A/N: Gah. So sorry. I realize smut has been taking over a chance for plot, but that's just how a relationship between Ginny and Draco works out! It involves a whole lotta angst, and a WHOLE lotta sex. Sorry, but it's true, and you know it.

OH, and by the way, this story is now being ALSO dedicated to my friend Maria who is in Poland, just because I really REALLY miss her, and because she's the one who got my into Draco/Ginny in the first place, and she deserves it. Love to her! And to all of you who are still reading this damned story!

Enjoy!!

Ginny returned to Grimmauld Place breathless and shaking, her flesh hot. She was met by a frighteningly worried glare the moment she stepped inside, and she gulped at the sight of Harry's anxious green eyes.

"Ginny," he hissed, his voice low so as not to wake Mrs. Black's portrait, "where on Earth have you been? You got off work three hours ago! What have you been doing?"

"You sound like my mother," she mumbled, slipping passed him and up the stairs. He followed her. She flung herself to the bed, and collapsed there in exhaustion.

Harry sat beside her. "I don't care if I do," he said quietly. Her heart was beating fast. "After everything we've been through… I just get worried. I'm still afraid something awful might happen if you're out there all by yourself. There are still Death Eaters at large, you know."

"I know, Harry," she sighed. Her limbs felt heavy, and the softness of her mattress felt like it was sucking her in and possessing her. She yawned.

She watched Harry shake his head as though she just didn't understand. "Look," he pressed, "I just… my whole life, I've been focused on killing Voldemort and his followers, and I'm still adjusting to just having a normal life. Some part of me feels like the battle's still going on, like it never ended. I still worry for yours and Ron's and Hermione's safety, so to come home this late and not tell me where you are is really scary for me. Call me paranoid, but I'm just worried about you. Plus, recently, you've been so… distant. Don't deny it."

Ginny listened to Harry talk, trying to ignore the violent thudding of her heartbeat in her ears. "I know, Harry," she told him, "I know. I know you worry, and I'm sorry."

"So, what's up, Ginny?" he cooed, leaning down to her and wrapping his arms over her tired, limp form. "What's wrong? What's been going on with you for the past few days?"

"Nothing, Harry." She rolled over, closing her eyes to calm her building headache. "I'm fine." What else could she tell him? She could not tell him about Draco. She could never tell him. "It's… that time of the month," she lied. In truth, her last period had ended a week ago, but it was a good lie. "I'm sorry, though, Harry," she breathed honestly. She felt his warm arms around her, and smiled. He was so solid, so warm, and so reliable. His arms were soft and calming. She snuggled into the black hair that was tickling her face, and breathed in his scent. Shifting slightly, Ginny let Harry crawl fully onto the bed beside her.

Harry's hands stroked her face. It felt good—sweet, relaxing, and so right after all she'd done with Draco. Her heart felt full of warmth to be wrapped here in his loving embrace. "I love you, Ginny," he sighed against her. She cuddled her face into his chest.

"I love you, too, Harry," she said. Her voice cracked, but she meant it. She'd never loved anything the way she loved Harry. He was her stronghold—her light at the end of her dark and confused tunnel. He was hers, and she loved it. She grinned happily against him, slinking her arms around his back to hold him tightly. She embraced Harry lazily, breathing deeply, letting his soft breaths coax her into sleep.

And suddenly, Harry was gone: Draco was now the one holding her sweetly in bed. She kissed him. He pushed her onto her back, and bit her jaw roughly. She felt dizzy, like she was going to faint, and tried to escape him. Harry approached them, his smile forgiving and warm.

"Harry," she whispered, touching his face. Draco was gone. She kissed Harry, and he kissed her back. She was bleeding from her hands, and didn't know why.

He looked at her palms with concern. "Oh, Ginny, your hands," he said, and kissed them. Her blood remained upon his lips when he pulled back, and he looked suddenly horrified.

"Harry?" she asked, confused. "What's wrong, Harry?" He had let go of her, stepping away from her, looking disgusted.

"Him?" he hissed.

"No, Harry! No one! Just you!"

He spat her blood upon the floor, and Draco stepped out from behind him. Harry did not appear to see him, even as he walked directly in front of him, and stood beside Ginny. Draco brushed aside her hair, and licked her neck. "Me," he laughed at Harry, who fell to the ground, staring up at them.

"No, Harry!" Ginny called. "Harry, I swear." She began to cry. "I swear," she repeated. Everything went fuzzy. Where was she? "I swear," she mumbled again. "I swear, it's you."

"What's me, Ginny?" Harry whispered, his voice much closer than she thought.

Her eyes snapped open. She was still lying in Harry's caring arms, and white sunlight was streaming over their huddled bodies. She sighed heavily into Harry's chest. "Nothing, Harry. I was dreaming."

He chuckled lightly. "Was it good?"

"Yes," she lied. "It was very good." She leaned up and pressed her mouth to his, tasting Harry's essence there, pretending she wasn't remembering the false image of her blood upon his sweet lips. "I love you," she muttered softly.

Ginny left Weasley's Wizard Wheezes gladly that night. She was happy to escape the shop. She had never seen herself working there, and still didn't enjoy it. It was not something she wanted to be doing with her life. As it was Friday, she was happy to leave and know she had two days of freedom from the place. She worked there as a favor to George, and to earn a bit of money, but she wanted to do something real with her life.

Her anxiety for the weekend was only half of the reason she wanted to get out of the store, however: the other half of her was anxious to be taken over once again by Draco Malfoy. All day she had been pulsing with that abnormal desire for him, and now that she was so close to another meeting, she was practically on fire with the need.

She wandered through the dark streets on legs that shook with anticipation. She stumbled up and down the winding roads, searching for some clue as to the direction of Knockturn Alley.

After about ten minutes, she found it. She wondered vaguely how Malfoy had found it so easily that night—but then, she supposed, he had been there many times before. The place was deserted. She glanced down the street that twisted out of view behind shops that were probably devoted to the dark arts…places she probably didn't want to go near.

Standing meekly at the narrow entrance to the dark street, she waited. "Malfoy," she whispered into the silent night. "Malfoy?"

No one answered, but she did not give up. She leaned herself against a wall, and called again: "Malfoy?" Ginny held her breath. Where was he? Her heart was thumping wildly, and she felt fidgety without him here to quench her great lust. She let out her deep breath of air, blowing some of her hair up and out of her sweaty face. "Draco?" she tried, and suddenly a pair of dominating hands had grabbed her firmly, and a greedy mouth was overwhelming her own.

"Oh, Draco," she sighed against his lips, and he smirked.

She slid her arms around his neck, and tried to deepen their passionate kiss, but he pulled away, chuckling. "Anxious, are we?"

"Yes," she admitted breathlessly, her entire body heaving with want.

"Not here… We can be seen here," he whispered tantalizingly into her ear, holding her close. Her groan of irritation went unheard, for he was already pulling her into compressing darkness again.

When she could breath freely again, she hissed, "Not your manor again!"

"Have you a better suggestion?"

"Yes," she snarled, looking frightened to find herself back in the Malfoys' garden. "Anywhere that's not a place I might get killed by your father."

Draco laughed coldly. "Fine then," he sighed, and clung to her again as he dragged her back into oblivion. She could still feel his hands on her arms, even as the suffocating air pressed them into a change of scenery. An instant later, they were clutching each other in front of the Hogs Head inn. "Is this better?"

"No," she said exasperatedly. "I know Aberforth!"

"Who?"

"The bartender here!"

"Oh, for crying out loud, Weasley!"

"Stop calling me that," she implored.

He sighed, and pulled out his wand. "Ginny," he corrected himself, and tapped her on the top of the head with the stick of wood in his hand. A chill ran down her spine as he did so, and she couldn't help but shiver. "There. I disillusioned you. Happy, now?"

"Oh, alright," she grumbled, crossing her unseen arms. Draco sneered as he stepped into the pub and asked for a room. Ginny followed him, but stood as far back from Aberforth as she could, frightened that he would for some reason be able to see her there with Draco.

Up in the room, Draco rapped her over the head again, and she felt the strange cold sensation rush through her again when he did. "Ashamed to be seen with me?" he growled against her cheek.

"Of course," she breathed, and their lips met again. She tore open his shirt, ignoring the clasps that held it to him, and slid it from his shoulders. As he ripped away her clothes, she ran her hands greedily over his bare shoulders and chest.

She was shocked, then, when he shoved her away from him. He pulled away his pants, and she tried to move back towards him, but he pushed her off again. "Draco?" she questioned, and was appalled by the hurt in her own voice.

"Lie down on the bed," he whispered, waving his wand to lock and silence the room, just like the night previous. Without even daring to disobey under that scalding glare, she did as he asked, and laid her naked body down flat against the mattress. She was biting her lip in trepidation as he stalked to her. She watched with terror as he waved his wand again…

Her arms were unwillingly above her head, and her legs were parted. Her pulse leapt to her throat, and she chomped down harder upon her bottom lip, so full of excitement and fear she felt that if she opened her mouth, her still-beating heart might fly out and engulf them both in her blood. She could not speak. She could not breathe. Ginny attempted to twist her arms out of their invisible bindings, but they would not budge. A small whimper forced its way from her, and tears flew to her eyes as she looked at Draco. He was staring at her, his body swelling with obvious lust. Something about the primal animal flitting through his grey eyes terrified her, and her whimper grew louder. His lips curled into a full grin as he watched her squirm. "I've told you I like to watch you struggle; haven't I?" he hissed.

She swallowed, trying to hold in her fear that was creeping to her tone as she said, "I've told you you're sick, right, Malfoy?"

His eyes narrowed, the grin immediately disappearing. "Several times now," he admitted. "And it's true."

Ginny was sweating already, and the place between her thighs was wettest of all. She hated him, and feared him tremendously, but wanted him so badly it ached. Her legs were twitching, pining for him to take and overcome her, but he was merely standing above her, his eyes scanning her nudity hungrily. "Please, Malfoy," she sighed, "I don't care what sick fantasies you have, just… please…"

"Don't call me that," he snarled, his voice low and ominous. His eyes were full of anger and pain.

"I'm sorry!" she whined. "I'm sorry, Draco!"

"No," he said thoughtfully. "You're not."

"What—? Yes! Yes, I am!"

"But you will be."

Her heart stopped. What was he planning to do to her? She knew he was sick, and took unfathomable pleasure in torture and pain. Why had she ever agreed to this terrible meeting? Her doubts flooded back, overwhelming her, and making her writhe madly beneath the invisible chains. "Okay, that's enough, Malfoy! Let me go! Let me up!"

"DON'T call me that!" he shouted, and his intimidating voice vibrated through her like a clap of thunder. She shivered, and her tears began to fall, but she did not say anything else. She hated herself for agreeing with him. She hated herself for giving in to the beauty in his shining eyes, and submitting herself to him, body and mind. She watched him crawl above her, looming over her shaking body as though proving he was superior to her. His eyes were so angry that she was surprised she hadn't screamed yet. He raised his hand threateningly, and she closed her eyes. For a moment, she thought he wouldn't do it—thought he hadn't the heart—but a second later, her cheek seared, and she let out a yelp.

"Malfoy, you—!" she cried, but the blow came again. "Stop!" she sobbed. "What is your issue?"

"What is my name?" he whispered sweetly as though to contrast the angry red print developing across her pale face.

She was panting. It felt like she had just run a thousand miles, and breath felt difficult to achieve. As her legs gave a lurch as though to disconnect themselves from their binds, she realized that she was soaked. She was submerged in shame as she found that her heart was drumming so madly not out of the self-disgust she'd convinced herself it was, but out of pure and possessing excitement.

"Draco," she surrendered on a painful exhale.

"Thank you," he groaned, and crushed her parted lips with his. She squealed at the blissful contact, but moments later, he left her mouth empty again, smirking maliciously at her.

His fingers trailed down her body, and hovered over her ginger curls teasingly. She was writhing, her entire body begging furiously for him to release her. Tiny squeaks were squeezing from her throat as she thrashed in desperation for freedom.

With a tantalizing, low chuckle, a finger penetrated her at last. She gave a strangled gasp, feeling every inch of the slender appendage within her. He slid it inside of her painstakingly slowly, torturing her as intensely as he could. She groaned, rolling her hips as frantically as possible in an attempt to extract every ounce of pleasure she could from the slow sensation. She wanted him to take her, and he was deliberately denying her of it. "Please," she sighed, "Draco."

An honestly anguished moan trembled from him as she said his name. He was staring her straight in the eyes, his storming silver ones quieting her brown ones into submission. His face was mad with power, for he was obviously relishing in the incredible effect his body and his hands were having on her. He bent his head, disconnecting their locked glance, and sniffed the nape of her neck like an animal. "I can smell your desire," he rumbled fiercely, "and I can smell your fear."

She shuddered, her body throbbing heatedly at his words that were both so menacing and so exhilarating at the same time. The predatory growl that pulsated from him at her throat made her pant, hard, and let out an indisposed grunt of longing. "Please," she hissed again, needing him badly now. She was on fire—she was in physical agony from his deprivation of her needs!

At her last begging word, he removed his finger, and pressed the entire length of his body against hers. She was dizzy with pleasure as she felt him nudging her entrance.

"Please!"

In that moment, he impaled her, bursting a scream that had been contained within her sweating form since he had first told her to get on the bed. She screamed and screamed as he thrust into her, stabbing her over and over again with his thickness. She was wild and feral as she convulsed around him, and he was primal, instinctual, and animalistic as he ravaged her body. With a roar, he dug his teeth into her shoulder, and did not cease to clench his jaw around her even when she was sobbing with pain through her screams of pleasure. His eyes were rolling in ecstasy, and hers were shut too tightly for reason. Vision escaped him as he climaxed inside of her, his hips so wildly brutal that they might have been rabid creatures moving of their own accord. She came around him, and they screamed together—falling into the exquisite abyss of each other.

She felt perfect: like a satisfied woman. Her body was sore and pulsing in protest to movement, as though she had been used viciously; and in a sense, she felt she had been, but she did not care. She enjoyed the experience. She enjoyed Draco using her, enjoyed the way she made someone so cold and evil become so passionately unrestrained… the way she knew she made him feel an undeserved intimacy. It made her feel needed, like a drug, and this gave her an odd sense of power and control that she had never felt before. She loved this new version of the feeling of being conquered and dominated, a feeling she'd felt only once before, and thought she'd never wanted to feel it again. "Tom," she breathed, remembering. He had taken her, first by drawing her soul from her, and then by taking over her body. She'd been powerless then, and she was powerless now, and the feelings were so torturously similar that it sickened her.

"Tom?" Draco growled. "Who on Earth is Tom?"

"Tom Riddle," she groaned, realizing what she'd said aloud.

He pushed himself up to instead kneel over her small frame, and now the free air hitting her sweat-drenched body chilled her. She shivered. He was glaring at her with eyes so cold they might have been ice. "The Dark Lord."

Tears swam to her eyes, and she nodded helplessly.

"Why did you say his name?" His voice sounded choked, as though he, too, were on the verge of crying. She could not think why.

"Because," she confessed, feeling exposed and inclined to honesty as she lay there, still bound. "Because the only time I've ever felt as…" She swallowed. "…As powerless as I do with you… was when I was possessed by him."

The look of horror on his face tore her up. She suddenly wished she were no longer tied there, and within a moment of thinking it, her hands were free. She curled herself up into a ball beneath him, cracking all her stiff bones, and caressing her sore wrists and ankles.

"You were…"

"I was eleven," she said, cutting him off, feeling it begin to pour out of her as though she had no control. "I was given a diary. I wrote in it all the time, and it wrote back to me. It was a friend I could carry with me, when I had no friends. I was the youngest of seven: the only girl, and the last to go to Hogwarts. I was so excited, but really scared. I was an awkward child, and I didn't have many friends. I had people I could talk to as acquaintances, but that year, I spent most of my time pouring over that stupid diary." She took a moment to breathe deeply, and close her eyes so she could avoid looking at that continually horrified expression. "It came to know me so well, that it eventually started to drive me crazy, planting false images and things into my head so that I'd give up, and it could posses me. I didn't know who Tom Riddle was. I didn't know what it was doing to me, but by the time I realized it, and tried to get rid of it, it was too late. I was practically addicted to the thing, and stole it back from Harry, who had found it after I'd disposed of it." Ginny stopped, and opened her eyes again. "You picked it up, once."

Draco's eyes widened. She nodded, continuing: "Yeah. It was Valentines Day, and Harry's bag ripped. You picked it up and taunted him, thinking it was his diary." Her insides clenched as she remembered. "That was how I knew it was in his possession, and I stole it back, then." Tears were straining her words, but she was leaking with this story now, and it was flowing from her against her own will. "It possessed me again, and it led me into the Chamber of Secrets. I was the one who had been attacking all those muggle-born students, yes." The tears were flooding down her cheeks heavily now, but she pressed on. "It was me. I did it. I couldn't help myself, but it was all me. I went into the Chamber, and I… I…" She began to cower, hugging herself to her. Draco's hand upon her shoulder egged her on. "I collapsed. The diary seemed to come alive, and Tom Riddle himself came out of it, laughing at me, teasing me, hurting me with the intimate knowledge I'd given him into my soul, and then, I blanked out. Harry told me later that I was inches from death when he stabbed the thing, and Riddle finally disappeared."

It was over. She could not explain why she felt the need to tell it all, but it had come so easily with him watching her like that, half horrified and sickened, and half concerned and sympathetic.

"And…" Draco began, but his voice was stifled with tears. He cleared his throat, and went on, "I remind you of that experience?"

She shook her head. "No," she said quickly, "you just… posses me like that." She smiled. "You make me feel powerless, and completely in your control. I like it."

With a sad twist of his lips, his eyes softened. "You like it, but you hated it then?"

"It's a different kind of control. This is the good kind."

"Well, that works out alright, then," he smirked, "because while you like to be controlled, I like to control you." He kissed her deeply, but when he pulled back a second later, he was no longer smirking. The frown that now played across his face made him seem distant and unreachable. She was intrigued, but she didn't need to ask him anything, for he answered her question before she could voice it. "So we've both felt the power of the Dark Lord," he sighed. "It pains me to think you've felt it too, when I can barely think back upon my short time in his power without experiencing a very deep sense of fury."

"He got to know me," Ginny said quietly. "I gave him the power from the beginning. You didn't ask for what you got."

"How would you know?" Draco spat.

She gulped. "Harry told me. He made you a Death Eater against your will."

"Well, that nasty little scar face," he scowled, wringing his hands, "lied to you. It was not forced upon me: I chose it." His voice was so low, and so full of danger, that she did not dare protest. "It is what makes my crimes so much more unforgivable: that I chose to become a Death Eater." He shut his eyes, and pressed his hands to his temples, shaking his head. He looked in deep distress, and she wanted so to reach out and caress him, but she didn't dare. "He threatened my mother's life, and mine as well, and he even threatened to leave my father rotting in Azkaban forever if I did not join him, but in the end, the choice—" His voice broke. "—was mine." He was shaking. She reached out a hand to touch him, then, but he suddenly twitched, and she recoiled. "I was terrified, but I acted proud, and as the time went on, I could not eat or sleep without regret running through my head. Pure, undaunted sleep has still not reached me in quite some time." It felt like a very intimate confession, and she didn't know what to make of it. Should she be touched that he was sharing these things with her, or should she be appalled that their relationship was developing a new emotional bond as they talked? In the silence, she ran a lazy finger over the scar that was his reminder—the skull and snake that were permanently etched into his muscular forearm. His body went tense for a moment at the touch, but relaxed quickly as though her tender fingers calmed him. He lay back down beside her, and they breathed together, her hand still stroking his grotesquely scarred arm.

"Who would be so cruel," he sighed gently, "as to slip you a diary possessed by the Dark Lord?"

She had so hoped he would not ask it—so hoped she would not have to say! But it felt wrong, shameful, and strangely dirty to keep it from him, like not confessing the name of a known rapist. It felt, suddenly, like something he needed to know. "Your father," wrenched its way from her protesting throat, and her stomach flipped over with sympathy as it did. She felt him go rigid beside her, and turned her head to look at him. He was staring avidly at the ceiling.

"My…?" His face was white as a sheet, and she felt concern boil in her veins. She wanted to say something to console the rage she knew was rising in him, but she could think of nothing. The truth remained that Draco's father had attempted her murder with a diary that would torture her to madness and posses her to kill muggle-born students first, and that wasn't something she was going to deny merely for the sake of redeeming the man in the eyes of his son. Draco deserved the truth.

After several minutes of speechlessness, Draco swallowed, and choked out, "I hate him."

Ginny had nothing to say to this. She simply continued to look at him, as though this would help in some way. Eventually, he continued:

"My father is the reason the Dark Lord made me a Death Eater. My father had failed him, and recruiting me was the Dark Lord's revenge on him." He looked utterly disgusted. "It's all his fault," he sighed, and she saw that his eyes were very red. She shifted to lie on her side and face him more easily, and slipped an arm over his chest, caressing him as he continued to stare so furiously to the ceiling. The fingers on her other hand still lightly traced his scar.

"Well then," Ginny said meekly, "we have something in common."

He turned at last to look at her. His eyes were bloodshot and sad, but still as cold as ever, his brow low and brooding.

"Lucius was the cause of both of our unfortunate run-ins with Voldemort."

He looked pained to hear the name spoken so freely from her lips, but she knew he was biting his tongue to keep from yelling at her for it. She took this as a sign of almost-respect, and replied with a small, gracious smile.

She opened her mouth, feeling words on her tongue she never thought she'd ever want to say. She closed it again, stopping herself, but it hurt, as though to hold it in was a crime. "Y'know," she whispered hurriedly, before she lost the heart to say it, "you're really not so bad, Draco."

His face flushed as a whole-hearted laugh boomed from him. It was one so genuine, she was surprised. She blushed as he turned to her, the laughter dancing in his eyes. "Well, you obviously don't know me very well, Ginny."

"Maybe not," she sighed with a shrug, "but I still don't think you're quite as bad as you think you are."

He did not answer her, but merely stared blankly at her hair. One of his hands reached up to stroke it where it lay in a messy orange puddle about her head. She closed her eyes, basking in the delicately pleasant sensation. Her entire body felt worn and battered, and she needed desperately to sleep. Her eyes began to droop.

"No," he cooed, and she stirred again. "You can't sleep yet," he reminded her warningly. "We're still in the Hogs Head."

"Oh… right…" She shook her head.

"So where does Potter think you are?" She heard the resentment in his voice, but did not question it.

Ginny sighed. "He thinks I'm spending a few hours with Luna."

"Who's Luna?"

"A friend of mine from Hogwarts," she informed him.

"Another Gryffindor brat, I suppose?"

"No, actually." She yanked herself from him at that, and her skin felt suddenly frozen where his arms had been wrapped around her a moment ago. She began to dress. "She was a Ravenclaw." Her voice was stiff.

Draco sat up, and threw his pants on, too, watching her. "You're so sensitive, Ginny. You take things far too personally."

"Oh, so I'm just supposed to put up with your constant insults?"

"They're not directed at you—"

"No, just at my house that I happen to take pride in."

He snorted. "Oh, come on. You're allowed to hate me for my Slytherin pride, but I'm not allowed to hate you for your Gryffindor pride?"

"I don't hate you for being a Slytherin!" she cried, exasperated. "I hate you for being a pathetic, arrogant, self-absorbed prat!"

Draco's warm, wide palm closed over her thin wrist as she made to leave. She looked back at him, her eyes warning him to take caution with her. Her hair a mess, she appeared to be a personified angry flame. He smiled at the sight of her, despite her furious glare, and this puzzled her. What on Earth did he have to be smiling about?

He chuckled, and wrenched her toward him, forcing her body flush against his. His smirk provoked arousal within her as he leaned toward her, and whispered into her ear: "What else do you hate about me?" It was almost romantic, resembling the way lovers list their favorite qualities in each other.

She groaned as his hand slid down her back. "You think you're the king of the world." She licked her lips. "You like to push people around. You like to torment anyone who bugs you, and you like to see people suffer. You always have to have your way, because you're a spoiled little bastard." His hand was sliding beneath her skirt and touching her mercilessly over her thin kickers. "You…" she panted, trying hard to stay focused. "You… suck up to those in power, because that's your weakness: You love power. You'd give anything for power and for control. You can't keep your temper in check, you're violent, and you're thoughtless. You're…" she was gasping every word, now, as his fingers pushed aside the fabric protecting her private areas. "You're… horrible…" she finished lamely, but she could get out nothing more, for in that moment, his lips had found hers once again, and their tongues were thrashing wildly about together.

He was cackling when they came up for air, removing his hand from within her and inserting it into his mouth as he shook with amused laughter. "So," he gasped, having licked his fingers clean, "taking all that into consideration… do you still think I'm not all that bad?"

Ginny nodded, continuously stubborn.

"I take amusement in how increasingly forgiving you are, Ginny."

She smiled, pulling herself from his grip and inching toward the door. "I really ought to be going, Draco. Harry's birthday is tomorrow, and…"

"Oh, is it?" Draco's arrogant features suddenly twisted into a fierce expression of malicious excitement. "If we meet again tomorrow, I might actually grow to respect you for your priorities."

The smile was wiped from her face immediately. "You think you're more important than Harry in my life? Is that it?"

"Potter is a fool," he laughed, ignoring her question, "for not having a good enough hold on a prize like you." His eyes raked her body, but she felt suddenly disgusted.

"Harry is not a fool," she spat, "and I am his, completely and totally! I love him. You're nothing but convenient, Draco." She was trying to offend him, but it did not work, apparently.

The smug look of amusement did not vanish from his face. "So tell me, how many times has Potter actually fucked you?"

"You sick-o! That is none of your business!"

"He was that bad, was he?"

"For your information, he was perfectly satisfactory."

"Aha! So how many times has it been?"

She was fuming. "Once," she admitted, "and it was very nice."

"Ah, but I have had you three times by now, and already I can tell you're not one to settle for 'nice.' The things you put up with from me… the desperate passion that your body can exude while submitting entirely to my control that I know you crave…" Draco's eyes were bright and shining with mounting lust again. "…It is more than clear the things your need: the things your body requires to feel much more than satisfied… much more than just 'very nice.'"

Ginny swelled with ache for Draco's hands on her again, but she shook the feeling off, remembering her irritation at him. How dare he try to tell her he was better for her than Harry was? How dare he?

"You keep insulting Harry like that, and I swear, you'll never have another chance to satisfy me ever again."

He had her against the door in an instant, and his hardness was rubbing against her most sensitive parts beneath her skirt, so that she was suddenly wet again. "Draco," she groaned as his body pulsed stiffly around her. He chuckled, and pulled away, leaving her in a state of disappointed desperation.

"Your threats are empty," he told her. "Even after these few short days, you're addicted to me already."

"I am not—"

"Once you've had me," he hissed in her ear, "I'm all that can satisfy."

"Tomorrow," she sighed, ignoring his self-obsessed comment, and slipping from the room with a last look at Draco's sneering face.

A/N: Reviews are delicious! Yay!