Photograph
"Hellooooo," the small boy asked cautiously, "May I sit with you? I'm afraid all the other compartments are taken."
"Of course!" the girl replied, her frizzy red hair forming a halo around her pale, freckly face, "I'm Ginny Weasley. Are you Muggle-born?"
"Muggle-born?"
"Your parents aren't wizards?"
"Oh. No, no they aren't. How did you know?" As a second thought, he adds, "I'm Colin Creevey, by the way."
"That contraption around your neck," Ginny says, "I've never seen anything like it in the wizarding world."
"Oh, this! It's called a camera. It takes photographs." He abruptly rises from his seat across from her, and squeezes in close beside her, "Let me show you!" Throwing an arm around her neck, she looks to him, shocked, as he directs the lens of the contraption towards them and holds down a button.
A flash of blinding light later, the beginning of their friendship falls onto her lap and begins to clear.
It had been long news that Ginny Weasley and Colin Creevey would end up in some sort of relationship--any two people who could be so utterly friendly with eachother, and look so very much at ease were bound to land themselves in some kind of romantic situation. Still, when it actually happened--when Colin Creevey finally got it in his head to ask the youngest Weasley out, it became the talk of the school. First, it must be understood what kind of people the two of them had grown into; Colin, in his sixth year, had grown quite handsome, tall and lanky though he was. His mousy brown hair served to give him a boyish look, a crooked smile and bright blue eyes that could melt any girl's heart only better serving his continued hobby of photography. He was not a player, but he was the object of affection for many girls, who often lent their assets to his photographs.
Ginny Weasley, too, had grown into something beautiful, and frankly, quite shocking. From her early teenaged awkwardness, by sixteen Ginny was quite the rose. To Ron's horror, his little sister was the heart's desire for one too many boys, who possibly spent too much of their time speaking of what they would do to a girlfriend like her. Her honey-colored eyes and gently freckled nose were simply too much to pass up, they dared to tell Ron one afternoon--later to the fifty point disadvantage of Gryffindor, a week of detention to all of them, and a trip to the Hospital Wing.
They were considered Hogwarts' Golden Couple, the Mr. and Mrs. Popularity of their year. Of course, this was not to the liking of the Slytherins, but who were they to tell the rest of the school otherwise?
"Colin!" Ginny protested weakly, a smile playing on her lips as she half-heartedly tried to swap his hand away from her hair, "What are you doing?"
He licks his lips, bending down to catch hers in a short kiss. It's early autumn on the Hogwarts grounds, and all about them colorful leaves float to the ground. The sky is a light blue, dotted by fluffy clouds, and the grass beneath their feet is a lush green. "The flower doesn't look nice enough by itself," he explains, winking as he steps back, the charmed white lily finally settled securely above her right ear, "So I had to add in something to make it look better."
Ginny smiles as he snaps a picture, by this time used to the flash of the camera on her face. He steps back again, motions for her to stand. As she takes a pose she says, "Oh, I see. So I take it I'm your newest subject?"
"On the contrary!" Colin says, still snapping pictures, "You were always my subject. Besides, I just needed something beautiful to bring out the flower. It's a nice contrast with your hair." He stops, grinning at her as she smiles back, then loping confidently up to plant another kiss on her lips. "You're beautiful," he tells her, standing a little way back as if to admire her, "You're perfect."
Ginny blushes, swatting him playfully on the shoulder, "Whatever you say, handsome."
Her breath is harsh as Colin's body presses up against hers, gently holding her to the wall. He peppers soft kisses along her jaw, leaving her wanting more and more and more. "Please," she begs, not knowing what for, "Colin..." His hands travel up her back, under her shirt to test the skin there. It's warm beneath his cool fingers, sending goosebumps along the both of them. He burries his face into her neck, and she leans her head the other way to give him better access.
Suddenly he is gone, and Ginny feels the familiar flash of the camera upon her closed eyelids. Her eyes snap open to see him grinning at her in the low light of the hallway. "You just looked too beautiful," he explains, shrugging helplessly, "I had to."
Ginny smiles, the moment lost. She reaches her hand out towards him, waiting for him to slip his larger one in hers before tugging him up the corridor in the direction of the Common Room. "Whatever you say, handsome."
She's in the library, exhaustion evident upon her face. She cradles her head in her hands, a headache of massive calibre pulsing through her skull. Beneath her elbows is parchment, not far from her right hand is a discarded quille, the ink dripping onto what is acknowledged to be Potions homework. Ginny closes her eyes, wanting to sleep, to rest her aching head. She has no idea how Snape could have expected them to do so much work; there isn't even a god damn sentence on this topic in her Potions book, either.
Stressing out, Ginny does not notice Colin as he sneaks up on her, at least until she feels the all too familiar flash of the camera. Her eyes come open in surprise, her head slipping from her hands and almost hitting the table. "What the he--?"
"Sorry," the boy says, "It was perfect. I had to."
Ginny doesn't know what to say, or how to feel. She thinks she is slightly annoyed, but when he smiles at her...So she gives him a weak smile herself, picking up her quille again and making another attempt, giving it another go. "Whatever you say, handsome."
Draco Malfoy watches all of this with growing frustration. He wants to know how the Weasley can tolerate it, how she can survive Creevey's constant nagging. Just watching the boy place flowers in her hair, watching the boy kiss her is making his insides burn up with jealousy, a force of emotion he did not know he was capable of. He lusts for her, for the pretty Weasley. He wants to show her what it's like to really be kissed, to be something more than a god damn Muggle-born's still life.
This is nothing more than lust, he assures himself, I want to taste her body, to hear her moan my name. Nothing more.
He is in his seventh year; in all respects having grown into the Slytherin Sex God. He's had too many girls to count on his hands and toes, so many girls he can't even remember all of them. Now, though, now he wants Weasley. Ever since she and Creevey had begun going out, ever since she had begun dating him, he had felt this sudden desire for her. To be near her. To show her how he could make her feel, how much better he was than that stupid camera-obsessed Creevey!
It was a knawing anger. He'd begun to find excuses to be near her, especially when Creevey wasn't around. But for some odd reason the Muggle-born seemed to have a way of always knowing where the Weasley was. Heck, he never left her alone!
How can you stand it, Weaselette? How long is it until your patience runs out?
But her patience seemed to be bottomless. Even as Draco saw their little romance deteriorate, at least on Weasley's part, he never saw her make any move to acknowledge it. It seemed she was content for it to be that way--maybe she didn't even realize how little she felt for Creevey; either way, Draco couldn't stand it. Not to mention the fact that Creevey was so thick to not even be able to notice the way his own girlfriend was becoming. He didn't even see how frustrated she was. He didn't even know when to stop!
Constantly taking pictures, pictures, pictures with that stupid Muggle contraption.
It was knawing at Draco, eating at his insides. Before, when she and Creevey had just been friends and the Weaselette had been single and prancing around the place like some naive little schoolgirl--that had been fine. He could have stood out their friendship, catching sly glances at how gorgeous she was growing up to be in the hallways and knowing that she was always there--always single and available for when he wanted her. And thankfully, he had never wanted her...not before this, anyway. He had never been faced with the problem of not having a girl to satisfy him--he could have a different one every night, if he pleased. But now, now that she and Creevey were dating, now that she couldn't be his...now he wanted her.
And he was intent on getting her.
Ginny finds herself pushed to the wall, roughly, aggressively. It's late at night and she's using a relatively deserted hallway to get from the library up to the Common Room. The light is already dim, the lamps along the wall undoubtedly dimming to give students some idea of where they were supposed to be at this time--in bed. At first she isn't afraid, she reaches for her wand in her robe pocket--then the lights go out and everything is dark and her fingers fall around emptiness and fabric. Nothing. Her wand isn't in her pocket. Her other arm is pulled around behind her back, her heaving chest so hard against the wall that she can barely breathe.
"Who--?" A hand is clamped over her mouth before she can say anything, her free hand automatically going up to try and pry the strong fingers away from her lips. She's struggling to breathe through her nose alone, but the person holding her doesn't realize this--or he doesn't care.
"Quiet, Weasley." She doesn't know why, but she recognizes this voice immediately. It's familiar and it has played in her mind many times. "Malfoy!" she screams into his hand, but no one can hear her. He chuckles, and it's a sound filled with dark mirth. "Weasley, I'm not going to hurt you," he tells her, quietly, his lips grazing her ear, "That's not what I want." There is a pause. He waits for her to relax in his grip, and she does, a little. However, the notion that he wants something at all is still in her mind, and her guard has not yet been let down. "On the contrary," he continues, his lips brushing the back of her neck, making her shudder in sensation, "I want to make you feel good...real good."
It's strange how our subconscious and our bodies work together to betray us. Ginny feels herself relax, although her heart beat continues to rise. She's excited, she realizes, and her cheeks flush. Malfoy thinks momentarily about releasing his clamp on her mouth and the vice-like grip he has on her hand, but he knows she has not submitted to him...yet. "I see how you are with that Creevey," at the mention of Colin's name, Ginny tenses up a little, "You feel nothing for him. No, maybe you feel something. Something small and inferior. You think that's all there is to feel, because there's never been anyone else. Creevey is your first, your first boyfriend. Your first kiss? I don't know." Everything is silent, everything is dark. Ginny can't even see the outline of the stone wall before her, though she can smell and feel Malfoy pressed close behind her. The feel of him excites her. Exhilarates her. The smell of him leaves her wanting more, more, more. More, like with Colin. Except this more is so much different.
His teeth graze the skin below her neck now, and she tilts her head to the side so that he can kiss the junction between her neck and shoulder. Warmth spills into her stomach, the hand held immobile behind her back now allowing itself to be released, then captured again as his fingers lace through hers. She rests her forehead against the cool stone of the wall, and his hand comes away from her mouth, her hand grabbing it and holding on tight. "Malfoy..." his name leaves her lips a whisper, a whisper pleading for everything he can give her.
Suddenly, he flips her around, her back hitting the wall loudly. She can hardly see him in this light, and she wants to see him, wants to know what he's going to do next. His lips dive down for a kiss; down, because Ginny can sense how tall he is, how weak she would be compared to him--his lips dive and land on the corner of her mouth, her own lips breaking out in a smile. "You missed," she murmured onto his skin, maybe the skin of his neck, or his cheek--she can't tell.
"Too damn dark," he says, his voice already husky with need, "I want you." The three words send a tremor of pleasure through to Ginny's knees, and she almost falls. Malfoy's hard body keeps her upright against the wall, pressing in; the hard, muscular lines of his frame fitting her curves perfectly. His mouth adjusts to fit over hers and she is suddenly blown away; this is nothing like kissing Colin. This is new and wonderful and gosh she hopes that the softness of his lips never leaves her. When his tongue snakes out to trace her bottom lip, she gasps and suddenly it's a whole new feeling all over again. All she can smell is him, all she can taste and feel and hear...on the back of her eyelids she thinks of him, and she sees him with his eyes closed, eyelashes kissing his cheeks...
Malfoy's hands are gripping her waist with bruising force. He can feel himself hardening with want of her; everything about her is making him want her. He pushes her further back into the wall, wanting to be closer, so much closer. His hand travels down to her leg, slipping beneath her skirt so that he can stroke the smooth expanse, letting his fingers graze over her panties, causing her to break away, gasping for breath. "Malfoy..." she moans, as he hitches her leg up around his waist, "What--?" But he covers her lips in another searing kiss, not giving her time to think.
She wouldn't be able to think anyway; all thoughts of who she was, who he was, everything, seemed to have barrelled out of her mind. All she could think of was the boy--the young man, pressing firmly against her body, holding her weak form against the wall. It was too much; she had never felt emotion of this intensity ever before, had never felt anything so animalistic and pure thundering through her very soul.
She was caught up; and so was he. Malfoy could only take in her scent, the feel of her soft body--he'd had many, many girls, but it seemed that in this moment none could compare to the Weasley--none. He wanted everything about her, wanted everything to be his; Creevey didn't deserve this--no one did, no one but him. He breaks away, peppering rough kisses along her neck, nibbling her earlobe, sucking eagerly on her pulse point. She's almost limp in his arms, but her nails are burning paths on his back through his shirt, sliding up and down hungrily. Her leg struggles to find better leverage on his hips; she wants so badly to press her core tighter against the hardness she feels now, poking intently against her abdomen. It feels right; it's pure lust, and they're both loving it.
He gets frustrated with her struggling movements, finally picking her up, allowing her to wrap both her legs around his waist. His hands are beneath her shirt, cupping her breasts through her bra, and as she leans back against the wall, her hands are fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. When she feels the smooth, toned skin beneath, her heart skips a beat and she thrusts her hips forward, earning her a low growl from her male companion.
"Weasley," he gasps, the strain of their coupling evident in his gruff voice, "I need you," he pushes his hips forward, as if in emphasis to wear he needed her most.
"Take me," she gasps back, her lips never leaving his skin, hands roaming freely on his chest, "Merlin, take me."
Her words seem to fire him further, and suddenly both of her feet are back on the ground, and his hands are beneath her skirt, yanking the uncomfortably damp material beneath away and down her legs. She steps out of them, but only really realizes what they are doing when she feels one of Malfoy's warm fingers touch her, confidently burrowing between her folds and searching for something..."Wait," she says, "I..." He kisses her, he already knows, and he wants that part of her, too. Creevey may have had her other firsts; but he, Draco Malfoy, he wanted this first. He can tell when his finger reaches the right spot; her whole body tenses, shudders and she grasps hard against his shoulders, pushing her hips frantically forward.
"Relax," he murmurs against her ear, kissing the lobe. She doesn't listen, too caught up in the wild sensation to even think. He feels her teeth sink into his neck, biting firmly. Gently, he begins to move his finger...around and around in small circular motions. It's driving her crazy, he can feel her heartbeat and hear her pant and his finger is wet with her juices and yearning to speed up the tempo and bring her to that point. Still, in his mind he wants to prolong this moment, wants it to last forever. After a few heated minutes he feels her stiffen, and he knows so perfectly what's about to happen. Her voice rings out in the quiet corridor, a broken sob that could have been very many things--Malfoy hopes it's his name, but he's not sure. Her body shakes for a few seconds, slowly, then faster and then gradually coming back down to fall limply in his arms, her chin resting satedly against his shoulder.
His own problem still has to be taken care of, but he closes his eyes and leans against her, waiting for her body to recover. She must have had her eyes closed, too, because when the camera flashed, neither of them realized it. But when the squeek of a shoe against concrete rang out in the quiet, something had to be said.
"Malfoy?" her voice is shaky in the silence, but it makes his heart race to hear her, "Did you just hear that?"
His eyes are screwed shut, and he wants to deny it, but he did hear something. "Yes," he says, "I heard it."
"We should stop, then, in case anyone comes."
This suggestion makes his heart sink. "Yes, you're right." He suddenly tears away from her, causing her to almost fall to her knees.
He begins to walk back up the hallway, but she calls back, "Malfoy...tomorrow at this time. In the Room of Requirement." He feels like he's flying, but he doesn't say anything. Just nods unobtrusively, and whether or not she has seen his affirmation, he doesn't care. He's too happy to care, and maybe too much in need of a cold shower. He walks away, still throbbing for her body and longing for tomorrow night's encounter.
Colin had just met with Ginny that morning. They both smiled and held hands, and he kissed her on the cheek and took a picture of her wolfing down porridge. He didn't say much, for once, because in his heart there was an insatiable ache. She didn't say much, either, and Colin wondered if he knew why.
Once up in his Dorm, he opens his bedside drawer, removing a single picture from the rest. There is a boy and a girl, and the boy has the girl pressed hard against a stone wall. Her chin is lolling lazily on his shoulder, her scarlet locks flowing down his arm as he cages her with his strong arms, his fingers braced against the stone. On her face is pure bliss, her eyes closed and nose poking gently into the air. All that is visible of the boy is his silver-blonde hair, mussed from her relentless fingers, but it is hard not to know the couple.
A tear skates down Colin's cheek, a lonely tear.
"Sorry, Gin," he says to the girl in the picture, "But it was perfect."
The photograph had cleared in her lap, the beginning of their friendship.
This photograph had cleared in Colin's heart, the end of their love.
Author's Note: Originally just a ploy to allow me to flex my smut-writing abilities. But then it developed a bit of a plot and I felt that a full out smutlet just wouldn't fit. Well, hope ya'll like it. OHC probably won't be updated 'till summer starts. That plot is far too complex, so I think I'll stick with my little one-shots. R&R.