Courtney Kathrys (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} courtneykathrys) wrote,@ 2004-04-13 06:05:00 |
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The "We Were Only Two" series (incomplete)
Name: Courtney Kathrys
Title: Recrudescent
E-mail: Faeriedeath@hotmail.com
Summery: First in the “We Were Only Two” series. This takes place immediately following Sirius and Ginny’s first kiss and lasts for three nights, until Ginny’s departure to Hogwarts.
Notes: This is actually an extended version of the cookie I posted to the Red Ebony Cookie jar.
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters are by JK Rowling. I only own the plot.
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They both felt the heat of blood creeping up their necks as they looked awkwardly away from each other, like two teenagers passing a check-yes-or-no letter. Except he was more than half her age, and she was glowing in all of her seventeen years. She mumbled something incomprehensible and hurriedly escaped, scared of his reaction. He sat on the step, threading his hands through his hair and sighing.
She ran to her room, crying. She knew he probably hated himself now and her more so. But he could never hate her. He had never thought much of her until recently, actually. She was always the little sister of his godson’s best friend. Just another redhead. He began to see her as a person, a separate entity, after she told him of Tom and The Diary. He told her of his family. She disclosed the nature of her tumultuous affair with Dean Thomas, and the vengeance she reeked with Draco Malfoy. He admitted Azkaban, and his time behind the veil. Safe within the confines of Buckbeak’s room. They were tired of the prison the house had become, tired of everyone worrying about their safety; therefore, being thrust together, they came together. And the room became a haven, a confessional, a pensive. And it is where they fell in love, the summer between her sixth and seventh year.
And so, hours later, in the middle of the night, she made her way back to their hideaway. He was still in the same position she had left him in, sitting on the stairs, running his hands through his hair. He looked up at her when she entered, and was struck by how beautiful she had become to him. She wore an old white cotton nightgown, and her fiery hair fell in tangles about her shoulders. Her face was still splotchy from crying, and her eyes bore bruises beneath them from the tears. But she was beautiful.
He stood and she made her way tentatively towards him. When she was close enough he reached out and grabbed her, crushing her to his chest, and somewhere between tears and shoulders and hair their lips met again. This wasn’t tentative and spontaneous like the first. This second one was awareness and consent; this kiss was full of tears and fingers and skin. They devoured each other, making up for months of their mutual isolation.
That first night they just reveled in the second kiss. They lost themselves in two pairs of lips, two traveling tongues, and two bodies wanting only each other, separated only by twenty-two years. Their mouths explored new territories and their tongues waged a battle over possession of each other’s mouth. It had been so long since he held a woman, even longer for the youth the one in his arms now possessed. She had only been exposed to boys, ones only her superior by a year, or even a handful of months. For him it was like returning to contentment; to clandestine rendezvous in empty classrooms with willing girls. But now he was here, dangling precariously on the edge of forty. Clinging to the girl in his arms who was barely legal by Wizarding standards; a girl who was still in school. For her it was salvation. Between years spent in the arms of little boys, too desperate to be men, and memories of incorporeal hands possessing her. He was here to prove to her that love wasn’t meant to be what she had only known. And on that first night, they let their minds believe while their mouths took advantage of their silence.
On the second night they needed more than kisses and tongues and lips could grant. That second night they needed the soft hay of Buckbeak’s stall, and two bodies wanting only the other. When he entered her she felt filled, instead of dirty or lacking. Neither of them was inexperienced in this matter, both having left the naivety of innocence behind many years ago. Him with a girl at a party his parents had thrown; her in the cold Chamber with the future Dark Lord For him, he was fourteen and she had taken advantage of the generous amount of liquor available. She was older and much more experienced. He was all hormones and very eager to fulfill her request, delighted at the scandal it would cause if his parents ever discovered. They never did. For her she had been eleven, though they both had been perched on that fine line between real and imagination. Tom had owned so much of her by that point, that she’d have been able to refuse him nothing. So she didn’t. They both had entertained other lovers as well, nameless girls and sleepless nights, or fumbling boys who couldn’t induce half the pleasure a single memory could. But on that second night, they were neither nameless or a memory. The two sprawled awkwardly on a bed of straw were real. And they laughed when he began to move in her, aware at the absurdity of the situation. In some part of their minds, they half expected this to just be their fantasies playing a cruel prank. But when she whimpered as she came, and he bit her shoulder as he released, they knew that no fantasy could compare. Afterwards they had joked and flirted and fell asleep in each other’s arms.
The second time was their last night together. No words were spoken as she left her pristine nightgown on the floor where she entered. There was no foreplay, no whispered endearments or amused laughter. It was all passion and anger and fury. They fought each other against the knowledge that they could not continue this affair. She tore his back with her nails, and he left bite wounds over her shoulders and breasts. He backed her against the wall when he pummeled himself inside of her, and she threw her head back against the concrete, screaming. Her crimson hair could have been blood following behind her on the wall, but neither cared enough to check. They destroyed each other as she shouted his name in her husky and desire filled voice. He whispered hers in his dangerous and feral growl. Neither could keep the pace up at such a speed and both fell as soon as they reached the top; tumbling down in a tangle of sweet fear, bitter regret, salty skin, and sour emptiness. They curled up, back to back, unable to bare the sight of the other. She left soon after, not bothering to dress as she made her way slowly to her room, almost daring someone to find her. They didn’t. And she never asked for that kiss goodnight, or goodbye.
She left for Hogwarts the next morning. She was all innocence in her uniform and Head Girl badge; her fiery hair tamed into a modest braid. He never came down to send her off, and she was relieved. She didn’t know if she could stand to see him again. He watched her as her trunk was loaded into the back of a Ministry car. She’ll never know what made her look up to the far window, but she was unsurprised to see him gazing down at her. She knew the expression that scarred his features. She knew, and she agreed. How could they possibly hope to carry on this foolish affair, who had they been kidding? They would be a distraction, a liability to all those trying so hard to fight this war. No one would understand or accept. Perhaps, if they lived in a time of peace, they may have worked; but they were born out of war, and would always be so with each other.
She laughed bitterly to herself, remembering how they had both been so frustrated about being useless. They stayed at home and sat around and lamented about having nothing challenging to give, nothing to sacrifice to ease the pain for the others. Little did they know that while the others risked their lives, they had been required to sacrifice their hearts for the good of the Wizarding world; and that, perhaps, had been the greatest casualty of war so far.
After all, what was the price of happiness, of love, and of two hearts in the great scheme of things anyways?
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Name: Courtney Kathrys
Title: Capitulation
E-mail: Faeriedeath@hotmail.com
Summery: Second in the “We Were Only Two” series. Ginny returns from Hogwarts to face her reunion with Sirius. No words are really needed further.
Notes: This is actually an extended version of the cookie I posted to the Red Ebony Cookie jar.
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters are by JK Rowling. I only own the plot.
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He was in their confessional when she came home for Winter Holiday. He couldn’t watch her saunter in, smiling in her uniform and braids. Her white skin and crimson hair and cinnamon eyes casting a spell over him. He had done nothing but obsess over her in his mind the whole while she was in school.
In school. The idea that he, a man nearing forty, would be captured by a seventeen year old girl still in school was perverse… in a strangely titillating way. He longed for her delicate hands to flitter over his skin tangle in his hair. He wanted to watch his name fall from her mouth as he caused her to forget every man who had touched her the way he was. He wanted her to scream ‘Sirius, Sirius, oh God, Sirius,’ in that husky and breathy voice that drove him mad.
And he was mad, and crazy and insane to be fantasizing over a girl twenty-two years his junior. But at that moment, he could care less.
He didn’t join in for dinner, preferring the company of his hippogriff to having to restrain himself over her presence. He began to regret his decision as the desire to catch a glimpse of her started to overwhelm him.
Just as he was about to rise to find her, even if just to say hello, her shadow filled the doorway. She was still in her innocent uniform and innocuous braids. Her Head Girl badge still glistened. She looked at the floor for a moment, before moving her spice eyes up to his fathomless black voids.
“You weren’t at dinner.”
“You know why.”
She nodded and turned her eyes back to an unconvincingly more interesting floor board.
“I know. I’m thankful.”
He stared at her for a moment before rising towards her, her name on his lips. “Ginny –” She stops him, holding up one of those pale hands he’s been obsessing over. She moves up enough so that it covers his mouth, and just her touch electrifies him.
“Don’t, Sirius. Don’t use words. Not tonight.”
And they don’t, as their mouths and their bodies convey every spoken word much better than voices could. His aching hands memorize every inch of skin covering her, and every bit inside of her that his fingers, his tongue, or more pleasing body parts can reach. He possesses her like a dying man, one terrified that he won’t wake the next morning and wishes to savor every taste of the ethereal being in his arms.
She clings to him, her mind reliving the past months without him, of curling up in her empty bed at school with only her hand to relive the memories of their clandestine affair. Feeling him move inside her brings her nearly to tears of relief, of finally being contented. Her whimpers intoxicate him and he holds her closer to his chest as he thrusts deeper inside of her.
He grunts and she feels encompassed by him. When he gathers her closer to him she inhales the musky scent of his sweat and the smell nearly drives her to climax. He feels her coming nearer to the brink and slows down. Neither is ready for this reunion to end; they have waited too long.
She makes love with her eyes open, and for some reason it drives him crazy. She studies his face intently while they move together, and he feels his control slip away every time she blinks. He’s never been with a woman who watched while they shagged, and it felt strangely like voyeurism, and the feeling took the slowly slipping control and began to throw pieces out the window.
It is her turn to feel him near his brink, and she remembers every move she was taught from wrestling with half a dozen brothers. Before he realizes what has happened, he is on his back and starring up into her unnerving eyes. She begins to form her own rhythm, and he is driven crazy by the stop-and-go, and by the way she throws her head back when she hits a good spot, and her damp red curls fly back behind her and tickle his legs.
Her hands are running up and down through the tangle of hair on his chest and the feel of her nails scratching increases the fog in his head. A red tinged haze with cinnamon eyes. His fingers grip her hips and the additional pressure releases something in her. Her climax hits her full on and shocks her with its intensity. For a moment she thinks she blacked out, and she realizes she did since she’s been moved from on top of him to the crook of his arms. She smiles up at him and he kisses her forehead.
This night she falls asleep curled up into his chest, and his nose is buried in her hair, inhaling her scent deeply while he slumbers.
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Name: Courtney Kathrys
Title: Desecration
E-mail: Faeriedeath@hotmail.com
Summery: Third in the “We Were Only Two” series. Ginny’s independent woman mindset breaks down with the loss of the provider of her strength. The breakdown causes her relationship with Sirius to venture into a territory she never allowed anyone else to enter.
Notes: This was a very emotional story to write. No shagging, no snogging, nothing sexual. Most of this is very abstract and may be confusing to anyone who isn’t me, since I know exactly what I mean.
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters are by JK Rowling. I only own the plot.
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She was studying for her NEWTS. Her room was silent, the small fireplace dark and empty. Books were tossed haphazardly on her bed, floor, desk, and dresser. Quills stained stray pieces of fabric with the remnants of ink left on their tips, and half eaten sugar quills stuck like a permanent sticking charm to parchment long since tossed away, crumbled and forgotten. The clock on her wall, charmed to wake her early enough to be prepared for her next day NEWTS, was pointing with force to ‘Go to Bed, You Moronic Girl You.’
So she listened, and organized her books as much as she could; or enough to clear off her bed before changing into her nightdress and falling into the soft mattress of her small bed. Her eyes began to close, and the dreams were just beginning when a sudden fire roared in the empty grate, and a voice boomed “Ginny!”
What followed was only remembered by her in flashes of color, a wordless voice, a touch of a hand. Falling through the grate into St. Mungo’s. Standing unnoticed in the hospital while redheads milled around. Being noticed. A shout. Hands in her hair, hands on her arms. Arms holding her tightly, arms holding her at length. Lips kissing her forehead, her cheek, lips moving in words she suddenly forgot. Tears that weren’t hers on her cheeks, on the cheeks of everyone in the room. A bed lay in the furthest corner. White sheets. White walls. White floors. Red hair. Ample bosom. Warmth, comfort, clarity. Mum. Death. Denial. No, no, not true, can’t be true. Mothers are steadfast, rocks in time of storms, and this was certainly a storm. Rocks were not allowed to crumble beneath her fingers. Won’t believe it. Can’t be true.
She refuses to cry; at least that’s what she claims. The truth is that she can’t cry that tears won’t come. The patrons of the room have stolen all of her tears and cried them mercilessly. Everyone else was there when she was still alive; everyone else heard her last words as she was left unceremoniously on the doorstep of Grimmauld Place after a quick tip home for some essential needs. Her clock was something essential to her, and if home was unsafe, and she had to be forced to live at Grimmauld Place, then by God her clock would as well. Molly Weasley’s clock hand had moved from Mortal Danger hours ago, and rested unmoving at Death.
So her daughter, her only close female companion in seventeen years sat outside the door to the hospital room, refusing to look. No one even dared to call her unfeeling. No one could presume to be in her place, not even her brother’s who had lost a mother as well.
Please Outside Take Can Sirius Ginny You. She couldn’t recall what order the words went in, or even who said them. It wasn’t important. Firm hands on her back, too low on her waist to be completely platonic, too natural and unthought-of to be completely new. No one noticed. Neither did they.
The sun was bright, and she hated it for it. How dare the sun be bright while she felt so dark. Dark. Dark hair. Dark eyes starring into her own. Sirius. Oh how could she have forgotten Sirius? Beautiful, reckless, passionate Sirius. She could hear him talking, his low voice in her ear, but she couldn’t bring herself to understand the words. She was in his arms and all she wanted was to be held. Be anchored. She no longer wanted to be that strong independent woman she had always sought. She no longer wanted to be treated as a grown up, an adult. She wanted to be a child. She wanted to be young, and fragile, and selfish and impetuous. She wanted to be rocked, and sang to with whispery kisses left on her forehead after being tucked into bed. She wanted her brothers to defend her honor, shield her from the world. She no longer wanted what Tom had done to her. No more pleasure and pain. No more destruction and death.
“Take care of me Sirius.”
“Always my love.”
And in those words was all they needed. The I Love You’s, the Be Mine’s weren’t sufficient for her. She wanted to be taken care of, something she had never wanted or admitted before. He knew the gravity of her words. She knew the implications of his answer.
So they sat there in the bright cheery sunlight in the garden of St. Mungo’s. He held her in his arms, rocking her gently, kissing her forehead, and singing to her softly. She cried. Her shoulders shook as she let out all of the tears she’d been keeping since she stopped crying for Tom. And for that moment the passer-byers saw them not as Sirius Black the crazed Murder taking advantage of Author Weasley’s Mourning Daughter. They saw a heart broken girl crying in the arms of a man who loved her, and wished his heart could have broken for her instead.
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Name: Courtney Kathrys
Title: Repletion
E-mail: Faeriedeath@hotmail.com
Summery: Fourth in the “We Were Only Two” series. Now out of school, Ginny takes on the life of an adult on too narrow shoulders and Sirius watches her struggle. Only when they are forced to take a break can they rediscover youth and fulfillment and even each other, all over again.
Notes: Finally something happy!
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters are by JK Rowling. I only own the plot.
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Her home is Grimmauld Place now. She has her own room, and has taken over the kitchen where it had fallen unceremoniously and unmoving from her mother’s careful domestic finger tips. Her food never has the same heart, but then again, neither does she. He can never fault her that though, she is trying and he never knew what it was like to love and lose a mother.
In the mornings she sets out breakfast, and her careful attempts at variation go in a four day cycle. But to him she is Midas and whatever she touches turned to gold and he eats her food like nectar from the gods.
In the afternoons she leaves to work, managing the financial affairs and business dealings of her brother’s joke store while the twins locked themselves away in their creative workshop. The explosions coming from the store only drove people to the shop in droves. She has single handedly turned Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes into a near world wide phenomenon with shops in ever major wizarding shopping area in Europe and was steadily gaining popularity in America and Asia.
In the evenings she comes home exhausted from meetings with goblins and executives and her temper is foul but her dinner is edible and people smile and let her vent. Despite her unraveling nerves she is patient while whichever Order members that turn up for dinner devour her food amidst easy conversation, and he eats as much as he can as fast as he can and makes sure his plate is the cleanest when she magics the dishes to the sink with a little more force than duly necessary.
During the night she sneaks quietly from her own room to his, and curls up in his arms and sleeps. He lets her rest because she deserves it, and he knows that when the sun comes up her cycle will begin again. She needs a break but he is not going to risk her leaving his bed cold by being the one to suggest it.
He stays awake that night and watches her dream. Her mother’s death has changed her in many ways, as only a mother’s death could. She hadn’t been a child for many years, but now she is forced into adulthood years before she should have shouldered that weight. Stress lines etched themselves deep into her forehead and around her eyes, and her bright red hair isn’t nearly as vibrant as it once had been. Her eyes are always dull and tired and when they make love she isn’t nearly as energetic. She is only eighteen, she shouldn’t look his age, forty doesn’t suit her. He makes up his mind to have Dumbledore send them on a well deserved holiday, the old man had been talking regularly of sending him away for a few weeks, and he knew the Headmaster had noticed the toll on her. With this thought he finally laid his dark hair upon the pillow and allowed his black eyes to close in sleep.
The next day while she slaves away at work he brings his concerns up to the Order head, and the twinkling blue eyes shine knowingly when he makes his request; and it is accepted and Dumbledore agrees to ordering her away for a couple of weeks, and the Headmaster also agrees to keep it confidential and take credit for the idea.
She is furious after talking with Dumbledore, and he pretends to be indignant as well when they pack their bags and leave for a small flat in the Caribbean. Her fury leaves her soon and they make love in the blue green oceans.
They spend the weeks reintroducing themselves to each other, and relearning every curve and dip and expanse of skin on both of their bodies. Their suitcases lay unopened and they spend their weeks naked. They make love on the sand, and in the sea, under the sun, and beneath the stars. Her eyes grow younger, and her crimson hair regains its vibrancy as her skin drinks in the sunlight eagerly and it casts a glow all over her.
She tells him she wants to be a bird and just fly away from London and spend each day in a new and peaceful place. He confesses to her that she can be his bird if he can be where she lands each night.
He admits that he’s terrified of spiders ever since his younger brother transfigured his pillow into one. She asks if he would like them better if he was a fly caught in her web. He concedes on the condition that he is the only fly she catches.
They both agree to escape here after the war to shed their battle scars, for now it is too soon to take the bandages off, and they are both scared that the salt will sting too much. Afterwards, they decide, the pain will lessen.
On the last night he gives her a simple gold band with a simple diamond and she cries into his dark hair as he familiarizes himself with a different connotation of the words ‘Oh God, yes, yes, Sirius, yes!’ That night they make love like it is the first time, and as if it is the last.
The coarseness of fabric is foreign to their skin as they stand uncomfortably on the beach, waiting for the portkey to activate. Their unused suitcases lye useless in their hands, and the empty soda can between them is unappreciated. Neither is looking forward to returning to reality, to work, to life in general. They are not ready for their tropical bubble to pop, and desperately crave some excuse to stay on the island forever. Both know it is as implausible as their late night murmurings of spiders and birds and the fading of battle scars. But there is little time to think of that when the portkey activates and they are safe inside the strange and unwelcome walls of Grimmauld Place.
For now he watches the cold streets of London through his bedroom window, missing the salty air and too bright stars he has grown to love. His jaw is still bruised and sore from when Ron saw his sister’s new jewelry acquisition, and Harry is still sitting unmoving on the couch from the shock. But she is curled up in his bed, and tonight she sleeps with a smile.
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Name: Courtney Kathrys
Title: Acquiescence
E-mail: Faeriedeath@hotmail.com
Summery: Fifth in the “We Were Only Two” series. Ginny battles it out with Ron for the acceptance of her and Sirius’ decision and Ron is forced to make a choice between his ideals for his little sister, or the happiness of the woman she’s become.
Notes: No Sirius appearance in this chapter, unfortunately, but this needed to be solely between Ron and Ginny. However, Harry, Hermione, and the twins have a brief but wordless appearance. And is that a reference to Ron and Hermione I read? But of course! I wouldn’t do anything as silly as pair Hermione with Harry. Is anyone really that blind?
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters are by JK Rowling. I only own the plot.
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She was in no mood for this type of conversation with Ron. Truth be told, she would never be in the mood for this type of conversation with her slightly older and infinitely more insufferable brother. He was too overly protective, too caught up in his ideals of what he wanted for her, taking in no account of what she wanted for herself. She was happy for him and for the happiness he had found in Hermione. She was thrilled beyond comprehension that the girl she’d come to view as a sister would finally be one and she wouldn’t be alone in her double x chromosome’s.
But that didn’t change the fact that Ron would never be happy for her. Not even if she married Harry bloody Potter.
So she sat demurely on her bed while Ron paced the room angrily, occasionally throwing something breakable and she would surreptitiously repair it while he wasn’t looking. At last he finally spoke. “Ginny he’s at least twenty-five years older than you!”
Rolling her eyes and bracing herself for their battle of words she corrected him. “Twenty-two.”
He glared at her, his dark brown eyes looking like burning coals beneath his flaming hair and anger tinted face. He was on fire and that fact just bolstered her confidence more so. Ron was careless when he was driven by his righteousness. “Oh that makes it better.”
“No, Ron, what makes it better is that we love each other. I think I deserve some type of happiness, and so does he.”
“Oh, so this is for mutual convenience, great basis for a marriage Ginny.”
“It’s not for convenience you narrow minded self-righteous hypocritical bigoted git, we love each other.”
“You know Gin; with that maturity I can understand why no one supports this lunacy. Besides, how can you love him after a few weeks on a Caribbean island?”
“It wasn’t a few weeks, Ron, it’s been over a year –“
She stopped suddenly and cursed herself for her slip up as Ron’s eyebrows flew up and got caught in his hair. “A year? When did this start.”
Damn, damn, bloody damn. “The summer before my seventh year. While we were banished to the confines of the house. People trapped together come together, you know. So I suppose I have you to thank for finding Sirius. Without you and Harry and Hermione constantly forcing us to stay in this house we opened our eyes and fell in love. I never knew you cared so much, Ron. Thank you.”
She smiled sweetly up at her brother who sputtered in indignation, clearly quite baffled at the sudden turn in events and how suddenly the whole situation was his fault. She always knew how to make it his fault. It was a terrifying talent she possessed, and used quite often to his detriment. She wasn’t going to get away with it this time. He would change the rules of the game.
So he took a deep breath and turned to face her, willing his face to pale and his eyes to soften. Her own honey eyes sharpened in justified suspicion. He looked away and back at her, sighing softly. “Look, Gin, it isn’t that I don’t want you to be happy. I do, I honestly do. But… are you sure he’s not taking advantage of you? I mean, you’re younger than he was when you were born. That’s a very large gap.”
Her eyes remained narrow, guarded. She was suspicious of every kindness, a trait Mad Eye praised and Ron had cursed endlessly, and was making no exception to now. “Ron, I haven’t been innocent for many years. Now wait, before you go all indignant and threaten to kill the bastard let me tell you that Harry’s already taken on that job with gusto.” She smirked inwardly at the confused look on Ron’s face before continuing. “Tom, Ron. It was Tom; in my first year, in the Chamber.”
Comprehension, tinged with horror and pity etched his features and she immediately felt her guard strengthen and her disgust deepen. She hated pity.
“I’m sorry, Ginny… I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m well over it. It took my a few years, and a few guys, but hey – I succeeded.”
He started to commiserate with her when the full force of her words hit him full force in the chest and he looked up at her horrified. “A few guys?! Who?”
She grinned now, knowing she had him, knowing that the rest was just a matter of time. “Well, not Michael, he was too proper.”
Just as she suspected, he took the bait and jumped head first into her carefully laid waters. “Was it bloody Dean Thomas? I’ll kill the bastard!”
She placed her most wounded expression on her face like a well worn mask and softened her voice to a near whisper. “I tried to tell you Ron… but you didn’t want to hear. I wanted to tell you how much he hurt me, how much he brought memories back to me. I wanted you to know about nights spent on a fucking stone floor. That’s how your wonderful princely Dean Thomas treated me Ron. I told you he broke up with me because I was never good enough for him, and I didn’t lie Ronald Weasley, but you wouldn’t believe me!”
She counted two seconds before she turned her tears on and sobbed into her hands. She knew that Ron was helpless when she cried, and he was putty when he was the cause of her tears. Sure enough, his reliable nature didn’t fail her and he pulled her into an awkward hug. She smirked as her tears soaked his robes. “Is that why you dated Malfoy, Ginny? To get back at me for not being there for you?”
She nodded and increased the volume of her tears and she knew that he was feeling terrible. Some part of her felt bad for manipulating her own brother like this, but it was quickly replaced by the notion that if she was able to get Ron on her side, she could make everyone be on her side. Time for the coup de grace. “Ron,” hiccough, “please understand. Sirius is the first man to ever make me feel loved like I needed. To understand me completely. He has Michael’s dedication to me, like Dean he doesn’t need to ask if I’m sure, he just knows. He has Draco’s unobtainable quality, and like Tom he can possess me and I feel him in every crevice of my mind. He was made for me Ron. Are you really going to deprive me of the one joy in my life when all I’ve had is misery? You have Hermione, Ron. You two are so undeniably happy. Don’t you want that for me?”
Her heart was still for a moment as she awaited his response, praying that he would show that good heart he had in there and give her his blessing. She was not disappointed. She felt him nod and hg her tighter before holding her an arm’s length away and studying her tear streaked face. “I do want that for you Ginny, more than anything in the world, I want you to have what Hermione and I have. And, I suppose, that if you have that in Sirius I can’t really ask you to give that up. Merlin knows I could never give up Hermione.”
He saw her smile, a large glowing smile spread across her face and light her up from her two’s to her glowing hair. He thought back but couldn’t recall a moment where he ever saw her smile like that. Her arms were soon thrown around his neck and she was laughing as she suffocated him. “Oh Ron, thank you so much! Do you mean it; do you really give us your blessing?”
How could he say no after watching her smile like that, and he found himself smiling at her and nodding. Next thing he knew he was agreeing to apologize for hitting Sirius and telling him how happy he was for the two of them and Ron couldn’t care less.
Not even when he saw Harry, Hermione and the twins outside the door with Extendable Ears. But they were all crying and smiling as well, so it didn’t matter either way.
________________________________________
Name: Courtney Kathrys
Title: Recrudescent
E-mail: Faeriedeath@hotmail.com
Summery: First in the “We Were Only Two” series. This takes place immediately following Sirius and Ginny’s first kiss and lasts for three nights, until Ginny’s departure to Hogwarts.
Notes: This is actually an extended version of the cookie I posted to the Red Ebony Cookie jar.
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters are by JK Rowling. I only own the plot.
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They both felt the heat of blood creeping up their necks as they looked awkwardly away from each other, like two teenagers passing a check-yes-or-no letter. Except he was more than half her age, and she was glowing in all of her seventeen years. She mumbled something incomprehensible and hurriedly escaped, scared of his reaction. He sat on the step, threading his hands through his hair and sighing.
She ran to her room, crying. She knew he probably hated himself now and her more so. But he could never hate her. He had never thought much of her until recently, actually. She was always the little sister of his godson’s best friend. Just another redhead. He began to see her as a person, a separate entity, after she told him of Tom and The Diary. He told her of his family. She disclosed the nature of her tumultuous affair with Dean Thomas, and the vengeance she reeked with Draco Malfoy. He admitted Azkaban, and his time behind the veil. Safe within the confines of Buckbeak’s room. They were tired of the prison the house had become, tired of everyone worrying about their safety; therefore, being thrust together, they came together. And the room became a haven, a confessional, a pensive. And it is where they fell in love, the summer between her sixth and seventh year.
And so, hours later, in the middle of the night, she made her way back to their hideaway. He was still in the same position she had left him in, sitting on the stairs, running his hands through his hair. He looked up at her when she entered, and was struck by how beautiful she had become to him. She wore an old white cotton nightgown, and her fiery hair fell in tangles about her shoulders. Her face was still splotchy from crying, and her eyes bore bruises beneath them from the tears. But she was beautiful.
He stood and she made her way tentatively towards him. When she was close enough he reached out and grabbed her, crushing her to his chest, and somewhere between tears and shoulders and hair their lips met again. This wasn’t tentative and spontaneous like the first. This second one was awareness and consent; this kiss was full of tears and fingers and skin. They devoured each other, making up for months of their mutual isolation.
That first night they just reveled in the second kiss. They lost themselves in two pairs of lips, two traveling tongues, and two bodies wanting only each other, separated only by twenty-two years. Their mouths explored new territories and their tongues waged a battle over possession of each other’s mouth. It had been so long since he held a woman, even longer for the youth the one in his arms now possessed. She had only been exposed to boys, ones only her superior by a year, or even a handful of months. For him it was like returning to contentment; to clandestine rendezvous in empty classrooms with willing girls. But now he was here, dangling precariously on the edge of forty. Clinging to the girl in his arms who was barely legal by Wizarding standards; a girl who was still in school. For her it was salvation. Between years spent in the arms of little boys, too desperate to be men, and memories of incorporeal hands possessing her. He was here to prove to her that love wasn’t meant to be what she had only known. And on that first night, they let their minds believe while their mouths took advantage of their silence.
On the second night they needed more than kisses and tongues and lips could grant. That second night they needed the soft hay of Buckbeak’s stall, and two bodies wanting only the other. When he entered her she felt filled, instead of dirty or lacking. Neither of them was inexperienced in this matter, both having left the naivety of innocence behind many years ago. Him with a girl at a party his parents had thrown; her in the cold Chamber with the future Dark Lord For him, he was fourteen and she had taken advantage of the generous amount of liquor available. She was older and much more experienced. He was all hormones and very eager to fulfill her request, delighted at the scandal it would cause if his parents ever discovered. They never did. For her she had been eleven, though they both had been perched on that fine line between real and imagination. Tom had owned so much of her by that point, that she’d have been able to refuse him nothing. So she didn’t. They both had entertained other lovers as well, nameless girls and sleepless nights, or fumbling boys who couldn’t induce half the pleasure a single memory could. But on that second night, they were neither nameless or a memory. The two sprawled awkwardly on a bed of straw were real. And they laughed when he began to move in her, aware at the absurdity of the situation. In some part of their minds, they half expected this to just be their fantasies playing a cruel prank. But when she whimpered as she came, and he bit her shoulder as he released, they knew that no fantasy could compare. Afterwards they had joked and flirted and fell asleep in each other’s arms.
The second time was their last night together. No words were spoken as she left her pristine nightgown on the floor where she entered. There was no foreplay, no whispered endearments or amused laughter. It was all passion and anger and fury. They fought each other against the knowledge that they could not continue this affair. She tore his back with her nails, and he left bite wounds over her shoulders and breasts. He backed her against the wall when he pummeled himself inside of her, and she threw her head back against the concrete, screaming. Her crimson hair could have been blood following behind her on the wall, but neither cared enough to check. They destroyed each other as she shouted his name in her husky and desire filled voice. He whispered hers in his dangerous and feral growl. Neither could keep the pace up at such a speed and both fell as soon as they reached the top; tumbling down in a tangle of sweet fear, bitter regret, salty skin, and sour emptiness. They curled up, back to back, unable to bare the sight of the other. She left soon after, not bothering to dress as she made her way slowly to her room, almost daring someone to find her. They didn’t. And she never asked for that kiss goodnight, or goodbye.
She left for Hogwarts the next morning. She was all innocence in her uniform and Head Girl badge; her fiery hair tamed into a modest braid. He never came down to send her off, and she was relieved. She didn’t know if she could stand to see him again. He watched her as her trunk was loaded into the back of a Ministry car. She’ll never know what made her look up to the far window, but she was unsurprised to see him gazing down at her. She knew the expression that scarred his features. She knew, and she agreed. How could they possibly hope to carry on this foolish affair, who had they been kidding? They would be a distraction, a liability to all those trying so hard to fight this war. No one would understand or accept. Perhaps, if they lived in a time of peace, they may have worked; but they were born out of war, and would always be so with each other.
She laughed bitterly to herself, remembering how they had both been so frustrated about being useless. They stayed at home and sat around and lamented about having nothing challenging to give, nothing to sacrifice to ease the pain for the others. Little did they know that while the others risked their lives, they had been required to sacrifice their hearts for the good of the Wizarding world; and that, perhaps, had been the greatest casualty of war so far.
After all, what was the price of happiness, of love, and of two hearts in the great scheme of things anyways?
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Name: Courtney Kathrys
Title: Capitulation
E-mail: Faeriedeath@hotmail.com
Summery: Second in the “We Were Only Two” series. Ginny returns from Hogwarts to face her reunion with Sirius. No words are really needed further.
Notes: This is actually an extended version of the cookie I posted to the Red Ebony Cookie jar.
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters are by JK Rowling. I only own the plot.
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He was in their confessional when she came home for Winter Holiday. He couldn’t watch her saunter in, smiling in her uniform and braids. Her white skin and crimson hair and cinnamon eyes casting a spell over him. He had done nothing but obsess over her in his mind the whole while she was in school.
In school. The idea that he, a man nearing forty, would be captured by a seventeen year old girl still in school was perverse… in a strangely titillating way. He longed for her delicate hands to flitter over his skin tangle in his hair. He wanted to watch his name fall from her mouth as he caused her to forget every man who had touched her the way he was. He wanted her to scream ‘Sirius, Sirius, oh God, Sirius,’ in that husky and breathy voice that drove him mad.
And he was mad, and crazy and insane to be fantasizing over a girl twenty-two years his junior. But at that moment, he could care less.
He didn’t join in for dinner, preferring the company of his hippogriff to having to restrain himself over her presence. He began to regret his decision as the desire to catch a glimpse of her started to overwhelm him.
Just as he was about to rise to find her, even if just to say hello, her shadow filled the doorway. She was still in her innocent uniform and innocuous braids. Her Head Girl badge still glistened. She looked at the floor for a moment, before moving her spice eyes up to his fathomless black voids.
“You weren’t at dinner.”
“You know why.”
She nodded and turned her eyes back to an unconvincingly more interesting floor board.
“I know. I’m thankful.”
He stared at her for a moment before rising towards her, her name on his lips. “Ginny –” She stops him, holding up one of those pale hands he’s been obsessing over. She moves up enough so that it covers his mouth, and just her touch electrifies him.
“Don’t, Sirius. Don’t use words. Not tonight.”
And they don’t, as their mouths and their bodies convey every spoken word much better than voices could. His aching hands memorize every inch of skin covering her, and every bit inside of her that his fingers, his tongue, or more pleasing body parts can reach. He possesses her like a dying man, one terrified that he won’t wake the next morning and wishes to savor every taste of the ethereal being in his arms.
She clings to him, her mind reliving the past months without him, of curling up in her empty bed at school with only her hand to relive the memories of their clandestine affair. Feeling him move inside her brings her nearly to tears of relief, of finally being contented. Her whimpers intoxicate him and he holds her closer to his chest as he thrusts deeper inside of her.
He grunts and she feels encompassed by him. When he gathers her closer to him she inhales the musky scent of his sweat and the smell nearly drives her to climax. He feels her coming nearer to the brink and slows down. Neither is ready for this reunion to end; they have waited too long.
She makes love with her eyes open, and for some reason it drives him crazy. She studies his face intently while they move together, and he feels his control slip away every time she blinks. He’s never been with a woman who watched while they shagged, and it felt strangely like voyeurism, and the feeling took the slowly slipping control and began to throw pieces out the window.
It is her turn to feel him near his brink, and she remembers every move she was taught from wrestling with half a dozen brothers. Before he realizes what has happened, he is on his back and starring up into her unnerving eyes. She begins to form her own rhythm, and he is driven crazy by the stop-and-go, and by the way she throws her head back when she hits a good spot, and her damp red curls fly back behind her and tickle his legs.
Her hands are running up and down through the tangle of hair on his chest and the feel of her nails scratching increases the fog in his head. A red tinged haze with cinnamon eyes. His fingers grip her hips and the additional pressure releases something in her. Her climax hits her full on and shocks her with its intensity. For a moment she thinks she blacked out, and she realizes she did since she’s been moved from on top of him to the crook of his arms. She smiles up at him and he kisses her forehead.
This night she falls asleep curled up into his chest, and his nose is buried in her hair, inhaling her scent deeply while he slumbers.
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Name: Courtney Kathrys
Title: Desecration
E-mail: Faeriedeath@hotmail.com
Summery: Third in the “We Were Only Two” series. Ginny’s independent woman mindset breaks down with the loss of the provider of her strength. The breakdown causes her relationship with Sirius to venture into a territory she never allowed anyone else to enter.
Notes: This was a very emotional story to write. No shagging, no snogging, nothing sexual. Most of this is very abstract and may be confusing to anyone who isn’t me, since I know exactly what I mean.
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters are by JK Rowling. I only own the plot.
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She was studying for her NEWTS. Her room was silent, the small fireplace dark and empty. Books were tossed haphazardly on her bed, floor, desk, and dresser. Quills stained stray pieces of fabric with the remnants of ink left on their tips, and half eaten sugar quills stuck like a permanent sticking charm to parchment long since tossed away, crumbled and forgotten. The clock on her wall, charmed to wake her early enough to be prepared for her next day NEWTS, was pointing with force to ‘Go to Bed, You Moronic Girl You.’
So she listened, and organized her books as much as she could; or enough to clear off her bed before changing into her nightdress and falling into the soft mattress of her small bed. Her eyes began to close, and the dreams were just beginning when a sudden fire roared in the empty grate, and a voice boomed “Ginny!”
What followed was only remembered by her in flashes of color, a wordless voice, a touch of a hand. Falling through the grate into St. Mungo’s. Standing unnoticed in the hospital while redheads milled around. Being noticed. A shout. Hands in her hair, hands on her arms. Arms holding her tightly, arms holding her at length. Lips kissing her forehead, her cheek, lips moving in words she suddenly forgot. Tears that weren’t hers on her cheeks, on the cheeks of everyone in the room. A bed lay in the furthest corner. White sheets. White walls. White floors. Red hair. Ample bosom. Warmth, comfort, clarity. Mum. Death. Denial. No, no, not true, can’t be true. Mothers are steadfast, rocks in time of storms, and this was certainly a storm. Rocks were not allowed to crumble beneath her fingers. Won’t believe it. Can’t be true.
She refuses to cry; at least that’s what she claims. The truth is that she can’t cry that tears won’t come. The patrons of the room have stolen all of her tears and cried them mercilessly. Everyone else was there when she was still alive; everyone else heard her last words as she was left unceremoniously on the doorstep of Grimmauld Place after a quick tip home for some essential needs. Her clock was something essential to her, and if home was unsafe, and she had to be forced to live at Grimmauld Place, then by God her clock would as well. Molly Weasley’s clock hand had moved from Mortal Danger hours ago, and rested unmoving at Death.
So her daughter, her only close female companion in seventeen years sat outside the door to the hospital room, refusing to look. No one even dared to call her unfeeling. No one could presume to be in her place, not even her brother’s who had lost a mother as well.
Please Outside Take Can Sirius Ginny You. She couldn’t recall what order the words went in, or even who said them. It wasn’t important. Firm hands on her back, too low on her waist to be completely platonic, too natural and unthought-of to be completely new. No one noticed. Neither did they.
The sun was bright, and she hated it for it. How dare the sun be bright while she felt so dark. Dark. Dark hair. Dark eyes starring into her own. Sirius. Oh how could she have forgotten Sirius? Beautiful, reckless, passionate Sirius. She could hear him talking, his low voice in her ear, but she couldn’t bring herself to understand the words. She was in his arms and all she wanted was to be held. Be anchored. She no longer wanted to be that strong independent woman she had always sought. She no longer wanted to be treated as a grown up, an adult. She wanted to be a child. She wanted to be young, and fragile, and selfish and impetuous. She wanted to be rocked, and sang to with whispery kisses left on her forehead after being tucked into bed. She wanted her brothers to defend her honor, shield her from the world. She no longer wanted what Tom had done to her. No more pleasure and pain. No more destruction and death.
“Take care of me Sirius.”
“Always my love.”
And in those words was all they needed. The I Love You’s, the Be Mine’s weren’t sufficient for her. She wanted to be taken care of, something she had never wanted or admitted before. He knew the gravity of her words. She knew the implications of his answer.
So they sat there in the bright cheery sunlight in the garden of St. Mungo’s. He held her in his arms, rocking her gently, kissing her forehead, and singing to her softly. She cried. Her shoulders shook as she let out all of the tears she’d been keeping since she stopped crying for Tom. And for that moment the passer-byers saw them not as Sirius Black the crazed Murder taking advantage of Author Weasley’s Mourning Daughter. They saw a heart broken girl crying in the arms of a man who loved her, and wished his heart could have broken for her instead.
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Name: Courtney Kathrys
Title: Repletion
E-mail: Faeriedeath@hotmail.com
Summery: Fourth in the “We Were Only Two” series. Now out of school, Ginny takes on the life of an adult on too narrow shoulders and Sirius watches her struggle. Only when they are forced to take a break can they rediscover youth and fulfillment and even each other, all over again.
Notes: Finally something happy!
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters are by JK Rowling. I only own the plot.
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Her home is Grimmauld Place now. She has her own room, and has taken over the kitchen where it had fallen unceremoniously and unmoving from her mother’s careful domestic finger tips. Her food never has the same heart, but then again, neither does she. He can never fault her that though, she is trying and he never knew what it was like to love and lose a mother.
In the mornings she sets out breakfast, and her careful attempts at variation go in a four day cycle. But to him she is Midas and whatever she touches turned to gold and he eats her food like nectar from the gods.
In the afternoons she leaves to work, managing the financial affairs and business dealings of her brother’s joke store while the twins locked themselves away in their creative workshop. The explosions coming from the store only drove people to the shop in droves. She has single handedly turned Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes into a near world wide phenomenon with shops in ever major wizarding shopping area in Europe and was steadily gaining popularity in America and Asia.
In the evenings she comes home exhausted from meetings with goblins and executives and her temper is foul but her dinner is edible and people smile and let her vent. Despite her unraveling nerves she is patient while whichever Order members that turn up for dinner devour her food amidst easy conversation, and he eats as much as he can as fast as he can and makes sure his plate is the cleanest when she magics the dishes to the sink with a little more force than duly necessary.
During the night she sneaks quietly from her own room to his, and curls up in his arms and sleeps. He lets her rest because she deserves it, and he knows that when the sun comes up her cycle will begin again. She needs a break but he is not going to risk her leaving his bed cold by being the one to suggest it.
He stays awake that night and watches her dream. Her mother’s death has changed her in many ways, as only a mother’s death could. She hadn’t been a child for many years, but now she is forced into adulthood years before she should have shouldered that weight. Stress lines etched themselves deep into her forehead and around her eyes, and her bright red hair isn’t nearly as vibrant as it once had been. Her eyes are always dull and tired and when they make love she isn’t nearly as energetic. She is only eighteen, she shouldn’t look his age, forty doesn’t suit her. He makes up his mind to have Dumbledore send them on a well deserved holiday, the old man had been talking regularly of sending him away for a few weeks, and he knew the Headmaster had noticed the toll on her. With this thought he finally laid his dark hair upon the pillow and allowed his black eyes to close in sleep.
The next day while she slaves away at work he brings his concerns up to the Order head, and the twinkling blue eyes shine knowingly when he makes his request; and it is accepted and Dumbledore agrees to ordering her away for a couple of weeks, and the Headmaster also agrees to keep it confidential and take credit for the idea.
She is furious after talking with Dumbledore, and he pretends to be indignant as well when they pack their bags and leave for a small flat in the Caribbean. Her fury leaves her soon and they make love in the blue green oceans.
They spend the weeks reintroducing themselves to each other, and relearning every curve and dip and expanse of skin on both of their bodies. Their suitcases lay unopened and they spend their weeks naked. They make love on the sand, and in the sea, under the sun, and beneath the stars. Her eyes grow younger, and her crimson hair regains its vibrancy as her skin drinks in the sunlight eagerly and it casts a glow all over her.
She tells him she wants to be a bird and just fly away from London and spend each day in a new and peaceful place. He confesses to her that she can be his bird if he can be where she lands each night.
He admits that he’s terrified of spiders ever since his younger brother transfigured his pillow into one. She asks if he would like them better if he was a fly caught in her web. He concedes on the condition that he is the only fly she catches.
They both agree to escape here after the war to shed their battle scars, for now it is too soon to take the bandages off, and they are both scared that the salt will sting too much. Afterwards, they decide, the pain will lessen.
On the last night he gives her a simple gold band with a simple diamond and she cries into his dark hair as he familiarizes himself with a different connotation of the words ‘Oh God, yes, yes, Sirius, yes!’ That night they make love like it is the first time, and as if it is the last.
The coarseness of fabric is foreign to their skin as they stand uncomfortably on the beach, waiting for the portkey to activate. Their unused suitcases lye useless in their hands, and the empty soda can between them is unappreciated. Neither is looking forward to returning to reality, to work, to life in general. They are not ready for their tropical bubble to pop, and desperately crave some excuse to stay on the island forever. Both know it is as implausible as their late night murmurings of spiders and birds and the fading of battle scars. But there is little time to think of that when the portkey activates and they are safe inside the strange and unwelcome walls of Grimmauld Place.
For now he watches the cold streets of London through his bedroom window, missing the salty air and too bright stars he has grown to love. His jaw is still bruised and sore from when Ron saw his sister’s new jewelry acquisition, and Harry is still sitting unmoving on the couch from the shock. But she is curled up in his bed, and tonight she sleeps with a smile.
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Name: Courtney Kathrys
Title: Acquiescence
E-mail: Faeriedeath@hotmail.com
Summery: Fifth in the “We Were Only Two” series. Ginny battles it out with Ron for the acceptance of her and Sirius’ decision and Ron is forced to make a choice between his ideals for his little sister, or the happiness of the woman she’s become.
Notes: No Sirius appearance in this chapter, unfortunately, but this needed to be solely between Ron and Ginny. However, Harry, Hermione, and the twins have a brief but wordless appearance. And is that a reference to Ron and Hermione I read? But of course! I wouldn’t do anything as silly as pair Hermione with Harry. Is anyone really that blind?
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters are by JK Rowling. I only own the plot.
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She was in no mood for this type of conversation with Ron. Truth be told, she would never be in the mood for this type of conversation with her slightly older and infinitely more insufferable brother. He was too overly protective, too caught up in his ideals of what he wanted for her, taking in no account of what she wanted for herself. She was happy for him and for the happiness he had found in Hermione. She was thrilled beyond comprehension that the girl she’d come to view as a sister would finally be one and she wouldn’t be alone in her double x chromosome’s.
But that didn’t change the fact that Ron would never be happy for her. Not even if she married Harry bloody Potter.
So she sat demurely on her bed while Ron paced the room angrily, occasionally throwing something breakable and she would surreptitiously repair it while he wasn’t looking. At last he finally spoke. “Ginny he’s at least twenty-five years older than you!”
Rolling her eyes and bracing herself for their battle of words she corrected him. “Twenty-two.”
He glared at her, his dark brown eyes looking like burning coals beneath his flaming hair and anger tinted face. He was on fire and that fact just bolstered her confidence more so. Ron was careless when he was driven by his righteousness. “Oh that makes it better.”
“No, Ron, what makes it better is that we love each other. I think I deserve some type of happiness, and so does he.”
“Oh, so this is for mutual convenience, great basis for a marriage Ginny.”
“It’s not for convenience you narrow minded self-righteous hypocritical bigoted git, we love each other.”
“You know Gin; with that maturity I can understand why no one supports this lunacy. Besides, how can you love him after a few weeks on a Caribbean island?”
“It wasn’t a few weeks, Ron, it’s been over a year –“
She stopped suddenly and cursed herself for her slip up as Ron’s eyebrows flew up and got caught in his hair. “A year? When did this start.”
Damn, damn, bloody damn. “The summer before my seventh year. While we were banished to the confines of the house. People trapped together come together, you know. So I suppose I have you to thank for finding Sirius. Without you and Harry and Hermione constantly forcing us to stay in this house we opened our eyes and fell in love. I never knew you cared so much, Ron. Thank you.”
She smiled sweetly up at her brother who sputtered in indignation, clearly quite baffled at the sudden turn in events and how suddenly the whole situation was his fault. She always knew how to make it his fault. It was a terrifying talent she possessed, and used quite often to his detriment. She wasn’t going to get away with it this time. He would change the rules of the game.
So he took a deep breath and turned to face her, willing his face to pale and his eyes to soften. Her own honey eyes sharpened in justified suspicion. He looked away and back at her, sighing softly. “Look, Gin, it isn’t that I don’t want you to be happy. I do, I honestly do. But… are you sure he’s not taking advantage of you? I mean, you’re younger than he was when you were born. That’s a very large gap.”
Her eyes remained narrow, guarded. She was suspicious of every kindness, a trait Mad Eye praised and Ron had cursed endlessly, and was making no exception to now. “Ron, I haven’t been innocent for many years. Now wait, before you go all indignant and threaten to kill the bastard let me tell you that Harry’s already taken on that job with gusto.” She smirked inwardly at the confused look on Ron’s face before continuing. “Tom, Ron. It was Tom; in my first year, in the Chamber.”
Comprehension, tinged with horror and pity etched his features and she immediately felt her guard strengthen and her disgust deepen. She hated pity.
“I’m sorry, Ginny… I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m well over it. It took my a few years, and a few guys, but hey – I succeeded.”
He started to commiserate with her when the full force of her words hit him full force in the chest and he looked up at her horrified. “A few guys?! Who?”
She grinned now, knowing she had him, knowing that the rest was just a matter of time. “Well, not Michael, he was too proper.”
Just as she suspected, he took the bait and jumped head first into her carefully laid waters. “Was it bloody Dean Thomas? I’ll kill the bastard!”
She placed her most wounded expression on her face like a well worn mask and softened her voice to a near whisper. “I tried to tell you Ron… but you didn’t want to hear. I wanted to tell you how much he hurt me, how much he brought memories back to me. I wanted you to know about nights spent on a fucking stone floor. That’s how your wonderful princely Dean Thomas treated me Ron. I told you he broke up with me because I was never good enough for him, and I didn’t lie Ronald Weasley, but you wouldn’t believe me!”
She counted two seconds before she turned her tears on and sobbed into her hands. She knew that Ron was helpless when she cried, and he was putty when he was the cause of her tears. Sure enough, his reliable nature didn’t fail her and he pulled her into an awkward hug. She smirked as her tears soaked his robes. “Is that why you dated Malfoy, Ginny? To get back at me for not being there for you?”
She nodded and increased the volume of her tears and she knew that he was feeling terrible. Some part of her felt bad for manipulating her own brother like this, but it was quickly replaced by the notion that if she was able to get Ron on her side, she could make everyone be on her side. Time for the coup de grace. “Ron,” hiccough, “please understand. Sirius is the first man to ever make me feel loved like I needed. To understand me completely. He has Michael’s dedication to me, like Dean he doesn’t need to ask if I’m sure, he just knows. He has Draco’s unobtainable quality, and like Tom he can possess me and I feel him in every crevice of my mind. He was made for me Ron. Are you really going to deprive me of the one joy in my life when all I’ve had is misery? You have Hermione, Ron. You two are so undeniably happy. Don’t you want that for me?”
Her heart was still for a moment as she awaited his response, praying that he would show that good heart he had in there and give her his blessing. She was not disappointed. She felt him nod and hg her tighter before holding her an arm’s length away and studying her tear streaked face. “I do want that for you Ginny, more than anything in the world, I want you to have what Hermione and I have. And, I suppose, that if you have that in Sirius I can’t really ask you to give that up. Merlin knows I could never give up Hermione.”
He saw her smile, a large glowing smile spread across her face and light her up from her two’s to her glowing hair. He thought back but couldn’t recall a moment where he ever saw her smile like that. Her arms were soon thrown around his neck and she was laughing as she suffocated him. “Oh Ron, thank you so much! Do you mean it; do you really give us your blessing?”
How could he say no after watching her smile like that, and he found himself smiling at her and nodding. Next thing he knew he was agreeing to apologize for hitting Sirius and telling him how happy he was for the two of them and Ron couldn’t care less.
Not even when he saw Harry, Hermione and the twins outside the door with Extendable Ears. But they were all crying and smiling as well, so it didn’t matter either way.
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