x
black Velvet and that little boy's smile
black velvet with that slow southern style
a new religion that'll bring you to your knees
black velvet if you please
x
The sound of something screeching makes your head hurt. Was someone screaming? You can't tell anymore. You close your eyes and grind your teeth and you try not to hear. You don't want to remember the sound of screaming. It grows louder, higher pitched, and you cover your ears feeling nauseous and faint. You don't remember ever trying so hard to block something out. You're begging silently please stop… I can't… stop this please because I can't stand it anymore…
A hand on your shoulder startles you so badly you fall out of your chair, landing hard on your bottom on the floor. The screeching stopped; your heart is pounding in your ears, blooding pulsing in your temples. You see Hermione holding the tea kettle by it's handle. It was only the tea kettle. You still can't catch your breath.
"Ginny?" Ron's face is concerned. He's torn between helping you up and keeping his distance. You've been so different lately and he doesn't know what to make of it; you've always been his little sister, his baby sister, and he's always been there to protect you. But he didn't know. No one knew. And now you've changed; you've your own scars to bear and he doesn't know. And you can't tell him. You remind yourself it's Draco's fault, not mine. You begin to tremble when you realize: You miss him. You look cautiously at Hermione and you see nothing but coldness and disdain; you don't blame her, honestly. You think you might feel the same way if things were switched around. But they aren't; you've chosen your cross to bear. You look away because it hurts the way she looks at you now. "Ginny," Ron says softly, "are you ok?"
"I'm fine," you say. No, I'm not. You don't remember when you became such a liar. You take your tea to your room. You wonder when he'll come for you.
You're careful to lock your door, magically and non-magically - it's too dangerous not to. Your hands shake as you undress and slip silently into your pajamas. It's almost painful the way your body aches for him, the way your heart aches for him; it's killing you to remember who he is, what he's done. You think, maybe, he could change someday… You know better than to hope these days.
You're lying in bed and you've left the window open. You want to sleep but you can't because when you close your eyes you see it all, you see everything happen all over again. You can't witness this every night; all you want is some peace. You know that with him you'll never find it. He's something else entirely - he's something dark and something you crave. He's become more than a want; you need him as much as you need air to live. Your heart pounds painfully when you realize how much you need him; it hurts, it scares you.
You feel his presence before you hear him. You've always wondered how he manages to be so quiet [and you know it's a part of how and why he's so dangerous]. He doesn't make a sound as he crosses your room. He drops his robes on the floor, pulling back the bed sheets. "Look at me," he says. You've never heard him speak tender and nothing is any different now. So you look, and his eyes are colder, icier. You wonder what he's done to bring out the darkness you see around his edges. [And you remember the screaming. You don't want him to touch you but you need him to. You love him; you hate yourself for it. You hate him for it.] You give in. You know, now, that it's no use fighting it.
His hands are under your shirt, on your breasts, his lips sliding across your neck, and your hands are tangled in his blond hair. You can't remember when you were better than this. It doesn't matter anymore. His hands pull at your clothes, leaving your shirt unbuttoned, wide open, and your nipples become hard peaks in the cool air. His lips close around one of them and you sigh, his hand traveling over your stomach, into your pants, into your panties. You find yourself pushing your hips toward his hand and when his fingers brush against you, you tug at his hair until his lips are pressed against yours. You get rid of his shirt as quickly as you can. His trousers are unbuttoned and unzipped and you can feel his cock pressed against your stomach. He hisses in your ear when you reach a hand down and wrap your fingers around him, stroking him any way but gently. You find yourself thrusting your hips into his hand, his fingers pressed into you and you need more. He pulls your pants and panties down and off in one fluid movement and his follow quickly. His lips are on yours; his kisses are hard, insistent, and he bites at your lips.
In one movement he's between your legs, his cock buried so deep inside you that you think you might burst. You don't want him to stop; this feels too good to stop. Your hands claw at his lower back, feeling his muscles flex each time he thrusts into you. [When you were little you dreamed of fairytales. You never dreamed of this.] You try not to scream; you manage. You bite into his shoulder until you taste blood and you're panting, and he's panting. He's thrusting into you so fast, so hard, you think it hurts but you don't really remember what pain feels like anymore. [You don't remember when you became so numb.] You wrap your legs around his waist and arch your back, feeling your muscles contract around his cock. Your body is still shuddering when you feel his muscles tense; he comes hard. You're skin is too warm. You feel dead inside, cold, empty. [What have you become?]
"Draco," you whisper, your arms lying languidly across his back. He smells like sweat and sex. He kisses your neck in response. You bite back tears. "I love you," you whisper. You don't expect anything and close your eyes, his cock still inside you.
"I know," he whispers. He hold himself up on his arms; his eyes have changed since he came in through the window. Suddenly he's a little boy and his eyes are dull, scared. You wonder what he's done. You wonder what, this time; he's been forced to do. [You're thankful he spared you this time because you couldn't bear it again.] "Whatever happens," he says softly. "Know that I love you, Ginny."
Something has changed.
"Draco?" You whisper and before you can say anything else he kisses you. Softly. Tenderly. You know he'll be gone in the morning, and this time you can't help the bile rising in your throat. You know.
You don't remember the beginning. You don't want the end. [You know that this is the last time you'll see his face.]
-->