Note: That was just the intro, third person. The rest is first point of view: Ginny's. Hopefully it'll be much easier for all of us. But seriously, this story has taken a drastic u-turn into the dark side…AN: Loren Eiseleg owns the beginning excerpt: Night country.
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If you cannot bear the silence and the darkness, do not go there.
If you dislike black nights and yawning chasms, never make them your profession.
It is a simple prescription, but you will not follow it. You will turn immediately to the darkness.
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Three days forward
Little delicate whispers were blown...Teasing my eyelashes and tickling away at my nose...
Open your eyes…
…Open up wide…
I felt safe. I opened my eyes.
And found Darkness smiling. The fangs so sharpened, I bled from its sight. The eyes so wide; dilating with pleasure…
And my opened eyes were open still…
I woke up that night gasping and frightened…Those eyes were so…Happy…They took so much pleasure in hurting me.
They took and took and I bled. I cried.
It smiled. A sick grin, the fangs gleaming, laughing along…
I remember that night. Night.
I remember pausing on my bed, the white linen tangled about around my legs. I remember the strong scent of fear. The pulse of my rapid heart. The feeling of wave after wave of turmoil. I wanted to cry. Wanted someone to hold me.
And then I noticed.
This was not my bed.
One could imagine the hysterics that overpowered me at that moment. And even though I pride myself on my common sense, and otherwise level head- that second, that very moment, nothing mattered- except getting the hell out of there.
And I would have.
I would have, if it weren't for him.
The instant my eyes widened and my left hand poised on the white linen covers- ready to fling it off and run like Hades himself was behind me- I felt the overpowering urge to scream.
I had no warning whatsoever, except for the doomed sense of something so terribly wrong…
His hand came over my mouth, and his other arm around my waist.
His body came over mine not a second later.
I bucked, I bit, I hurt so much trying to get him off. All the while not noticing that he kept my right arm above my head while I thrashed under him.
Somewhere, somehow, I listened to what he was whispering.
I have no idea what he said. Even now.
Though, I recognized the voice. The same delicate swirl of his tongue; the way he drawled the sounds to infinity, it seemed...
He sounded so feverish that night.
We stayed glaring at eachother for what seemed like hours…Him on the top, and I, so helplessly under.
His eyes were bright, dark, and still as menacing as before. His hand still tightly around my right arm, and the other on my mouth.
He whispered something, and looked intently at me. The confusion must have been evident, but nonetheless, his hand was off my mouth, but poised over it just incase.
I licked my parched lips. My throat feeling so dry, so rough.
He kept watching. At my small nod, his head, so surprisingly, fell tiredly on the nearest thing: My chest.
My slight 'oof' obviously didn't deter him in the slightest, for he rested his cheek instead, and to all who may have been watching, fell asleep.
During those precious hours, I came to realize that I am in fact in the infirmary…With a broken right arm…
The following morning was one like no other. Dull and morbid was the feeling around me. I remember feeling so heavy…Feelings that fogged my vision and tightened around my throat and wrists…
Panic was always there. Along with a hearty dose of hysterics.
In the midst of all the confusion, I turned my head away from its ceiling view. The white shine of it may have added to my agony, or maybe I felt the air not quite enough.
I remember only the sight of him.
Lying so lazily against the chair. Legs wide open, head lying against it back, revealing the vulnerable arch of his neck…
I sighed. What could I have done?
There were questions. Millions. Running around in my head…My heavy head…
Turning my head away, I faced the window instead. A bright sun greeted my sunken eyes and dead smile. Closing my eyes against its warmth, I tried to remember.
What happened? Yesterday?
Yesterday…Third time that we've met. For a tutor session. On potions…
What happened? Yesterday?
He taught. I listened. I talked. He ignored…
What happened? Yesterday?
He left at the end. Like always. I…
What happened…?
I followed…
Then..?
I …I…I don't remember…?…
Then..!?
I..I don't rem-
Then?!!
I.. don't.. remember…
I must have dozed off, judging from the slanted rays and the slight breeze that ruffled the white curtains at my left. Silently disoriented, I looked around and welcomed my surroundings with a bitter smile. Ah, yes, I remember now. I remember that I…don't really remember anything.
I felt frustrated.
Not only that, for one's feelings are never bordered and narrowed to one adjective. Never.
I felt radically tranquil, almost. And maybe even restful. All in all, emotions that didn't threaten to drown me in panic. Though, why I should feel this way, I never questioned. I just felt. Maybe it was the calm before the storm, eh?
Turning my head away from the open window, I adjusted the pillow against the headboard to support my back.
Lying there, my eyes kept following the movement of the branches, projected by the light, on the bed.
The sway of the leaves lulled me into false refuge, and while my lashes fell just so against my cheeks, the footsteps began to thunder.
"Why hello dear, finally awake I see. You gave us quite a scare, yesterday…You-"
Madam Pomfery. I tuned her out quickly, but she reeled me back when I noticed her pointing to my left. Oh, him. I forgot him.
"…Oh, he turned out good, didn't he? He found you, you know. Such a good boy, I bet he just got out of bed. Wanted to check on you. Poor boy. You know, he had us fooled when he was younger, but I guess with the death of his father and all…Poor bo-.."
A slight glance to my left and the 'poor' boy in question was directly in my view.
He was leaning tiredly against the chair, his cheek resting peacefully against his fist. The epitome of innocence.
It took him a fraction of a second- the moment her back was turned to fetch me a warm blanket- to shoot me a warning glare and a condescending smile at the poor woman's back.
I clutched my warm blanket. Felt its maroon fibers silk away against the skin of my fingers. The warmth.
I was so cold.
My eyes so heavy.
It felt so chilly.
So alone…
She left soon thereafter. He wasn't the only actor.
I threw the cover as soon as I heard the click of the white solid door.
White.
I hate the color.
I started right away,
"Tell me what happened to me."
A stare was all I got. It seemed assessing. Sly in its own way.
Then, a deliberate cross of the legs, a lift of the eyebrow, and a,
"Why don't you enlighten me?"
I paused, the pulse raging under my calm exterior. God, he wants to know how much he could get away with.
I have no time for such games.
I stood up, glaring, declaring, "I am going to Dumbl-"
I found myself on the bed again. He was straddling me, his hand ruthlessly cutting away at my broken arm, the one bandaged carefully around the wrist.
Yes, I felt calm. Still.
His face a couple of inches away, was as cold as the frosty evenings of winter, the angles as sharp as marble, as smooth as glass, so harsh…
He kissed me.
And I let him.
He tasted me. And I let him. My upper lip, he bit, nibble on, fed. On me.
He kissed the corners of my mouth. And I let him.
Tugged on my lower lip, when I forced my whimpers down. Clutched at my broken arm, when I tried to turn my head away.
Savagely crushed himself to me, when I opened up for him.
It felt so…wrong. So good.
Jolt after jolt of waves after waves of raging streams of emotions. I was drowning.
My right arm kept numbing behind, the pain feeling so distant…
He was still kissing me. And I let him.
Kissing and breaking for the tiniest gulp of air, and into me again. The feel of his lips, so warm, moving against me in rhythm, like the rest of him...I was so…
I found myself on top.
That's what.
His face was as frozen as before. I was on top, straddling him, and flushed from his work, ready.
I was framed.
I can hear the soft footsteps nearing our place. The soft undertone of Madam Pomfrey's humming. The sweep of her clothes…
I began to move away, but those long nimble fingers wrapped themselves around my wrists.
The sly mouth curved to carve an ominous smile that sent the same jolts streaming through and above me.
Are you mocking me?
I leaned against him, surprising him. The widening of his eyes was soon controlled though, leaving only a curious glint behind, and a raised condescending brow.
"You'll tell me later."
And then I was free.
Madam Pomfrey found me lying on the bed, lost to the deep clutches of sleep, the maroon blanket safely tucked over me.
Hm. The epitome of innocence.
I was out the following day. Greetings were met warmly. Hugs were returned. Awe struck adoring gazes were met with equal baffled ones…
What the hell happened?
Hermione, Harry, and my brother were walking alongside me during the first short peaceful hours outside the infirmary.
I wanted to ask. And I did. But I was only met with patronizing smiles and nervous glances. They left me alone after that.
It seemed, after awhile , that my only true answer could be obtained only from one source only. And that source was not willing.
Able, but unwilling.