Of Binding Spells and Chartreuse

A/N: The "TBBC/HC/JotH-iverse" refers to my other fics on Schnoogle, The Bat-Bogeys Cometh, Heavenly Creatures, and Jewel of the Harem, which are all tied together. Originally, OBSaC was a fairly short fic written for the D/G Ficmas drive. However, the rabid 50-foot Plot Bunny of Doom struck, and this is the result--much longer, lots added, and major devious plot twists. Also, by the end we'll all see how it fits into the universe of the other Schnoogle fics. Why, you ask? Oh, because I'm evil that way (more evil cackling.) I'll try to keep from repeating the author's notes at the beginning and end again, though. :P Sorry about that. Also, sorry about how Molly Weasley is turning out in this fic, but I can't help it. That's how Ginny told me it happened, and (get AWAY from me with those butterfly nets!)

Also...

Have you ever seen the Potter Puppet Pals series? Do you like it? How'd you like to see more HP animation? How about some stuff NOT done in Flash, which is very limiting? Well, I'm a visual effects artist, and in my spare time that's what I'm working on right now. Stay tuned for updates at my LJ:

http://www.livejournal.com/users/realanise/

And to see some new experimental animation from me, look at:

Draco Walking (no plot WHATSOEVER, just a walk cycle test. Ha! They don't have walk cycles in Puppet Pals! Anise gloats very unattractively and unjustifiably.)

http://www.nashvilleinsanity.com/games/second%20walk%20cycle.html

and

Strange Days:

http://www.nashvilleinsanity.com/games/yawn_cycle.html

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Ginny had strange dreams that night about being chased by giant snakes down corridors that seemed to have no end; awful dreams that sent her sitting bolt upright at some ungodly hour, gasping for air, clutching at the bedclothes. Her hair was stuck to her forehead in sweaty little wisps, and her flannel robe felt clammy. She took a long drink of water from the glass by the bedside, and tried to control her breathing. The little silver serpent winked at her from the night table when she put back the glass. Seeing it brought back the terrifying feeling of the dream again, and she struggled against a wave of fear, anguish, panic... excitement? No. She shook her head decisively.

Ginny got up to stir the fire with a poker, then sat on the couch, chin in her hands, staring at the leaping flames without seeing them. I've been behaving so strangely lately, she thought. And thinking such odd thoughts. I don't know what's the matter with me. She leaned back against the couch. It was almost uncomfortably warm this close to the fire, now. She slipped off her flannel robe. She wore a thin cotton nightgown under it, and the material had stuck to her body in places, she'd been sweating so much. From fear, of course. That horrid snake was chasing me...

She remembered a bit more of the dream, now. She had run and run and run from the snake, which was somehow more than a snake, since it was running too, and so had to have feet. It was long and sinuous and dressed all in Slytherin green, a poisonous enamel yellow-green that she thought was called chartreuse. But the colour was pretty, too. In fact... in fact, she'd wanted to touch it. She had stopped, and turned, and looked back at the snake-thing. He had walked or slithered towards her, and had come close enough so that she could touch...

Unconsciously, Ginny's hands smoothed down her sides, feeling the deep curve of her waist and the sinewy curve of her hips, then up again to her full, round breasts.

She had touched the snake. That was it. And the snake had touched her. It--he--had hands, and those hands had touched her everywhere.

One of Ginny's own hands strayed between her legs, and the other shoved her flimsy nightgown up to her waist.

The snake had pulled her into an embrace, and it was the embrace of both a man and a snake, even as the snake-thing was both. His arms wrapped around her, and his fingers knew where to touch...

Ginny's fingers pushed aside her plain white cotton underwear, the underwear that her mother had always chosen for her because it was so practical. She began to breathe in little gasps. Close, she was already close, and this wouldn't take long. She could feel her body tightening itself already, readying for the release that was so near. Her slender fingers rubbed and rubbed, bringing her just to the brink.

The man was also a snake, and his lower body coiled around hers, dragging her down to the floor. He wound himself around her, squeezing the breath from her lungs. She tried to scream, but could not. And she had no strength to scream anyway; the strength to fight him drained away as his skillful hands brought her to climax, and as his snake's body crushed her to death. She saw his face as her eyes closed for the last time, narrow and pale, with burning grey eyes. It was the face of Draco Malfoy...

And even as she remembered the full horror of the nightmare, pleasure rippled through Ginny's body, and she writhed against her hand on the couch, biting at one of the pillows to keep from crying out.

Afterwards, she got the silver serpent from the bedside table and weighed it in her hand. It's this thing. It's got to be. I'll bet it's got some sort of evil charm on it. And Malfoy put it there. So she clearly had to throw it in the fire.

But, wait...

Ginny hesitated, trying to think clearly, to sort out all the information in her mind. She had been talking to Malfoy for months. Clearly she couldn't blame that on any charm. She had tried to avoid Harry before she'd ever talked to Malfoy today, and well before he'd given her the serpent charm. And then there was the letter. That, too, had come before she'd received the charm.

In the end, Ginny carefully wrapped up the serpent in a scrap of cloth and put it in a zippered compartment in her purse. If it really was charmed, she told herself, it might be far more dangerous to destroy it. And it's awfully hard to believe that it would've caused me to have that nightmare. If Malfoy really did charm it, I would think that'd be the last thing he'd want to happen. A dream like that might warn me.

And it had, Ginny decided as she got back into bed. She had been drifting closer and closer to the brink of something monstrous. A betrayal, were the words that went through the back of her mind. But she did not even admit that idea into conscious thought. It was all over with now. Nipped in the bud, she repeated to herself over and over. She would never speak to Malfoy again. And when Harry came to visit her that night, she would give him the best welcome that he could possibly have hoped for.

But Ginny lay awake until dawn lightened the sky outside her window, staring up at the canopy of her four-poster bed.

***

Sunlight spilled into the room and beat against her closed eyelids. She sat up groggily, rubbing her head, wincing. It's got to be one o'clock at least! Oh, what will Fred and George say...

But when she padded to the door to order breakfast, or rather, as she thought ruefully, lunch, she saw a note taped just above the doorknob.

Sister dear--

Quick note. Must dash. Shipment of Nuclear Stinkbombs just came in; new item, very excited. I've got a hiding place the Illegal Use of Magic squad will never find, should their unfortunate presence ever darken our door. Harry stopped by; said he'd be in to see you at eight. So get your beauty sleep, Gin, and don't come in until tomorrow. That's an order from your boss.

Love,

Fred

P.S.: Normally, I would've hexed anybody with a 46^th Y-chromosome to within an inch of his life if he told me he'd be stopping by your private rooms by dark of night. But because it's Harry, I didn't. I hope you appreciate the self-restraint this took, sister mine. George keeps poking me with his elbow so I'm going to give him the quill now.

And then, in a quite different hand:

Gin--

I've only got about thirty seconds to write this since that thick new owl Mum got keeps hitting me in the head with his wings. But I just wanted to say that you mustn't let yourself get pressured into anything. Not that Harry would. But sometimes events can just seem to carry you along, and-- Ugh. All my brotherly instincts are rising up in revolt just from putting this into words, Gin, but don't do anything you don't really want to do. You understand what I mean, don't you? Good. We won't speak of it again.

Love,

George

Ginny folded the note and tucked it into the trunk at the foot of her bed, next to the letter from her mother. She threw on some comfortable old clothes and went down into the main room for dinner, which she ate mechanically, tasting none of it. Then she walked around Diagon Alley for a bit, trying to enjoy her day off. The hours seemed to drag.

She bought Christmas presents. She found some lovely parchment with white roses on it from the stationery shop for her mother, a new cauldron for Hermione, a broomstick polishing kit for Ron, and a book about ninth-century Anglo-Saxon wizards from Flourish and Blotts for Percy, although she wasn't sure she'd have the nerve to send it to him, as relations between him and the family were still chilly in the extreme. She pressed her nose up against the glass of Quality Quidditch Supplies to see the new Nimbus 2006, wishing she could buy it for Harry. She hadn't been able to find a present for him that day; nothing seemed to fit into both her budget and his wishes. She went into Madame Malkin's Robe Shop and drooled over several sets of absolutely unaffordable robes that her mother would have called completely impractical, as they no doubt were. She fingered a lace and silk concoction near the back that was definitely never meant to be worn outside a bedroom. It was emerald green--no, that wasn't quite it. There was an undertone of gold in the green, and a tint of yellow over it. Chartreuse. She shivered, and dropped the bodice of the gown.

"Let's make this fast. I still have to pick up those stupid robes," said a high, breathy, rather whiny voice. Ginny froze. Pansy Parkinson!

A muffled voice mumbled something in response. Ginny couldn't even tell it if it was male or female.

"I know, I know. I was supposed to pick them up on the twenty-second. But I was so upset; I never made it here. All I wanted to do was to see you."

Ginny decided that the answering voice definitely had to be male, even though she heard no more of it. Pansy's cheating on Malfoy! Oh, I wish I could get her into trouble over this... but then again, I don't think he'd care. The thought warmed her, and she did not reason out why.

"It'll just be a minute." Pansy's voice again. Her footsteps moved away, and Ginny breathed more freely. The Slytherin girl and her companion had to be almost across the room from her, and she was separated from them by several racks of robes. If she just kept quiet for a bit, Pansy would get her horrible robes and leave without ever realizing Ginny was there.

"I'm so glad I don't have to see him today..." said Pansy, still walking around the room. "What do think of this one? It's more emerald green."

Ginny crouched down behind a rack of robes and pressed her ear into them as far as she dared, holding her breath. Now I'll find out who she's talking to! Is it Theodore Nott, I wonder? But he's such a loner; I've never seen him with anybody from Draco's gang. And I think he's too clever for the likes of her. Blaise Zabini? Maybe... Crabbe? Goyle? Crabbe and Goyle? Ugh.

"I wouldn't, if I were you," said a dreamy voice. "My mother used to experiment on anemic frogs. It gives you that same sort of look they had, Pansy."

Luna Lovegood?!? Ginny was so shocked to hear the voice of her friend that she fell over backwards.

"What was that?" asked Pansy, her voice suddenly sharp. "It came from over there, behind those robes!"

"You sound a bit worried," Luna said calmly.

"You're bloody right I am! I'll bet it's that first-year Slytherin who looks exactly like a rat. I wouldn't put it an inch past Draco Malfoy to pay somebody to spy on me. He wouldn't stoop so low as to do it himself, and nobody would help him for free... except Crabbe and Goyle, and that didn't sound loud enough to be either of them..." Pansy's light, quick steps started towards the rack.

"I'll look," said Luna. Her face peeped through the layers of robes at Ginny.

How--why--Ginny began to mouth.

Luna put a finger to her lips. Ginny subsided.

"It was only a cat," said Luna's voice from the other side of the room a few minutes later.

"Not a Kneazle, like that fat annoying one Granger has?" Pansy asked suspiciously. "Kneazles can pass on information, you know."

"A quite ordinary-looking cat," said Luna soothingly. "It was chasing a mouse. You oughtn't to get so upset, Pansy. It's bad for your liver. I have some milk thistle tea at school. I'll brew it for you later."

I never knew Luna could be so quick, thought Ginny dazedly. I suppose she's in Ravenclaw for a reason, though... but why, why is she here, and with Pansy Parkinson, of all people?

"I suppose you're right," said Pansy, her voice considerably subdued. "It's just that I'm so on edge all the time these days. Ever since I found out--you know what I found out. I don't care if that was only a cat, it isn't safe to talk about it here--"

"Likely it isn't," Luna agreed.

"I--I can't stand much more of this, Luna. Sometimes I think I'm going mad."

"Shh, Pansy. Shh. It's all right. You'll be all right," said Luna, her voice very soft.

Ginny pushed her face through all but the outermost layer of robes when she heard that. Her eyes widened in amazement. Pansy had collapsed in Luna's arms, weeping, and the Ravenclaw girl was patting her back and caressing her arms.

"What if I can't do this?" choked out Pansy through her tears.

"Then you can't, I suppose," said Luna thoughtfully.

"But I have to do it. I don't have any choice."

"There's always a choice," said Luna.

"There isn't! You know there isn't."

Luna pressed her lips almost to Pansy's ear. "Yes, there is," she whispered. "You know what it is..."

Pansy broke into a fresh storm of weeping. Over her shoulder, Luna looked at Ginny. Go, she mouthed silently. Ginny fled through the back door.

She paced down the snow-covered street, nearly running into last-minute holiday shoppers, her mind full of what she had just seen. I'll Owl Luna the minute I get to the post office, she decided. And I'll ask her what on earth she was playing at!

But outside of the little post office, she saw a tall figure with a head of brilliantly fair hair. Her heart stopped. She could not move. Then the person turned, and became a gangly seventh-year Hufflepuff boy who had bleached his hair white with a green streak in an unfortunate Potions accident. Ginny let all her breath out in a rush.

As she walked, she made up her mind that she would have liked to run into Draco that afternoon. Today would have been the perfect opportunity to show him that the strange connection between them was over, and that it never should have gone so far as it had. Ginny rehearsed the dignified speeches she would have given over and over in her head until she realized that she had walked nearly all the way back to the Leaky Cauldron. She looked up. The shadows were long and cold and blue, and the sun was sinking in the west, barely peeping over the horizon now. Nearly five o'clock, she guessed. She dawdled a bit in the Apothecary, looking at packages of wild carrot seeds and finally buying one.

It was only when she was back in her room that Ginny remembered she'd planned to owl Luna. Later, she decided.

She heated water in a small portable cauldron from her chest and boiled the carrot seeds

for precisely ten minutes. She poured the decoction into a cup and drank it, grimacing at its bitter taste. She knew that it was a very effective contraceptive potion and would protect her for the next week, but she did not dwell on that fact. Strong carrot seed tea was also good for preventing the magical flu that was going around, and she'd been wandering in the winter air around crowds of people all day.

She took a long, hot bath and filed her fingernails, smoothing lotion on her skin. Ginny had learned how to apply makeup from Lavender Brown, although she rarely bothered with it. She sat at the vanity table in the bathroom, darkening her lashes, carefully applying blush to her cheeks until they glowed, and dabbing peach tint on her lips. Then she dressed in front of the standing mirror on the other side of her bed. Ginny had exactly one pair of really pretty knickers in jade green silk. She'd bought them on a trip to a Muggle shop with Lavender and Susan this summer. They'd giggled and whispered and poked each other in the ribs when they saw her buying them. She knew that they'd thought she bought the lingerie set for Harry to see.

"I know that jade green's dreadfully close to Slytherin colors, Ginny, but it works so well on you that Harry won't care," Lavender had said, in a matter-of-fact way. ""Once you strip down to those, he won't care about much of anything except--well, you'll find out soon enough if you don't know already." Ginny had blushed, looking at the green silk in her hands, not knowing what she expected to happen if she owned it. But Harry had never seen her in it. Not yet. Not until...

She walked out into the bedroom and sat on the bed. Slowly, she put on the matching green silk brassiere, winding it around her body with a writhe and a twist, looking into the large mirror over the dresser all the while. She wished that she had a pretty robe to wear over it, but she didn't. How would I look anyway if I opened the door wearing nothing but that... well, like a perfect slut. That's how I'd look. And anyway I don't know if he wants...

Lavender's remembered voice drifted back to her, almost mockingly. That's what men always want, what boys always want. It never fails.

But then, why hasn't he wanted it from me so far?

Ginny turned away from the mirror, and dressed hurriedly in a plain blue cotton blouse and dark skirt.

At eight o'clock, she heard the light rapping on the door, the quick tap-tap-tap motion that she remembered so well. She opened the door.

"'Lo, Gin," said Harry. His cheeks were red from the cold and his eyes were a more vivid green than ever. She put her arms around him and kissed him on the side of his mouth, not quite on the lips, feeling his flesh warm against hers.

"Come in," she said.

He had a bottle of champagne. Ginny raised her eyebrows at it a little as she called downstairs for a bucket of ice to put it in.

"I hope it's the right kind," he said. "Fred told me to get--"

"Fred had something to do with this?" asked Ginny with some alarm. "Harry, have you checked that champagne for hexes?"

"I think it's all right. Fred likes me. I'd be more worried if it came from George. I think the jury's still out on me a bit where he's concerned. As his little sister's boyfriend, anyway." He grinned at her, the corners of his mouth a bit shaky and tentative, and her heart melted. He was such a dear, sweet boy, and she loved his moments of uncertainty because they showed him as he truly was. There were so few people who had ever seen behind his façade. Ginny felt honored to be one of them, and all her doubts seemed to melt away in the warm rush of that feeling. She seated herself on the couch, and patted the cushion next to her.

"Come sit by me," she said.

The heat of the fire spread over them, and they talked easily in its flickering warmth. They never seemed to run out of subjects when they spoke to each other like this, Ginny thought. There was no awkwardness between them, as there frequently was at other times, less relaxed times. At moments like this, she was sure that they were good for each other.

Harry had arranged for fruit and cheese and crackers to be sent up, and Ginny was touched at his thoughtfulness. She already knew that the trappings of romance weren't exactly his strong point. He poured champagne for her, and she giggled as the bubbles went up her nose. He leaned forward, smiling. The fire had burned quite low, and the dancing shadows it cast on his face were very long. He raised his glass.

"To us," he said.

"To us," Ginny agreed, and their glasses clinked. It was a small sound, like the dropping of a coin into a wishing well. But as Ginny was to think later, the ripples from that little toast spread outwards as silently as the shock wave from the blast of a Muggle bomb.

Because then, it all began to go wrong.

Harry put his glass down on the low table so fast that some of the golden liquid slopped over the side. She felt her own glass being plucked from her hand just as quickly, and she was startled, about to ask what on earth was going on, when she felt him move forward and press her against the back of the couch. His lips touched hers, tasting of champagne and fruit, and then his tongue was in her mouth and his hands were on her breasts and she panicked, simply and inexcusably panicked.

She said nothing. She didn't try to push him away. But Harry moved away from her all by himself, and out of the corner of her eye she could see the expression on his face.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"There's nothing to be sorry about," she said, forcing a smile to her face and lifting her head. After all, she had known since Harry had said he wanted to see her alone in her rooms that this was going to happen, although perhaps she had not actually admitted it to herself until this moment.

"Don't you want this?" he asked her.

"I do," she assured him. "Really, Harry, I do! But--" She fumbled for words. "I just don't quite understand. It all seemed to come out of nowhere. I mean, for the past six months, we've never really done more than kiss, and then all of a sudden--" She wondered if he knew about her mother's letter. He can't. Mum all but said in so many words that he didn't know, that she didn't want me telling him about it. And he hasn't mentioned it. I don't think Harry could keep a secret like that. But then again, how well do I really know Harry? The thought made her shiver.

"It always seemed too soon before," he said. "I didn't want to rush you. I thought too highly of you, for that. But I--I thought you were ready now. Aren't you?"

"Yes," she said.

He moved closer to her again and took her in his arms, but she still held herself rigid.

"Harry," she asked, "what do you think I am?"

"You're so good, Ginny," he murmured, nuzzling her neck. "So pure, and sweet..."

"I'm... I'm not," she managed to say.

"What do you mean, you're not?" Harry's face fell as he raised his head. The two motions combined, Ginny thought, looked very strange. "You mean... with one of your other boyfriends, you'd already..."

"No, no," she said. "I haven't... done anything like that." And she hadn't. But still, she could not help thinking, he knows me so little.

He breathed a long sigh, his face nestled against hers. She couldn't tell if it was a sigh of relief, or not. It might have been simple frustration. They had shifted position so that he was half-kneeling, half-lying on top of her as she lay back on the couch. With every line of his body pressed into hers, she could feel graphic evidence that he certainly did want to do what he was trying to get her to do. In some way, at least, he had to want it; Ginny had spent enough time squirming away from aroused boys to know that. But his eyes were so troubled.

"Do you really want this?" he asked.

"I do," she insisted. "I always have, with you. You know that, Harry." It was true. More true than I'll ever let him know. And he would probably despise me if he did know... She had always wanted to do this with Harry, even when she was too young to know what it was all about, long before Tom Riddle had made her too wise for her years. When she was ten years old, she had not thought in terms of specific acts, of course. But her thoughts of Harry and herself had floated in a romantic dream of kisses and caresses and sliding between the white sheets of a bed wearing a white nightgown, and into his arms. On her eleventh birthday, just before starting her first year at Hogwarts, she had rather melodramatically vowed to save herself for him until he claimed her. Well, she certainly had done that in body, although after Tom, her mind had never felt particularly pure again. Before Harry, she had allowed her boyfriends to go so far, and no farther, and at sixteen and a half years old, she had still kept her virginity safe for him. For a fierce, mad, moment, Ginny wished that she hadn't.

"I'm yours," she said breathlessly, drowning out the fleeting wish, no longer caring about keeping all the secrets. "I've always been yours, even before you wanted me to be. Take what I've kept for you, Harry."

His hands went down to the buttons of her blouse and undid them, then eased the fabric off her shoulders. He freed her breasts from the brassiere and cupped them in his palms. At his touch, the purely physical feeling of male hands on her breasts shot through her, and it was a good one. Ginny moaned, and then bit her lip. Harry's face was oddly expressionless as he looked down at her naked chest. What must he think of me? I'll have to be quieter.

His dark head bent down until she could no longer see his face at all. She felt a breath of air on her nipple, and then the electric sensation as a mouth closed around it and began to suckle.

It was what the snake-man had done in her dream.

Ginny yanked herself back from Harry so fast that she felt his teeth graze her skin. She scrambled away, eyes wide, breath coming fast. He reached for her. Without a shred of conscious thought, Ginny grabbed her wand where it lay on the table and pointed it at him.

Harry looked at her as if he had never seen her before. Then his hands went up over his head, very slowly, in a gesture Ginny remembered from the old Muggle films that her father liked to watch sometimes out in the garage, on the television set he'd rigged up.

***

They sat next to each other on the couch, not looking at one another. Harry had gone into the bathroom while Ginny put her clothes back on, and she was now fully dressed once more. She had put her heaviest winter indoor robe on over her skirt and blouse. After a long moment of silence, Harry sighed. "I take it this means that you don't want to make love with me," he said.

A Muggle expression Ginny had once heard sprang to her lips and nearly made it all the way out. No shit, Sherlock! She restrained herself. "No," was all she said.

"But..." Harry looked down at his hands. "but, why? Can you just tell me why, Gin? Were you afraid?"

"I suppose I was," she said. It was not exactly the truth, but something dark and mean in her wanted him out, and maybe claiming that he'd frightened her would be the quickest way to accomplish it.

"But I'd be so gentle, Gin," he said, "so careful. I wouldn't hurt you, I swear."

"It's not that," she said, and, too late, inwardly groaned at her own words.

"What, then?" he persisted. "Do you still think it's too soon?"

"Um--yes. Too soon. That's it." The little demon in her was getting stronger. Ginny knew that she could keep it quiet for only so long. "Harry, please," she said, taking his hand and looking at him entreatingly. "No more tonight. Just go. Please."

"No," he said, his eyes taking on the look of bullheaded determination that she knew all too well. "I'm going to stay, Ginny, stay and make you understand. Do you think it's that I don't respect you?"

"Er--"

"Because that's not it, not at all. We're going to get married in the summer, after you turn seventeen, and that proves--" Too late, he stopped.

Harry's face was so transparent, thought Ginny. It always had been. But never so much as it this moment. "You haven't asked me," she said, slowly. He did not seem able to quite meet her eye. Harry had never been able to lie well.

"You knew what was in my mum's letter," Ginny said. "Didn't you? It said that you didn't, but you did. At least tell me the truth, Harry. I deserve that."

He pulled away from her, sagging against her couch. The truth was in every line of his body. "She told me she was going to write it," he said dully. "I asked her to say that I didn't know. I thought it would be--easier--"

"You've got to be joking."

"I thought it would be best," he said earnestly.

"Harry," she asked him, "what's going on?"

"I can't tell you."

"Can't, or won't?"

He took her hand again, and squeezed it. "Ginny, please. Please trust me, believe in me. Please understand when I say that there are things it's so much better for you not to know."

Ginny got to her feet and looked at him.

"Harry, you are as thick as a bag of goblins," she said.

He looked back at her, miserably.

"And it doesn't matter that I've been waiting for this moment since I was ten years old," she muttered. She hadn't wanted Harry to know that fact. It seemed strange now that that secret had seemed so important to her once. But she knew she was no longer really speaking to him anyway, but to herself. "It doesn't matter at all," she continued. "Because I can't do this. And I won't do it."

The look on his face changed to one of relief. It lasted long enough so that Ginny could be sure of what she saw. She turned on her heel and fled the room.

She could hear him calling after her. "Ginny! Ginny!" he yelled. "Please, come back here, we have to talk--Don't just run away like this! Ginny!" But she knew all the secret nooks and crannies of the Leaky Cauldron that Harry had never bothered to learn, and she eluded him easily. She watched him running down the corridor, wand out, whipping his head around frantically from side to side as he looked for her. You silly boy, she thought meaninglessly. I don't like you. Then she slipped out a side door into a dark alley.

Too late, she realized too late that she had left her own rooms, and now had nowhere to go.

Or... or did she?