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    Snippet 1 | I Ginevera Weasley believe that ignorance is harder than it looks.


    He arrived.

    I sat by my window and watched him, head down concentration at its hardest. His (now) long black hair must have obscured his vision but for some reason, he thought neither of cutting it nor pushing it back from his face. Only remaining to allow its impertinence to hide away such striking features.

    I found nothing in myself to drag myself down those stairs at the beckon call of my brother, only a sickening crunch of stomach acid rising up into my mouth, unbidden by my fierce determination to ignore what my heart was claiming as its own heart ach.

    I hated feeling this, this weak, I hated knowing that he, he such a un…un, no I had no words for what he was. I could if I so choose describe him as being an annoyance, someone who got on my last nerve, but then again if I did divulge such words I would be lying, and that, that would get me nowhere.

    I allowed myself leave for a tender hour until I heard the steady tread of footprints upon the stairs, upon such arrival I hastily chased away the tears staining my roughed cheeks and sat up straighter pulling a book towards me.

    They were not however fooled, for Hermione was a clever girl, the cleverest Hogwarts had seen in years and I wished that I could be so bold as to suggest she already knew, however the upside down book was in fact my downfall, foolishly enough.

    She sat beside me on the bed and turned my face against me, to face her, for her to still witness the build of tears brimming my eyes without permission. Oddly through out all this time of myself trying to hide such feelings, I felt no shame in facing her now.

    “Oh, Ginny.” I felt shame at her tone.

    How did I become this woman? This weak hearted woman, so easily crushed by a man barely six months older than myself, what experience did he have over me to soften such plight.

    “Please don’t feel sorry for me.” My voice cracked and my words splintered as I spoke, the give away was my own un-doing that day and the tears flowed freely from then.



    Heartache I now come to realise appears at the worst and oddest moments. Such as myself sitting against the living room wall when you came in looking wind beaten and stony faced. You opened your mouth to speak at the sight of me, but I sensed your unease and you closed it again and stood silently before me.

    I could hear my heart ticking time away against us it burned my chest and made my ears blare at the deafening silence.

    Every breath I took in seemed personified and I pondered whether or not you too believed that there was something here which prevented either one of us from coherent speech. But then I found that connection with you again, that unfaltering knowledge that we, here now, were connected more than words and circumstance.

    The sudden need for contact had never felt so tightly wound between us, even during our most hormonal urged romance had I ever experienced such a pull to another, but you, you could pull like no other, this day was no exception.

    “Ginny.” The word fell onto the silence like a rose petals, only I felt the two syllables stab like the thorns I had still etched in my hand.

    I had, so unlike myself remained silent, I wanted to speak, I wanted to be honest, admit that yes I still loved you, I still longed for what was lost in the war, but my pride held me back, my unfaltering knowledge that I was both right and wronged by you destroyed all hope of a union.

    Eventually I found words to formulate, to perform to you, “please, if you have any decency, you will walk back out that door and not constantly torture me of what we had.” Brutality, suddenly my strong point.

    “It was not my intention, only my own foolishness that that caused this. But you can’t be angry with me, when its you this time, that’s destroyed a happy ending.” I stood, ignoring the rush of blood to my head stepping forward.

    “Don’t you turn this on me!” I cried without dignity.

    “Well why not? You already condemn me to this half life, because you can’t forgive me!” He returned snappily raising his voice above my own argument.

    “Why not? Why Not? You made my life hell, I think its only fair that I…”

    “That you make mine hell? And when has my life ever been nice and harmless?” He asked his emerald green sparks narrowed into anger, which burned my skull, angrily.

    I may have already been aware of my fault filled claim, but I wasn’t about to ruin my pride for the sake of another argument in which I could lose my head. I openly protested against such emotions which could be yet another downfall, yes I still harboured deeper emotions for the man, but it tied me in knots to allow such thoughts to filter through.

    “Well then! You shouldn’t have faked your own death!” I cried indignantly.

    His face scrunched with more emotion than I wished to feel at this precise moment, but found that yes, my over whelming love which remained for him bubbled over and out of me. “Don’t do this again.”

    I found words useless again, his eyes stopped me. I soon realised that I was instead of planning my next move, studying his appearance in minuet detail.

    His green eyes bright as ever, his evening shadow more pronounced than I had ever seen before, his jaw, bold and sharpened with the golden glow falling across him and enhancing the deep richness in the green pools I found myself suddenly drowning in.

    Then my gaze was drawn downwards over broad shoulders tensed in the preparation of flight. He seemed large and overwhelming this afternoon, as if I were a dear and he the lion, predator yet his hunched demeanour although overwhelming remained vulnerable and I knew I had already plunged an icy knife into his heart.

    I was to blame for his pain this afternoon and everyday, as I was to blame for my own.

    Looking back into his eyes I found his attention flickering between my soul and my lips and I too was found pushed towards his own, a steady blush creeping across my cheeks.

    His lips gently pink already bitten by the cool rush of winds experienced by the earlier game of Quidditch retained his vulnerability and when I looked into his eyes again in regaining my balance I found universes yet to be discovered.

    Then I was undeniably captivated, there was nothing from that point onwards that could distract me from him, the sudden rush of released emotions were so great that from then on I will remember his honesty, that split second before his cool hand touched my chin tilting my head upwards to meet his.
    Our lips met in a sudden rush of need and want for the other, almost grappling with the others soul, thesis and the minotaur at battle, at war, unrelenting on either side, neither could breathe and neither could care I wager.

    Hs lips met with the hollow of my neck, working their way upwards towards my ear where he brushed swollen lips and tongue along the outer curve of my ear before tickling me with gentle words, “Nothing to deny, any longer”

    Without even thinking of a reason to stop, all my plans forgotten in the heat of passion, the heart of the beast had gripped me and it would not let go, even when wondering hands made contact with skin they should not have had such contact with.

    One hand brushed across my stomach to a shuddering effect, so careless yet so utterly consuming I found myself weak in his grasp, before another hand reached my thigh helping lift my legs to wrap around his waist in a heavy breathe of desire.

    I gasped as he turned us and laid me, or in more precise terms threw me onto the couch before leaning over and across me again, he waited for no permission, nor did he wait for a connection before claiming my lips again, unrelenting, never had I witnessed such determination as he groaned deeply into my mouth as his shirt was tugged from him.

    “Harry? Ginny?”

    Ronald, I knew always had perfect timing, but enough to retain my innocence? Not even close.

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