Unclean Things

Ginny arranged to receive her first Owl from Michael Corner a few nights later, after she and Hermione had retired to their bedroom for the evening. Hermione was busy unpacking those books she hadn't got to the night before, carefully arranging them in alphabetical order by author and subject on the bookshelf in the corner. Ginny sat on her bed, pretending to write in her diary while she waited nervously for the Owl to arrive. Sirius had been so reluctant to do this, and not a small bit angry at being blackmailed. She couldn't be sure he would really go along with it, despite her threats.

Hermione had just settled into her bed with her worn, dog-eared copy of Hogwarts, A History, when the owl swooped into the room through the open window and settled majestically on the headboard of Ginny's bed. Biting her lip in anticipation, Ginny removed the scroll of parchment from his leg and unrolled it.

Dear Ginny- Every minute since the last time I saw you seems to have lasted a thousand years. I can't seem to get the image of your face out of my mind. Your freckles entrance me. The orange in your hair shimmers like the surface of pumpkins caught in the rain. I can still recall the taste of your lips, a mixture of Chocolate Frogs and those blood-flavoured lollipops you fancy so much.

Oh my darling. I do hope you'll be able to meet me tomorrow night. I'm simply desperate to see you again. I was hoping we could meet at Flourish and Blotts just before closing--there's a new Arithmancy text I've been dying to get a look at. Almost as much as I've been dying to see you, my wonderful Gin-gin. Please meet me? Send your answer by return Owl. Artemis will be happy to take it.

Yours-
Michael

Ginny stared at the ridiculous letter in disbelief. Sirius had really outdone himself with this, probably out of some desire for revenge, she thought to herself with a rueful smile. Shaking her head in amazement, Ginny rifled through her bedside table for a spare quill and some parchment.

"Is it from him?" Hermione asked, her eyes shining with excitement. "What does he say? Are you going to meet?"

Ginny flushed. "Er, well, yes. But it's rather... he's a little strange is all."

Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "What do you mean, strange? He's in my Ancient Runes class. Seems perfectly normal to me."

With a shrug Ginny handed the older girl the letter and began writing out a reply. Smiling a little to herself, she decided turn around was only fair play, really. After that mess of drivel Sirius had sent her, he deserved something equally silly in return.

Dearest Michael-
Your words filled my heart with such sweetness and desire. I only wish it were already tomorrow, so that I could see your dark eyes shining at me once more. I can't wait to kiss you again, darling, to feel your lips on mine, your fingers in my hair, your hand pressing the small of my back.

I love receiving your letters. They have such an effect on me! But we'd better be careful, Michael dearest. After all, I do have six brothers and they're all very interested to know who it is I am writing to. And then there's Hermione, who will become suspicious if I take too many cold baths. Because that's what you do to me--I get so hot I just can't take it anymore. Oh Michael, I need you, baby. I'll be at Flourish and Blott's at nine o'clock tomorrow night. And don't worry--I'll be sure to wear that red backless dress you love so much. See you soon, baby.

Your-
Gin-gin

With a grin Ginny folded the note tight and held it out to Artemis, who took it gingerly in her beak before taking off with a flap of her wings. Hermione, sitting cross-legged on her own bed, was reading the note from "Michael" with a silly grin on her face.

"He is a bit odd, isn't he?" Hermione said with a giggle as she handed the note back. "Does he truly call you 'Gin-gin'? That's simply awful. Can I call you Gin-gin? What about darling? Sweetums?"

Ginny threw her pillow at the other girl with a shriek. "Don't you dare, Hermione Granger!" she said, giggling helplessly. She could only imagine the look on Ron's face, and Sirius's, if Hermione started going round calling her that ridiculous name. Ron might start using it too, just to torture her, and then Ginny would never hear the end of it.

"Do you really fancy blood-flavoured lollipops?" Hermione asked, her head cocked thoughtfully to the side. "Who would've thought that Ginny Weasley has a secret vampire fetish? You seem so innocent and good."

Ginny smiled wickedly. "Hermione, my dear, you have no idea."

At nine o'clock the next evening, Ginny stood trembling in the tiny cubicle that served as the changing room of a trendy Muggle shop, listening to her own frantic breathing and wondering how she had gotten herself into this situation. Outside the changing room Blaise huffed impatiently. Ginny could see the other girl's bright blue eye peering at her through the crack of the door and for once wished that Blaise would just go away.

"Hurry up, Ginny!" the other girl whispered harshly. "The sales girl is looking at me. She's going to suspect something!"

Ginny bit her lip and clenched her eyes shut. She had moments like this sometimes, panicked, frantic moments in which she forgot everything she had learned since first year, lost all the confidence she had gained. At these times she became the timid girl she had been at age eleven-- frightened of everything and everyone, especially herself. She didn't know what was wrong with her--she had stolen from Muggle shops plenty of times since the summer began, and even a few times back in third year during Hogsmeade weekends. That had been much more dangerous, nicking things from wizards, so why was she panicking now?

You can do this, Gin, she told herself. Her inner voice was calm and strong. Even so, Ginny's body seemed beyond her control: her hands shook and she felt faint, the world swimming in and out of her vision in flashes of white spotted with black. Her stomach clenched so violently for a moment she feared she would be sick. Ginny leaned heavily against the mirror and pressed her forehead against the cooling glass, willing herself to stop being so silly.

You're just a silly little girl, said a nasty voice inside her head. Useless, frightened, can't do anything right... Ginny trembled harder and gagged against a sudden surge of bile in her throat, swallowing the bitter liquid convulsively. She knew that voice, that horrible, beautiful voice that had never left her despite spending weeks in St. Mungo's that summer after her first year. She told them it was gone; she'd smiled and pretended to be her old self so that they'd think she was better and let her go to Egypt with the rest of the family, but in reality Tom was still with her, always with her. He chimed in during these spells of panic, so that she could never really forget about him, never really get over him...

"Just leave me alone!" Ginny whispered, shoving her fingers into her hair as if she could pull him out of her head if she tried hard enough.

Arms wrapped around her from behind and Ginny jerked in surprise and fear. "I'm not going to leave," Blaise's voice came calmly from behind her. Blaise rested her chin on Ginny's shoulder and hugged the younger girl from behind. "You don't have to do it if you don't want to, Gin," she told the other girl solemnly. Ginny's head jerked up and she met Blaise's eyes in the mirror. "But that skirt is awfully cute, and you look really good in it," she added with a wink.

Ginny gave the other girl a tremulous smile. Her racing heart began to slow, and Ginny felt the vice-like pressure release from her chest--she could breath again. "I hate skirts," she muttered, but as her panic subsided and the foreign but all too familiar voice in her head went silent, her excitement began to rise. This was what she loved about being with Blaise, about the still-new personality she had adopted--the excitement of taking what she wanted just because she could, of doing things solely because she knew her mother would be appalled, of being the exact opposite of what everyone thought Ginny Weasley was and should be.

She flashed Blaise another smile, her confidence returning in a rush, and stepped out of the other girl's arms to examine herself critically in the mirror. The clothes Blaise had picked out for her were different from anything she'd stolen before. Usually Blaise insisted Ginny wear flashy, skimpy outfits to Draco's parties, but this was altogether new. She wore a plain black tank top, baring much more than Ginny normally would at home, but still fairly conservative for Muggle clothes. The skirt in question was a green pleated affair made of corduroy. Her legs were encased in fishnet stockings that Ginny had laughed at when Blaise had thrown them over the door of the dressing room, but now she had to admit they looked pretty good. And finally Ginny wore her own boots, heavy and black, but somehow they fit with the rest.

"I call this 'Hardcore Ginny,'" Blaise told her with a smirk. "Merlin, I love dressing you up. I wish I had your figure," she added, eyeing the taller girl enviously. "I'm so short. Nothing looks good on me."

Ginny rolled her eyes--she'd heard this complaint too many times. Blaise was one of the most popular girls in Slytherin and Ravenclaw combined, and was definitely the prettiest. She drove Pansy Parkinson crazy--Ginny had heard the rather pug-faced Slytherin complaining to Millicent Bulstrode about it at the last party. "Draco's always staring at her," Pansy had said, her face red and splotchy. "How can he even spare her a glance, when everyone knows the Zabinis lost all that gold when the International Magical Cooperation department banned flying carpets? They were invested up to their eyeballs. And really, Blaise hasn't got any wizarding pride at all, hanging about with Gryffindors." Ginny had backed into the shadows then, not wanting Pansy to know she'd heard their conversation.

"Are you ready?" Blaise asked, taking out a small vial of shimmery white powder from her handbag.

Ginny nodded. "Do it," she said, trying to sound more confident than she felt. This part always made her a bit nervous. What if the glamour powder didn't work, and she was caught? What would her parents say if she were arrested by the Muggles? What would Harry say? The thought slipped out before Ginny could stop it, but she pushed it aside. She didn't care what Harry would say, she told herself firmly.

Blaise tipped a bit of the powder onto the palm of her hand with a grin. "What're the magic words?" she quipped.

Ginny rolled her eyes. Blaise had a very strange sense of humor, and she never would do the glamour unless Ginny said the line... "I believe in fairies."

"Now remember to concentrate on your old clothes, or the glamour won't take," Blaise instructed her. Holding her hand up to her mouth, Blaise blew as hard as she could. The powder exploded in a small burst of shimmery light that surrounded Ginny, so that for a brief moment she was completely engulfed in the sparkling mist. When the air cleared, Ginny appeared to be wearing the clothing she'd entered the store in--a pair of worn jeans and a plain t-shirt. Later, once they'd left the store, she would remove the glamour. She would have to leave her old clothes there, shoved under the bench in the changing room. She hated to leave clothing like that--Merlin knew she had little enough as it was--but she could always nick more, she supposed. Or steal a few choice pieces her brothers had grown out of.

"You still look nervous," Blaise said, rummaging in her bag again. She brought out a small case that looked like a lipstick holder to Ginny, but when she opened the top a small white something fell into her hand instead--a pill. "Here, take this," Blaise said, handing it to Ginny. "It'll help you relax. You know Draco will be cross if you don't appear to be having enough fun."

Ginny examined the thing Blaise had given her. Small and white, it appeared innocuous enough, but Ginny knew Blaise, and she knew that anything Blaise was likely to give her couldn't possibly be innocent. "What is it?" she asked doubtfully.

Blaise rolled her eyes. "Don't be difficult. It's a Muggle thing--they call it X or Y or something like that. It's good, I promise. You'll feel better."

With a shrug Ginny popped the pill into her mouth and swallowed it dry. Blaise was in one of her moods, and Ginny knew she wouldn't take no for an answer. It didn't much matter to her anyway. That was the point of this whole thing--to do things she normally wouldn't. No, to do things the old Ginny never would have. With a grin Ginny grabbed Blaise's hand and pulled the other girl from the changing room. Giggling wildly, they stumbled through the store and out onto the street, running down to the end of the block to the stares of several confused Muggles. Ginny relished the warm air of the night rushing against her cheeks. She did feel better. No, better than that, she felt amazing. Everything that touched her--the summer's breeze in her hair, Blaise's fingers rubbing against her own, the swish of skirt against her thighs--sent shivers of pleasure down her spine. The world was more colorful and alive than she had ever seen it, and how could she have failed to notice how very pretty Blaise was until now? Her hair glinted yellow and gold in the glow of the street lamp, and Ginny wanted to touch it, it looked so soft. Her hand raised up without conscious thought and she let her fingers touch the end of one silky, curling lock.

Blaise gave her a coy smile and grabbed her hand again. "Save it for the party, Gin. Merlin, this is going to be fun!"

"I feel funny," Ginny whispered, leaning her head back against the wall. The entire world seemed to be spinning. She opened her eyes and tried to focus. If she could just concentrate on one thing long enough, maybe then the room would stay still. The first thing she saw was Draco Malfoy's unbelievably silver eyes gazing down at her with a dull, glazed look. She concentrated on that--how could anyone's eyes naturally be that color? It just didn't seem right, or fair, for a boy to be so pretty, not when Ginny was stuck with mud brown eyes and carrot hair.

Draco seemed to take her statement to mean something, because he leaned down and pressed his lips against her throat in a series of wet, feverish kisses. Ginny groaned and pressed her back harder against the wall. She liked Draco in a certain way--liked that he gave parties and didn't mind that she was Gryffindor--but she wasn't altogether sure she wanted him kissing her like this. Ginny had tried to escape to a secluded corner and Draco had followed. Blaise would be livid if Ginny told Draco to stop, and he might be upset enough to stop inviting her to parties. If only she could think properly...

The next few minutes passed in a haze of dizzying sensation. Draco's lips against the bare skin of her throat and chest, his hands pressing against her thighs, lifting her right leg to wrap around his hip, his body pressing hard against hers so that she could feel his arousal, even through several layers of fabric. Ginny was almost starting to wonder if she shouldn't just let him carry on. It felt good, to be touched like this, to be wanted to badly. The she felt his fingers reach the top of her stockings and begin tracing the upward path of her garters, stopping only when they reached the edge of her knickers. Ginny gasped and jerked away from him.

"Come on, Ginny," Draco whispered in her ear, "I just want to make you feel good."

And inside her head, another voice was whispering. Go on, Ginny. Don't be such a silly little girl. You're such a little nobody. You'll always be a child--an annoying, frightened child.

"Don't...." Ginny whispered, pressing her hands against his chest. "Just don't touch me."

Draco shrugged and flashed her a smile. At that moment he had ceased to be Draco; maybe it was the X she had taken, or the dim lighting, but suddenly the blonde Slytherin appeared darker, taller. His silvery eyes darkened to puddles of deep blue, and when he spoke, his voice was deeper and has accent had lost its posh, upper-crust stylings. "Didn't I always tell you, Virginia? You can resist as much as you please, but in the end I always get my way..."

"Please Tom, no. Please, I'll be good, I promise...." Ginny whimpered, clenching her eyes shut against the sight of him. She had to be dreaming, had to be--how could he be here, now, when Tom Riddle as he had once been only existed in her mind?

"Shhh...." His breath pulsed hotly against her ear. His lips swept across her cheek gently before the fingers of one hand tangled in her hair and the other pressed her shoulder, urging her down. "You taste like strawberries, did you know...?"

Ginny snuck silently up the back stair, boots dangling from one hand. Her stockinged feet made very little noise against the dusty treads of the little-used stair from the kitchen to the third floor. Ginny clutched the bannister and pulled herself along, stopping only when she reached the door at the top of the narrow stairway. She pushed it open gently and stumbled gratefully inside, pausing only to pull it closed behind her with a soft click before collapsing against the wall of the room. The room's only occupant started at her entrance before shaking his regal head once and going straight back to sleep.

"Sorry Buckbeak," Ginny whispered. She drew her knees to her chest and rested her forehead on top of them, willing herself not to think. She didn't understand what had happened at the party. One minute she'd been having a perfectly, wickedly, enjoyable time with Draco, the next she could swear that Tom was there telling her--what?--that she tasted like strawberries? It didn't make any sense, and yet when she closed her eyes even now she could feel him. His touch was different than Draco's. Gentler but more insistent at the same time, pushing her to her knees, whispering all the while what a good girl she was, how she mustn't resist or it would only come off worse for everyone...

Ginny bit back a sob as she remembered. His flesh against her lips and tongue, the taste of him mingling with the salt of her tears and all the while that voice, telling her how good she was, how sweet and perfect and lovely. His fingers tugging at her hair, holding her still against the wall so that his flesh scraped the back of her throat and she gagged.

Was she going mad? Could it really have been Tom there in the room with her, touching her and whispering to her? Or had it been Draco all along, and she'd only imagined he was Tom? But then, why, for Merlin's sake, would she ever imagine Tom? Ginny knew that Voldemort had risen only weeks earlier; she knew that somehow, the boy from the enchanted diary she'd written in her first year was the same person who'd tried to kill Harry less than a month before. Ever since that night in the hospital wing, when Harry had shouted that Voldemort was back, Ginny's dreams had been plagued with images from her first year. All the time she had spent inside the diary, watching Tom's memories, watching Tom, wishing he were a real live person... and now he was, again. The thought made Ginny shudder and curl tighter into herself. And the voice... ever since the night of the Third Task, his voice inside her head had grown louder and stronger. Her moments of panic had increased until she had one every day, at the very least. Maybe she really was going crazy, Ginny thought hopelessly.

And still Ginny couldn't cry. Dry sobs racked her delicate frame as she curled up on herself, trying to make sense of the night. After several minutes her breathing slowed and she felt calmer. Crawling over to the corner of the room farthest from Buckbeak, Ginny pried open the loose floorboard there and pulled out a bag she kept hidden beneath it. Inside were a few of the things she didn't want her family to find: some of the clothing she'd stolen, a flask of Firewhiskey she'd nicked from the cupboard, and a pink plastic razor blade Hermione had given her that she was supposed to use to shave her legs during the holidays when magic wasn't allowed. Ginny fingered the razor and sat back on her heels with a look of intense concentration on her face. Then, biting her lip grimly, she brought the blade down.

She did this sometimes, late at night when she couldn't sleep, or the panic got to be too much. The simple act of cutting, of creating those slim red lines on the delicate skin on the inside of her arm and wrist, calmed her. It gave her a strange sense of satisfaction to watch the trickles of blood well up along the path of her razor and run down her arms in little rivers. She never cut too deep or too hard--just enough to leave a crisscross of marks that would take a few weeks to heal without magic or medicine. Sometimes days after, Ginny rubbed against the cuts beneath her sleeves so that she could feel them stinging and throbbing still. Ron would tease her about Harry, and she would rub them, and sometimes then the panics didn't come so often, and she could fake being happy just a little better...

Ginny was breathing hard by the time she finished. Her arms were covered in long, diagonal slashes that wept slow red tears onto the dusty floor. She watched them for a while until the blood stopped, feeling calmer and more in control than she had since that moment days ago, when she had blackmailed Sirius. She dropped the razor back into her bag and shoved it beneath the loose floorboard once more.

That night she dreamt strange, confused dreams of Tom and the Chamber of Secrets, of Harry's determined face as he called her name, his voice filled with desperation... Ginny, please don't be dead! And then Harry morphed into Sirius, and he held her tight in his arms, rocking her and rubbing soothing circles against her back. Everything will be all right. You'll see, Gin-gin.