Part I
Schoolgirl
Schoolgirl. Innocent schoolgirl. Pure as the falling snow, innocent as the Virgin Mary schoolgirl. He chuckles as he whispers these words into her ear. His breath tickles her cheek slightly. Not enough to make her shy away from it, but it still tickles her ever so slightly. She sits on his lap, like she is his doll.
She used to have a doll she would sit on her lap like this. She would undress it until it was down to the pale pink fabric it was made of, then she would put new clothing on it. Her favourite was the schoolgirl Hogwarts robes her mother had made for it, made out of scraps of fabric around the house.
Scraps. That's all she had got. But now, he promises her the world. He promises fame, comfort, riches, but most of all, he promises her him. The world and everything beyond it will be hers if she just holds on to him and lets him guide her through life. Like how her mother used to. But now he is her guide. He's twisted her, molded her to fit him. To complete him and be his other half.
And she wants that. She wants to be with him. She tried to think back and remember a time before him, but cannot. It is as if her mind is fuzzy with the fog that seeps in between the cracks in her mind. He tells her that she'll never be truely alone anymore. He'll always be there, right with her.
She's never alone as long as he's with her. She knows that and she feel happy and safe and secure with him. Not like with her brothers. With them there's always the chance they will embarass her, push her to tears.
He hadn't done that. No - wait. He had. But it had been done when she wasn't obedient. He had mocked her, shunned her, teased her and taunted her until she broke down into a sobbing hysteria. Then he had taken her in his arms and held her, stroking her hair, placing feather-light kisses along her forehead and cheeks. He kissed each tear away.
She feels the burning beginning of tears in the corners of her eyes. She can feel his body stiffen beneath hers and knows that he can tell she is showing weakness. He is waiting for what she will do. Will she let down the walls and let the tears cascade forth? Let them run down her face in rivulets until her cheeks are shiny with the moisture? But what will he do if she chooses that path?
He sits there, one hand slowly entwining in the firey red locks of hair, thinking of another that too had red hair. But she is gone now. Now, it is just him and Ginny. He likes this, sitting her with her. He knows he has absoloute power over her. He can feel her very core and know what she is thinking, feeling, wishing, believing. He feels her about to cry and then smiles slightly. He knows she is fighting with herself, making her body obey the strict rules her mind has acquired.
Of course, they both know they will not be alone for long. Soon enough someone will find the message scrawled on the wall, drawn in ink red enough to make the reader think of blood. That was the way it was supposed to be. It was like Hogwarts was their court and they were the tyrrantical rulers, punishing those who were guilty of a crime.
But for now, they are alone. Not quite spirit and not quite real, but somewhere in the realm inbetween. Not twelve and not sixteen, but older than the stars and younger than the freshly grown flowers in the grounds of Hogwarts. They are seperate and they are one, joined and yet apart. Flesh against flesh, red locks of hair falling against shorter ones of jet.
His hand up the schoolgirl skirt. His fingers gently probing, his fingers gently stroking, rubbing, circling, teasing. Her eyes close as she lets him do this to her, this act that should make her feel dirty, but makes her feel more alive than ever before. She lets out a small noise in protest as he removes his hand. She wants him to continue, never to stop. He wraps his arms around her waist and stands up. She's as light as a feather to him and he sets her down on the ground. She's no longer confused and knows what he's doing. She makes it easy for him. She is the one who unbuckles his belt, the one who undoes his pants and pulls them down, along with his underwear. He laughs mockingly as he lifts her up so that her legs wrap around his hips, causing him to penetrate her. She gasps as he eyes widen as they beging the rhythm. His lips travel over her face as one of his hands is pressed against her back. His other is carressing her small breasts. Her own hands are entangled in his hair, pulling on the locks. Painful, yes. But the pleasure outweighs the pain. He stops letting kisses drop on her face and his mouth is near her ear. Even now, his breathing is controlled as he whispers in her ear.
Schoolgirl. Innocent schoolgirl. Pure as the falling snow, innocent as the Virgin Mary schoolgirl. But the Virgin Mary never fucked a guy, let alone fucked the Heir of Slytherin.
~ finis ~