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My Blood, Your Blood, Forever

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Ginny held the dagger in her right hand, testing the tip of it with her finger and wincing when it drew blood. She wasn’t sure what to do with it now she had it.

It had been sitting in a box in the attic, forgotten and dusty, distracting her from her job of sorting out the decorations. She’d always known it was there, in the box of relics and family heirlooms. She wasn’t going to lie, it was a small box and she’d been taught not to play with the things in there. Still, every year as she was assigned her Christmas role, she’d carefully peel the box open and look wistfully at its contents. Since she was eleven, the dagger in particular had called out to her and she knew why.

She was a good girl, she didn’t steal and she didn’t disobey her parents’ instructions but this year it had called to her stronger than ever, she could nearly hear it screaming along with the blood in her veins. It had begged to be taken out, admired and acknowledged for what it was; a thing of beauty.

She slid her hand round its handle, surprised by the weight of it, solid and heavy in her hand. Concealing it in the sleeve of her cardigan, she closed the box and descended the ladder, practically running to her room.

She sat down on the floor by her bed, heart pounding and hands shaking. She didn’t know what had come over her, she hadn’t intended to steal the dagger but here she was, withdrawing it from her sleeve and staring at her reflection in it. Her fingertip pressed into the point and she watched a little droplet of blood run down her hand, transfixed by it.

She jumped up when her door opened; dropping the blade but not before Harry saw it.

“That wasn’t what it looked like!”

“You’re bleeding.” Harry grabbed her hand and despite herself, she went red in the face.

“It’s nothing, I’m fine. Honest.” She brought the cut up to her mouth and sucked the blood out of it, savouring the tangy metal taste while Harry picked the dagger up from the floor.

“What are you doing with this anyway?” He looked at it before setting it down on her dresser.

“I wasn’t going to do anything with it, I swear. I’ve not turned psychopathic again,” she promised, laughing nervously.

“Were you going to hurt yourself?” He reached out for her hand again, so she had to look at him.

“No! No, of course not! I...that didn’t even cross my mind.” Ginny held his stare and he believed her. She wasn’t sure if what she’d actually been thinking would have been any less troubling.

“Then what?” he asked, frowning, not understanding.

“I don’t know. I don’t think I can explain it without it sounding really bad.” She cringed at herself, knowing she had no choice but to tell the truth, sooner or later.

“Whatever it is, I’ll understand. This is me you’re talking to, remember.” Harry gave her an encouraging nod.

“I... I just wanted to touch it, feel it. Ugh, this is going to sound terrible but I wanted to play with it.” She screwed her eyes up and waited for the inevitable freak out.

“What do you mean?”

Ginny opened one eye and relaxed when she saw he wasn’t backing away from her or removing all sharp objects within reach.

“It’s hard to explain but something in me just wants it and I like how it makes me feel. It’s powerful and such a rush, I haven’t felt like that since...” she trailed off guiltily.

“Since Riddle’s Diary,” he finished for her.

“Yes. I know he did terrible things through me and I caused so much trouble but a part of me liked it. Not the things I did but the feeling it gave me, does that make me a bad person?” Unable to look at him any longer, she dropped her gaze to the floor.

“Ginny, look at me.” He gently put his hand under her chin, raising her head. “I understand. Believe me, if anyone knows what it’s like to have Voldemort inside their head, I do. It’s like being on fire and being freezing cold at the same time, with all these thoughts running through your head that you want to pretend aren’t really yours because they terrify you. I know.” He leaned in and kissed her, letting her fear melt away while she relaxed in his arms.

“I should put it back, shouldn’t I?” she said when the kiss broke, the feeling the blade inspired faded back to mild curiosity.

“The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it,” Harry quoted thoughtfully.

“That sounds like something Hermione would say.” Ginny smiled.

“It is; she felt the need to justify Ron’s forth slice cake last night.”

“So you think if I could express it in a nice, non-violent manner, I’d feel better about it? I’m not sure if there even is a nice, non-violent way to play with knives,” Ginny said with a sigh.

“Let me take care of that, you get yourself downstairs. I was sent up here to fetch you; your mum wants help with the sprouts.”

“Gross, who even wants sprouts?” She rolled her eyes and gave Harry one last kiss before succumbing to her fate.


A few days passed, full of knowing glances and awkward interruptions. They hadn’t said anything more on the subject but Ginny knew that Harry was planning something. She could see it in little half smiles she’d catch when he thought she wasn’t looking. So, when she came down to breakfast and found the house deserted, she couldn’t say she was in the least surprised.

“Hello?” she called out anyway, knowing she wasn’t really alone. She even jumped slightly when arms curled around her waist.

“You don’t look ill,” he said, very close to her ear.

“I beg your pardon?” She raised an eyebrow, she was certainly confused now.

“Well, it’s just I could have sworn an hour ago I told your parents that I’d spotted you on the stairs, begging to be let off the family Christmas picnic because how unwell you felt. No? Must have been Ron’s other beautiful sister.”

“Yeah, must have been. And how did you get out of it?”

“Naturally, I volunteered to stay behind making you soup and passing you tissues.”


He led her upstairs to Bill’s old room, which was now Harry’s permanently whenever they weren’t at Hogwarts. A decision that had been made very quickly by her parents when Harry realised he had survived the war but, expecting the opposite, now, had nowhere to live.

She was quite surprised to see Gryffindor ties knotted to each bed post. She presumed one of them was Harry’s and she hoped to God the other was hers.

“What exactly have you got planned?” Ginny asked, a mildly curious look on her face. They weren’t exactly blushing virgins, in fact they’d christened most of The Burrow and there were places on The Marauders’ map that none of the teachers even knew about but they did. Still, this was a bit beyond anything they’d done so far.

“I was thinking what you said. Then I started thinking about you with that knife and that look in your eyes. You’ve never looked sexier.”

“Thanks?” she said not sure if she’d have chosen knife happy as her signature look.

“Really. There was a fire there and you looked so...hungry. I’m not helping am I?” Harry realised he was digging himself into an even deeper hole. “Anyway. That look and the idea of you looking like that, over me...”

“Is that was all...” She gestured at the bed. “This is for? Cause I hate to sound like an idiot here but I’m not connecting the dots.”

“You want to play with the dagger; I want you to play with me. Those two facts don’t have to be mutually exclusive.”

“Are you saying...” she trailed off, not even daring to ask if she’d understood in case she hadn’t.

“Now would probably be a good time to mention that I didn’t come out of Voldemort’s possession without a few dark thoughts of my own. Involving pain and blood and other bad things that you can’t tell your nice, normal, pygmypuff owning girlfriend for fear she’d freak out.”

“Since when have I been normal? Especially when it comes to you.” She smiled to herself as she remembered years of running out of rooms in case her red face and inability to speak would give away her school girl crush.

“So, what do you think?” Harry asked, pulling the dagger from somewhere behind him and placing it in her hands.

“Let me check to make sure we’re on the same page here.” She swallowed, unusually nervous. “You’re suggesting I tie you up, experiment with my – our – new found kink and then, should the need occur, fuck ourselves silly while my whole family has to endure 101 ways to reuse the Christmas turkey?”


“Have I said how much I love you yet today?” Her face lit up with something that was halfway between a smile and a laugh before pulling him into a kiss.

Her hands twisted the hem of his t-shirt, seeing how far off she could get it without breaking the kiss. She eventually relented, suddenly aware of her own attire.

“This would probably have been hotter if I weren’t in my pyjamas, right?”

“Not at all. But if you feel that strongly about them...” He pulled the drawstring of the pyjama bottoms open and watched them fall to the floor.

“That works for me.”

They kissed again and various items of clothing hit the floor until all there was between them was Ginny’s thin white lace panties. She wanted to ask if he was really ok with all this as she knotted the ties around his wrists but she was more scared of bottling it herself. His eyes followed her every move and she couldn’t help feel slightly self-conscious.

“It’s times like these I wish we kept alcohol in the house,” she said, laughing nervously.

“Ginny, if any situation should not involve you being drunk and may I remind you, you’re a clumsy drunk, it is this one.” Harry smiled to himself.

“Fair point.” She smiled too and felt better for it. It was still just her and Harry, she told herself.

“Ok,” she said mostly to herself, picking the knife up from the floor where it had fallen along with their clothes.

“Ok,” Harry echoed, for her benefit.

She crawled up the bed until she could sit comfortably, straddling his hips. She cut across the tip of her index finger and waited for the cut to bleed. When it did, she resisted the urge to suck the wound and instead trailed it across Harry’s chest, leaving a smear of red as she went. It made the cut sting and she breathed sharply inwards, the strange pain mixing with even stranger feelings.

She looked at the tip of the blade and the small red stain on it. A flow of images passed over her mind, her painting in blood on walls, her mind taken over by Tom, her thoughts turned to life and death and the fragile line in between. She could imagine it’d be nothing at all for a knife like this to slip and that’d be it, everything gone in the flash of a pretty little blade. Her first instinct was to push these thoughts away, like she always had done but Harry’s recycled words came back to her, the only way to be rid of it was to indulge it.

She pressed the flat of the blade to his chest, giving him a few seconds to change his mind before turning it on its side, a line of red springing up where the sharp metal touched. She hadn’t pressed hard and the blood only beaded against his skin. A quick lick and nobody would ever have known it was there.

She hadn’t registered what she was doing until the metallic taste of blood mixed with the salt of sweat on her tongue. The red returned slowly, mocking her, so she licked it clean again, more thoroughly, only backing off when Harry’s back arched up.

It came back again, barely there but still something. She ignored it.

She dragged the point of the blade over his ribcage, on some level aware enough to only cut shallowly and where people couldn’t see. On every other level, she was watching the blood crawl down his abdomen, testing how long she could let it go before she had to catch it, her fingers ruining the neat little line it had made.

Lots of little cuts eventually turned into bloody handprints across his body along with little areas of clean skin, where she couldn’t stop herself from sucking all the blood away. Her thoughts snaked between ones she was sure were Tom’s and ones where she couldn’t tell whose they were and most of the time ones she knew, deep down, were hers.

She couldn’t stop long enough to fully know what Harry was getting out of all this but she could tell by his hitched breath and his heart thumping in his chest, he was getting off on it. Or he was very scared. But his cock pressing hard against her suggested the former.

There was no doubt that she herself was getting off on it, her skin felt tight on her frame and she was very aware she was shaking with every laboured breath. She was wet enough that her underwear was sticking to her in a way that should be uncomfortable but oddly wasn’t.

She rubbed herself against his cock, trying to push her arousal down to a manageable level, to give her a little while longer before she needed him inside her.

Imagine how that red would look against your pale skin, that little voice in her head whispered as she looked down at her hands.

She made one last cut, deeper than any other and dropping the knife, she spread the blood over her hands. She raised them to eyelevel before running them over her abdomen and over her breasts, before slipping one hand into her underwear, touching herself.

“Fuck,” Harry breathed beneath her, reminding her that this wasn’t just for her. “I don’t know if beautiful is the right word but... yeah.”

Ginny laughed and leant forward to kiss him, her hands leaving bloodstains on the sheets. Thank God for magic, she thought to herself. Her body fell on his, the still wet blood sticky against her skin. She reached between them to guide him inside her, frustration practically making her scream for more. She rode him with her red fists twisting the mostly white sheets, chasing an orgasm that was just out of reach, driving her crazy with building tension. When Harry reached up and licked a line of blood off one of her breasts, her world fell away as he came inside her.

“Will they scar?” she asked afterwards, her back hitting the rest of the cold unused sheet. She didn’t have the energy to free him yet.

“I doubt it. Besides if they do, I’ll finally have a few scars with a happy anecdote attached to them.”