Special delivery for syven - Part 2 Title: Smoke and Mirrors, pt. 2 Author:jairissa Recipient's IJ/LJ name:syven Rating: NC-17 Pairing(s) Ginny/Viktor, Ginny/Neville Word Count: 13142 Warnings: Dub-con, mentions of past underage sexual encounters Authors notes: I hope you enjoy this, Syven. It is nothing at all like anything I've written before, but I have such an adoration for this plot bunny that I hope you like it too.
It is not enough. There have been times like this before for her, when the screams, shrieks and bellows are not enough to fill the ache inside her. She scratches at her arms, forcing herself to smile for the cameras that she knows are following her.
Her skin itches, the need to lose herself so desperate that she can almost pretend she were anywhere but here. Pretend that she were the princess she had always dreamed of herself, hiding away from her avid kingdom in her crystal palace.
In her case, of course, fans replace the avid kingdom and the crystal palace is substituted with a stadium full of Quidditch lovers, but for the most part that has been enough. She cannot enumerate what is different this time, cannot define why her skin is crawling with loss when she lowers herself gently to the ground, pretending that the fading of her beloved screaming is nothing to her.
Standing under the stinging shower, Ginny tries to believe that the near loss is nothing to her; tries to pretend that she does not care that the victory was by mere points rather than the decades she is used to. Tries to convince herself that 'only just' is as good as 'utterly and completely'.
In the dressing room it is the 'good games' as much as anything that bothers her; surely they understand that the victory is only worthwhile when it is incontestable: when even the most die-hard fans of the other team cannot put the win down to umpiring decisions or to 'I swear she cheated right there', and surely the cup should be taken off her just for that.
No, Ginny prefers the victory to be absolute; to be so thorough that no one would ever dream of being able to point to one or two moments where something might have made a small difference. She tilts her head back under the scalding spray, breathing in the steam deeply, wanting to feel the same heat inside as she does outside.
"You should not blame yourself, Ginevra," a voice echoes in her ears and it takes Ginny a moment to realise that it was not coming straight out of her imagination. "You did very vell. It vos the others that let you down."
"A good team works together, they do not blame individual members for shortcomings," Ginny quotes, having been called before the coach more times than she could count on that particular point. She still didn't entirely believe it, but it was best to act as though she did rather than get herself in more trouble over it. "I should have been helping them more."
She opens her eyes, watching as Viktor strides towards her, admitting the curve of the Muggle clothing her had chosen to wear over his well-trained figure. "It is not the Seeker's place to do anything other than catch the Snitch," he says, amusing Ginny with the way his eyes are echoing over her own, unclothed form. She looks good this way, she knows; it would be impossible to exercise as much as Ginny does without seeing some result. Still, seeing the appreciation in his eyes goes a long way towards bolstering her self-confidence and she has to admit to a small thrill running through her at the idea of being watched like this.
"I don't recall giving you permission to be here," Ginny says with a teasing smile, wondering how he managed to get through her team-mates, most of which are very determined to keep the women's locker room restricted just to their kind. She peers past him to an empty room, the lockers closed and the occupants long since moved on. How long had she been here, that she didn't notice everyone else leaving?
"I did not realise that I needed your permission," he points out, continuing his slow path towards her. Ginny feels a hitch in her throat, an unwelcome distraction from the tight, too small feeling she has been fighting. She thinks she would prefer the smallness to the fear, to the catch of her breath in her throat and the pounding of her heart, as unaccompanied as it is by her preferred soundtrack of screams.
She presses herself back against the wall of the shower, skin cool as she loses the warmth of the water. Viktor pauses for a moment and Ginny relaxes, believing she must have gotten off light this time. Her relief fades a she raises her eyes to his and sees the predatory look in them. His hands reach to his shirt, undoing the buttons easily and Ginny closes her eyes, focussing on the sound of the water as it hits the tiled floor, holding her hand out to catch some of it on her palm.
It is a mistake, she realises too late, Viktor's lips caressing the skin of her inner wrist, his mouth blocking the flow of water to the place she swears she can feel the beat of her pulse. "Don't," she whispers, her voice reflecting her indecision. She doesn't want this, has developed a distaste for sex over the past years, but Viktor's touch, the way the caress of his lips on her skin and the sure way he takes her control from her pushes away the tightness, the itching, the smallness and any memory she had of a horrible game.
"Don't vot?" He asked, heaving her further back against the wall. Ginny whimpers at the demanding press of his body, flush against hers, parts she doesn't wish to think about brushing between her legs and she cannot stop herself tensing in protest. "You do not really vont me to stop."
He picks her up, cradling her in a bizarre mix of gentleness and forcefulness, against the wall and Ginny has to bite her lip to stop from crying out. She moans his name, longing for the sting of the warm water against her skin as he pushes his way into her and she feels a barrier inside, long since gone, break.
"No," she moans, her hands pushing uselessly at his shoulders, even as her fingers caress the near-obscene length of his hair. She tilts her head back, telling herself that it is to get away from his questing mouth, nevertheless enjoying the fact that her skin feels alive rather than small, on fire with things that make her want to stop protesting. "God, Viktor..."
"Then this should haff happened sooner," he whispers in her ear, lips pressed to the curve of Ginny's neck as he continues to thrust inside her. Each movement brings a mix of pleasure and pain that makes her alternate between soft sighs and desperate whines as she tries to move herself away from the heat of his skin and the coldness of the tile behind her.
She is so used to her body obeying her every command that Ginny is entirely unprepared for the way her climax overtakes her. She is still fighting the intrusion, protesting the way his muscles flex as he pushes inside her that she almost misses the way she moans his name and the way her body tenses against her will, threads of electricity firing their way through her nerves as she comes against him.
That is meant to be the end of it; the multitude of unsatisfactory experiences Ginny has been a part of have taught her that by the time her partner manages to give her any form of satisfaction, he is almost guaranteed to be out of energy. Viktor proves her wrong, and she folds bonelessly against him as he continues to move inside her, grunting loudly before he pauses, moaning as Ginny feels an undesirable warmth spill inside her.
"Stop," she whispers. The ache she has so wished to go away has subsided; she can barely hear it over the rush of the shower.
~**.**~
It is dark before she finds her way back to her house; she was meant to be back by noon, her morning game supposed to ensure that she has the rest of the day for her own relaxation and leisure. She cannot pinpoint where the day has gone, could not for the life of her bring herself to recall where she has spent the time since Viktor left her, claiming he would be by to pick her up for dinner. The icing on the cake of her miserable day is the letter she has found from His Majesty, informing her that if she did not rid herself of at least 11 of the unwelcome plants clogging up his living space by 3pm, he would have to do so himself.
It is at least 6 hours beyond that now; Ginny does not particularly want to discover which of them he has taken from her, but she would prefer to know now than to spend the next hours worrying about it. It is this mindset that makes her slide her key into the lock with a sigh, seeing already the lack of light under the door. She is unsure how he manages to live without ever turning a light on, but somehow he seems to thrive in the darkness.
"Hello? Are you home?" Ginny sings as she walks in the door, muttering her last words under her breath. "Inspiring even the most cheerful of lemmings to jump off a cliff?"
He is perfect, something that makes him ever more difficult for Ginny to understand. The combination of his looks, wit and the charm he can employ when he so desires makes her sure that he could have any life he wants, but he still prefers to spend his time locked in their ridiculously small apartment, complaining about everything she does rather than living a life of his own.
"I'm here, Ginny," he says softly. Ginny pauses in the act of removing her cloak, hesitating for a moment before she tosses it carelessly on to the coat rack. She glares at his reflection in the hallway mirror, flouncing into the living room in a show of dramatics that she knows she will regret later.
He follows her, although Ginny does not grant him the respect of looking at him directly. Instead she focuses her attention on the blank screen of the television and the distorted show of his dark hair and angry eyes. "Your presence has been the one missing, if I recall correctly."
Ginny smirks, shrugging her shoulders uncaringly. She enjoys this; enjoys the way that she can work him up in ways that no one else can. How she can make him almost worry about her, even when nothing else in the world can make him afraid.
"I had a game this morning," she says easily, placing her feet, attached to strangely aching legs, on the coffee table. She looks around the room, noting that all her plants are in exactly the same place they were when she left in the morning. It is rare, and she starts at it; normally when His Majesty threatens something, he carries through before Ginny has a chance to protest it. "And I spent the day out."
"Out where?" He asks, eyes piercing into hers, even in the murky reflection of their small screen TV. She barely uses it, she realises with a jolt, and knows he never would. He is far too distrustful of Muggle technology to even consider it. His is the first face she has seen projected in it in months.
"I was..." Ginny pauses, mouth twisting in a parody of a smile. "I've been..."
Her smile fades and she wracks her memory for a series of events to taunt him with, but nothing comes. His own grin widens, and she can barely resist the temptation to throw something at him, even if it is only in reflection.
"You were with him, weren't you?" He asks, smile twisting into something darker, something that Ginny would chose not to define had she the choice at all. Him has only meant one thing in this house over the past weeks, and even as she wishes to fully deny it, she is unable to properly lie.
"I wasn't," she whispers. It is the truth, but her mind cannot help but flash back to the morning; to the press of Viktor's body against her own and the way that she arched against him, protests robbed from her mouth even as she forced her eyes closed against him. "I wasn't with him."
"You were," he says, his voice thick. There is a dangerous undertone to it and Ginny pulls her feet off the table, curling herself into a ball on the couch. There is a line with his moods, and she suspects that she has crossed it without noticing. She can deal with him before that line; after it terrifies her.
Her eyes widen as she sees him move towards her in the television's reflection and she makes herself smaller in the vain hope that it would mean he would no longer be able to see her. "You were with your Quidditch player, Ginny. Even after you promised me, after you swore that you would be faithful..."
Ginny does not remember making the promise; she cannot recall her lips forming the words, or the desperate, passionate intent behind them, but she knows that she must have done so. She glares at his pale form in the domed surface, wishing with all she is capable of that she had never made the vow, and knowing equally as well that she will never be able to get out of it. Promises are the one thing in her life that she can guarantee will be forever.
"Only in the morning," she whispers, desperate not to give more away than would be safe for them. She can see in his eyes, almost instantly, that he knows; somehow he always knows, no matter what effort she makes to keep her secrets from him. "He came to see me after the game. It was only for a second, and the rest of the day I was..."
She trails off, the glow in his dark eyes disturbing her. She wants to yell that she has spent the day with him, that all of the time she was missing was spent in his bed, fucking him until neither of them could remember their own names, but her voice catches in his throat before she can say anything more than 'we'. "We uh...we..."
She closes her eyes against the 'don't' that echoes through her mind, knowing that she had never consented; knowing that if she had really protested, she would have been able to fight Viktor off easily.
"He touched you," he says and Ginny cringes at how cold he sounds. She wants to fall to her jean-clad knees in front of him and beg for forgiveness, but she knows that such a weakness would not help her case at all now. "Did he screw you after the game, Ginny? Is that what you're trying to tell me?"
Ginny shakes her head, biting on her lip. A metallic taste hits her tongue before she realises that she has drawn blood. She wishes that she could let it stream down her chin, accompanied by the tears that she has never been able to shed, but knows that such a show of weakness would only make her case more difficult to argue.
"It wasn't like that," she says weakly, turning to face him, finding the space he had occupied only a moment ago empty. He is able to move more quickly than anyone else Ginny has ever known, and she has she momentary, irrational feeling that perhaps he should have been the professional Quidditch player.
"Then what was it like?" He asks from behind her, and Ginny spins her head around expecting to see him there, finding only his reflection again. He never seems to want her to see him properly; it is yet another of his many powers over her.
"I...I never wanted..." She clenches her eyes closed to prevent the tears that she knows he hates, fisting her hand into the soft fabric of their couch. "He just...and I..."
She had wanted it in some way, she knows. The sex itself she could have lived her life without experiencing, but she had wanted an end to this. An end to the fear, to the knowledge that whatever she did would never be good enough, that even brilliance would not be enough if she could not reach perfection.
"He took it from you?" He asks and Ginny nods involuntarily. His voice is angry, in the way that he own actions cannot ever inspire. She supposes that it should be comforting – she can anger him, always, but what always infuriates him most is the times that he is being protective of her. "Without your desire?"
"He'll be here soon," Ginny begs, gesturing towards his bedroom. "I don't want you to hurt him, and I did want it. I wouldn't have let him if I didn't, you taught me that well enough."
As surely as if she is Cassandra Trelawney herself, the doorbell rings and every fibre of Ginny knows that it is Viktor out there waiting for her. "Move away, Ginny," he says, his voice full of poison and she shakes her head emphatically.
"I'll get him," she pleads, standing to move towards the door. "I'll get rid of him if you like, just please leave him alone. He doesn't deserve you."
He doesn't deserve what you'll do to him, she amends mentally, already moving towards the ringing bell at the front door. She resists the urge to shriek, as much as she knows it would make her feel better. Screaming is to be reserved only to times that she does not directly cause it, to times that she cannot possibly be blamed for it.
"I never agreed to that," he says, voice tickling her neck that he is so close, and Ginny closes her eyes in terror. "It has been mine since the first, and should always remain such."
Her mind flashes back to that first time; to the creeping darkness she felt in the cold room as he took her, and the remembrance of the only time she has felt entirely full, without a trace of emptiness in her at all. "I miss it," she whispers, courage bolstered slightly by the approval on his face.
She flinches as she opens the front door to Viktor, trying nonetheless to paste a convincing smile on her face.
"Come in," she says, small and sick, wishing she could not see the surprise on Viktor's face. She tries to wave him away from the door, tossing her hair over her shoulder in an attempt to indicate the man lurking in the shadows behind her, but Viktor still steps through the door as though she had welcomed him in. "Just...I'm sorry, it's a bad time. You could come back later, if you want, or...well, just ignore my flatmate, he gets angry sometimes, and really...I could just meet you at the restaurant if you like."
She is babbling, she knows, and the hysterical part of her wishes that she could be anywhere other than where she is right now. Thankfully the larger part of her acknowledges that if she were anywhere else she would not be able to stop what is about to happen, and she manages to be grateful for that.
Viktor peers into the shadows behind her, his lips twisting into a confused smile. "Ginevra, are you all right?" He asks slowly, his body moving to stand in front of her as though he would be able to protect her from this. She pushes him aside, pressing him against the wall in an echo of their positions that morning, smiling at him.
"I'm fine," she says thickly, trying to inch them towards the door, Viktor refusing to budge behind her. "Let's just go. I'll talk to you later about this, I promise."
She pushes uselessly at Viktor's shoulders, pleading with her eyes for him to move just a few steps back, out the door, so that they could be away from here before everything went catastrophically wrong. "You are not dressed for the restaurant," Viktor says stubbornly, his dark eyes still piercing into the stillness behind her, and Ginny wants to hit him for being so thick. "I told you there vos a formal dinner, and you are still dressed in the clothes you vore when you left me."
Ginny shakes her head in protest -- Viktor left her, they both knew this, and she cannot understand why he would deny it when she was already consenting to leave the apartment with him. "Viktor, let's go," she whispers urgently, pushing against his midsection in the vain hope that it will be more effective than pushing against his shoulders. "He's angry enough, we don't want to make him more so."
To her horror, Ginny's urgent words seem to prompt Viktor into action and he moves past her momentarily paralysed form to confront the hallway, turning to face her, voice filled with bravado. "Who is angry, Ginevra?" He asks, spreading his arms out as though they are wings, tilting his head in apparent victory. "Tell him to confront me himself, if he is man enough."
Ginny winces, pointing to his reflection in the mirror, face half in shadow, half illuminated by the hallway light, body involuntarily pressing against the panelled wall. She sinks to the floor, closing her eyes to try and force strength into her failing heart, taking a deep breath before she is able to open them again. "Please," she whimpered, not knowing whether he was pleading to Viktor or him, knowing that curses would be exchanged as much as she knew who would be the winner of this competition. "Just...please..."
Viktor smiles, eyes narrowing in confusion as he stares in the mirror. Ginny laughs, forcing back a whimper as his eyes narrow in response, biting harder on the split lip she had caused herself earlier. The desperate belief that any of them would be able to make it out of her apartment unscathed fades a little more, and her reflection in the mirror looks decidedly sick.
"Please just let us go," she begs, knowing full well that pleading has never saved her from his wrath before. "I'll be back before midnight, it's just a dinner..."
Viktor starts in indignation, opening his mouth to protest her words, turning his attention towards the mirror. He laughs, for an almost infinitesimally small moment, his brown eyes focussing on her own. "Ginevra, there is no one there."
Ginny gives in to her hysteria for a moment, pointing again towards the mirror. She cannot understand, in that second, why she is trying to protect someone who is so thick that he cannot understand he is about to be cursed into oblivion. "Him," she shrieks, signalling blindly into the darkness, unable to fathom why he can be seen so clearly in the mirror while he is invisible in the shadows. "He's right there, Viktor, now can we go, please?"
Something in Viktor's face changes, and Ginny falters under his darkening gaze. "This is not funny, Ginevra, your joke is over. Now get up." Ginny moans, shaking her head in frustration. She points again towards hisreflection in the mirror, giggling irrationally at the contrast between his angry face and Viktor's confused one. Somehow that is how this always ends. "Stop it."
"Stop it?" She laughs in disbelief, cowering further into the wall, refusing the hand that Viktor offers her. "I said that to you before, remember, and you still...you still..."
Ginny falters, shaking her head. For the briefest moment he disappears in the shadows and she wishes with all her might that he would stay that way. Still, as always, when she stills herself he is there again, his eyes meeting hers in the full-length mirror and she wants to throw something at one of them for being so frustrating.
"Viktor, meet my roommate," she says, endeavouring to sound as her mother did when she was entertaining guests, only the brittle edge to her voice giving her away. "Majesty, meet Viktor. We've been...we..."
Ginny's voice fades away. She cannot find an adjective to describe what Viktor is to her. She doubts that he will allow anything less than 'the love of her life', considering he knows her indecision over the morning's activity, as much as she doubts Viktor's ability to understand her relationship to her flatmate.
"The one who hurt you," he says, eyes boring into Ginny's. She shakes her head in frustration, trying to find a way, any way, to describe that even if she hadn't wanted it, the largest part of her had craved it. It had managed to fill the emptiness he had created in her, just for a moment. It was the first moment she could recall, in almost ten years, that she had felt properly alive. "The one who took from you what had always belonged to me."
Ginny moans, clenching her hands into fists so tight that she feels her nails dig wet half-moons into her palm. "It doesn't belong to you," she groans, letting her head fall back against the wall. "It belongs to me, it doesn't belong to you, it belongs to me..."
"Ginevra!" Viktor snaps sharply and Ginny is barely able to force her attention away from him enough to focus on her unexpected lover. "This is not funny."
"I'm not laughing!" She snaps, glaring at him. How can he possibly think that she's joking about this, when the look on his face indicates clearly that he is deadly serious. "I don’t think this is funny either, Viktor, but you don't understand how angry he can get."
"Who?" Viktor explodes, reaching down to yank Ginny to her feet, turning her towards the darkened hallway. "How angry who can get?"
"Him," she shrieks, abandoning any semblance of composure. "For fuck's sake, Viktor, stop pretending he's not there. He hates that."
Viktor pushes her away, turning her to face him, his brown eyes boring into hers. She examines his face, trying to read on it the excitement that she has found so fascinating over the past weeks, finding only a grave seriousness that matches the one on Percy's face when he told her they had lost Fred. "Ginevra," he says through gritted teeth, whirling her around and forcing her in front of the mirror. "There is no one there."
Ginny gapes, wondering at how he can sound so convinced as he says that, when they are both clearly looking at exactly the same reflection. His dark eyes drill into hers and she has to turn her face away from the accusation reflecting in them, mirroring her own betrayal and Ginny can barely prevent herself from crying out with the shame.
"I'm sorry," she whimpers, reaching her hand out to touch his face in the mirror, eyes pleading for understanding. "I'm sorry, please...please don't look at me like that. I'm sorry, I didn't mean it."
Tracing her fingers over the curve of his jaw, she can barely breathe with the humiliation of what she has done to them both; how can she possibly be meant to make it up to him?
"Ginevra, there is no one there," Viktor says from behind her and Ginny wails, fingers cold against the smooth surface of the mirror. "It is just the two of us there. I am not laughing at this joke."
Ginny sobs, collapsing in his grip, doubling over. She thinks she would have fallen to the floor if his arm were not around her waist, and she reaches for her want, attached as it always is to her belt. "He's there!" She insists, gesturing emphatically towards the clear image in her vision, infuriated at the fact that he just won't look.
"Who?" Viktor bellows, forcing Ginny upright to stare at the mirror. "Who is there?"
"Tom," she shrieks, pointing her finger towards the mirror, his reflection as clear as day, as obvious as he has always been to her. His eyes narrow in approval, and she cringes that she could not have managed to obtain this before now. "It's Tom. Why can't you see him? Why does everyone say they can't see him?"
Ginny slumps, her dead weight becoming heavy enough that she inspires even Viktor to let her go. Why is it always like this? She drives everyone away like this; her honesty about her companion has driven away everyone she has loved: Harry, Seamus, Theodore and now Viktor...all of them gave her the same speech about 'help' and 'understanding', and it is only the quickness of Tom's spells that has saved her at all.
"Obliviate."
~**.**~
Tom's spell echoes in her ears long after he has vanished from her view. Ginny knows that if she raises her head to view the mirror she will see him again, a constancy that has always been a comfort to her. She can pretend to hate him, to be frustrated, to dislike the notes that he leaves her, but the one thing she can always say for him is that he has always been here for her.
"It is alright, Ginny," he whispers in her ear. Ginny's face crumples and she turns her head to where she had heard the noise, finding it as empty as it has always been. "I am here."
Ginny forces herself to her feet, turning to face the empty air. "No you're not," she said, closing her eyes so that she is not forced to look in the mirror. "You're not here. If you were here, they could see you, and none of them ever can, it's just me."
"Ignore them," he soothes her, and Ginny can almost feel the touch of his hand ghosting over the back of her neck. "They couldn't see me the first time either, could they? I was still there, with you, when no one else wanted to."
"You're not real," she whispers, the stunned horror on Viktor's face still fresh in her mind as she presses her nails into her thighs, trying to gather the courage to open her eyes. "You were never real."
She forces her eyes open, facing his gaze in the mirror. She shakes her head, trying to dislodge the vision of him from her view. Even as her head twists Tom remains constant in her eyesight and Ginny feels her chest constrict in fury.
"You're not real," she hisses through gritted teeth, forcing herself to her feet. Reaching for the Quidditch trophy she left on the hallway table she throws it at the mirror, sheltering her face as it shatters into a thousand pieces. When she raises her eyes again she sees a fractured piece of glass, each piece reflecting a near-identical image of her face.
Stalking into the living room, Ginny reaches for the nearest heavy object she can find, a paperweight in the shape of a dragon given to her by Charlie for a long-forgotten birthday. She throws it at the television, ignoring the brief flash of a handsome face in it before it smashes against the onslaught, glass slashing at her bare arms as she turns towards the glass table.
Thankfully there is no shortage of heavy objects for Ginny to throw as she methodically shatters each reflective surface she comes across, feeling a petty measure of satisfaction every time she sees his face erased from a surface she is used to seeing him in.
It is the bathroom mirror that goes last; even as she breaks it, Ginny can still feel him behind her, his breath tickling her throat as he whispers. "I'm still here. You can't rid yourself of me that easily."
Ginny whirls, expecting to see a physical manifestation of him, an explanation of why it has been so easy to believe, but still there is nothing. Growling, she moves back to the living area, to where she has left her bag, packed with the parchment and quill she has been carrying for years without once questioning why.
It is not as easy to smash these pieces, although she tries to crumple them for a few frustrating moments. Despite her efforts, his messages are still visible on them; a hundred messages warning her of infractions that Ginny knows she has not yet committed, of mistakes she has not yet made. She tries to tear at them, but even in tiny pieces they still exist, a reminder that no matter what she tries, she cannot be rid of them.
Her wand is on the floor beside her. It takes her a moment to register, but it is sitting beside her as it always seems to do, even without her conscious consent. She reaches for it slowly, turning it over in her hand, the familiar curves almost alien in her hand.
Ginny glares at the piles of paper. She could leave them, she knows, but if she does so, she is sure they will just return as threats later. No, she has to get rid of them, the same way she did the mirrors. She has to make him go away, make herself see the same things that everyone else does, if it destroys every part of her to do it.
It is strangely easy to gather the other pieces of parchment, the ones that she remembers reading already. If she had been asked, she would not be able to list the countless places she had kept them, but somehow she is able to unearth them all and she places them on the same, neat pile on her carpet. They are all signed in the same way; H. H for Him.
Ginny shivers as she points her wand at the mass of paper, a strange breeze tickling at the back of her neck. "You don't want me to go," she whispers, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. "You want me to stay with you forever; that's why you kept me here, even after you lost the diary."
Closing her eyes, Ginny makes a last, desperate effort to ignore the curve of her own mouth, pointing her wand in determination at the pile of parchment. "Incendio."
The flame glows orange as it burns its way though the parchment, the carpet, the floor. Even when the fire she has constructed burns itself out, she watches, expecting at any moment that a handsome face will form itself out of the ashes. Her lower lip twitches, and Ginny has to hold on to the side of the couch to keep herself upright. It isn't fair...it isn't fair that he exists only because she let him. He's stronger than her, smarter; surely his own ingenuity played some part in keeping him alive.
Ginny barely manages to stagger to where she keeps her owl, realising belatedly that there is not an intact piece of parchment left in the apartment. It takes a full investigation of her home to find a takeaway menu, by which point she cannot bring herself to write a full message.
"Help me. Please, Merlin, please help me."
~**.**~
Ginny wakes to the feel of fingers running through her hair, and a soft, soothing crooning echoing through her ears. She starts, forcing herself upright, terrified that she had simply shifted from once voice to another, barely restraining a sob as she sees Neville there.
"It's ok," he whispers, eyes wide in confusion, one hand holding tight to her own. "I've taken care of the fire, and I've fixed the mirrors. Just tell me who did it, and I'll get the Aurors to take care of it..."
Ginny shakes her head, one unwelcome sob escaping her. She clings tightly to his hand, pressing her lips to it in supplication. If he calls for the Aurors, she will be lost, she knows. There is no way that she can hide from them, they know everything. That is why she was not allowed to join them when she wanted to; why she had to turn to Quidditch instead. They never said a thing, but Ginny had been sure that she could see the truth staring back out at her from their questioning eyes.
"Don't call them," she begs, lips staying pressed against his hand because she cannot bring herself to pull away from the tingling aliveness it inspires against her skin. "It's nothing. It was just an accident, I'm so sorry..."
She watches him through her tear-stained lashes, seeing the conflicting emotions flicker across his faces. "Your flatmate hurt you, didn't he?" He says eventually, voice slow and controlled. "We need to report this, before he hurts you again."
"He won't," Ginny whispered, swiping impatiently at the wet tracks making their way down her cheeks. "He can't. It's not possible."
Neville leans down slowly, eyes piercing into hers carefully as he places a soft kiss on her lips. He looks confused, but does not move away from her, even as she starts, finally, to cry properly. "It's all right," he says softly, his hand resting reassuringly on her back. "Just tell me what happened."
~**.**~
"And then, of course, I had to spend three hours cleaning the purple off the greenhouse walls," Neville says finally, fingers trailing through Ginny's hair. He leans down to press a soft kiss to her forehead and she smiles, fingers resting on top of his as he pauses over her brow. "Which is why I'm late. I'm sorry, love, I didn't mean to be."
Ginny pulls herself upright, curling her legs underneath her. "You should have hexed them all green," she says, turning her face so that she can kiss his fingers. Stretching her legs, she raises her arms above her head, stretching as though she can convince either of them that she has not moved from their sofa since Neville left for the morning. "They deserve it for taking you away from me."
Neville laughs, and Ginny congratulates herself for managing it. It isn't hard, she admits, but it is still a wonder to her that she can make someone so completely happy just by being herself and she thinks that she will exploit the talent as much as possible until he is entirely sick of it.
"Somehow I think that might be illegal," Neville says, settling himself on the lounge as Ginny swings a leg over his lap, straddling him carefully. "Or at least immoral. One of the two."
Wrapping her arms around him, Ginny rests her head against Neville's throat, her gaze trained on the wall opposite them. It was she that had chosen the print that graced it and Neville had had it framed in non-reflective glass. Sometimes, while he was gone, she would stand in front of it, tilting her head to try and see something. The most she had accomplished so far was convincing herself that the green leaf was in fact turning puce.
It had seemed pointless in the end; it was easier to spend her days cleaning their home, learning to cook, practicing her Quidditch. That way she did not need to report back to Neville in the evening that she had spent the day looking at her reflection, something that always made him wilt in sadness. No, she preferred days like this, when the worst thing she had to explain was why they were having beans on toast for dinner again.
"I burned the steak," she whispers, fingers playing in Neville's pale hair. He laughs, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
"That's all right," he says, trailing his hand down her back. "I felt like soup anyway."
Ginny smiles, tilting her face to his so that she can kiss him properly. There is none of the raw abandon she had shared with Viktor, nor any of the abolition of emptiness that Tom had inspired with her; instead there is a gentleness, an electricity that sets every cell of her body on fire. "I love you," she whispers as he slides a comforting hand across her back.
Neville smiles back, resting his forehead against hers as he plays with her hair. "I love you too, Gin."