Solitude (The Marks That Burn Remix)
Title: Solitude (The Marks That Burn Remix)
Author: kanella
Disclaimer: not mine
Word Count: 980
Rating: R
Summary: Ginny does what she can to get by.
A/N: Written for the Remix Redux -- a word or two has been changed from this story's posting on the Remix site
Original Story: Solitude by lindsey-grrl
This is how it is, now:
Ginny's forearm burns when she is called. She rushes to his side, bending to kiss his robes, My Lord, My Lord, like Severus taught her. She does not flinch when Tom draws a cold finger down the side of her face, the nail pressing deeply into her skin. She feels the blood run down her cheek. She looks him in the eye when he speaks to her. She smirks -- he likes her a bit naughty, she thinks -- and takes her place with Bellatrix. She listens to the meetings and remembers what is said.
She reports back to Dumbledore, but she leaves his office before Fawkes can heal the mark on her face. The phoenix's touch burns as Harry's does, as Dumbledore's does, as Tom's does, when he calls her from afar. She heals the mark herself -- a quick flick of her wand -- just carefully enough to leave a faint red line. She wants to make sure that Bellatrix will be able to see it at their next meeting; she wants it to stand there as a sign for all those that doubt her. She has learned the cost of doubt from Severus. The Cruciatus scars weave on his back like cobwebs.
She Apparates back to her flat and Draco is there. He pours her some wine and they hold their goblets high in silence. Ginny wonders if Draco is toasting his own cleverness. She knows she is toasting hers.
"Maybe you could join the Order," she says, tracing the rim of her goblet with a long finger.
His mouth curls downward in a frown, and he cocks his head to the side.
"I don't think so, Ginny." It speaks of the chasm between them, she thinks -- the red and the green, the serpent and lion at odds.
Later, Draco pushes her against the door of their bedroom and kisses her. He undoes the clasp of her fancy black robes and pushes them off her shoulders, letting them fall to the ground in a swirl of silk. His hands are too tender for her taste, his mouth too soft against the curve of her neck, and she strokes Draco through his trousers until he moans and shudders and forgets to be gentle. Each slam of Ginny's back against the wall is a new purple bruise. She'll wear them proudly tomorrow.
When they are done, they fall upon the bed and Draco reaches for a cigarette, filling the room with a blanket of smoke. Their legs are entangled in the red satin sheets, and their heads just barely touch on the pillow. Ginny fancies the image a romantic one and extends one white arm against Draco's chest to complete it. He casually rests his hand on her elbow, and she can feel the heat from the cigarette smoke stroke her skin, and she wants to push up and into the burn of the lit fag, because she wants this to mark her, too.
Draco is gone when she wakes in the morning, the packet of cigarettes on the bedside table the only evidence that he was ever there. She throws them into her bag before she walks out the door. She goes to an Order meeting and sits in silence. She nods her greeting to Severus but avoids her mother's eyes. It's harder to look into them these days, with her father and brother dead and the Mark twisting on her arm. She sits alone on the window sill. She doesn't expect anyone to bother her -- nobody ever does -- but there are only a few moments of solitude before she is blowing smoke into the face of Harry Potter.
"Give us a fag, Gin?" She quirks an eyebrow in surprise but fishes a cigarette from the pack anyway. She bypasses his outstretched hand to place it in his mouth herself. She wants to brush her thumb against his bottom lip when she pulls away, wants to see him shiver at the touch, but she knows the burn she would get if she did. She's smarter than that, now. She leans in, lighting him up with the heat of her own cigarette. He takes a long drag, and his hands shake when he plucks the fag from his mouth. She smirks at that, but this doesn't come as easily with Harry as it does with Tom.
"Didn't know you smoked," she drawls.
"Living and learning. It's not like I'm going to live long enough to suffer the bad effects, so I thought, what the heck..."
She hates it when he talks like this -- it's an insult to her work and the sacrifices she has made -- and so she sucks on her cigarette silently.
"Fuck all, Ginny. I hate this," he whispers, and his eyes are wide and bitter. She's seen that shade of green before, seen it burst and fly around her when Tom must make a demonstration. She wonders if Harry's eyes used to be a different color, before that night. She thinks that perhaps the failed killing curse marked him somehow, burned his irises green as a reminder, left behind like a bookmark.
His eyes don't quite meet hers, and she realizes that he is looking at the long, red scar on her cheek.
She opens her mouth to speak but does not get the chance to say a word, because the familiar pain is running through her arm. She catches Severus's eye and knows that he has felt it also. She puts out her fag and hops off the window sill. She tosses the pack of cigarettes over her shoulder to Harry and doesn't look back. Regrets are dangerous, she knows.
With Harry's green stare burning into her back and the weight of three generations of tired heroes upon her, Ginny Disapparates with a pop.
Author: kanella
Disclaimer: not mine
Word Count: 980
Rating: R
Summary: Ginny does what she can to get by.
A/N: Written for the Remix Redux -- a word or two has been changed from this story's posting on the Remix site
Original Story: Solitude by lindsey-grrl
This is how it is, now:
Ginny's forearm burns when she is called. She rushes to his side, bending to kiss his robes, My Lord, My Lord, like Severus taught her. She does not flinch when Tom draws a cold finger down the side of her face, the nail pressing deeply into her skin. She feels the blood run down her cheek. She looks him in the eye when he speaks to her. She smirks -- he likes her a bit naughty, she thinks -- and takes her place with Bellatrix. She listens to the meetings and remembers what is said.
She reports back to Dumbledore, but she leaves his office before Fawkes can heal the mark on her face. The phoenix's touch burns as Harry's does, as Dumbledore's does, as Tom's does, when he calls her from afar. She heals the mark herself -- a quick flick of her wand -- just carefully enough to leave a faint red line. She wants to make sure that Bellatrix will be able to see it at their next meeting; she wants it to stand there as a sign for all those that doubt her. She has learned the cost of doubt from Severus. The Cruciatus scars weave on his back like cobwebs.
She Apparates back to her flat and Draco is there. He pours her some wine and they hold their goblets high in silence. Ginny wonders if Draco is toasting his own cleverness. She knows she is toasting hers.
"Maybe you could join the Order," she says, tracing the rim of her goblet with a long finger.
His mouth curls downward in a frown, and he cocks his head to the side.
"I don't think so, Ginny." It speaks of the chasm between them, she thinks -- the red and the green, the serpent and lion at odds.
Later, Draco pushes her against the door of their bedroom and kisses her. He undoes the clasp of her fancy black robes and pushes them off her shoulders, letting them fall to the ground in a swirl of silk. His hands are too tender for her taste, his mouth too soft against the curve of her neck, and she strokes Draco through his trousers until he moans and shudders and forgets to be gentle. Each slam of Ginny's back against the wall is a new purple bruise. She'll wear them proudly tomorrow.
When they are done, they fall upon the bed and Draco reaches for a cigarette, filling the room with a blanket of smoke. Their legs are entangled in the red satin sheets, and their heads just barely touch on the pillow. Ginny fancies the image a romantic one and extends one white arm against Draco's chest to complete it. He casually rests his hand on her elbow, and she can feel the heat from the cigarette smoke stroke her skin, and she wants to push up and into the burn of the lit fag, because she wants this to mark her, too.
Draco is gone when she wakes in the morning, the packet of cigarettes on the bedside table the only evidence that he was ever there. She throws them into her bag before she walks out the door. She goes to an Order meeting and sits in silence. She nods her greeting to Severus but avoids her mother's eyes. It's harder to look into them these days, with her father and brother dead and the Mark twisting on her arm. She sits alone on the window sill. She doesn't expect anyone to bother her -- nobody ever does -- but there are only a few moments of solitude before she is blowing smoke into the face of Harry Potter.
"Give us a fag, Gin?" She quirks an eyebrow in surprise but fishes a cigarette from the pack anyway. She bypasses his outstretched hand to place it in his mouth herself. She wants to brush her thumb against his bottom lip when she pulls away, wants to see him shiver at the touch, but she knows the burn she would get if she did. She's smarter than that, now. She leans in, lighting him up with the heat of her own cigarette. He takes a long drag, and his hands shake when he plucks the fag from his mouth. She smirks at that, but this doesn't come as easily with Harry as it does with Tom.
"Didn't know you smoked," she drawls.
"Living and learning. It's not like I'm going to live long enough to suffer the bad effects, so I thought, what the heck..."
She hates it when he talks like this -- it's an insult to her work and the sacrifices she has made -- and so she sucks on her cigarette silently.
"Fuck all, Ginny. I hate this," he whispers, and his eyes are wide and bitter. She's seen that shade of green before, seen it burst and fly around her when Tom must make a demonstration. She wonders if Harry's eyes used to be a different color, before that night. She thinks that perhaps the failed killing curse marked him somehow, burned his irises green as a reminder, left behind like a bookmark.
His eyes don't quite meet hers, and she realizes that he is looking at the long, red scar on her cheek.
She opens her mouth to speak but does not get the chance to say a word, because the familiar pain is running through her arm. She catches Severus's eye and knows that he has felt it also. She puts out her fag and hops off the window sill. She tosses the pack of cigarettes over her shoulder to Harry and doesn't look back. Regrets are dangerous, she knows.
With Harry's green stare burning into her back and the weight of three generations of tired heroes upon her, Ginny Disapparates with a pop.