Consumed
It began as a schoolgirl crush that she hoped would fade away, much like the last vestiges of the night she hated so much melted away as the sun began to shine. She spent her days staring at his golden waves and the smile that blinded her, making her forget what it felt like to be loved (was she ever loved?). She longed to feel his soft hands rove over her body; touch her inexperienced lips to his full ones and feel, for a moment, the joy of delirium. But the clocked kept ticking and the torn pages of the calendar fluttered in the air, just another reminder of the salacious thoughts that still paraded around the edges of her consciousness – the ones she'd hoped to have killed by now.
She writes like a woman possessed, filling pages and pages of her journal and her mind bleeding all her sorrow and longing out to empty pages that will not judge. Her confidence dips just a little lower with every class of his she attends, because she blatantly sees how his eyes sparkle in that same, plastic way at every girl who has fallen prey to his charms. It has taken days and weeks and months for the self-imposed blinders to fall off her face, revealing in all its ugly glory the menace that the object of her affections really poses to her.
But his words are caramel and treacle and butter, melting their way into her on a frosty day, giving her just the warmth she needs, pushing her to the high he tells her she deserves. He's begun to pay attention to her and she glows with haunted joy, forgetting to suspect the ulterior motives she was once sure he harboured.
It's on a seductive night that he goes to her, promising stories of the days long gone and hinting at little sparkles of so much more. In her eagerness, she follows him like a lost, misguided puppy with a drugged conscience and mugged senses. He whispers into her ears, his breath reeking of spirits. The distance between him and her grow closer and closer as the seconds trickle into minutes and she holds on to him, lost in the aura he has created for her.
The doors suddenly snap open but she only registers the fact that he has moved away from her, the guilt dripping off his face like overused oil. There are shouts and screams and little flashes of light, but she can only remember a strong pair of arms lifting her up and carrying her away.
And then she is enveloped in deep, deep silence.
It's the last time she ever sees him, but Ginny Weasley can never forget his blonde, blonde hair or that sparkly smile.
A/N: Entered in:
Out of your Comfort Zone Challenge: Easy, with Ginny and Lockhart, prompts: writing, Trellis by Andrea Gibson
The Monthly Het-Tastic Drabble-Athon Competition, prompt #10 - fade
