A/N: Ok so, this story was something that just hit me today. I finished this chapter today, so pardon me if it's not quite so great. It's also not beta-ed but don't let that stop you from reading! It's my first try at writing something a bit more mature, and believe you me, this one's gonna get very adult-y very soon :D Also, review puh-lease! I'll love you forever Xx

Disclaimer: Yea, yea, we've heard this before. I don't own Harry Potter!

Her hands were shaking as they moved over his chest, going lower and lower and breathing sharply at each careful motion. His eyes never left her face, all the wonder, excitement and fear she was emanating was making him forget how to breathe. Here he was, pushing her back up against the cold, stone wall, bodies practically molding into one as he inched closer with every rough kiss he planted on her neck. Everything was a drunk haze, an erotic blur when their lips finally found each other, but with every hungry, desperate kiss it still was not enough. Growling into her mouth, he slammed her harder into the stone, managing to get something of a pained squeak out of her. Her hands were now twining around his shaggy, white-blond hair, tugging and pulling but yet he felt nothing. Frustrated, his hands found the hem of the swanky, little dress she was wearing and ripped at it until she was completely bare. The torchlight gleamed off her porcelain skin with cinnamon freckles and made her vibrant red hair look like fire, and as he moved away to get a better look, her chocolate brown eyes seemed to simply melt with desire.

"Come closer" she whispered, and no one needed to tell him twice. Once again he dove for her, and a bitter smile tugged at her pink lips as his hands held her waist and pulled her closer, yearning to feel every inch of her on his. Her legs wound up around his waist and her hands clawed at his pants, his only item of clothing, which pooled down in a heap on the floor. He could feel everything now, how hot and wet she was down there, and he lost control. He shoved into her roughly and she let out a whimper in pain, but didn't attempt to push him away. Pulling in and out, faster and faster, he got into a rhythm and drilled into her harder and harder, while blinding pain and pleasure mixed into one huge feeling of ecstasy for them both. Soon, his movements got jerky, he was going over the edge and she was falling with him, muscles tightening and convulsing, breaths mingling and moans echoing throughout the small, dingy room. Finally, he came in her with one final tremor and she scrunched her eyes shut as she reached climax as well. They stood there for a while, her against the wall with him slouched against her, knowing that neither could stand without the other. While he was still breathing hard and in her, unable to make himself pull out, he felt her hot mouth close around his ear, biting at his lobe suggestively.

"I'm sorry," she breathed silkily. "But this can never be real."

His eyes shot open, pupils dilating for everything around him was changing, melting away into a different scene. It was dark, and it took him a few seconds to adjust to the dimness, until he could make out a looming wardrobe and his large, elaborate hangings over the king-sized bed in his mansion. Groaning in displeasure, he couldn't hate the place more, for he would rather be in his unconscious, dreaming state with the girl of his dreams forever. He was covered in cold sweat, he realized, and his sheets were wound up around his body uncomfortably, like he tossed and turned considerably throughout the night. Disappointment and anger was coursing through his veins, he felt cheated and empty, and another feeling he couldn't quite put his finger on. Nevertheless, he simply couldn't go back to sleep, his dreams were too real and too frustratingly painful, and at that point he was seeing red. Oh what he would give to be able to pound some poor blokes head in at that moment!

He stormed out of bed, moving to open the lush, heavy curtains in his room, hoping to calm himself. He might've been surrounded by darkness, but the curtains were so thick and richly dark, he could never be sure whether it was actually day or night. The sky outside was an angry purple, the sun this close to showing itself and the night that close to it's final bow, to give itself up to light. That's when he saw it again, though vividly as one remembers an old memory or a fantastic dream. The sight of her, back arched and eyes heavy-lidded, standing open for the taking in front of his bewildered eyes. He got chills up and down his spine as he remembered the feel of her feather-light hands moving, exploring, and every hair on his body seemed to stand in attendance at the smoothness of her honey sweet voice in his ears. Why he did this to himself, he didn't know. He was warned, not by any other person for no one else was permitted to know, but by his natural instincts that she was no good for him. I deserve a thousand times better than that scum, he told himself, yet every single insult directed at her flew out the window as soon as he laid eyes on her again, giggling and utterly, completely, fantastically unattainable. That was the reason he was here, locked up in his tower of the Malfoy Manor, staying away from that fucking school and that gorgeous fucking girl over the Christmas holidays. What he dreaded and anticipated at the same time was that in only 2 days, yes he had been counting, he'd have to head back to Hogwarts where he'd be forced to "see the little wench cuddle up to another complete tool", in his own words, forgetting of course the bounty of girls he would surely use as distractions.

Completely lost in thought, he missed the sun begin to poke it's brilliant head through the gloom, so the lightening of the sky caught him by surprise. He whistled softly in appreciation for he'd only ever seen one thing, one being, more perfect. So he finally unlocked the rusting hatch and opened the large window, cold in only his boxers as the wind whipped through him, blowing his hair into his steel grey eyes as they looked out into the brilliant sunrise but only saw her taunting face hidden behind long, auburn hair.

Part two

Ginny Weasley woke up after a recurring dream she'd been having for quite some time now, in which she was stuck in some kind of mansion, all by herself in a beautiful room decorated with diamonds and things she'd never seen or heard of, but were stunning nonetheless. With only one window in the room, Ginny would always find herself gazing at the gorgeous view outside, at the beautiful ocean with sunlight dancing off every ripple, and smiling whole-heartedly. There was always a mirror in this room, one large enough to cover an entire wall, and this too was elaborate and over-the-top, but wouldn't be better any other way. The frame looked ancient, but somehow still sparkled, and when she reached out to feel it instinctively, it gleamed under her touch as if asking for more. What startled her every time, no matter how repetitive it all got, was her reflection staring back at her in horror. It was still her, that she could tell, but her hair would be caked with blood so that it's natural fire died down to a defeated, dank brown. Her eyes would be sunken with unnaturally red and purple circles under them, as if the entire weight of the world rested in it's pitiful grasp. Unclothed, Ginny would just notice the deep purple bruises on her body when something would catch her attention in the corner of her eye. There, outside the wide-open window, the view that once made her smile would change, the water would go all the way back until she could barely see it, and then it would all rush back. A giant tsunami would roar toward her, and her heart would catch in her throat while she tried to scream it out.

And that's how she'd wake up, bolt upright in her bed and panting, breathless, but thankfully never screaming. Of course, she'd pull herself back together in no time, but there would always be that underlying fear of going to sleep each night, and a desperate urgency to understand what they mean and why they visit her every night. She'd said she would make it a point to go the library, when she's back at Hogwarts, and find something to aid her and hopefully answer some burning questions. For now though, all Ginny could do was wait, knowing that she only had two more days was enough to get her through the last of her Christmas holidays.

Unable to get back to sleep, she decided to get some fresh air, and to her nothing was fresher than a cigarette. So, still wrapped up tightly in her blanket, she made her way onto her tiny balcony, shivering in the cold but thankful for the small roof overhead and the warming charm her mother had set on the area and it's lone wooden bench. Pulling out one of the cigarettes Colin Creevey had given her, she lit it with the lighter that she had stolen from some muggle boy, and took a long drag of the killer. She knew how dangerous these muggle contraptions were, but of course, their toxicity just added to their novelty. Having caught Colin and some other muggle-borns smoking in an empty classroom one day, Ginny decided to join in the fun. She hid it from her close friends and family, even though she didn't think they would mind, mostly because no one but Harry would really know what they were. They weren't that bad anyway, they helped her think quietly and relax, which was something she felt she desperately needed. Pensively, she watched as the sky lightened and turned purple, gazed in lazy awe as the snow-capped trees around her sagged under the weight of the newly-fallen snow that had come down the night before. Everything was beautiful, as good as new. Something she wanted to learn from the earth was how it managed to never look old, how it managed to entrance people, how it brought life and death along with it but was still so casually taken for granted.

Soon, she was so lost in thought and smoke that she lost track of time, realizing only too late that she had spent almost two hours sitting outside in the cold she couldn't feel. She could hear the busy clanging and sizzling of breakfast being prepared downstairs, signaling that soon the entire house would be out and about, with the exceptions of maybe one or two of her brothers hung-over from the previous night of Friday drinks. Taking a final drag of her third smoke, she stood up, and forgetting her previous appreciation of the beauty of nature, flicked her still smoldering butt out into the snow. Only two more days, so I better make the most of being at home, she thought as she headed into the small shower, fully prepared for a long, hot wash while her brothers slept, and then a delicious, almost famous, Saturday morning home-made breakfast.