Trapped Behind the Window

She yawned and pulled the sheets up around her. Her pale skin shone in a ghostly white due to the darkness of the room; the red hair made her even paler than she already was. Also, the freckles seemed to have vanished - or at least lessened. No sunshine, no freckles, it was as easy as that. But it all made her look pale and ill. Weak. Fragile.

"Yes. A few minutes ago," he replied silently.

She groaned and slipped out of bed, hurrying over to put on the robes they both loathed so much. A sign of their imprisonment. Slavery. Harry longed for water to splash his face with, but they would only be allowed some later on. In the meantime Ginny was running her fingers through her hair nervously.

"What about using a brush?" he asked.

"Can't find it."

"Hurry up."

She nodded and ran her fingers through her hair again. They were not allowed to appear in the house in such a way that would displease them - and actually, that could mean anything. It depended on their mood. Sometimes they had to look very neat and tidy and if a single hair was not where it was supposed to be, they would be punished. Sometimes, they did not care about it. But whatever the day was, it was forbidden to displease them. If they did, they were bound to be punished for it. Harry tried to flatten his hair, but there was no point in it actually. It stuck up. It would always stick up. Always. No matter what he did to it. No matter how many people were displeased by it.

A loud knock on the door made both of them jump. Hurriedly, they made their way towards it. They had to stand on the white line on the floor, which was about a metre from the door. They had to stand there when they were fetched. Otherwise they would be punished. Harry stepped next to Ginny on the white line gingerly, looking at the floor. It was a rule; they had to look at the floor while they waited. They had to look at the floor unless they were addressed. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that her hair was still a mess; Harry felt queasy about it. She was bound to be punished for it. He was punished for his hair often enough. Suddenly she tore away from the white line, over to the table. Panicking, Ginny wrenched open a drawer, rummaged around in it hectically for a while and then pulled out an elastic band.

"Thank God I remembered," she whispered and hurried back to the line, twisting her hair into a neat bun and fixing it with the elastic.

Harry sighed, feeling relieved. At least she was not going to get in trouble for not looking neat and tidy. Ginny searched for his hand. He quickly took her pale one into his and squeezed it lightly.

"We won't give up," Harry said.

"We'll fight until the day comes," she replied silently.

The noise of approaching footsteps caused them to fall silent and let go of each others hands. Harry shot her a weak smile. Ginny nodded feebly and looked back down to her bare feet. No shoes allowed. Harry looked down at the floor as well and started to feel sick.

It was starting all over again.

The lock of the door clicked open and a second later a man entered, dressed in black robes, head hidden under his hood. He paced around them slowly, breathing down their necks as if daring them to say a word.

"Number two-two-one will enter the house," he spat.

Harry sensed her looking up beside him. They had to look up to them when they were being addressed. The hooded man stepped outside again. Ginny bent her head back down and followed. The door closed behind her. Harry stood on the line and waited for his number - number 164 - to be called.

~

Shortly afterwards, Harry was following a different hooded man through the white house. Of course he had been shouted at for his hair. But at the moment, it did not look as if he was going to be punished for it; at least not straight away.

"Number one-six-four, Sir," the man said, pushed him into the room and closed the door behind him quickly.

Harry stumbled in, but caught himself again quickly. He straightened up as the person opposite him started to talk - a tall man with broad shoulders, also wearing black robes although he was not hooded. His expression was cold and merciless, his head shaved.

"Number one-six-four will join the section D today," the man said with a voice that made shivers run down Harry's spine.

He groaned inwardly. Section D was the worst; well, the worst after section B. Section D was destined to work outside. And it usually was never very pleasant work.

"Yes, Sir," Harry mumbled silently.

~

"Number two-two-one, Sir."

Ginny entered the room quickly and heard the door close behind her. She was just hoping that she would not end up in section B today. She had already had to do it twice this week.

"Number two-two-one has a special task today," a voice spoke.

Ginny looked up.

"Yes, Sir."

She was facing a muscular man with little neck and shortly cut dark hair. He was wearing black robes - like everyone else they had to serve - his hood down. She had never seen this one before. Ginny's insides were squirming. Special tasks were never very pleasant. Never. The man opposite her got up from the seat he had been sitting in and smirked at her. He opened a door to his left.

"In."

Ginny followed his orders quickly and entered the room. She felt sick. It was hardly going to be something like cleaning or cooking. Cleaning and cooking was section A. She looked around a bit. She was standing in a very old library; the shelves were very close to each other and the books looked as if the had not been touched for a few decades. The man closed the door behind themselves with a soft metallic clicking noise. She felt goosebumps on her skin. They were locked in everywhere they went. The man was standing behind her. Ginny wanted to turn around but knew that if she did, her task would become even worse. She heard him coming a few steps closer.

Closer.

Closer.

Standing right behind her. She could feel his hot breath in her neck. She knew his body was only inches from hers.

Please... please don't let it be the special task... please... just say that he is trying to make me do something forbidden, that he's provoking me, that he's just trying to make me move away to punish me... please... please....

Suddenly she felt his hand nestling with the bun she had tied her hair into. She closed her eyes in fear. She knew it. She had known it.

He pulled the elastic out of her hair roughly so that her red curls fell down around her shoulders and face. He cleared them away from her right shoulder and ran a finger down it. He came closer. His body was touching hers now. Still, Ginny did not move an inch. Sometimes they liked to play these games until the prisoners freaked out. Then they could discipline them.

But wasn't his breath quickening just then? Did she only have the impression that his eyes were scanning her body, fire glimming in them? Ginny scowled at herself. She was being ridiculous. How could she think up things like this? She couldn't see him, how could she judge upon the look of his eyes? Nonsense, total nonsense.

But then he brushed his cold lips against her shoulder and she suddenly felt his hand on her hips, pushing her robes up.