Once Poisoned

Disclaimer: Yeah, really. I'm just wasting my time here, people.

Notes: Gaah, I've no idea what brought this on…I don't even know if it makes sense, because I wrote it spur of the moment and didn't really pause to look back on the previous paragraphs, to see if it flowed continuously…anyway. I tried. I liked it when I put the pencil down, and I hope that it's not too bad for a quick read. Enjoy! Oh, and how could I forget? R 'n' R greatly appreciated!!

Summary: One-shot. In which Ginny is hungry and craves for things that she cannot get, and through it all Harry is naïve. Haha…not for H/G worshippers. At all.

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Ginny likes to kiss Harry when he's angry.

Sometimes it'll help calm him down, settle his nerves, and sometimes the action will make him more aggressive, more frustrated, and rough.

The littlest Weasley prefers the latter.

Once, when Harry had indeed calmed down, he had asked Ginny why she'd always kiss him when he was pissed, even though he might not be gentle with her.

Ginny had shrugged, and told Harry that she didn't need tenderness, and that he tasted good when his mind was passionate.

Ginny had smiled slyly to herself, and Harry had left it at that.

Once, when they were still in Hogwarts, Harry had accepted an invitation to a one-on-one Quidditch match with Draco Malfoy, alone, after dark, and Harry had told Ginny he was going, because the Slytherin didn't seem that bad a guy, after all.

Ginny couldn't convince him to stay, nor had she tried, but she decided to go with him. Without her help that night, Harry might've died. He hadn't yet the power to fight ten Death Eaters all at once.

It turned out, as Dumbledore explained later, that Draco Malfoy had been under Imperius as the letter bearing his family crest had been written, and it was lucky that Ginny had not left Harry alone. Harry had shook his head wearily, and admitted that he really did think that it was Draco Malfoy's writing, when he was reading it, because who else would challenge him to a broomstick match when the sun had long since set?

Ginny smiled had slightly and told Harry that he was always so naïve.

Harry had promised to be more careful in the future.

Once, when Harry tried to be romantic, he had arranged a dinner by candlelight, roses – just red enough to be bloody in the background – the heavy perfume of wine permeated the air lazily, music played – that slow, classical music that would relax you and reassure you that everything was alright.

It was Valentine's Day, and Ginny loved her silver ring that flashed in the muted light, and the emerald stone in the centre that winked at her. She told Harry that she loved it to death.

But at night, when Harry had lain her down and was touching her, and the bed was dappled with soft moonlight, and the sheets were cool to the touch though Harry was not, and everything else in the room was dark, dark…Ginny would close her eyes and imagine for something that was just out of reach.

Harry told her he loved her that night, and Ginny almost forgot to say it back.

Once, when Harry came back from work, exhausted, Ginny could instantly tell that he'd seen something horrible that day – too much blood, too much pain, too many memories had arisen – because evil was never truly gone even if you would wish it so every night before you lay yourself down to sleep and prayed the Lord your soul to keep, so Ginny had embraced him, and she kissed him.

Harry had kissed her back slowly, as he was tired and saddened by the day's events.

But his mind…Ginny could practically smell his thoughts, taste his emotions, feel his distraught.

It was all so dark!

Harry had almost given into his dark side that day!

Oh, how thrilled Ginny was.

Because, oh yes, how dark Harry could be – it sent shivers down to her bones. Because he was, he was! Harry's dark side was so black, so lost, so dangerous…it had been built slowly, Ginny knew, year by year through his childhood, cumulated day by day, since the second he had received his lightning bolt scar.

It had built, slowly, festered, and Harry had hidden it away from the world, afraid of what might happen, of what might become. He didn't think anyone knew.

Oh, but Ginny did.

And she loves it. She craves it.

And when Harry would show her his dark side, which was not often, she would see his green eyes flash – the colour of snakes – his red tongue curl around white teeth – the colour of dead promises veiled thinly behind reality – his dark hair wrapped around Ginny's fingers – the colour of things long gone.

Ginny was poisoned.

But Harry was never enough to satisfy her, and Ginny knew he never would be.

Harry was good, yes, but not perfect.

He was too human, too vulnerable. Ginny wanted to taste hate, evil, menace, horror – not the innocence that laced Harry's every kiss, making her mind gag.

No.

The best Harry could do, at times like these, was to remind her of those dead promises, and of the long white fingers touching her flesh and ripping her heart into shreds.

Once, when Harry came home late – he had had a long day that day, filled with little events that were not really important but took forever to take care of – he came home, hung up his coat, and trudged straight to the bedroom.

Ginny was there, sprawled beautifully across the crimson Gryffindor covers, long hair framing her pale face, a wistful, small smile playing on her lips. There was a forgotten quill in her hand.

Harry smiled. Ginny had fallen asleep, writing in her diary – she didn't know that Harry knew of it, but not much got by Harry these days – while waiting for him.

Harry slowly took the feather out of Ginny's limp grip; her eyes stayed closed. Harry quietly bent over her still form to reach for her diary – and froze.

Ginny hadn't closed her diary.

Harry didn't mean to, he really didn't – he hadn't wanted to, he really hadn't – but eyes do not block out what they already see, what is so blatantly, obviously in front of you – even though your mind might – because on the two fresh, clean pages of Ginny's book, laying open and marked with words so clear --

I miss you, Tom.

Once, long ago, after the final battle, Harry thought that he was rid of the evil forever, the dark that plagued him under the late Dark Lord's command, making him scream and hurt at night.

Harry had thought it was over, that the pain would go away – that he was free.

Oh, Harry, Ginny had said to him once, long ago.

You were always so naïve.

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