Author's notes: Written for my beloved Erica who as well as being a good friend, started my interest in Lucius/Ginny and the delightful possibilities. I'm sorry about your bad week love.

Disclaimer: The fantabulous JK Rowling created them and I think she deserves every cent of that money for what she's created.

Ginny Weasley was sixteen when the visits started. He like his son possessed an invisibility cloak, an array of dark spell and a determination to get what he wanted regardless of consequences. So he would come to her every night and use her until he was satisfied. The first time she said no. The second time she struggled. He smiled in genuine amusement on both occasions and after that she gave up trying to resist. Mostly she lay under him passively and let her mind wander.

What would her family say?

How much would Lucius suffer before her brother killed him?

She had a vague answer to that one. Ron would see red and that would be over in seconds. Fred and George would make it slow and painful, days even weeks, Charlie would make it quick but painful and Bill would do it slowly, painfully all while lecturing laconically perhaps in time to his torture. That thought usually made her smile.

But the number one thought was always

What would Harry say?

"Gin," he would say, she imagined "How could you?" Disappointment and reproach in his green eyes. She never consented but she never said no either. Did that still count as rape? She wondered.

Ginny asked him once why he choose her of all people.

"My dear," he purred "My master had you once and as his most prized follower, surely it was my right?"

"You may have been my first physically Lucius but Tom was always there before you."

She had the satisfaction of seeing him wince before she saw stars.

After that she stopped feeling. She stopped being. All that innocent naiveté she clung to all these years, like battered armour after Tom fell away. She stopped being Ginny Weasley and no one noticed.

Not her parents.

Not her brothers.

Not even Harry Potter.

La fine.