She is angry.
Now that she's had time to think, she's resolved to end this. In her mind's eye, his pale lips, which become red when the meet hers, are only lips. His proper silver hair, which can only be made wild by her fair hands, isn't as intoxicating in the light of day. His eyes, sorrowful eyes, no longer reflect her pain. His broad shoulders, her anchor and support when he takes her in a darkened closet. But those hands of his, one cupping her cheek as he desperately claims her mouth, while the other snakes through her crimson hair, or one grasping her shoulder and the other on her bak pressing her lithe body in his strong one, yes, those hands she'll never forget.
Well, a girl isn't made of stone.
So she is angry, even as she stumbles into him at the turn of a corner in the dark of night, outside the castle. He is leaning against the outside wall, hands in pockets, robes pushed back, shirt wrinkled, tie loosened, head thrown back as he stares at the stars, a cigarette dangling from his god-forsakened lips. Unlit, the cigarette, as she made him quit once, along with so many promises, only the lesser of which he kept. The sight of him doesn't erase her anger, not quite anyway, but it makes her throat clench. She licks her lips, breath now ragged, her shaky hands run through her hair, the contrast of the cool breeze and heated skin making her shiver. She swallows, looking at his hips placed ostensibly forward, knowing full well that under her skirt she is wet, and has been from the moment she started thinking of him.
"Draco."
Her rasping voice awakes him, in more ways than one. His eyes burn though hers, his hands grasp her shoulders, his breath hot on her ear.
"I missed you."
And now he waits, he always does, and she cannot resist. She never could. His lips graze her neck, her cheekbone, and then roughly press against hers, his burning tongue invading her mouth. She can only hold on to his shoulders and touch as he takes her against the wall of the norht tower, stone at her back and inside her, cold seeping though her clothes and his eyes, scathing heat prying a whimper from her lips, arching her neck back, and now she sees stars, and he groansher name, cigarette and vodka on his breath (But he quit, she thinks), hands on her hips, mind lost, love gone.
"Ginny."
As he comes, as she cries, as they kiss, as he sinks deeper in her hell, in his punishement.
Later she will ghost through her dorm, answering her friends' questions with a statement.
"It was one of those nights... a north tower night."
And she cries.