Author's Note: Thank you, thank you all for zee reviews! It took awhile to get this chapter up - I was so determined to update every week, but alas, that plan didn't quite work. Bwahaha. Oh well.
Enjoy. :-)
Chapter Eleven: The Fifth Kiss
Ginny Weasley had experienced approximately five kisses in her entire life.
It was sad, really, considering the fact that she was twenty-one years old, but what could you do?
The first, if it could even qualify as a kiss, had been a tentative peck on the cheek from Neville Longbottom after the Yule Ball in her third year. Needless to say, it hadn't evoked any sparks or hidden passions. On the contrary, she'd simply wanted to go up to the dormitory and perform a powerful numbing spell on her feet so she wouldn't have to be forced with such excruciating pain any longer.
The second had been with Draco Malfoy in her sixth year, which had been an utterly random and un-Ginny-esque experience. She remembered that she'd been furious with Harry at the time, since he'd asked Parvati Patil to that year's Holiday Ball without even a second glance at her. In a moment of what had seemed to be at the time rebellion, she'd decided to temporarily abandon her steadfast dedication to Harry and lend her attentions to another guy. This, she had realized in retrospect, had been utterly stupid of her, as there hadn't been the slightest trace of a romantic relationship between the two of them, and therefore her cheating on him with Draco Malfoy wasn't exactly cheating at all. But she'd been in a horrible mood that day - she'd quarreled with Ron, was feeling quite put out about the Harry situation, she'd failed her latest Potions project, and she had detention with Draco Malfoy. And so in the middle of some idiotic banter, she'd simply flung herself at him in a moment of extreme madness. It hadn't been all that unpleasant, for a real first kiss, but it simply hadn't contained that sparkle of indescribable magic that she'd hoped would come along with it.
And then there had been later that year, in the Chamber. She didn't like to think about it, didn't like to even consider it a kiss, really, because that wasn't what it had been. His lips had been so cold; his mouth seemed to drink in her soul, and she'd felt so weak and scared and insignificant. He had stolen pieces of her heart then; he had taken her innocence and her dreams and destroyed them with those long, thin fingers.
She didn't like to think about it.
And then there had been Draco again, in that attempt to make Harry insanely jealous. That had been, she supposed, all right, though she hadn't felt anything except an intoxicating rush: she had been playing seductress, she was driving Harry Potter mad with jealousy. The kiss had been for Harry, really. It just so happened that Draco had been the one used to pass the message along.
And finally there was the fifth kiss.
The Fifth Kiss.
It deserved capital letters, and fireworks, and thousands of pages of blissful words describing that perfect moment.
It hadn't been wildly passionate; definitely not something from those novels about scarlet women that her mum was so fond of. No, it had been sweet, and simple, and yet so indescribably wonderful.
It had felt...right.
He'd placed his hands lightly, tentatively on her waist, and she'd draped her arms over his shoulders, and she felt like they were two pieces of a puzzle, finally fit together to complete the picture. And then their lips had met, and she could only remember a beautiful, blissful ecstasy, a joie de vivre like she'd never even imagined. And the strange thing was that it hadn't been about lips and tongues and tilting your head a certain way so that your noses wouldn't collide. That part, the physical part, had been nice of course; very nice; but that hadn't been what had made it so perfect, exactly. It was more the way her heart had skipped, the way her soul seemed to be set alight with a fire that warmed pleasantly rather than burned with a passionate intensity. And the way that she knew somehow - she couldn't even begin to explain, to imagine how she knew - that he felt exactly like she did, that he was sharing this perfect felicity with her.
It had been, in short, the best moment of her life.
The ten years she'd spent waiting around for him had been entirely worth it. She could die that very moment and be absolutely content.
...No, scratch that.
She wanted to kiss him again. And again. And again.
She wanted to marry him and honeymoon in Paris and have two children - a girl and a boy, Cecily and James - and live in a lovely house with a white picket fence and a garden filled with tulips and daisies. (And of course, they needed a puppy named something completely unimaginative like Rover or Spot or Patch; the puppy was a necessity, and she'd always preferred them to cats.)
But for now, she would settle for kissing him.
The rest of the party had gone by in a daze; she vaguely recalled smiling shyly at Harry and pretending like nothing had happened when they returned inside and laughing at Fred and George's ridiculous antics and agreeing to have Sirius and Hadia over for supper the next day and dancing with her father to a few Christmas carols.
But these were all fuzzy, hazy pictures in her mind.
Kissing Harry, on the other hand, she could recall perfectly.
Ginny sighed dreamily as she stepped into her bedroom; they'd just floo'd back home, and Harry and Ron had disappeared into the kitchen for drinks while Hermione took Crookshanks outside to prowl around the front yard for a while.
"Harry Potter kissed me," she sang to herself in a tune that vaguely resembled that of 'I Could Have Danced All Night' from My Fair Lady. She was aware that she was behaving like a lovesick school girl, but didn't mind in the least. After all, she had been waiting for this since she was a lovesick school girl, so certainly there was nothing wrong with it.
"Harry Potter kissed me," she continued, a bit louder, as she slipped out of the dress she'd donned that evening. "Under the outside door."
It was painfully clear that she could never even dream of a career as a lyricist, but at the moment she was too giddy to care.
"And now it's clear to see my life is heavenly," she continued merrily, grabbing her nightdress and pulling it over her head before doing a few impromptu spins around the room. "All thanks to sweet L'amour!"
She sunk down into the chair in front of her vanity and inspected her face in the mirror for a moment. Brown eyes sparkled brilliantly back at her, and her cheeks were still flushed a delighted shade of rosy pink.
Oh, she was smitten. Incredibly one hundred percent head-over-heels smitten.
Harry had kissed her, life was grand, and she was now mercilessly butchering My Fair Lady songs.
She dissolved into a fit of ecstatic giggles and hoped weakly that everyone remained downstairs so they didn't witness her attack of love-driven insanity. And yet, quite oddly, at the same time a part of her was dying to run down the stairs and start serenading Harry with her freakish adaptations of show tunes.
Requited love was officially her favorite thing in the entire world. It had even beaten Sugar Quills, which was quite the accomplishment indeed.
She was about to burst into another whirlwind rendition of 'Harry Potter Kissed Me' when the door swung open and Hermione walked in carrying Crookshanks, a knowing smile on her face.
"Hi Hermione!" Ginny greeted her cheerfully, aware of how absolutely insane she sounded but not caring in the least.
"Someone's happy," Hermione returned, grinning, as she set Crookshanks onto the bed.
"Oh, happy can't describe it!"
"Overjoyed, then?" Hermione suggested. "Radiant? Exuberant? Rhapsodic? Elated? Jubilant? Rapturous?"
"I suppose I should have expected that from the woman who reads the thesaurus for fun," Ginny replied, attempting at sarcasm and failing a bit as she couldn't wipe the smile off her face.
Hermione simply smiled and asked, "So, Operation Strategically Planted Mistletoe succeeded, I gather?"
"Strategic?" Ginny repeated. "You planned it?"
Hermione nodded. "A bit loosely, anyhow. We had Sirius and Hadia hang it there - I hope it's all right-"
Hermione was cut off, however, when Ginny threw her arms around her in a hug.
"Thank you thank you thank you!" she exclaimed.
Hermione laughed. "Was the wait worth it?"
"Oooh, yes," Ginny said, sinking down onto the bed alongside Crookshanks and hugging a pillow to her chest. "It was just...absolute bliss."
Hermione nodded. "I know that feeling."
"And...oh, I'd imagined kissing him a thousand times - especially after I kissed Draco, and I thought of how it could have been better if it was with Harry, but...nothing I thought of even came close! It was just..." She sighed.
"I know what you mean," Hermione said. "After harboring that silly crush on Ron for practically a year while I waited for him to come around."
"When did you first kiss him?" Ginny asked, surprised to realize that she didn't know. Really, she couldn't even recall when Ron and Hermione had officially...gotten together. It had just happened one day, but it had been obvious for so long before that it hadn't seemed very surprising at all.
"At the end of fifth year," Hermione replied. A small, fond sort of smile was playing around her lips. "We were in the middle of the most terrible screaming fight, and I just found myself hating him because I liked him so much and he was so clueless and I thought he'd never like me because I wasn't beautiful like Fleur Delacour and Cho Chang and all those types of girls that he likes. And then...it was the oddest thing, something inside me just snapped, and I just kissed him, mid-insult." The smile had blossomed now. "It was lovely, really...he was entirely shocked. He pulled away from me after about two seconds and just stared at me in utter bewilderment and said, 'Hermione' in this completely strange voice. I was just terrified, I thought that he was going to absolutely hate me and never talk to me again - and instead he just leaned in and kissed me."
Ginny giggled. "It suits you two."
"It does, doesn't it?" Hermione agreed, still beaming. "And we're getting married in a week."
"Who'd have thought that Ron would be the first of us to be married?" Ginny mused, smiling. "Fred and Angelina are engaged, of course, but it looks like you two will beat them to it." She paused. "Funny, you know. We all always reckoned that Percy and Penelope would be the first to..."
Mid-sentence, that awful sense of knowing came back to her. It hurt for a second, so badly that her entire body seemed to ache with an infinite sadness, but then it dulled. She missed him so badly.
"Ginny, I'm sorry," Hermione said quietly. Crookshanks had crawled into Ginny's lap and begun to purr, as though he could sense her sadness.
"It's all right," Ginny responded softly. "He's in a better place now." She paused. "And with Mr. Crouch, no less."
Hermione smiled weakly.
"It's just...he's not entirely gone, and I know it. I can sense it. I still...feel him in my heart, the way I feel all of the people that I care about. He's still there."
"I know," Hermione replied softly. "Ron says that, too."
"Really?"
Hermione nodded with a grim smile. "He gets sad about it, you know, but then he says that he knows that Percy's still with us, and that he's gone to a better place..." She paused, looking rather disapproving. "And that he hopes that Mr. Crouch has stopped calling him Weatherby."
Ginny smiled. "That's Ron."
Hermione nodded. "I know."
*
Come Christmas day, there was only one thing that Harry Potter usually found himself wanting:
Mrs. Weasley's cooking.
Ever since he'd set out to live alone four years before, he'd dreaded cooking for holidays with a passion that had previously been reserved for battling the Dark Lord and attempting to survive through Double Potions.
And it had gotten worse.
Much worse.
Susan had become strangely infatuated with his becoming a chef, though he'd never shown any interest in cooking whatsoever (he had been able to do it once, he vaguely remembered, back when he'd practically been the Dursleys' personal slave, but he had apparently blocked it out of his mind). She'd insisted for the past two years that he attempt to cook Christmas dinner; the first time, the oven had exploded and they were forced to eat canned green beans and old Pumpkin Pasties instead.
The second time, he'd caught her expensive designer robes on fire.
Which, in retrospect, was quite amusing indeed.
But other than that, there had been no particular highlights in his tedious career as a (cough) chef.
Harry decided that even attempting to cook now was absolutely hazardous to everyone in the house's (or even perhaps everyone on the block's) health. He was, after all, a bit distracted.
To put it lightly.
Ginny. . . so beautiful. . . kissed her. . . perfect. . . Ginny. . . kissed her. . . beautiful. . . perfect. . . love her . . .
Yes, Harry's 'frighteningly smitten' level had reached the point where he couldn't even think coherently.
And Ron was getting a bit...shall we say?...annoyed.
"Dammit, Harry!" he yelped, jumping about eight feet in the air as his finger came into collision with one of the stove burners. "Stop making googly eyes like a bloody idiot and help me!"
"You're not s'posed to touch that," Harry said in a dazed voice.
"Yeah," Ron replied darkly, turning on the faucet and running his hand under the cold water. "Thanks for telling me, mate. I reckon I could have gotten hurt otherwise. Oh, wait. I did."
"Hmm?" Harry asked distractedly.
Ron let out a strangled yell of frustration. "Snap out of it, Potter!"
"Huh?"
Ron took a deep breath and said through clenched teeth, "Harry. You realize that Ginny and Hermione, both of whom possess about a million times the cooking ability than both of us put together, are not here."
Harry nodded faintly.
"And you also realize that they bestowed upon us the treacherous task of cooking bloody Christmas dinner?"
Nod.
"Well, then, for the love of Quidditch, quit staring at the wall and drooling like some mindless git and help me! I've already practically lost a bloody finger!"
Harry blinked twice.
"Oh," he said weakly. "Oh, yes, right. Sorry."
"You should be," Ron muttered bitterly. "Kissing my sister and then practically causing your best friend to lose his finger in a tragic cooking accident."
"Ron," Harry said, rather meekly, "Would you kill me if I said that I was...er..."
Ron looked at him skeptically.
"...Um...er...you know...if I...liked Ginny."
"No," Ron said patiently. "I would not kill you, Harry. I would be very happy for you."
Harry brightened visibly at this. "Really?"
"Really," Ron confirmed. "I will, however, slaughter you heartlessly if you don't bloody help me cook."
"All right," Harry said, grinning energetically. Ron rolled his eyes, but Harry decided not to dwell upon it.
"So," Harry continued, clapping his hands. (Ron was getting scared.) "What are we cooking?"
Ron surveyed the pot of boiling water on the stove that had nearly cost him a finger and announced, rather dryly, "Not much."
"Where did Hermione and Ginny go?" Harry asked distractedly.
"To do some last minute Christmas shopping before the stores close!" Ron cried, exasperated. "You were here when they left!"
"Oh yeah," Harry said, smiling a bit again. "Ginny smiled at me." He paused thoughtfully. "D'you think she likes me, Ron?"
This was apparently too much for Ron.
"Harry!" he shouted. "She's bloody liked you since she was ten! You're just too slow to do anything about it! Well, now you have, and I'm really happy for you, mate, honest, I'm just pink about it, but shut up and help me bloody cook!!!"
Harry blinked. "What's wrong with you?"
Ron studied him for a moment in silence, brown eyes flashing. Harry noted vaguely that his ears had gone red.
Well, this couldn't be good.
"Sorry, sorry," he said quickly. "Yes. Right. Let's cook then, shall we?"
Ron replied with an annoyed sort of grunt.
"All right," Harry said, eyeing Ron rather fearfully as he began to flip through one of his many cookbooks, courtesy of Clingy and Annoying Girlfriends Inc. "Hmm..."
Then again, he would have to break up with Susan now. For good. Definitely, as he was rather head-over-heels for Ginny.
A sudden, alarming thought struck him.
"Ron!" he said at once. "I forgot to get Ginny a Christmas present!"
Ron took a very deep breath, and Harry suddenly found himself regretting that he'd brought it up.
"Harry," Ron said, very calmly. "You have ten seconds to remove yourself from my sight before I'm forced to kill you."
Harry obeyed.
*
"I can't believe you're getting Ron...a book," Ginny said, staring in faint disbelief at the newly gift-wrapped present that Hermione held in her gloved hand.
"He doesn't read enough," Hermione replied rather bossily. "And once we're married, I'll see to it that he does."
Ginny couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for her brother momentarily. Then again, she realized, Ron wasn't exactly a picnic for Hermione to endure, either.
"But are you sure that he'd want....that book?" Ginny continued, raising an eyebrow in its direction. Though it was now covered in green and gold paper, the mental image of the cover was still all too fresh in her mind.
And somehow she didn't think that Ron would be exactly delighted to be presented with this...gift.
Then again, she could be wrong.
What did she know, anyway?
Perhaps most people would be downright ecstatic to receive 'Ten Easy Steps To Achieving True Inner Peace and Self-Satisfaction! (I've Done It, and So Can You!)', the new number one Flourish and Blotts bestseller by none other than Gilderoy Lockhart himself. (With, might she add, twelve pages of full color photos.)
...But she highly doubted it.
Very skeptical now, she looked hopelessly to Hermione for some sort of explanation.
"The silly git bought me a boxed set of Lockhart's complete published works last year," Hermione said, laughing a little. "Horrible waste of money, but he seemed to think that he was being quite clever."
Ginny giggled. "That's Ron for you."
Hermione nodded. "Don't I know it."
Ginny reached to open the front door of the flat, wondering absently whether her present for Harry was any good at all, when a cold, drawling voice from behind filled her ears.
"Lookin' good, Weasley."
Oh.
Well, this was going to be awkward.
Ginny felt a sense of dread fill her that she knew was rather foolish; honestly, she was going to have to face Draco sooner or later.
But she'd always hoped that it would, in fact, be later.
And not quite so...
Soon.
"What is that, your mantra?" she demanded wryly, attempting to remain nonchalant. Hermione widened her eyes pointedly at Ginny before silently disappearing into the house.
"It's got a ring to it," Draco replied casually.
Sighing, Ginny set her bags onto the stoop and spun around, only to discover that the fun had only just begun. Standing next to Draco, with her unbearably superior smirk, was Cryssa.
Yay. There was nothing she liked quite more than breaking up with a haughty bastard while being watched by the heir of Slytherin.
Cryssa raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow at Ginny, nodding gracefully. "Virginia."
"Hi," Ginny returned tonelessly. "Draco...er...can I talk to you?"
"Aren't you doing that already?" he pointed out, cold eyes dancing playfully.
Aurgh.
"...Alone?" Ginny pressed, glancing pointedly at Cryssa.
The dark haired girl rolled her eyes almost imperceptibly before brushing past Ginny and into the house. Ginny hoped that she wouldn't give Ron, Hermione, and Harry too much torture, but thought it very unlikely that she'd be a charming and pleasant conversationalist.
"So," Draco said, "Having a holly, jolly Christmas, Weasley?"
She raised an eyebrow at him. "You could say that, Santa Claus."
He smirked and looked up at the lamp post that he'd leaned against - a mistletoe twig had been hung there earlier by Ron and Hermione. (Who had, Ginny'd noted, made use of the little custom it induced without complaints.)
"Well, well, well. What have we here?" he asked, gray eyes dancing a bit.
Oh God.
He wanted to kiss her.
He wanted to kiss her.
No, no he didn't. Of course he didn't. She was simply overreacting. Hell, for all she knew he'd grown completely tired of her and found a new girlfriend. They'd seen one another approximately six times; that was probably a smothering, downright unbearable relationship for poor Draco Malfoy to handle. She was tying him down. It would be only right for her to break up with him and allow him to spread his wings and...
Oh, for the love of Merlin.
This was ridiculous.
"Aren't you going to come over here, Weasley?" he continued, apparently oblivious to the fact that she'd started thinking in pathetically melodramatic TV movie-esque sequences.
"Where's your chivalry, Malfoy? Shouldn't you come to the lady? " she returned, hoping that her tone sounded cool and vaguely coquettish rather than unnaturally perturbed.
A lazy grin made its way onto Draco's face. "But I'm Santa Claus."
Er.
Yes.
Right.
"Huh?" she asked blankly.
She wasn't exactly handling this as smoothly as she'd hoped she would.
"The kids sit on Santa Claus' lap..." Draco said, as though explaining the most obvious thing in the world.
"Um. Right."
She couldn't kiss him. She couldn't. She was madly in love with Harry, for God's sake! She wasn't going to just-
"What's wrong with you today, Weasley?" Draco demanded, lip curling into a sneer. "You're not delightfully intelligent in general, but today you've sunk to Potter's intelligence level."
She found herself glaring at him without realizing it. A wave of understanding washed over his cold, sharp features.
"So," he said, his sneer becoming more pronounced, "Still smitten with Potter, are we?"
"Um...."
"I suppose those schoolgirl crushes are hard to break," Draco continued, walking a bit closer. Something seemed to surround him that she hadn't seen before, something unnerving; it was an anger, an anger that was fire and ice all at once, and it scared her.
"We...he and I..." she said weakly. "We're...last night...."
"You're so disgustingly naive," Draco said, laughing shortly. He began to circle her slowly, flashing steel eyes never leaving her own. She felt undeniably weak, frightened; he was the tiger, and she his prey, trembling in fear and horribly aware of her own helplessness.
"Do you think he actually cares about you?" Draco continued, his voice a piercing whisper. "Do you think he loves you, Weasley? He's never noticed you before. Why should he now?" He paused. "I think I know why." He came closer, closer, and yet she couldn't bring herself to move. He fixed his hands on her hips - her skin tingled at his chilled touch - and whispered viciously, "You're a beautiful girl, you know. Long legs, silky skin, perfect lips. He wants to fuck you senseless, Weasley. And he can. It's too easy. All he has to do is spew a few lines of flowery love poetry to you, and you're lost." He laughed; the cold, bitter sound danced in the iced winter air. "He doesn't want your heart, Virginia."
And suddenly he wasn't Draco, not anymore. He was Tom, and his words were weaving into her soul, coalescing with her thoughts, tempting her and hurting her and causing tears to spring to her eyes. She was powerless against him; he would always control her when he chose to.
'Virginia.'
"Get away from me," she whispered; her voice was tired, and the words shook her. She felt so fragile, so exhausted and weak and faint. "Please."
He fixed her with one last glare, icy and full of a cold, pained loathing, before turning and disappearing wordlessly. Ginny watched him blankly - a million feelings seemed to swell through her at once, leaving her numb and emotionless. It barely registered in her mind when Cryssa brushed past her and after her ex-fiancee.
She shivered, wondering when it had become so cold.
"Ginny?"
She turned around to see Harry standing in the doorway, looking a bit worried.
"Hey," she replied, forcing a weak smile.
"Are you all right?" he asked, stepping out into the snow and standing next to her.
She nodded. "Fine."
"What happened with Malfoy?"
Ginny shrugged, laughing lightly. "Disgustingly dramatic breakup."
"Breakup?" Harry repeated.
Ginny nodded, turning to look up at him. His green eyes were dancing, so rich and warm against the cold that had momentarily enveloped her.
"Not that we were ever together, really," Ginny continued, rolling her eyes and struggling to achieve nonchalance. "He acted like a bastard about it, of course."
"That's Malfoy," Harry said with a crooked smile.
Ginny smiled. "Indeed."
Harry took notice of her shivering and asked, "Should we go back inside? It's cold out here."
Ginny nodded. "Sure."
They stared at one another for a moment, motionless, and Ginny felt a smile playing at the corners of her lips. And then, very gently, Harry wrapped an arm around her shoulders and led her inside.
*
'Have yourself a merry little Christmas...'
Ginny hummed absently to herself to the song that filled the living room. Hermione had taken the liberty of bringing with her an assortment of Christmas CDs that she'd had for quite sometime, and they were currently listening to Frank Sinatra's Greatest Holiday hits. The music lightened her mood considerably - the magical sparkle that only Christmas could bring about was starting to come over her again - and yet she couldn't shake the slight chill that Draco had brought on.
She knew that he was wrong about Harry; she knew that Harry actually cared about her, and that he would never use her.
And yet something still unnerved her.
'Virginia.'
(She shivered.)
He had sounded so like Tom, and for a moment that glint in his eye - the coldest rage imaginable, fire trapped in ice - had been identical to the eyes that had lured her and destroyed her long ago.
It was in times like these that she felt Tom never left her, that he had spoken truthfully when he'd told her that he'd wound himself into her soul. She could sense him all around her, even though she knew he was gone; she'd seen him defeated.
Virginia...
The air seemed thicker, colder - she focused on her own reflection in her bathroom mirror. The eyeliner brush in her hand shook violently.
Was that breathing that she heard, soft, yes, but unmistakably there?
No.
No.
Tom was gone.
Tom was gone, and Draco was gone, and she'd never have to face either of them again.
So why could she sense another presence? Why did she feel it so strongly?
It's just Harry, she told herself sternly. Just Harry or Ron or-
"Ginny? Are you in here?"
The kind female voice cut through the air like a knife, and Ginny dropped her eyeliner brush with a clatter into the sink. She looked unsteadily up into the mirror to see Hadia peeking through the doorway, an expression of polite concern etched into her features.
"A little jumpy?" she offered, smiling.
"Just a bit," Ginny replied, grinning back. Relief filled her, and she instantly felt foolish for behaving so melodramatically.
Deciding that Hadia may want an explanation as to why Ginny was still shaking like a leaf, she added, "I had one too many cups of coffee today, I suppose."
Hadia nodded. "Believe me, dear, I know the feeling."
Ginny studied her reflection critically for a moment before announcing, "I suppose I'll just give up on the makeup."
"Believe me, Ginny, you look gorgeous without it," Hadia responded earnestly. A bit of a mischievous sparkle danced in her dark eyes. "And I'm quite sure a certain Mr. Potter is incredibly aware of that."
Ginny felt her cheeks flush, and she nervously avoided Hadia's gaze in the mirror (honestly, would she ever stop being so shy on this particular subject?) as she replied, with a light laugh, "Hermione told me about the mistletoe."
Hadia smiled. "I'll have to plead guilty. Sirius and I couldn't resist."
"I'm glad you didn't," Ginny said, flashing a grateful smile at Hadia's reflection.
"Well," Hadia said teasingly, "I suppose it's just written in the stars."
"Oh, completely," Ginny agreed wryly. "With a bit of desperately needed help from you and Sirius."
Hadia shook her head, glossy hair brushing lightly against her face. "Oh, no, dear. You can't help fate, regardless of whether you try to or not. It takes its own course."
Ginny smiled, enjoying what that clearly implied. "Well, I guess Harry and I are simply meant to be, then."
Hadia nodded, warmth swirling in her eyes. "I suppose so."
*
There was a silent storm brewing in his eyes as they Apparated into the deserted Malfoy home. A chill seemed to dance through the long, empty corridors, and Cryssa enjoyed its presence. She had always embraced the cold.
They were silent, and she didn't attempt at conversation. She knew him; knew every trick of his mind, every yearning in his soul, every pain in the heart that he pretended not to possess. He was aware she knew all this, and she knew as well that he feared her for it.
She had always embraced fear as well.
He stormed into his bedroom chambers; she followed him, knowing he wouldn't protest. Sooner or later, he would say something, anything. She expected it to be something bitter and cold and piercing, but she found it unsettling that she couldn't believe this with a certainty. That girl had an effect on him that she didn't like. It changed him.
He didn't need to change. Though she hated to admit it, hated to make herself weak, she knew that she needed him just as he was. They were alike, the pair of them; cold and jaded and without the slightest trace of a conscience.
She loved him.
She loved him, and she hated it, but she knew that simply loathing this cursed emotion wouldn't make it change.
Silently, she watched him as he snapped a finger and the fireplace burst into livid orange flames. He began to pace around the room, his steely gaze growing more and more heated.
It was time to speak.
"Draco," she said simply.
He looked up at her, sneering. "What the hell is so alluring about Harry fucking Potter? You're female, Cryssa."
"Nice observation."
He silenced her with a Look, but she was sure to put a spark of defiance in her gaze as she stared back at him.
"So, what is it about him?" Draco continued, his voice silky cold and spilling from pale lips like water. "Is he Prince fucking Charming? Can he ride with her out into the sunset so they can live happily ever after?"
"Maybe for her," Cryssa responded evenly. "She's that kind of girl, Draco. The kind who wants to be the perfect little fairytale princess. She's got stuffed animals on her bed. Her room's decorated entirely in purple. She's sweet and naive and everything that you don't need."
She vaguely worried that he would question how she knew this. He didn't.
"I don't care. I don't fucking care about her."
She raised an eyebrow at him. "Then why are you dwelling on this?" She paused, the tension lingering in the air like smoke. "I think you've fallen in love with her."
Their eyes linked in a gaze so intense it almost pained her. He was drawing her in slowly, defying her with those eyes.
And she let him.
*
Darkness enveloped Ginny as she turned off her lamp with a soft click. A contented sigh escaped her lips - the howling wind was distant and quiet from where it raged outside.
The evening had gone splendidly; they'd had a strangely delicious dinner, considering Harry and Ron were the chefs, presents had been exchanged, and she, Hadia, and Hermione had agreed to go shopping for Hermione's wedding dress the next day.
Ginny blushed with pleasure as she remembered the present she'd received from Harry. He'd admitted to her, quite sheepishly, that he'd forgotten to get her a present, and had composed her a poem instead.
A poem that rather resembled a poem that she had composed ten years before.
'Her eyes are as brown as a sweet chocolate frog
Her hair is as brilliant as fire,
I wish she were mine, she's really divine,
The girl who I really admire.'
She giggled a bit to herself as she remembered how he'd shyly handed her the piece of paper and requested that she didn't open it until she was alone - to spare him the embarrassment, he added.
At the bottom of the paper, he'd drawn a rather lopsided heart.
Needless to say, Ginny was officially madly in love with him.
Not that she hadn't been before, but...
Sigh.
She was startled out of her happy, lovestruck reverie by the soft sound of her doorknob twisting open. Her eyes immediately flew to the door, caution swelling up inside of her.
Cloaked in darkness, only illuminated by the soft moonlight that leaked through her window, a very familiar figure stepped inside.
Ginny smiled.
"Hi, Harry," she said quietly. "I loved the poem. You definitely have a gift."
Harry didn't reply; instead, a rather flirtatious grin had spread across his face.
Well, well, well.
This could certainly get interesting.
Not that she was complaining.
Soundlessly, he crossed the room and approached her bed - she suddenly found herself worrying whether her hair was messy or anything of that nature, but he seemingly couldn't care less.
Instead, he pressed his mouth against hers with a frightening insistency.
And it felt as though she were drowning; she had inhaled ice water; she couldn't breathe and her lungs hurt and the blood in her veins had seemed to turn to ice.
Tom's kiss.
She attempted to scream, but his lips were violent, unrelenting; his tongue explored her mouth with a violent intensity, and she felt so cold, so cold and scared and meek and faint.
And he pulled away from her for a moment, but still she couldn't breathe - still she was shivering and cold and afraid.
He smiled at her. It wasn't Harry's face.
She screamed as Tom smiled coldly at her; screamed and screamed, her voice ringing in her ears, piercing and high and shrill.
"Virginia," he whispered simply.
And then he was gone.
*
She watched the flames, enjoying the sensation of his fingertips grazing against her bare skin. He had just fallen asleep, his lips centimeters from her neck. His breath was icy and cold, like his kiss.
She sighed and delicately traced the faint outline of the Dark Lord's Mark that was eternally etched into his skin, as well as her own.
He regretted it, she knew.
So did she.
And yet it bound them together, this Mark. It ensured that the things they had experienced would always be with them, haunting them adamantly until they died. Maybe even beyond...who knew?
And their souls would be entwined with the same iced passion that their bodies had been moments before.
He was hers, she his, and the both of them knew.
And as she slowly lowered crimson lips to caress the tainted flesh, a triumphant smile played in her eyes.
Cryssa knew he wouldn't stray again.