Third Law Of Love

There is still a tremble in the air.

Ginny seems profusely disturbed this screwing session. She keeps her head high and her eyes closed as I enter her, and no matter how hard I pound, she still won't open her eyes. "Why?" I ask softly to her, my voice like a feather withering upon the surface.

"I want to make love," she tells me.

"How do we make love?" I ask her, as I finish, but she doesn't. There's a pained expression upon her features, as if she is holding out for something new.

"Come here," she whispers. "And I'll show you."

With difficulty I pull out of the warm haven and lean in toward her. Her hands brush against my shoulders. She pulls me forward so that our heartbeats can beat in rhythm, in unison. Her heartbeat is harder to hear than mine, I notice.

"Kiss me," she says.

I kiss her, but she doesn't respond for a moment. I feel angry. I kiss her with a more of a pressing challenge, her lips locked to mine. She gives a small sigh, but it's neither a moan nor a whimper - it's nice - even though I like to hurt her and make her yearn for more, it's still nice when she sighs, as if my lips are something beautiful.

I move my lips to the edge of her mouth, kissing that edge with a passion I never thought I had, a force I never thought I'd will to. She gives a small moan, but this one is a satisfied one, not a pained one, and a timid, wistful smile is spreading out on her lips.

She pushes me away gently, her palm on my chest. A burning sensation is embarking against my limbs as her slender hand brushes against my nipples.

"That was - that was good," she told me, still dazed. "It was gentle."

"Can - can we do more?" I ask her tentatively. "Are you going to show me how to 'make love'?"

"Not tonight," she answers, shifting her head from side to side.

"You're doing this to piss me off," I tell her, as I begin to reach for my clothes.

She gives a small, exasperated sigh. "No."

"Then why are you doing it?"

"Because I want you to miss me."

"Why?" I ask her, prying.

Her voice is soft as she responds, "I've never had someone miss me before."

"I've never had someone miss me either," I tell myself before I settle into the warmth of my pillows that night. I know she misses me, I know she's thinking of me that instant, as I am thinking about her. The curves of her legs, the temples in which her sweat-stained hair lands in wrung strands, or wisps, her tired smile - it's a piece of heaven.

She's made me like her even more, and she doesn't even realize it.

Or maybe she does. Maybe she wants me down on my knees, cowering and telling her I love her.

But I don't.

And I don't know what the scary part is, that I don't think I ever will, or that not yet.

She walks past me by the halls and I feel a plunge of the thing she called 'envious' once more as she smiles and talks to her brother. It feels distraught somehow that she can ignore her lover but talk to her brother. It doesn't seem right.

Nothing seems right anymore.

"Gi-" I call, but the end of the name has faltered, gone away somewhere where I cannot find. Ginny turns around and stares at me strangely. So does her brother.

I can't handle that. I can't stand her staring at me like that. I don't say a word as I turn around and begin walking.

I don't need Ginny to tell me the name of what I am feeling right now.

It's a sudden pang in my chest. It's called 'pain'.

We met in the middle of a rainstorm. She was dangling her feet at the window of the North Tower, gazing down below while the raindrops splattered her every piece of skin.

"What are you doing here, Weasley?" I had asked.

She didn't say a single word. We ended up sitting together in the window, merely looking down below until our clothes cringed and became damp from the cold and the rain.

We met there day after that. We both had our problems; we both had our loneliness to tend to. It was about the thirteenth meeting that we kissed, she turned my face toward mine and we kissed, just like that. We started meeting at the storage room, a small room with a fireplace instead, more discreet. And that's when it began. But then this love, like a sticky substance of a disease came in right after we first screwed.

Now here she is, at our first meeting spot, not the dungeons. She is at the North Towerand she stands naked by the window, looking into it.

"Are we going to make love?" I ask her. I don't ask her how she knew I was going to be here.

"Do you want to?" she whispers, turning to me. I look over her body, and I can tell you that it's never looked beautiful. The night illuminates it like a shadow, and her hair glowers, luminous.

"Yes," I say. "Yes."

I am gentle with her this time. Making love is unusual. Instead of taking her down on the floor, I wash the sprain hair across her neck and start to kiss her in tender prodding at first. Then I move my hands down her sides as she shivers uncontrollably. She whispers my first name. I've never heard it whispered during this before. I lean forward and kiss her breasts, one by one. She is tipping her head back, her mouth moving, and her body is trembling in thick gasps that escape from her lips.

"Mmm..." I say as my lips travel slowly down her stomach. Her legs spread apart as I mold my body into hers. There is far too much skin to kiss then it to finish right now. She's quivering and so am I. Even when she kisses me it feels as if I am going to finish any time soon. Just the delicious thought of the innocent redhead spread out for me has me going. Just the delicious thought of her brother ever finding out what she does at nights makes me feel delirious.

With bliss.

My tongue wanders upon every single piece of skin, every layer, every wound her body has. She is slathered with my saliva, marked with it. I've never made love to any of the other girls like this. She is special. She is shaken, but so am I. I have never been shaken before.

I want to go into her right within moments we have, but she raises her head and her eyes plead.

"No," she says.

"Why not?" I pant.

"Not now," she says, and she exhales before she finishes against me, which makes me finish.

"Why didn't you--" I gasp. She puts a finger to my lips.

"I don't want you to be gone tomorrow."

I don't know what that means but I understand it. "Now what do we do?"

"Lay," she responds. We lay together, our bodies against each other, plastered in sweater, our clothes scattered around us.

An indefinable emotion crawls in my blood. I think it's called 'happiness'. It punctuates in my chest like a blissful ponder.

She smiles as she sleeps. That's because she knows she is doing what she promised all along.

At least, she thinks she does.