Rubber Ducky
All children begin life with a fixation. It is rightly said that before this fixation, memories slip and slide unimportantly from the mind, a jumbled tornado of irrelevant thoughts that many of us will never recall again. Fixation gave our younger selves something to base our investigations off of, something constant. As we ourselves change, our parents and siblings treat us differently, our environment develops to suite our new needs and we learn more of this world we must now call home. But a fixation, it never changes. This habitual attachment is often with some object that represents our childhood innocence, that has taken us through good times and bad. A symbol of what we've left behind, a carrier for those memories too precious to be written, or simply remembered. Many people never grow out of their fixations; Muggles suggest that this is unhealthy, that it limits the mental growth of a child.
Of course, wizards knew better.
For young Ginevra Weasley, her life began with her rubber ducky. It was a battered old creature that had accompanied all of her brothers in the bath, but somehow burrowed itself inextricably into her heart. A faded yellow, it was smooth and curved, the rustles of its wings having been chipped away from having survived the swirling whirlpools of the drainage hole one too many times. It's discolored orange beak remained stationary in a curved smile, and its bright blue eyes were now dulled to a neutralized aqua. They were happy eyes, though, and Ginny had always loved its eyes. The beast had floated with her in the tub numerous times, her hands splashing out of bubbly water to squeeze and tease the squeeking monster as it struggled to stay aloof on the rolling bath water. It had been covered in her shampoo, dunked beneath the surface as they explored the bottom of the bath, and been dried clean by her furry towels.
Still more, the thing had slept quietly atop its perch on her pillow, watching over her fuzzy red curls; it had explored the yard of the Weasley's, watching as its red-headed daughter spun and tossed gnomes away from her potato garden. Securely, it had burrowed into her heart, intent on leaving its print with the very last Weasley child. Now, it would never be placed in the attic with that foul ghoul to await another birth, another bath companion. Now, it was Ginny Weasley's pet, and she spoke to it as though it were a person. At five, it tasted her rice pudding, by seven they were sharing popsicles. This was love, to both Ginny and the duck, in the purest of levels.
It saw her past her Harry Potter infatuation, and went to Hogwarts with her. It spoke her through the Tom Riddle incident, lending comfort to her difficult situations. For every test that came around, it was there for her to squeeze, tensely. It didn't sleep those late nights when she couldn't find slumber, and watched her tackle Potions homework on a daily basis, never tiring of her small murmuring curses. Yes, she and the ducky had a good life together. She could never do without it, and though she was too ashamed to tell her friends about her little love, it never stopped her from packing him in her bag everyday.
Then one day in her fifth year, the inevitable, the horrific happened. Her satchel, famed for bursting into tatters, burst into tatters at the wrong time, in the wrong place, in front of the wrong person. Out squeeked her rubber ducky, tumbling painfully to the floor, rolling a bit to rest at the feet of Draco Malfoy, who, even as she reached for it, kicked it away from her. Her ink pots were shattered and the dark liquid ran through the cracks in the concrete, soaking her distraught papers and meeting the pads of her desperate fingers. Fingers that scrabbled for the yellow toy, even as her cheeks flamed red.
"What's this?" Malfoy said, kicking the poor creature into the wall. Ginny cringed in pain, tears gathering into her eyes. "A duck?" His cruel laughter echoed in the hallways as he swooped skillfully down to gather the bruised toy in his cold hands. He squeezed it unmercifully, eliciting a squeel of pain from Ginny and a tired groan from the rubber duck. "How pitiful, Weasley," Malfoy said, holding it before his eyes, as she scrabbled around the floor before him, "Fifteen years old and you still carry with you a toy?"
Tears thundered down her cheeks as she said in a strong voice, "Give it back, Malfoy. Give it back or I'll tell!"
It sounded childish, and he laughed, his sixteen year old self hunching over to clutch at his stomach in exaggerated amusement. "Tell who? 'Oh, Professor McGonagal, Malfoy stole my rubber ducky! I shan't live, I shan't live!' or, even better, 'Oh, Harry, oh god of my universe Pothead, Malfoy stole my pathetic toy!'" His laughter was cruel on her ears, just as his tenor voice berrated her. She sobbed loudly, hiding her face in her hands, humiliated, degraded in the worse way possible. Still, her heart ached for that rubber ducky, that yellow bird that was currently being tortured in his large, unforgiving hands.
"Please," she whimpered, unable to say anything more. He continued to laugh, stepping delicately past her and strolling leisurely down the hall, away from her, her duck watching her mournfully from his prisoned fingers. There it was, her ducky was gone. But Ginny Weasley was not about to give up, oh no. Malfoy would not get away with her life, not like this. Not without a fight.
She confronted him a week later, wand drawn and face deathly serious. "Give me my ducky back," she said, foolishly, tears gathering in her eyes. This week had been torture without her toy, torture. Inside of her was a pit of anguish, a lingering pain that wouldn't leave, no matter how much she told herself she would get him back. It had taken her forever to gather her courage enough to face Malfoy, forever to gather her strength. Without her ducky, it seemed so hard, so difficult. The best times of her life were carried with that ducky, and she would get them back. Not even Malfoy could keep her from him, from those memories.
He looked surprised, staring, puzzled, at her duelling hand, which shook with the power of her fear. She was afraid of him, afraid and nervous and weak without her ducky. "You're not serious, Weasley," he said, still looking confused, "You'd attack me for that duck?" Her hand, though trembling, stayed stationary, her face set even as broken sobs escaped her throat and tears barreled down her cheeks. He rolled his eyes, tossing his slung bag to the floor before him and kneeling confidently down into it. Her wand followed him. "If you want it so badly, you could have just asked," he said, idly rummaging through his things. "I mean, it's no big deal." What was he playing at, what was he--
Ginny was blown away with the force of the attack. She hadn't been paying attention, and now she found herself sandwiched uncomfortably between the wall and a sneering Malfoy. Her wand had dropped to the floor, and he kicked it away from her. She beat futilely at his shoulders, to no avail. He was taller and stronger, managing, with some struggle, to get her hands above her head, held there by one of his powerful appendages. "You think I'd give in that easy?" he snarled, face too close to her, "You think I feel any remorse towards you and your ducky?" She sobbed hysterically, turning her face away from his mint breath, his nose against her cheek as he hissed into her ear. "What a stupid girl you are, Weasley, how foolish of you." His lips brushed her cheek, and she stiffened, trying to get a leg up to his groin. "I've caught you, Weasley. As for your duck..." he paused in suspense, "I've destroyed it already." Her body shuddered and went limp, his hard, whipcord frame pinning her to the wall, not allowing her to crumble to her knees. Gently, almost affectionately, he began to nibble her ear.
Suddenly, she was faced with an abrupt surge of bravery. "Have you no conscience, Malfoy?" she shouted, her fear giving way to anger, "Didn't you have a childhood, too?"
He stopped his unwanted ministrations, pausing at her ear. The feel of his warm breath making moist circles on her skin was causing her to shiver, in both delight, disgust and terror. "I had a childhood. I had a ducky, too." It sounded almost animated as it left his lips, and she felt something heavy and wet drop onto her neck. A tear. "But he's gone now." There was a silence, where all she could feel was the rise and fall of his chest against hers. All she could hear was his breathing, wild and uncontrolled. "Why should you get to walk about with your childhood, when mine was cut short?" She began to cry again, the weight of his words settling in on both of them. Gently, he kissed her neck, and her breath caught.
"Malfoy..."
"Could you love someone like me, Weasley?" he inquired, his voice soft, cutting, "Someone like this?"
She didn't answer, but his fingers laced through hers where he held her hands above her head. He squeezed slightly, and she found herself grasping back, almost wanting to console him. Slowly, he kissed his way along her jaw, coming to face her. His lips hovered above hers. "Could you love me?" he asked, his breath on her lips, so warm. Another tear skated down her cheek, he watched it, fascinating. She closed her eyes as he licked it away with a flick of his tongue. "Could you?" His hands tightened on hers, he wanted her to answer.
There was another silence, and it was unbearable. Ginny kept her eyes closed; she couldn't stand to look at him. Her body felt heavy and in the pit of her stomach was a hoarde of tingles that simply wouldn't leave. But no, no. She would never admit that Malfoy was the one making her feel like this. She just wanted her ducky back. "Please," she whimpered, her knees feeling like jelly, her whole body in denial. Her eyes fluttered open. "Just give him back."
Malfoy laughed suddenly. It was one of those cruel laughs, and he abruptly let go of her, moving away as if he had never been there. Ginny felt cold without him, without the heat of his body. Her hands felt empty, and she longed for his lips to be on her again. But he was standing at his bag again, looking for something. She bent to pick up her wand, and tucked it slowly back into her pocket. She watched him, confused but interested. His eyes were wet and they glinted in the dark corridor. His whole body seemed to shake.
He pulled out her ducky from his bag, boredly tossing it to her. "There you are, Weasel," he said, casually, though she could still hear some of the sadness in his voice that had been evident earlier, "Your stupid toy. Are you happy, now?"
She was quiet as he walked away, leaving her alone in the corridor. She watched him go, wondering why she wanted him to come back.
Author's Note: Waw, this is about the most messed up thing I've ever written. I actually started it hoping for something a little happy, ya know? Waw, lol...Anyways, leave a review to let me know what you thought about this little...thing.
Cheerio!