Author's Note: WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! Ha, that was fun. Ok, beware: in this chapter, I was staying up late watching all sorts of bad movies, so aside from the side-affects of that (namely horrifying writing), beware, for this chapter contains ATTEMPTED RAPE and SUICIDE, or at least they're mentioned. Very evil chapter. Coincidentally, my favorite. Hardihardihar. Mmmmm...bye.

Disclaimer: See last twelve chapters, take your pick of Disclaimers.

Dancing Life

Chapter 13: Love: What Is It Good For? Absolutely Nothing.

Draco was still sitting at his table, tucked away in a corner of the library when two girls came in. He glanced up, not really interested, and recognized them as two Hufflepuff girls from his dance class. The only reason he'd noticed them in the first place was because Ginny occasionally talked to them. Otherwise, Draco wouldn't have been able to tell what house they were from.

He turned away from the girls (who looked to be about in their sixth year) and stared morosely out the window. It was snowing outside.

He loved snow; had since he was a child. He loved the cold and the wet and how much fun you could have playing in it. That was before, when he was an innocent. A young boy without the fears and evils of the world imprinted in his mind. The similarity between that carefree, almost happy at times, child, and the hardened bastard he had grown up to be was practically nonexistent.

He sighed wearily as the two girls sat down at the table in front of him, and began talking. Theirs were that annoying, nasal, high-pitched whine that could drive men crazy as effectively as mother-in-laws.

Bits of their conversation drifted across the short distance between them. Try though he might to just think of Ginny's condition, he could still pick up snatches and phrases.

Somewhere lost in his thoughts of Ginny and whether or not she would live through the night, he heard the words he'd been dreading to hear sobbed from the occupied table ahead of him.

"I just can't believe she'd gone, you know." One girl sniffled, while the other girl rubbed her back sympathetically, tears forming in her own eyes. "It's just, you never that something like this would happen, especially after such a short time." She banged her fist down on the table. Draco was intrigued. Ginny. He thought, subconsciously.

"She can't be gone, she just can't! She promised me she'd stay and help me out with things. She was always so helpful in dance class, and she was a great person, and a really good friend. I'm going to miss her so much. I-I just can't believe she's …she's…g-gone!" She whimpered, dabbing at her freely flowing nose .

As the two girls found solace in each other, hiccupping and sniffling, Draco felt suddenly cold, and inexplicably alone.

Ginny. They had to be talking about Ginny. His Ginny. The girl he had fallen so hopelessly in love with.

Ginny was dead. His Ginny was gone, forever. No more soft glances, no more hard kisses, no more holding her in his arms, or smoothing her hair from her face. She couldn't be, but she was. He didn't want to admit it; he wanted to tear himself from the library and rush to the hospital wing to check, but he was afraid of the empty bed he would find there. Or worse, the empty body.

And unexpectedly, everything was gone. He was no longer sure of where he was, the two girls seemed to have disappeared from his sight, though he could almost make out their voices; but they were thick and slurred, as if coming to him from some far off world that he used to be a part of.

There was nothing, and there was everything. He felt numb, but at the same time, he felt so much. He was euphoric, he was in agony. He wanted to laugh hysterically, he wanted to scream long and hard with every fiber of his being for what he had lost. Shadows of a time seemingly long ago flashed before him, and it was almost like seeing her again.

She was in a deserted dance class, stealthily advancing on him with a delicious smile in her lips, kissing him on her own…she was in the Great Hall, laughing and joking with friends and her brother as she ate, completely unaware that she had his attention, that she had had his attention ever since she had kissed him…she was walking to one of her classes, smiling to herself, again, unaware of Draco… she was sitting at the very table he was now, reading a book as she waited for him, oblivious to the fact that he was always late because he stood watching her for so long…she was sitting out on a rock in the snow while some idiot tried to take her away from him… she was lying in the snow, beneath him, smiling up at him with all the love in the world, as if she wasn't seeing the man he'd always thought he'd become, but some other person, someone he knew he couldn't be…

Draco knew he could never be that person. That non-existent person that Ginny believed him to be. Gods knew he wanted to be, hell he'd do anything to just be with her. But he just couldn't not be who he was brought up to be. He wasn't raised to be sweet, or kind, or even emotional. Hell, he was never supposed to find love; as a teen, he'd realized that and drowned himself in meaningless girls, hoping to abate that feeling that threatened to overtake him.

The feeling heavy with the knowledge that he would never love.

But he had loved. With more passion than even he thought he was capable of. He'd surprised himself with just the willingness to love, not to mention the person who was the target for his feelings.

Better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all.

What bullshit.

Had he never loved Ginny, his life would have gone on as it did; no point, no plan, no goal, just a mindless wandering through the only life he could live. But the thing was, he had loved Ginny. And so badly. He wanted to tell her how sorry he was; to wipe away the tears he had pulled from her eyes; to kiss away the bruises his own damned fingers had left on the skin he loved; to brush away that look she had transfixed him with; that scared, frightened look, as if she had finally found out who he really was, and not the prince in shining armor she made him out to be.

But none of that really mattered anymore, Draco thought, as the world seemed to go one without him, leaving him alone, with all the words Ginny had ever whispered to him, just to him, buzzing in his ears incessantly. She was gone, but everything would go on as normal. The earth would still turn, the stars would still rise, and the sun would sink every night to give way to darkness.

But what good was the earth unless she was one it? What good were the stars unless she was staring up at them, with eyes that sparkled and gleamed so radiantly that they put the most dazzling constellations to shame? And what good was the sun, unless she was sitting under it, the only light in the darkness that now engulfed him mercilessly? Him, who had been darker and blacker than the most starless night. As far as he was concerned, nature didn't hold a flame to Ginny Weasley. She was his earth, his stars, his sun, his beautiful, loving angel. She would always be there, but that wasn't enough. He had to have her.

Or he would have nothing at all.

He squared his shoulders, the action bringing him back down to earth. The cold, unwelcoming earth that now lacked the one thing that made it so perfect. Everything was different now; nothing shone as brightly, everything looked dark, foreboding, and twisted. He hated it so much. Without her there, the world was disgusting and filthy.

He wanted to get away from it all; the horrible, agonizing pain that throbbed from where his heart used to be. But it was gone; he had no heart anymore, there was nothing without her, just numbing and overwhelming pain. He wanted to get away from it. Death didn't frighten him anymore; if this was life without Ginny, screw it, he'd take death. Nothing, and absolutely nothing, could hurt more than this.

He wanted to get away from it, and he would.

Blaise shivered and opened his eyes. He closed them again as there was nothing to see in the total darkness of his room. Sleep had been so good, so comfortable, but he was beginning to get cold, especially his arms. He wondered briefly where his covers were before opening his eyes groggily.

He brought his head up and glanced around, his eyes growing accustomed to the darkness. And then he realized that he wasn't in his room. He was in Heather's. The events of earlier that night came back to him and he gazed around the room, searching for Heather, which was why he was so cold.

He turned his head slightly and glanced over next to him and nearly fell off the bed in shock. Heather was lying on her side next to him, wide awake and gazing at him with such a penetrating unwavering gaze that it gave him pleasant chills down his back.

She saw that he was awake and smiled. Blaise repressed a groan as she moved her hand up and stroked his cheek, her fingers running over what stubble he had. "Well, well- cool, smooth Blaise Zabini has a little beard." She rumbled softly.

Blaise moaned softly, so softly, that it died in the back of his throat. The simple little things she did could send him over the edge of sanity into endless and delirious oblivion. He grasped her hand suddenly. She looked up at him, startled.

He simply gave her a smoldering look and pulled her hand to his lips. Heather made that same, half-gasp, half-moan and snuggled in closer to him, tucking her head under his chin and wrapping her other arm around his waist.

"Gods, Heather." Blaise said huskily, his voice pitches deeper than normal, sending hot shivers down Heather's back. "One of these days you're going to kill me like this." He shuddered at the sensation the touch of her hand on his lower back caused.

Heather cocked her head, her stud earring scratching against the green covers on the bed. What was wrong? She was barely touching him and he was acting like they were…well, never mind what it looked like, he was acting strangely.

She ran her fingers down Blaise's bare back unthinkingly. He sucked in his breath and grasped her shoulders. "Might I ask- are you trying to kill me?" He asked in a slightly higher-than-normal voice.

Heather arched an eyebrow, though her eyes showed how really confused she was. "What do you mean? I'm not doing anything!"

Blaise grinned and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. "I know. That's what drives me insane: you're hardly even touching me, and yet it still drives me mad, because I'm not allowed to do anything but touch." He grinned appreciatively as Heather flushed, trying to cover her face with her hands, but he wouldn't let her.

"Not a chance, Rambinski." He said, using the playful tone he always did when he used her last name. He took her hands again, rubbing small, gentle circles into their backs. "I won't let you cover up that face of yours." He stared into her eyes, taking the opportunity to just lose himself as she wasn't looking at him, but rather down at where their hands were clasped.

Gods, I could stay like this forever. He thought to himself, gazing at the girl lying next to him, unaware of how much control she had over him, of how crazy she made him, of how much he cared for her. Hell, the whole no-sex thing would probably kill him, but if he could just wait long enough for her to be 'ready', it would be worth it. It would be hard, that much he knew.

It wasn't that he wasn't some sex-crazed hormonal man-whore, though Draco had told him differently several times over the course of their friendship; but he had been having…'sexual relationships' since his fifth year; his parents had encouraged him to get close to girls from other pure-blooded wizarding families in an attempt to strengthen the bonds of money and blood, perhaps even as a prelude to marriage.

After the break from his family, Blaise had sought out the willing girls to try and find some sort of release from everything. He didn't want to have to think about anything that was going on in his life; he'd thought that if he could just limit thinking to school, Quidditch, and girls, he would be fine.

How wrong he had been.

Talking with Draco had helped. For a brutalizing self-centered bastard of a ferret, he was alright. It gave him a chance to confront his problems with someone who knew what he was experiencing instead of running away from them.

And then there was Heather. His saving grace.

He looked at her and realized that she was waiting for something. He'd forgotten that he'd been saying something…what was it?

He smiled to himself and looked down at her. "As I was saying, there is no chance in hell that I am going to let you cover up that gorgeous face of yours, my darl-"

Heather cut him off by clamping her small hand over his mouth. She sat up and was giving him a hard glance, though she didn't look too upset. "It is so imperative to my image of you as a harsh Slytherin that you don't finish that sentence." She said warningly. "I am not your darling, I am not your honey, I am not your angel. I'm no sweetheart, no baby, no love-cakes or any other frankly disgusting cuddly goochi-goochi term of endearment you can think of." She smirked then, a wickedly sexy grin. "I am not your lovey-dovey, your kitten, your sweetie…but I am yours." She said softly.

Blaise couldn't stand the soft, tender look she was giving him. It was so soft and sweet. He felt himself being pulled closer and closer by that look until he was sitting up as well, and his face was inches from hers. He could feel her breath coming in short, half-pants, warm against his face.

Her eyes shut in anticipation, dark thick eyelashes fluttering down to brush her cheeks. That was all Blaise could take. He pressed his lips to hers for what felt like it could have been the hundredth or first time. Everything felt so good when he did it with Heather.

Heather was on the verge of pulling her hair out with near-insanity. He was doing something to her, and she didn't like it. Well, that wasn't entirely true. What he was doing was likely to drive her mad. It was that she liked what he was doing too much that she didn't like it. Or something like that; it was very complicated, and the fact that he was doing…whatever he was doing was making it difficult to sort out what he was doing, and…thinking about it was just not possible right now.

Heather just decided against thinking and let Blaise do whatever it was he was doing. She pressed her lips to his, heart catching at how insanely soft it was, to be doing so much to her.

Blaise wrapped both arms around her waist. Heather's smile turned into a quick, soft gasp. His hands were running relentlessly down her spine, making her shudder. She wanted to make him stop, but it felt so good.

"Lord, Blaise." She whispered breathily, trying to regain her previously closed-minded intents. Her arms were wrapped around his neck, trying to grasp onto something real and solid. His hands were around her back, holding her in a soft embrace.

"Mmmmm." Heather mumbled, her lips skating over every inch of skin she could touch. They trailed feather-soft kisses along his jaw, down his neck, and over his collarbone. Blaise shuddered, though he really wasn't feeling the cold anymore.

Blaise shuddered, sucking in a huge breath and pulling Heather's face away from him to look up at his eyes. She looked nothing but gorgeous right then, her eyes half-lidded and dark with what would have been desire on anyone else, though the somewhat frightened uncertainty in them marred the effect. Her lips were soft and swollen, and she pulled a hand up to touch them, almost scared.

Blaise bit his lip, trying to think about something other than how beautiful she was at that moment. She was so …sweet, when she kissed him it was so tender; driving him crazy. Had it been any other girl, he wouldn't have given it a second thought. Had it been any other girl, he would have already been tugging at her clothes. Had it been any other girl, he wouldn't be hesitating and pulling away. But, she wasn't any other girl, and from the looks of things, she'd had a few sips too many of wine. She was after all, such a tiny little thing, with no idea what she was doing to him just sitting there, let alone kissing him.

Blaise finally broke away and took both of her hands in his, looking down at her intently. "Gods, Heather, you just can't do this to me." He said in a ragged voice. She stared up at him questioningly, and he saw her eyes go to his lips, and again, her eyes went dark before closing and she leaned in again. He put a hand between their lips though, and she kissed that. Her eyes opened and she pulled back, finally coming to her senses.

"I'm so sorry, Blaise. I wasn't thinking, I just…once I started kissing you, I couldn't stop, and…oh, gods," she rubbed the bridge of her nose with her hand "I must seem like such a tease." She said softly, almost apologetically, trying to put her head in her hands.

Blaise caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger, though. He forced her gaze to meet his. Her cheeks were flushing with humiliation. Blaise laughed.

"Lord, Blaise, I'm so sorry. I just…start touching you and it's like…I can't control what I'm doing…I'm sorry." She flushed again. Blaise chuckled and pressed his lips softly to her forehead. She leaned into his kiss.

"I know the feeling. But I don't want you to do something you might regret later. Of course, I want you, and it's nice to know that you like touching me. But," he kissed her brow again "I love you, and we have all the time in the world. If you want, that is. When the time's right, and you're older, if you're sure about it, I have no problem with…well, you know." He nearly blushed, but retained what little Zabini restraint he had. "But I can wait, and I want it to be when you want."

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Maybe we shouldn't sleep together." Heather cocked her head. "Not…like that…like in the same bed!" Blaise amended hastily waving his hands back and forth in front of her. "I just think it's far too tempting." He raked his gaze over her body as if to prove his point.

Heather flushed, but felt really quite pleased to know that he cared for her, and wanted her to be happy.

Blaise was staring at her, and it occurred to her that he might be waiting for her response. Instead of answering, she simply dove under the covers, her head coming up to peek out from behind him. ""Well, I just think it's far too comfortable." Heather reasoned, snuggling farther into the sheets, closing her eyes as she prepared for sleep.

Blaise smiled at her. "No more touching?"

One dark eyes opened slyly. "Well, I wouldn't say absolutely 'no' more." She closed her eye and shifted in the pillow, turning over. "And if I did, I'd be lying." She muttered over her shoulder before falling asleep.

Blaise smiled, a truly genuine smile. He slid under the covers behind Heather, wrapping one arm around her middle. Her hand came up, in sleep, to cover his, and in no time, they were asleep; tucked against one another, comfortable in their closeness.

The walk back to the Slytherin common room was much longer than Draco ever remembered. It hadn't started out so bad, but then he'd ducked into the infirmary. Her bed was empty, clean, stripped of everything. Every last trace of her was gone and there was an air of sadness that reverberated off the cold stone walls, smacking Draco over and over, pushing him closer and closer to the brink of insanity.

He walked through the corridors in a daze, nothing real except for the one thing he didn't want to be. While everything else was vague and distant, there was one thing that stood out fresh and harsh in his mind; Ginny was dead. He could grasp onto nothing but that. She was gone. As if that wasn't enough, it was his fault. He blamed himself for what had happened out in the snow. If he hadn't gotten so jealous and angry…if he had listened to her…if he hadn't hit her…she never would have gone out to her death. That fact was eating away at him, and he felt the bitter tears welling up. He would not cry though. There was no reason to. He no longer had Ginny's shoulder to cry on and no one else gave a damn. The only thing he would weep would be blood.

First thing he'd do would be to send a letter to Blaise. After all, he was the only person Draco had ever considered a friend. He at least had a right to know, and Heather had to know that Ginny was dead. But, he couldn't tell them in a letter. That would just be…no. He'd call them back, and let them find out on their own.

He nearly frightened the crap out of two Ravenclaw fourth years he had run into because he was laughing his head off maniacally, something the Draco Malfoy everyone thought they knew would never do. Oh, he knew what he was laughing over wasn't really funny, but he let himself be deluded into thinking it was. And then it had seemed hilarious. Him just walking down the corridors after his love's death, looking like any other student, except for the fact that inside, he was debating how he would kill himself once he reached his room. That had been funny, and he had nearly doubled over in hysterics.

Now he merely strode on, deep in thought.

Knife? Good, but not necessarily always effective; the only way he could be sure to die was to stab his heart, slit his wrists or throat, or go for the head. The heart would be over too quickly; he wanted to be in pain. Though it was a good idea. Slitting the wrists would take too long-too much chance for discovery, and it wasn't always effective. If he was found, he'd never get another chance; there would always be people watching over him. The head would be good, but difficult to make it through the skull, and again, if he did hit the right target, it would be over far too quickly. Though he didn't want to admit it, he also somewhere deep in the back of his mind, knew that he most likely wouldn't be able to plunge the knife into himself. Besides, where was he going to get a sharp enough dagger from?

Poison? Now that would be ideal- get some sort of slow-acting, painfully agonizing poison that could definitely kill him. It was perfect, except he didn't know how to get a hold of such a concoction, and asking where he could find some would be a little dodgy.

Jumping off a cliff? Good, but again, over in a flash. Though if it wasn't, and he lay there for hours, days, in pain, dying slowly, that would be great.

Hanging himself? Now there was a possibility- his next best choice after poison, and far easier to accomplish. It would be the perfect death for his needs; long and excruciatingly painful. There was always the chance of discovery, but he could just lock the doors, right? After all, no one would come looking for him. Besides jumping off a cliff, this would be the easiest to do; he could hang himself with almost anything lying around.

Draco smirked to himself. Hanging it was, then. Let's see, what will I do it with?

His stormy grey eyes widened with an idea, then crinkled as he broke into another bout of laughter, which lasted all the way to the common room.

Ginny scurried down the empty hallways; everyone was either gorging on the usual extravagant feast, or snuggling up cozily with a loved one in their respective common rooms. Sickening, she would have thought, before Draco. Before Draco, she would have been stuffing herself along with her brother and his friends, or curled up in the Gryffindor common room with her presents and a good book. Before Draco, she hadn't known a lot of things.

And she thought she'd been in love with Harry Potter…the idea was laughable.

Now her heart had room for only one person. The person she was searching for at that moment. The person she was risking possible death from her brother to find. The person for whom she had removed herself from the cozy warmth of her hospital blankets.

It still shocked her once in a while, if she thought about it when she least expected it: she was in love with Draco Malfoy. The boy she loved wasn't the problem, it was his name. After a while of being with him, she'd stopped thinking of him as Malfoy, and began referring to him, even in the private sanctum of her own mind, as Draco. Now, that was all she thought of him as. He was a unique person, someone who couldn't be classified by his surname; he wouldn't let himself be.

Ginny peered around the corner of the corridor.

Empty.

Damn! She thought, cursing her bad luck as she continued along the hallway that lead to the entrance to the school. Where the hell is he? She asked herself.

She'd checked in the library, where only Madame Pince stood, immersed in books she was checking back in. She'd peeked into the Great Hall, where very few people were still seated, eating yet more Christmas dinner. She'd even taken a look outside, freezing her arse off on her broom.

The only other place she could look for him was in Slytherin, and to get in she had to fly through the window. She dragged her broom along the floor, oblivious to the scraping noise it was making as it scratched the hard stone floors.

She reached the wide doors that lead outside, squaring her shoulders as if to shake off the unpleasant thought of spending more time outside. Ginny pushed the doors open and shuddered. It was flipping freezing!

She wrapped her cloak around her body tighter, wishing she had had the sense to grab an extra layer of warmth from her room. It had to be at least ten degrees outside, and the wind was ripping right through her.

Ginny shivered violently and stopped walking. She closed her eyes and forced the goose-bumps from her arms and back. She forced the cold from her, and it worked. To a degree.

Considerably warmer (if you consider about five degrees considerable, and if you don't, it doesn't really matter, because then you wouldn't be considering it in the first place), Ginny trudged along in the snow that came up to her ankles until she got to a magically-cleared pathway, which she followed around the side of the castle, more immersed in her thoughts than in the ankle-deep snow.

She didn't know what it was about Draco that made her want him so badly, but she did. Even though she now finally had Harry's attention, all she could think of was this pale, blonde Slytherin who had stolen her heart, as corny as it sounded.

It made her want to laugh and cry at the same time. She had given up on love when she was fourteen. She broke away from the ideal of everlasting fairytale love that she had become disillusioned with at an early age. Fourteen was too young to stop wanting to love and be loved by one special person, but there you go. She had. After that, she had seen a few other boys, but she knew they wouldn't lead anywhere. She knew that sooner or later, it would just hurt her. She knew that something would happen and someone would get hurt, and left, broken and alone. Most likely it would be her, and it usually was. She was ready to admit that she would never find love. She would just drift through life, living it as she wanted to. Sure, she'd probably see men along the way, but they would be just another way to pass the time.

She wasn't being harsh and cold, that was just how it was. Oh, she would care for them, but they would leave her, she knew. That was her biggest fear: that someday she would actually find love in some form or another, and then it would be gone. Snatched away.

She would be hurt, broken, betrayed. She would cry, and her heart would feel ripped away, for days, weeks, months. She would slowly mend her life back together, ready and whole for the next 'love of her life' to come and destroy again.

She knew that eventually, Draco would leave her. Everyone did. But for the first time in a while, she had actually managed to fool herself into thinking that perhaps there was something there. Something that could keep them together, forever. They had come this far, right?

Ginny shook her head at her own stupid thoughts. Of course they wouldn't. The next pretty girl would come along, and Ginny would be left alone and forgotten again. But would she be able to handle it this time? She cared for him so much. And if she hadn't abandoned the whole true-love thing, she would say that she loved him more than a fish loves water. She felt, for the first time in so long, complete again. She just couldn't let him take that away from her. If anyone would do the pushing away, it would be her. He could take it; he probably didn't really care for her above more than half anyway. And who could blame him? She was nothing special, and he could have more or less whatever (or whoever) he wanted. No, she would push him away. It would still hurt, but if she was in control, it wouldn't hurt so much, right?

It had hurt with everyone else, though. She had pushed Colin away, after he lost interest, and started to eye Hannah Abbot of Hufflepuff. She had pushed Seamus away when she realized he didn't actually like her; he was just using her as a sounding board for his problems and was going out with Lavendar Brown behind her back. And Dean…

Ginny scowled down at the snow. They had pushed each other away. It was horrible, because she had actually felt like they were going somewhere. However, he had been going nowhere but down her pants. She shuddered, recalling the night they had broken up. It was classified as one of the worst moments of her life.

She had only been fourteen…

They were taking advantage of the rest of Gryffindor being off at the Slytherin-Hufflepuff game that evening. Neither Dean nor Ginny had felt much like going, so they had made their excuses and settled down for a night of relaxing in each other's company.

Or so she had thought…

She had still been in her clothes from the day, and she'd really wanted to get out of her jeans and into her pajama bottoms and a tee. She also wanted to take a shower; Hagrid had had them combing filthy Augureys, and her fingers were covered in green goo that she wanted to scrub off.

She'd turned to Dean and planted a soft kiss on his forehead. "I'll be right back." she had said, standing from where she'd been leaning against his chest. He had reached up and grabbed her waist, pulling her back in front of him. "Where are you going?" He'd asked; he was always doing that those days: she could never go anywhere without him giving her the third degree. It was almost obsessive.

Ginny had laughed, softly, trying to rid herself of the chill of something that ran down her spine, giving him another kiss. "Just going to take a shower and change." She'd explained and headed up to her shower, reveling in the warmth of the running hot water.

She'd emerged some minutes later, a towel wrapped around her body. She was ready to pull on some night clothes and disappear under her covers. What she wasn't ready for was to find Dean lying on her bed, already in his pajamas, which consisted of white boxers. Ginny remembered gasping as she whirled around to duck into the bathroom, gasping even harder as Dean jumped up and grabbed her arm.

It had been all she could do to not scream. She didn't know what was going on (she had only been fourteen, though Dean was fifteen at the time), but it scared her. Dean was giving her a look that made her want to gag, and his hands were coming up to brush against parts of her that she really didn't like.

"Dean, please stop." She'd whimpered, pushing his hands away. Dean had growled, actually growled at her, his eyes going shades darker, turning him into some other person she didn't know. This was not her Dean.

She'd tried everything: walking away, pushing him away, she had even slapped him, trying to bring him back to his senses. He'd merely snarled at her, his palm connecting with her face. She'd reeled across the room he had hit her so hard. Somewhere among the pain and fear, she had managed to keep her scanty towel from falling, tucking it back in tightly. And then there was a hand, fingers burying into her curls, yanking her head back painfully. "Kiss me, damnit." He'd roared, grasping her face and pulling it to his.

She'd kept her mouth shut and, recalling some of what Fred and George had taught her, kneed him in the groin. He'd crumpled to the ground, and she'd watched for a second, in morbid fascination.

Big mistake. Even as she started thinking straight and moved to the safety of her locked bathroom, she felt his hand on her arm again. But this time it really hurt. "Bitch!" It was the first time anyone had ever called her that. And this was someone she thought she had loved. She tried to pull away, but Dean drew his fist back and hit her.

Ginny had sat, on the floor, holding her face, shocked and hurt. He had hit her. He had really hit her. Hard. He advanced on her again, grasping her wrists as she struggled to get away from him. He was scaring her. "Dean, stop!" she'd practically screamed, fighting back tears that she was too late to keep from running down her face.

He'd merely taken both of her wrists in one hand and pulled away her towel with the other. Ginny cried ever harder.

He would have raped her. Ginny knew it, had seen it in his eyes. Whatever had happened had sent him over the edge, and there was no reasoning with him. Ginny squeezed her eyes shut, preparing for the worst.

He was going to hurt her. Badly. He would have, too, if it weren't for the fact that he suddenly had a brass lamp base coming down on his head with a sickening BANG!

And then, Ginny was free. She cracked one eye open. A small, dark-haired girl was standing over Dean's collapsed body, giving it a dirty look as she kicked it aside viciously. She turned her gaze to Ginny, concern overcoming anger.

"You alright?" she'd asked, pulling a bed sheet from Ginny's bed, and covering the shivering, frightened girl with it, casting a quick warming spell.

Ginny nodded. "Oh gods, Heather. I-I thought…" she buried her head in the younger girl's shoulder as she took her in a comforting hug, not really worrying about why Heather was there; her gratitude that she was there was overwhelming as she shook softly, Heather rubbing her back soothingly.

They had only really met about a week ago, but this was one of those situations that brought them together, making them friends for at least the next two years. After that, Heather had always been there for her, and Dean had never bothered her again, though she suspected that had something to do with Heather's ability with the Furnunculus Curse. Whatever the matter, Ginny vowed never to fall in love again…

"Damn." Ginny exclaimed, shaking her head, and glancing up at the ivy-covered wall of the castle. She was doing the same thing with Draco, and it was just as likely to turn out the same way. She stared up, locating the window that opened up into Draco's room. Yes, this was the spot.

Sighing, she swung one leg over her broom and kicked off. She really didn't want to do this…maybe she could just push him away later. She didn't want to, she was just so scared…whatever happened, she just really needed to talk to him right now. There was so much to say. So much to explain.

She edged her broom closer to the window, reaching out to push it open; it hadn't been closed all the way. She flew into the room and promptly fell off her broom.

"No." she breathed, eyes widening. "No. N-n-n-nnnnnooooooooooooo!" she screamed, louder than she ever remembered screaming in her life. The scream rose up from the very center of her being, vibrating through every fiber of her body as she stared up at Draco, swinging from the ceiling by a rope.

"No…" she whispered, rushing forward.

No.