A/N: No, what Draco and/or Ginny think about what happened between them isn’t necessarily what the author thinks, but in a way that’s not the point. This fic was inspired by… well, by two things. The first was a conglomeration of things; that is to say, it was all those fics where Draco basically rapes Ginny and then things get all fluffy and nice after the appropriate angsty interlude. I read one too many of them (yes, you’ve seen them too,) and couldn’t take it anymore. You’ll see what I mean. Just wait until the end; all will become clear…
The second was a short story by Alice Walker, Advancing Luna (and Ida B. Wells.) No, her Luna has nothing to do with Luna Lovegood, but y’all should really read it anyway. It’s all about issues of consent, force, and forgiveness… also how far forgiveness can actually go.
****************
Draco rapped on the door lightly at the stroke of ten. Ginny swung it open. Her jaw was set into determined lines. “They’ve told me that I can go home tomorrow,” she said without preamble.
“I suppose I’ll get the same news very soon as well,” he replied. “May I sit down?”
“If you like. Where will you go?”
He shrugged. “I don’t really know. I suppose I could stay at Twelve Grimmauld Place. I’m Sirius Black’s cousin, did you know?”
“Yes, he showed me the family tree tapestry last summer.”
“But I don’t think I want that. Malfoy Manor was confiscated, and anyway I doubt I could ever live there again. There’s a very nice flat in London that Mother owned, though, so they couldn’t take that. I imagine I’ll end up there. And you?”
“Well, there’s always the Burrow,” sighed Ginny, “where Mum will fuss over me twenty-four hours a day and drive me utterly mad.”
“Mmm.” Her words sent a pang of pain through him. “That doesn’t sound so very bad.”
“Oh, you don’t have any idea… She means well, but she’ll knit me wool socks to wear in August so my feet don’t get cold. She’ll deluge me with frantic owls to ask if I’m lost if I go to the far end of the back yard. She’ll wake me up in the middle of the night to ask if I need a sleeping potion.” Ginny shook her head decisively. “I’ll endure it for the summers, finish at Hogwarts, and then get my own flat. Share it with a roommate, maybe.”
“Oh.”
“Do you want some tea, Malfoy?”
“That would be nice.” Apparently, she didn’t remember addressing him by his first name in writing.
Ginny poured the steaming liquid into cups busily, as if its consumption were the real purpose of the visit. She sipped at hers, then sat back with a long sigh.
“I suppose we won’t see each other until the beginning of term.”
“I suppose not,” Draco agreed.
“Then at Hogwarts—that’s assuming it re-opens in time, and they ever allow either one of us back—we can hardly start acting like best mates.”
“True.” A sort of vision of Hogwarts rushed past his inner eye. Strangely, it was not the interiors he remembered, the classrooms, the corridors, the dormitories, but the brooding, stark beauty of its natural setting. He remembered looking down from the Astronomy tower into the valley, and the sun shining on the meandering river that ran through it. He remembered the dark majesty of the mountains rising so steeply on every side. He remembered the monolithic standing stones at the bottom of the path that led to the edge of the Forbidden Forest. He had liked to sit there with Crabbe and Goyle sometimes on sunny days, holding forth about something or other… that was where Hermione Granger had punched him in the face during third year, as well, and where Pansy Parkinson and Xanthia Morgan and the rest of his girlfriends had often allowed him to kiss them. If you followed the little track behind the two largest rocks, it wound around behind Hagrid’s cabin to the clock tower. He tried to picture walking that path with Ginny, or sitting with her under the stones, feeling their vast calm presence, forgetting everyone else who had ever been there with him.
“So there was something I was wondering about,” Ginny said.
“Were you.”
“Trying it would be a sort of scientific experiment.”
“Would it.”
“But first I have to know something.” She set her teacup down so hard that it splashed over into the saucer. He noticed that her wand was out, and lay upon the little side table next to the teapot. “I have to ask you something.”
“Ask away,” said Draco.
“You did something to me eight months ago that was against my will,” she said. “Never mind that you made me like it. Never mind that you made me want it. That was no excuse for what you did.”
“No,” agreed Draco. “It wasn’t.”
“You violated me. Then… I suppose I violated you, in a different sort of way. That’s what an Unforgivable is, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” agreed Draco. “It is.”
“I could send you to Azkaban.” Ginny stared across the bed, at the stone wall. “And you could send me. Neither one of us has done it.”
“Neither one of us has.”
“So how do you feel about it now, what you did? And don’t think you can get away with lying to me,” said Ginny. “I’ll know if you try. In fact, I don’t think I would trust you if you said you were sorry.”
“Then why are you asking me?”
She looked at him belligerently. “Because I have to know.”
Draco sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers together. “All right. You want to know the truth? I’ll tell you the truth. If you think you can handle it.”
“Oh, I can handle it.”
They squared off from each other, like enemies.
“First, Malfoy, tell you how you felt about it right after you did it.”
“Not the least bit sorry,” he said promptly.
“Well, you’re braver than a lot of people always thought you were at school, anyway...” Ginny looked pointedly at her wand. “Tell me more.”
“All I could think about was the pleasure I’d felt when I had you, and how it was all mixed up with the pleasure I knew I’d forced you to feel. It all filled me-- filled my mind and body. Even now I think of it sometimes. And even though it’s—tainted—by the knowledge I have now, it possesses all my senses, all my powers of memory.”
“What do you mean, the knowledge you have now?”
He did not answer her question. “There’s still something pure and good about that memory. That’s as wrong as it can possibly be, I’m sure, but it’s still true. But something started creeping in, poisoning it.”
“What was that?”
“The dreams. The dreams of you. Your eyes, your face, some indefinable essence of you that had got under my skin.” Draco leaned forward. “Night after night I dreamed about you, and day after day I tried to forget you. And then the next night it would all begin again. You haunted me. You tortured me. The memory of your pleasure was burned into me, Ginny. But the memory of you begging me to stop touching you racked me with pain so terrible that the Cruciatus curse was a relief by comparison. This isn’t a matter of conscience. It isn’t. It isn’t. Surely you don’t think it is?” He grasped her hands. “If I thought Obliviating myself of everything I’ve ever known would take these memories out of my head, I would do it. But it wouldn’t help, oh no, I know it wouldn’t help; even Cruciatus didn’t do the job. They are carved into me more surely than the Dark Mark was ever carved into a Death Eater’s skin. They have damned me, Ginny, and I can never be forgiven. But if it would do any good—any good at all—“
The silence in the room was absolute, as if the fabric of reality itself had stretched thin, waiting to hear what Draco Malfoy would say next.
“I would ask you to forgive me, Ginny,” he mumbled into her blessedly cool hands, the sweet small soft hands that had cupped themselves around his forehead when he fell forward. “Forgive me.”
The second was a short story by Alice Walker, Advancing Luna (and Ida B. Wells.) No, her Luna has nothing to do with Luna Lovegood, but y’all should really read it anyway. It’s all about issues of consent, force, and forgiveness… also how far forgiveness can actually go.
****************
Draco rapped on the door lightly at the stroke of ten. Ginny swung it open. Her jaw was set into determined lines. “They’ve told me that I can go home tomorrow,” she said without preamble.
“I suppose I’ll get the same news very soon as well,” he replied. “May I sit down?”
“If you like. Where will you go?”
He shrugged. “I don’t really know. I suppose I could stay at Twelve Grimmauld Place. I’m Sirius Black’s cousin, did you know?”
“Yes, he showed me the family tree tapestry last summer.”
“But I don’t think I want that. Malfoy Manor was confiscated, and anyway I doubt I could ever live there again. There’s a very nice flat in London that Mother owned, though, so they couldn’t take that. I imagine I’ll end up there. And you?”
“Well, there’s always the Burrow,” sighed Ginny, “where Mum will fuss over me twenty-four hours a day and drive me utterly mad.”
“Mmm.” Her words sent a pang of pain through him. “That doesn’t sound so very bad.”
“Oh, you don’t have any idea… She means well, but she’ll knit me wool socks to wear in August so my feet don’t get cold. She’ll deluge me with frantic owls to ask if I’m lost if I go to the far end of the back yard. She’ll wake me up in the middle of the night to ask if I need a sleeping potion.” Ginny shook her head decisively. “I’ll endure it for the summers, finish at Hogwarts, and then get my own flat. Share it with a roommate, maybe.”
“Oh.”
“Do you want some tea, Malfoy?”
“That would be nice.” Apparently, she didn’t remember addressing him by his first name in writing.
Ginny poured the steaming liquid into cups busily, as if its consumption were the real purpose of the visit. She sipped at hers, then sat back with a long sigh.
“I suppose we won’t see each other until the beginning of term.”
“I suppose not,” Draco agreed.
“Then at Hogwarts—that’s assuming it re-opens in time, and they ever allow either one of us back—we can hardly start acting like best mates.”
“True.” A sort of vision of Hogwarts rushed past his inner eye. Strangely, it was not the interiors he remembered, the classrooms, the corridors, the dormitories, but the brooding, stark beauty of its natural setting. He remembered looking down from the Astronomy tower into the valley, and the sun shining on the meandering river that ran through it. He remembered the dark majesty of the mountains rising so steeply on every side. He remembered the monolithic standing stones at the bottom of the path that led to the edge of the Forbidden Forest. He had liked to sit there with Crabbe and Goyle sometimes on sunny days, holding forth about something or other… that was where Hermione Granger had punched him in the face during third year, as well, and where Pansy Parkinson and Xanthia Morgan and the rest of his girlfriends had often allowed him to kiss them. If you followed the little track behind the two largest rocks, it wound around behind Hagrid’s cabin to the clock tower. He tried to picture walking that path with Ginny, or sitting with her under the stones, feeling their vast calm presence, forgetting everyone else who had ever been there with him.
“So there was something I was wondering about,” Ginny said.
“Were you.”
“Trying it would be a sort of scientific experiment.”
“Would it.”
“But first I have to know something.” She set her teacup down so hard that it splashed over into the saucer. He noticed that her wand was out, and lay upon the little side table next to the teapot. “I have to ask you something.”
“Ask away,” said Draco.
“You did something to me eight months ago that was against my will,” she said. “Never mind that you made me like it. Never mind that you made me want it. That was no excuse for what you did.”
“No,” agreed Draco. “It wasn’t.”
“You violated me. Then… I suppose I violated you, in a different sort of way. That’s what an Unforgivable is, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” agreed Draco. “It is.”
“I could send you to Azkaban.” Ginny stared across the bed, at the stone wall. “And you could send me. Neither one of us has done it.”
“Neither one of us has.”
“So how do you feel about it now, what you did? And don’t think you can get away with lying to me,” said Ginny. “I’ll know if you try. In fact, I don’t think I would trust you if you said you were sorry.”
“Then why are you asking me?”
She looked at him belligerently. “Because I have to know.”
Draco sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers together. “All right. You want to know the truth? I’ll tell you the truth. If you think you can handle it.”
“Oh, I can handle it.”
They squared off from each other, like enemies.
“First, Malfoy, tell you how you felt about it right after you did it.”
“Not the least bit sorry,” he said promptly.
“Well, you’re braver than a lot of people always thought you were at school, anyway...” Ginny looked pointedly at her wand. “Tell me more.”
“All I could think about was the pleasure I’d felt when I had you, and how it was all mixed up with the pleasure I knew I’d forced you to feel. It all filled me-- filled my mind and body. Even now I think of it sometimes. And even though it’s—tainted—by the knowledge I have now, it possesses all my senses, all my powers of memory.”
“What do you mean, the knowledge you have now?”
He did not answer her question. “There’s still something pure and good about that memory. That’s as wrong as it can possibly be, I’m sure, but it’s still true. But something started creeping in, poisoning it.”
“What was that?”
“The dreams. The dreams of you. Your eyes, your face, some indefinable essence of you that had got under my skin.” Draco leaned forward. “Night after night I dreamed about you, and day after day I tried to forget you. And then the next night it would all begin again. You haunted me. You tortured me. The memory of your pleasure was burned into me, Ginny. But the memory of you begging me to stop touching you racked me with pain so terrible that the Cruciatus curse was a relief by comparison. This isn’t a matter of conscience. It isn’t. It isn’t. Surely you don’t think it is?” He grasped her hands. “If I thought Obliviating myself of everything I’ve ever known would take these memories out of my head, I would do it. But it wouldn’t help, oh no, I know it wouldn’t help; even Cruciatus didn’t do the job. They are carved into me more surely than the Dark Mark was ever carved into a Death Eater’s skin. They have damned me, Ginny, and I can never be forgiven. But if it would do any good—any good at all—“
The silence in the room was absolute, as if the fabric of reality itself had stretched thin, waiting to hear what Draco Malfoy would say next.
“I would ask you to forgive me, Ginny,” he mumbled into her blessedly cool hands, the sweet small soft hands that had cupped themselves around his forehead when he fell forward. “Forgive me.”
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