Disclaimer: I own nothing, don't sue...

A/N: Hello again...This story is rated M for a reason, though we might not see too much of it in the first chapters. I don't know that yet, haven't gotten that far, but there's some cursing, and I advise those of you who don't approve of cursing to stay away from this story... Now that's out of the way, on with the story:)

Crystalline

Chapter One

They say that a woman is sleeping in the church tower. They say she has done so for a year. I don't know why they say it, but every person sitting in the church always tell me a story of the woman sleeping in the tower. Never did she rise, her body just laid there, sleeping on the cold floor. I've always wanted to go up there and see if she's sleeping or if she's just another story, but there was also something in me that didn't want to know.

Perfect oblivion was great too.

My father, Arthur, has just been murdered. He used to tell me about the woman too. He said that she was evil and deserved her place in the tower.

I know it's a tragedy when someone dies, but I've gotten used to the phenomenon. We're in war; it can't be avoided when your family is stuck in the middle of it. My mother is still alive, and my entire group of brothers. I'm glad I have that at least, because not everyone does nowadays.

In these sad days of late, I've spent my mourning hours in church. We are currently staying in York, and they have a fantastic church here. It's quiet and luminous, in contrast to the York Minster. It's spectacular, but it's like an attraction where everyone can snap a shot of the cherubs and gargoyles gracing the walls and entrances to certain rooms and maybe stairways. It is so much better to sit still and let your thoughts wander in a smaller and more humble church where God only plays a role if you want and believe him to.

I wished for God, and in this very church, I thought I found him. The same man that told me of the woman in the tower looked at me one day, and there it was; the un-deniable light that strikes you when faith is meant to appear. He showed me the holy face of what I thought of as God, and it was beautiful. Maybe it was the love and religion I felt, or maybe the blood escaping my brain, but it was everything to me. Hope was restored as I sat there wounded after an ambush.

A week after I had seen this pristine light, I returned to the church. My feet had carried me there after a long day of sitting in the local bar, a new hobby of mine. In my intoxicated state, I scrambled down to the floor and tried to crawl over to one of the benches. I managed to drag myself up and finally my face was directed at the altar.

"My God, 'tis like a replica of that blonde fuck back at the bar…" I heard myself muttering in wonder as I watched the moonlight playing across the statue of Jesus.

The high-stained glass was dutifully draped with velvet curtains, concealing the damages from rocks that had been thrown. Some places had been spared, but to distract people's attention from the windows, they had wondrous candles scattered about on the fine statues and relics around the church. It was a sanctified place, even for its flaws.

"I knew you'd be here."

I turned around in my drunken state to see who it was.

"You're only twenty, Ginevra; it's not your purpose to drink yourself to death. Honestly, you are a beauty, and you have the guts and the brains. You are part of an endangered species, and you need to keep your life intact until this war ends. You will see sunshine again, darling." A hollow face showed itself to me. The shadows crept away from the holes where her alluring auburn eyes were, and her lips parted and formed a brilliant smile as she could see my lost expression.

"You," I exclaimed in confusion.

"Yes," She crouched and sat down on the floor beside my bench. Her legs where crossed and her hands were palm to palm. "I am somewhat lesser than my former self, and I apologize, but I come back to you now, in hope of seeing that raw passion you so marvellously displayed on the evening when we parted. Your kisses were so rough and your touch was so dangerous," The chocolate curls were wet, they clung to her pale skin like leaches as she turned to look at me. "An animal trapped in its cage." Her eyes were pinned upon me, piercing through my body like a blade. They sought to make me remember, and they sure managed to fulfil their task. I could see her lusting eyes and I could hear her desperate moans. The silk was tossed off and her fingers travelled along my spine. I parted her legs, and we kissed. I loved her, but she left.

"You left me." I blurted out.

Hermione Granger gave me a regretful look. "They would've taken you if I hadn't."

This was too much for me to handle at once. Too many braincells had been lost in that last shot of good old Jacky D.

"Lucius captured me an hour after I left. He knew where I was, but he had no idea I was with you. I couldn't let them take you; you were still fresh from fifteen, only just sixteen, and vulnerable." Hermione grabbed my hand and stroke my fingers.

I felt a tear, but I couldn't weep, "I have killed more men than I can count, Hermione. It has been four bloody years since you left the hotel room and vanished into what I thought was death. I buried my rose, the one you gave me. You are dead." My sadness turned into hatred.

"I am here, by your side. Can you not see? I only meant to save you from torture; you wouldn't have lasted long under Lucius's whip. You were not the woman you are today." Hermione wasn't crying. Her hard face showed what suffering she had been through and there was no need for tears.

"Have you heard of the woman in the tower?" I said with a smile. My drunken state had a habit of pushing away the bad thoughts and focusing on everything un-important.

Hermione chuckled, "Are they telling stories about Lavender now?" She shook her head.

"Is it her?" I asked in wonder.

"Yes, I come to her every now and then; she's been a little puppet for Voldemort. You'd hate to see her getting out of the tower, because he's given her a little upgrade on her magic abilities. Sadly he chose her, I'd prefer it if he could've taken Pansy Parkinson instead." Hermione huffed.

I didn't know what to say, because I had never heard of this before. Why did my father never tell me it was her?

"Since when?" I managed to press forth.

"Since two years ago. Ronald was in on the team that forced her into our custody." Hermione said and sighed.

"He was in love with her." I whispered. My brother never had much luck with love.

"Yes, and he was heartbroken. They found me on the same day," Hermione reached for something in her pocket. "Lavender had been my guard when I was a prisoner, and to piss her off, they assigned me to be hers." She pulled out a key from her leather jacket.

I looked at her and I had to wonder how she could be so perfect. Did she feel the love I felt? "I want you to kiss me, Hermione." I slurred as I was trying to stand up.

She gave me one of those looks, "Isn't it just the booze talking, Ginny?" I could see her tongue as she pronounced the 'N' in my name, and it always did it so perfectly. There was no other way to pronounce my name than the way Hermione Granger did it.

"It is not!" I was offended by her comment.

Hermione rose from the floor and folded her arms around me. My blood instantly heated and started to boil as she came closer and closer to my quivering lips. I moaned as she touched my back, and her kiss was like candy. I couldn't get enough.

"Ginny," Hermione broke it off. "Why don't we get you to a motel and let you sleep off the alcohol. I'm sure you'll be thinking clearer in the morning." She led me out of the church and into the streets. We could be dead in the morning.