Going Under

I'm going under
drowning in you
I'm falling forever
I've got to break through
I'm going under

Ginny Weasley was sitting in her room, trying to finish a report on healing charms. It wasn't going very well, but that could have been due to the fact that she was hardly trying at all. She sighed and threw her quill down. Glancing out the window at the bright, cloudless day, Ginny felt a bit sad. Summer was rapidly ending; she wasn't sure how to feel about that. School would be starting again - her sixth year - and she would be off to her friends, class, schoolwork ... in a few days, she would be off to Hogwarts.

There came a light knock on the door and Ginny looked up to find Ron had entered.

"Hey, kid," he said, grinning a little. He ruffled her hair as he peered down at her paper.

"Hi, Ron." She wrinkled her nose at him; he was her favourite brother and he took a smug sort of pride in that fact.

"What are you up to?" he asked, leaning against the desk. His arms were folded across his chest and he had crossed his left foot over his right. At seventeen, he'd finally grown into the rest of himself, standing even taller at seventeen that he had only weeks before. Ginny caught herself thinking briefly of how handsome he'd gotten and felt her cheeks burn.

"Charms essay," she answered, not daring to look at him. Her heart was fluttering wildly in her chest for reasons she wasn't fully aware of and it startled her.

Ron, oblivious, as always, to this, bent over to examine her paper.

"Not going well," he commented, skimming it over thoughtfully.

"No. Healing charms in general are too broad. He only wants three feet," Ginny said, leaning back in her chair with a tired sigh. Ron laughed.

"Don't worry about it, Gin. You've still got at least a week," he told her.

"If I can't figure it out now, what difference will a week make? And don't call me Gin. Dad says it's a type of Muggle alcohol."

"Sure ... Gin." He let out a yelp as Ginny lightly hit his arm and laughed.

"C'mon, take a break. Mum needs us in the garden," he grinned at her, china blue eyes sparkling.

"Is that all you came up here for? To demand my services?"

"Yes." Ron grabbed her wrist and pulled her to her feet. Ginny felt a pleasant, warm tingle at his touch.

What's wrong with me? She thought briefly, before following her brother out of the room.

Down in the kitchen, Mrs. Weasley asked they do a bit of vegetable pulling. Ginny agreed (she rather enjoyed work in the garden) and Ron groaned a little.

"Oh, hush, Ron, if you want to eat," Mrs. Weasley scolded.

"I don't," Ron grumbled, but very quietly, so Mrs. Weasley would not hear. Ginny grinned a little and opened the front door. Mrs. Weasley pushed a large basket at Ron.

"Get a bit of everything, dear," she added in a gentler tone.

The vegetable garden was in a small corner in the back of the yard. It was blocked off by a thin, knee-high wire fence. Ron stepped over it easily, but Ginny, who was much shorter than her brother, caught her foot on the wire. She stumbled slightly and would have fallen over if Ron had not taken hold of her arm. He steadied her, grinning slightly; Ginny felt a funny stirring in her stomach and looked up at him.

His china blue eyes locked with her own wide brown ones and when they did, Ron blinked, looking as though he had just received some weird new information he did not quite understand.

"You ... er ... all right, Ginny?" he asked. She nodded and glanced at the carrot patch.

"Let's start there," she suggested, pointing. Ron turned and knelt in front of it.

They worked in silence for a while; Ginny avoided touching or even glancing Ron's way.

She had no idea what was happening to her, but she knew it was wrong and dirty. He was her brother, after all. She was supposed to still be besotted with Harry ... even though he and Hermione had uncovered a very well hidden infatuation with one another months ago.

What was this, this strange new emotion that had come and swept her away? It was in no way sisterly, and that made it all the more appealing. And that made it all the more immoral.

It wasn't until Ron had thrown a small potato at her that she realized she had been staring at the vine-covered wall that was the south wall of the garden.

"Hey. Mum'll swing you if she finds you just sitting there, Gin," he warned.

"Don't call me Gin," Ginny insisted and threw the potato back at him.

There commenced a Weasley Vegetable Fight (the name had earned those capital letters from Fred and George ... a whole other story), during which an unfortunate tomato met its end against the side of the house and Ron was nearly impaled by a carrot.

Forgoing the string of peas he'd armed himself with, Ron lunged at Ginny and began to tickle her mercilessly. Ginny shrieked and giggled and flailed helplessly, trying to return the favour to her brother.

He paused for a split second and Ginny, sensing the pause, broke away from him. She faced him and he watched her for a moment. Then she charged and the next thing she knew, Ron was lying flat on his back and she was seated atop him, her fingers digging incessantly into his sides. Ron let out a funny, high-pitched sort of laugh and Ginny felt a moment's triumph; but Ron's larger hands closed around her wrists. She tugged, but it was hopeless; Ron smirked up at her, his white shirt streaked with dirt and mud.

Her eyes met his and at once her giggles dried up. She stared down at him and he stared up at her, his eyes burning with an intensity she'd never seen before. She swallowed hard; it was surprisingly hard to breathe suddenly. She shifted a little, feeling that hateful new emotion coursing steadily through her. Ron had made a curious little movement when she had moved against him; it was almost as though he was hurting somewhere.

"Ginny," Ron said, his voice low and thick. Ginny blinked and another new part of her snapped awake.

Oh, shit! That part cried Ginny, what are you doing?

Ron's grip of her had loosened; Ginny pulled away and sprang to her feet, staring at Ron with a sort of wild-eyed bewilderment.

Ron sat up, confusion in his own eyes and written all over his face. His hair was tousled and bits of dirt clung to the small hairs on the base of his neck.

Neither said a word; neither had to. Feeling a sort of panic, Ginny turned and bolted. She leapt over the fence, into the house, up the stairs, into the house, and into her bedroom. She slammed the door and then slid down it, her body burning with a new, twisted desire, mind whirling with frantic thoughts, and heart longing for what it could not have.

Burying her face in her hands, Ginny began to cry.