts along the wooden table, a
circle in the thin dust the only indication that there was every something
resting on the surface.  She holds the cage out towards the window, breeze
flickering through the bars and circling through the birds' home.
"Get out of here."  They're looking at her and not moving.  She frowns and
drops the cage down against the windowsill.  Her arms cross and her wand is in
her hand.  "What?  Are you stupid?  Go!"  One bird cocks its head and the other
easily floats to a second level in the cage.  Her wand twitches towards the
cage and the bars disappear around their captives, but the birds fail to move. 
Their feathers are soft as her fingers trail along them, pushing them outside
the window.  "You're free!  Get out!"  They're standing beneath the windowpane
and it would be so very easy to drop it on them, but she isn't thinking about
that as she pushes them further out.  They're approaching the edge and their
voices are grating in the morning silence.  Finally one's wings spread open,
grabbing the wind and raising it above its former perch.  The other follows
suit and they're staring at her, but she sighs, exasperated and sore as the
window closes between them.  They stay for a minute, hovering and watching her
before one, then the other alights upon the windowsill again.
She sighs.  "Fine, stay there."
When she returns, hours later after dinner, they're still there and she wants
to yell at them, but she doesn't.  They're watching her and wondering why she's
pushed them outside, kicked them out.  She wants to growl and spit on them but
she changes into her Quidditch uniform and leaves them alone.  Later it starts
to rain but she isn't thinking about them because she's getting wet too.  Her
broom is slippery between her legs and the rain is soaking through her
clothing.  A spell would be so simple but the rain doesn't bother her so much. 
It's running over her neck and through her skin and after the game she walks
back slowly.  She closes her eyes and the sound of the water striking the
ground is like her mother frying bacon in the morning.  The sizzle and snap of
grease against a skillet and the world is bubbling around her.  The rain is
striking her and running over her body, across her stomach and between her
legs.  The smell of sage and rain comes back to her and they're his hands.  She
shivers as she enters the castle and she's going to be sick.  That has started
again, the random illness and she doesn't quite know what she's going to do. 
Flax can't seem to ever wipe the sage away completely. 
"Ow!"  Neville steps away from her, retreating into his cloak and she can't
quite see his face.  The hallways are dim and somewhere down the hall a torch
is licking one stone wall.  "Ginny?"
"What are you doing?"
Neville shifts behind his clothing and there's water running down her legs,
tiny rivulets trailing over her.  She shivers and is beginning to regret the
lack of antipluvius charm. 
"I'm meeting someone."
"Oh," she grins.  "Who is it?"
Neville is glancing around, looking anywhere but at her and she's thrilled that
she isn't the only one with a secretive sex life.  Maybe now he will finally
start talking to her again.  "No, Ginny.  I'm . . . I have to go."  He rushes
off and she frowns, but keeps moving.  A warm shower is sounding so much nicer
than standing around forcing Neville's love life out of him. 
The water is warm, but she really should be with her mother. 
"Why are you still here?"  Her mum's hand is on her head, fingers weaving
through her hair and sliding down to rest on her shoulder.
Maybe her mother didn't hear, because she keeps talking, keeps rambling about
something mundane and probably related to Fleur and Bill's expected.  Three
weeks and a new little niece or nephew will be crying and demanding the
attention of everyone around it.  Ginny sighs and her mother's hand slides over
her shoulder, her arm tingles as her mother's fingers slip down her skin. 
She's onto baby names now, Ariadne or Hercule and there is no way that their
child is going to be normal.  Not that she expected any differently.  Her mum's
hand shifts and somehow it's sitting on her stomach as Ginny moves.  Her
midsection is doing back flips and her mother's nails are tickling her skin.
"Mum, I'm pregnant."  Everything stops.  Literally stops, her mother's fingers
holding in a perfect claw over her stomach and even her breathing has pulled to
a halt.  If it weren't for her heartbeat, a steady thump-thump against Ginny's
side she would really be afraid.  The hand moves away and her mother sits up. 
Her red hair is working curtains around her pudgy cheeks and her mouth is drawn
into a solid line.  Ginny's legs push her into a sitting position and she isn't
looking at her mother.
"What?"  Her voice is so steady that it seems to quake against her throat. 
"What?!"  Her hands are shaking but Ginny is surprisingly calm.  She sighs back
into a pillow.
"Is it . . . whose is it?"
"Whose do you think?"
"You're not keeping it."
"I'm not . . ." she can't say it.  "I'm not getting rid of it."
"Ginevra Weasley!"  Her mother's voice is grating around the room, practically
scraping what little paint there is off the bare walls.  "How can you even
consider keeping it?"
"I can't get rid of it!"
"How can you want to keep that man's child?"
"It's important to him!"  Her hands strike herself in the mouth and the silence
in the room is varnishing the newly cleaned walls.  "I didn't mean that."  Her
voice is echoing between her fingers.  "I really didn't mean that."
Her mother is breathing hard, her eyes burying themselves in Ginny's head.  "I
can't do this."  Molly is shifting off the bed, practically crawling away from
her.
"Mum!  Mum!"  She's moving after her but her mother is sliding away.  "Come
back!"
"No . . . no."  Her mother is pacing before turning suddenly back towards her. 
"Are you in love with him?  Is that what this is?"
"I . . . no!"
They're both quiet.
"He . . . I can be myself with him."
"You can be yourself with him??  You can be yourself with him?"  Her hands are
shaking together.  "Are you in love with him?"
"Don't be stupid!"
"You're having Mr. Malfoy's baby and I'm being stupid?"  There are tears
running in streams down her chubby face.  Her hands are cradling her face and
she falls back onto the edge of the bed.  "I can't do this.  What . . .
happened to my little girl?"  Her voice is so small.
"Mum . . . I'm still your girl."
Her eyes are digging into her soul.  "No, you're not."  Her voice quakes.  "I
don't know who you are."
She should be crying, but she's not.  She should be screaming and demanding
that life is unfair and that her life is over but she isn't.  She's not moving
and she's alone but she doesn't really care.  Her own bed is soft beneath one
shoulder and her arms are wrapped about her midsection, holding herself
together.  Her mother has been gone for three days and she hasn't heard from
anyone but she doesn't mind it, really.  There's a life growing beneath her
fingers but all she can feel is her own stomach, the padding of one too many
chocolate frogs rounding her limbs.  She hasn't heard from anyone and she
doesn't care.  She's going to be so much rounder soon and all she wants to do
is get out of this place and away from these people who will do nothing but
judge her.  Are doing nothing but judging her.  Maybe they'll never speak to
her again and she's starting to wonder if that's really such a bad thing.
"Ginny?"
She moves and her hand slips off of her belly.  It gurgles and the back of her
throat tenses, coating with the bile that's preparing her body for another
purge.  She swallows and the urge passes before she sits up.  "What?"
Parvati is looking bored, her head is lying on her shoulder, trying to make
their heads even before Ginny straightens up and Parvati's head becomes
straight.  "McGonagall wants you.  She's in her office."
"Oh.  Thanks."
"Ms. Weasley." 
Her feet tingle on the stone floor of the Headmistress' office and it takes her
a moment to remember that she's forgotten to put on shoes.  The bricks are cool
through her stocking feet and she lifts one to rest against her other leg. 
"You wanted to see me?"
McGonagall is standing behind her desk and the lighting seems dim as she slips
out from behind it and steps towards her.  Her hands are grasping each other,
wrinkling like cloth as they wring together.  "Miss Weasley, we have a
problem."
Here it comes.  Ginny's eyes close and she turns her head away.  Her mother has
told her and this is going to be over.  "What is it?"  Her voice is toneless
but she opens her eyes and meets her Headmistress' gaze.
"Mr Longbottom is missing."
Ginny's breathing stops and her eyes freeze open.  "What?  What?"  Her lungs
have begun to ache and she finally pulls in a breath.  "When?  How?"
"He was last seen yesterday at dinner and doesn't appear to be on Hogwart's
grounds now."
"Have you contacted his grandmother?"
"Yes, she has not heard from him, either.
Ginny tries to smile, tries to convince herself that he's gone off with a
girl.  She tries to laugh, he must be off with some woman, he’s not off trying
to be heroic.  Not off trying to be a saviour and a hero and everything that
he's not.  Cursed are those who study with Harry the Boy Who Lived Potter. 
Cursed with the status quo.  "Where - what do you think happened?"
"I have little doubt that Voldemort has him."
"But why?"
McGonagall's hands are still rubbing together and she's looking at the portrait
of Dumbledore.  He looks equally concerned and is watching his successor
intently.  His eyes are dark, his forehead creased.  "It seems that muggles are
no longer their sole target."
"But . . . couldn't he just be . . . missing?"
"I hardly think so."  The headmistress sighs.  "We received news yesterday
afternoon that the LeStranges had been spotted numerous times just outside of
Glasgow."
"And he went after them."
"It would seem so."  McGonagall shifts.  "I hate to ask this of you, Miss
Weasley, but we need to find him."
"You know that I can only go when . . . when he calls me."
"Yes, of course."  The Headmistress is still looking at Dumbledore and finally
Ginny glances at him before the two women turn to look at each other again. 
"But you have been marked by . . . by Voldemort.  If he has Mr. Longbottom it
is likely that you will be called."
"Oh."
"And if that happens, you need to be ready."
"Yes."  Ginny nods.  "Yes."  She nods again.  "I will . . . get him back."
"I don't know if that will be possible."  McGonagall shifts.  "I thought you
should be aware that . . . if you can't retrieve him, that you might be
required to . . ." she doesn't finish speaking, her fingers twisting together.
"I promise, I'll get him back to Hogwarts."
McGonagall is smiling.  "I hope you can, Miss Weasley."
Four days pass and Ginny is still alone.  Neville is gone and Hermione is so
distracted with whatever it is that she's doing that Ginny is very much by
herself.  The birds still watch her from their perch and she stares back at
them, glad that they haven't entirely gone.  She's vomiting again, chunks of
apple and potato floating together in the toilet bowl; she wants her mother,
but she's long gone.  She wants to call her, poke her head through the
fireplace and demand that she come back, promise anything so long as she isn't
alone.  Now Ginny is crying because she misses everybody and she hasn't gained
anything.  She's touching her stomach and it had better be worth it.  It will
be worth it and the loneliness only lasts so long before you have to fend for
yourself.
She reads about the dark side, dark arts, dark potions and dark everything;
dark families and their blonde hair.  It's late in the library and Madame Pince
has put away her spectacles for the day but Ginny continues reading.  The tome
is pine-green in the light of the room and the history of the pureblood lines
is studied.  There is a torch licking at the wall down the row from her but a
simple spell allows her to keep reading.  What else is there to do but
schoolwork and read and maybe this is why Hermione was always such a nerd.
She turns the page and a strangely familiar face is staring back at her.  Her
eyes are moving over the name, Richard Artoom, cousin of Lucius Malfoy on his
mother's side.  The eyes are grey, face rounded and smiling, the Slytherin
badge glistens green and silver and he's laughing and happy.  Richard Artoom,
best friend of Lucius Malfoy at Hogwarts, arm around a very uncomfortable, but
very young Severus Snape.  Richard Artoom became an auror, specializing in the
sexual nature of dark magic, dark spells, and dark lust potions.  Richard
Artoom, who married a muggle, produced a squib and disappeared after killing
them both.  She looks at his face and he's still smiling, smiling and laughing
beside a much younger and good-looking Lucius Malfoy, beside a much younger and
equally git-like Severus Snape.  The double traitor . . . or is it triple
traitor?  She never can keep that one straight.  His eyes are flashing, Richard
Atroom's teeth are white and then she knows him. 
"Rick, it's Rick, oh Merlin."  The man she had first seen on the street, who
was terrified of Lucius, the man who he had made her torture for her own
pleasure.  The man who is missing his thumbs and can speak in nothing but
riddles.  His cousin, punished for the love of a muggle.  She's laughing, which
works well, since the three men in the picture are laughing too.  She turns the
page and her arm is tingling.  The mark is swirling.  Tattoo-grey splotched
with black and she's touching it.
She cries out, the mark suddenly throbbing black and she pulls her hand away. 
Ice picks sliding into her skin and the snake is sliding through the skull. 
The library is behind her and her mask and cloak are hidden away, but she
easily pulls them out.  Her roommates are laughing, crowded together on one of
their beds and handing out candies.  Morgana's Rum Balls and they're laughing
as the mist of magic and alcohol swirls over them.
"Going to meet Harry?"  One of them is making kissy-faces as the cloak slumps
around her.  The hood is over her head and she almost wants to bring the white
mask to her face just to show them where she's going, but its tucked against
her chest and she smiles.  Doesn't speak, but turns her lips upwards and they
all laugh, with her, against her, it doesn't matter because her arm is burning
and her heart is beating a heavy rhythm.  Maybe he hasn't called her in a while
but he'll be there tonight and she's smiling for him.
The night is cold, the gentle sprinkling of rain sparkling over her and
somewhere in the forest an owl is hooting after her.  Saying goodbye, perhaps,
saying good luck or simply asking if she has something to eat, but it's calling
after her.  A cricket is singing, voice rising and falling against the night
air.  It ends suddenly, foot falling with a satisfying crunch and the evening
goes quiet.  Each blade of grass crinkles with the falling rain and she can
only just see the towers of the castle as she pushes her wand into her arm. 
Apparition has never been so painful, the tugging on her naval more of a
ripping.  Fingers digging into her stomach and pulling her insides out as she
gasps for breath.  It stops and she falls hard to her knees.  The mask is
already on her face and the air is hissing through it, warm and stale when it
touches her lips.  A drop of water runs behind her mask and down her face but
the air around her is warm, untouched by rain.
"Rise, slave."  The Dark Lord's voice is heavy in her mind, in the air and she
slips to her feet.  Her face becomes level with his and he's smirking into it. 
"Get back."  She steps back and there are dark figures on either side of her,
standing row upon row behind her, an army in black cloaks and white masks.  An
arm is brushing against hers and maybe its Lucius as her heart jumps.  She's
biting her lip because it really is ridiculous.
"I have something in the way of a gift for you." 
Something in the way of a test. 
There is chuckling around her and she sinks back.  "One of our number was good
enough to procure an old friend of yours for our entertainment."  Of course she
knows who it's going to be and the sound of struggling can be heard from
somewhere behind her.  The party, a sea of white and black waves backwards and
Peter Pettigrew is pulling a form behind him, bound and gagged and struggling
around his bonds as the rat pulls him towards the centre of the group with a
simple spell.  Scabbers glances at Ginny and his teeth are crooked as he
grins.  She isn't looking at him, can't look at him and her eyes turn to
Neville where he floats just above the ground.  He doesn't glance at her, but
then he probably can't as the magic bonds glint with blue where they hold him
still.
"A present."
A sacrifice.  The Dark Lord drips and Ginny falls to her knees, her heart is
pounding.
"Thank you, my Lord."  But what is she supposed to do now?
"Entertain us." 
Prove yourself to us.  His voice in her mind is not nearly as hard as it was,
floating on the surface as he whispers to her.  If she closes her eyes she can
almost pretend that it's Tom again and then it's not so bad.  "Rise."  She
obeys.  How high?
Neville's binds fall away and he slips to the ground.  He moans, a small and
pathetic whimper that shakes his frame and he rises onto the palms of his
hands.  He looks up, looks right at her and maybe he doesn't know her because
he begins to tremble. 
"Oh, Merlin."
She's watching him and her wand is in her palm, the wood curving against it. 
The mask is stifling and her face feels wet as her own perspiration slides down
her face.  What the hell is she supposed to do now?
There's a hand on her back, alive and moving and she sighs.  An owl is calling
into the night and his fingers are warm where they're resting against her.
You wanted power, take it.  Take it!
"Crucio!"  Her voice echoes against the building clouds and a red stream jumps
from the end of her wand.  What else is she supposed to do?  Neville is
screeching, an animal alive with the curse and his eyes are pressed wide,
staring at her but he doesn't know her.  She steps towards him and her foot
falls on one hand, the crackle of the bones loud in the night and he's still
screaming.  She twitches her wand as he is released.  He's whimpering and
cradling his hand, protecting it beneath his trembling body but she feels
fantastic as her heart echoes in her ears.  He sniffles and lets out a child's
cry.  Somewhere behind her the owl has stopped screaming.  There's a flutter of
wings and the fwap-fwap-fwap breaks through the night.
There's something that she's supposed to be doing but she can't quite remember
what.  Neville's eyes are desperate, sparking in the night and her heart is
pounding.  She smiles beneath her mask.
"Diffindo!"  Her wand slices across her victim's back and he screams, flesh
ripping before it falls back and he's still screaming.  She can just see the
bones of his spine glinting with blood beneath the gash that she has torn
there.
"Quiet!"  Her voice is loud, deep and not her own as he obeys, eyes suddenly
focusing on her face.  She snarls beneath the mask.  "Do you have nothing to
say to me?"  His hands are shaking.  "You're not going to beg for your life?"
He shakes his head.  "I will never beg you for anything."  He hiccups and his
eyes are narrow.
"Won't you?"  Something is nagging at her mind, she should be doing something
but she can't remember what.  She's smiling and her heart is pounding.  A
thrill rises through her and her wand moves over him.  She doesn't even bother
whispering the curse.  Imperio.  She grabs his mind.  He's so much stronger
than she thought and he's pressing against her thoughts, pushing her away, but
she's forcing him to his knees.  His broken fingers fold together but she can't
make him speak.  His lips are twitching, she's moving them, but he's fighting
her and with a shriek of frustration she drops him back to the ground.
"Crucio!”  Her voice grates even against herself, screams into her ears and the
boy is crying again, he’s shrieking and there is blood everywhere, but she
can’t figure out where it’s coming from.  It's sliding through his skin and
soaking his clothing.  She drops the curse but he’s still screaming. 
"Shut up!"  Her toe connects with his nose and she feels it snap as he crumbles
backwards, broken hand bleeding and touching his shattered face but he's still
screaming.  "Shut up!"  She weaves her wand over his face and the skin of his
lips begin to braid together, shutting his mouth and his eyes are more than
terrified as he continues to shriek against the closing skin.  The sound
becomes hollow, empty and she comes up next to him.
“If you’re not going to beg, then you’re not going to speak.”  Her foot
connects with his cheek and his head snaps sideways.  “If you’re not going to
beg, then you’re not going to die.”
His eyes are still on her and she stops speaking.  Stops saying anything or
maybe he’ll finally connect the dots and figured out just who she is. 
“Petrificus totalis!  Incendio!”  The ground beneath him jumps to life, his
body snapping still as the green grass turns orange and red and it licks up at
him.  His face is dark and he should be screaming but he really can’t and the
flames are feeding on him, eating away at his clothing and skin.  His eyes are
popping from his skull and his hair crumbles as ash to the grass, his cheeks
bubbling and breaking with the heat. She quickly cancels both spells.  He's
trying to scream, eyes rolling back in his head and his flesh is black when she
finally releases the curse.  His flesh is trembling where it hangs from his
bones and his eyes are closed, but he’s still breathing.  She flicks her wand
and his mouth is open, the skin has pulled back and he is sucking in the night
air in short gasps.
She slips her mask from her face and someone behind her hisses the air
inwards.  The hood falls back from her head, hair coming loose around her
shoulders and she’s smiling.  She wants to be laughing, but she steadies her
face. 
Look concerned. 
Her heart is pounding, but only she can hear that.  She leans over him and her
hand rests on his shoulder.  He screams at the touch and slides back, eyes
pulling open and staring.  His bottom lip is shaking but it stops when he sees
her.
“Ginny.”  There is relief in his voice and she has to hold down the desire to
laugh.  “Oh, thank Merlin, Ginny.”  His voice shakes.  “Please Ginny, please.” 
He can’t seem to hold onto the air long enough to form a coherent sentence and
she smiles into his face.  She catches his brown eyes and she’s supposed to be
doing something – it’s so close to her now – but she can’t think what that is. 
“Please, Ginny.”
“Please what?”  Her head drops back and she’s grinning now.  Body wracked with
laughter and when she looks back at him he’s shaking again.  Her hood comes up
and she presses the mask against her face.  She’s laughing and he’s crying. 
His eyes are blurred.  Her mind is racing.
“Oh, Merlin, please.”  He groans and turns to one side.
“Good enough.”  She smirks.  “Avada Kadavra.”  The night flashes with the green
light and Neville’s body is still.  His eyes are still on her, smoke is rising
from him, but he isn’t moving and her hand drops to her side.  Her lord is
laughing and she falls back next to the Death Eaters before falling to her
knees.
Good.
“Rise.”
Lucius’ hand is on her back and she wants to turn into him, but she doesn’t. 
He steps towards her and his hand is on her hip, she can feel his chest pressed
against her back.
“I love you.”
She smiles beneath her mask.
“I trust that you all enjoyed your evening.”  Their Lord is sneering.  “Get out
of here.”
The night is riddled with flashing lights, but she waits until their Lord is
gone before she turns, slipping her hands around Lucius' neck and pulling his
mask away.  He returns the favour, sliding her own mask to the ground and their
noses nuzzle together.  "I . . ." she stops speaking and grasps his lips.  "I
missed you."
He chuckles against her lips and his hands are on her waist.  "You need to
return to Hogwarts."
One eyebrow strikes her hairline and her chin rises.  "Getting rid of me so
soon?"
"You have work to do, trust to build."  He smiles.
She grabs his lips and her tongue runs along his bottom lip.  "I'm not going
back."
"You are."
"No."
"Yes."
"I'm pregnant."
His head pulls back and he's studying her.  A final flash of light behind her
and they're finally alone.  The smell of charred flesh tickles her nose and her
stomach turns.  "Is it mine?"  His voice is thick as it drags between his
teeth.
"You don't have to ask that."
"It is . . . my child."
"It's your son."  She smiles and runs her lips along his jaw line.  "It's your
heir."
His hand is big where it rests on her stomach and the warmth of it soaks
through her body.  "I love you."  His mouth is in her hair and she turns up to
meet it with her lips.
"I'm not going back."
"No, you're not."  His hands are in her hair.
She pulls back, hands on his neck and she turns to look at Neville's still
smoking form.  "I promised to get him back."
He's chuckling and his fingers run over her hair, thumb catching it below her
ear and tucking the strand behind it.  "My dear, is now really the time for
semantics?"
Her eyebrow twitches upwards and her lips curve towards them as her fingers
unhook from his.  "I gave McGonagall my word."  She's smiling and her tongue
flicks against his lower lip.
His hand is against her scalp, fingers wrapped around her hair and he holds her
still.  "I want you to be my wife." 
She's still smiling.  "Is that so?"  Her fingers blend with his hair, digging
into it and his scalp is squeezed beneath her fingers.  "I hate you, you know."
"Believe me, the feeling is entirely mutual."  His lips tease hers before he
brushes them against her ear. 
Her lips turn upwards and she's still holding his head, pushing it back and
forcing him to look at her.  He's smiling at her but she hardly notices. 
Somewhere in the night a cricket is calling out into the night and she looks
up.  She's laughing and the sky is looking down on her.  His breath is hot
against her ear as his tongue and lips come down over it, grasping her earlobe
and tugging it into his mouth.  The sky is ringing with her laughter and her
hands are sliding between his robes, air heavy with the smell of burnt flesh
but her breath is coming more shortly.  Her lungs and mind are moving in
staccato but it doesn't matter because his neck is warm under her teeth.  His
heart is beating under her red hands.  Somewhere muggles are killing each other
and Harry and the Order are working to thwart everything she loves but it
doesn't matter.  Her enemy's body is burning behind her and her lover's is warm
under her hands.  She smiles.  All is right in the world.
Chapter End Notes
     Phew...I just wanted to thank you for sticking with me through the
     entire story! I know it's dark, but it was weirdly satisfying to
     write. I hope you enjoyed it!
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!