Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me; all I do is play with the characters.
Rating: T - This chapter contains allusions to sex and nudity. Nothing explicit, though.
"Sometimes I think what happened between us was just a ride to nowhere."
RIDE TO NOWHERE
. . .
Her ears are going to be deaf to the world and to her husband's exciting chatter; her eyes are going to travel her surroundings, aching desperately for proof that it has changed – that something has changed. She is going to feel suffocated. She is going to promise to herself that she is not going to look, but when they will pass the compartment between number twenty-two and number twenty-four, she is going to glance anyway.
She is going to regret it immediately.
It is going to remain the same – everything will be the same. The dark leather seats are going to look just as worn as they are now, the stained beige carpet is not going to be replaced and the windows are going to look just as fogy. She bets that if she is to step inside, she is even going to find the same distinguishing smell of old cigars and lime, mixed with the cheap shampoo she has to use at sixteen.
"Come on Ginny," her husband's voice is going to sound exasperated and a little louder than before, making her thoughts return – for a moment – to their present. "Ron and Hermione saved us a seat back at fourty-two. Our usual compartment, remember?"
She is going to nod mechanically and follow him. But her thoughts are going to be still stuck in the small compartment.
For many, the Express is going to represent the beginning of what they are to become. For her husband – who is going to be trailing excitedly in front of her as they are going to move in their friend's directions, babbling about his first trip – it is going to represent a new found hope. For others, it is going to represent beginnings or endings.
But all it is going to be to her is – unfortunately – young, deemed, inconsequential madness. Madness that she will have erased from her head, but that is going to come back in the form of memories.
. . .
September 1st, 1997
The first time she sees him is also the first time she is hit with the Cruciatus curse.
She hates him.
-x-
"Harry will be just fine," Neville whispers next to me, making the scared uncomfortable pitch in the bottom of my stomach worse, much worse. I swore I'd be strong. I am a Gryffindor for Merlin's sake; I am not going to cry my heart out like some damsel in distress while he is gone.
I'll chin up and fight. Nobody needs more tears, but Neville's words trigger something in me and it takes everything I have not to break down right there and then in front of my friends.
"I-I think I need to use the restroom," I gulp before exciting and running down the hall aimlessly. I notice the small changes – like the lack of laughter inside the compartments and the fact that the sweet trolley is nowhere to be seen.
Tears start to run down my cheeks and I honestly don't have the strength to wipe them away. I may pretend I am brave next to my friends; but alone, I don't mind showing my feelings or the fact that I'm scared shitless.
The details are small, but the omnipresent stench of fear turns me into nothing but a scared little girl who wishes things like that Vold- You-Know-Who didn't exist and that my boyfriend could be with me laughing at how ridiculous I looked right now, while I stared into his eyes.
I love his eyes – they were what made me fall in love with him.
When have I become this mushy?
"Crying?" A deep voice interrupts my thoughts.
I turn and look at him, noticing the perfect green tie. If it were any other colour, I would've let my tears keep falling, but it wasn't. The boy before me was probably trained to kill little children in their sleep.
After all, he was seen with Malfoy all the time.
"No, I'm peeing trough my eyes," I whisper bitterly at the dark skinned Slytherin. I feel childish as he shakes his head, obviously amused, before he returns to staring at me.
"What's it to you?" I add. "I am not in the mood for mind games."
He laughs; it's short, chilling and it scares. His eyes travel up and down my body, making me feel like I'm a piece of meat. "I am sure the many men who already tasted your lips," he pauses, noticing the blush forming on my cheeks, before continuing, "would agree that you love messing with their mind."
I instinctively remove the wand from my pocket and point it at his face. His laughter makes my cheeks even redder.
"Did I tell a lie?"
I hex him and laugh as he struggles against his own bogeys. It's a childish spell, but as I see him disgusted at himself, I don't care. It'll serve him good. Nobody gets out clean after messing with me.
His shrieks, however, alert a harsh faced woman, that instead of removing points, tells me to follow her. As I look back, I almost think I see regret in his features, as if he's sorry for me. I dust the thoughts off my mind – Death Eater children aren't capable of compassion and he's just sad he doesn't get to upset me any longer.
Later, after I learn exactly who Alecto Carrow is and exit the secluded compartment she trapped me in, I know exactly how different the year will be.
-x-
October 23rd, 1997
The second time she sees him, they are both insane.
She leaves her hand print on his cheek along with her hate for him.
-x-
"Alohomora!"
When I step on the abandoned train, after running all away from the Gryffindor tower, I somehow feel a little safer.
Most students didn't want to come to Hogsmeade. Death is everywhere and even though the castle is now nothing but a place to brain-wash or torture, people still feel more comfortable inside its walls.
I don't.
I wish for freedom and for sleep. The previous month has left me exhausted. Neville and I did our best in urging the students to keep fighting; but after many hexes, tears and pain, a whole lot of them gave up. Now it is mostly the same old group from two years ago, trying to keep the message alive.
We aren't backing down.
I move down the hall towards the compartment where I and Harry used to ride. We were never alone in there, but somehow I believe it will make me closer to him. I miss him and memories of him will make me feel better, even if I rarely allow myself to think about him now.
I try not to make any noise walking. The last thing I need is for people to find out I broke into the Hogsmeade train station and then into the Express to take a nap.
As I get closer to the place where I am going to be napping for the next twenty-minutes (more, if I manage to stay on the train then entire time instead of going off to Hogsmeade) I hear someone sobbing. It's grave and something tells me it's wrong to hear a grown man cry.
In spite of my senses screaming at me not to do it, I enter the compartment from where the sound is coming, uninvited and I gasp in shock when I notice who's crying – the boy who earned me my first detention with the Alecto bitch.
He probably had the same idea as I did. This was certainly the best spot in the entire village to have some privacy.
Before I can exit, he looks up, whipping his tears "I told you not to go through with your stupid plan last Friday," he murmurs, eying the scratch on my left cheek. She gave it to me after she found me painting the east wing's wall.
Instead of leaving as I should, I mumble, "I thought it was a trap."
"Why?" he asks with a haunted laugh. "Because I'm a Slytherin?"
"Yes," I confess. I do regret not listening to him; but what did he expect after cornering me back in September?
"You know, not everyone can choose the right side." His unsure voice doesn't suit him, like the tears running down his face moments before and he looks like a scared teenager. Just like the rest of us.
"Then they're cowards," I say.
"Would you choose your death over serving You-Know-Who?" His words are mocking and I feel just as trapped as I felt back when I first ran into him.
I still answer, "I would."
It's a lie and he knows it, so he laughs again, making a shiver run down my spine, but he remains quiet.
As I move to leave, his voice interrupts my actions once more. "I hear you're the Gryffindor's Quidditch captain."
The sudden topic change catches me unprepared, especially because it's so trivial.
"Yes, I am," I answer, trying to insert a proud voice that will make him understand he can't mess with me. "I heard you're scared of flying," I toss back.
"I heard you're scared of Slytherins," he replies easily, patting his hand into the leather space next to him, daring me to sit down.
I do so, unsure of who's whining. "I heard you cry in secluded train compartments."
"I heard you comfort people who cry in secluded train compartments," he says back just as relaxed as before and leans back into his seat, making me uncomfortable.
"Is that what I'm doing?" I ask.
"I heard the little Weasley doesn't know how to play this game," he winks and I blush, yet I don't move away.
"It's Ginny."
He rolls his eyes "I heard Ginny doesn't know how to play this game," he corrects himself, before adding, "And, by the way, I'm Zabini. No need for first names."
"I heard Zabini has a man-crush on Malfoy."
We stay there, tossing insults back and forth, as if we've known each other forever and as if he didn't try and corner me just a month before. As if I don't hate him, as if both of us are just teenagers who thing they are cool.
I know it is all a lie – the shared laughter (that wasn't dark, gloomy or bitter), the fake-smiles and the annoying smirks – but for now, as we both stayed inside the compartment instead of leaving, I was willing to pretend.
At lunch time, instead of leaving for food, we share a cigar. I've never smoked in my life, so I cough a lot as he watches, clearly amused. But I couldn't I let him win with his 'I heard that Ginny doesn't smoke' taunt.
Later, when the compartment is filled with the stench of tobacco the game is still going on and we're getting bolder with each assumption.
"I heard you're a virgin," he tosses my way, making me flustered.
I reply, "I heard you're not," but he only looks smug.
"I heard Potter dumped you."
This last one makes me feel trapped – again – as if Zabini was only playing with his food before hitting the final goal. The way his eyes widen at my silence makes me think that he didn't know that was true.
"He's a jerk then," he says strongly.
"You don't understand-" I start, trying to defend Harry, to explain to this boy who used to mock everyone, that being on the 'right side' isn't as easy as he imagines and that Harry is better than he will ever be.
Of course I never get to say any of this, because he grabs me and kisses me and I taste the cigar we've just shared mixed with a hint of lime I didn't know of. For a second I'm caught – because I'm just a teenage girl, and because I just spent an hour laughing with this guy and I haven't laughed all month – but then, I remember and I feel disgusting.
I slap him and move out of the compartment, rushing away from him. He doesn't follow me.
I beg the teachers who came with us to leave earlier (it's not as if they want to be here) and the five other students agree.
I ignore him the entire way back. When we arrive on the grounds, I run straight to the Gryffindor tower, into the bathroom and only stop crying when the steaming bath water turns cold.
I love Harry, so I shouldn't let a boy who hates me and mocks me, kiss me. Yet, that kiss – even if it lasted mere seconds – doesn't leave my head for months. And not for the right reasons.
-x-
December 14th, 1997
The third time she attacks him, and he lets her.
Together, they forget.
-x-
As much as I want to ignore him during the rest of the term, I can't. He keeps giving us hints and clues of when to go and when not to go through with a plan. He is always right and soon even Neville stops hating him.
It makes everything worse. I miss Harry, the boy who made me fall in love with his clumsy ways – the boy I want to help.
Yet, at night, all I dream about is Zabini and the way my name sounds coming distastefully out of his lips when he addresses me after hours to trade information.
I know something is wrong with me. I know yearning for someone who hates me (and who I should hate) is wrong; but the first thing I do when I climb onto the Express for the Christmas holidays, is rush to the same compartment where he kissed me for the first time.
I don't know why I'm so desperate to reach it. Perhaps it's because I know he'll give me what I want without thinking, or maybe because I just want to forget about everything that's going on. Forget that eleven-year-olds are being murdered and that three of my brothers may be dead along with the boy who used to makes my heart melt. Forget that I can't do anything to stop it.
I want to feel as if I'm being punished for being so useless.
When I finally reach the compartment, I find him there, as usual, smoking his cigar. He looks at me absentmindedly and I grab the cigar away from him, burning it out on the carpet. I ignore the fact that it'll leave a stain and attack his lips with my own.
As I predicted, he doesn't pull away, but responds with equal force, leaving bruises on my arms as he pulls me closer to him. As I predicted, he's not embarrassed or unsure when he releases me off my robes. As predicted, he doesn't ask if I'm sure as he pushes into me, nor is he gentle or considerate.
He makes me forget – even just for a few moments – and I don't regret as I smoke the cigar, naked, opposite him, instead of listening to him utter sweet nothings in my ear (as I have imagined Harry would).
-x-
March 28th, 1998
The last time, he tells her his name.
-x-
We don't meet again. On the school grounds, our contacts are professional and I pretend I don't feel jealous when I spot him with the Parkinson girl. In the end, I was nothing – just a lame girl who had wanted a shag.
I feel disgusted with my actions. How could I have given myself to him just because I had found him crying once? It was terrible, nauseating and if anyone else knew they'd surely feel sick with my actions.
Even I do. Still, when I meet him on the train – the only place where we exist – alone in our compartment and he kisses me with abandonment after I strip for him like a cheap whore, smiling as I see his excitement grow, I forget it all.
Because in the end, we're nothing but two teenagers who are stuck in a battle and find release from the tasks they have to accomplish in each other. Two teenagers who hate each other, but scream each other's names as they try to forget about the world even for a few minutes.
In the end, as we smoke our cigars, I feel polluted and unclean. Guilty, because Harry may be dead while I'm shagging a Slytherin who thinks I am nothing but a blood traitor.
Yet when the Slytherin whispers, "I think we're acquainted enough for you to call me Blaise," before he leaves our compartment, I can't help but smile trough my tears.
It is the last time I see him.
Afterwards, outside the Express, I lie to my mother when she hugs me, telling me I missed her, instead of telling her my dark, twisted heart belongs to a boy who will never love me.
. . .
(2010)
After joking with Luna, kissing Hermione on the cheek and letting Harry rest his arms around her, she is going to excuse herself. "I need to use the restroom, I'll be right back."
Just like the very first time she is going to rush to their compartment. She is going to want to sit there and reminisce. She is going to want to sit there and feel feeble, useless and alone – so that she knows she has made the right choice. She is going to want to make sure that Harry's tender kisses and sweet words are the right choice, that she couldn't live with his lack of control and aggressive movements.
When she is going to arrive and peek through the window, she is not going to expect to find him there. Nevertheless, when he is going to stand up – just the same as he does now, minus the few grey strands – and whisper boldly in her ear, "You look stunning in that dress," she isn't going to be surprised. It is going to be, after all, always their compartment.
As she is going to unlace the dress and let it fall on the floor of the small, dark compartment; as the sun is going to set on the horizon, and he is going to take her without asking, she is never once going to think of her children or the husband she will have left twenty compartments away.
And when he is going to leave and traces of guilt are going to start consuming her heart, she is going to wonder if she'll ever know what will have happened to him after the battle or if she will even want to know. However, instead of sitting there and crying, or rushing after him and demanding an explanation, she is going to pick up the discarded dress, make herself presentable, and walk out.
She is going to find Harry, kiss him and will be just in time to hear the last part of Ron's tale.
She is going to know that what is happening with her and Blaise is going to be nothing but a ride she isn't able to avoid – without direction, purpose, or destiny aboard the Express.
. . .
She is going to promise to herself that this was the last time.
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
This was written for the 'Forum Wide Competition' and the 'Fashion Ad Challenge' at the HPFC Forum.
#7: Break a canon couple with a given fanon one. The couple that I had to work with was Ginny/Blaise.
House: Ravenclaw
I hope this works. I am a little unsure about the final result. The piece was inspired by the Chanel No. 5 ad starring Audrey Tautou.
Note: Yes, I had already published this. I just decided to remove it from my Miscellaneous collection and give it a spot of its own.
Reviews are welcome. :)
. . .
Thank you to pippi55 for being my lovely Beta.