Pre-Fic Note: This drabble was also a plot bunny. Draco/Ginny!Angst.

Also, this is Pre-HBP.

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They’re wet and he’s pounding into her so hard her back strikes the wall every time. She knows she’s going to bruise but she can’t bring herself to care. And she doesn’t know how this got started exactly or who initiated it or anything like that because it doesn’t really matter. As long as he’s in her, touching her, fucking her. It doesn’t matter and she doesn’t care. She knows she’ll care in the morning and she’ll hate herself and she’ll cry. She knows she’ll walk down to breakfast with Harry, Ron, and Hermione, and they’ll ask her what’s wrong and has she been crying and she’ll lie to them the way she does every time. And she knows that if he looks at her just once, she’ll lose her appetite and turn around and leave. Because she can’t eat when he’s looking at her—because he knows about her, about what she likes, and because it’s him. She can’t force herself into pleasant conversation with her friends when the boy she’s fucking is watching her. She can’t because she’s Ginny Weasley and because he’s Draco Malfoy and no one is going to approve of their relationship; not even house unity promoting Dumbledore. But they can’t go back to not touching each other because then they wouldn’t have each other and neither is willing to accept not having the other. But it doesn’t matter to her just then because he’s shifted and changed the angle just so and is hitting that spot and—ohmygod—she’s coming and then he’s coming. And then they’re a tangle of sated limbs sinking to the floor of the Quidditch changing-room showers.