November 5, 2004
A/N: This was originally a semi-different story, but somehow, when i started typing this out, the character of ginny went completely the opposite direction from who she originally was. Blame my friend Melissa, i think i was basing Ginny on a rather potent mixture of her sluttiness and my mental issues.
Anyway; if anyone likes this idea, and wants to know about the other version, i will post it, but you've got give me reviews. As this is my first fanfic, i am rather prone to disenhertenment (especially when i have no ability to spell that word).
Slipping
I don't care what Lupin says, he isn't going to slip. He's doing fine, and, ok so I have bruises, but we are fighting a war; everyone has them! Besides, I don't see where my old DADA professor gets off telling me to watch out for merciless tempers when he's always growling and getting petulant all throughout the week of the full moon. Apparently, he agrees with me, because after I pointed this out to him, he just blinked and mumbled something about Order business, and left.
Either way, my beloved is not slipping! He's just under a lot of pressure; having the weight of the world resting solely on your shoulders isn't ever easy to cope with, and he has to deal with the stresses of growing up while training to become a powerful warrior, as well as the tortures that he hides from everyone. I only know about them because I am the only one that he lets in. He cannot even confide in his best friend anymore; Harry doesn't want to trouble him with all of his baggage, and Ron's always off with Hermione, anyway.
The true problem here is not Harry, but me; I should be better at hiding the marks he leaves. I should have learned to walk without limping, and to be strong, but I guess I only hold up that façade when in public, and I didn't think Lupin could actually smell my drying blood from across the room! Damn that lycanthrope's heightened senses.
I really hope he doesn't try to tell anyone about my limping, but if he does, I suppose I could just blame it on an old wound, or clumsiness or something. I know no one would believe him if he tried to blame Harry. Lupin himself doesn't believe it; I was just being an idiot and getting defensive when he didn't even suspect the true reason behind my injuries.
Merlin, I'm so stupid! Now I'll have to warn Harry about my idiotic mistake and lie, and Lupin's resulting suspicions, and I'll end up dredge up even more guilt. The poor man is still blaming himself for Sirius' death, and it has been six years since that battle in the Department of Mysteries. I hate how he looks at me when he wakes up from a particularly violent nightmare, and sees my bloodied face where he accidentally struck me. He often tries to sleep on the couch or send me to a friend's house or something, but I refuse to let him go through the torture that Tom and his memories put him through all by himself. I know that he loves me, and I love him. That's all there is to it. I will not let him push me away, because I am the only one that he can turn to, I am the only one who understands and accepts him just as he is.
Everyone may know his name, may call him the Golden Boy, The Savior of the Wizarding World, and see his purity, but I alone know Harry Potter, the Boy Who Gives Me The Best Sex I've Ever Had. I know that dark, Slytherin side that's ruthless and resourceful. I know his painful little secrets, like the dark, cynical thoughts that have always filled his head instead of those nice and fluffy-bunny-like ones everyone expects him to have. I know the shit that went down in Harry's uncle's house, and how he got his knowledge about the healing and hurting of the human body. I am the one he allows to be with him when he interrogates Death Eaters, or goes hunting for other evil things. I am the one who holds him when he breaks down and cries for the deaths of Bill, Dad, Percy, and McGonagall. By day he is strong and righteous, but by night he hates himself, loses the pain in me when I ask him to.
And I do ask for it. Sometimes I am ashamed of myself. I remember losing my virginity at the age of fifteen and doing everything and anything at least once, because I thought Tom would kill us, and didn't want to go without living. In many ways, I am still that dirty bitch. I still revel in violence. That's a common trait between Harry and I, one that first brought us together around the beginning of his seventh year at Hogwarts, and our mutual creative vandalism and dark souls kept us sneaking me out of Hogwarts and acting like plastered gang members the year after. Eventually, we had too many bad trips, and realized just how much we hated ourselves. After we broke down, and then healed each other, we stopped doing all that shit, but neither one of us has really changed. After all, one cannot change what's on the inside, just what's outside. So violent sex turns me on, makes me scream in ecstasy, at least when it's him putting his hands on me, and either way it gives him a release. Some people would say he abuses me, or that we use each other, and if we weren't in love, I would probably agree. But we are in love, and have been for three years now. We'll be married in ten months, and while we are probably both in desperate need of mental help, neither one of us will be getting any. Partly because it's a war, and also because the great Harry Potter is definitely not a mental case, oh no, not at all.
Don't get me wrong, I know that true love isn't supposed to be this way. But I am the happiest I have ever been, and so is Harry. It's not like he would be able to love in that fairy-tale way anyway; he was never taught anything but pain. I'm slowly letting him know that he is worthy of that kind of love, but the violence needed for the war, and the sick pleasure I get out of watching my flesh purple, kind of counter-act my lessons. He's learning, though. Sometimes he is so gentle and soft, it's like making love to a cloud; light and feathery. I'm just glad that I can affect him like this. I keep him grounded, keep him form slipping, and reverting back into the untrusting, abused predator he was before Hogwarts and us Weasleys showed him that there really is good in the world. If we had not been there for him from the beginning, Harry would have gone down the same path that Tom Riddle went down, and the prophecy would have already come true; the death of the Boy Who Lived as a Dark Lord, an Heir to Voldemort, was born.
A/R: (means Author's Ramblings, fitting title, no?) REVIEW!!!! or be cursed by-um..whatever my muses think up, they are on a break right now mumbles to self 'i dont rmembver anything about a union break in my contract...' Stupid muses kicks one, then runs away in terror as an enraged Amazonian werewolf chases her down
uh.... sorry, i am prone to random fits of nonsensical rambling, i'm even planning on writing a series of books with my crazy drabbles and satire-like musings. I think it would be awesome...Am i annoying you? Go ahead and review and tell how much you want me to shut up!