Promise

Promise

"No, stop...I mean it...Neville, stop!"

Ginny shoved him away from her, ignoring the mix of hurt, anger, and bewilderment on his face. Shutting him out completely, she drew herself up on the bed, back against the headboard, knees to chest, hands fisted against her temples. Resting her forehead on her knees, she closed her eyes in defeat. I can't do this...he deserves better, so much better than what I can give...

She felt his weight shift, followed by a sudden lightness as he left the bed. She could hear the sound of his bare feet padding against the hardwood floor. She could see him in her mind's eye, running his fingers distractedly through his tousled dark hair as he tried to master himself. She kept her eyes closed, even when the pacing stopped and the room fell into total silence.

"Dammit, Ginny."

She tensed. This is it, he's leaving. I've finally pushed him too far. He'll yell at me, and then he'll grab his clothes and go. It was how it had always ended: with Michael, with Dean, even with Harry. In the end, they all had left, unable to satisfy themselves on the crumbs she gave of herself, never realizing that those crumbs were all she was capable of giving.

Neville, she admitted to herself, had been more patient than the others. His continuing kindness and understanding even after so many months together filled her with a kind of incredulity. Either he truly loved her, or he was a glutton for punishment. Either way, he deserved better. She pressed her fists harder against her temples.

The padding sound resumed. Then, shockingly, the feel of the mattress sagging as he sat down next to her. She felt his hand, brushing over her hair, and flinched from the contact. The hand retreated.

"Ginny, what's wrong? What have I done?"

The unexpectedness of the question made her look up. What had he done? He had only been the kindest and most patient of men, but from his expression it was clear that his patience was being tested to its utmost.

"It's not you. It's me," she said softly. "You've done nothing wrong."

His face tightened, eyes screwing shut with pain. "That's the oldest line in the book, Gin. Even I know that. If you were planning to break it off with me, couldn't you have done it before now, instead of waiting until we're half-undressed?"

"I wasn't planning to break up!" Unbidden, tears welled up, slipping silently down her cheeks. "I love you. I want to love you..."

"You have a funny way of showing it," he said bitterly.

"...but I can't," she whispered.

Now he'd start yelling at her. Soon enough the names would spill forth: bitch, whore, prick tease. And that was just for starters. She let her forehead drop back to her drawn-up knees, waiting. Usually the fighting and name-calling started much earlier than this. It was a sick sort of progress, she thought sadly, only prolonging the pain of the moment when Neville would give up on her and leave.

"Ginny." Her name was a raw scrape of anguish. "Ginny, please. Look at me." When she didn't move, he sighed. "Who was he?"

"What?" It was the least likely thing he could have said. It was enough to make her raise her head again, her startled gaze meeting his. They were dark, and stubbornly determined; and the sight brought new tears to her eyes. She wiped them away with the back of her hand. She hadn't cried since Charlie and the twins had died during the War. She hated tears, hated their weakness. Damn him for bringing me to this...

"Who was he?" Neville repeated. "Who was the guy who hurt you?"

"Why do you want to know? So you can go after him, cut off his balls, and make him choke on them?" She laughed. It was a high, thin, nearly hysterical sound, and she clamped her hand over her mouth in horror.

"That was the general idea," Neville replied. The words were spoken amiably enough, but the sudden tension in his posture spoke volumes. Her jagged laughter had cut him more deeply than he would admit.

"Well, you can't," Ginny spat, suddenly furious. Why didn't he just go? Why was he dragging this out? "You can't because he's already dead. Harry killed him."

"Harry...?" Slowly, realization dawned. "Voldemort? It was Voldemort?"

"I knew him as Tom Riddle back then," she said dully, "but yes, that's who it was. I was eleven. I thought he was my friend, but then...it changed. He made me...do things. Terrible things. Things no young girl should know."

Surely now he would go. He knew her darkest secret now. Who could possibly want her, knowing what sort of creature had been there before? Who could possibly want something so unclean, so defiled by evil's touch?

Dammit, she was crying again. She brushed at the tears, willing them to stop, but they kept falling. Her breathing hitched as a sob bubbled into her throat.

"You've never told anyone before now, have you?" To his credit, he didn't try to touch her just yet, didn't tell her that everything would be all right. Neville wasn't moving, though. He hadn't pulled away. He wasn't leaving.

She shook her head, not wanting to look at him. She didn't want to see the revulsion that must surely be on his face---or worse yet, pity. "It's not something that usually comes up in casual conversation, Neville. 'Why yes, I've been fucked by Voldemort, in every manner possible. Hasn't everyone?'" Her voice broke.

"Shhh, Ginny..." Incredibly, she felt his arms go around her, both comforting and protective. Instinctively, she turned into his embrace and let herself cry. Between sobs, she told him the entire sordid tale about the talking diary she had come into her possession, how she had freed its occupant, and what had happened afterwards.

Her eyes were puffy and sore when she finally pulled away at the end of the story, yet her heart was lighter than it had been in a very long time. He knew everything now, everything, yet he was still here. "You didn't leave," she said wonderingly. "Why?"

"Because so far you haven't given me a reason to." Neville smiled, smoothing back a strand of red hair from her cheek. "Why don't you lie back, and I'll bring you a cold washcloth and some cucumber slices for those eyes. I'll bet they're sore. We'll talk when I get back."

Still wondering at his continuing kindness, she lay back obediently and waited for him to return. It was probably just an excuse, she thought. He'll sneak out the door, and that would be that.

Do you really think he'll walk out wearing nothing but his boxers?

She settled further back into the pillows, encouraged by that thought. She heard the sound of the tap running in her flat's tiny kitchen, followed soon after by his quiet footfalls as he returned to the bedroom. She reached for the washcloth.

"Lie back down. I'll do it."'

Thoughts whirling, she allowed Neville to place the chilled cucumber slices over her closed eyelids, followed by the cold washcloth. Climbing into the bed, Neville pulled the covers around them both and settled her head on his shoulder.

"Now, isn't this the most romantic scene you ever could have imagined?" he asked lightly. "You look adorable wearing those cucumbers."

She started giggling, but stopped when he took her hand in his own and brought it to his lips. "Neville..."

"Hush. I have something to say, and I'm going to say it."

She went still, feeling the movement of his lips against the back of her hand. "What is it?"

"I just wanted to let you know that I've decided to spend the night here." When she stiffened Neville gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Not for that. Not unless you want to. Besides, it's not as if I've never spent the night in your flat before now. I don't think you should be alone tonight, not after what you've just told me." He hesitated, and Ginny could picture his tongue touching his lower lip, as was his habit whenever he struggled for words. "I just want you to listen to me. I love you, Ginny Weasley. I want to be with you, and nothing would make me happier than to make love to you. I want it, and deep down inside yourself you want it too. But it will only happen when you're ready, and that's where I went wrong."

"You didn't do anything wrong!" Ginny protested. "It's my fault..."

"Hush, I said. I'm not finished. I've been selfish, you see. I wanted you so badly that I was willing to try to force the issue, and that was the worst thing I could have done, considering the circumstances. So, I'm going to leave it entirely up to you now. When you think you're ready, let me know. I promise that we'll go only so far as you're comfortable, no matter how, um, uncomfortable I might get in the process." He paused, but it was only to adjust the washcloth covering Ginny's eyes. "You have a great deal of passion in you, a great deal of love to give. I'd hate to see it wasted. You shouldn't hold it back. Otherwise, he'll never truly be dead to you." Gently, he kissed her cheek. "Now go to sleep. I promise I'll fix breakfast in the morning."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Ginny stared up at the ceiling. The washcloth, now drying at the edges, lay in a crumpled heap atop her bedside cabinet. The cucumber slices were in the rubbish bin. Other than a slight gritty sensation whenever she blinked, she felt much recovered from her earlier bout of tears.

Turning her head, she watched Neville as he slept. He lay on his back, one arm thrown across his waist, the other up above his head, palm upward, fingers loosely curled. His breathing was deep and even. He'd admitted once, early in the relationship, that he had snored terribly during his Hogwarts days until sixth year, when his baby fat had finally departed for good. His current jobs, assisting Professor Sprout in tending the greenhouses during the school year, and his work at a Muggle plant nursery during the summer months, had made certain that the extra weight didn't come back.

Raising herself up on one elbow, Ginny reached out with her free hand, letting her fingers drift across the planes and angles of Neville's face. He made a drowsy sound in his throat, unconsciously rubbing his stubbled cheek against her stroking hand, and she pulled back, biting her lip. He sighed, snuggling deeper into the pillows, and rolled onto his side so that he now faced her. She could see the scar on his right shoulder quite clearly in the moonlight streaming through the window, the scar he hadn't allowed the Healers at St Mungo's to remove.

He had received the injury during that terrible last battle, having thrown himself between Voldemort and a dazed and bleeding Harry, taking the sword stroke meant for the other boy and giving Harry the precious few seconds he had needed to recover so that he could deliver the killing counterstroke. Neville had nearly died for his bravery; Voldemort's blade had been enchanted by spells so arcane that the Healers originally had been unable to help him. He wore it as a matter of pride. His selfless action in the course of battle had earned him an Order of Merlin, Second Class.

It was exactly what someone Sorted into Gryffindor would have done.

Ginny bit down harder on her lip. She had been in Gryffindor, too. Where was her courage, her reckless bravery now? Had she left it behind in the Chamber of Secrets so long ago, along with her innocence?

She reached out to him again, her fingers gentle against the scar, and ran them lightly down the length of his arm, up his chest and back to his shoulder.

She felt the change in his breathing moments before he opened his eyes. "Ginny?" he murmured. "What are you doing?"

"Reclaiming myself," she whispered. Bending over him, she pressed her lips to the hollow of his throat.

"Aaaahhh." He rolled over onto his back, one arm sliding loosely around her waist, but he made no move to pull her closer. "I see. And how do you plan to accomplish this?"

Newly awakened, Neville's voice had a husky, unconsciously sultry quality to it that Ginny found wonderfully endearing. Moving to his mouth, she whispered, "Hush. I have something to say, and I'm going to say it."

"Mmmm...okay."

She kissed him, nibbling at his lower lip before coaxing his mouth open, teasing at it with her tongue. She felt him sigh as she took possession, kissing him with languid thoroughness. His hand stroked along her spine, stopping only to weave his fingers around her hair.

She pulled away at last, listening to his quickened breath. I think I could enjoy this. She trailed slow, wet kisses down the column of his throat, down his chest. One questing hand found the velvety flat disc of a nipple. It contracted under her stroking fingers into a hard, tight nub as her tongue found its twin. Her teeth grazed lightly at it, and she was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath and a low moan.

"...Ginny...?"

"Hush. I'm not finished yet." She teased at the other nipple, eliciting another gasp, another moan.

"...oh gods..."

She lapped at him, drinking in his gasping breaths, his whimpered moans. She had nearly forgotten how responsive he could be. Each sound he made sent an answering jolt through her, gathering into a pooling heat deep within her abdomen.

After a while she moved over him and switched, licking at the other nipple while kneading the one she had just thoroughly suckled. His hand had fallen away some time ago from the back of her head, digging reflexively into the cream-colored sheets as she teased at him with lips and hands.

Reluctantly, she left his chest, kissing another wet, languorous trail down his belly. Her mouth grazed the waistband of his boxers and Neville's hands fisted around the sheets. She turned her head and smiled. "What's this? An obstacle?" Her hand skated over the thin, silky fabric of his boxers before closing over the obstacle in question. He swallowed convulsively, trembling as she began stroking him through the flimsy material. Neville made a choking sound, his head tossing on the pillows. His hips moved uncontrollably against her hand, straining for release. Seeing that he was rapidly losing control, Ginny's ministrations slowed, but didn't stop.

Resting her cheek on his hipbone, she asked, "Tell me, Neville. What should I do now?"

"Whatever...you...want to do," he whispered thickly. "I promised..."

"Yes, you did." She squeezed gently and he shuddered in response.

"Ginny...please..."

"I could stop," she mused aloud.

"I know..."

"But you would still come back."

"Yes..." His voice cracked.

"Why?"

She squeezed again when he didn't answer right away. Neville cried out, a keening wail of pure need...and yet he did nothing to help himself. Shaking, nearly sobbing with the force of his arousal, the decision to give him the release he so obviously, desperately craved remained hers...because he had promised.

And Ginny finally understood.

She, who had once been helpless, now had power. If she wanted, she could continue tormenting him relentlessly until he broke. Indeed, she could break him as often as she desired, and he would allow it for however long it pleased her to do so, as long as she required such complete submission, such total vulnerability.

Or she could let herself love him, with all of its risks and rewards. She could let him love her. They could be open to each other, the way real love was supposed to be.

The choice was simple, after that. Ginny straightened, hooking her fingers under the waistband of his boxers. Neville lifted his hips so she could strip away the silky cloth. His gaze met hers, not quite believing, as she deliberately removed the lacy blue camisole she wore, followed by the matching pair of panties. Resisting the urge to cross her arms over her breasts, she knelt beside him, letting him drink in the sight of her nude body for the first time.

"I don't want you to sacrifice yourself for me," she said softly. "I don't want to make you suffer for my selfishness. I just want to love you. I want you to love me."

"I do, Gin."

"I know you do." She straddled him, taking his mouth with her own once more, bringing his hand between her legs so he could feel her own readiness. "I know you do." She leaned back, and Neville groaned as she took him fully into her. After a moment she began moving over him slowly, gradually increasing the pace as a new need raced through her. The pool of heat in her lower belly began to coalesce, tightening into something...something...something...She abandoned rational thought. There was only the two of them as he thrust up into her, as she ground down on him. She felt his hands seize her own, their fingers weaving and interlocking.

Their rhythm quickened, becoming nearly frantic, and the ball of heat inside her suddenly flashed into white-hot incandescence. Ginny cried out as she climaxed, shuddering convulsively around him, lost in sensation.

It was too much for Neville. He stiffened, his hands tightening over hers almost to the point of pain. "Ginny...I...ahh gods..." He surged into her one last time, spending himself in her depths.

She felt him soften. She squeezed against him experimentally and was rewarded with a last groan before disentangling herself from him. She curled up next to him with a satisfied sigh, her head on his shoulder. He was still shaking. She could feel him shuddering against her, even though the room was quite warm. Concerned, Ginny reached down and snagged a blanket that hadn't fallen from the bed.

"Neville?" Quickly, she tucked the blanket around them both.

"It's okay," he whispered, smiling faintly at her obvious worry. "It's only aftershock. It'll pass." He turned his head towards the window, where the first pearly glimmers of dawn shone through the glass. "It's early, but I can fix breakfast now if you want. I promised I would, unless you'd rather sleep in a bit."

"Sleep first. Then breakfast." Ginny snuggled closer, eyelids already drooping closed. "Breakfast in bed, I think; with you as the main course. You promised, after all."

Neville dropped a kiss on one bared shoulder. "So I did. I do try to keep my promises, you know."

"I know."