Disclaimer: I own none of J.K Rowling's amazing characters or plots.
Harry P.O.V.
If I don't walk away now, I never will.
There is no true desire in my life except the desire to love, and to be loved, by those surrounding me.
The total lack of affection in my younger life has refined my receptivity to human emotions, as well as my interpretation of them. Right now, in this small, oak-panel room, Ginny's own desire is intoxicating me. Her eyes are half closed, and I know she is desperate to believe that here and now, she loves me; that here and now, she wants to make love to me. She is good at convincing herself to believe, being the sort of girl often so vividly immersed in the surrealism of her imaginations. She is prone to losing track of her actual life.
Right now, it is her hormones running crazy, pushing her deeper into the sweet fathoms of a teenage crush. We have been nurturing our tender relationship for about three months. As the time wears on, I become more and more certain that I really love Ginny and that my feelings for her are not just some feathery adolescent fancy. And that is where we differ. Ginny - sweet, innocent Ginny - has never suffered. She has had the rightful protection in her childhood that anyone should expect and enjoys her existence as it comes. It is what I never had. The emotional deprivation of my own childhood, combined with the physical and mental stress of carrying Voldemort's scar, have led me to feel with a greater intensity. I take longer to adapt to change, and think on a deeper level than is probably natural. It is through this knowledge I can self-verify my love for Ginny. If I had my way, we would marry tomorrow. I am totally committed to her. Here lies the reason for my desperation to leave. I cannot, and will not, force a girl I love to commit at fifteen to one relationship for the rest of her life. Her desire stems from pity, which she finds romantic, and the euphoria of a first proper relationship.
With difficulty, I pull her away from my body. She smiles at me, misinterpreting my reasons for our disentanglement, and moves in to kiss me. Her lips are sweet and soft, which only makes things harder. Tears prickle my eyes as I find myself kissing her back, pulling her into my body. I release the tears; she won't see them in the dimmed light of the Room of Requirement, as I realize all of my fantasies about making love for the first time with Ginny must remain fantasies.
Ginny P.O.V
If we are going to have sex, I pray, let it be now. The insides of my thighs are damp, and I can see from Harry's face that he is as aroused as I am, but he seems to be holding back. His eyes are tired, pained and wary. He isn't the one that should be worrying. He's legal. Strictly speaking, I shouldn't even be considering doing this for another year. In my stomach, a small apprehension butterfly makes itself known. I'm really horny. I'm also very nervous. During the Easter holidays, Fred and George walked in on me naked. The half an hour following their entrance was the most embarrassing half hour of my life. My irrepressibly evil twin brothers had glanced across at each other before divulging in a fully detailed sex education lesson, obviously gauging that I now looked and acted old enough to be warned about 'such pleasurable activities.' Surely my disgust when George had stripped down in order to demonstrate 'a perfect example of the male prostate' stemmed from the fact that he was my older brother, right? Wrong. That is utter crap. I'm just completely unaccustomed to a – it is hard to even say it in my head – a penis. And I am praying also that Harry will have a small one. To stop myself from further dwelling to the point of repulsion, I lean forward and kiss the perfect boy in front of me. Kissing is good. Kissing is safe, natural. I feel his hands pulling me closer to him, and I moan into his shoulder.
"Oh god, Ginny." Harry's voice is quiet. My hands work quickly on his shirt, fumbling unsuccessfully to pull it over his head. He starts kissing my neck and shoulders, pushing my cloak to one side, working through the thicker fabric of my shirt and jumper. I feel a rush of heat swell into my cheeks, and smile at my blush, for no reason whatsoever. Harry reaches out a hand and flicks a switch mounted on the gleaming oak panels. The lights, previously dimmed, brighten considerably, and I screw up my face to protect my eyes.
"What did you do that for?" I ask as my smile fades.
"Are we going to do this, Ginny?" I only fault in replying for a brief period of seconds. His expression is harder, like he has made up his mind about something.
"Yes…" I hope he won't catch the uncertainty. I want him, but surely my nervousness is to be expected?
'Are you sure?' I am very sure I want to make love with him, I am just not so sure I want to rush into it.
"I'm very sure about you." He averts his eyes briefly. What is he playing at? When he looks back at me again, they are so bright they are almost iridescent; the odd lighting in our private room enhancing them to a greater intensity. Do my eyes look like that?
"Then I want you to be able to see me properly…and I want to be able to see you." And just like that, I can see what he is getting at. In one sentence, I see his game, and I know in a split second that he has won it. He is testing my readiness. And in his eyes, I am not ready. I almost break down. I have to be ready. I want to be.
Harry P.O.V
Her stilting replies prove my assumptions correct. My reaction to the prediction is only to be expected, although I had hoped to be able to summon a little more pleasure. My theories verified, I plant a light kiss on Ginny's nose. I am not sad; I've made up my mind. Ginny is not ready for the commitment I am pressing, and I am not ready to go without it. I made my decision a while ago based on my own selfishness. The plan is simple. I can't be bothered to carry on with an unworthy existence. Ginny had been my reason for life for a while.
"Gin?" Gin. Ginny is my wine, my aphrodisiac, my addiction. She doesn't answer. She seems on the verge of tears. "Ginny, I'm going to the toilet, alright?" She nods tightly, but seems slightly more at ease. Perhaps she needs some time alone. I can't bring myself to say I'll be back soon.
Ginny P.O.V
He didn't mean to hurt me, I'm sure. He looked slightly sad when he left, but not reproachful, and I don't think I imagined the love in his eyes. I haven't really got a plan as such, and I'm hoping that Harry's toilet stop won't give me too much time to think about what I am doing; which happens to be sitting in the Room of Requirements in my underwear. I've substantially dimmed the fluorescent lighting again, despite Harry's requests. I'm not brave enough to sit in the brightness, preferring to wait in the protection of the semi-dark. Our specially formulated room is warm, but it does not prevent the involuntary shiver traversing my spine, nor the goose bumps that rise unbidden on my arms. I have to be confident when he walks in. I have to be ready. I think back to what Fred and George said, something at the end about guys getting turned on watching girls please themselves? It sounds disgusting but...enticing at the same time? Oh god, face it Ginny. It just sounds completely disgusting.
Harry P.O.V
My footsteps resound harshly on the marble floors as I place my feet deliberately, one in front of the other. As I walk, I shut off my mind to unwelcome thoughts about Ginny, who I know is probably still waiting for my return... I hope I didn't hurt her... I can't afford to show any weakness, if I want any chance against my enemy. The potions lab, when I reach it, is harassed by the empty silence of unpopularity; desks smeared with dust pass by me in uneven rows, laden with the heavy textbooks students hate. Snape's office door squeals in protest against the pressure I exert on the hinges. Through the heavy wood, I hear a snarl in response to my entrance and smile sardonically to myself at the coming exchange.
"What is the meaning of this?" Snape growls.
"Got any more original lines?" I'm pleased with my ability to throw light sarcasm straight back in his twisted face. My voice is strong, betraying no weakness at all. I am proving myself ready.
"Potter!" Snape cannot mask his surprise that it is me in his office, closing and locking the door behind me. I don't take my eyes off his. I don't want to waste my life at his hands. I hate him, but he is not the enemy I have set out to destroy or be destroyed by. I have one chance to make some difference. If I want to win this game, my strategy has to be flawless.
"How is your arm?" I keep my voice breezy, as though we are discussing trivialities. I see a puzzled frown battling against his usually unfathomable mask as his hand flicks up to his shoulder. "I'm thinking forearm actually. I know you've got some pretty hot stuff blacked in on that arm." It takes him a few seconds to catch on. This time the emotion threatening to wreak lines across his face is anger, paired with astonishment. He struggles to regain composure, flicking a black strand of grease back into its proper place on his head. He can't restrain from lightly tracing the Dark Mark I'm referring to.
"What do you want, Potter?" He speaks through his teeth. If the situation at hand was not serious, his manner of speech would have me laughing.
"Clever man like you might have guessed by now." This time, my perfect airy tones are strained, more forced, and I can see that he has noticed my discomfort. He gains the upper hand in our vocal battle for domination.
"Fancy me now, do we Potter? I always wondered if you were completely straight beneath that oh-so-perfect exterior." He smirks, waiting for my anger. I defy him, keeping it back.
"Actually, you aren't my type." I love you Ginny... "I prefer the snake-like, bald, grayish pallor, black tattered robe kind of guy." Once more, I steal onto a higher level, pushing ahead of my opposition and at the same time trying to underpin him. Throw him off guard. His next words are a bare whisper.
"You are asking for an audience with death itself?" What? What is he getting at? This isn't the way I had planned it. He sounds...upset. Or is he calling a bluff? I open my mouth to reply, but Snape cuts in again. "Well, I think that can be arranged." With an evidently practiced movement, Snape flicks his wrist, executing a perfect throw. Before I can defend myself, the object he has thrown embeds itself in the front of my shoulder.
"Ah!" I gasp at the pain and feel the dart's contents spread through my veins.
Ginny...I love you so much.
A tranquilizer dart, loaded and highly potent.
If I die, Ginny...
As I lose consciousness and the world spins and blurs about me, I recognize its single other property: Snape's snide little dart is also a port key.
I love you.
Ginny P.O.V
I lie on the floor and cry, feeling completely wretched. I can't be bothered to put my robes back on, and lie in my underwear. My panties are wet through and feel sticky against my skin, as does my hair, which is slick with tears. My bra is translucent, my sweat and the odd smears of dirt my boots left on the floor turning it a mucky pink. Harry left half an hour ago. I can't believe I fell for him, the way he made me feel so completely wanted; before unceremoniously retarding me, just because I wasn't quite mentally ready to have sex with him. He even lied about going to the loo. He's probably hidden down some decrepit passageway banging Cho Chang right now. That could have been me, although I don't know why I wish it was now. I even went all out on trying to make myself ready for what he wanted. I got so jumped up on my hormones that I was at one point desperate for him to return. My hands are clammily damp, from the same liquid covering my legs. I don't even really know what the liquid is, only that it feels dirty too. Even though my virginity is thankfully intact, I feel as though part of my childhood is lost for good, and I am no longer completely innocent. The worst part is that my body is still a live wire of sexual tension, buzzing with a kind of hormonal electricity that starkly contrasts with the heaviness of my anger and the emotional crisis dominating my head. I feel like some kind of prostitute; I want fast, physical release and soft, gentle comfort both at the same time. Even my body is betraying me. A spider scuttles across the floor and I scream, breaking into renewed hysterics. The door to the Room of Requirements conveniently opens into a disused storeroom, and I fling myself through it, forgetting my uniform. The door to the Room of Requirements vanishes, and I feel the last little part of our relationship disappear with it. Even though I hate him now, losing this last small glimmer of familiarity ruins me, and I bang my hands on the wall where the door was, vision blurred by the tears flooding down my face.
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