Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot. Please don't sue me; I can't even afford a lawyer.
Against Her WillBy Aradia Violet
When
the night drags on
when the fever burns
come to your senses
everybody learns
If it looks like rain
if it makes no sounds
it's an echo of pain on common ground
~Elton John.
Chapter Four; The Morning After~¤~¤~¤~¤~¤~
" Come on, sweetie, you have to go to bed." Joanna said smilingly to their little daughter, which willingly let her mother carry her up the stairs.
" Good night daddy" she called sleepily to her father. He looked up from the newspaper, and blew her a kiss.
Sweet dreams," he whispered before she disappeared into the bathroom. Then he folded the paper, yawned and rose. He headed to the kitchen, intending to make a cup of hot milk and honey to his pregnant wife.
He hummed softly to himself, thinking about how lucky he was after all. A faint singing could be heard from the bedroom, soft as a gentle summer breeze, driving away all disheartening and sad thoughts. He started to stir the content in the kettle by drawing circles in the air with his wand. He sniffed the scent of up warmed honey mixed with the smell of a clear summer night. It smelled like life, he thought to himself.
He waved his wand toward the cupboard, and a sunny yellow ceramic mug floated through the air, stopping right over the kettle. He poured the milk into the cup, and seized it by the handle.
He was just about to turn around to call for his wife when he heard a sound. Very slowly he gripped his wand, all senses alert. These were dangerous times, and one couldn't be too prepared. In the corner of his eye, he saw in a glimpse of a slender woman-silhouette, wrapped in a midnight-blue cloak. He relaxed a little: it was probably just the neighbour giving them a visit. She was so familiar with them that she often forgot to knock.
The intruder didn't hesitate a second, and even before he could figure out what had happened, he had hit the floor, shrouded in an unnatural green light, his limbs stiff, his blood frozen and eyes staring into nothing.
No evidence could be found that proved that a visitor had been there that night, killing the man lying on the floor.
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Where the hell am I? was the first thought that occurred to Ginny when she woke up in the morning. Her head ached like someone was pounding on it with a hammer, and the sunlight in the room burned her eyes. She raised her hand to her head, but dropped it in an instant, making the pain almost unbearable. Instead she remained laying under the soft blanket that covered her, tears running down her cheeks because of the severe light, while blinking like crazy. It didn't help.
"Hello?" she called into the air. No response. "Is anybody there?" The second time she called, she could hear the rising panic in her voice. The worst thing was that she couldn't remember a thing of what had happened; the only thing she knew for sure, was that this certainly wasn't her bed.
"Well" she said, trying to convince herself she didn't have to squeak like that. "I can't lay around here all day." Then she took a deep breath, and swung her legs down from the bed. A moment she just sat there, her chest rising and lowering heavily from the work. Why did she feel so weak? She hadn't done anything that should cause a state like this, at least not as she could remember. There it was again: as she could remember. Why did it feel like someone had torn away her memory, replacing it with some sort of dark fog? It really was frustrating. When her breath steadied, she gripped the edge of the bed, and pulled herself on her feet.
She swayed. I'm not going fall. I'm not going to fall, she repeated convincingly to herself. With a sigh of release, she tried to take a step, but her foot banged into something metallic, causing tendrils up her already exhausted leg. She lost her balance, and desperately clung something that seemed like a folding screen.
Unfortunately, the screen wasn't meant to be clung at, and suddenly she lay on the floor, arms and legs twisted into piles of blankets.
The sound of clanking heals which marched into the room filled the air. "I told you she needed rest! Now, get out of…" she heard a furious voice yell, and then both the steps and the voice stopped dead.
" Ginny, what are you doing there?" the female voice asked more softly, helping the tiny girl who was struggling under the blankets.
"I can't see anything," Ginny cried frantically.
"No, it's just the potion that makes your sight more sensible to light. Within an hour, it will have worn out. Don't worry"
The tone was motherly now, and Ginny realized with a bang that this was the same person who'd been nursing her in her second year at Hogwarts.
"Madam Pomfrey?" she asked as the woman pulled Ginny to her feet, and guided her back to her bed.
"Yes, darling?"
"Why am I here?" she felt how the other person stiffened.
"You still don't remember?" Ginny shook her head; a little annoyed that both Draco and Madame Pomfrey seemed to be so interested in that particular question.
"Just lay here for a moment, will you? I'll be right back." She left Ginny feeling like a huge question mark, which only was increased when she heard Madame Pomfrey mumble something like, "Oh, dear, this is not good. Have to find Dumbledore," to herself.
Fifteen minutes later found the headmaster of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry in deep conversation with the youngest member of the Weasley family.
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A week had passed since the day in the Forest, but Draco still felt shaken. Of course that was on the inside; outside he was still that spoiled and bragging sixth year student who got the best grades in his whole house. He had early learned not to show his feelings, especially not vulnerability. Instead, he showed people what they wanted to see; someone they loved to hate, someone frightening. Not that he complained; Draco was content with this arrangement indeed. He was dreaded, and dread lead to respect, which again lead to power.
It was Potions class. Draco sat in the back of the chill dungeon, absently playing with his quill, his apparently interested look switched on. Snape was drawling about the uses of vampire's teeth, but Draco didn't catch the words. He'd been studying his quill for quite a long time when he looked up and his gaze quickly landed on the back right in front of him.
Her back. He hadn't confronted her yet, but he knew he had to do it soon. He had to know, most of all because if what he was afraid of were true, he would have time to prepare himself before his father told him. But at the same time, he didn't want to know. Pansy hadn't talked to him since before the summer, and now she was visibly ignoring him. Or had it been him ignoring her? Doing everything he could just so he didn't have to speak to her? Honestly, he didn't know. Perhaps some of both.
A bang from several books smashing together at the same time woke him from his daydreaming. Class was dismissed. He saw Pansy hurling her things into her bag, and then rose so she could flee the classroom. Draco hurried after her.
Outside the dungeon, he paused, looking to both sides. She was gone. How the hell could some one with so short legs run so fast? An anger rose within him, tensing his whole body. It was all her fault! Why did she have to owl him that stupid letter? If she hadn't he would have been living in a happily ignorance now.
Unconsciously he started to walk up the spiral stone-stairs, his anger growing with each step he took.
He stopped. His legs had taken him to a classroom he recognised very well indeed. It was here Pansy and he had used to go back in their fourth and fifth year. Everyone seemed to think that they'd been dating, but the fact was that the only thing they had shared, was a common understanding. In a way, they'd gone through the same childhood; both came from wealthy families where the most important in life was to be accepted by the others in the 'circle of riches', and he and Pansy had always been those little 'puppet' they parents proudly could show to the others when there was a party. And of course, both had parents who were loyal Death-Eater, but yet had run away with their tales between their legs when the Dark Lord was destroyed.
Their lives had always mirrored each other's. Until now.
He heard the rippling from heavy jewellery inside the room, and instinctively knew who it was. His heart skipped a beat. Only a common understanding, and nothing more, he had to remind himself of. The anger had vanished in a moment.
"Pansy…" he started as he entered. She nearly bit off his head. Her cheeks were flustered, her eyes bright, and her little, plump figure quivered slightly.
He didn't listen to the words she was screaming in his face, but knew they that each one of them was dipped in hatred, but there were also a trace of sorrow and wistfulness hidden behind those spiteful words. The last thing didn't matter, he found out as the anger rode over him like waves. She had no right to yell at him. After all, it was her fault, and no one else that had got her into this. He followed Pansy's example, and soon it looked like they were having a competition about who could shout loudest and at the same time hit the other with the most hurting comments.
After a few minutes they paused to catch their breaths, both staring wildly at the other. Draco was the first to speak. It was no use to fight shy of it. With this girl, you had to speak straight from your shoulder.
"Just tell me," he said in a low, threatening tone, but his eyes almost pleading at the same time. "If it is true." That was the drop. He could see how she silently shattered inwardly, and suddenly she just looked tired, like she hadn't got any sleep for weeks. She stepped back, her now huge, watery eyes never leaving his concerned grey ones. Without a sound, she slowly rolled up her right sleeve.
Draco wanted to shut his eyes. He wanted to scream. He wanted to run away. He wanted to tear that black serpent and skull away from the milky skin, but all he could do was stare. His legs were made of lead, and a dizzy feeling crept over his mind. Finally he managed to close his eyes, and took a few steadying breaths.
When he opened his eyes again, she was gone.
Silently he went for his bag, and dragged his feet with him down the torch-lit corridor, the stonewalls shooting the sound of his weighty steps back at him.
He turned a corner, and suddenly he stood face to face with Ginny Weasley.
It's written in the scriptures
It's written there in blood
I even heard the angels declare it from above
There ain't no cure,
There ain't no cure,
There ain't no cure for love
~Leonard Cohen.
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A/N: Thanks to my betas, Annie and Molly! Schnoogles to you, and all the others that have reviewed my story! Loff you:)
Love, /Violet