Run Ginny, Run

Ginny Weasley never sleeps well alone. She was happily accustomed to the ever-present bumps and groans of the Burrow; the creaks and murmurs of the house itself, the knocking about of her brothers, and the random wailings of the family ghoul. Life at Hogwarts perpetuated her problem, because at Hogwarts, one is never truly alone. Since she’d started her life as a free, independent woman and moved away from home, she found herself missing the comforting sounds of other people. She loves her little cottage, without question, but in the nights, she often finds herself keenly aware of her own solitude, and sleep never comes as easy, or as restfully, as she would like…

Dream Ginny wanders around a forest. It is an especially pleasant day, with sunlight filtering emerald through the swaying leaves above. She is happy, savoring the breeze brushing over her skin, and the crunching of leaves underfoot. She is barefoot, wearing only a light dress despite the hazards of hiking, it's a dream, so this works well enough. Despite her overall contentment, she is aware of a compulsion that is pulling her forward; she is not ambling about randomly, no, not at all, there is this...almost tangible sense of something drawing her towards it. Dark clouds roll overhead, casting shadows over her paradise as they pass. It isn't necessarily ominous, just...disconcerting for a moment. As she moves closer to her...unknown destination, the compulsion grows stronger and stronger. She becomes increasingly distressed that she has not arrived, more and more desperate as she approaches. She break into a run, with a dim awareness of how good it feels to stretch her muscles and break free that is overshadowed by her driving need to reach the...

...She breaks through the tree line onto a plateau of stark stone. Shale and granite and quartz shards complete a setting as beautiful in its severity as the forest in its lushness. A massive building rises up from the stones before her, a construction can hardly be explained--all hard edges and outcroppings, a strange, haunting bastard child of the gingerbread castles of the Alps and the brooding manors of the English moors. She comes to a dead halt at its front doors. The frenzy of her need hardly cedes, but a new wave of anticipation/expectation/trepidation washes over her. She pauses, trying to process all the feelings; searching for a break in the madness, but the compulsion is stronger than ever, and she pushes open the door into the hall.
She is instantly struck by the scent of him. Powerful, alluring, a new sort of need courses through her, the sense of expectation grows. She knows that he is here. She always knew. A single, irresistible force of attraction, calling to her…
She moves quietly farther into the keep, constantly attentive to his presence, though she don’t know where he is. A small piece of her consciousness is aware of her surroundings, wide, high-ceilinged halls with elaborate carvings and sparse furnishings. The only light filters through floor-to-ceiling windows, the doors lining the halls are closed. It doesn’t occur to her to call out to him; she knows he’ll find her soon enough. Consciousness of him tingles in her skin, and shivers of desire ripple through her. She keeps walking, listening, waiting.
She feels him fall into step behind her, far down the hall. She does not turn. His pace is even with hers, he is stalking her. A new sense takes her over; an instinctual awareness that she has become prey. Her heartbeat quickens, she can feel the blood pulsing faster through her veins, her muscles tense, and she takes off running once again. He knew she would run, he knows every move she makes. He doesn’t miss a beat, falling into a predatory pursuit. She races through halls; throwing doors open before her, up and down stairs, throwing herself around corners, listening intently to the sound of his foot falls behind her. His chase is almost lazy, he’s letting her run; he knows the game will end whenever he wants it to.
She’s drowning in sensations; base, instinctual fear at being pursued by a larger, stronger creature, invigorated excitement at the thrill of the game, and dizzying sexual attraction, tightening throughout her body and begging her to give up the flight. Her body wants his desperately, and he can smell it all over her. They both know what’s waiting between her legs, and just how evident he will find her desire.
She makes a last desperate attempt down a corridor, almost reaching the end when he decides he’s had enough. A few last loping strides and he’s immediately behind her, reaching out to catch her. He wraps one hand around her hair, wrapping the other around her breasts, pulling her flush against his body. Her breathing is erratic; she unconsciously pushes back into him. He rub s his unshaven cheek against her neck, scratching her skin lightly, murmuring against her skin “why did you run?” as he traces her breasts through her dress. “Why were you chasing me?” she whispers back, arching against his hands.
She catches sight of their fractured reflection in the window panes overlooking the barren plains of rock with her forest beyond. His eyes are locked on, hard, demanding, roiling with desire. He unwinds his fist from her hair, pressing the hand against her stomach. She lifts her arms back, wraps them around his neck, his hands travel lower over her body, pressing the fabric against her pussy, tickling long fingers into the hot, wet parts of her. Her head rolls back into his shoulder on a purr as she grinds herself more firmly against him, allowing herself to savor the push of his erection against her back.
His control finally breaks, in one instant he’s torn her dress over her head and dragged her to the floor with him, shedding his own clothing hastily. She reaches for him, eagerly, overcome by his passion, welcoming him readily as he slides his rigid thickness into her in one massive thrust. Blinded by delight, she casts her head back, drawing fingernails across his skin, tilting her hips desperately to meet him, reveling in the feel of his chest pressed against her breasts; of his weight covering her. The sweet assault of her body draws cries from her throat as he surges in and out of her body, building the euphoric friction within her. More and more she loses control of her mind and body, abandoned to the intoxicating feel of his body penetrating hers, rubbing hard against every inch of her softness, dragging her into oblivion….

On a sharp, strangled cry, Ginny wakes, sitting bolt upright in bed. She gasps desperately for breath, pushing her long, sweat tangled locks out of her face with both hands. Disoriented, shaken, incredibly turned on, and pissed as all hell, she reaches for the phone, now used to the foreign contraption and dials the familiar number that she's been resisting for far too long. After a few rings, she gets a groggy answer, “Draco, I’m gonna need you to come over here again, there are a few things I’m going to need to do to you.”