FicWad

She let out her held breath, nodding gratefully, then began to explain. The wanded, one-sided version of the spell wasn't nearly as old as the older, oath-based version. It was apparently developed slightly prior to the war with Grindelwald, the supposed 'Dark Lord' before Voldemort, a bit over a hundred years ago. Some Dark Wizard found the old oath spell used by married couples and the closest of mage-partners and had thought it would be just perfect for their cause, except for that whole voluntary and reciprocal thing, and so had adapted it to their needs. The words differed only slightly: the original, Ostendo sum meus animus vobis, "I reveal my soul to you," to be spoken by both parties, was replaced by a single line, Ostendo sum vestri animus!, or "Reveal your soul!" spoken as a command by the wizard and punctuated with a stabbing motion of the wand while he simultaneously drew the blood of his target. It wasn't known whether or not the caster could remove the spell, but no one had ever found anything that anyone other than the caster could do to stop or block it.

Harry frowned. "Wait. It's still permanent?"

She shrugged. "Nobody knows. No Dark Wizard would take it off, and no Light one would cast it. You can't take it off of someone if you're not the caster, that's all that's certain."

"Then I want to do the other one. It wouldn't be right for it to be one-sided."

"Harry. I know it'd be one-sided. That's the point," she said. "That way you can find out what's in there before you open up your mind to me and possibly doom the world by giving their hero a weakness to a potential monster."

He frowned. "But...."

"Please?" she whispered. "I'm trying ever so hard to be responsible and think of my responsibility... and yours... to the rest of the world."

Harry swallowed. "Are you sure?" he asked.

She gave him a weak smile. "I've always been willing, Harry, for my part. I was willing before you told me what had happened to me. It was just terribly crazy of me to try and get you to do it with me. Now... well, even if I weren't willing, it's still something that I can see really should be done, given what might happen to me." She tried to maintain a steady, calm, matter-of-fact tone, but he caught the slight quaver in her voice, and the flash of fear in her eyes that she couldn't quite hide completely when she spoke of her potential descent into madness.

"Okay," he said.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she closed her eyes for a few seconds. "Thank you," she whispered, then started to unbutton her robe even further.

He blinked. "W-what are you doing?"

Her fingers continued to work deftly, and a line of creamy white skin followed in their wake. "Wounds left by blood magic sometimes can't be healed by magic," she said. "And even if they could, I don't know any healing charms, do you? And even a scar shouldn't be where my mother might see it. Besides, I do have a bra on, you know."

"I, um, didn't," he said. "Wow." He blushed as the word slipped out of his mouth, and tried to pull his eyes away from her chest.

She giggled. "Another present from Hermione," she said. "We went shopping together before the dance, and she was horrified that I didn't have any. I've been wearing them recently because... well, you never know. Besides, they're pretty, and wearing them makes me feel pretty as well." With that she tugged at the robe, leaving an open V that extended down to a few inches beneath her navel. At the upper end, the robe still covered her nipples, a fact which he didn't know whether he should be grateful for, given that the fabric of the bra was not only flesh coloured, thin to the point of almost being transparent, and molded tightly to her skin but also a very open-patterned lace. It might as well have been a subtle tattoo for all the coverage it gave the soft, white, little globes.

He managed to swallow again. "You expect me to think?"

"I'm covered," she said. "Besides, Hermione showed me some of her Muggle magazines. Women there go around in absolutely scandalous clothing, all the time. If you ever went swimming there, you've already seen much more flesh than this."

"I didn't," Harry said, trying to control his voice. "And you may be covered, but... um... wow."

She licked her lips, then reached for his hand. "The spell," she said, sounding a touch breathless. "That's why. This time. Afterward... Anyway, here, this is where you should probably cut." She guided his hand and placed it on her stomach, just over her navel. The skin was silky soft, far softer than he thought that skin could be, and even though she'd been the one to initiate the touch, she still sucked her breath in sharply at the contact.

He shivered. "Do-- do you have a knife?"

"N-no," she whispered, and her fingers caressed the back of his hand. She swallowed hard, and took a deep breath, causing her skin to move beneath his fingers. "But I have a p-piece of obsidian in my pocket. Could you transfigure it into a blade?"

He nodded.

Reluctantly drawing her fingers away from his, she fumbled around in her pocket. This had the unfortunate... or perhaps quite fortunate... side effect of causing the robe to fall further open on that side, exposing the entirety of one round, perfectly shaped, little breast. He'd been right about the bra. It didn't do a thing to hide the light-pink areola or the noticeably hard little nipple it surrounded. Nor did it stop the soft flesh from jiggling enticingly as she dug deeper into her pocket.

Harry froze, unable to think, or move, wondering why he couldn't breathe, though without any great urgency.

"Ha! Found you!" Ginny said, as she finally withdrew her hand from her pocket. "Here you go, Harry. Harry?"

He jerked, blushing and pulling his eyes away. "S-sorry," he said.

She looked down, and blushed herself when she realised the cause of his distraction. She avoided his eyes for a moment, and when she looked back at him, she had an odd expression on her face. "Harry, do you know any laundry spells?"

He blinked. "W-what?"

"Laundry spells," she repeated. "You know, for taking stains out of your clothes?"

"I don't think so," he said, bewildered.

"Me either," she said, then rolled up onto her knees, then stood up. "And I don't want Mum to find blood on my robes. It'd be dead obvious on this light-green, too." With that, she shrugged out of the robe and let it fall. It caught for just a second at her hips, but she wriggled just a bit, and it slid the rest of the way down.

Harry stared, frozen, as she bent down to pick up the robe and hang it over a convenient branch. She hadn't been completely naked underneath, at least. And though the knickers matched the bra in colour and material, at least they weren't lace. They were actually pretty modest, as such things go— soft, silky, wide-legged shorts rather than a tight, body-hugging brief or, god help him, one of the tiny thongs that Seamus rhapsodised about in the dorm last year. But they were still damned near completely transparent. And they hung low on her hips, gathered and secured by only a very fragile looking ribbon tied in a loose bow. And the entire, curvy length of her legs was bare. As was her pale, lovely stomach, softly curved but with a hint of muscle underneath as she moved. Beneath the robes, it had been impossible to see the actual shape of her, and now it was a startling revelation; Ginny Weasley in no way resembled the skinny, awkward little girl she had been and whose image he'd unconsciously had in the back of his mind still. Oh no, aside from still being slender and small, she was quite, quite different. The small, perfect breasts that were nevertheless fairly large for her frame should have been a clue, but even with that, he hadn't expected her to be so... curvy. Her waist seemed impossibly tiny set between the soft breasts and the tantalising swell of absolutely luscious hips. When she'd bent down to pick up the robe, the filmy material had pressed tight against a round, firm arse that he'd had no clue could have been hiding beneath those robes. Even the dress she'd worn at the ball last year had been cut with a full skirt, and half the girls there had used waist cinching charms or padded their bosoms, so how was he supposed to know she had those curves under there? Wizard fashion, he realised, really made for a lot of guesswork in their dating. You never knew what might be under the robe until the witch decided to take it off, or allow you access beneath its generous folds.

As she knelt back down beside him and handed him the small, polished black stone, she seemed perfectly comfortable with her state of undress. Far more comfortable than he was. Far more comfortable than someone used to the complete concealment of robes really ought to be, and he remembered, suddenly, that Neville had been the last of his dorm mates to return to their room the night of the ball, and had stumbled in with a dazed, dreamy look and a goofy smile on his face. Ron had been horrified.

"How can you be so comfortable?" he asked, without really meaning to.

"Why shouldn't I be?" she asked, in return.

"Well... uh...." He didn't know what to say.

"Do you think I should be ashamed, instead?" she pressed.

"No," he said. "You don't have anything to be ashamed of." His eyes drifted downwards, and he jerked them back up. "That doesn't mean I understand how you manage it."

"Have you considered that possibly I want you to look at me?" she asked. "Without the robes to hide me?"

"No," he admitted. "It's hard to believe, even after everything."

"You don't think I can crave that sort of attention? It it that I'm younger than you, or... something else?"

"I can't believe you'd want it from me."

"Who else would I want it from, if not you?" she asked, and there was an odd tremble to her voice that he had no idea how to interpret.

"I don't know," he said. "I just don't understand...."

"I cried all last summer," she said softly. "Every night before I went to bed, I'd stop, and strip, and look in the mirror. And I still looked mostly like a boy. And it didn't seem like I was ever going to look any different. And I realised how impossible the dream of having you look at me, like this, and want me really was. There were too many beautiful girls who I just could never compare to. I wanted it so bad that I ached with it. Every night, I lay there, touching my own body, wishing it were you and knowing if it were... you would be disappointed at best, disgusted at worst. So I worked very hard to get over the wanting. Or at least, hide it away inside and convince myself that I needed to settle for something that I might actually have a chance at, someone on my own level, rather than wishing for something so far out of my range that I was a fool for wanting it. Then... I changed. It was so fast I was almost afraid. When we came home for Christmas, Mum was afraid I'd taken a black market potion. Even my skin changed... I used to have lots more freckles. But what I really hoped was that my body was just responding to what I wished more than anything, that what it was turning into was what you would want. I was just going to wait a bit... I didn't want to stress you more. But then I saw the way you watched Cho, and I realised how dumb it was to think that a simple late growth spurt had been some bizarre magical connection that turned me into your ideal fantasy woman. Especially since she was so tall, and thin, and exotic. So I gave up again. But all this year, I've still wondered, and dreamed, and imagined what you might think if I showed you the body I thought I was growing for your pleasure."

"But why me?" Harry whispered. "Why not someone who deserves it?"

"Why wouldn't you deserve it, Harry? What have you ever done that makes you think such a thing?" she asked. "You're so sweet, and strong, and you really care about people, and you think instead of just going along with what people tell you, and you're so very beautiful it makes my heart hurt. Who could possibly deserve it more?"

"Anyone," he whispered. "I don't deserve something this... this wonderful."

She closed her eyes tightly. "You deserve more than I can ever offer you. I know that I have a nice body now," she said. "But... it's still nothing special. Nothing unique. I still can't stand up against Cho, or the twins, or Fleur Delacour. I'm not exotic, or rich, or upper class, and I certainly can't make guys go speechless just from walking in the room. All I ever hoped was that you'd think I was good enough. Pretty enough for you. Because I knew that you're not like the rest, that you judged people by more than looks, or money, or their names." She opened her eyes and looked up at him pleadingly. "Don't you have any idea how special that makes you? How about the fact that I can be this way with you and still be safe? That no matter what I do, I know without any doubt at all that you won't harm me? How many other guys could I be here with, like this, and know that? How many guys wouldn't have taken, months ago, what I've so pitifully offered you for so long? Who could I trust like I trust you?"

"I don't know," he said. "So I'll try to be good enough for you."

"I don't want someone who's trying to be good enough for me! I want you!" She reached out and grabbed his head between her hands. "You are what I want. Just as you are. Everything that you are. You may have to play roles for everyone else, but I'm far more demanding than that-- I want to be the one who has the real you. I want that more than anything else in the world, it's my most treasured dream. You're my most treasured dream. If you say you aren't good enough, then you're saying that my dream isn't good enough, that what I treasure beyond all things is worthless."

Harry swallowed. He didn't know what to say. He wasn't good enough for her, but she didn't want to believe him.

She narrowed her eyes, and he could suddenly feel the sharp bite of her nails behind each ear. "Alright. Name a name, Harry. Name one man you think would treat me better, who I could trust more, and who would love me more than you could ever grow to."

He tried, but his thoughts were treacherously blank. Who could he trust to treat her right?

"Well?" she prodded. "I want to know just who you think would be better for me than you."

"I don't know," he admitted.

"Let's see then... None of the Slytherin's," she said, firmly. "Draco could be interesting if he ever got the guts to go against his father, but until then he's just a coward and that shows in everything he does. None of the others have the brains to consider. Well, Blaise, maybe, but he's a poof, and besides, he's not nearly as good at playing the game as he thinks he is. Ravenclaw... no, sorry, they're all much too stuffy. They'd never tolerate me as I am. Hufflepuff... would you really do that to one of those poor, sweet, innocent creatures, Harry?"

Harry smiled weakly. "Well...."

"So that just leaves Gryffindor," she went on ruthlessly. "Ron's my brother, so he's right out, thank Merlin. Not too many Griffindor boys are unattached, either... let's see... Colin?" She looked at him inquisitively.

"Come on, surely you know about Colin," Harry said. "Even I know about Colin."

"So Colin's right out, then," she said. "And Dennis is too young to know what he likes yet, but there's a good chance he's just like his brother. Dean's in love with Lavender, he just hasn't realised it yet. Seamus might be worth a look... what do you think?"

Harry shook his head. "You'd tear the tower down around you."

"So who then, Harry? One of the teachers?" she asked.

"What about Neville?" he asked.

She blinked. "What about him? Oh! Oh Merlin, Harry, that would just be cruel! I thought you liked the poor boy."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "He seemed happy enough the night of the Ball... when he finally got in... around two... with his tie undone, all dreamy-eyed."

She lowered her chin, letting her hair fall forward to hide her face, and didn't answer right away. Right up until that point, Harry hadn't really believed that anything had happened, but her reaction was an unexpected shock, jarring him right to the core.

"I told you," he said, "You have the right to do what you want. I won't think less of you. I don't know what happened, and I don't really care. It's not my business."

"It is your business, Harry," she said quietly. "It always has been. But nothing much happened. You'll see when you do the spell. We danced, and talked, and yes, made out some. I wanted to see if I could feel really alive with someone other than you. If I could talk myself into wanting someone else." Her shoulders hunched, and her head drooped even further. "I couldn't. And it really hurt his feelings, and I feel awful for leading him on, because he's a sweet boy even if he couldn't keep up with me, and a lot stronger than most people think. So, see, even if you thought he was perfect for me, he wouldn't have me. Even if he'd forgive me for using him... Harry, do you know about his parents?"

Harry shook his head. "No. But Ginny... he wasn't upset when he came in. I wasn't joking about the look on his face."

"I know. I couldn't bring myself to tell him right away," she said. "I should have. It would have been the right thing to do, but he'd had such a lovely night, and he was so happy, and he's never happy, not really, and I just didn't want to ruin the memory for him. So I waited, and it got harder to tell him, and when I finally did... trust me. He wouldn't want anything to do with me. Especially not if he found out I was the living manifestation of Dark Magic. Not after Dark Wizards tortured his parents until their minds broke when he was just a tiny baby."

Harry sucked in a breath. "I didn't know that."

"It's in the old archived papers," she said. "It's not exactly secret, just... not well known. And it hurts him constantly. They were Aurors, two of the very best, and they cast the Cruciatis curse on them over and over again until nothing was left. Now he lives with an absolute bitch of a grandmother, and when he goes to see them, they don't even know who he is. So, no. Neville would hate everything I am, and would never understand. And it'd be cruel to make him try. And besides, I know he doesn't do anything for me physically, because I did try. So that's all of the students. Is there a teacher who you think would be better for me than you are?"

"Of course not," Harry said. "And I'd hex any teacher who'd touch you."

"Well, then?"

He sighed. "No. There's nobody else I'd trust with you."

"So you trust yourself with me more than you would anyone else?" she asked gently.

He nodded.

"So what do you think that means about you?"

"I don't know," he said.

She raised an eyebrow and gave him a chiding look. "Yes you do."

"What does it mean?"

"No, you tell me."

"I still think you deserve better, even if I can't think of anyone," he said.

"Harry, if there's no one better, then what you're really saying is that I deserve to be alone."

He frowned. "No, that's not right. No one deserves that."

"Then believe me when I say no one could be better for me than you," she said. "Or if you won't believe me, then believe yourself." She reached out and took his hands in hers and raised them, setting his palms on the upper curve of her hips. "And don't be afraid to look at me. To enjoy what I've always wanted to give you."

Harry swallowed. "I'll try," he said.

"Look at me? Please?" she asked softly. "I've dreamed of you looking at me like you wanted me for so long... I know it's probably foolish, but I want to see that, to feel it, before you cast the spell. Just in case I never will, afterward."

He looked her in the eye for a moment. "I'd offer to do the same for you, but...." He looked away. "I'm not... not like you. There's nothing worth seeing."

He never saw the slap coming; one moment he was looking at her, and the next he was on his back on the ground, and then she was straddling his thighs with her hands pinning his shoulders, and glaring down at him furiously. "Don't you dare say that sort of thing again! Nobody talks about the man I love like that!"

"W-what?"

"Do you think I lied to you?" she demanded.

"No, but--"

"So you're saying I have poor taste then?" Her nails bit into his shoulders, and she bared her teeth as she leaned in closer.

"N-no, but-- look at me, Ginny! What's there to look at?" he asked.

"You think you're a better judge of boys than I am, Harry James Potter?"

Harry swallowed, acutely aware of their position. "N-no. But... why? Why would you want to look at me?"

She looked disgusted. "Because I'm not queer?" she suggested.

"I know you aren't, but why me?" he asked. "Why not someone like-- like Victor Krumm?"

She looked even more disgusted. "Oh come on, Harry. That's not even trying. Ugh. I do not like my men big and dumb, thanks. I also prefer that they have a bit of grace, rather than stomping about like an elephant with a spear up its arse. And his looks are so boring. Not ugly, I guess, but nothing interesting, either. I don't want average. I want you." Her face softened as she looked down at him and added, "You idiot."

Harry sighed. "I really don't understand why, but I believe you."

She sighed. "Okay. Try this. I'm going to describe a girl, and you picture her in your head while I do. And close your eyes."

Reluctantly, he obeyed.

"Okay," she said. "To start with, she's very slender. Not skinny, or weak, just slim in a trim, athletic way. She has a lovely body. Not the kind of big-boobed overblown body some guys like, but a perfect example of her type. A dancer's body. And she moves as smooth and gracefully as a snake. As fast as a striking snake, sometimes, too, and she's far stronger than she looks beneath her robes. She's elegant in some ways, especially her face and her long, slender fingers that you just can't help but wonder how they'd feel on your body... but she's just dishevelled enough to be a real person, too, to show you that she doesn't mess around forever doing her hair and nails. Now add in midnight hair, and smooth, pale gold skin, and lips that were made for kissing. Top it off with the most beautiful eyes you've ever seen and a shy smile that could melt any heart she chose. Now, tell me, doesn't she sound beautiful?"

He nodded, slowly.

She stretched up, and he could feel the upper curves of her breasts brush his chin as she kissed each of his eyelids. "Well then, you should have no problem understanding how I can find you beautiful," she whispered.

"That's... that's how you see me?" he asked, not quite daring to believe her.

She nuzzled against the side of his neck. "Not how I see you. How you are," she said. "It's not just me. Did you really, really not know?"

"No," he said softly. "I didn't."

"I told you that any of the girls would want you... did you think I meant just for your protection?"

"I don't know," he said. "It's just hard to believe."

She kissed the side of his neck, then rolled off of him. "Make the blade and do the spell," she said, softly. "If nothing I can say will make you believe, then I'll just have to let you see through my eyes."

"Okay," he whispered, and transfigured the shard of obsidian into a tiny dagger. "Last chance to change your mind...."

"I'm not going to change my mind."

He nodded, and drew the blade across her skin.

The magic didn't want to cooperate. Or maybe it was just that what he was trying to do and what he wanted to do were at odds with each other. Whatever the cause, it twisted rebelliously in his grasp, writhing like a desperate snake, hunting either escape or something to bite. He fought it, imposing his will on the raw power until he thought he had it under control, and sent it into her, along the proper path to accomplish his goal. It went obediently enough, at first, and he felt a strange buzzing in his head and a small, stinging pain on his stomach, and then the magic whipped around as if it were alive and wrapped around his hand. The obsidian blade shattered, and one of the razor-sharp pieces sliced deep into his hand at the same time that Ginny cried out in pain as the cut on her stomach suddenly doubled in length and depth. Dropping the broken blade, he reached for her, instinctively trying to stop the flow of blood with his hand. Then the world spun madly around them and everything went black.