All of This

Chapter One: The boy who owned her

    In a very different house, in a very different neighborhood, Ginevra Weasley tossed and turned uncomfortably in her old, sunken bed. Flashes of red heat swirled upon her thoughts, visions of her past, an event she had been trying so hard to forget since it happened. One so life-altering that she knew deep inside she never would be able to forget. Why did he have to come back?

    She could still feel his touch, as hot as a blistering iron running down her cheek. His presence was demanding, possessive of her as he controlled her every move. Her willpower seemed to leave her when he was there, she could not move besides what he wanted her to do. His eyes were black as ebony, and they poured into her soul, sensing her every thought, her every fear, her every desire. For years it was always him that she thought about. Tom.

    Ginny’s eyes flew open as the name quietly slipped from her lips in a harsh whisper. She looked around her dark room to recognize the familiar outline. Purple walls, and white shelves neatly stacked with tiny figurines and porcelain dolls. Her carpet was threadbare thin, slowly decaying into a pale yellow from its once snowy white. Her closet was far from crowded, the few hangers carrying cherished pieces of clothing. Her room was the same as it had always been, small, but comforting to her. She sighed a breath of relief, pulling her covers around her ears.

    Her fifth year had been a very challenging year for Ginny. She had begun to grow up, and learn the trials of being a woman. As if her normal life wasn’t enough, he had to come back. She shuddered as she thought of him, wishing she could erase the entire year from her memory. Wishing she could forget that stare as his eyes beaded through her. She hated how vulnerable he made her, and how she could not stop thinking of him. Tom... She still hadn’t forgotten the first time they had met, when he had made her do all those terrible things. She thumped her head onto her pillow. She had to stop thinking about him, about what he did to her. It was like her entire being slipped away until she was only a shell, a puppet to do his bidding.

    But she knew it was pointless. She knew that no matter what, he would always own a corner of her thoughts. He owned her. His power bit into her like a poison, and deteriorated her soul until there was barely anything left to hold onto. Twice. Twice she’d had to rebuild everything back from that nothingness. Twice she’d had to start over, trying to forget the one person she knew she never could forget.

    He was red hot desire, and a burning passion. He was pure evil, and he demanded every last strand of her energy, until her muscles ached and her lips were peeling. Until her irises were white from lack of her life essence. Until she was limp and shaking and trying so hard not to cry, trying hard to be strong, to show him that she could be brave. That she had grown over the years, that she would grow after this too. No matter how hard it seemed. Stop thinking about him! She scolded herself, trying to focus on the silence of her room.

    She gasped as she heard a sharp breath from the corner of her room and her hands automatically pulled her blankets over her eyes on reflex. She peeled the covers off her face slowly and peered warily over to where the sound had come from. She absently pushed away a strand of crimson fringe from her eyes as she squinted to focus on the intruder. There was someone-something sitting in her rocking chair, breathing coarsely. No. Snoring. She sat up and instantly recognized that disheveled black hair, his round, black glasses, and the electric shock of the scar on his forehead.

    “Harry, what are you doing in my room?” she demanded, her voice resounding in the tiny space. Harry opened his eyes and blinked, looking around to remember where he was. Upon realization that he was in Ginny’s room, he sighed and smiled timidly at her.

    “I just wanted to watch you sleep,” he said quietly, embarrassed. Ginny frowned, making sure that her tiny body in its thin nightgown was completely covered. Things had been awkward from the beginning when she and Harry Potter had begun dating, but after the events of last year, making things work seemed impossible. She couldn’t tell Harry, or anyone for that matter, of what had happened to her. Those thoughts were hers and hers alone, terrifying as they were. There had been a few times that Harry had asked her if they could take their relationship to the next level, and each and every time she had declined him.

     Harry had changed as much as she had the past year. He was someone she almost didn’t know. No longer the conquering hero, he was angst-ridden and bitter, trying hard to prove the everyone that he had what it took to save the world. Of course, things couldn’t have been easy for The Boy Who Lived, having to live up to that title. The world was in peril, and he was the one they’d looked up to, and when he’d failed, their hopes shattered. And so had his.

    “Watch me sleep?” she replied, wondering why on earth he would want to do such a thing and hoping with all her strength she hadn’t spoken in her sleep and given away her deepest secret. Harry nodded, and Ginny flinched as he stood up from his spot in her rocking chair and made his way over to her bed. His hair was haphazard and stood up all over the place, and he looked as if he hadn’t really slept in a few days. He probably hadn’t.

    She noticed with dismay the fading redness of his eyes, a redness that had been ever present recently. She knew that Harry hadn’t been happy. Maybe it was her fault. She just couldn’t make him happy, even if she did try. In response to this unhappiness, he’d been referring to- other ways to help him get through his days. Ways that she didn’t agree with, but how could she say anything to him? How could she stop him from doing something that made him able to bear his burdens?

    “You looked so... peaceful,” he said quietly, smiling slightly. He sat on her bed, and she tried to take him in. She used to think he was so beautiful. Of course, she had been eleven, a hopeless romantic, and innocent to the ways of the world; and he’d been Harry Potter, the hero, The boy who lived. Now, he was different. He was... skinny. Too skinny. His once beautifully messy hair was flat and dull, and his once magnificent green eyes were always glazed over. His skin was pale, as if he hadn’t been outside in a long time. He hadn’t, she recalled. He was sick, and Ginny wished she could do something about it, but there was nothing. She couldn’t bring the life back into his eyes, and for this, she felt a failure.

    “I didn’t want to wake you up. You’re so beautiful when you sleep.”

    Ginny inhaled sharply. Words that, at one time, would have made her heart leap wildly throughout her chest, now only brought a melancholic look to her face as she stared at the sickly figure in front of her. He sat on the end of her bed, the coils squeaking slightly as they adjusted to his weight. She kept his gaze, realizing with a wistful sadness the sliver of himself this man was. Not even a man, but still a boy, lost within his own darkness.

    “What sad fates these forces wield,” she said quietly, still lost within her thoughts. Harry hadn’t noticed that she had spoken a word, and was staring at her, but not quite seeing her. He was seeing someone different, a girl who was happy with herself and with him. A girl who didn’t hurt at all. Even with his glasses, he was still blind.

    “Ginny,” he breathed slowly, inhaling through his nostrils, then letting out a quiet groan. He inched closer to her, reaching under her blankets and grabbing her hand as she stared at him fearfully. Why couldn’t she love him? That was all she wanted. She could be happy then, couldn’t she? She could make him happy then. She’d read all the novels, she’d heard her girlfriends talk. She knew what love was supposed to feel like. Tingling, and butterflies, and falling. She felt none of this. She felt fear, and awkwardness, and... emptiness.

    His cold hand moved up to brush her cheek gently, and she resisted the urge to flinch. She knew that her eyes were as wide as the moon, and full of fear, things that Harry wouldn’t notice. He didn’t seem to notice anything about her. She moved over in the bed, trying to get away, but Harry took it as an invitation to lie down beside her. He stared deeply into her eyes, brushing her hair away from her face. Ginny wanted to be anywhere but where she was. She wanted to scream, but she stayed silent, waiting for what she knew was to come.

    “Gin, I need you,” he said quietly, his voice raspy, and a deep hurt coming into his eyes. If only she could need him. But she didn’t. He kissed her then, and her eyes were open. She stared at his skin, at his closed eyes, at the walls behind him. She could do anything but close her eyes; feel. She was apathetic and she hated it. Feelingless.

    Harry began to pull down the straps of her nightgown, trying to allow himself access to places she wouldn’t let him go. She backed her face away from his and looked at him, afraid of what he would say when she once again denied him of his desires.

    “Please, Ginny. I... love you,” he whispered, placing soft kisses down her neck. Ginny tried to give in, she tried to let it happen, if only to make him happy. But as she tried to relax and let Harry fulfill his needs, she caught flashes of the past. Pain, and screaming. Burning as something was taken from her that she’d wanted to give when she fell in love. Tears and gasps as her innocense was inhibited.

    “No!” she whimpered quietly, a single tear rolling from her closed eyes. Harry tried to make eye contact, but she slammed her eyes shut and shook her head violently.

    “I can’t, Harry, I’m sorry!” she said, refusing to look at him, to see that hurt look in his eyes once more. Harry sighed and flopped himself on her bed, the springs groaning in protest.

    “I don’t understand,” he said, running his hands through his hair. Could she tell him? Could she explain to him why she couldn’t possibly do this?

    “Harry-“ she began, then faltered. No. He couldn’t understand. Nobody could understand what she had gone through.

    “Maybe you should leave,” she continued, wincing as she knew she was hurting him again, bringing down a soul who was already sinking.

    She didn’t look at him as he got up off her bed silently. She didn’t look at him as he stared at her one last time, wistfully. She didn’t look at him as he muttered quietly to himself and slipped through the door, leaving her alone.

    All alone, as she was used to being. Ginny sighed and hit her head against her thin pillow. Leave me alone! She pleaded silently. And she closed her eyes to begin to drift back to sleep, back to the same nightmares she had every night. Returning to the boy who owned her.

    In another room in the very same house, tears fell freely from a young girl’s eyes. A girl who had loved the same boy for years, and had never been able to tell him. A girl who had never dated, never loved, because her heart belonged to one boy only. A boy who was chasing after a girl who could never love him the way she could. As she closed her eyes and tried to let sleep take her away from her misery, Hermione Granger pined for the boy that Ginny Weasley didn’t want.