The Snake

Maybe he was right; maybe she did want it. She wasn't sure anymore. She sat curled up in the shower as hot water fell over her pale limp body. Her skin was white as ice and marble, contrasting starkly with her scorching red hair. Ginny Weasley was slight with delicate features and slender limbs. As she gazed upwards at the showerhead her tears mingled with falling scorching water.

She had said she didn't want it. Initially she had screamed and torn at his tanned skin. But slowly she had realised it was in vain. He was a heaving solid mass above her, and at least eighteen months older. His muscular limbs had been strong and forced her into reluctant submission. And for two hours she had endured his exquisite torture. For so many years she had dreamed of their bodies connecting, and of the hot white lust that would flow between them like electricity; but this had been wrong. He was her knight in shining armour and their first night together was meant to be romantic and passionate. He would confess his love and she would fall into his embrace before submitting herself to his body.

But that night was different. Wrong. She had woken with a start to see his eyes filled with power, menace and lust glaring down at her from above. At first Ginny thought it was a nightmare. That Tom Riddle had once again found his way into her dreams and corrupted them with promises of pain and torture. But these eyes were green. Like jade. That was when she knew it was Harry. He had bent down and roughly taken her mouth into his, biting into her full red lips and sucking the hot blood that flowed from them. Screaming at the sudden pain, which tore through her sleepy daze she had tried to pull away from him, but he snaked his arms up and pinned her hands above her head in hopeless surrender. Snake. Such an ironic term to use for the boy who could converse with serpents. But that was what he was. Sly and deviously fooling those around him to think he was the valiant boy who lived.

At times that night she had exploded in ecstasy, but it wasn't right. She loathed every minute of his presence above her. The way he toyed with her soft and supple white skin, before biting into it causing her to screech in pain. The way he thrust into her and laughed at the tears that flowed from her horrified eyes. The way he pulled back her long auburn hair and breathed in the delicious spicy scent. And after two hours he finished, leaving her curled in a frightened ball.

But maybe she had wanted it. After all it was what he had whispered over and over again to her that night. Maybe she had led him on all these years, and last night was her punishment. She could never tell anyone, after all who would believe her? She couldn't face Ron and tell him his best friend had raped his little sister. He would hate her for leading Harry on and making him chose between the two most important things in his life. So Ginny cried alone in the large tiled bathroom. Hating herself more than she could ever hate him. She was unclean and disgusting. No one deserved to touch her and she didn't deserve the sympathy of Hermione rapping at the bathroom door asking if she was alright in a high pitched concerned voice.

She was nothing. She didn't deserve to be anything. She was Ginny.