Sadly, I don't own Harry Potter.
Something
For many weeks now she had been the cause of my sleepless nights, disheveled state, and helpless yearning. It disturbed me that something as little or someone as insignificant as she could have total and complete reign over my mind.
They started off simple, innocent one could say, the warning signs. With a glance or two and sometimes the brief contact we shared passing by in the halls, brushing past, bumping shoulders, arms, fingers, I would find myself paralyzed by her touch – or the idea of it, anyway.
And I couldn't for the life of me understand why she made me feel, made me vulnerable to the flood of emotions that for so long I'd been shielded against, behind a wall of ice.
She was nothing, yet there was something about her. It stumped me.
Perhaps, it was the fire in her, the fire of her hair. Yes, it was fire, red, not orange or whatever the hell red was these days, but red, the red of blood and wine. It fell into her face in long, delicate strands, creating a blazing halo around her head. It was this fire that matched her burning personality. I loved the way passion sparkled dangerously in her eyes every time she opened her mouth to throw a witty retort, ready and waiting at the tip of her tongue, back at me. It was this same passion found when she laughed or smiled, paving way for the dimples located on her cheeks whenever she did these things.
It was these very eyes, a deep mocha brown, I found myself drowning in whenever I had spare time and even when I didn't.
Classes were the worst. Even, Potions, my favorite subject, couldn't tear me away from the distraction that was Ginny Weasley.
Those eyes, that face, the body. I shivered, to my dismay, at the thought of those curves that seemed to have appeared from nowhere. A girl who once bore the title of being the flattest chested in all of Gryffindor house, and possibly, all of Hogwarts had sprung back with these Bludgers, no – Quaffles –and I had to wonder if the school uniform was to blame or if the summer had been very generous, indeed. And then there was the notion of her legs–these long pretty things that seemed to go up, up, smoothing into the delectable, creamy flesh that was her thighs and contouring into her rather nice (firm) peach bottom.
And her lips, oh god, yes, those lips that tormented with their velvety fullness, just begging to be taken, touched, and nibbled on. Her lips were the subject of my imagination for long periods of time. I can't recall how many hours of sleep I had lost, trying to imagine her pink lips, wet, bruised, and swollen, trapped beneath my own, slowly parting to allow my tongue access as a raging battle of mint and saliva commenced, during which my hands would roam over her bo –
I don't know what got me hooked, whether the exposed neck, tight tummy, or the whole package, that had me living and breathing Ginevra Molly Weasley.
I couldn't explain the shock that shot through my body at the sight of her, nor could I place when I took this sad new perspective of the youngest Weasley. I couldn't fight it.
All I knew was that somewhere along the way she became an obsession, a need, a passion with the intensity of a burning flame that never wanted to go out.
A desire, my secret.
I realized, sitting there in the Slytherin common room, sitting in a silent reverie that something, something would have to be done to rid myself of this want, this craving, something drastic. Yes, something would have to be done. Something soon.
A/N: This is my first fanfic, ever. Feel free to leave a review. It shall be greatly appreciated.
Wow did I seriously just post that? :)