Well, it's taken a while because of school and such, but here's the next entry! It's the longest chapter as of now. A whole lot happens, and it took several writing sessions and a day or two of editing to finish. Thank you so much to all who reviewed - I can't tell you how much I appreciate it. Keep that feedback coming!!

Desiree K Troy - Special thanks to you for reading my other fic. I hardly got any feedback when I first posted it, so I can't thank you enough for having interest in my other writing. :) :)

Laney-Wood - About Ginny snapping out of it? Just read on, my friend.

Enjoy!

October 25th – 10:10am – Gryffindor Tower, Girl's Dormitory.

Well, I've been wrong.

All this time, I've been so wrong. So stupid.

I hate crying. But since last night, I think I've cried more than I have in my entire life.

I'm still crying. My cheek still stings to the touch.

But it hurts more inside. And I need to get it all out.

Yesterday morning, before classes, Draco invited me to another Slytherin party. He grabbed me by the hips as I was leaving the Dining Hall. He would always do that. It makes me feel sick to think about it now.

"Goyle's birthday was on Tuesday," he told me. "We're celebrating tonight."

He peered at me expectantly.

"And you want me to come?" I asked, finishing his sentence.

"I know you had fun last time. Admit it," he urged, smirking.

I nodded.

"See you tonight, then."

Then he disappeared into the crowded hallway. I never said I would come. I don't even know if I wanted to. But I showed up anyway, dressed up all pretty for a guy that never really cared about me.

Draco eyed me head to toe again, like he had the evening of the Quidditch win celebration. I was wearing a white button-down top with my favorite jeans. I'd applied quite a bit of eye makeup, which is now probably all over my face. But I don't want to look at myself. I can't look at myself.

We snogged for a minute or two outside the common room. Just thinking about that makes me want to throw up (again).

The party was more relaxed than the other one had been. The music wasn't as loud. Instead of dozens of grinding couples, the room was a mass of snogging couples. Blaise and Daphne actually detached themselves from each other long enough for us to discuss Quidditch with Draco and me for a while. Although everyone was knocking back just as much butterbeer, the atmosphere was pretty mellow.

Draco and I made some decent conversation. Yet he sounded impatient. He was sort of antsy the whole time we were in the common room; he drank plenty of butterbeer and kept checking the clock.

We started kissing when we ran out of things to say. He could never take silence. We always had to be talking or sucking each other's faces. I was uncomfortable about that, and I hate myself for going along with it, without fail. He called the shots. That's the way it was. If I had stood up for myself, maybe none of this would have happened.

Or if I'd used my common sense. But I was drunk at this point. We snogged, drank, snogged some more.

And then he invited me up to his dormitory.

Naturally, I went. When you're drunk, it's much easier to trust people.

He opened the door to his dorm and let me in first. He then pulled it closed and turned the lock. Though I noticed, I thought nothing of it. I knew he just wanted privacy.

I sat down on his bed and chugged the remains of a butterbeer I'd brought with me. Draco smiled mischievously as I threw the empty bottle aside.

"What?" I asked, giggling.

"If y'like that, I've something better," he drawled, casting me an intoxicated wink.

Draco threw open his trunk and began rummaging around inside it. He pulled out a clear, glass bottle half-filled with a dark amber-colored liquid and two small glasses. Sitting next to me on his bed, he poured one of the glasses about a fourth full and handed it to me. He poured the same amount in his own glass.

I swirled the strong-smelling drink in the glass, not sure how I was to go about drinking it, or if I even wanted to.

"Jus' knock it back, like this."

Draco angled his head toward the dark green canopy hanging over his bed, brought the glass to his lips and tipped it back carelessly. The drink slipped from the glass and down his throat. It looked like he didn't even have to swallow, like he'd done this hundreds of times. And he probably has.

I hesitated, a strong pinch of doubt in the back of my mind.

"Go on, it won't kill you."

I hate that I'm so easily persuaded.

I closed my eyes and emptied the contents of the glass into my mouth. I swallowed with great difficulty. It felt like my chest had caught fire. Breaking into a fit of coughs, I brought a hand to my neck.

Draco laughed.

"Lovely warming sensation, isn't it?"

I stared at him, breathless.

He poured another for himself, then refilled my glass.

I don't know why I drank it.

The doubtful voice in my thoughts was objecting fiercely, but I kept blocking it out.

Do you want him to like you, or not? Another voice demanded. Just drink it.

So I did. Glass after glass, the burning lessened, but was still far from pleasant.

And then things started to get scary.

Draco and I began snogging, and soon he had me pinned to the bed. His kisses were rough, hurried. He pulled off his black T-shirt, revealing a well-defined chest and torso.

His lips migrated from my mouth to my neck, then to my chest. He started to unbutton my shirt, and I knew what was coming. I felt my whole body tense up in a rush of panic.

"Draco, d-don't..." I stammered helplessly.

He brought a finger to my lips.

"Shhh," he hushed, then resumed undressing me.

Breathing shallowly, I shook my head, unsure of what to say. Draco didn't notice.

Paralyzed from the neck down, I tried to object again.

"N-no, Draco. Don't..." I pleaded. My head was spinning. I was seeing double.

Draco brought his face to mine and squinted at me with his silvery-blue eyes. He wore a determined expression, an irritated frown on his lips.

"You want this. I know you do," he told me. "Just relax."

Draco started on my pants. I couldn't relax. I didn't want it. I couldn't let him tell me what I wanted anymore.

"STOP!"

I was stunned for a moment, then realized it was me who had cried out.

There was a pause, then Draco shot forward to face me again. He clamped my arms on either side of me. Scowling at me, his eyes like steel, he spoke in a malicious voice barely louder than a whisper. His breath was hot and thick with alcohol.

"We stop when I say we stop."

All the doubt I had ever felt when with him exploded in my face. A wave a realization crashed down on me. He doesn't care. He never has. All this time, there has been only one thing he's wanted.

And he's going to get what he wants if you don't do something, my inner voice professed.

Draco suddenly sat bolt upright, each of his knees on either side of me, straddling my legs. He proceeded to un-do his belt.

Do something.

Unable to move, I watched him slip the brown leather strap from the buckle; pull down his zipper...

Do something.

I finally reacted with the first thing that came to mind.

I hauled myself to a sitting position and, bending my right leg, drove my knee upward into him with all the force I could muster.

Draco let out a shriek that was several octaves higher than his regular voice and fell sideways onto the bed.

I rolled the opposite direction but, as I was still drunk, hit my head on Draco's bedside table as I tumbled to the floor. Dazed, I couldn't stand. By then, Draco had staggered around the bed and towered before me.

"You little piece of Mudblood-loving—"

"Don't use that word!" I barked. My indignant tone of voice surprised both of us.

I stood to face him.

"You deserved that. I can't believe you. D'you think I'm stupid? I would never let a prat like you ha—"

It happened in the blink of an eye. Draco raised his arm and struck me across the face with so much force that I was thrown to the floor.

"I never should've wasted my time on a Weasel like you," Draco snarled, wearing an icy glare.

Courage failed me. I lay on the carpet, whimpering, tears in my eyes.

"You're nothing, y'know that? You're worthless," he spat, sneering. "Get out."

I obeyed, clambering frantically to my feet. Though my hands shook and my vision was blurry, I managed to unlock the door and heave it open. I heard Draco mutter something that sounded distinctly like "frigid bitch" as I sprinted down the stairs.

There were still people in the common room, but the light was low, and none of them saw me leave.

I stumbled through the empty corridors, my tears and drunkenness keeping me from seeing and walking straight. I couldn't find my way back to the Gryffindor tower.

I sunk down against the wall, tears cascading from bloodshot eyes, Draco's hateful words echoing in my ears over and over.

You're nothing.

I heard footsteps around the corner, but I didn't bother trying to hide. The night couldn't have gotten worse.

You're worthless.

The footsteps grew louder, then the owner of them broke into a run. I kept my eyes closed, braced for some kind of scolding for being in the halls so late.

Instead, a familiar voice spoke my name.

"Ginny?"

It was Hermione.

"Ron! Ron, come quickly!"

Another set of footsteps came from around the same corner, then Ron came into view. He jogged over to us and knelt down next to me. He placed a hand on my shoulder.

"Godric, what happened? Where've you been?" he asked, his brow furrowed with worry.

"I... I was..."

I was what? Drinking fire whiskey at a Slytherin party? Being pressured by Draco to have sex? Getting hit when I said no?

I couldn't tell them.

"Nowhere," I responded. "Just take me to the common room."

Much to my relief and gratitude, they didn't ask questions.

I felt nauseous by the time we reached the Fat Lady. Once we were inside the common room, I thanked Ron and Hermione. I could feel them watching me as I climbed the stairs to the girl's dormitory. Instead of going into my room, I zigzagged down the hall to the bathroom.

I pushed through the swinging door and entered a stall. Feeling dizzy and sick, I dropped to my knees and vomited into the toilet bowl.

It burned ten times worse coming up than it did going down.

I curled up on the floor, hugging my knees, and started to cry again. The cool tiles soothed my stinging cheek, and I closed my eyes, hoping to sleep away my misery.

I awoke a few hours later, my head throbbing from when I fell from Draco's bed and my cheek sore where he hit me. My throat raw and my mouth tasting like stale butterbeer, I tried to stand. But as I found my footing, my stomach gave a horrible lurch. I keeled over the sink and retched a second time.

I decided it was better to keep all four limbs to the floor. On hands and knees, I shuffled out of the bathroom.

The dark hallway looked creepy and uninviting. I longed for warmth; something to lull the torn-up feeling in my chest. So, of course, the perpetually burning fire in the common room appealed to me.

I dragged myself down the hall and descended the stairs on my rear, step by step.

I expected the common room to be empty. But as I slipped off the final stair, I was startled to see a boy sitting on one of the leather couches by the fire, his head down, examining the carpet, his hands buried in a tangled mess of black hair.

Suddenly, he jerked his head up and gazed toward me. He appeared very tired and distraught, the way someone looks when they're stressed or have a terrific headache.

"Merlin, Ginny. Didn't see you there."

I crawled over to him and hoisted myself onto the couch across from where he sat. I faced him, feeling safer away from the gloom of the upstairs hallway and in the glow of the firelight.

Harry glanced at me, peered at the carpet again, then made a double take and stood up so quickly it was like someone had stuck a thumbtack in his bottom. He practically fell down rushing over to my side.

"Ginny, your cheek! I didn't see before, Merlin's beard! What happened?"

I realized I hadn't looked at myself since the... incident. I pondered momentarily about how badly I was bruised. Harry seemed to think it looked pretty terrible, a shocked expression on his face. He gingerly stroked my injured cheek with his fingertips, then snatched back his hand and ran it through his hair as if touching me had been an accident.

"Oh, erm, I don't know," I replied, shrugging.

I wasn't sure if I wanted to tell him. A sudden flashback of conversing with him by the lake made me wonder if I should. He had been so understanding, such a good listener. But it was the first time in weeks we had said more than "Pass the potatoes" to each other. I wasn't ready to talk about what had just happened. At least, not at that point.

"I don't believe you," Harry responded, sounding suspicious, but apprehensive at the same time.

"It's nothing, Harry," I reassured him, smiling weakly.

Though he didn't seem satisfied with my answer, he calmed down a bit and re-seated next to me. I thought it best to change the subject.

"Why're you up so late?" I asked.

He hesitated, then inspected me carefully, a strange smile on his lips.

"Honestly?" he inquired, looking uncertain.

"Honestly."

"Well, Ron came up to our room at around midnight. Prefect duties, and all. He said..."

Harry paused. He picked at a cuticle for a few seconds, then cleared his throat and continued.

"Ron said he and Hermione found you in a corridor when they were coming up from patrolling the hallways. He said you were... upset."

I bit my lip, feeling nauseated again. He glanced at me for confirmation; I nodded, feeling too beat up, both metaphorically and literally, to deny anything.

"And, well..."

He stopped again, this time to let out a long sigh.

"If you really want to know, I couldn't sleep. Thinking about, well, you. Firstly, because I've felt like England's biggest prat for starting that argument with you. I really have. And I feel terrible for being too bloody stubborn to apologize. Until now."

"I'm sorry too. Besides, you were right," I croaked, my voice breaking mid-sentence. Harry continued.

"Also, Ron was worried. Really worried. He said you didn't look like your normal self. He said it seemed like it couldn't have been an ordinary thing that you were disappointed or angry over."

He turned his head, his eyes focused on mine.

"And now that I see you, I know what he means."

Fresh tears trickled across my cheeks.

"I couldn't sleep, thinking about what might've happened to you."

I burst into a full-blown breakdown, hysterical sobs and all.

And I told him. I told him everything. Before I could stop myself, my story was out.

When I'd stopped crying, I peeked at Harry. His eyes were alight with emotion; a feeling I couldn't decode. Finally, he spoke.

"He hit you?"

I nodded.

"Malfoy hit you," he repeated, as a very blunt statement.

I nodded again, but suddenly felt exhausted. The night had caught up with me. Cautiously, I rose to my feet. I thanked Harry and said not to tell anybody what I'd told him. He nodded absently, choosing not to respond right away. He seemed kind of zoned out, glaring intently at the opposite wall. I was halfway up the stairs when I finally heard him reply.

"I won't, Ginny. Sleep well."

And now, I'm here in my bed. Didn't go to the Dining Hall for breakfast this morning, and I don't plan on leaving Gryffindor Tower all day.

I can't face Draco. I never want to see him again.

And although confiding in Harry made me feel a bit better, I'd still rather never leave this room for as long as I live.

I can still hear Draco's words so clearly.

You're nothing.

You're worthless.

Maybe he's right.

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