He walked down the sidewalk, passed her without a glance, and slipped inside the store next to the coffee shop. She had taken every precaution to remain indistinguishable; her hair and eyebrows were dyed brunette, her eyes were blue thanks to a charm, her face had remained hidden from his view behind the newspaper "The Daily Prophet," and her swift fingers had eventually found a hiding place in the storage area of the store. She would be able to hear whatever they spoke of beneath her if they went underground. So far everything was going smoothly.
With one last sip of her coffee she tucked the newspaper into her black leather purse and left, her heels clicking behind her as she passed the small tables with people seated at them, mostly men, with hopeful lingering eyes fixated on her withdrawing petite form clad in a black pencil skirt and a white silk blouse open at the neck, plunging into a deep V, flattering her small breasts and creamy skin against which a small, gold locket laid against. She received more looks as she walked on the street to the store, from men and jealous women, she wasn't aware of.
When she was confronted with the spells on the door, they were broken easily, too easily for a store containing dark artifacts Ginny had thought. She snuck in afterwards slowly, and quietly shut the door behind her, the one she had charmed a few days earlier to prevent it from squeaking, and hid in the shadows. Her ears picked up voices in the front of the store; one could be distinguished by a silky drawl that was unmistakable to Ginevra's ears while the other was rough as bark and wheezy.
"It's been getting worse, more and more of them are getting caught by the younger ones. Ironic, isn't it? How the times have changed…They're better now, their training has improved although they hardly compare to us. Still, the Aurors caught another one yesterday. Remember Avery? I believe he went to school with your father, I'm not certain, so many have joined that one begins to forget all the details. He'll be going on trial for murder soon and will be off to Azkaban. It shouldn't be turning out this way with their numbers so low," the shop owner growled in a raspy voice, grating on Ginevra's ears. It was a relief when Draco spoke.
"Avery was a fool. How do you not willingly get caught if it's Aurors? They have not been immersed in dark magic from their first breath of life like we have. They say they know all there is to know and yet, they know only what they were taught at school and in training, while we learned magic as we began to speak and talk and walk."
An exasperated sigh escaped and his voice glided, silkily, over the words, "it's for the best anyways. He was useless; he couldn't do anything right. If it hadn't been for the Aurors, He would've sooner or later killed him. The weak don't deserve to live. They're a pollution to society. We're almost doing them a favor as they're too cowardly to take their own life, perhaps, if those Aurors were as honorable as they say they are, they would return the favor. Instead, Avery will go to Azkaban when he should've killed himself after failing. What an utter disgrace…" Draco trailed off, handing the older man a roll of parchment with a seal on it, and took the envelope handed to him.
She could hear his footsteps and then the voice of the shop owner. "Be careful."
There was a moment of silence, then her body involuntarily flinched at the slamming of the door and the noise of the damn bells hanging from the door knob. With her exit in her mind, she snuck out of the back door and silently thanked her luck that no light came in. The gray overcast weather made the back-alley darker and provided her concealment from the eyes of others. She waited, looked for signs of Draco, and gasped when she saw him with another women who had apparated when she wasn't looking. Her desire to hide conflicted with her curiosity to find out who the stranger was.
It wasn't Pansy, that was evident enough from the woman's waist-length flaxen hair blowing in the breeze which managed to stay out of her pale oval face, allowing her jaded eyes to momentarily light up her perfectly chiseled face at the sight of Draco. Her thin lips stretched out in a smile showing small white teeth directed at the other blonde who only smirked and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, leaning forward for a snog. Ginny closed her eyes, shutting out the sight of the couple's intimate moment, and turned away to stare at the opposite wall of the back alley. Her breathing had become shallow, making her feel light-headed and dizzy.
She had had enough for today. Spying on Draco was proving more difficult than she had anticipated. What they had was nothing she consoled herself with. She didn't love him. Of course not. But the pain remained. It had crept up behind her when her attention was diverted and had overtaken her, pulling her down in its depths.
The memory of the corpses soon invaded her mind as a long of train of repressed memories crashed into her, and whatever thoughts of Draco's lover that had occupied her thoughts had promptly fled. A sob threatened to tear through her throat, but she swallowed the painful lump bitterly, gathering her recollection and surreptitiously wiped away any tears wishing to escape. She had been left in the wreckage.
I loved you.
He had smelt of spices and his breath of chocolate the first time he had leaned in to kiss her, his hot breath fanning against her skin -
Her family's bodies had been in pools of their own blood on the floor, watched by him.
Her eyes narrowed in anger and she apparated, unaware of the calm glance of gray eyes in her direction.
I hate you.
Harry was there at their flat, asleep. Ginny sighed a breath of relief. She stumbled through the hallway with the threat of falling flat on her face and waking up Harry from the few hours of sleep he got each week.
Somehow the thought of being turned into a fox again didn't sound appealing.
Honestly, Harry hadn't done it on purpose, it had just been a natural reflex born out of all those years spent with Fred and George and Ron. When one didn't worry about the contents of their food and drink, there was always the concern about what possibilities lurked ahead when one was asleep, vulnerable to whatever Fred and George thought was appealing at the time which ranged from a complete transformation into the opposite gender or merely the transfiguration of one's genitalia, to the less extreme of waking up with a long silver beard or merely long black chest hair. Hence, Harry was now a light sleeper.
Glad to be home and too exhausted to change her clothes, she carefully slipped into bed so as not to wake up Harry. The bed springs groaned, Ginny winced, but found Harry still fast asleep. His eyes were closed, skating forth and back under his eyelids. An arm wrapped itself around her waist and a soft sigh escaped him at the warmth of Ginny. She smiled, pulled the covers over her and settled in, failing to stifle a yawn, and soon, sleep claimed her.
Hours later, when it's dawn, she feels Harry's mouth on her neck, his hands sliding up under her shirt to reach the back of her bra, unclasping it, and tugging at the material covering her torso to discard it. The cold morning air envelopes her. Goosebumps rise all over her pale skin and she shivers. The coldness doesn't leave her when he enters her and it still clings to her after he rolls off of her and the bed, leaving to take a shower, and it follows her into the early morning hours, giving her no respite.
She stays huddled like that in bed, the blankets pulled all around her in a form of cocoon. There's no escape from the cold, but she finds some relief in sleep, even though it brings painful dreams. She can't escape him. She still is his prisoner.
Her lips part, letting out a sigh. Sleep's claimed her, again.
Once, she was able to sleep dreamlessly. Now, she is tormented by the memory of him. He's always there, him and that smirk and that drawl. He's merciless. He won't let her forget the soft touch of his cool fingertips on her hot skin or the gentle kisses he had scattered all over her face or the way he got his hands tangled in her long hair. He had claimed her.
Harry doesn't know. He thought he was her first. His hands hadn't been as skillful as Draco's which had made her feel faint from the hot and cold she felt. Harry's had been calloused and quick, not soft and patient.
It would've been a disappointing first time if it had been a first time.
But she had bit back her frustration and had let out fake moans, urging Harry on, attempting to picture Draco instead of Harry. She felt guilty. Green eyes had looked concerned afterwards from the trails of tears cascading down her cheeks. Ginny smiled. Harry smiled back, still feeling responsible for whatever pain he had afflicted her with.
That was a year ago.
It had been so different when she had been with Draco. Her first time hadn't been disappointing. Harry had lasted for almost fifteen minutes, perhaps fourteen or even, perhaps twelve, and had found his release within her while Draco had made it tortuously slow, making her beg. He had made sure she came first and that she was limp by the time when he reached his peak. He hadn't rolled off of her and the bed either. He had stayed. Just as before, his hands had explored her, relentlessly, searching, unforgiving in their pursuit.
She was his.
It was an incontrovertible fact: she was a terrible liar, but Harry doesn't catch onto the lie - he doesn't want to catch it. No words surfaced when he entered her and when no blood came. He covered it with the excuse of Quidditch. Broomsticks could do that to a girl, he reasoned. Sure they could.
But he can't completely excuse the fact of her experience. He ignores it instead. Somewhere in the Gryffindor dorm room for girls she picked up the advice from an older, more experienced girl about sex. How else would Ginny know, he thinks. But how is it her hands are so skilled? Ginny hadn't talked to other girls about it, though, not even to Hermione.
She feels like a liar for it. She never lied to Harry, but she never told him the truth. They hadn't spoken about their "first time" from a year ago.
She doesn't know if she'll ever tell him.
She wonders if Draco had lied to her. Had he actually loved her? Had he lied?
His voice had been so soft when he whispered those words after the first time that she might've made it up, when maybe it was just a snore. But then, she doesn't remember Draco snoring once in all the times they had slept together. What was it then?
If he had loved her, he wouldn't have killed her family.
He had lied.
Morning brought no comfort.
"The Daily Prophet" was clutched in her trembling fingers which couldn't stop trembling from the overwhelming shock Ginny had received from glancing at the cover page.
Draco and the blond woman were in the photo, next to the caption with the word "marry" in it. He was smirking in contrast to the other woman's smile which didn't reach her eyes, it looked plastered on, almost as if she was in pain from holding it for so long that her lips were beginning to crack from the long period of time. Her lips nearly disappeared in that smile. This only brought a soft smile to Ginny's lips. It was a small amusement and nearly, but couldn't, distract her from the stabbing pain in her stomach.
She was sick afterwards.
Unable to go to "work" from the recent news, Ginny takes the day off, choosing to go out and rid herself of the thoughts plaguing her. She can't spy on him today.
She wanders aimlessly down the streets of Diagon Alley, passing shops she's entered years before to get school supplies, and heads into a familiar bookstore, an old favorite of hers, and greets the bespectacled old wizard with messy white hair who still remembers her from when she was eleven and had walked into the store for the first time. She smiles at him and continues on her way through the aisles without a book in mind.
The smell of old books settles her and reminds her of days at Hogwarts spent in the library. He had been there with her. They would hide away in one of the corner tables in the back where not many went, most stuck to the areas for the school subjects they had, not many were curious enough to stay any longer than was necessary to complete their assignments. After an essay for potions, most didn't want to touch any homework for the next few hours. The library was a prison for others but oddly enough, Ginny and Draco were free in there so long as they were quiet.
If only for a moment, there is no pain.
Reluctance fills her. She doesn't want to leave yet, even though a few books are held in her arms, and she's walked down the aisles repeatedly, searching for a book, which book she doesn't know, but her search must end some time. With a sigh she pays for the items and decides to go back home, for one last time.
He was free and she wasn't. She hated him for it. She remembered, and was enslaved to those memories.
It was why she had apparated after making her purchases and had gone to the Burrow. It was why when she collapsed on the floor of the entrance she succumbed to the darkness of unconsciousness without a struggle. It was why she couldn't remember afterwards of who she was or who he was.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.