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The breath left her body as he pushed her back against the wall and took her mouth. She kissed him back hungrily as he pulled her hips to him, desperate to get closer.
She moaned aloud and wanted to laugh inside. She knew what the Order would think, if they could see her: Poor Ginny Weasley, who had been seduced by darkness. Well, the truth was, darkness hadn’t really had to try very hard.
It hadn’t been the allure of a dangerous boy to an innocent girl which had drawn her, though Merlin knew the danger intoxicated her, made her blood sing and pound with want.
He hadn’t tricked or fooled her, hadn’t claimed he was blameless or that he hadn’t murdered with his hands. She had known from the very start exactly what he was.
And it was that which was her undoing. It was the cruelty, the death his hands were capable of which drew her to him. Those hands, which did so much violence everyday and were accustomed to causing pain, which he used to pleasure her. He was a man who spared no one and granted no mercy. A man who killed with no compunction, but whose touch upon her skin was never cruel. He stopped the violence of his hands for no one, except to keep her safe.
No, the Order would never understand why his touch meant more to her than Harry’s ever could, why it was easier for her to believe a monster loved her.
But it was his hands which told her what she meant to him.
Often they were brutal and harsh, desperate to feel each other after days apart, fighting on different sides of the same line. But, when they came together, he never hurt her. Hands which destroyed with ease, controlled so rigidly to cause her no harm, even as he grabbed and pushed and pulled
It meant more than Harry’s kindness ever could.
Once, they had encountered each other on the battle field. They had come face to face on the edges of the bloody forest which had seen eight years of destruction since Dumbledore’s death.
He had cursed her from far away, sent her falling to the ground, prepared to die. But he had realized who she was as he had come close, had lifted his mask for an instant and looked at her. Then he had turned away without a word and gone back to seek others from her side to kill. After the battle he had come to find her. That night was one of the few times they had made love slowly, his hands gently running over her to assure she was unharmed.
Harry was sweet, even now that they had ended their relationship, but then Harry was always sweet. Harry had been sweet to her when she had been a young girl madly in love with him, and sweet when they had dated. Harry had also been sweet to Cho, and to Luna, and to Hermione. Harry's sweetness, she had come to realize, meant very little to her.
She laughed aloud this time as he bit into her neck. No, darkness hadn’t really had to try very hard at all. She pitied all those who had never known what it was to be loved by a murderer.
Their robes had been discarded and she was desperately undoing his shirt now. His weight trapped her against the wall, making it harder, but they were reluctant to part even long enough to undress. Their time was limited, and she wanted to hold him, feel him, as much as possible before it was over.
The war was finally drawing to a close and with it would be the end of this. She had always known, she supposed, that it would end. She had known that, one day, someone would lose and one of them would lay dead in a bloody field. It was coming now, both sides could feel it, but she wasn’t ready.
She wanted to spend another eternity in his arms. She wanted to hold him and hope for a future that was lost a long time ago. But all she could do was move with him against a dirty wall in a crumbling shack and devour every piece and memory of him she could find.
When they’re dressed again, hours later, she wants to tell him how much she wishes for another world, but she breathes back the tears.
“Draco…”
He turns, walks back to her and lifts her hand in his. He wraps his fingers around her smaller ones and squeezes tightly, then painfully, and she squeezes back. Then he has released her and he is gone and she prays she will see him again before it all ends.
She will carry the memory of his hands with her as long as she is in this world.
She moaned aloud and wanted to laugh inside. She knew what the Order would think, if they could see her: Poor Ginny Weasley, who had been seduced by darkness. Well, the truth was, darkness hadn’t really had to try very hard.
It hadn’t been the allure of a dangerous boy to an innocent girl which had drawn her, though Merlin knew the danger intoxicated her, made her blood sing and pound with want.
He hadn’t tricked or fooled her, hadn’t claimed he was blameless or that he hadn’t murdered with his hands. She had known from the very start exactly what he was.
And it was that which was her undoing. It was the cruelty, the death his hands were capable of which drew her to him. Those hands, which did so much violence everyday and were accustomed to causing pain, which he used to pleasure her. He was a man who spared no one and granted no mercy. A man who killed with no compunction, but whose touch upon her skin was never cruel. He stopped the violence of his hands for no one, except to keep her safe.
No, the Order would never understand why his touch meant more to her than Harry’s ever could, why it was easier for her to believe a monster loved her.
But it was his hands which told her what she meant to him.
Often they were brutal and harsh, desperate to feel each other after days apart, fighting on different sides of the same line. But, when they came together, he never hurt her. Hands which destroyed with ease, controlled so rigidly to cause her no harm, even as he grabbed and pushed and pulled
It meant more than Harry’s kindness ever could.
Once, they had encountered each other on the battle field. They had come face to face on the edges of the bloody forest which had seen eight years of destruction since Dumbledore’s death.
He had cursed her from far away, sent her falling to the ground, prepared to die. But he had realized who she was as he had come close, had lifted his mask for an instant and looked at her. Then he had turned away without a word and gone back to seek others from her side to kill. After the battle he had come to find her. That night was one of the few times they had made love slowly, his hands gently running over her to assure she was unharmed.
Harry was sweet, even now that they had ended their relationship, but then Harry was always sweet. Harry had been sweet to her when she had been a young girl madly in love with him, and sweet when they had dated. Harry had also been sweet to Cho, and to Luna, and to Hermione. Harry's sweetness, she had come to realize, meant very little to her.
She laughed aloud this time as he bit into her neck. No, darkness hadn’t really had to try very hard at all. She pitied all those who had never known what it was to be loved by a murderer.
Their robes had been discarded and she was desperately undoing his shirt now. His weight trapped her against the wall, making it harder, but they were reluctant to part even long enough to undress. Their time was limited, and she wanted to hold him, feel him, as much as possible before it was over.
The war was finally drawing to a close and with it would be the end of this. She had always known, she supposed, that it would end. She had known that, one day, someone would lose and one of them would lay dead in a bloody field. It was coming now, both sides could feel it, but she wasn’t ready.
She wanted to spend another eternity in his arms. She wanted to hold him and hope for a future that was lost a long time ago. But all she could do was move with him against a dirty wall in a crumbling shack and devour every piece and memory of him she could find.
When they’re dressed again, hours later, she wants to tell him how much she wishes for another world, but she breathes back the tears.
“Draco…”
He turns, walks back to her and lifts her hand in his. He wraps his fingers around her smaller ones and squeezes tightly, then painfully, and she squeezes back. Then he has released her and he is gone and she prays she will see him again before it all ends.
She will carry the memory of his hands with her as long as she is in this world.
Author notes: I don’t normally write fanfiction, though I'm an avid reader, but this idea hit me and wouldn’t let go, so I decided to give it a try. This is my very first piece ever, so please let me know how you like it!
The End.
livvyharris is the author of 6 other stories.
This story is a favorite of 18 members. Members who liked His Hands also liked 1402 other stories.
This story is part of the series, His. The next story in the series is His Camellias.
This story is a favorite of 18 members. Members who liked His Hands also liked 1402 other stories.
This story is part of the series, His. The next story in the series is His Camellias.
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