"Love takes off masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within." ~ James Baldwin

Things had spiraled out of control.

She didn't know what had happened to herself. She had originally started watching Draco Malfoy out of sheer, morbid curiosity. She'd only wanted to know what Parvati and Lavender kept giggling and gossiping about. She heard whispers late at night, when they thought she was sleeping.

Poor Ginny Weasley, the ickle sixth year. What would she understand about yearning; lusting after a boy who gave absolutely no indication that he even knew she existed?

She knew plenty about it.

For years, she had lusted after Harry. Lusted. She had thought about it all summer; her obsession with him. When he'd finally come to spend the last week of the summer at the Burrow, she'd come to the painful realization that she was going to have to make the first move, if anything was going to happen between them. At the time, planning the seduction of The Boy Who Lived had seemed like the most natural thing in the world for her to do.

She'd only had to wait for two days before the perfect opportunity presented itself. Harry had been involved in a lively impromptu Quidditch match with Ron, Fred, George, Bill, and Ginny herself, when he'd made a dive to catch the snitch, and subsequently met the ground with his forehead. Hard.

The boys hadn't fussed over him at all; they'd simply ordered Ginny to take him inside and look after him until Molly returned from running her errands. Ginny had stomped into the house at the time, feigning anger, but she had been secretly delighted. It presented her with an excuse to put her plan into action.

She'd helped Harry up to his and Ron's bedroom, and helped him lie down. She removed his shoes and socks with the excuse that she wanted him to relax totally, then she fetched a headache potion from her Mum's secret stores and gave it to a very sweaty, very grateful, very all-around-appealing Harry.

Once she'd disposed of the empty potion vial, she turned to him and eyed him thoughtfully. He saw the strange glimmer in her eyes and wondered at it. He frowned.

'Is everything alright, Gin?'

'No,' she said simply. He waited for her to continue, but when she didn't, he propped himself up on his elbows and stared openly at her.

'What's wrong?'

'I was wondering if you could do something for me, Harry.' He nodded quickly, and for a very brief moment, she almost felt bad for playing on his altruistic tendencies. Almost. Maybe she would've felt more guilt if he hadn't kept her waiting for so long. She stood and pointed her wand at the door.

'Colloportus.' The loud squelching sound signaled that her spell had worked. Harry blinked and suddenly looked like a deer caught in the headlights. She turned back to him and pulled her hair out of its loose ponytail, letting the crimson locks spill down around her shoulders. He gasped audibly as she lifted her t-shirt over her head to reveal a simple white cotton bra beneath.

'Uh, Gin,' he said, unable to look away.

'Yes, Harry?' Off went her shoes and socks, kicked to a random corner of the room.

'What in the bloody hell do you think you're doing?' his voice was amazingly calm for someone who was shaking so badly.

'Getting undressed,' she retorted calmly. She pulled her denim shorts off and Harry found himself staring at her white cotton knickers. Simple, unremarkable white cotton.

Harry seemed to have misplaced his voice as she made her way over to him and tugged upwards on the hem of his t-shirt.

He should have kicked and screamed.

He should have struggled.

He should have done anything but what he did – nothing.

He raised his arms and let her pull his shirt over his head, then felt an odd tremor of mingled horror and anticipation as she fumbled with the zipper of his shorts. A few deft movements on his part, and his clothing was totally gone. She met his eyes fearlessly with her own as she unclasped her bra and slid it over her arms. She hooked her thumbs under the waistband of her panties and removed them.

For several long moments, she and Harry sat regarding each other with open curiosity. Without thinking about it, she reached out and touched light fingertips to his thigh. He let out a low hiss, and she lifted her eyes back to his.

She leaned forward and kissed his neck, feeling the soft stubble on his chin graze against her skin. He raised his fingers and tangled them clumsily in her hair as she kissed down his neck, then across his collarbone, and then down his bared chest. Her curious fingers curled slowly around the heat of his erection, and he moaned.

Before she knew what was happening, he had gripped her arms and flipped her over. He trailed sloppy kisses across her jaw and down her neck, before catching a rosy nipple between his lips. She arched against him, feeling his hardness against her leg. She shifted until the tip of his shaft was pressed to the burning apex of her thighs. Before she could stop to doubt herself, she dug her heels into the small of his back and forced him inside of her.

The pain was blinding – much worse than she'd thought it would be. Tears stung her eyes. Harry, to his credit, was forcing himself to remain still. He was biting his lip so hard that she could see him drawing blood. When the pain finally subsided, she opened her eyes and nodded almost imperceptibly.

Harry began moving inside of her, slowly at first. It was strange; this feeling of being full. The friction finally got the best of her, and she was really starting to enjoy it when she saw his face tense up. Suddenly he pulled out of her, and she watched with a small amount of fascination as the white liquid spurted onto Ron's sheets.

When Harry's breathing had become somewhat normal, he realized that she was fully dressed again. She pointed her wand at Ron's bed, muttering 'Scourgify,' at both the pool of blood she'd left behind and the mess that Harry had made.

As she was leaving the room, she dropped a small kiss on the top of his head and whispered 'Thank you.' She made her way back to her room, and realized that she finally had her answer. She knew how she felt about Harry, once and for all.

He was, quite simply, a very attractive boy that she'd tricked into deflowering her.

Dinner that night seemed like any other at the Weasley home, with everyone talking animatedly and laughing at one another. After dinner, though, she was on her way from the loo to her bedroom when she felt a hand on her arm. She turned to see a very pink-faced Harry looking intently at her.

'Uhm, Gin, can we talk?' She nodded.

'Sure.' She headed towards her room and motioned for him to follow, but turned when she didn't hear him moving behind her.

'I was hoping maybe we could go for a walk.' She shrugged and followed him, calling out to her Mum that they'd be back shortly. They walked past the garden and were quite a ways from the house when he turned on her. 'What happened between us today?' his voice was laced with anger.

'Nothing, Harry,' she said, giving him a wry smile. 'I asked you to do me a favor, and you did. Thanks.' She started to turn back, but he shot out a hand and grabbed her arm, spinning her around to face him.

'Nothing?' he echoed, looking hurt. 'It didn't mean anything to you at all?'

'Of course it did, Harry,' she soothed, brushing raven strands away from his face. 'It meant a great deal to me.' He looked relieved.

'Oh, good, because I've been thinking about something all summer. I was going to ask you if you wanted to… erm, go out sometime?'

'On a date?'

'Well, yes and no. I want to date you, but more than just once. I want to be…" his face went scarlet, and her heart dropped into her stomach.

Oh no. Not now. Not now that I realize that I don't like him like that – it figures that this is when he decides to make a move on me. Typical. One shag does not a boyfriend make, Harry.

'To be what?' she asked, pretending to be confused. Perhaps if she got him worked up enough, he'd lose his courage and shrug this off, as he had so many times before when she'd been alone with him.

Not bloody likely.

Ginevra Weasley, what have you gotten yourself into this time?

'I want to be your boyfriend,' he said quickly. He was giving her that damned green-eyed, lost puppy dog look.

It was the proverbial nail in her coffin.

She hadn't had the heart to turn him down, and had, as a result, found his arm permanently locked around her shoulders for the rest of the week. They'd even managed to sneak in a quick shag in the garden the last night there, which had terrified him and thrilled her.

The idea that they might get caught was what had ultimately given her her first orgasm.

Once they got back to Hogwarts, he managed to find ways to sneak her into his room, and into his bed. Only on the nights they did it in the common room, though, did she reach any sort of climax.

She still hadn't kissed him on the lips, but he didn't seem to notice. If he did, he never mentioned it, and it didn't seem to bother him.

That was just as well.

He'd walk through the hallways, either holding her hand, carrying her books, or with his arm locked around her waist. She tolerated these moments as best she could, feeling more and more numb every day at the lie she was getting deeper into.

Which brought her back to the present.

For weeks now, those two gossiping twits had waited until they thought she was asleep, and then the whispering would begin. Wild, frenzied fantasies were shared. And they were always about Malfoy.

They mooned over his white-blonde hair, his chiseled mouth, and his broad hands. They fantasized about opening his Quidditch uniform and inspecting the sweaty flesh beneath. All of their talk had gotten under her skin, and damnit, she wanted to know if he really looked as good as they speculated.

The only problem was Harry.

Harry, and this sham of a relationship that she had gotten herself stuck in.

The relationship that made her parents and her brothers so damned happy.

The relationship that was the toast of Hogwarts.

The relationship that was slowly sucking the life out of her.

Tonight she'd fled. She'd run away from her fellow Gryffindors, unable to stomach their adoring looks and adulating comments. Now she had sympathy for Harry – but she wasn't going to bloody well stand for it tonight. She needed a reprieve.

And that was how it happened. That was how she found herself following Draco Malfoy through the deserted corridors of Hogwarts after curfew. She was a prefect trailing the Head Boy.

And he was a nasty bugger to keep up with.

The only explanation she could muster for his speed was that he knew he was being followed, and was trying to lose her. At this point, though, she didn't much care. She almost hoped he'd turn and hurl a well-placed hex; at least that would be something. He rounded a corner and she followed. The hallway ahead was empty.

She took a small step forward and a pair of arms reached out and grabbed her, pulling her back against him. The heat from his chest radiated into her back. She didn't struggle, and she didn't scream.

'Why are you following me?' A low voice drawled into her ear. When she offered no answer, he spun her around to face him. 'What's the matter, Weaselette?' His eyes were glittering hatefully as he sneered at her. The look was something she welcomed – it was a stark contrast to the worshipful looks that she had been getting from everyone else.

It made her feel almost… normal.

'Potter not satisfying you, so you came looking for a real man?' She stared wordlessly at him, which only served to infuriate him more. 'Dating Potter has made you as stupid as him.' He turned to walk away, but stopped when he heard her light footsteps start up behind him. He turned on her with a vicious snarl.

'Quit following me, Weasley!' the words fell from his lips like chips of ice. She met his gaze fearlessly and remained silent. He closed the distance between them and was slightly taken aback when she didn't even flinch. 'Why are you following me? What the hell do you want? You know I'm Head Boy. I can make your life hell.'

'Go ahead and try,' she challenged flatly. His eyes narrowed.

'Asking for the big hurt, are you, then? What would Potter or the other Weasel say if they knew that the Princess of Gryffindor came looking for the King of Slytherin, and after curfew, at that?'

'Does it matter?' she shot back dully. He blinked but his sneer remained in place.

'Well, well. The Weaselette wants to raise some hell, is that it? Fine, follow me. If you want to wreak havoc, we'll wreak havoc.' He turned and moved down the hallway, fully expecting her to tuck her tail between her legs and run back to Saint Potter and his band of do-gooders.

Therefore he was utterly surprised when she fell into step beside him.

They walked together in silence until they reached the dungeon area, where he turned to her, his eyes flashing.

'Alright, whatever your game is, out with it. Why the hell are you following me like this?'

'You told me to.' He blinked.

'So now you're taking orders from me? Brilliant,' he laughed wickedly. 'What, are you besotted with me, or something? Surely Potter's pure, precious girlfriend doesn't want a taste of the dark side.'

'No,' she said simply. He stared.

'Are you under Imperious?' he asked, looking around wildly. 'Oh, okay. I get it. Very funny, Pansy, you almost had me. When is the polyjuice going to wear off?' he smirked. She stared emptily.

'Perhaps this was a mistake after all,' she said. 'You can't give me what I need any more than Harry can.' Draco did not like being told that he couldn't beat Potter at something, especially when it came to women.

'And what might that be?' he asked, pushing her up against the wall. He pinned her there by slapping his palms against the stone on either side of her head. His eyes became hooded and dangerous looking, and the tiniest tremor of anticipation went through her. Without another word, she lifted the hem of her robe. He sucked in a deep breath when he saw that she was wearing nothing underneath, and shot silvery eyes back up to hers.

'You know,' he murmured. 'If I didn't know better, I'd say I was right. Potter doesn't satisfy you, and you've come looking for a real man.' He turned her around roughly so that her cheek was up against the stones of the wall. He lifted the robe, and she felt him fumbling around for his zipper. She heard it being pulled down, and suddenly he was inside of her, thrusting roughly up into her. She bit her lip.

They were in the middle of the hallway, having very rough sex. She had never been more excited in her life. He was thrusting so hard that it was becoming painful, but she welcomed it. She wanted more of it. Pain made the numbness inside go away; it made her realize she could still feel. She felt the tension building in her abdomen, then it exploded with a burst of heat, and she uttered a soft cry. Moments later, she felt him emptying himself inside of her.

Her legs felt so weak she could hardly stand on them.

Behind her, she felt him pull away and refasten his zipper. Without another word, he took off down the hallway, and she didn't follow.

The next morning at breakfast, she went through her usual routine. She checked over her schedule for the day, made sure that her homework was done and in her bookbag, and sipped slowly at a cup of hot tea. Harry, Hermione, and Ron were engaged in a lively conversation around her, and she was praying that Harry would just forget she was even sitting there.

No such luck.

A moment after that thought, she felt his arm snake around her waist, and he nuzzled her neck softly.

'Where were you last night?' he asked gently. 'I was worried about you. Hermione said you got up and left to go to the loo, and you were gone for a while.'

'I wasn't feeling well,' she said quietly. He seemed to accept this explanation and turned back to his friends, although his arm stayed locked around her waist. She sighed and stared down at the table.

Across the room, a pair of silvery eyes focused on her.

What the hell had last night been about, anyway? He had been unbelievably turned on by her bravado. She hadn't worn any undergarments and had shown him, and then let him take her, right there in the middle of the hallway. Not even Pansy had ever been that bold.

He wanted more.

Maybe he would try to convince Pansy to go down there tonight, to that same place, and do what the Weaselette had done. He watched Potter slide a protective arm around her waist and smirked to himself.If Potter only knew that I shagged his girlfriend, and she liked it. Oh, the beautiful irony of it all.

He watched as she tried to ignore Potter, and he wondered briefly at it. Hadn't she been in love with the git since her first year? Now that she had him, maybe she didn't want him anymore. Draco nodded to himself as he went back to his breakfast. That was something he understood all too well; the thrill of the hunt. The conquest was what made it fun, and once you had what you wanted, you didn't want it anymore. The capture just wasn't as exciting as the pursuit.

He managed to convince Pansy to come to the hallway with him, and had even managed to convince her not to wear anything beneath her robes. Once he lifted them, though, and entered her, she pulled away, protesting. She had chickened out. She ran back to the Slytherin rooms and left Draco standing there with a very painful erection.

Two nights had passed before she followed him again.

He could sense her back there, in the shadows. He went back to the hallway they'd shagged in and felt wild excitement gripping him. Would she be naked again? The thought made him hard. He turned slowly, and saw that she was standing in the middle of the hallway very calmly. He moved towards her and pushed her against the wall, pinning her there again, this time with her back pressed up against it. He lifted her robes, and was delighted to find that she was, indeed, naked.

He unzipped his pants and entered her quickly, pleasure washing over him at the sensation of her walls of flesh surrounding him. He opened his eyes to find her staring at him, which excited him more than he thought was possible. Pansy had always kept her eyes closed during sex, no matter the cajoling on his part. Ginny Weasley was watching him intently, keeping eye contact with him as he plunged in and out of her as roughly as he pleased, in the middle of a deserted hallway.

It was only moments before he felt release.

When he'd finished, he lowered her onto the floor, feeling her legs slip from around his waist. She smoothed out the front of her robe and turned on her heel, leaving him staring after her in amazement.

The next day, his eyes unconsciously searched her out at the Gryffindor table. There she was, in her usual spot, drinking a cup of tea. Potter, Granger, and her brother were all surrounding her, laughing and being the idiots they most always were. She, on the other hand, was very silent and stiff. She straightened her back when Potter's arm snaked around her shoulders. Draco had to tug his eyes away from the scene, and left the table wondering why she had come to him twice already.

That night she was back again.

This time, he wanted to push his limits. He wanted to see how far she was willing to let him go. He led her into a different hallway; one that was more frequently used. She did not object when he motioned for her to get down on all fours, and he took her from behind. His furious pumping made her cry out when she came, and he collapsed briefly onto her back. When he pulled out and stood, he reached out a hand to help her up. She took it and stood, brushing herself off.

She seemed not to mind that they never spoke or had any foreplay. It made him curious, although he wasn't about to complain about it.

He watched her walk slowly down the hallway and disappear around the corner before turning to head back to his room. It didn't occur to him to wonder why he hadn't told anyone a secret that would surely crush Potter.

He was growing frustrated.

She hadn't been to see him in over a week, and as a result, he hadn't had sex in over a week.

Pansy just wasn't getting the job done for him anymore.

The sexual frustration was starting to reach frenzied heights. Draco Malfoy had not gone more than three days without a good shag since he'd turned fifteen. Admittedly, that had only been two and a half years ago, but it was long enough for him to get used to the consistent physical activity.

He had to find her.

He waited until he knew that the wonder twits (Potter and her brother) were in Divination. The Mudblood would be in Arithmancy. While he hated missing Arithmancy (it was his favourite class), he felt that this was a more urgent matter. He scoured the school for her, ultimately finding her in one of the back corners of the library. She was reaching up for a book on one of the higher shelves, and he watched as the bottom of her shirt lifted with the motion of her arms. A small, triangular patch of skin showed on her side, and his erection begged for release.

She turned to see him standing at the end of the aisle, watching her, but said nothing. Her eyes didn't even widen. She began to brush past him, but he stopped her by pinning her to the shelf behind her, and focused his mercurial gaze on her.

'Where the hell have you been?' he snarled. She stared.

'In the library.'

'Don't get smart with me. You know what I mean.'

'I haven't been able to get away,' she said simply. He stared at her, then let out a soft noise of disbelief.

'You couldn't get away from Potter?' she shook her head. 'Pathetic. And here I thought you were enjoying the taste of freedom I was giving you.' It was meant to goad her into coming to him later that night, but he didn't know that it had come out sounding the way he'd meant it to. Something in the way she was looking at him made the breath catch in his throat.

She slowly ducked out from beneath the prison of his arms and moved to the nearest table, where her things were scattered across the surface. He watched as she picked up her books, scooping them into her bookbag. As she did so, a single quill fell to the floor. She bent over to pick it up, and the blood drained from his face.

She wasn't wearing any knickers.

She had just flashed him in the library!

She was going to get away with it, too, if he didn't move, and move quick.

He moved behind her and grabbed her hip, forcing his zipper down with his free hand, then entered her swiftly. He knew he was being rough, but she didn't cry out, and his need was so great that there was no way in heaven or in hell that he could have held back. In the silence of the library, all he could hear was his racing pulse roaring in his ears, and the sound of his skin slapping against hers. When he came, it was hard and fast. He felt her walls clenching around him, and knew that she had climaxed, too.

He pulled away from her quickly and zipped up, and watched as she stood calmly and smoothed the wrinkles out of her uniform skirt. She picked her robe up and fastened it around her shoulders, then put her rogue quill back into her bookbag before walking out of the library. He stared after her, his breathing still extremely ragged, and wondered what the hell had gotten into him.