caress
Disclaimer: Harry Potter, it's settings and characters all belong to the divine J.K. Rowling. I only own the plot and my own typed/written words.
A/N: written for old time's sakes.
Summary: Ginny Weasley had an abortion four years ago when she was sixteen; what happens when she meets up with the father of the child she never had?
///knew the signs
wasn't right
I was stupid
for a while
swept away
by you
and now I feel
like a fool
so confused
my hearts bruised
was I ever loved by you?
out of reach,
so far,
i never had your heart///
out of reach
couldn't see
we were never meant to be///
"I want you, Ginny," he whispered, grasping her shoulders lightly, and pulling her back against him. She gave a small sigh of submission, drowning into the smell of him; she had never felt this way before. Her chest was heaving with something so indescribable, so powerful she felt as if she was suffocating; the electrifying tingling ran through her skin, the familiarity washed over her once more, like an eclipse of lightening.
She tipped her head back, looking up at him, every part of her mind remembering his features. There was a flash through his eyes; something that lived longer than life, something that she couldn't intercept. But she knew it was there. Still gazing up at him, she tucked her hand into his, shivering as his skin met hers. She was sometimes scared by the reaction she often got from one single touch of him.
He reached for her other hand, which she reluctantly gave. He pulled her against him, rolling his fingertips on her thumbs. Pushing her red curls back behind her ears, let go of one of her hands to touch her face. Grazing her cheekbone tenderly, touching the tip of her nose, where tiny freckles sprinkled over her creamy white skin. He leaned forward, capturing his lips with hers. He could feel her heartbeat against his racing one. She responded to the kiss gently, as if she was afraid she would break something that was too fragile. It was intensified; he could feel her every movement writhing under him, he could hear every moan that escaped so softly out of her mouth; he could feel her, and only her. Both of his hands trailed slowly and carefully from her hips, sliding upwards to her shoulders, rubbing them affectionately before catching the back of her head, so that he could prod her further. She parted away from him, blinking.
"What was that?" she whispered.
He smiled at her, caught in the moment, in admiration. Pressing a single finger to her lips, he observed her before answering. "It was a kiss."
She looked down, grabbing his hands, brushing against him as she looked up at him again, wanting to push the strand of silver-blonde from his eyes.
"Let's go inside," she suggested. "It's cold out." Ginny clutched herself, shivering.
He leaned over, his heated breath fanning her face, causing a jolting tingling to run over her skin, and touched her chin with his thumb. "Are you sure it's the cold?"
"No," she retorted, and catching herself, she blushed. "Let's go inside."
"If you insist," Draco answered, and wrapped his hand around her shoulder as they walked beside together, heading to the castle.
____
_________
Twenty-year-old Ginny drained all thoughts out of her head, feeling as if she had disposed everything. She could still hear the thumping of blood in her ears; the grotesque taste lingering in her tongue, her throat clouded with something that stung. She was drunk, and she knew it. Her head was pounding with agony. She whimpered, blinking her eyes into vision.
The memories had created far more pain, however. She could still see them clearly in her mind. She could still feel that night; she could still feel his breath, his touches, his noises, his everything. And she could feel herself present in the glorious occasion, throwing everything away.
She tasted her own tears in her mouth, bittersweet, but refreshing after the vodka. The strong smell still pondered upon her nostrils. She wondered if she would ever feel like that again; like she was in a dream, like she was in a state to do nothing but accept his kisses, his touches, and drown in the sensations that came with it.
She had never felt that good, that tantalized, that addicted to one person. It was too powerful than intoxication; and even more than love. It was a feeling that she would only feel with him; and the chance had been taken away.
And now that feeling was gone.
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