CHAPTER ELEVEN: INTERLUDE 2

Ginny Weasley lay quite still, listening to Harry’s rhythmic breathing. With her head pillowed against his chest she could even hear the liquid beat of his heart. There had been a moment – just – just before, when she could have sworn that she’d felt their hearts beating inside of each other and it had been that sudden realization, that he was inside of her – truly inside of not just her body, but her heart, that had sent her over the edge.

She could feel a tear slipping out of the corner of her eye, but didn’t dare move to wipe it away. She didn’t want to wake him. She didn’t want to see those clear green eyes boring into hers, making her very soul catch its breath. Because she knew that when they did she’d see the question there – the question that he had every right to ask, and for which she truly didn’t have an answer, at least not one that made any logical sense.

The tear ran off the tip of her nose and dropped silently onto Harry’s chest, shimmering briefly as it quivered on a hair at Ginny’s eye level before sliding down it and out of site.

As if in response to the tear, Harry’s arms tightened around her protectively and even now, satiated as she was, Ginny could feel the heat stirring inside of her at the feel of his hands against her skin.

She hadn’t come to Harry’s bed tonight with the purpose of getting him to make love to her. She’d only meant to show him the book on binding magic and then she’d planned to leave.

Liar, said a small, truthful voice in the back of her head. You were hoping that he would do exactly that.

Well, all right then. She’d been hoping for exactly that ever since he’d returned to Hogwarts. She’d been wanting that ever since he’d returned to Hogwarts. Several times she’d thought that now, finally, he’d gotten up the nerve, that now was the moment, but he always backed off. It was a good thing he’d waited though, for if he’d worked up the nerve even a week ago she would never have been able to perform the spell whose magic she could feel stirring in her veins even now.

It hadn’t been until tonight that he’d broken through whatever barrier it was that had held his passion in check. And when the dam inside him had finally burst, she’d nearly been swept away by the tide of emotion, the surge of power that he’d poured into her in that kiss. In fact, she’d been so overwhelmed by it that she’d barely had time to murmur the last words of the spell it had taken her the better part of a week to prepare, before he’d slipped inside of her.

But would it work, truly? The tingling burn that the book said she’d feel just under her skin if the spell worked properly, that was definitely there. But would it be as effective? Would it work when he needed it most?

She’d found the spell in the book of binding magic she’d liberated from McGonagall’s office. It was, according to the text, one of the most powerful Binding spells known to wizarding kind. Voluntarily performed by the witch about to give up her virginity, the First Blood Bond provided the wizard who took her virginity with the most powerful protection available, short of doing what his mother had done and giving her very life to protect him. But would the First Blood Bond work if she hadn’t technically been a virgin?

Ginny smiled wryly against Harry’s chest. It would have to be enough. Surely the magic could tell the difference between the first time she’d given herself voluntarily to someone and being forced into a deal with that abomination that had used her when she’d been too young to even understand what was happening.

Was it possible to be raped by a ghost?

* * *

His voice, Tom’s voice, had been like silk, wrapping itself around her mind.

"I promise it won’t hurt. Don’t cry little one, it will all be over soon."

But it hadn’t. Tom had kept her awake, aware as he made her descend that last time into the Chamber. That, in and of itself, had been horrible enough, she hadn’t been able to actually remember being down there before. It had been dark and dank and cold; a chill that worked itself into her very bones; the slithering sounds of the Basilisk inside of the statue making her skin crawl.

If that had been all – oh god, if that had been all – perhaps it wouldn’t have been so very bad. But it hadn’t been all. Slowly, oh so slowly, Tom Riddle had risen up out of the diary that she’d been clutching like a talisman to her chest. He rose up out of it and had actually reached out and touched her – his hands ghostly cold, but terrifyingly solid for all of that. But it hadn’t stopped there.

Still awake, still aware, she had watched in horror, unable to do so much as lift a finger while he’d forced himself on her, touching her in ways that made her want to be sick, taking over not only her body but pouring himself into her mind; dark thoughts and images that would haunt her for the rest of her life.

And then, when it was all over, when Madam Pomfrey had examined her and put her to bed with a large dose of chocolate and a murmur of comforting words, Ginny had listened to the low voices beyond the curtain; listened to Madam Pomfrey talking to her parents, describing the blood that she’d found on their daughter’s clothes, telling her parents that it appeared as if their daughter had been sexually assaulted and did they want to look into the matter any further?

But Dumbledore had arrived then, his voice low and soothing. He’d spoken briefly to her parents and Madam Pomfrey before coming in to talk to Ginny.

"Ginevra, can you tell me who did this to you?" he’d asked, his face creased by concern.

She’d explained about Tom coming out of the diary, about his hands feeling so solid . . .she had tried to explain what had happened afterwards, but had been a point when she was unable to go on, shaking her head, the tears pouring down her face.

Dumbledore had understood even her silence, she could see it in his eyes, in the way his expression remained serious, even grave. He had not tried to get her to stop crying. He had simply sat beside her, holding her hand, stoking it gently with his own gnarled one until her tears had come to a snuffling halt.

"Ginevra, I wish that none of this happened," he said finally, his voice low and soothing. "I wish that you could have been spared this . . ." his voice had broken and Ginny had looked up, amazed to find that his light blue eyes were filled with tears. "But believe me when I say that it will all work out in the end . . .there may even prove to be a reason that this happened. All that matters is that you remember one thing; it wasn’t real.

Ginny had opened her mouth to protest that it had certainly felt real enough, but Dumbledore had raised his voice slightly, holding up his hand to stem her flow of words.

"In all the ways that truly matter, it was not real, don’t ever question that."

And she hadn’t. She’d clung to Dumbledore’s words for the last five years. Every time that the nightmares would resurface, she’d play his words over and over again in her head;

* * *

Ginny shuddered involuntarily and suddenly found herself looking into Harry’s vividly green eyes.

Oh god, he was going to ask her, she just knew it. There was no way he could have missed the fact that she was not a virgin. He’d want to know – he’d ask her who had been the first. What could she possibly say to a question like that?

"Hey," Harry whispered, reaching down a finger to wipe away the second tear that was following the first down it’s lonely track. "Are you all right? I – I didn’t hurt you, did I?"

Ginny shook her head, and suddenly found herself crying in earnest. "No, it has nothing to do with that," she said, shaking her head with a smile. "It’s just – oh god, I love you so much, Harry!"

"And I love you," said Harry, smiling down at her. He ran a hand down the length of her body, making her shiver deliciously. "So much," he added, and there was no question in those gorgeous eyes, no accusation, only love; unconditional love and then he was kissing her again, his fingers tangling in her hair. He broke the kiss, raising his head slightly so he could see her face. "Should I show you how much?" he murmured with a grin.

"Oh god yes!" she moaned, drawing his head down to her kiss.

And he did.