Only What You Wished For - A Draco/Ginny Fan Fic.
Be careful what you wish for; because you just might get it.
Be careful what you wish for; because you just might get it.
He was staring coldly at her, his long legs crossed and his arms resting upon the edges of his armchair. The shadows that fell upon his pale and aristocratic face made him look just as sinister as she knew that he indeed was. Suddenly she doubted the entire situation, mentally scolding herself for actually going through with this. It had seemed so uncomplicated in her abstract thoughts, but now, in the blunt reality, she was no longer so sure. She hoped that he didn't notice her hands shaking.
"Well," the Slytherin drawled with a trace of a sneer, "you better speak up soon, Weasley. Surely you didn't drag me here just to look at me? Not that I wouldn't understand if you did, of course," he added. The taunting was there, she could tell it was, lacing his every word.
The hostility and raw dislike clung to the air between them.
"What I'm about to ask you, Malfoy, has nothing to do with your looks. Even if you think it does."
He arched an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. He didn't speak, however, he waited for her to continue.
She knew she had to do this. She had to, in order to eventually get what she wanted. For six years had she worked for this... And nothing. Nothing had changed. She was still overlooked, neglected, forgotten. She had to resort to more... drastic methods. He forced her resort to more drastic methods, even though he may not be aware of it.
She looked directly into Draco Malfoy's grey eyes, and spoke quickly, as if preventing herself from changing her mind mid-sentence. "I need you to pretend that you're my boyfriend."
If Draco Malfoy was surprised by this, he didn't show it. He merely smirked, got up from the armchair and approached her in a few long strides. She took a few steps back, slightly intimidated by his purposeful approach.
"Oh really, Weasely... That irresistible to you am I?"
She slapped his hand away from her shoulder, and he glared down at her. "Don't fool yourself," she hissed. "I don't do this because I desire you, Malfoy. I do it because I crave the attention of someone else. Someone who hopefully will notice me when I'm in your company." She took a deep breath. "Harry will notice me if I'm with you, his rival."
Draco Malfoy's eyes glinted maliciously in the moonlight. She felt a flicker of fear as his eyes swept over her body almost possessively, but she remained where she was, determined not to look away. She did this for him, she reminded herself. She did this for Harry.
"My, my..." Draco mumbled, looking down at her through narrowed eyes. "You truly are an obsessive slut, aren't you, Ginny Weasley?" he breathed, his voice dusting over the skin of her neck. He opened the clasp of her robes, letting them fall to the floor. "Asking me, a Death Eater's son, to feel you up in front of the Great Harry Potter?"
Ginny's hands still trembled when she put her them to his chest and pushed him away. "It's not like that," she sneered, hating the way his eyes held a superior amusement; a glee she didn't know how to destroy. "I only need you to-"
"You only need me to do what, exactly?" He cut her off with a snarl. "What makes you think I would dirty my hands with you, Weasley?"
She returned his cold glare. "I'm not a fucking Mudblood, Malfoy."
She could have sworn she heard him gasp. It wouldn't surprise her if that sort of talk actually turned him on. Sick freak.
"Foul words coming from such a pretty little mouth."
She ignored him. "So what is it Malfoy? I'm not a Muggleborn -"
He cut her off again. "Look at you," he mocked her, "begging for me to touch you... To actually touch a Blood Traitor like you. How does it feel, Weasley? To have hit rock bottom like this?" His mirth echoed against the bare walls in the otherwise silent night.
His gloating smirk revealed more than his words did about just how much he enjoyed humiliating her like this. He turned to leave.
His tall, majestic form came to an abrupt halt in the door. His slender fingers enclosed the door frame, and for a second she forgot what she was about to say. When she was watching him here, like this, his cruel face hidden in the inky darkness of the corridor, he looked... Different. She cleared her throat, reminding herself again why she was doing this to her pride, to her dignity. For a moment, she closed her eyes and saw Harry before her inner vision, and that was all it took to convince her that her own petty dignity was nothing in comparison to his affection.
"You haven't heard my offer yet."
As soon as she'd said it, in a small and submissive tone that she didn't want to recognise as her own, she felt something break inside her. Perhaps it had been her pride.
He'd turned back to her now, his face again prominent in the cutting moonlight. Some of his blonde bangs had fallen across his forehead, partly shielding his eyes. This unnerved her. She wanted to see the eyes of her enemies.
"What could you possible offer me? Money?" He laughed at this. "I don't whore, Weasley. And even if I did you couldn't afford it."
She clenched her delicate hands into fists where she stood a few feet away; her hatred for him almost overshadowing the hatred she felt towards herself for allowing him to talk to her like this. Like she was beneath him.
"I'm not offering you money."
"That's because you don't have any, you worthless little shite."
She forced herself to muster the strength required to ignore his cruelty. After all, she had chosen him because he was the complete opposite of Harry. Her beloved Harry, who was kind, caring and soon hers. She just needed Draco Malfoy to make Harry realise that he couldn't bear seeing her with someone like that. Someone so unlike himself.
"My proposition is simple, Malfoy. I'll be yours."
He snorted, as though she'd held out her hand and offered him a pair of worn woollen socks and two Knuts.
"I'll be yours," she pressed on, "until Harry realises that I belong to him, and him alone. I'll do everything you ask of me. I'll..."
Her eyes fell upon the dark floor where her robes lay pooled by her feet. She shivered.
"You will what?" he demanded, harshly, unkindly.
She lifted her gaze again, a hollow feeling growing in the pit of her stomach. She was about to sell her soul to the Devil himself. She knew she should ask herself if it was worth it, but then again, this was for Harry. How could it not be worth it? How could anything, anyone, be more important than Harry? No one loved him like she loved him. No one made her feel like he did. The power his mere voice held over her... Even the thought of it left traces instantly; she shivered; the feeling of free fall fluttering through her stomach.
"I'll make an Unbreakable Vow."
His eyes glinted with a morbid interest at her words. "Insanity is becoming on you, Weasley."
She'd never seen Harry's eyes like that before. They were regarding her with a look of disbelief and disgust. The kindness she was used to, the jealousy she was craving, the concern she yarned for, it was not there. She felt Draco's arm slip possessively around her waist, his lips ghosting over the skin of her neck, and Harry's face went blank, expressionless. He looked at her, coldly, across the Great Hall before he gathered his belongings and set off after her brother and Hermione.
Again. He detested her. He didn't desire her; he wasn't concerned - he was disgusted, disgusted that she allowed Draco Malfoy to touch her, be around her. He was disgusted by how she wrapped her arms around his neck in public, how she looked up at him through thick lashes.
She swallowed hard, closed her eyes and felt her throat tighten up. Why didn't he see that she needed him? Why couldn't he save her, she was asking him to save her, that was his job, he was the fucking Chosen One. See me, she wanted to scream, see me you bastard! Don't you see what I do for your attention?!
She could feel the Slytherin's lips curl into a vicious smirk. "How is that little plan of yours working out, Weasley?" he said quietly.
Her heart skipped a beat. Loathing herself and the effect his voice had upon her, she whispered; "Don't mock me."
"No," he agreed, chuckling softly as he felt her submit to his touch. "I'll leave that to Potter."
Her breath hitched at his words.
"Did you see how he looked at you?" Malfoy continued, his voice morbidly soft, gentle. "He thinks you're a Malfoy's whore," he whispered against her ear, his hands tugging at her mane of red hair. "And guess what, Weasley? He's right."
Ginny couldn't even bring herself to muster self-loathing when she reached for him, for his touch. Draco Malfoy was her self-loathing. He broke her down, told her what she deserved to hear. He was her guilt, he was her pain and her pleasure. But what was she to him?
"Is that what I am to you?" she voiced her question in a low voice, a gutted bitterness growing within her. "A whore?"
"What did you offer me, Ginny Weasley?"
"Just me," she whispered. "Me and my obedience."
His laughter was quiet. "And what does that make you?"
She closed her eyes, trying to shut him out, escape. She didn't regret the decision to come to him. She was beyond regret, she was mourning now, mourning the life she initially thought would wait her after this mess with Malfoy. She thought she'd been clever. It could have worked, she admitted that now, it could have worked if Harry had cared for her the way she once thought he did. That had been her mistake. She had assumed too much.
"A whore," she replied, feeling what used to define her - her pride and fire - slip away from her like water between slender fingers.
Guilt was a consuming emotion. Sadness and anger was bearable, understandable, but guilt was something entirely different. It never left her. In class, when she allowed her gaze to linger upon the man that tortured her, or during the nights, when she let him tear her apart, laughing scornfully while he did it, she felt guilty. Guilt possessed her mind those nights he didn't call for her, too, because the longing she felt for his touches was worse than anything she could ever imagine.
Thin air enclosed the Astronomy Tower, where Ginny stood by the railing, her eyes surveying the Hogwarts Grounds. They looked different in the moonlight, but then again, what didn't?
She could hear his footsteps; expensive leather boots against polished marble. Draco walked up behind her, leaning forward as he let his lips graze the shell of her ear. "If it isn't my Pet," he breathed. "Always on time..."
His hand ensnared her delicate throat, making her head fall back against his shoulder. His blonde hair fell upon her pale cheekbones, tickling the freckled skin in such a perfect mixture of enjoyment and irritation that she was almost convinced that he'd planned it. Ginny felt a strong urge to shove her elbow into his ribs, but she felt an even stronger urge to let out a delighted gasp. And so she did. She could feel a gentle puff of air against her neck as he laughed softly into her red hair.
"Tell me, little Ginny, what do you think your brothers would do if they saw you this very moment? Hm? What would your father say, Pet? If he saw you here, like this... With a Malfoy's hands all over you, you loving every second of it?"
She let out a frustrated sob. Why did he make her suffer this way? Why did he give her this pleasure, when he would taint it the next minute with his jutting words of crude humiliation?
"They would hate me," she whispered into the empty night, her heart clenching painfully when she realised that the man behind her would find nothing but a morbid satisfaction at her words.
"You will do everything I say, won't you, Ginny?"
"Or else I die," she replied, feeling her bitter submission carving itself into her soul, branding her as his. She wanted to cry, but she knew he wouldn't let her. Oh, the irony.
He hummed a little in agreement at this, before he turned her around, looking down at her with an expression she couldn't quite read. "Potter's been busy," he remarked, his lips twitching into a scornful smirk.
"What do you mean?" Ginny said, knowing perfectly well what he was talking about. It was common knowledge already that Harry and Cho Chang were practically official, after all.
"Don't pretend like you don't know everything about Potter and that Ravenclaw girl, Weasley. After all, I know everything about your obsession with fucking Wonder Boy. You can't fool me."
She knew it should hurt. She knew she should hate the fact that Harry was seeing someone, and in a way she did. But somehow that hatred was an odd compromise of humiliation and dislike; she felt defeated. Somehow her fascination for Harry had been lost in this tangled web of sick mindgames and tricks she had with Malfoy. Still, she knew that she could never love Draco Malfoy like she loved Harry Potter. And what was worse, Draco Malfoy could never love her like she knew Harry would.
Yet, here she was. In the arms of Draco fucking Malfoy.
Her gloomy muse was interrupted by the Slytherin's chill question.
"If I say that you are to spy upon him, will you?"'
Oh, how she hated him. Her entire being ached with disgust for him and the power he had over her. The power she allowed him to have over her. The power she found so deliciously irresistible.
She glared at him. "I'd rather die," she hissed defiantly, before white exploded behind her left eye where he'd stricken her. The pain was nothing compared to the humiliation of collapsing against the railing, her hand pressed to the hot, burning injury.
"D'you think you mean something to me, dirt?" he spat venomously, regarding her with a cold abhorrance where she had remained; slumped against the railing. "Think I feel something for you, something that would stop me from hurting you, killing you?"
"No." Ginny replied with a hollow honesty, still dizzy from the impact.
When she looked up, he was gone, and she was alone again. She didn't know how long she remained in the Tower, breathing in the cold, thin air.
"You're a fucking fool," he gloated, as he pushed her up against the wall behind her, locking her wrists in an iron grip. The night was unpenetratable around them; impossibly dark and neverendingly forgiving in the way it would conceal any possible tears that ran down her face. She couldn't see the white strands of hair she could feel tickling the bridge of her nose; couldn't see her own pale hands as they reached up to undo the Slytherin tie around his neck. She could see none of it. But she could feel. The darkness enhanced the feelings of fluttering fingertips against lonely skin; steamy breathes upon cold necks.
"You're a fucking fool," he told her again, ripping away the buttons of her blouse with a forceful, almost desperate motion. "Did you really think that Potter would want you after this? Huh?" He laughed harshly, and she hated herself more than ever now, for not having the strength to push him away, for not wanting to push him away. "Ginny..." he hissed huskily against her ear, his breath rolling onto her bare skin like venom. "Were you truly naive enough to think that Potter would want you, the filth that is Draco Malfoy's leftovers?"
"I don't care anymore," she heard herself gasp.
She could feel his steady heartbeat against her bared chest. She could feel the sensation of victory radiating off of him; the satisfaction he got from knowing that he'd finally broken her.
"He will never want you."
"I know," she whispered.
"How can you resist me?"
She closed her eyes, letting the silky, taunting voice that was her addiction wash over her. "I can't."
He captured one of her earlobes between his teeth, and she let out a hiss of satisfaction as he played with it for a second before releasing it. "You're mine."
"I'm yours," she replied, because it was the truth. She was his, in more ways than one. He was in her blood, consuming her, branding her, making her his for an irrevocable eternity.
AN: Dedicated to my very dear friend, emmahollowaygrint, as a response to our own little challenge.
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