Ava Adore, part 1: Miss Misery
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. Chapter title courtesy of Elliot Smith.
Summary: Desperate times call for desperate measures, and neither Ginny Weasley nor Draco Malfoy particularly lack in the despair department. Good soil for an unhealthy relationship that has the potential to give them everything they ever wanted while losing everything everybody else ever wanted for them.
Author's Note: I am bored, and only allowed a couple of minutes online a day right now due to the general evilness of my brother. I hadn't planned to post this fic anywhere other than my LJ (it's up to part three there, but I'd appreciate it if you waited until the parts are up here, as everything's unbeta-ed there) until it's finished, but I have nothing to do, and so I polished it up some more after VioletJersey so generously agreed to beta it. I'm afraid that the fic got a little out of hand, though, so I'd be grateful for anybody who'd be willing to help with beta-ing :)
It was one of those bleak November days that was so typical for Hogwarts, those days that inspire egocentrism because all you ever see is yourself amidst the layers of fog that clothe everything around you in sheets of greyish white, that I found myself huddled on the floor of the back of the library, my back leaning against a bookshelf, one knee propped up and drawn close to my chest so I could rest my head on it. It was an awkward position, especially if you did not shift for some time, but I did not particularly care. I didn't trust myself to be anything else than that, and besides, I felt like punishing myself.
I deserved it, after all I'd done.
I knew that by now, my brother would be looking for me, demanding an answer to a question I had been afraid to answer honestly to myself until an hour ago, and I knew that I could not answer him.
As if he'd read my mind, Ron turned a corner just that exact moment, with long strides that spoke of anger and determination, a mix that was not unusual for him. I briefly wondered how he'd managed to find me.
"You always hide in the library," he barked instead of a greeting, answering the unasked question.
"Oh," was all I could say, and I was not sure where the detachedness in my voice had come from.
"Why?" The question hung in the air for a couple of seconds while I was looking for a suitably evasive answer. His cheeks began to redden even more with every second that ticked by, his ears already an unhealthy shade of purple.
"For God's sake, just give me an answer, Gin!" he almost screamed, and I began to think that if I hesitated long enough, Madam Pince would get rid of him for me, and I hated myself for thinking that. He was my brother after all, and I loved him. I didn't want him to get detention. But I did want him to leave me alone.
So I said nothing.
His face fell when he acknowledged that I wasn't going to answer any time soon, and he sat down, in a position much like mine, with the difference that he propped his elbow on this knee.
"Didn't you say that he was all you ever wanted? You just broke up with the bloke who was perfect for you Gin," Ron stated, resting his forehead on his hand. Again, no reaction from my side.
"What's wrong with Neville? He's sweet and nice, he's thoughtful and he'd do everything for you," he continued. "Where's the problem?"
And even though I knew the exact answer to that, I did not dare answer him, because even acknowledging it had drained me to the point of exhaustion. So, instead, I shrugged and said that there were some things that I wanted that Neville could never give me.
Ron huffed, finally fed up with me, and got up, storming out of the library, leaving me alone with my horrible thoughts and secrets.
Sweet and caring, and adorable. Neville was all that. Harry had been all that. But he hadn't. And he'd never be back, and I'd never get what I so desperately craved.
Even at the thought of it, of him, my stomach tied itself in knots. I felt like I had already lived my life at the tender age of sixteen, and it pained me. Emotionally, I was dead. I had probably been for the past five years without noticing, without realizing what was going on.
More than once in those years, I had wondered if it hadn't been better for Harry to have let me die in the darkness of the Chamber in my first year, and I dwelled upon that thought again, pondering the merits of death versus a life long gone without noticing the hours flying by.
It was at close to midnight when I was pulled out of my reverie, and none too gently at that.
"What do we have here?" a harsh voice hissed somewhere to my right, and I could just picture the sneer on the face it belonged to as soon as I recognized it. I'd been so absorbed in myself that I hadn't even noticed the approaching steps, or the dim light from the tip of his wand.
"A little Gryffindor, out after curfew. What might you be doing here, Weasley? Stealing books?" I did not look at him, did not need to. The great and perfect prefect Draco Malfoy had caught some worthwhile prey, and his glee radiated around him like an ugly perfume.
I expected him to continue his monologue, the one that bespoke his glorious victory of sorts, and anticipated the point where he would state that he would report me to Snape in order to get my detention, along with some house points being taken.
What I did not expect was for him to grab my arm and yank me to a standing position, and amidst the pain of my tired bones and my sore muscles, I felt something that would leave me in a state of shock for the coming hours.
"Look at me when I'm talking to you, you stupid ragdoll," he hissed, and I turned wide eyes to his cold and steely gaze, that seemed to want to hurt me without doing or saying anything. It couldn't be, could it?
But as he shook me squeezing my arm so tightly with his cold hand that it hurt, I felt it again, and a sense of familiarity made itself comfortable in my body, while a shiver of excitement ran down my spine.
But now that I was looking at him, he started his Snape and detention lecture, as I had expected. I was to meet Snape at eight o'clock the next evening. I nodded as if in a dream and then shuffled off to my common room after he'd half-dragged me out of the library.
And later, when I lay in my bed, pondering the strange happenings of the night, and my reactions to them, it started making sense, in a very twisted corkscrew kind of way.
It was well past two am, and I was still awake, unable to go to sleep. I knew what my brother would say, I knew what Harry and Hermione would say, and I knew what everybody, including Neville would think, and it made me so angry I wanted to scream.
They would send me on the next train to St. Mungo's. But I wasn't crazy, I was hungry. Hungry for life and everything that could give me the feeling of vitality that I had lacked these past few years.
And when Malfoy had dragged me off the floor with a brutality I hadn't encountered since he'd left, I'd felt more alive than ever. The feeling was already starting to fade, the old dullness creeping back into my body, so I touched the bruise he'd left on my arm, wincing slightly. But it helped bring the memories back.
I knew it was a forbidden fruit, I really did, but in my deprived state, I didn't care. All I wanted was to feel that way again.
I barely managed to close an eye that night, and was accordingly tired the next day. When I looked in the mirror while brushing my teeth, I noticed that my face was ghastly and pale, with dark circles under my eyes. My hands were shaking and I almost dropped my toothbrush at one point. My hair was a tangled mess, sticking in every which direction. I looked absolutely horrible. I smiled.
At least my sorry appearance spared me any comments from my brother's side at breakfast. After taking one quick look at the occupants of Gryffindor table, I didn't dare look at anyone anymore, as I'd noticed Neville's crestfallen look, as well as other, curious glances in my direction. I avoided them all, eating my breakfast in undisturbed silence, thankful that the ever-present gossip machine that was Hogwarts did not bother with me today.
I actually managed to get through the day without so much as a normal conversation with anyone, until it was ten to eight, when it was time for my detention. Even the thought of it made my fingers itch with anticipation as I walked the cold corridors of the dungeon, for what reason I couldn't tell.
"You're two minutes late, Weasley," Snape snapped when I finally entered his classroom. I noted that there were lots of very, very dirty cauldrons in the room, and already knew what my detention would contain.
The Potions Master had noticed my glance and smirked. "Do your worst, Weasley, you'll not leave this room until you're done." I really didn't. I scrubbed cauldrons for four solid hours, until my fingers were red and sore.
And so it came that I was out after curfew again, at midnight. Somehow I'd hoped for something to happen during that detention, but what, I could not fathom. I only knew that I was tired and that nothing had happened, except for that it had taken longer than expected, and that I might get caught by a prefect.
That was when I got the idea that would soon result in me roaming the castle after hours. I wanted to get caught. After all, it had made me feel good the night before, why not again? So I deliberately took my time, taking the scenic route back to Gryffindor tower.
I did get caught, but it wasn't exactly what I'd expected. The Ravenclaw prefect had been sympathetic when she'd noticed my nearly bleeding fingers, and had guessed that I must have had some kind of detention. Being the natural bad liar that I am, I grudgingly admitted to having spent the past couple of hours scrubbing cauldron bottoms for Snape. No house points taken, no detention, not even a scolding glance, just a smile and a bid for a good night.
Lying in my bed that night, unable to sleep again, I realized that it hadn't been the getting caught that had elated me. It had been the being caught by Malfoy. By someone who had no qualms to hurt me, or to abuse me. Just like him.
Ron was waiting for me in the common room the next morning, and even though I knew it was mean, I didn't want to talk to him. I neither knew what to tell him, nor why I wanted to be left alone all of a sudden. I'd craved his attention for years, and now that I had it, I didn't want it anymore.
"Ron, please don't," I said when he stood up as I approached, and felt my chest constrict when his face fell.
"What's wrong with you, Ginny?" he asked concernedly, and I wondered what he meant. What's wrong with you, why did you break up with him? Or What's wrong with you, you look like you have some serious problems? I didn't want to hear either.
"Nothing," I mumbled and brushed past him, hasting to breakfast to get it over and done with.
I didn't look at anyone at my table again, unable to witness the stares, or the almost heartbreaking look on my brother's face. How long until he would owl our mother?
Instead, I looked over to the Slytherin table out of the corner of my eye, and saw Malfoy sitting there, dining like a king, with Pansy Parkinson at his side, and her feeble attempts to play his queen. She was cold and calculating, just like him, and I knew that she could therefore never be his counterpart. They were too much alike. A ruler needs to be above everybody, and an equal does not do in his mind. What he needed was somebody to control and order around.
My spoon clattered on the table as I thought that, and I hastily left the room, desperate to go somewhere, to just leave. I could feel my breathing becoming ragged as I ran up some stairs, without really caring where I was going. And when I reached the top and leaned on the rail that prevented students from a long fall, I noticed that it was the top of the Astronomy Tower I was standing on.
And I breathed the cold air, feeling the wind tugging at my hair, tousling it in wild disarray. I stayed there until I knew I was going to be late for class if I didn't leave soon, waiting for the sense of panic that had driven me to run to ease away, which it did, to some extent.
Nobody spoke to me again. I didn't know whether it was because they thought I'd been cruel to Neville, or because my outward appearance frightened them into shying away from me. It didn't really matter, as long as I had my peace.
And when it was finally close to curfew, I quietly left my common room, making my way down to the library, sneaking in and hiding in one of the dark corners at the back again, praying to whatever deity would listen for some kind of miracle to happen. The miracle being that prefect schedules were the same every night.
And I was not disappointed. It was somewhere between half past eleven and midnight when I heard footsteps approaching and my heart started racing at the thought of what might happen. Ba-bum, ba-bum.
What if it wasn't him? Ba-bum, ba-bum, ba-bum.
It could be anybody. It could be Hermione. Ba-bum, ba-bum, ba-bum.
"Out again, I see. Scum like you never learns." Ba-bum-ba-bum-ba-bum.
My prayers had not been in vain. I didn't look up, but rather at his shoes, noting that they were polished to the point of madness with curious interest. Of course everything about him had to be immaculate, didn't it? It fit his picture perfectly.
"I do not like being ignored, Weasley," he spat, and I had to close my eyes in order not to do anything stupid, like sigh. Even though I felt like it. Whether it was from relief or anticipation, I couldn't tell.
And when he grabbed my arm again and yanked, I was not surprised. Neither was I when he shook me, as I still wasn't looking up at him. I was too immersed in the pain in my arm, willing him to grab me just a little bit harder.
He shook me until my head hit the shelf behind me, and that was when I finally looked at him, in his cold face that was trying to stay calm in the face of rage. Rage that I had sought out to incite.
"I do not like being disobeyed, either," he added menacingly, with a glint in his eye that promised danger. An exhilarating thing, that.
"Why are you always here so carelessly?" I noted that, underneath his anger, he must be confused why I would sit here, in the open, not even trying to hide or get away from him. I didn't answer.
He shoved me again, my back and head hitting the shelf again, and I gasped, half from the pain, and half from excitement.
His piercing eyes stayed on my face for another couple of seconds, until he shook his head, his now gel-free hair falling forth until he brushed it away impatiently. I wondered whether it would even show when it began to grey, or whether it would stay the same white-blond that it was now while he took points away from Gryffindor again, and assigned me another detention.
And when he finally released me, I did not go to sleep immediately. It wouldn't have made much sense, anyway. As with the last time, I was too excited to sleep anyway. But I also felt dirty and guilty at the same time, and so I took a long bath, scrubbing my bruised skin as if to get rid of those feelings.
But I knew I would do it again.
To be continued.
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