My heart thudded dully in my ears. I tried to shut it out – for my heart to be beating, it meant that I was alive. If I was alive, then I could feel...could feel him. If my heart was beating, then this was really happening.

It started the same as usual, the crack in the door, the warning slap of his cane, the hands pulling me up my shoulders so that I was upright.

"Do it," he commanded coldly.

His face was a mask of distain and disgust. He hated me for what I did to him – but why did he keep coming to me? When will this vicious circle ever end? What had I done to deserve such hate? Hate that has existed as long as I could remember?

His cane came down on me again as a response to my hesitation, catching me in the right shoulder with a searing flash of pain. His eyes had an almost feverish glow to them as they watched the tears slowly gather in my eyes. I reached for him as I had reached for him so many times, and all his weight shifted on to me. He conquered all my senses now – I could see, hear, feel, smell and taste nothing but him – and he was putrid to me. Bile rose in my throat. Those cold hands and lips are all over me now. There was no tenderness – they squeezed, and grabbed, and bit, and sucked – but he could do this. He owns me. I am his.

No. This shouldn't be happening. I shouldn't be in my home bedroom. He doesn't own me, not any longer. I belonged to someone else...

I jerked awake with a startled gasp as the dream collapsed around me.

"Miss Parkinson...Pansy...it was just a dream." Madame Pomfrey came over, clucking like a frustrated hen in need of a good hatching. I had awoken nearly every night since being in the Hospital Wing of Hogwarts, in the same pathetic pool of sweat and tears. I could see the worry in Madame Pomfrey's face. She had dealt with a multitude of different injuries and spell malfunctions, but never had she a patient like me – my story had touched her, but she did not know how to fix me. All the potions in the world couldn't wash away the past – you couldn't just obliviate away a lifetime of memories. I felt I would endure these dreams for the rest of my life – dreams that really were a smeared blend of real life memories. Sometimes Draco featured, sometimes it was the other Slytherin boys, but the majority of the time, it was my Father. I believe he would never leave me alone.

"I'm fine," I said shortly. I was a Slytherin after all. I had cried once in this bed while in Dumbledore's arms, but I would not cry again. I liked to think I was stronger than that.

I had been in the Hospital Wing for about a week now. I was being treated for malnourishment and vitamin deficiency after my time spent hiding from my father without food or water. I had always been skinny, but I was somewhat of a skeleton now. When I looked in the mirror, I saw sunken cheeks and dark, bruised eyes. If I lifted up my night gown, I saw pale skin and pointy bones.

Pomfrey was adamant in feeding me up – a process I found frankly quite sickening. I had never had a big appetite at the best of times, and I had gone so long without that it felt strange to have roast dinners presented to me daily. However, what I didn't eat, Weasley mostly did – which saved me the hassle of getting in trouble. Weasley was my very own disposable bag.

I smiled to myself.

Weasley.

I closed my eyes and tried to wash away my dream with the picture of his face. His ginger, smiling, freckly face. My breathing slowed a little. My heart returned to a normal pace. My forehead unwrinkled and my frown eased.

He would be here soon. Once breakfast had commenced, he would arrive, and most of the time he wouldn't leave until after supper. Pomfrey had instructed us both with strict commands about when he could visit – and when he could not. There would be no overnight visits on her wing.

Pomfrey fetched me some porridge. It was thick and hot in my mouth and I struggled to swallow it. But the more I ate and the better I behaved, the faster my recovery. It had only been a week – and in the week, I really had improved drastically. While Pomfrey was adamant that what I needed was rest, I knew the day was coming when she would leave me free to roam around the castle. I wished for the day when Weasley and I would have some privacy.

He arrived after breakfast, as per always. The sun followed him in through the doors and windows. The Hospital Wing was transformed into a different place. I was transformed into a different girl.

As always, I worried about how I looked. I was used to, if not looking pretty, making every effort to pursue attractiveness. My pug nose would always stop me from being considered beautiful, but my hair had always been styled and I had spent much time purchasing and practicing with my makeup and cloaks. I knew now that my hair was unkempt, my face grey and tired and my eyes smudged in the blackness from another sleepless night.

If he cared – or noticed – how I looked, it did not show on that face. Instead, what registered was a beam of happiness at the prospect of spending another day with me, as well as the concern and worry for me that he couldn't quite hide, no matter how much he tried.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," I said.

He sat down. It had only been a week. Yes, it had been a year of concealed glances and snatched smiles – but it had only been a week for us – to finally be able to sit together. To talk freely. To smile without the fear of others watching.

There was a silence.

It wasn't an awkward silence. He knew I was still in recovery, that it was only in the safety of this hospital wing that I was finally coming to terms with all I had been through, not just in the last few weeks, but in the vast years before Weasley had come and saved me.

And he had saved me, you know. He was my saviour. A smile and a quill – that apparently was all that was needed to save a girl like me. The Slytherin Whore.

He sat in the chair beside my bed. I stayed in my bed. We simply looked at each other.

He smiled.

I smiled.

He, almost with a scared hesitancy, took my hand in his. Our fingers locked. In that moment, I knew that nothing would break us - that he was here for me, and that someday I would repay him by being there for him.

I closed my eyes and breathed deeply.

In that silence, I found peace.

I began to get better. Time is a healer in itself. Resting in a bed without the fear of boys creeping in through the night eventually trained me to sleep soundly. The feasts Pomfrey presented me finally seemed to be taking effect – My appetite grew, I had a bit of colour in my cheeks at last and a bit of flesh on my bones.

The dreams were less.

The time with Weasley became less about silences and sleeping, and more about the interaction between us. I found I could not shut up – I had so much to tell him. We stumbled over each other's words with an almost feverish excitement. He learnt how much I hated fish, how I had once gotten lost in the Room of Requirement, how I liked my eggs and how often I got the hiccups (quite often – I hate them!). I learnt how many brothers and sisters he had, how he hated Brussel Sprouts but otherwise liked all foods, all about his favourite Quidditch team and all about his Wizard cards he collected.

We played Chess. I had never really played before, so he taught me, and he beat me. But I got better each time we played, and I knew the day was coming in which I would win. I looked forward to the day. Teasingly, I told him this often.

Madame Pomfrey let me get out of bed soon. In fact, the fresh air would do me good, or so she said. Of course, it was the summer holidays so there was no students in the castle. Weasley and I, we roamed the grounds like we owned the place.

With the sun beaming down on us, we played a game of one on one Quidditch. We sat by the lake for hours on end, sometimes in silence, sometimes in the persistent babbling that had now become common place. We explored the Room of Requirement, and he held my hand so I would not get lost again. I showed him the Slytherin Common room and heard all about how he had been here before. He let me in to the Gryffindor Common room and, as I stood there in the warm, glowing room, I wondered how it all would have been different if I had been sorted into this House. Or maybe things would always be the same; maybe those boys would have found me eventually. I would never know.

I still stayed in the Hospital Wing every night – it didn't seem right to stay in either House anymore. I think Madame Pomfrey liked the company.

I began to wonder where I would go once the students started returning to Hogwarts.

I had missed my exams of course; I had been acting like a street rat in Hogsmeade at the time. Dumbledore offered me the chance to take them before September commenced – "a special exception." I thought this was good of him. I think he understood I could not stay in Hogwarts for another year, especially with Ron not at my side.

Ron and I had to go to Diagon Alley so, to purchase some new supplies. I wanted new parchment, new cauldrons and new quills (except of course Ron's quill, which I would keep forever). I also wanted to buy new beauty products – I wanted Ron to think of me as pretty, and not as the ragged victim I had been as I had lain in that Hospital bed. I wanted a new start.

My new start quaked underneath me, however, as I saw a face in the crowd. The face I would never, ever forget – my father's face.

Weasley, bless him, had never seen my father and so was absolutely oblivious to my plight. He continued blathering about some topic as he dragged me closer and closer to Father. I wondered almost scornfully and desperately how stupid, ignorant, idiotic of Weasley to miss the cold sweat which had now enveloped my body or the thin shiver which had taken over in spasms. How could he not see the blatant fear on my face? And then I realised that I had years of experience in hiding these feelings, years of practice that I had immediately adopted at the sight of him, my father – my captive.

"Ron..." I whispered.

The sound of me using his first name must have shocked him, and he looked at me with round blue eyes. I could not look in his direction, my eyes were glued solely on one person alone. My father must have felt the heat of my eyes, because he was turning towards me now.

I watched as his face registered at first surprise, which slowly crumbled into distain, then flickered into disgust, before finally landing and staying on the hatred I knew so well.

He took a step towards me.

I flinched, and went to back away.

Ron caught hold of my hand and squeezed tight. He was looking at my father now too.

Oh, Stupid, ignorant, idiotic Weasley – my hero. Yes, that was dramatic of me to think – but in that flush of emotion, the word hero rang loud and true. He was my block, he was mine, he was the one to grab on to and hold – he was the only thing solid in my liquid world.

With his hand in mine, I stood up tall and met my father's eyes.

I realised in that moment that there was nothing he could do to me here. I wasn't lying on my bed in stripped nightclothes waiting for him to take me – I was among people, I was with Ron – he could not hurt me now. With a dawning shock, I realised Father would never have the opportunity like that to hurt me ever again. I had no wish to return home ever again.

"Father," I said with a nod. I was proud of the steadiness of my voice.

"Pansy," he said in a curt voice. "I see you are keeping well." He cast one fleeting, disgusted glance at Weasley. "I command that you come home with me at once. We have a lot to discuss."

He had disowned me quite a time ago, of course. He had disowned me when Draco had sent him that letter, and he would have killed me if he had gotten the chance back then. But I was older now – he had no claim on me any more now that I was of age – and I was stronger.

I think that's what shocked me the most – that Father thought I would go. That he thought even after all this time that I would follow his orders without question. And then I realised of course that it is what he thought – he had no reason to think otherwise; I had never once disobeyed him.

I looked at him for a minute or two, Ron's hand still heavy in mine. And then I looked at my mother – the tiny, anxious little puddle who had sat by idly and let Father hurt me – because it meant when he was hurting me, he was not hurting her. I understood that, I suppose – but I had only been a child. She blanched under my steady gaze.

I looked at them both – memorising both of their faces at that moment, because I knew I would never see either of them ever again. And then I left go of Ron's hand, and I turned and I walked away. I didn't need to rely on Ron at this moment. I finally felt strong enough to stand on my own two feet.

Behind me, I heard Ron tell my father that if he ever saw him again, he would kill him.

It was an idle threat – Ron could kill nobody. Part of me wished he had left me have the last say with my father – but Ron was hot headed and rash and overly protective – and I loved him for it. He loved me for all my faults – his faults just made me love him more. He caught my hand in his again, and I held on tight. I knew now I was able to stand on my own two feet – but it was nice to know for the first time in my life I didn't have to.

When we returned to Hogwarts that night, we sat in the Gryffindor Common Room together. I played with my new parchment and quills as if I was a child. I organised my notes from last year. Ron likened me to Granger, which made us both laughed out loud.

When our laughter had subsided, I asked if I could stay with him that night.

He went red, as red as his hair, starting with his ears and spreading to his cheeks. He croaked, "Yes."

I smiled, despite myself.

He turned away as I got changed for bed. I wore one of my prettier nightgowns; it was white and soft to touch – bought only that day, so he would not have seen it back in the Hospital Wing - I felt like a different girl now. I wore my hair lose around my shoulders and I could feel the healthy flush in my cheeks. I knew at that moment as his eyes caught mine that he thought I was beautiful. I had never felt beautiful before.

Almost as if compelled, he drew me close to him and kissed me gently. Our first kiss – after all this time.

"Eh... I should tell you...I've never, you know, gone the whole way..." Ron stammered. I felt a fine tremble rise through him, a shudder.

"Well, either have I," I said. "I mean, not really." I felt a similar shudder race through me. "Not willingly." My voice dropped to a whisper. "Not with you."

But we didn't. Not that night. I wasn't ready, and I don't think he was either. He held me as I drifted off to sleep, and he kissed me on the forehead good night. I had never felt safer, and I had never felt so loved.

That night has seared itself in my memory. Other nights would come – different types of nights for me and Ron. But this night had been special – because I saw now for the first time that intimacy was different than anything I had ever done before, and that I really was as new to all this as Ron was.

"Goodnight," he murmured, on the brink of sleep.

I smiled from within his arms and said, "See you in the morning."

It really was only the beginning for me.

Got a review for this last night - I haven't written anything in like years! But I couldn't sleep last night until this was written. So thanks x-mycloudisinthesky-x! :)

I'm a little shaky on my Harry Potter trivia, so forgive me if I got anything wrong! x