RAPE THE WILLING

 

Ginny knows that there is something evil, deep inside of her. Of course, everybody tells her that it wasn’t her fault, and she couldn’t possibly be blamed because she is only a very little girl, and that Voldemort’s evil has broken the mind of even very old and very wise wizards. She recalls Percy, the summer after her first year at Hogwarts, mumbling something to Mum about rape, how it had been a rape of her mind. Ginny didn’t know what rape meant at the time, exactly, but it had made her mother’s face go slack and white so Ginny never asked about it.

Perhaps it hadn’t been her fault. Perhaps it was Voldemort’s evil influence calling her from inside the pages that made her open the book, made her write in it, made her fall into it, in love with it, made her allow it to suck her inside of it. But she doesn’t think so.

After all, as they say, you can’t rape the willing.

When she found out that Tom, cruel but beautiful Tom, was really Voldemort, she had of course been horrified. What nobody knows is, what she will never tell anybody is, she was horrified because Tom had lied to her, lied when he said he’d be young and beautiful forever. Tom had grown up and lost his beauty and kept his cruelty and tried to kill Harry. Her Harry, their Harry.

Ginny had poured her heart out to Tom, fantasies of Harry drawing her away from her boring life and kissing her with desperate passion, just like in a fairy tale.

And Tom had matched them. Bettered them, perverted them. Told Ginny stories of Harry’s cock shoved down her sweet little throat, his fingers on the insides of her thighs. Stories of Ginny’s blood, red as her hair against white sheets. Stories of Harry’s blood, and how it would taste, and how it would feel good on her skin.

Like Harry, she has pieces of Voldemort strewn around inside her mind, perhaps inside her body. She can’t talk to snakes but she conjures them, secretly, and just stares at them. Their smooth white flesh, their flickering pink tongues, their small wet black eyes. She loves them, and as if sensing that they curl around her fingers, slip under her robes.

She still has dreams about what could have happened, there in the Chamber of Secrets. If Tom had succeeded. If he had poured all of himself into Ginny, his mind in her mind, his soul stretching the confines of her skin. If he had been inside of her.

Ginny knows it wasn’t really her that Tom wanted. Nobody ever wants Ginny, small and quiet and unobtrusive, just another Weasley. Ginny doesn’t even want Ginny. No, Tom had wanted Harry, but that was okay.

Ginny wanted Harry, too.

And Harry didn’t want Ginny, and he did want Tom, in one way or another, and it was all very confusing but what it boiled down to was: if Tom had stayed inside of Ginny, there would be no problem. Or the problems would be different, or less, or something.

If Tom was in Ginny, they could have had Harry. They could have run their fingers through his black hair and kissed his lips, and…other things. Other things that Tom had told Ginny about, that Ginny has dreams about, things she’s read about in books with dark covers that Fred and George keep hidden beneath their beds. She once cast a memory charm on Ron so he wouldn’t tell Mum about them, and he wandered about with a blank look for an hour afterwards.

Ginny has these dreams, about Tom inside of her, but what she wont tell anybody is that they aren’t going away with time, as everyone said they would. If anything, they’re getting stronger. With every murder and every disappearance, the dreams gain a dimension; become one step closer to reality.

Just the other night, Ginny could have sworn she felt fingers on her thighs. Real ones. She’s seen Harry looking at her lately, the way he would never look at plain little Ginny Weasley. The way that she thinks she remembers Tom looking at her, whenever he talked about Harry.

Voldemort is getting stronger. Stronger inside of Harry, and stronger inside of Ginny, and stronger entirely outside of both of them. Ginny knows it’s horrible, evil, to think about the power Voldemort has, must have. She thinks that someday, with enough power, he’ll be able to turn himself back into Tom, beautiful and cruel but mostly just beautiful. She knows that to do this, he’ll need her. Need Ginny, inside of whom Tom Riddle is still alive and well.

Like Harry, he doesn’t want her, but he needs her, whether he knows it or not. And one day he’ll have her.

You can’t rape the willing. And Ginny won’t let herself be a victim anymore.

 

END