♥ irisri wrote "Obstacle Course" for jessicakmalfoy 1/2 ♥
Title: Obstacle Course 1/2
Rating: Hardcore PG-13
Possible Spoilers/Warnings:
Summary: Ginny goes on a mission for a story, only to come out with more than a few injuries.
Authors Notes: Just wanted so say sorry this took so long, and thank you so much to the mods that put up with me! And also, this story isn’t so much about concentrating on Draco and Ginny’s relationship as Ginny getting through a hard time, I hope you enjoyed! Disclaimer: Who doesn’t know that all characters mentioned (except for Dark Man, men in alley, men with Dark Man, Lily Jenkins, Vincent, and possibly a few others) are JKRs? If you don’t know who belongs to who.… well go read the books, and the fates save your soul.
Obstacle Course 1/2
Ginny threw all her clothes into the suitcase that was sitting open on her four poster bed. Seventh year was finally over. Finally! She could live out her dream of being a reporter, of getting the story right and knowing that by doing so, she would be helping the Daily Prophet, and all of Wizarding London, in the process. She didn’t know when or how her dream began, perhaps in Third Year when Rita Skeeter came to Hogwarts demanding so much more than a few interviews and attention. And though it had been a year of chaos, confusion, and sadness, she smiled at the memory. How besotted she’d been with the illustrious Harry Potter. How blind he’d been to it. How many hours had she spent putting on specially applied makeup and perfectly altered clothes? How many times had she flaunted herself in front of him while throwing herself at various males to try and make him jealous? She didn’t wish to count the numbers.
And when he’d finally gotten the point, and she’d finally seen that flash of jealousy in his eyes that he tried so unsuccessfully to hide, she remembered thinking that finally, finally, the man of her dreams had come in riding to save her from the life of a spinster living with twelve cats in a small cottage outside Hogsmeade.
Ginny remembered the first time they’d made love, the awkwardness of it and his uncertainty of whether or not she’d wanted him. She remembered the darkness, and his skin sliding against her, the so very dim light of the moon that made sweat gleam and had had her thinking that having sex in a Quidditch field was something fairytale-like and romantic. She closed her eyes to remember, the sweet innocence that she’d had, that she hadn’t even known had existed until it was over and she’d looked back on it. Remembered how his hand had glided up her smooth thigh to her bum and the flash of fear that had shot through her when she’d lifted her leg up to wrap around him, only to feel the largeness of him through his trousers.
And after it was over, Ginny remembered the fear of if she’d gotten pregnant, for they hadn’t used protection, and had waited, for the first time hoping that her period would come quickly, and not dreading the monthly occasion. She remembered the relief of it, when she’d woken one morning to the wetness and stickiness of blood and had run to the bathroom to clean up before doing a victory dance.
And not three months later, he’d broken up with her. And he’d said it was for her own good, and she’d believed him, and had waited desperately for the end of the war. The Final Battle had come too soon. Fifth Year had been a blur and then it had slowed to a halt when Dumbledore had been killed. Ginny remembered crying for the loss of the wise man.
Sixth Year was the worst year of her life, and she would remain to think that until she died. She remembered the terror of if Harry was hurt when he’d disappeared along with Hermione and Ron, she remembered Hogwarts being a place of fear.
She closed her eyes against the pain of Order members being killed, of George’s ear being cursed off. He’d kept the hole of his ear gaping as a joke, and somehow, they’d all gotten used to it.
The rest of the year had been a blur, seeming to fly before her eyes as she stood in one place. Mad-Eye dying, Fleur and Bill’s wedding, Ron coming back and then leaving again, Remus and Tonks dying. Fred dying.
That was the hardest thing of all. The twins had always been her favorite brothers, and Fred… he was always the one who cooked up the plans and the one who sometimes let her execute them. She remembered crying against her mother’s shoulder, of watching Harry’s face drain of blood when he’d found out that his friend had died.
She didn’t want to remember at all. The loss of a brother was always devastating, even when you had five more after the death of one. Sometimes more so because of it.
She swallowed against the lump in her throat and refused to remember, and chose to look around her dorm one last time. Her eyes landed on the scarf Harry had given her one Christmas.
He’d taken Ted and left six months before. Not a note to be found, and the only way that you could even tell he was alive and well was the letters he sent once a month to her Mum so she could let everyone know that he was alright.
Ginny sighed and took in the Hogwarts surroundings that she would be leaving behind, once and for all.
And the worst part was that she would miss it desperately.
One year later:
Ginny stood up and walked up the steps to where the Headmaster of The Journalism of Wizarding London University stood waiting.
“Miss Weasley,” he said. “You are hereby presented with your certificate of Journalism, and your degree. Congratulations.”
Ginny grinned. “Thank you, sir,” she said, taking the ribbon-wrapped bundle of paper from him and shaking his hand.
She turned to look at her family, who were cheering, and waved before walking down to take her seat again, and to wait for the rest of the students to be called.
When the last graduate had taken their seat, applause broke through the stadium once more. Soon, Ginny was swept into the circle of her family and friends, all congratulating her for her success. And silently, Ginny congratulated herself also.
Two years later:
Ginny glanced at her mother who was pacing as she packed a small knapsack.
“I don’t like it, Ginny,” Molly said.
Ginny knew what she was saying, but asked, “Like what, Mum?”
“This!” Molly stopped pacing to put her hands on her hips and glare at Ginny. “I know why this is.”
Ginny continued packed. “Why then?”
“It’s because you don’t have anyone to be with. If you did then-“
“Then I would still be doing this. Now stop arguing, Mum. I’m a grown woman.”
Molly scoffed. “Barely. When are you going to settle down and raise a family?”
Ginny resisted the urge to rub her eyes. “I’m not going to settle down. I don’t want a relationship with anyone. Ever.”
“But what about children? You are not going to have babies unless you’re married.”
Ginny smiled at her mother’s choice of words, the firm sound that coated them. She knew how much her mother wanted her to marry and bear children, but Ginny would have to disappoint her, though she hated doing it. “Mum, I don’t want children. I don’t want to have them.”
Molly stood in shocked silence, before flicking her hand in obvious dismissal. “You say that now, but someday you will. Someday you’ll want a whole houseful of little ones to make your hair turn grey.”
Ginny laughed. “I doubt it. Now, will you stop worrying? This story has to be covered, and I’m going to be the one to do it. You know as well as I do that there aren’t any in the Prophet who are as honest as I am.” She paused. “Plus, this would be my big chance to get a promotion. Merlin knows I need it.”
“Well, at least---“
“Mum.” Ginny turned around after she zipped up her sack. “Go home and dote over Ron’s babies, George’s babies, hell, anyone’s babies. I have to go, or I’m going to miss the Portkey.”
Molly stood watching her daughter, with a small pout on her lips. She hated being outdone, and in this case, Molly blamed herself for it. It was her own fault. She’d taught Ginny to be strong willed, and Merlin knew she was. But Molly was so proud of her little girl who’d grown up to climb her way up the ranks to be a big-time reporter. And it was that pride that had Molly giving Ginny a hug and wishing her luck before Apparating to do what Ginny had suggested. Seeing the grandbabies she had waiting for her.
Ginny wiped her face with her hand, unknowingly leaving a streak of dirt behind on her cheek. It was hot. She’d been sitting here two or three hours. Finally she heard the sound of brooms flying through the air, and then the sound of the crackling dry leaves as feet stepped upon them. Three men stood, all holding their wands at the ready, and all with multiple tattoos and piercings on their bodies. Pirates, her mind whispered to her.
She watched them for a while as they quietly conversed, obviously waiting for someone to arrive.
Finally, that person did, and Ginny quietly took pictures with her silent camera as the man came forward, his face concealed by a mask.
“Good morning.” The voice was smooth as silk, his fingers and bared skin dark like chocolate, his stance looking as dangerous as she presumed him to be. His fingers idly twirled his wand, seemingly unconcerned with the situation, though his posture said otherwise.
Grunts were his only response to his greeting.
“I assume that you have what’s needed,” he continued. “I don’t see why else you would have brought me out into this confounded forest.”
One of the men tossed Dark Man a bag of what looked like herbs. “Here,” he said, his voice gravelly. “The Galleons.”
Dark Man opened the bag and took out the contents, lightly sniffing it. “It’s not Grade A,” he finally stated. “But it’s usable. You’ll get only five hundred Galleons because you didn’t get as I asked. Be glad that I’m not leaving here with your corpses littering this place and the item in my pocket.”
One of the men Ginny thought the leader sneered, but said nothing.
There was nothing to warn Ginny to get out. Nothing to tell her to move, or defend herself. One moment she was scratching a note down, the next she was suspended in the air and Dark Man was glaring at her.
“A nice little surprise,” he said, looking her up and down as her shirt fell to reveal her bra-clad breasts.
She snarled at him. “Let me go.”
“Fiery little redhead,” he commented. “Leave,” he told the other men. “I shall handle this.”
Over his shoulder, he tossed a small money bag to the men. Only after counting the contents, did the men do as he asked, though looking back to leer only once at the woman before disappearing into the sky.
Dark Man waited until he was sure the men were gone before speaking again. “Whatever shall I do with you?” he asked.
Ginny glared at him before saying, “You could let me go.”
The man laughed. “I could,” he agreed. “Perhaps I will. It’s rare that I find stupidity amusing. Yours rather is.”
“Then what are you waiting for?”
“I’m deciding whether or not to punish you for spying.”
“I’m not a spy,” she spat.
He glanced at her camera. “I think you’re a type of one. Perhaps I shall rape you.”
Shots of fear speared through Ginny, not only at his threat, but at his bluntness. “You wouldn’t.”
“I would if I felt it would be enjoyable. And your body is most enjoyable already.” He lifted his hand to cup her silk-clad breast. “Nice and plump,” he complimented, and Ginny felt bile fill her throat. “So unlike my wife.”
Ginny stared at him, her eyes wide, and rays of hope beginning to flow through her. “Think of how your wife would feel if she knew about this. If she was raped, how would she feel?” she asked desperately.
A soft chuckle came from his lips. “My wife rather likes my activities. She likes to watch. She’ll be terribly upset that she missed out on the fun.”
“You’re sick,” Ginny whispered, already imagining his hands on her, bruising her, gripping her in places she didn’t want to be gripped.
“Perhaps,” he agreed. “But I shall be satisfied.” And as quickly as he’d had her elevated, he decided. And Ginny felt the fear intensify as he pulled her shirt over her head.
Tears silently coursed down her face as she curled on the forest floor. He pulled on his clothing and bid her farewell. Even as the pain intensified, she moved, grabbing her wand and whispering the two words she never thought she would utter. “Avada Kadarva.” He fell to the ground with a twitch, and he lay still.
Ginny hobbled over to where he stood, and took the Galleons from his pocket, and placed it in hers. She thought that he owed her that, and so much more. She stared at her assaulter one last time before she waved her wand feebly and Apparated.
Ginny watched dully as the nurse checked her body for tears and bleeding. Her clothes were tore and dirty, her hair was mess. Ginny didn’t feel anything. She didn’t feel the nurse’s hands pressed against her abdomen, she didn’t feel her systematically checking her vagina and breasts. The only thing Ginny felt was numbness as she heard crashing and then yelling, and her mother’s voice demanding to see her, and the doctor’s calm refusal.
She was wheeled into the surgery room after she’d given consent for something she couldn’t remember, and then the lights went out.
When Ginny awoke a familiar, yet strange face was watching her. “Good morning, Miss Weasley,” he said as he scrawled on his clipboard.
Ginny found her throat dry, and sipped the water she found beside her hospital bed. “Doubtful,” she returned hoarsely. “I was raped yesterday.” The catch in her voice was her only indication that she was ashamed of it or that it bothered her. She wouldn’t let it bother her. She had work to do, and she couldn’t let anyone know how very much that it hurt to know that she’d been violated.
The doctor moved towards her. “Day before yesterday,” he stated.
Ginny tossed back the rest of the water, and looked over at him, trying to force down the panic. “That long, huh?” she asked, and though her words were casual, her voice was unsteady. She took in a deep breath.
”Yes. You remember what happened, Miss Weasley.”
“Of course, but I’m not filing a report.” She cracked a smile. “Though that’s what I do every day. File reports. You ever do that, Malfoy?”
He nodded. “You know about the surgery.”
“Yes.”
He sighed. “Miss Weasley, I regret to tell you this, but while you were in the operating room, it was discovered that because of the raping, you won’t be able to bear children.”
“What do you mean?”
He took a deep breath. “Miss Weasley, when a sexual assault occurs; rarely does a woman’s uterus suffer such extreme damage that she can’t have children. Unfortunately, you are one of the few whose uterus was damaged beyond repair.”
His words became a blur after his first sentence. What did he mean? No children? Of course, she’d never wanted them, but to find out that she had no choice in the matter… It clawed at her, making the already gaping wound one that seemed to never end. And then she laughed. “Bet you love that, don’t you, Malfoy?” She managed as a lump formed in her throat, though she didn’t know why. “You always did say that no more Weasleys needed to pollute this Earth.”
He watched her with grave eyes. “I was a teenager, Miss Weasley. We both were. I would not wish this on any woman.”
She glared at him. “Yeah, right,” she snarled. “Get out of my sight.”
He sighed and tucked the pen behind his ear and, knowing all too well how dangerous her temper was, and knowing that she was trying to hide the hurt, he strolled from the room.
Ginny watched him go, and the careful control she’d built around him cracked and choking sobs racked her body. She curled up, her hands falling to where, if she would have been able to get pregnant, her baby would have lay and moved. She tried to imagine the feel of a baby kicking, the wonder of knowing she was going to bring something into the world.
She cried for the loss of something she’d never wanted. The chance to have a baby. She tried to imagine every step, every detail, and found she couldn’t. She couldn’t make herself imagine a baby’s kick, or the quiet love that would spill over her as she looked at the child she would never have. She couldn’t see a smiling face with freckles and red hair that was the color of copper. All she could see was an empty space as she closed her eyes and let the tears fall.
Ginny didn’t know how long she had lay there, crying, but when she finally stood to clean her face, she saw Malfoy quietly standing in the doorway.
She wanted to scream at him for his invasion of privacy, but found she couldn’t. She felt her lip tremble and watched his face change from sympathy to concern.
Ginny had only taken a few steps when she crumpled to the floor. Malfoy rushed over, obviously checking her to make sure that she was alright.
Fear didn’t flash through Ginny, as she heard rape victims say it did. Instead, she felt a safety as he knelt beside her, and she wrapped her arms around him and cried more, not caring that he was Malfoy, only that he was someone who could hold her, but wouldn’t smother her.
A week later, Ginny was released from St. Mungo’s, with her mother hovering at her side. She bore the burden in silence, letting Molly cluck over her and push her home with no protest, even as her mind told her she needed to get back to work. Molly didn’t mention the fact that she’d said not to go on the mission, and Ginny almost wished she did, as she pulled back the covers to Ginny’s already made bed, and pushed her into it, saying that the doctor said that she had to be on bed rest for two days.
When Molly was sure that Ginny was going nowhere, she Apparated away, saying that she needed to go make arrangements for Harry.
Ginny stared up at the ceiling, the blankets up to her chin. Blank emptiness filled her. She didn’t want to work, had no desire for it. She had become a statistic, and it was all because she hadn’t been paying attention.
She’d written reports about rape victims, countless ones. Those who were willing to be interviewed had had a glassy eyed look about them, something that said that they weren’t completely in the reality, or fear would cross their face if anyone came close. Ginny had always pitied and sympathized with these people. Now she had no choice but to empathize.
She didn’t know how many times she repeated in her head that it didn’t matter, as she curled up by the headboard of her bed and rocked herself back and forth as she stared out the window. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t have children, she thought as a tear rolled down her cheek. She’d never wanted them. Never. She’d seen what her mother went through, she’d seen what could happen… what would happen if a woman wasn’t careful. A woman could end up alone, pregnant, or with a small child and no way to take care of it.
And yet… more and more often she curled her hands to her belly, and closed her eyes as she tried to imagine a child resting there, inside her.
Only now, when she was alone, did she let herself grieve for what was lost, for what was taken. Even while she reasoned, she never wanted a child, she sobbed her loss, cursed the sun for shining down through her curtains and begging for happiness when she was in such pain.
She blocked the Floo passage and performed spells on her doors so no one could come in, put up wards. Every day, she got owls asking her how she was doing, and why couldn’t anyone get in? Her only reply was that she was working.
Ginny lost weight at an alarming rate. She couldn’t find the strength or the courage to force food down her throat, and as she stared in the mirror at herself dully, she saw that her ribs had begun protruding to show every detail, and her arms had become far thinner than they’d been.
A small part of Ginny said to eat, she needed her strength, for later. She listened to that part of herself, only because it was automatic to listen to her gut instinct. She found herself typing on the Wizarding version of a laptop, researching on uterus surgeries. Her searches were fruitless. There was nothing to point to her being able to regain the ability to have children.
She was clicking away at her machine when the door knocked. She chose to ignore it, and continued looking for a cure, any cure. The knocking continued, and went on for five minutes. Sighing, she stood up, and gave up on having the peace she craved.
Ginny passed the mirror as she went to the door. Her eyes had shadows under them, her hair was tangled and frizzy, her lips chapped. She didn’t care. She looked through the peephole in her door, and saw a very unwelcome face. She threw the door open as Malfoy was about to knock again.
“Malfoy,” she greeted.
“Weasley,” he returned. “You didn’t come in for your two week checkup.”
She snarled. “Have your secretary send me notice.”
“Why do that when I can tell you myself just as easy?”
She rubbed a tired hand down her face. “Why are you here, Malfoy?”
“As your temporary physician, I am conducting a house call. It will be on file.” He stepped inside, smoothly moving her aside. For the first time, she noticed that he carried a black leather bag with him.
Sighing, she gave in when he told her to sit on the couch and his eyebrows arched delicately when she did. He gave no comment about it, however.
He sat on the coffee table in front of her, their knees brushing. She waited for the fear to come, the fear she’d read about. It didn’t. He checked her eyes and shined a light in them. “How do you feel?” he asked finally.
”Fine,” she replied.
“Truthful answers are better, Miss Weasley,” he scolded lightly, taking her pulse.
She sighed and pulled away from his fingers as they calmly squeezed her wrist. “Numb,” she said finally, looking away. “I don’t feel anything.”
He nodded and continued the procedure. “No fear of men? You don’t feel grief for the loss of being able to have children? You don’t feel violated and dirty?”
She looked back at him and stared steadily. “You’re sitting in front of me, aren’t you?” she asked softly. “Do I look scared? Have I flinched away from your touch?”
“No.” He listened to her heartbeat. “What about the other?”
She shoved her hair away from her face. “What about it?”
“How do you feel about it?”
She shrugged, even though her insides began twisting. “You’re not my therapist, Malfoy.”
He glanced up from what he was doing. “I could be. I have a license. Take off your trousers.”
She froze, the fear snaking up into her body so suddenly she didn’t have time to shield herself from it. Instantly, she was reliving the moment when Dark Man entered her so forcefully, and a whimper escaped her lips as she remembered the pain, as she relived the screaming terror that had had her gripping the forest floor as he’d held her down with a binding spell.
“Miss Weasley.” Malfoy’s voice entered her mind reassuringly. “I’m only going to examine you. Nothing else.”
Her eyes focused and she was brought back into reality, and she realized that she was gripping Malfoy’s arms to keep him away from her. He let her, kept his hands loose in his lap. Briskly, but suddenly, she stood up. “This house call is over,” she said firmly. “We’re done here.”
His fingers looped around her wrist, and pulled her back down onto the seat. “No we’re not,” he said softly. “Miss Weasley, we need to finish this check-up. I know you’re scared-“
“I’m not!” she hissed. “I am not scared of this. I’m not scared of you. I’m just done with this.”
He didn’t let her wrist go as she jerked. “Then what are you scared of, Weasley?” he asked quietly.
She looked away. “Nothing,” she whispered. “I’m not scared of anything.”
“Then take off your trousers and let me examine you. I promise that is all I’m going to do, nothing more.”
He stared into her eyes, his grey orbs connecting with her blue ones, their calmness startling her. She’d expected his eyes to be as stormy as his attitude, sudden and unpredictable.
Only slightly reassured, and childishly wanting to prove him wrong, she slipped out of the trousers and her panties and lay down on the couch stiffly.
She watched silently as he slipped on surgical gloves and tensed further when he first knelt beside her and carefully examined her vagina. The coolness of the gloves and how professional his touch was had her calming herself and she closed her eyes and waited for it to be over.
It was uncomfortable, as he felt around and examined the stitches that were on her before he removed them.
“Have you had any bleeding?” he asked as he stood away from her.
“The first few days, lightly. It stopped after the third day, however.”
He didn’t reply, and the snap of his gloves as he pulled them off sounded through the now silent room as she pulled her panties up her legs. Ginny swiped her trousers from their pile on the floor and jammed her legs into them, pulling them up quickly, and ran a tired hand through her tangled hair.
She cleared her throat and Malfoy turned to look at her before returning to rummage through his bag. She waited. Then, “Are we done?”
He clipped the bag shut. “For now. I want you to eat more. You’ve lost weight, and if you can tell whenever there’s not a scale around in such a short time, especially one with your body type, you’re not eating enough.” He handed her a sheet of paper. “I also want you to take a long bath and think about what happened. I want you to sort through it and what you feel. We’ll talk about that at your next appointment.”
She crumbled up the paper and tossed it on the couch without looking at it. “You flatter me with your concern, Malfoy,” she said sarcastically.
He picked up his bag and turned to her. “No need to be flattered,” he replied smoothly, a few locks of hair falling over one eye, and he casually pushed it away, before continuing, “It’s my job. Have a nice day.”
She nodded shortly before he opened the door and walked through it.
Silence filled the room. Something fell to the floor, and it echoed through the room. Ginny looked around blindly, suddenly feeling lost.
Ginny determinedly went to her office in the Daily Prophet. Her bag was slung over her shoulder, its brown strap cutting into her shoulder familiarly through her large trench coat, trapping her fiery hair under its grip, and her feet clicking rhythmically against the tiled floor. She sat down at her desk, finally, and let the place she thought of as her home away from home surrounded her. She closed her eyes, breathed in deep the smell of parchment, ink, and quills, the smell of sweat that rose as reporters worked feverishly to complete a story, or as they worried over deadlines and promotions that could go to somebody else. There was something that was peaceful about the constant bustle and hurry of trying to finish the reports and stories, of trying to get the best story, as it was first pick, first serve.
Ginny opened her eyes and splayed her fingers against the rough wood on her desk. Letting herself go of the peacefulness that surrounded her, she pulled a quill from her holder and snapped up a piece of parchment and scribbled furiously for a few minutes before turning on her laptop. She’d just begun typing when she looked up at a sound and smiled.
”Hello Vincent,” she said.
He nodded to her, a small smile playing on his handsome lips. “Ginevra.”
She nodded back. “Vincent.”
He smiled, a full-blown one this time, once again shocking her at his beauty. “How are you, my darling?”
“All right,” she assured. “You haven’t seemed worried in these past weeks that I’ve been on house-arrest.”
He lifted a shoulder. “I thought you would not want my company.”
“You thought correctly,” she agreed, then scowled. “Nobody else did.”
“People have come to give you flowers and food to make you feel better, my sweet?” he asked, his eyes filled with mock concern. “How awful for you.”
She snarled at him. “Funny, Vincent.”
He looked her up and down, and though she knew he was only making sure she looked alright, she tensed. He saw, and his eyes immediately went to her face. “You have not been eating,” he noted. “And you are scared of me now. Why is this?”
She sighed and cursed herself. As time progressed and the numbness wore off, the fear came flooding in, clouding her thoughts and making her want to run fast and far away. “I am not scared of you,” she said through her teeth.
He lifted a hand to her shoulder and felt her stiffen. He kept it there, knowing it was what she needed. “Ginevra, you are very scared of me. I have never done anything to hurt you, nor will I ever. You know that.” Now he had knelt until he was eye level with her.
She sighed and forced herself to lean her head against his shoulder even as she let the fear wash over her. It would pass, she told herself. Of that she wanted to be sure. “I’m not scared of you,” she finally said once she was sure her voice was steady. “I’m scared of…”
He pressed a kiss to her brow. “You do not have to say more, sweetings. I understand.”
She shook her head and buried her nose in the crook of his neck. A shudder racked her body. “I can’t cry,” she whispered.
“You can,” he returned, and slid her out of the chair to take it himself and sat her in his laps. “You will when you need to.”
“I have,” she said softly. “But I can’t now.”
“It is all right. I will hold you. You need this.”
She nodded, and clasped her arms around his neck, feeling like a child in his arms. She forced her muscles to slacken and her eyes fluttered close as Vincent hummed softly with his chin on her head.
She didn’t know how long they sat there together, but finally Vincent moved to stand up, and slid her down to stand on her feet. Ginny tucked her hair behind her head and cleared her throat.
“Thank you,” she whispered, and stood on tiptoe to brush his cheek with her lips. “I needed that.”
He gave her a hug and said, “Anytime.” One corner of his lips turned up. “I have a date tonight.”
“Really? With who?” she asked, letting herself slide into the normality that she had missed.
“A lovely woman named Lily Jenkins. Curly blonde hair and a luscious body.”
All feelings of melancholy slipped from Ginny as she snorted. “Of course, you would go for a woman with big tits and legs that are long as I am tall,” she said dryly.
“Of course,” he returned, his features solemn. “These women have bodies I quite enjoy.”
Ginny chuckled and shoved him. “Away with you. Let me get back to work. The last thing I need is to think about you in bed with someone.”
His eyes twinkled. “I never said that the lady of the night and I would be in bed.”
Ginny held up her hand. “Too much information,” she protested.
He chuckled and walked from the small office.
Feeling better, Ginny sat down at her computer and began typing.
Ginny dumped her keys and purse on the table beside the door. The past three days had been the same as the others. When she was at work, she was fine, and her mind flowed with whatever story she was working on at the moment. When she returned home, however, she realized just how alone she was and her loneliness and depression set in, leaving her wanting to curl up on her bed and cry.
She didn’t. She refused to. Ginny felt like that if she cried, she would be letting Dark Man win. She didn’t intend on that to happen.
She looked down at her hands. Hands that had had invisible blood spilt on them. She tried not to remember that she had killed someone, the human form of a monster or not, and she tried to remember that he had raped other women as well, not just her. He had deserved it. But her hands and mind still felt dirty every time she remembered uttering those two words that ended Dark Man’s life, and even while she felt dirty, even worse was that she felt powerful, and hunger filled her body every time she thought of the moment when his body fell, when he twitched that one last time.
She would be the first to admit it. She needed help. Ginny didn’t like the feeling of power, of want to do it again, and she intended on forgetting it. But if it didn’t go away soon, she would seek some kind of therapist.
With that in mind, she walked into the kitchen and saw the pile of mail that was in her small container. A letter from Harry. He was back in town with Ted. A return address and an invitation was all that indicated he wanted to see her, or that he even knew what happened to her. Other than that, he talked about how quickly Ted was growing up, and how very much he looked like Remus, with Tonks’ special ability to change his coloring and shape. A picture was included, and a smiling boy with brown eyes and pink hair looked up at her, his feet under him, his hands on his knees. Beside him was a puppy, one who was attempting to tear up a stuffed animal.
Tears rose, and she clapped a hand over her mouth to stop the sob that bubbled in her throat. A tear dripped onto the photo and fell down onto the counter. She wiped it away, and put the picture down. Tears still cascaded down her cheeks, but she wiped them away as they came, and walked away from the photo. She needed to get away. She filled the tub and lowered herself into the steaming water and closed her eyes.
She needed to leave after the bath. She couldn’t stay here and be sane. She couldn’t be alone. And, Ginny thought as she let the water come up over her mouth, she needed to visit with Harry. Even if it killed her.
Ginny knew better than to make sure every detail was perfect. Harry would see through that instantly. She let her hair down and slathered on lip gloss, wore jeans and a large T-shirt that did nothing for her figure. After taking the time to do an once-over, she decided it was perfect. Harry would already be worried as it was, and when he saw that she had lost weight, he would not be happy. The T-shirt was the perfect disguise.
Ginny grabbed her purse carelessly on the way out, and hurried down the stairs to the Apparition Point. She didn’t know how many times she cursed her landlord for putting up wards on all the flats so no one could Apparate. Now she was more than grateful for it.
Ginny knocked on Harry’s door and immediately she heard, “Uncle Harry! Someone’s here!!!!” A screeching crash and a wrestling for the door later, there stood the little boy in the photo and Harry, his glasses crooked on his nose, hair askew, and holding back the small boy.
She smiled slightly. “Hello, Harry,” she said.
He didn’t hug her, and she wasn’t surprised. “Hey, Ginny,” he replied, and walked backwards to let her in.
She went through the doorway to see boxes opened and half empty, packing paper and Styrofoam peanuts everywhere. “How long are you staying?”
He shrugged. “Thought it was time to come home.” He looked down at Ted, who was still squirming against his hands. “Right, mate?”
Ted glared up at him. “No.” He turned to Ginny. “Who are you?”
“I’m Ginny,” she said, holding out her hand. “I’m an old friend.”
Ted took the hand grudgingly. “I didn’t wanna move,” he muttered.
She bent down to be eyelevel. “It’s never fun, is it?” she asked. He shook his head. “But you know what? There’s this big huge candy store right down from this building. Sometime I could take you there.”
Ted’s face split into a grin. “Really? I can? Uncle Harry, can I? Can I? Huh?”
Harry smiled and shrugged. “Sure. Now go play and let us do some grownup talk.”
Because Ted knew what grownup talk meant---boring stuff--- he raced off into what Ginny assumed to be his bedroom.
She looked over at Harry. “Hey,” she said softly.
He nodded, his eyes far away. “How are you?”
She shrugged. “I’m well.”
He swerved his gaze to glare at her. “Don’t give me that bullshit. I know what happened.”
She stared back steadily. “It wasn’t your fault, Harry. You know it wasn’t. There was nothing---“
“If I had been here, if I had---“
She placed a hand on his arm. “If you had been here,” she said firmly. “I would have still taken the assignment. I would have still walked out of here happy as a lark that I would be getting a promotion. Don’t blame yourself for something you couldn’t stop.”
“Do you?”
She started. “Do I what?”
“Do you blame yourself?”
She snorted. “Of course not. That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”
He stepped closer and placed his hand under her jaw so she had to stare up at him. She flinched away. “You’re scared of me,” he stated incredulously. “You’re scared of me.”
She shrugged, and because she knew how hurt he was, she tried to act like it was nothing. “I’m scared of everything right now,” she replied simply. “It’ll pass.”
She looked back at him. “How are you, Harry?” she asked.
He moved to a box and fiddled with nothing. “Fine. It’s been hard, but Ted’s worth it.”
She cracked a smile. “Don’t have him calling you Dad?”
He shuddered. “No thanks. It makes me feel old. Uncle is just fine.”
She laughed. “I bet.” She glanced down at her watch and almost groaned. “Listen, I’ve got to go, doctor’s appointment, but how about we meet up at that new candy shop I was talking about tomorrow?”
He shrugged and looked around. “Sure what time?”
“Say… four?”
He nodded. “Sure.”
Ginny walked into the office and told the secretary her name, then sat down and waited. When her name was called, she slung her purse over her shoulder and walked calmly into the office.
When she went into the office with the nurse, she saw that Malfoy’s office, while professional, was also comforting.
“Miss Weasley,” the nurse said while looking at a chart. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. While I’m gone, why don’t you change into that garment?” she pointed to the regular hospital gown and when Ginny nodded, the nurse walked out of the room.
Ten minutes went by. Fifteen. Ginny sat, twiddling her thumbs and looking at the clock. Doctors were always late, she thought with a scowl.
When Malfoy finally did arrive, there was no time for snappy remarks or taunting. He immediately started examining her, and just as before he was profoundly professional.
And while Ginny tensed at the first touch of his fingers, she relaxed as he followed procedure. There was something that was soothing about how very blank his touch was. As if he was doing this grudgingly. Ginny began to wonder if he was gay. The nurse stood by, taking notes as Malfoy gave the state of Ginny’s health, and when Ginny answered questions.
When the checkup was done, Ginny sat up and crossed her legs, an automatic gesture of modesty, and Malfoy snapped off his gloves.
“Any more bleeding?” he asked as he scribbled with his own pen.
“No.”
“Abdominal pains?”
“No.”
“Have you been eating more?”
Ginny shrugged. “I haven’t noticed either way.”
He ripped off the sheet of paper. “I want ten pounds on you. At least.”
She shrugged again. “Maybe I don’t gain weight easily.”
He regarded her with cool eyes. “You lose it, you can gain it.”
She cocked her head. “Perhaps. But that’s my choice.”
Malfoy nodded shortly and stood up. “Good day, Miss Weasley.”
One corner of her lips tilted upwards. “No rescheduling?”
He was already walking out the door, but threw over his shoulder, “You’re healthy except for being underweight. I’ll write up a report and I’ll be done with you. Have a nice day.”
She nodded jerkily, but he didn’t see. The nurse looked at the two, back and forth, but finally left for Ginny to change. Her limbs seemed stiff as she slid her legs into her trousers and pulled on her blouse.
He’d almost been a security blanket of some kind, she thought now. And now, he was ripped away, suddenly leaving her eyes open for blinding reality, and no way to shield herself.
Ginny shoved the thoughts away. She didn’t need a security blanket. And she sure as hell didn’t want one.
( Obstacle Course 2/2 )
ORIGINAL REQUEST:
What would you like to receive?
The tone/mood of the fic: Romantic Drama. not so much angst or fluff, but somewhere in the middle
An element/line of dialogue/object you would like in your fic: Ginny's declaration that she does NOT want to have kids thank-you-very-much.
Preferred rating of the the fic you want: Anything G-NC17, I'll take them all
Canon or AU? I'm going for canon minus the epilogue.
Deal Breakers (what don't you want?): Harry should not be too bitter or angsty.
Rating: Hardcore PG-13
Possible Spoilers/Warnings:
Summary: Ginny goes on a mission for a story, only to come out with more than a few injuries.
Authors Notes: Just wanted so say sorry this took so long, and thank you so much to the mods that put up with me! And also, this story isn’t so much about concentrating on Draco and Ginny’s relationship as Ginny getting through a hard time, I hope you enjoyed! Disclaimer: Who doesn’t know that all characters mentioned (except for Dark Man, men in alley, men with Dark Man, Lily Jenkins, Vincent, and possibly a few others) are JKRs? If you don’t know who belongs to who.… well go read the books, and the fates save your soul.
Obstacle Course 1/2
Ginny threw all her clothes into the suitcase that was sitting open on her four poster bed. Seventh year was finally over. Finally! She could live out her dream of being a reporter, of getting the story right and knowing that by doing so, she would be helping the Daily Prophet, and all of Wizarding London, in the process. She didn’t know when or how her dream began, perhaps in Third Year when Rita Skeeter came to Hogwarts demanding so much more than a few interviews and attention. And though it had been a year of chaos, confusion, and sadness, she smiled at the memory. How besotted she’d been with the illustrious Harry Potter. How blind he’d been to it. How many hours had she spent putting on specially applied makeup and perfectly altered clothes? How many times had she flaunted herself in front of him while throwing herself at various males to try and make him jealous? She didn’t wish to count the numbers.
And when he’d finally gotten the point, and she’d finally seen that flash of jealousy in his eyes that he tried so unsuccessfully to hide, she remembered thinking that finally, finally, the man of her dreams had come in riding to save her from the life of a spinster living with twelve cats in a small cottage outside Hogsmeade.
Ginny remembered the first time they’d made love, the awkwardness of it and his uncertainty of whether or not she’d wanted him. She remembered the darkness, and his skin sliding against her, the so very dim light of the moon that made sweat gleam and had had her thinking that having sex in a Quidditch field was something fairytale-like and romantic. She closed her eyes to remember, the sweet innocence that she’d had, that she hadn’t even known had existed until it was over and she’d looked back on it. Remembered how his hand had glided up her smooth thigh to her bum and the flash of fear that had shot through her when she’d lifted her leg up to wrap around him, only to feel the largeness of him through his trousers.
And after it was over, Ginny remembered the fear of if she’d gotten pregnant, for they hadn’t used protection, and had waited, for the first time hoping that her period would come quickly, and not dreading the monthly occasion. She remembered the relief of it, when she’d woken one morning to the wetness and stickiness of blood and had run to the bathroom to clean up before doing a victory dance.
And not three months later, he’d broken up with her. And he’d said it was for her own good, and she’d believed him, and had waited desperately for the end of the war. The Final Battle had come too soon. Fifth Year had been a blur and then it had slowed to a halt when Dumbledore had been killed. Ginny remembered crying for the loss of the wise man.
Sixth Year was the worst year of her life, and she would remain to think that until she died. She remembered the terror of if Harry was hurt when he’d disappeared along with Hermione and Ron, she remembered Hogwarts being a place of fear.
She closed her eyes against the pain of Order members being killed, of George’s ear being cursed off. He’d kept the hole of his ear gaping as a joke, and somehow, they’d all gotten used to it.
The rest of the year had been a blur, seeming to fly before her eyes as she stood in one place. Mad-Eye dying, Fleur and Bill’s wedding, Ron coming back and then leaving again, Remus and Tonks dying. Fred dying.
That was the hardest thing of all. The twins had always been her favorite brothers, and Fred… he was always the one who cooked up the plans and the one who sometimes let her execute them. She remembered crying against her mother’s shoulder, of watching Harry’s face drain of blood when he’d found out that his friend had died.
She didn’t want to remember at all. The loss of a brother was always devastating, even when you had five more after the death of one. Sometimes more so because of it.
She swallowed against the lump in her throat and refused to remember, and chose to look around her dorm one last time. Her eyes landed on the scarf Harry had given her one Christmas.
He’d taken Ted and left six months before. Not a note to be found, and the only way that you could even tell he was alive and well was the letters he sent once a month to her Mum so she could let everyone know that he was alright.
Ginny sighed and took in the Hogwarts surroundings that she would be leaving behind, once and for all.
And the worst part was that she would miss it desperately.
One year later:
Ginny stood up and walked up the steps to where the Headmaster of The Journalism of Wizarding London University stood waiting.
“Miss Weasley,” he said. “You are hereby presented with your certificate of Journalism, and your degree. Congratulations.”
Ginny grinned. “Thank you, sir,” she said, taking the ribbon-wrapped bundle of paper from him and shaking his hand.
She turned to look at her family, who were cheering, and waved before walking down to take her seat again, and to wait for the rest of the students to be called.
When the last graduate had taken their seat, applause broke through the stadium once more. Soon, Ginny was swept into the circle of her family and friends, all congratulating her for her success. And silently, Ginny congratulated herself also.
Two years later:
Ginny glanced at her mother who was pacing as she packed a small knapsack.
“I don’t like it, Ginny,” Molly said.
Ginny knew what she was saying, but asked, “Like what, Mum?”
“This!” Molly stopped pacing to put her hands on her hips and glare at Ginny. “I know why this is.”
Ginny continued packed. “Why then?”
“It’s because you don’t have anyone to be with. If you did then-“
“Then I would still be doing this. Now stop arguing, Mum. I’m a grown woman.”
Molly scoffed. “Barely. When are you going to settle down and raise a family?”
Ginny resisted the urge to rub her eyes. “I’m not going to settle down. I don’t want a relationship with anyone. Ever.”
“But what about children? You are not going to have babies unless you’re married.”
Ginny smiled at her mother’s choice of words, the firm sound that coated them. She knew how much her mother wanted her to marry and bear children, but Ginny would have to disappoint her, though she hated doing it. “Mum, I don’t want children. I don’t want to have them.”
Molly stood in shocked silence, before flicking her hand in obvious dismissal. “You say that now, but someday you will. Someday you’ll want a whole houseful of little ones to make your hair turn grey.”
Ginny laughed. “I doubt it. Now, will you stop worrying? This story has to be covered, and I’m going to be the one to do it. You know as well as I do that there aren’t any in the Prophet who are as honest as I am.” She paused. “Plus, this would be my big chance to get a promotion. Merlin knows I need it.”
“Well, at least---“
“Mum.” Ginny turned around after she zipped up her sack. “Go home and dote over Ron’s babies, George’s babies, hell, anyone’s babies. I have to go, or I’m going to miss the Portkey.”
Molly stood watching her daughter, with a small pout on her lips. She hated being outdone, and in this case, Molly blamed herself for it. It was her own fault. She’d taught Ginny to be strong willed, and Merlin knew she was. But Molly was so proud of her little girl who’d grown up to climb her way up the ranks to be a big-time reporter. And it was that pride that had Molly giving Ginny a hug and wishing her luck before Apparating to do what Ginny had suggested. Seeing the grandbabies she had waiting for her.
Ginny wiped her face with her hand, unknowingly leaving a streak of dirt behind on her cheek. It was hot. She’d been sitting here two or three hours. Finally she heard the sound of brooms flying through the air, and then the sound of the crackling dry leaves as feet stepped upon them. Three men stood, all holding their wands at the ready, and all with multiple tattoos and piercings on their bodies. Pirates, her mind whispered to her.
She watched them for a while as they quietly conversed, obviously waiting for someone to arrive.
Finally, that person did, and Ginny quietly took pictures with her silent camera as the man came forward, his face concealed by a mask.
“Good morning.” The voice was smooth as silk, his fingers and bared skin dark like chocolate, his stance looking as dangerous as she presumed him to be. His fingers idly twirled his wand, seemingly unconcerned with the situation, though his posture said otherwise.
Grunts were his only response to his greeting.
“I assume that you have what’s needed,” he continued. “I don’t see why else you would have brought me out into this confounded forest.”
One of the men tossed Dark Man a bag of what looked like herbs. “Here,” he said, his voice gravelly. “The Galleons.”
Dark Man opened the bag and took out the contents, lightly sniffing it. “It’s not Grade A,” he finally stated. “But it’s usable. You’ll get only five hundred Galleons because you didn’t get as I asked. Be glad that I’m not leaving here with your corpses littering this place and the item in my pocket.”
One of the men Ginny thought the leader sneered, but said nothing.
There was nothing to warn Ginny to get out. Nothing to tell her to move, or defend herself. One moment she was scratching a note down, the next she was suspended in the air and Dark Man was glaring at her.
“A nice little surprise,” he said, looking her up and down as her shirt fell to reveal her bra-clad breasts.
She snarled at him. “Let me go.”
“Fiery little redhead,” he commented. “Leave,” he told the other men. “I shall handle this.”
Over his shoulder, he tossed a small money bag to the men. Only after counting the contents, did the men do as he asked, though looking back to leer only once at the woman before disappearing into the sky.
Dark Man waited until he was sure the men were gone before speaking again. “Whatever shall I do with you?” he asked.
Ginny glared at him before saying, “You could let me go.”
The man laughed. “I could,” he agreed. “Perhaps I will. It’s rare that I find stupidity amusing. Yours rather is.”
“Then what are you waiting for?”
“I’m deciding whether or not to punish you for spying.”
“I’m not a spy,” she spat.
He glanced at her camera. “I think you’re a type of one. Perhaps I shall rape you.”
Shots of fear speared through Ginny, not only at his threat, but at his bluntness. “You wouldn’t.”
“I would if I felt it would be enjoyable. And your body is most enjoyable already.” He lifted his hand to cup her silk-clad breast. “Nice and plump,” he complimented, and Ginny felt bile fill her throat. “So unlike my wife.”
Ginny stared at him, her eyes wide, and rays of hope beginning to flow through her. “Think of how your wife would feel if she knew about this. If she was raped, how would she feel?” she asked desperately.
A soft chuckle came from his lips. “My wife rather likes my activities. She likes to watch. She’ll be terribly upset that she missed out on the fun.”
“You’re sick,” Ginny whispered, already imagining his hands on her, bruising her, gripping her in places she didn’t want to be gripped.
“Perhaps,” he agreed. “But I shall be satisfied.” And as quickly as he’d had her elevated, he decided. And Ginny felt the fear intensify as he pulled her shirt over her head.
Tears silently coursed down her face as she curled on the forest floor. He pulled on his clothing and bid her farewell. Even as the pain intensified, she moved, grabbing her wand and whispering the two words she never thought she would utter. “Avada Kadarva.” He fell to the ground with a twitch, and he lay still.
Ginny hobbled over to where he stood, and took the Galleons from his pocket, and placed it in hers. She thought that he owed her that, and so much more. She stared at her assaulter one last time before she waved her wand feebly and Apparated.
Ginny watched dully as the nurse checked her body for tears and bleeding. Her clothes were tore and dirty, her hair was mess. Ginny didn’t feel anything. She didn’t feel the nurse’s hands pressed against her abdomen, she didn’t feel her systematically checking her vagina and breasts. The only thing Ginny felt was numbness as she heard crashing and then yelling, and her mother’s voice demanding to see her, and the doctor’s calm refusal.
She was wheeled into the surgery room after she’d given consent for something she couldn’t remember, and then the lights went out.
When Ginny awoke a familiar, yet strange face was watching her. “Good morning, Miss Weasley,” he said as he scrawled on his clipboard.
Ginny found her throat dry, and sipped the water she found beside her hospital bed. “Doubtful,” she returned hoarsely. “I was raped yesterday.” The catch in her voice was her only indication that she was ashamed of it or that it bothered her. She wouldn’t let it bother her. She had work to do, and she couldn’t let anyone know how very much that it hurt to know that she’d been violated.
The doctor moved towards her. “Day before yesterday,” he stated.
Ginny tossed back the rest of the water, and looked over at him, trying to force down the panic. “That long, huh?” she asked, and though her words were casual, her voice was unsteady. She took in a deep breath.
”Yes. You remember what happened, Miss Weasley.”
“Of course, but I’m not filing a report.” She cracked a smile. “Though that’s what I do every day. File reports. You ever do that, Malfoy?”
He nodded. “You know about the surgery.”
“Yes.”
He sighed. “Miss Weasley, I regret to tell you this, but while you were in the operating room, it was discovered that because of the raping, you won’t be able to bear children.”
“What do you mean?”
He took a deep breath. “Miss Weasley, when a sexual assault occurs; rarely does a woman’s uterus suffer such extreme damage that she can’t have children. Unfortunately, you are one of the few whose uterus was damaged beyond repair.”
His words became a blur after his first sentence. What did he mean? No children? Of course, she’d never wanted them, but to find out that she had no choice in the matter… It clawed at her, making the already gaping wound one that seemed to never end. And then she laughed. “Bet you love that, don’t you, Malfoy?” She managed as a lump formed in her throat, though she didn’t know why. “You always did say that no more Weasleys needed to pollute this Earth.”
He watched her with grave eyes. “I was a teenager, Miss Weasley. We both were. I would not wish this on any woman.”
She glared at him. “Yeah, right,” she snarled. “Get out of my sight.”
He sighed and tucked the pen behind his ear and, knowing all too well how dangerous her temper was, and knowing that she was trying to hide the hurt, he strolled from the room.
Ginny watched him go, and the careful control she’d built around him cracked and choking sobs racked her body. She curled up, her hands falling to where, if she would have been able to get pregnant, her baby would have lay and moved. She tried to imagine the feel of a baby kicking, the wonder of knowing she was going to bring something into the world.
She cried for the loss of something she’d never wanted. The chance to have a baby. She tried to imagine every step, every detail, and found she couldn’t. She couldn’t make herself imagine a baby’s kick, or the quiet love that would spill over her as she looked at the child she would never have. She couldn’t see a smiling face with freckles and red hair that was the color of copper. All she could see was an empty space as she closed her eyes and let the tears fall.
Ginny didn’t know how long she had lay there, crying, but when she finally stood to clean her face, she saw Malfoy quietly standing in the doorway.
She wanted to scream at him for his invasion of privacy, but found she couldn’t. She felt her lip tremble and watched his face change from sympathy to concern.
Ginny had only taken a few steps when she crumpled to the floor. Malfoy rushed over, obviously checking her to make sure that she was alright.
Fear didn’t flash through Ginny, as she heard rape victims say it did. Instead, she felt a safety as he knelt beside her, and she wrapped her arms around him and cried more, not caring that he was Malfoy, only that he was someone who could hold her, but wouldn’t smother her.
A week later, Ginny was released from St. Mungo’s, with her mother hovering at her side. She bore the burden in silence, letting Molly cluck over her and push her home with no protest, even as her mind told her she needed to get back to work. Molly didn’t mention the fact that she’d said not to go on the mission, and Ginny almost wished she did, as she pulled back the covers to Ginny’s already made bed, and pushed her into it, saying that the doctor said that she had to be on bed rest for two days.
When Molly was sure that Ginny was going nowhere, she Apparated away, saying that she needed to go make arrangements for Harry.
Ginny stared up at the ceiling, the blankets up to her chin. Blank emptiness filled her. She didn’t want to work, had no desire for it. She had become a statistic, and it was all because she hadn’t been paying attention.
She’d written reports about rape victims, countless ones. Those who were willing to be interviewed had had a glassy eyed look about them, something that said that they weren’t completely in the reality, or fear would cross their face if anyone came close. Ginny had always pitied and sympathized with these people. Now she had no choice but to empathize.
She didn’t know how many times she repeated in her head that it didn’t matter, as she curled up by the headboard of her bed and rocked herself back and forth as she stared out the window. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t have children, she thought as a tear rolled down her cheek. She’d never wanted them. Never. She’d seen what her mother went through, she’d seen what could happen… what would happen if a woman wasn’t careful. A woman could end up alone, pregnant, or with a small child and no way to take care of it.
And yet… more and more often she curled her hands to her belly, and closed her eyes as she tried to imagine a child resting there, inside her.
Only now, when she was alone, did she let herself grieve for what was lost, for what was taken. Even while she reasoned, she never wanted a child, she sobbed her loss, cursed the sun for shining down through her curtains and begging for happiness when she was in such pain.
She blocked the Floo passage and performed spells on her doors so no one could come in, put up wards. Every day, she got owls asking her how she was doing, and why couldn’t anyone get in? Her only reply was that she was working.
Ginny lost weight at an alarming rate. She couldn’t find the strength or the courage to force food down her throat, and as she stared in the mirror at herself dully, she saw that her ribs had begun protruding to show every detail, and her arms had become far thinner than they’d been.
A small part of Ginny said to eat, she needed her strength, for later. She listened to that part of herself, only because it was automatic to listen to her gut instinct. She found herself typing on the Wizarding version of a laptop, researching on uterus surgeries. Her searches were fruitless. There was nothing to point to her being able to regain the ability to have children.
She was clicking away at her machine when the door knocked. She chose to ignore it, and continued looking for a cure, any cure. The knocking continued, and went on for five minutes. Sighing, she stood up, and gave up on having the peace she craved.
Ginny passed the mirror as she went to the door. Her eyes had shadows under them, her hair was tangled and frizzy, her lips chapped. She didn’t care. She looked through the peephole in her door, and saw a very unwelcome face. She threw the door open as Malfoy was about to knock again.
“Malfoy,” she greeted.
“Weasley,” he returned. “You didn’t come in for your two week checkup.”
She snarled. “Have your secretary send me notice.”
“Why do that when I can tell you myself just as easy?”
She rubbed a tired hand down her face. “Why are you here, Malfoy?”
“As your temporary physician, I am conducting a house call. It will be on file.” He stepped inside, smoothly moving her aside. For the first time, she noticed that he carried a black leather bag with him.
Sighing, she gave in when he told her to sit on the couch and his eyebrows arched delicately when she did. He gave no comment about it, however.
He sat on the coffee table in front of her, their knees brushing. She waited for the fear to come, the fear she’d read about. It didn’t. He checked her eyes and shined a light in them. “How do you feel?” he asked finally.
”Fine,” she replied.
“Truthful answers are better, Miss Weasley,” he scolded lightly, taking her pulse.
She sighed and pulled away from his fingers as they calmly squeezed her wrist. “Numb,” she said finally, looking away. “I don’t feel anything.”
He nodded and continued the procedure. “No fear of men? You don’t feel grief for the loss of being able to have children? You don’t feel violated and dirty?”
She looked back at him and stared steadily. “You’re sitting in front of me, aren’t you?” she asked softly. “Do I look scared? Have I flinched away from your touch?”
“No.” He listened to her heartbeat. “What about the other?”
She shoved her hair away from her face. “What about it?”
“How do you feel about it?”
She shrugged, even though her insides began twisting. “You’re not my therapist, Malfoy.”
He glanced up from what he was doing. “I could be. I have a license. Take off your trousers.”
She froze, the fear snaking up into her body so suddenly she didn’t have time to shield herself from it. Instantly, she was reliving the moment when Dark Man entered her so forcefully, and a whimper escaped her lips as she remembered the pain, as she relived the screaming terror that had had her gripping the forest floor as he’d held her down with a binding spell.
“Miss Weasley.” Malfoy’s voice entered her mind reassuringly. “I’m only going to examine you. Nothing else.”
Her eyes focused and she was brought back into reality, and she realized that she was gripping Malfoy’s arms to keep him away from her. He let her, kept his hands loose in his lap. Briskly, but suddenly, she stood up. “This house call is over,” she said firmly. “We’re done here.”
His fingers looped around her wrist, and pulled her back down onto the seat. “No we’re not,” he said softly. “Miss Weasley, we need to finish this check-up. I know you’re scared-“
“I’m not!” she hissed. “I am not scared of this. I’m not scared of you. I’m just done with this.”
He didn’t let her wrist go as she jerked. “Then what are you scared of, Weasley?” he asked quietly.
She looked away. “Nothing,” she whispered. “I’m not scared of anything.”
“Then take off your trousers and let me examine you. I promise that is all I’m going to do, nothing more.”
He stared into her eyes, his grey orbs connecting with her blue ones, their calmness startling her. She’d expected his eyes to be as stormy as his attitude, sudden and unpredictable.
Only slightly reassured, and childishly wanting to prove him wrong, she slipped out of the trousers and her panties and lay down on the couch stiffly.
She watched silently as he slipped on surgical gloves and tensed further when he first knelt beside her and carefully examined her vagina. The coolness of the gloves and how professional his touch was had her calming herself and she closed her eyes and waited for it to be over.
It was uncomfortable, as he felt around and examined the stitches that were on her before he removed them.
“Have you had any bleeding?” he asked as he stood away from her.
“The first few days, lightly. It stopped after the third day, however.”
He didn’t reply, and the snap of his gloves as he pulled them off sounded through the now silent room as she pulled her panties up her legs. Ginny swiped her trousers from their pile on the floor and jammed her legs into them, pulling them up quickly, and ran a tired hand through her tangled hair.
She cleared her throat and Malfoy turned to look at her before returning to rummage through his bag. She waited. Then, “Are we done?”
He clipped the bag shut. “For now. I want you to eat more. You’ve lost weight, and if you can tell whenever there’s not a scale around in such a short time, especially one with your body type, you’re not eating enough.” He handed her a sheet of paper. “I also want you to take a long bath and think about what happened. I want you to sort through it and what you feel. We’ll talk about that at your next appointment.”
She crumbled up the paper and tossed it on the couch without looking at it. “You flatter me with your concern, Malfoy,” she said sarcastically.
He picked up his bag and turned to her. “No need to be flattered,” he replied smoothly, a few locks of hair falling over one eye, and he casually pushed it away, before continuing, “It’s my job. Have a nice day.”
She nodded shortly before he opened the door and walked through it.
Silence filled the room. Something fell to the floor, and it echoed through the room. Ginny looked around blindly, suddenly feeling lost.
Ginny determinedly went to her office in the Daily Prophet. Her bag was slung over her shoulder, its brown strap cutting into her shoulder familiarly through her large trench coat, trapping her fiery hair under its grip, and her feet clicking rhythmically against the tiled floor. She sat down at her desk, finally, and let the place she thought of as her home away from home surrounded her. She closed her eyes, breathed in deep the smell of parchment, ink, and quills, the smell of sweat that rose as reporters worked feverishly to complete a story, or as they worried over deadlines and promotions that could go to somebody else. There was something that was peaceful about the constant bustle and hurry of trying to finish the reports and stories, of trying to get the best story, as it was first pick, first serve.
Ginny opened her eyes and splayed her fingers against the rough wood on her desk. Letting herself go of the peacefulness that surrounded her, she pulled a quill from her holder and snapped up a piece of parchment and scribbled furiously for a few minutes before turning on her laptop. She’d just begun typing when she looked up at a sound and smiled.
”Hello Vincent,” she said.
He nodded to her, a small smile playing on his handsome lips. “Ginevra.”
She nodded back. “Vincent.”
He smiled, a full-blown one this time, once again shocking her at his beauty. “How are you, my darling?”
“All right,” she assured. “You haven’t seemed worried in these past weeks that I’ve been on house-arrest.”
He lifted a shoulder. “I thought you would not want my company.”
“You thought correctly,” she agreed, then scowled. “Nobody else did.”
“People have come to give you flowers and food to make you feel better, my sweet?” he asked, his eyes filled with mock concern. “How awful for you.”
She snarled at him. “Funny, Vincent.”
He looked her up and down, and though she knew he was only making sure she looked alright, she tensed. He saw, and his eyes immediately went to her face. “You have not been eating,” he noted. “And you are scared of me now. Why is this?”
She sighed and cursed herself. As time progressed and the numbness wore off, the fear came flooding in, clouding her thoughts and making her want to run fast and far away. “I am not scared of you,” she said through her teeth.
He lifted a hand to her shoulder and felt her stiffen. He kept it there, knowing it was what she needed. “Ginevra, you are very scared of me. I have never done anything to hurt you, nor will I ever. You know that.” Now he had knelt until he was eye level with her.
She sighed and forced herself to lean her head against his shoulder even as she let the fear wash over her. It would pass, she told herself. Of that she wanted to be sure. “I’m not scared of you,” she finally said once she was sure her voice was steady. “I’m scared of…”
He pressed a kiss to her brow. “You do not have to say more, sweetings. I understand.”
She shook her head and buried her nose in the crook of his neck. A shudder racked her body. “I can’t cry,” she whispered.
“You can,” he returned, and slid her out of the chair to take it himself and sat her in his laps. “You will when you need to.”
“I have,” she said softly. “But I can’t now.”
“It is all right. I will hold you. You need this.”
She nodded, and clasped her arms around his neck, feeling like a child in his arms. She forced her muscles to slacken and her eyes fluttered close as Vincent hummed softly with his chin on her head.
She didn’t know how long they sat there together, but finally Vincent moved to stand up, and slid her down to stand on her feet. Ginny tucked her hair behind her head and cleared her throat.
“Thank you,” she whispered, and stood on tiptoe to brush his cheek with her lips. “I needed that.”
He gave her a hug and said, “Anytime.” One corner of his lips turned up. “I have a date tonight.”
“Really? With who?” she asked, letting herself slide into the normality that she had missed.
“A lovely woman named Lily Jenkins. Curly blonde hair and a luscious body.”
All feelings of melancholy slipped from Ginny as she snorted. “Of course, you would go for a woman with big tits and legs that are long as I am tall,” she said dryly.
“Of course,” he returned, his features solemn. “These women have bodies I quite enjoy.”
Ginny chuckled and shoved him. “Away with you. Let me get back to work. The last thing I need is to think about you in bed with someone.”
His eyes twinkled. “I never said that the lady of the night and I would be in bed.”
Ginny held up her hand. “Too much information,” she protested.
He chuckled and walked from the small office.
Feeling better, Ginny sat down at her computer and began typing.
Ginny dumped her keys and purse on the table beside the door. The past three days had been the same as the others. When she was at work, she was fine, and her mind flowed with whatever story she was working on at the moment. When she returned home, however, she realized just how alone she was and her loneliness and depression set in, leaving her wanting to curl up on her bed and cry.
She didn’t. She refused to. Ginny felt like that if she cried, she would be letting Dark Man win. She didn’t intend on that to happen.
She looked down at her hands. Hands that had had invisible blood spilt on them. She tried not to remember that she had killed someone, the human form of a monster or not, and she tried to remember that he had raped other women as well, not just her. He had deserved it. But her hands and mind still felt dirty every time she remembered uttering those two words that ended Dark Man’s life, and even while she felt dirty, even worse was that she felt powerful, and hunger filled her body every time she thought of the moment when his body fell, when he twitched that one last time.
She would be the first to admit it. She needed help. Ginny didn’t like the feeling of power, of want to do it again, and she intended on forgetting it. But if it didn’t go away soon, she would seek some kind of therapist.
With that in mind, she walked into the kitchen and saw the pile of mail that was in her small container. A letter from Harry. He was back in town with Ted. A return address and an invitation was all that indicated he wanted to see her, or that he even knew what happened to her. Other than that, he talked about how quickly Ted was growing up, and how very much he looked like Remus, with Tonks’ special ability to change his coloring and shape. A picture was included, and a smiling boy with brown eyes and pink hair looked up at her, his feet under him, his hands on his knees. Beside him was a puppy, one who was attempting to tear up a stuffed animal.
Tears rose, and she clapped a hand over her mouth to stop the sob that bubbled in her throat. A tear dripped onto the photo and fell down onto the counter. She wiped it away, and put the picture down. Tears still cascaded down her cheeks, but she wiped them away as they came, and walked away from the photo. She needed to get away. She filled the tub and lowered herself into the steaming water and closed her eyes.
She needed to leave after the bath. She couldn’t stay here and be sane. She couldn’t be alone. And, Ginny thought as she let the water come up over her mouth, she needed to visit with Harry. Even if it killed her.
Ginny knew better than to make sure every detail was perfect. Harry would see through that instantly. She let her hair down and slathered on lip gloss, wore jeans and a large T-shirt that did nothing for her figure. After taking the time to do an once-over, she decided it was perfect. Harry would already be worried as it was, and when he saw that she had lost weight, he would not be happy. The T-shirt was the perfect disguise.
Ginny grabbed her purse carelessly on the way out, and hurried down the stairs to the Apparition Point. She didn’t know how many times she cursed her landlord for putting up wards on all the flats so no one could Apparate. Now she was more than grateful for it.
Ginny knocked on Harry’s door and immediately she heard, “Uncle Harry! Someone’s here!!!!” A screeching crash and a wrestling for the door later, there stood the little boy in the photo and Harry, his glasses crooked on his nose, hair askew, and holding back the small boy.
She smiled slightly. “Hello, Harry,” she said.
He didn’t hug her, and she wasn’t surprised. “Hey, Ginny,” he replied, and walked backwards to let her in.
She went through the doorway to see boxes opened and half empty, packing paper and Styrofoam peanuts everywhere. “How long are you staying?”
He shrugged. “Thought it was time to come home.” He looked down at Ted, who was still squirming against his hands. “Right, mate?”
Ted glared up at him. “No.” He turned to Ginny. “Who are you?”
“I’m Ginny,” she said, holding out her hand. “I’m an old friend.”
Ted took the hand grudgingly. “I didn’t wanna move,” he muttered.
She bent down to be eyelevel. “It’s never fun, is it?” she asked. He shook his head. “But you know what? There’s this big huge candy store right down from this building. Sometime I could take you there.”
Ted’s face split into a grin. “Really? I can? Uncle Harry, can I? Can I? Huh?”
Harry smiled and shrugged. “Sure. Now go play and let us do some grownup talk.”
Because Ted knew what grownup talk meant---boring stuff--- he raced off into what Ginny assumed to be his bedroom.
She looked over at Harry. “Hey,” she said softly.
He nodded, his eyes far away. “How are you?”
She shrugged. “I’m well.”
He swerved his gaze to glare at her. “Don’t give me that bullshit. I know what happened.”
She stared back steadily. “It wasn’t your fault, Harry. You know it wasn’t. There was nothing---“
“If I had been here, if I had---“
She placed a hand on his arm. “If you had been here,” she said firmly. “I would have still taken the assignment. I would have still walked out of here happy as a lark that I would be getting a promotion. Don’t blame yourself for something you couldn’t stop.”
“Do you?”
She started. “Do I what?”
“Do you blame yourself?”
She snorted. “Of course not. That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”
He stepped closer and placed his hand under her jaw so she had to stare up at him. She flinched away. “You’re scared of me,” he stated incredulously. “You’re scared of me.”
She shrugged, and because she knew how hurt he was, she tried to act like it was nothing. “I’m scared of everything right now,” she replied simply. “It’ll pass.”
She looked back at him. “How are you, Harry?” she asked.
He moved to a box and fiddled with nothing. “Fine. It’s been hard, but Ted’s worth it.”
She cracked a smile. “Don’t have him calling you Dad?”
He shuddered. “No thanks. It makes me feel old. Uncle is just fine.”
She laughed. “I bet.” She glanced down at her watch and almost groaned. “Listen, I’ve got to go, doctor’s appointment, but how about we meet up at that new candy shop I was talking about tomorrow?”
He shrugged and looked around. “Sure what time?”
“Say… four?”
He nodded. “Sure.”
Ginny walked into the office and told the secretary her name, then sat down and waited. When her name was called, she slung her purse over her shoulder and walked calmly into the office.
When she went into the office with the nurse, she saw that Malfoy’s office, while professional, was also comforting.
“Miss Weasley,” the nurse said while looking at a chart. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. While I’m gone, why don’t you change into that garment?” she pointed to the regular hospital gown and when Ginny nodded, the nurse walked out of the room.
Ten minutes went by. Fifteen. Ginny sat, twiddling her thumbs and looking at the clock. Doctors were always late, she thought with a scowl.
When Malfoy finally did arrive, there was no time for snappy remarks or taunting. He immediately started examining her, and just as before he was profoundly professional.
And while Ginny tensed at the first touch of his fingers, she relaxed as he followed procedure. There was something that was soothing about how very blank his touch was. As if he was doing this grudgingly. Ginny began to wonder if he was gay. The nurse stood by, taking notes as Malfoy gave the state of Ginny’s health, and when Ginny answered questions.
When the checkup was done, Ginny sat up and crossed her legs, an automatic gesture of modesty, and Malfoy snapped off his gloves.
“Any more bleeding?” he asked as he scribbled with his own pen.
“No.”
“Abdominal pains?”
“No.”
“Have you been eating more?”
Ginny shrugged. “I haven’t noticed either way.”
He ripped off the sheet of paper. “I want ten pounds on you. At least.”
She shrugged again. “Maybe I don’t gain weight easily.”
He regarded her with cool eyes. “You lose it, you can gain it.”
She cocked her head. “Perhaps. But that’s my choice.”
Malfoy nodded shortly and stood up. “Good day, Miss Weasley.”
One corner of her lips tilted upwards. “No rescheduling?”
He was already walking out the door, but threw over his shoulder, “You’re healthy except for being underweight. I’ll write up a report and I’ll be done with you. Have a nice day.”
She nodded jerkily, but he didn’t see. The nurse looked at the two, back and forth, but finally left for Ginny to change. Her limbs seemed stiff as she slid her legs into her trousers and pulled on her blouse.
He’d almost been a security blanket of some kind, she thought now. And now, he was ripped away, suddenly leaving her eyes open for blinding reality, and no way to shield herself.
Ginny shoved the thoughts away. She didn’t need a security blanket. And she sure as hell didn’t want one.
( Obstacle Course 2/2 )
ORIGINAL REQUEST:
What would you like to receive?
The tone/mood of the fic: Romantic Drama. not so much angst or fluff, but somewhere in the middle
An element/line of dialogue/object you would like in your fic: Ginny's declaration that she does NOT want to have kids thank-you-very-much.
Preferred rating of the the fic you want: Anything G-NC17, I'll take them all
Canon or AU? I'm going for canon minus the epilogue.
Deal Breakers (what don't you want?): Harry should not be too bitter or angsty.