Janine
Janine
By Natasha Shaitanova
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and I don't own Bushido lyrics.
A/N: Just to clarify, the epilogue does not exist and Ginny returns to her seventh year in Hogwarts after the war. After that, everything is fair game.
Oh and NO character death. Just so you don't misinterpret things too early ;)
Nothing graphic either, even though it's M.
es war mal ein mädchen,
sie war etwas frühreif,
und sie macht es einem warm ums herz wie glühwein,
sie war noch jung, ihr name war Janine
mama war da, doch er hat gewartet bis sie schlief
there was once a girl
she was somewhat immature
and it made a heart warm as mulled wine
she was still young, her name was Janine
mama was still there, but he waited until she was asleep…
…I don't know if I really have a right to tell you her story, but the question of ethics has been eluding me for years now. Maybe somewhere along the line it ceased to matter. It's hard even for me to consider those abstract theories when I'm faced with the reality they seek to divine. Oh, they know nothing. Those exalted philosophies, so strict and righteous, fall short when confronted with her reddened, accusing eyes.
Her final letter arrived early yesterday. She must have been anxious or tired or injured because her writing was barely legible. Or maybe those were just my eyes playing tricks as I nearly fell into despair.
She called it her secret and she made me swear on all I held dear never to tell it. It was our secret from the world. Every day, I wondered if I should break the promise – all in the name of the greater good. But such a thing would have been worth it, surely?
She called me a good friend, but perhaps I was simply a coward. And now, now that it is too late and my words won't bring a glimmer of change, I will sit down and record her story. Is it true? Mostly. Is it accurate? Well, I sure hope so. Will it carry a deep, meaningful moral for literary critics to ponder over in the night? Don't be naïve. Morality has nothing to do with the story I am about to tell.
I hope you won't read this brief manuscript, Ginny. I hope you never lay your eyes on it. You would never forgive me if you did.
But the world has to know. Maybe not in our lifetime, maybe decades from this day, maybe never at all…but this tale won't stay unwritten. I respect you more than that.
I dedicate this to you, my dearest friend, and I hope that someday, unknowingly, you will forgive me my weakness.
-Hermione Granger
Ginny sniffled miserably as she burrowed deeper into the covers, heedless of the blistering late-summer heat. She took another sip from her cup of tea and clumsily wiped at her runny nose.
"It's not fair, Daddy!"
Arthur chuckled from the bedside and took the teacup out of his daughter's hands as it came close to spilling. "You don't feel well enough to be out yet, baby."
"But I wanted to go out too!" Ginny pouted with all the famed mastery of a six-year-old. "I don't remember Die-Gon from last time…"
"Diagon, Ginny," Arthur corrected and handed her another tissue. "Mommy will take you another time, you know that."
"But why couldn't they wait for me to stop being all sniffly and tired?" Ginny yawned even as she continued protesting. "You should have made them wait for me, Daddy."
Arthur only smiled indulgently. "Your brothers need to get their school supplies, you know that. You can't tell them to start school later so you could go to Diagon!"
"You could…" Ginny's eyes shone with childish trust and enthusiasm. "You could make it happen."
"I'm not that powerful, baby." Arthur ruffled his daughter's hair, trailing his fingers through the soft strands. Ginny leaned willingly into the touch, smiling at the affection.
"I love you, Daddy. I know you could do it…"
Arthur patted her head one last time in response. "Sometimes things aren't so easy."
"What's wrong, Daddy? Are you sad?" Ginny frowned and crawled over the covers, curling up in Arthur's lap. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and craned her neck up, inquisitive.
"No, everything's fine, baby," Arthur smiled as he rubbed Ginny's back, his hands stilling as the pajama top bunched up. His fingertips touched the moist, feverish skin and felt it twitch in return.
"Oh do that again, Daddy." Ginny snuggled closer as she hummed in delight. "Your hands are all cool, it feels so good…"
Arthur slowly moved his hands up, under the pajama top, rubbing circles over the heated flesh. Ginny twisted around in his lap, trying to get comfortable, and his awareness slipped momentarily as he was lost in the sensations. The skin was so soft and pliable under his touch, the warm weight in his lap so gentle and alluring. He felt Ginny breathe out against his neck and he leaned down to kiss her forehead in return. It felt so scorching against his mouth.
"Daddy…daddy, that feels funny…" Ginny pulled back slightly, confused, as she tried again to shift in his lap.
Arthur vaguely noticed that his hands had slipped to the small of her back while his fingertips continued their massage under the pajama bottoms. Still caught up in the physical allure, he continued as the ministrations steadily grew more intimate.
Ginny dared not move as she bit her lip and tried to figure out why her father's comforting had taken such a strange direction. She trembled lightly and breath hitched, until she was clutching desperately at her father's shirt.
"Daddy, it doesn't feel so good…"
"It's okay, baby, I'll help you feel better. Don't you want me to make it up to you for missing the trip to Diagon Alley?"
"Yes…" Ginny mumbled as she winced at the awkward touches. For a wild moment, she wondered if her father was punishing her for complaining before. "Daddy, I promise I won't whine anymore…I promise, I really, really…"
The sniffle that accompanied the pleading words snapped Arthur out of his distraction. He pulled his hands back to rest them on Ginny's skinny hips and spoke gently as he rubbed little circles with his thumbs. "It's okay if you're upset about missing Diagon, Ginny. I'm not angry at you."
Ginny nodded into his chest, hiding her watering eyes. Her heart was beating rapidly and she tried to calm her shaking body, bewildered over her sudden distress. Still, Arthur must have noticed the wet drops on his shirt as he pulled her chin up to stare down at Ginny's flushed face.
"Oh, don't cry, baby. It's alright." Arthur smiled gently, his mind still reeling from their contact. He rubbed his thumb against Ginny's cheek before smoothing the digit over her chin and mouth. Ginny's lips parted involuntarily and she sat frozen as Arthur covered her mouth with his own. He briefly massaged her neck and pulled back, licking lightly at the lower lip as he went.
"Mommy never kisses me like that," Ginny mumbled as she stared at her white knuckles, mystified and anxious.
"That's because Mommy wants to treat you like the boys," Arthur hugged her tiny body closer. "But you are special, Ginny. You're different."
Ginny looked up with joyful surprise. "Really, Daddy?"
"That's right," Arthur smiled and kissed the tip of her nose. "You're special and you deserve special games."
"Ooh, I am going to tell Ronnie that I'm special and he's not when they come back!" Ginny giggled and relaxed into her father's hold.
"Oh, no, no," Arthur hastily interrupted. "We wouldn't want to make the others jealous, now would we? We won't be able to play our game anymore if they're jealous. They won't let you stay special, baby."
Ginny pouted, but it was in good humor rather than any sadness. The new game may have been a bit uncomfortable, but Daddy said it made her special. That alone made any discomfort worthwhile in Ginny's eyes. "So we have to keep it secret?"
"That's right, baby. It's our little secret."
…When she first told me about this episode, I thought I would choke from all the anger I felt rising up inside of me. Either that or the bile. This was about a man I had seen every summer since I was eleven; a man I held in high regard as one of the kindest wizards to inhabit the prejudiced wizarding world. I felt physically sick after that first confession and I felt a crazy urge to run.
Of course, I did no such thing. It would have been a grave sin to abandon her as she took that tentative step forward, willing to divulge those forbidden memories that distorted her childhood. I simply hugged her then and we spent the night in the Gryffindor common room, staring into the dying fire. I could think of no worthy consolation.
I often wondered if that fateful August day truly was the beginning of her nightmare. Did it all begin so abruptly, so casually cliché? I hate to call a tragedy cliché, but I can think of no other word to describe the "secret game". Was he really so blasé? Was she really so complacent? Were there no warning signs in the preceding years, no slippery slope?
Maybe not every episode I call forth from my memory is accurate and maybe some details are my own imagination, but none of those things change the truth. The truth does not lie in the individual accounts I present here for your scrutiny; it lies in the collage of pain, fear, and love they represent.
For as long as I can remember, her life has been a maelstrom of those emotions, all blending into overwhelming confusion Her world was distorted and the doors were chained shut.
Ginny, Ginny…you ran too late. And now I am writing your story for you. These lines will bring me peace, but I can only hope that somewhere you will one day find yours.
-HG
A/N: Oh, don't look so shocked. Shit like this happens, more often than we would like to think.
This will be a 5 to 7 chapter piece with fairly regular updates. Same general format, evolving over a span of 15 years.
Please drop me a line with your impressions or complaints! There is nothing better than reviews for future improvement!
-NS
