Ginny fled quickly out of Gryffindor tower, following memorized passages and secret doors until she found herself standing in front of a blank stretch of wall in the seventh floor corridor. She paced impatiently, thinking of what she needed at that moment. When the door appeared, she darted inside, knowing it would fade from the outer corridor.
She stood in the center of a small, cell-like room. The tiniest sliver of moonlight slipped through the grating on a high window, hitting her face at an angle that whispered of a haunted life, and memories that no one cared to notice.
The room was minimalistic, extremely bare, but clean. There was a cot set up in one corner of the far wall, a wool blanket folded neatly at the foot. Next to it was a folding chair with an alarm clock on the seat. Directly opposite the bed was a door, which she knew would lead to a small bathroom. She walked to the cot, her bare feet making a soft slapping noise on the cold stone floor. She lay down on her side, pulling the blanket over herself and curling into a fetal position. She closed her eyes, feeling secure enough to let the memories flood back, bringing with them tears which she had suppressed since her last visit to the panic room, as she fondly called it.
*****
There was darkness in his eyes, an unforgiving quality in the way he touched her face. As he captured her lips in his own, they both knew that she wasn't backing down. He had given her all the opportunity she needed to escape, if she had cared to. He had given her so much time to hex him, her wand pressed against his throat. And still she had stayed, her heart beating inordinately slowly, almost lethargically. She knew she would regret it later, but at that moment, in that dark place, it felt so right.
Though his hands were rough and commanding, though his lips drew dark blood from beneath her pale skin, she loved it. She loved it when he whispered harsh words in her ear, told her he hated her even as he made passionate love to her.
She knew she was falling for him, had fallen and hit rock bottom long ago. She knew that without his silver eyes and soft lips, without being able to touch his flawless skin and run her hands through his silky hair, she would die.
Not to be melodramatic, but she knew that she would cease to exist, in the emotional and mental sense of the word. She would still function as a physical being, but her emotional reaction to anything would be minimal at best.
They held each other with wild, desperate hands, clinging to each other as if they would never be together again. After every meeting, he would get up, dress himself, and stare down at her haughtily, his mask firmly in place.
"I hate you," he would whisper harshly.
"I can't stand you," she would reply quietly, meaning every word.
And then he would vanish, leaving her cold and alone, longing for his warm embrace.
*****
Ginny bit her lip to suppress a sob, not knowing why she bothered. No one could hear her, and if they could they wouldn't care. She closed her eyes and fell asleep thinking of a man for whom she would never admit her love, and who would never love her.
- 2 -
