Hinc Navis a Sceleris

Hinc Navis a Sceleris

As Ginny stared into the glowing red fire she tried to cut herself off from the rest of the people congregated in the Gryffindor common room. She ignored her brother who, whilst being directly adjacent to Hermione, still felt the need to talk above the decibel range that most people considered satisfactory for normal conversation. Ginny ignored the object of his teenage-and-therefore-not-entirely-understandable affection, the studious Miss Granger who, while taking notes from a tome that was easily a quarter of her body weight, threw glances of deep disgust at him. She ignored Colin Creevy who, despite his best efforts was not getting her attention by waving his arms above his head and bouncing up and down in his seat from the other side of the common room. Through all the disruption and confusion of the Gryffindor common room, Ginny Weasley remained deep in thought.

With her left hand she worried a stray golden thread that was loose from the crimson cushion situated in her lap. With her right, she traced the thick golden embroidery of an ostentatious griffin. Absently, she knew what she was tracing. But she couldn't bring herself to look down at the griffin with green eyes that some fool had embroidered.

The noise began to decrease ever so slowly, as did the number of people occupying the vicinity. Yawning and rubbing bloodshot eyes, boys and girls made their way up to their respective dormitories to settle into welcome oblivion. And still Ginny's gaze remained upon the licking flames dancing in the stone fireplace. Ron announced that he was packing it in for the night, that he was done in. Hermione brushed her thick hair back from her face whilst surveying her cluttered table before agreeing that he had a point. Ginny barely acknowledged them.

"Hey, Gin? If you're staying down here for a bit more can you keep an eye out for Harry? Haven't seen him since Quidditch practice, probably thinking out some new attacks for the Chasers" said Ron, frowning slightly. He turned to Hermione and added as an afterthought, "You know, I think he's heading the same way as Oliver Wood and Angelina. Quidditch on the brain. It's got to have side effects. Spontaneous combustion or something like that."

Hermione obviously thought very little of Ron's remark as she only scoffed with a slight roll of her eyes towards the gods. And with that, they both said goodnight and left Ginny in the now empty common room.

Feeling her eyelids droop slightly, Ginny just sat and appreciated the moderate heat that the low fire gave off. She concentrated on the warmth invading her body, driving out the intense cold, heating her from within. She began to whisper a lullaby her grandmother used to sing to her when she was little.

I'm going to get you,

On a slow boat to China,

All to myself alone.

She swore she could smell the faintest waft of lavender and rose water. Her voice continued to whisper the pitch, often breaking on the low notes.

Get you and keep you,

In my arms evermore.

And leave all your lovers,

Weeping on a faraway shore.

The last thing she saw was the golden flickering flames through a fringe of red eyelashes before her eyelids unconsciously closed.

~*~

When she awoke the first thing she registered was that the fire had undoubtedly gone out. The fine hairs on the back on her hand had stood up, as did the hairs on the back of her neck. She dragged her eyes open, feeling the last dregs of sleep fade away.

"You know, most people use beds to sleep in. That's what they're there for. Well, that and other more unsavoury activities," said an amused voice to the left of her. Turning her head so quickly that she got a crick in her neck she came face to face with Harry. In his school uniform, she thought distractedly. Didn't Ron say he'd stayed after Quidditch practice? Where's his Quidditch gear? She couldn't look at those eyes. Those eyes that saw so much. She turned her head back towards the now empty fireplace.

"Ron was looking for you," she said, struggling to keep her voice calm.

"Was he?" The voice required a truthful answer.

"Well... I don't... he didn't say those exact words, no. He said for me to keep an eye out for you." she finished, wondering why on earth she felt so embarrassed. "I assumed he wanted a word with you."

"Never assume. A lot of wrong can come from assumptions. Hitler assumed, for example. Assumed that he could take over the world, that no one, no country had the ability to stop him. It was his downfall."

She had no idea who Hitler was, however she guessed he or she was woefully deluded. "You're comparing me to Hitler?"

"Don't come over all offended," he laughed. "It's not like you know what I'm talking about."

She saw him out of the corner of her eye move out of the armchair with the grace that only a Seeker can be granted with and over to stand in front of her. Feeling that chain-like pull on her soul, she raised her eyes to his.

Unrelenting. Punishing. Unmerciful.

He smoothly dropped to his knees in front of her, leaning back on his heels. With one smooth action he grasped her wrist and pulled, jerking her off her seat and, rather ungracefully, onto his lap. To prevent her knees colliding painfully with his thighs, she quickly moved during the momentum of the pull so that she landed with one knee either side of him.

Against her wishes, Ginny felt a traitorous blush begin to form on her cheeks. Understandably too; although she'd done her fair bit of snogging and above clothes groping with Michael Corner she'd never been in this position before. She could feel his body heat underneath her and running up and down the front of her body. But she also felt that cold she had detected before, moving thinly underneath the surface.

Harry still had her left wrist shackled in his tight hold. She felt his other hand move easily around her waist, just skimming her scratchy grey jumper before coming to rest at the small of her back. Whilst taking all this in, she had refused to look at him. However, she couldn't now. He wasn't moving. He seemed to be waiting for eye contact before doing anything else. But what's anything else? she thought dumbly. She felt his hand tighten slightly on her wrist and taking it as a warning she quickly cut her wide eyes to his.

He opened his mouth, a mouth that was currently trying to hold back a smile and said,

"Out on the briny,

With the moon big and shiny,

Melting your heart of stone."

The laughter in his eyes quickened once he saw her limpid eyes widen. His pitiless gaze intensified as he saw her eyes silently beg for him to let go. So she could run. But would she have been able to run if he wasn't physically holding her now? She realised that he would always have a hold on her. A cold, punishing hold that tightened with each shallow breath she took. And he knew it.

He pulled her in slowly, slowly and angled her head with a finger from the hand grasping her wrist. And he waited, his breath warm against her parted mouth. She could taste it on her tongue. It tasted... metallic. Like iron filings, like blood. Her eyes were still locked with his, still silently struggling against the too-intimate grip he had on her mind, her thoughts.

He saw her lean in slightly, trying to close the distance and he immediately leaned back. She did it again. So did he. And then she understood. He would be leader in this game, his game. She was a pawn, waiting to be moved about on his instruction. If she was told to wait, she would wait, and he wanted her to know that. She tried to twist her wrist out of his grip, but he only strengthened his hold. He raised his eyebrows, cold green eyes twinkling. Her arm continued to struggle in his grip and he moved forward purposely, catching her lower lip between his teeth. As she struggled, he bit down further, the pressure of his sharp teeth sending jagged tingles down her spine.

She stopped, and the pressure was eased slightly. The hand on her waist plucked at the hem of her jumper, moving quickly underneath to pull at the shirt tucked into her skirt. With her almost inaudible intake of breath, his icy hand moved into contact with the warm skin of her back. With the shock of that cold touch, she naively moved forward to escape it, placing herself flush up against him. Despite her movement to get away, the hand followed her, firmly holding her against his body.

He slowly drew his mouth away from hers and allowed the silence, broken only by her laboured breathing, to speak for itself. And green eyes met brown.

"Move your head to the side," he said. Completely out of her wits, Ginny did so, dropping her head slightly to the right, leaving the pale neck open to his scrutiny. He placed her left hand on his shoulder, allowing him to release her wrist. Her hair had fallen into her eyes, obscuring her already surreal vision. She could only see over Harry's shoulder.

The threadbare rug by the fireplace, parchment left scattered on the ancient mahogany tables. It was the epitome of normality, of ordinariness, Ginny dimly thought. This had been home for the past four and a bit years. And yet this bizarre thing was happening in the midst of it all. It was invading the boundaries she'd set, and that wasn't even the worst thing; she was the good mate, the little sister, the realist. Didn't people think Ginny Weasley to be all shy smiles and red ribbons? But, she thought, I have the grossest feeling that I, I like...

She felt the cool fingers of his hand trace the delicate skin behind her ear to the elegant shape of her collarbone. Tracing with coldly calculated gentleness, trying to entice something to the surface with his mocking caresses. Touches that weren't real. Touches that held nothing, meant nothing, promised nothing. But weren't nothing.

Because Ginny was reacting to these touches.

Not in the way that her fellow classmates would have. No, she wasn't flushed and writhing in his lap. But every traitorous nerve in her slight body was tingling; like pins and needles but in a disgustingly good way. Her skin seemed alive, intensely receptive to every disruption in the still, musty air.

The hand slipped over the collar of her shirt onto the rough grey jumper, continuing to slide down until it reached a slight curve. The touch immediately sharpened her mind. This didn't feel right. Before, she was floating in the wake of emotions running through her, like in the wake of a powerful ship. Now, she felt as though they were suffocating her. It felt like a poisonous black cloud, bearing a weight upon her chest, intoxicating her senses with unwanted sensations. If she let this touch continue, who knew what other liberties he might take? If she didn't say something, he would take it as an invitation to do... things. Wouldn't he?

Obviously, yes.

The hand that had been warmed between her skin and her shirt began to snake its way up along her spine. It traced the discs of her backbone, as if making sure it was still there. Panicking, her hands quickly flew to his chest to push away the invasion.

Just as quickly, he grabbed her thin wrists and pushed her off of his lap, onto the rug covered stone floor and onto her back. He followed her through, her parted legs giving him easy access to lie fully on top of her. Her sock covered shins came to rest against the sides of his thighs, her feet planted near his knees. With a wrist in each hand, he trapped them to the floor either side of her head. Her hair became tangled, her eyes wary.

"Excuse me?" he asked with a raise of his eyebrows. His face was so near to hers that his eyes had blurred. So near that his breath softly hit her mouth.

Every fibre in her body screamed for her to tread carefully. She could feel his tense muscles all along her body, like a predator waiting to pounce, waiting to sink its teeth into the neck of its prey. Her stomach twisted with fear as she inhaled sharply, her chest hitching underneath his. She would not cry in front of him; it would be the ultimate humiliation.

"Sorry," she whispered with an unsteady voice. "I didn't mean to."

His eyes narrowed, and he moved one leg between hers and pressed hard. Her eyes widened with dread and her chest hitched again. He lowered his mouth to hers, feeling the slight shaking of her lips against his. He increased the pressure slightly and dragged his mouth open, coaxing her into following. Hesitatingly, she parted her lips and he quickly deepened the kiss.

He was hurting her. She was in mental torment. The barriers in her mind were being broken down with the calculated assault on her body. She knew she couldn't stop him, that strength was hidden in the lean muscles of his body. She felt every one of them working above her. His hands tightened brutally around her wrists. Still holding onto them, he pushed himself onto his forearms to hover above her. He gazed into her eyes appraisingly, then cocked his head to the side.

"Now that was the reaction I was looking for," he whispered.

And with a quick brush of his lips against hers, he was gone, black robes billowing behind him as he bounded up the stairs towards the boys dormitories.

Ginny slowly rolled onto her side so she could rise onto her knees. She pulled her skirt down that had risen up during the fracas and re-tucked her shirt into the back of her skirt. She pulled a sock up that had rolled down.

I'm going to get you,

On a slow boat to China,

All to myself alone.

She then made her way to her dormitory.