Voldemort's Ploy

They aren't mine, would that they were. I have SO MUCH fun playing with them!

**********************************************************************LV****************************************************************************************

'Tis the night before Christmas hols. If I were the type to indulge in a hearty evil laugh, I would be doing so right now. All of the players are in place. My lovely little Mudblood is revising in the Library, while visions of her debauchery dance in her head, or so I can only hope. Miss Ginevra Weasley, blood-traitor extraordinaire, will be meeting my esteemed person at the portal of the Head Girl's room at the predetermined hour, provided she can avoid being detected by patrols. I, as Harry, have lent her the Invisibility Cloak for such an occasion, so she may sneak out of the Gryffindor common room to meet me, thinking I am Harry.

She fell for the ruse like a Dumbledore from the Astronomy Tower. She fully believed that Hermione had gifted her room to us for the night as an early Christmas present to finally consummate the relationship before we were surrounded by her family members and unable to find the privacy to do the thing properly. I replaced dear Mr Potter's pain potion with sleeping draught and raged about in his head until he had no recourse but to take some. It is good that his connection to me is a source of disquiet and embarrassment to him, else he wouldn't keep his own ready supply instead of having to go to Madam Pomfrey for a remedy. I got the potion from her, actually, and she never realized the difference between us. So it is, despite his earlier nap, he has gone off to bed long before curfew, leaving me free to complete the rest of my preparations hours in advance of Miss Weasley walking into my trap.

I retrieve the other potion from the Room of Requirement, in the place where things are hidden. I take the opportunity to ensure something else I left in that place is still undisturbed, thinking I may just have to remove it before too long. The room has received far too much attention of late, and though I thought it best to hide it in plain sight, sort of a forest-for-the-trees type thing, with all the attention the room has been getting lately, that may not be the best course. But I will not move it tonight. I make my way quickly to the boudoir of my little sex slave and speak the password I have plucked from Potter's mind. Ever a creature of habit, she will not be returning to her rooms until shortly before curfew. I begin setting up the sitting room to indicate a romantic night in for the two of them, Granger and Potter, I mean, and it will be repurposed to serve for the same for Weasley. I leave a bit of parchment on the chilling bottle of Elfmade wine in Potter's handwriting, indicating she should join him (really, me) in the bedroom when she's ready to. Rose petals leading toward the room with the bed curtains drawn, candles, soft music playing from the soundbox that some previous Head Girl had charmed or bought to add to the room, and all is made ready for her to be caught in my web.

I find a dark corner in her bedroom to hide myself and wait. Excitement causes the blood in Potter's veins to pound, the breathing to accelerate. After living in a body that feels few of these things, the sensations are heady. I can have the power of my own form and experience those things that make life worth living, too. There is some expression about cake that sums it up rather well, but it evades the mind for the moment while I await with anticipation my first victim of the night. Ah, the vigor of youth! It is heady and so welcome a change.

**************************************************************************HG***********************************************************************************

As I drag myself and my twenty-pound bag through the portrait, the first thing I notice is the dim, flickering candlelight, helped along by the light of the fire in the grate. Next is the aroma of the candles, some of them are scented ones from my own private stock. I've always been a bubble-bath, candles, and a good book kind of girl. I drop my bag and take in the transformation of my room, seeing it like never before. I walk around in wonderment for a moment, a giddy smile taking over my face.

"Oh, Harry," the soft sound escapes me without my foreknowledge as my eyes rest on the coffee table, where a bottle of wine sits in a bucket on ice, with a bit of parchment stuck to the side. I approach it quietly, glancing around for the source of this wonderful surprise, finding him absent. He may be under his cloak, watching my reaction, so I take up the note, playing along.

So it turns out I can be romantic. Who knew? I thought you might need something like this, so I hope you like it.

Love, Harry

I clutch the note to my chest, written in his familiar scrawl. Before this whole mess, I had thought of him like a brother, and a younger one at that. I can't contain the pride in my heart that he'd grown up enough to think to do something like this for me. I never knew he had it in him. Sure, he's always been a loving, emotional sort, but awkward when it came to the fairer sex. His bewilderment at Cho's teary-eyed kiss had been the first time he'd ever asked me for advice when it came to women's emotions. That he'd matured this far... can it be that my Harry is growing up? After our passionate, frantic first time and the amazing shower sex, the shy way we parted, I had no idea that he'd realized that I'd had a distinct lack of true romance in my life. That he could ever have guessed that deep down, I craved it.

The trail of rose petals catch my eye, and I snatch up the wine bottle from the bucket, conjuring a small amount of air inside to push the cork out. I cast about me for something suitable to make wine glasses and settle on the short rocks glasses on the sideboard by the mini kitchenette, fluting them with a few flicks of my wand. I glance at the bottle and back at the door, suddenly nervous. Before I can think twice about it, I've poured myself a glass for courage and down it quickly, the sweet and tart taste of the wine shooting sparks down my tongue and the alcohol settling in my stomach with a pleasant warmth.

Now, I'm ready to go face him. He's done his best to give me a beautiful dream of what could be, when everything is over, and I simply must give him my thanks and let him know the effort was not wasted. I push open the door, bottle in hand, feeling giddy as A Night To Remember plays sweet and low on the music box.

The curtains are drawn tight and I smile as I imagine Harry in there, running nervous hands through his hair, awaiting my reception to his thoughtful gift. I reach for the edge of the drapes, grinning, with an exuberant "Harry!" only lips, only to stop in confusion when I see he's not in there.

Far too late, I see the flicker of movement from the shadow and I'm caught, unable to move, falling petrified to the bed.

My beautiful dream has turned to a nightmare as I watch my wand fall from motionless fingers to the covers, but it's not been much use to me in these situations lately, anyway.

"Goodness me, what a poor little fly caught in the spider's web." The voice of my nightmares caresses my nerves, drawing a shudder from the center of my being. He grips my arm carelessly and hefts me over onto my back. His eyes glow red and he licks his lips. "Hello, dinner." His cruel smile is very nearly my undoing. How can I feel so much hatred and want at the same time? How does he do this to me? I can not speak, unsure if it's from whatever spell he used to bind me or that the words just won't come.

"Harry's been a very bad boy," he tuts conversationally as he begins unfastening my school robes, "and so have you. Didn't I tell you that you were mine? Didn't I say that?" Oh, God, his hand snakes up under my skirt to play with the crotch of my panties, already becoming wet at my predicament. "I know everything you've done with him. Does that surprise you?" He continues asking questions as if I were answering him, so perhaps I can't speak after all. "I've seen all his memories and I am very, very disappointed in you. Did our time together mean nothing to you that you would just hop into the next wizard's bed who came calling?" My confusion must be shooing in my eyes because his grin widens. "It may be his body, but make no mistake. Only I know how to touch you like this. Only I know how to satisfy those cravings you've never admitted to anyone, even yourself. Perhaps I have not made that clear enough to you, Mudblood. You will definitely learn that lesson tonight." He continues undressing me slowly, moving my limbs as if I am his life-sized doll, bestowing maddening caresses on my most sensitive areas as he goes. He does it leisurely, as if he has all the time in the world. There is nothing frantic in him, knowing he has me helpless and quiet, unable to stop him.

Once I am completely naked, he starts kissing me all over, softly, almost sweetly, as if he's trying to convince me that he loves me, that we are lovers. Where is all his roughness now? He leaves me no refuge to retreat to, no pain to hold onto as he plays my body like an instrument, and I can do nothing but feel it all. When his mouth arrives between my legs, I wish with all my being that I could release the sobbing moans that catch in my chest, unable to get out. He draws on me with his mouth, snakes his tongue around, drinks me in and takes me almost to the pinnacle, only to back off again until my nerves calm, avoiding my pussy lips and clit for a few moments before winding me up again. Each time, he makes me climb higher, never letting the pleasure fully spill over until I could go mad from it.

Finally, when I think just about any touch would send me over the edge, he stops completely and stands up to walk away, out of my line of sight. Oh, God, is he going to leave me like this? I can feel the tears of frustration spill out of the corners of my eyes. He returns to my side, leaning on the bed beside me, to gently cup the back of my head, tilting it back and looking into my eyes with an unreadable expression. "When this night is over, if you still retain your wits, you will know that you belong only to me. Oh, I know you don't believe me now, but you will. I will show you how benevolent a Master I can be. I'm going to bring you a gift and also punish Potter for trespassing on your... territory." Then, he lifts something to my mouth and liquid pours down. He massages my throat, making me swallow, something that tastes like warm chocolate liquor and sweat on human skin, sweet and salty, with the hint of tart strawberries.

A buzz begins to overtake my senses, the candles burning brighter, the shadows and light going fuzzy around the edges, the longing in my flesh amplified far worse than I had ever felt. My heart despairs at the knowledge that he just fed me a lust potion, not Amorentia, but something else. Amorentia is specific to the person who added the final ingredient; much like the last ingredient of Polyjuice, it needs I catalyst. This just amplifies the desire I already feel to a fever-pitch, making me care about nothing else but getting relief--cock, tongue, fingers, toes, it matters not how---I just want to be filled, to be touched.

He lifts me up easily and repositions me at the topmost corner of the bed, furthest from the door. I eye him hungrily, but he merely smiles and pats my sex, sending zings of pleasure/pain through me at the rough touch. The he gets up and leaves me, bereft, closing the curtain and leaving me in darkness.

He. Left. Me. Like this. Wanting. Aching. Needing. Unable to move, to even touch myself and try to ease some of the ache. No explanation, no warning, and no idea when he will return. HEARTLESS BASTARD! I hear the door click shut and wish with all my heart I could scream aloud with the frustration, whimper from the need, throw things or ravish him, ravish myself.

Please.... please come back.

Don't leave me like this.

Please... somebody... anybody save me from this torment.

FUCK ME!

Please...

****************************************************************************GW*********************************************************************************

My heart is pounding and I can't tell if it's from fear of getting caught out--I'm under Harry's Invisibility cloak! Can't you hear me breathing?or if it's from the fact that I know I'm about to give my virginity to the man I love, even though we're not married--Ginevra Weasley! I know I taught you better than this! (that's my mother's voice, chiding me for being such a harlot--but I am going through with this, no matter what. I have to know, have to see it through. Shit! Was the scraping of my foot too loud? They're surely to catch me! The billow of a robe around a corner nearly makes me gasp, until I remember that Snape is no longer in the castle. I tuck into an alcove in the dark to try to calm my breathing before it gets to be too loud or I pass out from hyperventilating in the middle of the hallway and get trampled under the first wave of students' feet in the morning. I force back a hysterical giggle with a hand over my mouth. I can feel it trembling against my lips. I stay tucked away for what feels like an hour, but I know it's only been minutes from the steady ticking of the clock above the archway at the end of the hall. I count along with the ticks, trying to slow the raging beat of my heart with the steady rhythm.

I pull myself together and concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other, refusing to think about how my journey will end and only of being as quiet as possible. Oh, Harry, how could you stand this? Sneaking out under this cloak for the first time is nerve-wracking to say the least! My ears strain for the slightest sound while I clutch the catnip mouse in my hand just in case Mrs. Norris happens by. The toy soaks up the sweat from my palm and I can only hope I don't ruin the catnip's smell with my own.

I don't know how I did it, and it's almost a shock to find myself standing before the portrait closure to Hermione's room. I stand there, stupidly staring, for another while before I can whisper to the sleeping damsel, "Erm, excuse me."

"Eh, what? Who's there?" She rouses from her slumber. Hermione told me she's a light sleeper and I'm glad for it.

"Chromium diagnostic," I whisper, and the young lady huffs as she looks around.

"Invisible, are you? Highly irregular." I really wish she'd keep her voice down. "You know the password, though, so I suppose I have to let you through." She swings aside, still grumbling, but I dash inside and the portrait snaps shut behind me.

It's claustrophobic as hell beneath the cloak and I whip it off as soon as I'm out of the hallway.

The sight that greets me takes my already trembling breath away.

Harry's filled the room with candles. They and the fireplace give off a golden light that, together with the cream tones of the room, give off a sense of baking bread, of home. The scent of cinnamon and apple blossoms mingle with sugar figs and plums, sweet but not cloying. I am instantly at ease and I can't understand how my pulse-pounding journey could end in this haven of homey smells, but I am grateful for it. Right there, in the center of it all, Harry gets up from the couch and stands to face me.

"Harry," I murmur softly, unable to say anything more.

"Ginny," he smiles, and holds out a hand. "Would you like some champagne?"

He's dressed like the hero on the cover of one of my favorite romance novels, the one Ron teased me so mercilessly about when he found it under my bed, and then proceeded to show the rest of the house while I chased him down the stairs: black trousers, bare feet, and a billowy white shirt, open all the way past his delectable navel. My mouth waters at the sight of so much Harry-flesh, at the shadows between pectorals, the sparse but dark hair at his solar plexus and in a little trail from the bottom of his belly button to the top of his trousers and beyond. I watch the play of muscles as he lowers his arm and bends to pick up one of the champagne flutes and fill it with the bubbly white wine. I swallow reflexively and he holds the glass out to me.

It's my move. I know it. How exactly do I walk across the room to get my glass? I feel glued to the floor with a sticking spell. Harry sighs at my lack of response and runs a hand through his hair, tousling it. The familiar nervous gesture gives me the strength I need to begin walking toward him, picking up speed until I'm nearly running and I feel my chest hit his with force as I wrap shaking arms around him, burying my face in his shoulder and inhaling his scent deep into me.

He grunted slightly at the impact, but recovered quickly, and now his own arms come around to hold me in a loose embrace. A hand strokes my back to soothe me.

"I'm nervous, too. If it helps," he tells me. I just nod, holding him tight.

"Would you just like to sit on the couch for a bit?"

"Yes," I reply, finally able to tear myself away to sit quickly on the couch. He hands my glass down to me and I take it with both hands, afraid to drop it. My hands have suddenly become strangers to me, but I manage to get the glass's rim to my lips and tip the bubbly liquid into my mouth. The bubbles ignite on my tongue, breaking in a glory of little fireworks, and I swallow. Again and again, I swallow, slowly taking the alcohol into me and hoping for my courage to come back.

He refills my glass and I sip it more slowly, staring into the fire, thinking too much and nothing at the same time.

"Sickle for your thoughts?" he murmurs, sitting beside me with his own glass.

"I wouldn't even know where to begin," I admit softly as I recognize the trembles leaving me.

"What would you like to do? We can sit here and talk all night if you want."

"That's... very noble of you, Harry, but no. It's not what I want." I put my glass down slowly on the low table by my knee and turn to him. The firelight reflects off his glasses and I can't see his eyes, but the soft smile on his face is at war with the worried frown wrinkling his brow. Instead of waiting for him or voicing my wants, I lean in and kiss him, my eyes sliding closed.

We kiss and kiss and kiss, his tongue sliding over and under mine in an artful caress, little bits of how he's learned to kiss me interspersed with new, exciting techniques. I wonder where he learned them from, but I won't argue with a good thing. Adventurous Harry is a major turn-on. Our harsh breathing fills the room, and I feel my knickers getting soaked. My legs instinctively part as his hand slides up my thigh.

A few heartbeats of hesitation and his fingers finally arrive at their destination with an audible intake of breath from us both. Suddenly, he's kissing me like a man possessed and his hand cups me fully, almost harshly. His fingertips push my knickers aside, the heat scorching against the cool of his fingers, and ah! So much sliding, sweet torment! I feel my body tremble and grow hot and cold in turns, until a cry is wrenched from my lips and white-hot sparks pass behind my tightly closed eyelids. For a moment, I feel as though I am flying during one of the best and most earth-shattering orgasms to date. Even Luna's fingers never felt so good, and that lovely Ravenclaw has had plenty of opportunity to ply them over my eager flesh.

I come down, trembling, as he continues to rain kisses down over my neck and shoulders. "Take me to bed, Harry," I sigh.

"As the lady wishes it, so shall it be," he chuckles, and scoops me up into his arms. He snogs the living daylights out of me and begins treading toward the waiting bedroom.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

a/n

Almost to the evil, lemony lemons!

I hope you like it so far. Please review!