Ava Adore

Szaranea

Rating: NC17
Genres: Angst, Drama
Relationships: Draco & Ginny
Book: Draco & Ginny, Books 1 - 5
Published: 21/12/2004
Last Updated: 07/01/2005
Status: in_progress

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.Story title and general mood couresy of the Smashing Pumpkins song of the same name

Chapters

1. Miss Misery

2. The Substitute

3. Just A Phase

1. Miss Misery

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.

Reviews are always, always, always welcome :)

Hope you like.

Happy Christmas, everbody!

2. The Substitute

Ava Adore, part 2: The Substitute

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.

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: Here's the next chapter. Thanks to everybody who reviewed.

Snape made me scrub the floor this time, and not cauldrons, which was not that big of a change. It wasn't as if I cared. And my mind was not on the task I'd been given anyway, but rather thinking of whether it'd be an idea to pay the library another late-night visit.

I finished close to eleven this time, and was allowed to go to bed with a grunt from a not very interested Professor Snape.

When I pushed the library door open, I winced a little, as my fingers were sore from having scrubbed too much these past couple of days, not used to the strain of hard work. The room was dark and eerily silent, just as I'd expected it to be.

I had lost all sense of time by then, and as I'd forgotten to grab my watch, I had no idea whether I was too late or not, but I ambled over to my 'usual' spot and sat down.

It could have been half an hour, but it might as well have been a minute, but after some indefinite amount of time had passed, I heard steps, again. They sounded like his steps had sounded the day before, and I mentally prepared myself for this next encounter, for he was bound to find me. I positioned my leg in a way so that it was visible around the corner anyway, just to be sure.

When he stopped in front of me, I didn't look at him, as always, and waited patiently for him to chastise me, willing him to grab me again.

When nothing happened for over a minute, I finally looked up to notice him eyeing me with a thoughtful expression.

"It's almost as if you were waiting for me," he finally concluded, his voice cutting the silence like a knife the way he pronounced every syllable sharply and clearly.

I didn't answer, because what was there to say?

"But why would you be doing that, eh, when you know I'd kick you out and give you detention?" he mused, and I wasn't sure whether he was talking to me or himself now.

And even though he was not really doing anything, I felt a pleasant tingle in my stomach, because I was convinced he would do something soon. He couldn't just stand there like that forever.

"Get up," he finally barked, but made no move to force me to do so. I stared back at him defiantly. I would not move without his help, if you wanted to call it that.

"I said, get up, or you will get even more detention than you are going to get anyway."

I stayed put. And then he smiled. It was not a pleasant smile, but rather that of a hunter who has just guessed his prey's next step correctly, and knows that it is in his trap.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Draco said, raising his left eyebrow and the corresponding corner of his mouth a notch, and I figured that this was a sign of amusement. "Who would have thought?"

I sure as hell would have called anyone an idiot, had they told me I'd be doing this only days ago. But not now. Deep down, I knew that the only thing that had changed was my degree of honesty with myself, while I had always been like this.

And even though I knew that I craved for him to punish me, to drag me up and away like he had the day before, and the first time, I knew that I was not the only one who was enjoying these late-night encounters.

As I had observed during breakfast, Draco was a ruler, and what good was a ruler without someone to obey him? He enjoyed bossing me around, handing out detention, taking away those points, but I was almost convinced that he enjoyed the brutality with which he treated me just as much.

I could have reported him when he had bruised my arm, could have ran to Dumbledore, telling him how the prefect had shoved me against the shelf, but I hadn't, and he knew this. I knew he knew, and he knew I knew he knew, and so on, which left us at an impasse, for the moment.

"I'll deduct another twenty points from Gryffindor, Weasley,..." he finally drawled, taking a step closer to me, with a dangerous glint in his eye that made a shiver run down my spine. He looked like he had something in mind.

"...and your detention will be served with me tonight. Right here." With that I was grabbed and hauled upwards once again.

He was so close now that I could smell that he must just have taken a shower, the way his body smelled of clean soap.

He pushed at my shoulders until I was pressed up against the shelf and then tugged at my hair in order for me to bend my head backwards before leaning in slowly until his nose touched my cheek, our lips a hair's width apart.

We stayed like that for what seemed like an eternity before he bit down on my lower lip once and then stepped away quickly, letting go of my hair as well.

I squeaked rather undignifyingly, half from shock, half from pain and brought my hand up to cradle my lip. When I looked down on my fingers I saw that he had actually drawn blood, and I had to note with some disgust that I couldn't remember a time where I'd been more excited than now.

"Stop whining, Weasley," he commanded, and I looked up to see him leaning against the opposite shelf with an air of authority that seemed to affect everything around him. Draco Malfoy, rex libris, for the moment.

He then took his wand that had sticked out from his pocket until now and fastened it between two books so that there'd be some light in the gloom of the room.

"And now, take off your robe," he said, when he'd finished. I blinked. Surely he was not serious?

"I said take. Off. Your. Robe," he repeated, his grey eyes fixed on my own that were probably wide with fear. And so I complied, opening the buttons with trembling fingers, finally letting the garment sink to the floor with a whoosh.

He then raised an eyebrow and tugged at the collar of his shirt twice, as if signalling me to go on with the business of undressing.

With a shaky breath I began to unfasten my Gryffindor tie and then my shirt, trying to hide as much of myself as I could.

This wasn't what I'd come here for. I had wanted him to do the same as he'd done the night before, and not ask me to undress. It was unnerving, and it made me feel two feet small, especially under his searching and judging gaze. I knew that I had the chest of a fourteen year old and I was not particularly happy about it. And my mother wouldn’t let me wear any other underwear than white cotton, to boot, which I not only considered ugly, but also made my skin look rather sallow.

When I finally let the shirt and tie fall to the ground, I looked away from him, not able to take his staring any longer.

"Weasley, you are by far the most scrawny excuse of a girl I've ever seen," he commented flatly, and I had to concentrate on not running away screaming.The thing that amazed me was that, as he was standing at the other side of the corridor, I probably could run away. But I didn't.

"Well, what are you waiting for. Go on, and look at me," Malfoy commanded, and as if some magical force made me do it, I looked up again, his face unreadable, and so I settled to remove the safest article of clothing, namely my shoes, which earned me another lifted eyebrow.

My stockings followed the shoes, and then, with more fuss than necessary, my skirt, until I was standing in front of him wearing nothing but my knickers and bra, barefoot on the cold stone floor.

I stood like that for ages, and he simply looked at me, not saying anything, not commenting on what he was seeing. When I couldn't take his gaze any longer, I closed my eyes again, which finally set him into motion.

I didn't even realize what he'd done at first, only noticing the painful sting in my shoulders until I saw him holding what was left of my bra dangling from his fingers.

I was freezing and shivering like a leaf by now, and when I spoke, it was only a whisper that he wouldn't have caught had it not been so quiet all around us.

"Stop," I breathed. "You're hurting me."

At this, he laughed. Not a genuine laugh, though, because he probably wasn't capable of that. "But you're enjoying it so much, why should I stop?" he whispered right back while easing my knickers down my legs with surprising gentleness.

"I'm not enjoying anything, I just want to go to my bed," I pleaded with him.

"Oh, but you are," he insisted, dangling my knickers in front of my face. And to my horror, but not to my surprise, Draco Malfoy stood with my modest undergarments in his hands, regarding the wet spot on it like a museum exhibit.

Then he flicked it to the side like an empty bottle of butterbeer and placed an icy finger on my cheek, trailing it down my jawline, to my neck and then one collarbone.

I whispered "no" again while he reached one of my nipples that was stretched taut by now, whether from the cold or misplaced excitement, I could not tell.

I watched him in a state of semi-trance as he lowered his head, and even though I knew what was coming, what he was going to do, I did nothing in order to deter him, and even though it should not have come as a surprise that he bit down on my sensitive skin, hard, I started, which only resulted in more pain for me. But I didn’t push him away, and let him continue to nibble and suck a trail over my breast that was sure to leave some kind of bite marks in the morning, despite being slightly softer than his initial bite.

I heard him mumble “masochist” against my throat when he reached it, and all I could do in answer was give a semi-snort. I was really too busy to say anything beyond that, too busy with my own thoughts that were running rampant. I hadn’t moved, apart from that startled jerk when he’d bitten me, as I had not yet decided on what to do once I would move.

Would I push him away? It would certainly be the prudent thing to do, the right thing. What would Ron think if he saw me like this right now? He would hate me. I did not want my brother to hate me. Caught in my own jumbled thoughts I was only vaguely aware of a hand trailing down my stomach.

What would he do? Would he owl mum and dad? Would he tell them what I’d done, would I be disowned (- not that would make much of a difference in monetary ways, but being disowned held a lot of social stigmas)?

What would Harry say? Would he try to rush in and save me again, like with the Chamber of secrets?

It was hard to ignore the hand now, as it had started sliding between my thighs, where I definitely did not want it to be, did not want it to uncover things best left undiscovered.

With a start I noticed that, while his fingers slowly found their way through the red curls at the apex of my thighs, he was sucking on my neck none to gently. Please, no hickeys! But it was too late for that, and I knew that I would look all bruised come the morrow.

I drew the cold night air in sharply through my nose when his index finger finally slid along my swollen and slick walls, touching me where no-one else had ever touched me before, and being surprisingly gentle about it.

“Who would have thought a good little Gryffindor would enjoy this so much,” I heard him drawl in my ear, his voice smelling of danger and dark promises.

“I’m not enjoying this,” I ground out very unconvincingly as he slid one long, pale finger into me. And to be completely honest, I wasn’t, at least not the way his finger was stroking me now. But something about this whole situation was so unnervingly exciting that I knew I was lying, but on an entirely different level than he thought.

“Don’t talk unless I ask you to,” he barked sharply and bit my neck again, as if to further emphasize his point. I couldn’t help the involuntary jerk of my hips as the pain rushed through my neural cords, obviously taking wrong turns somewhere along the way because it was not possible that I was enjoying this, it just wasn’t.

Nobody had ever treated me that way, nobody, except for him. And Gods, I knew I wanted, craved a substitute.

I was startled out of my thoughts when I heard a sound that I hadn’t expected, and realized that it was the sound of trousers being unzipped.

Malfoy must have noticed the surprise mirroring in my eyes, as he smirked and said “I don’t particularly care for living vicariously, Weasley,” before grabbing my hips and pushing me back firmly once again. I hadn’t even noticed sagging away from the wall, or that he had removed his fingers.

Deep down, I realized that this was why I had chucked Neville, because I knew he’d never treat me like that, that he’d never call me dirty names or use me or hurt me.

I would have dwelled longer on this while letting him do what he pleased with my very pliant body, had I not been interrupted by a searing pain between my legs that made thinking of anything else impossible.

I knew there must be tears in my eyes, but at least they brought me back to reality, and when my vision cleared again, I wondered how it was that I only ever noticed the painful sensations he brought to me, and not anything else? Again, the answer was so unwanted yet sharply clear that I could have cut him in half with it.

Malfoy had actually managed to manoeuver me so that I was being held up only by his hands on my arse and the bookshelf behind me, and then shoved his cock right into me – which had finally drawn my attention.

“Does that hurt, Weasley?” he asked while drawing back as far as he could and plunging back into me again. Yes, it did hurt, like hell, to be precise. I could feel the tears pricking at my eyes again and I let out a tiny sob while letting my head fall forward to rest on his shoulder unable to hold it up any longer.

He didn’t care for the non-verbial answer, and kept on repeating the motion, again and again. And it kept on hurting for a while, but after some time, my tears dried, the pain subsided to a dull aching and my thoughts cleared again for a short time.

Until he noticed that I was not hurting anymore, that is. When that became obvious to him, he shrugged his shoulder in a gesture to make me lift my head, and so I did, surprised to see sweat forming on his brow, his eyes not looking maleficient for once, but concentrated but only for a second, until he noticed my stare and tightened his grip on my buttocks, squeezing them painfully sending another wave of obviously neuron-confusion-induced pleasure through my body that made me tingle from the top of my head to the tips of my toes.

I could not help the tiny moan that escaped my lips, and I looked accordingly horrified when he smirked and plunged his cock into me with unsettling force that was too much for somebody who was not used to that kind of activity, like me. He knew that I had never done this before, he must know, and he had done it on purpose. I whimpered and moaned again, a little louder this time.

“Don’t fight it Weasley, I know you like it,” he – Malfoy – breathed in my ear before biting down on the lobe none to gently, and I could almost see his smirk when I arched my hips again in an upward motion.

I might have replied, said something, reciprocated, had he not started slamming into me with wild force at that exact moment.

Again, I was confronted with a sense of wrongness, and knew that to an onlooker, it would probably look like he was raping me in the most brutal way. I had felt some blood when he had first penetrated me and there had to be some on the floor by now. My neck carried more than one bite mark, and my hips felt like I wouldn’t be able to lie on either side tonight after the death grip he had on me.

I fleetingly considered screaming “rape” until someone came and rescued me, but the way the my own treacherous body made me arch into his violent thrusts made it clear that I was not an unwilling participant, at least to myself. I could have fled, could have pushed him away more than once that night. But I didn’t.

Instead I let him fuck me up against a shelf of books with teeth rattling force (and indeed, my teeth did rattle) and although it hurt, I hadn’t felt this good in a long time.

And the longer he kept pushing into me as if his life depended on it, the more excited I got, not able to think of what anyone would say anymore, letting myself go in the sensations, barely aware that our breathing was laboured as if we were doing hard work, while I felt like someone was winding a spring inside of me, pulling tighter with every single one of his thrusts.

I didn’t realize I was screaming until he shoved one hand on my mouth to keep me quiet, not easing his pace one bit, only going harder, if that was even possible. And when I could take it no longer, I arched my back and bit into his hand as I felt the spring I had imagined earlier springing free, shuddering violently as I did so, while he kept plunging into me relentlessly after he had removed his hand from my mouth.

I hang onto him bonelessly while he fought to achieve what I had, and he did so after some time, an uncharacteristic half-sob escaping him as he sank to the floor when his knees could not support our comined weight anymore, resulting in a tangled mess of limbs.

I did not make a move to get away from his uncomfortably wet shirt that my cheek was resting on, not because I wanted to be close to him, but because I was unable to move. It was only when he finally shoved me away that I noticed that the wetness on his chest was a direct result of me having started crying again, or had I ever stopped?

I lay sprawled on the floor, cold and naked, while he dragged his trousers up again and zipped them, rearranging his other clothes that he hadn’t taken off.

“The pain makes you feel alive, doesn’t it?” he asked with genuine curiosity, and I let my head loll to the side before closing my eyes, choosing not to answer his question.

He didn’t bother asking again, and I could hear his retreating footsteps until the sound of a closing door left me to complete silence that was only broken by my occasional sobs.

And when I finally gathered my clothes and trudged up to my dorm, there wasn’t a single muscle in my body that didn’t scream in protest at some point or other.

Everything about me hurt, and I felt as if I’d betrayed everybody who cared for me and everything they stood for.

I did not give a damn. I was sore and bruised, exhausted, spent, used and tired, but it all didn’t matter in the end.

What mattered was that I’d gotten back a touch of what he had been like, and I’d be damned if I let it get away from me again.

3. Just A Phase

Ava Adore, part 3: Just A Phase

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.

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: Here's the next chapter. Thanks to everybody who reviewed, and sorry it took me so long to update, but I am somebody who uses writing as some sort of stress outlet – mostly school related stress. Er, well, holiday right now. Anyway, this chapter was finished before I started uploading chaters here, so that’s no excuse, but really, I wanted chapter four to be finished before I post this. It’s not finished. I’m stuck at 500 words, and so I have to wait for stress school again :)

As I had predicted, I woke up sore the next morning. Sore and tired, and sticky, as I hadn’t managed to take a bath after … that.

What I had not expected, would have never expected in a million years was that, despite my discomfort, I felt good. Content. Just thinking about it gave me the chills, and so I chose not to dwell on it for the moment, silently sneaking down to the bathroom to scrub the remnants of last night’s activities away, dumping my dirty and bloodied clothes in the laundry on the way.

My back hurt from where I’d been slammed into the bookshelf too hard, but the gentle stream of warm water that was running over it seemed to caress it, making up for my pain, that was still only half-unwelcome. Every time I bumped a particularly sore spot, I would remember last night, and it brought a twisted kind of content over me.

As I got out of the shower and looked at my bruised neck and hips I decided to cast a concealing charm on them so that nobody would be suspicious of what had transpired the night before.

Then I got dressed, quietly humming to myself, at one with the world for once.

At breakfast, I sat down next to Ron, who was conversing with Harry and Hermione at the other side of the table, not too far from Neville, giving them a sunny smile before wishing them a good morning. I earned quite a few stares, believe me.

“Well, er, hello Ginny, glad you came out of your sulk,” Harry said uneasily before wincing noticeably. Hermione’s face had tensed, and I guessed that she must have kicked him in the shin or something.

But I didn’t take offense. I’d decided to return to how I’d been before on my way there. The evening before I’d been dead set on seeking the library out again, tonight, but in the light of day, everything looked different.

I’d gotten what I wanted, and would continue my life as if nothing had happened. It had probably just been a phase anyway.

So I just smiled and plucked a piece of steaming toast on to my plate. “Yes, about that,” I said, a bit embarassedly, “I wanted to apologize in case I was somehow…strange, these past few days.” I glanced at the other occupants of the table, trying to gauge their reactions. I’d not talked and socialized with them, closed myself out, not that I’d ever been part of anything big to begin with.

When my gaze finally landed on Neville, I felt my chest constrict with guilt. He even looked half-hopeful, but I knew I shouldn’t, couldn’t and wouldn’t try to make things like they’d been before with him. But I would do my best to get things right again.

“Neville, I-“ I began, before I could stop myself. The thought that the breakfast table was not the right place to discuss our relationship, or rather, what had been a relationship, what with the whole bloody school being our audience.

“Yes?” he asked, with a much more down-to-earth expression now. He had probably realized that not everything would be as it had been, and I hated myself for disappointing such a sweet boy.

“Never mind. We should…talk, you know? Later,” I finished, lamely. He merely nodded and returned to his breakfast, and I to mine.

Everybody seemed pleased to see my normal self back again. At least that was what I thought. Until I finally got a good look at Ron, who did not look particularly pleased.

“Is everything okay, Ron?” I asked, concerned. I knew that I’d treated him like shit, and that acting as if it had never happened was wrong, but I couldn’t help it – I just had to.

“Yes-no-yes, everything is okay,” he mumbled before gulping down some pumpkin juice.

I laid my hand on his arm, but he jerked it away as if he’d been burned and I wondered what it was that made him act this way.

“Ron, I think we need to talk,” I stated softly, trying to get through to him.

“Yes, later, gottago,” my brother said, hastily, before leaving the table in a rush. I blinked and looked at Harry and Hermione, who looked away uncomfortably when they noticed my gaze.

“Look, everybody has their bad days from time to time. You just had yours, and Ron looks like he has his, now. Just…. don’t bother him,” Hermione said amicably but firmly.

“You two are more alike than you’d think, eh?” Harry said, as if to lighten the mood. The temperature had somehow seemed to drop a couple of degrees when he said that, at least that’s what it felt like to me.

I stiffened in my seat, and winced when this led to some very uncomfortable messages being sent from my bum to my brain.

And before I knew it, I’d gotten up and left in a manner much like Ron’s, all the happiness or whatever it had been gone.

I ran up to my room and locked myself in, throwing my body onto my bed, not caring about my muscles screaming in protest, and started sobbing into my pillow.

I didn’t know why Ron’s mood affected me so much, but the fact that it did remained.

And suddenly I was the insecure and dissatisfied little witch again with a void in her so big that it took extremes to fill it. I knew what I could do to fill it, and I knew that I should not do it. That I would not do it, as I’d thought that morning before getting up. I had needed him to clear my mind the day before, but I did not need him to do it again. I would get my sorry ass out of this mess, and I would do it without anyone else’s help.

I would not bring shame on my family by sleeping with the enemy again, and I would find something else that would free me from this madness that I had slipped into as a child.

With that in mind, a little more resolved than before I walked to my first class and went on with my day, banishing all kinds of negative thoughts from my mind.

And, because I had been so resolved, and so determined to make it work that I was shocked to find myself leaning against that bookshelf, engulfed by almost all-consuming darkness again, that night, whirling around when I heard footsteps approach, footsteps that I could identify as his without a doubt by now.

He stopped a metre away from me, staring at me calculatingly with those piercing grey eyes of his.

“How about we take this somewhere more private, Weasley?” he asked with a suggestive smirk.

“How about we don’t?” I replied, not sure why.

“No.” was his very simple answer.

“Why should I go anywhere with you?” I shot back, and I meant it. I didn’t trust him. True, I’d let him fuck me quite violently once, but this did not imply trust. I was probably crazy as a hatter, by normal standards, but not stupid.

“Because what I have in mind for you requires some privacy, and now stop wasting my time and come ,” he snapped impatiently, proceeding to drag me away with him.

I followed him through the nightly castle, trying to make as little sounds as possible, even though that was probably not necessary, seeing as I was accompanied by a prefect on duty.

We finally stopped in front of the portrait of a woman dressed in what looked like a Victorian dress who did not spare me more than just one, short glance while Malfoy hissed something to her that I coud not make out. It had obviously been a password of sorts, as the portrait swung open, revealing a panelled corridor behind it.

I frowned. This was the first place at Hogwarts that I had seen that was paneled with wood. Where had he taken me? It couldn’t have been the Slytherin Common Room, as we were somewhere above ground, perhaps on the height of the second floor, and everybody knew that the Slytherin Common Room was in the dungeons.

“Voilà, here we are,” he finally announced, startling me from my thoughts. And when I finally took a good look around, I could not help but stare. There was a fireplace on the opposite side of the room, with a comfortable-looking sofa in front of it. The walls in the whole room were panelled, just like the the corridor, and even though I was no expert, everything looked expensive. Very much so, in fact. On the far side of the room was a table with four elgenantly carved chairs.

There wasn’t any other furniture other than the sofa, chairs and table, even though the room certainly was plenty spacious.

“My father had this room installed back in his Hogwarts days, if you must know,” I heard Malfoy say somewhere to my right, and noticed that he was sneering at my obvious display of awe at the simple splendour the room emanated in waves.

“Tell me, is there some malfunction in your limbic lobe, Weasley?” he then asked while removing his tie.

I blinked and stared at him mutely, not sure what should surprise me more – the fact that he was trying to talk to me, or the fact that he was unbuttoning his shirt now.

“Seemed a simple enough question, don’t you think?” he snapped when I failed to answer him.

I shook my head in order to try to understand things just a tad more, but he seemed to mistake it for a gesture of negation.

“Look, do I have to spell it out for you?” he said impatiently. “Why are you here?”

I was about to answer – precisely what, though, I didn’t know – when something clicked in my brain.

It always takes two to tango.

I looked at him a little closer. I’d always focussed on the way he had looked in my encounters with him, but never really what he looked like. There was a difference. And, as I noted during my brief but thorough inspection, while Draco Malfoy was not exactly a handsome fellar, he was definitely attractive in a dark kind of way. I was sure that he could have any girl he wanted in Slytherin with a wave of his hand, because of his connections, his money and his family line. He could probably get under more than one Ravenclaw’s skirts too.

Yet he was here, with me .

“What are you doing here?” I asked in return.

He clearly hadn’t expected that. “What?”

“You heard me. What are you doing here?” I repeated my earlier question, not about to give up on it. He had stripped down to his boxers by now, and I could see with a sort of strange satisfaction that he had a very nicely sculpted chest, something that had been hidden from my view the night before.

I seemed to have hit something, because he chose to ignore me, barking at me to take off my clothes instead.

“Only if you answer my question,” I replied, not really sure what I was doing, what I was trying to accomplish.

What was I doing there, anyway? Hadn’t I decided not to come?

And, as I learned during the span of the next minute, Draco Malfoy did not take ‘no’ as an answer, not even if it came in the disguise of an ‘only if’.

I was harshly grabbed by the collar and with one mighty tug, the fabric of my robe tore, and I was left standing in front of a very irate young man who was violently plucking one button after the other from my blouse until it hung open in a very sorry state, revealing another one of my endless stash of plain white cotton bras. Both the blouse and the bra were gone none too gently mere seconds later along with my Gryffindor tie, and he set to work on my skirt while I stood and stared, too surprised to stop him, or perhaps simply not inclined to do so.

When he had divested me of the last piece of clothing, I blushed, more aware than yesterday at how vulnerable I was right now, even though he was almost as naked as I was.

As he raised one slender hand to my neck to pull my face close to his’ until our noses nearly touched, my expression as blank as his was contorted with ire, I felt a shiver of excitement spreading over my whole body. Traitor.

This was not what I had planned, and this was not what I wanted.

“You need this…” he spat before pulling me over to the table by my hair, and when we got there, he picked me up and sat me down on the edge none too gently, and I didn’t even have the time to say anything because he pulled his boxers down and plunged his cock into me again without preamble, not bothering with any of the biting and teasing he’d done yesterday, wasting no gentleness on me. And he was right, there must be something wrong with my limbic lobe, because I knew that it would have been wasted on me.

And so I let him have his way with me, laying down on the cool surface of the table while he stood and tried his best to tear right through my whole body, the same sweet pain and indescribable pleasure as yesterday washing over me once again, the only difference being that he did not sink to the floor when he finished this time, but he rather toppled down on me, trapping me under his heavy and sweaty body.

“But you do too,” I murmured, when I finally regained my breath.

“What?” he asked, not bothering to move one inch.

“I said you do too. Need this.”

That at least got a reaction. Just not exactly the one I’d counted on. The normally so impeccably dressed and almost always composed Draco Malfoy raised himself up to his elbows, shaking me by the shoulders so that my head bumped into the table again and again.

Strange, a distant part of me noted. Strange, because, while being a bastard, he always lets his cronies do the dirty work. And it was true. I’d never really seen him use any form of direct violence in the past few years, other than with me since he’d found me in the library for the first time.

“Admit it, Malfoy,” I said, chuckling, when he finally stopped. “You need me as much as I do you. Or perhaps not me, but someone who takes your bullshit.”

“If I wanted someone to ‘take my bullshit’, I’d have ever bloody thing that wears a skirt in my own house at my feet at my every back and whim,” he snapped defensively.

“But they wouldn’t be doing it willingly, now would they?” I countered, and when he didn’t answer, I knew that I was right.

“And it gets you incredibly hot that you can do as you please with me, doesn’t it,” I probed further, while shoving him off of me and standing next to the table on wobbly legs.

I couldn’t believe it. I had actually rendered the great Draco Malfoy speechless.

“But what about you?” he drawled, having found his composure again. “Ginny Weasley, boring little Gryffindor wants the big bad wolf Draco Malfoy to devour her with hair and bones and everything. What would your brother say?”

“My brother does not concern you, Malfoy,” I snapped, turning away from him to gather my clothes.

“How come you want to be hurt Weasley? Aren’t you aware that it’s sick that only pain turns you on?”

That got my attention again. “I. Am. Not. Sick,” I spat, glaring at him.

“Prove me wrong, then,” he said, smirking, while leaning against the table.

I snorted. “How so?” When he lifted an eyebrow and walked towards me slowly, one hand outstretched, I knew I had made a mistake. What was going to do? Was he going to perform some kind of cruciatus curse on me to make me admit that he was right? Was he right? Was he going to …-

….take my hand and lead me over to the sofa, sitting me down?

Yes.

I blinked, vaguely aware that I seemed to be doing this a lot tonight. What now?

“Now, Weasley, I am going to show you what a normal girl would like to be fucked like.” That was the last he said before pressing my shoulders down gently so that I was lying on my back before crawling on to me. The situation seemed so strange and unreal that I decided to wait and see what he would do.

And so I lay back and let him suckle on my neck lightly, making his way down to the breast he’d manhandled not 24 hours ago, leaving a wet trail over my neck and chest behind.

It certainly felt nice enough, in an odd sort of way. This couldn’t be Draco Malfoy touching me like that, could it? And this couldn’t be me, letting him? But I was curious, and so I didn’t stop him, even though this was probably wrong on an entirely different level than anything we’d done before.

To me, there were two kinds of sex. One was something that transpired between two people who cared for each other deeply, and the other was for releasing tension from your life that you could not get rid of in any other way.

What we had done until now was the latter. Somehow his soft caresses spelled the former to me, but that was probably because I had a tendency to paint the world in black and white, and thought that stress had to hurt while love had to be gentle. In retrospect I can say that it took me entirely too long to realize that it could very well be the other way round too, but that shall be kept for later.

Then and there I let myself go in the unexpected but not unpleasant sensations of his touch, actually leaning into his mouth as it suckled on my nipple lightly, teasing it with feather light touches. And, surprising both of us, I moaned as I arched my back once more, not enough to make him stop, though, which was fine with me, as I wanted him to continue, assuring this by fisting my hands in his hair in order to keep him right where he was.

But he brushed my hand away, irritably, after a short while, and stopped working his wonders on my body, which caused me to give him a pouty sigh.

“Fine, point proven,” he said in clipped tones before clambering off me and getting dressed with jerky motions while I lay on the sofa, speechless.

I could see how turned on he was, for God’s sake, I could see him wince when he had to prison his bulging erection in his underwear and then his trousers, but he left me like that, without a backwards glance, sweaty, confused and horny as hell.

It took me half an hour to repair my clothes and dress, and even longer to find back to Gryffindor tower.

Something very weird was happening with my life, I reckoned while trudging through the dark corridors, something very weird that was just beyond my grasp of comprehension.

When I entered the Common Room I was very surprised to see the form of my brother crumpled on a sofa in front of the fire, his head resting on his knees, his arms dangling down on the outside of his calves. He did not look up when I entered the room, but when I sat down next to him, I could see that his eyes were open.

I gently lay my head on his back, and closed my eyes, glad that he didn’t make a move to stop me or shrug me off like he’d done this morning.

We must have fallen asleep at some point, as that was the exact same position that a couple of very surprised second years found us in the next morning.