Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: PG-13 or A for Angst
Pairing: hinted at not named
Disclaimers: Still not JKR. This playtime spent in her sandbox is unauthorized and of a not for profit nature. Unless of course you consider my sanity to be a profit.
Summary: She remembers, she fears and she worries.
Author Notes: This is for my best cyber bud, the wonderfully creative and inspiring Lycanthropic Lady, who wanted something "kinda dark". Not sure if this is dark enough or perhaps it's too dark. You dear reader may be the judge.
Feedback: This is not a zoo folks, therefor you should feel free to feed and pet the animals at Morte206@aol.com
It was the same every time: fingers trailing down her back. Goosebumps, a tightening in her chest, sharp intake of breath and the quietest whisper.
You are so beautiful. How could I not touch you? Do you have any idea how many times a day I must remind myself that I canít touch you. Canít ruffle your hair, canít caress your cheek, and canít taste your skin.
Soft, feather soft, lips kiss their way down the slope of her neck to nuzzle in the crook of neck and shoulder. All the while gentle hands undo the buttons on her shirt, slip inside to caress soft warm skin.
Do you have any idea how lovely you are, like a porcelain doll?
Like every other time she closes her eyes.
You like how I touch you donít you. You like how I make you feel, donít you.
Like every other time she shivers.
You know I love you. You know that right?
Like every other time she whimpers.
Hands glide upward to cup heavy fullness.
I would never hurt you, you know that right?
Fingers lightly pinch diamond hard nipples and she gasps.
You like how I make you feel, donít you.
Like every other time she sighs.
You want this donít you? Want my touch want my mouth on you, my fingers in you. You would tell me if you didnít, right?
Like every other time she nods and whispers, ďYes ProfessorĒ, because like every other time what else can she do.
Her daughter has changed since Hogwarts. Where once she was rambunctious and outgoing, secure and confident in her skin like every child should be, now she is withdrawn, sullen and secretive.
She wonders, she fears.
When the truth is revealed she cries with relief because better possession by the worst evil the world has seen in centuries than her child in the hands of her Head of House.
Congratulations Ginny dear on making Gryffindor. Your father and I are so proud.