Author's note; Inspired by the surprising amount of Dean/Ginny in HBP (especially considering the nonexistant amount of Harry/Ginny they showed), and Yuu, a friend at a roleplaying forum who plays (surprise! - I've never seen one before!) an interesting Dean.

Rated a soft M for 'suggestive content', but nothing descriptive.

If you recognize it, it ain't mine. Enjoy! =D

You're living on borrowed time, and you know it even if she doesn't.

Every moment you spend with her you breathe for what seems like the first time since you last saw her, and it's like turning on a light in a dark room or sitting in front of a fire on a chilly night – you can see it's meant for you and you can taste it but it's entirely artificial, it belongs to someone else.

You don't think she knows, and you're right, she has no idea, but you're so painfully aware of it that it's all you can think about when you see her. she's so inescapably Harry's, there's no room for any thoughts in your head when you're together other than how beautiful and perfect and utterly unownable she is.

But she has no idea. She thinks she's in love with you fully, and she never notices the cool, distant abstractness that's always present when you're with her. You never kiss her lightly, it's always forceful and passionate, against a wall or holding her close or on top of her, trying desperately to push away the cold, to be everything she wants you to be. Trying to be Harry, and you know half the reason she loves you is due to the way you treat her; needy, desperate, passionate, like she's a meaningful, sultry woman and not a child. You treat her a little rough around the edges, a little hard, and she loves that because if Harry loved Ginny, that's how he would treat her, too.

You draw her every way you can – but always only the ways you've ever actually seen her – you'll have the rest of your life to draw her from memory, from imagination, and you know your time with her is severely limited, so you try to make the most of it.

She loves posing, she loves feeling your eyes study her, knowing you're undressing her in your mind, but you enjoy drawing her when she doesn't know you are best. The way her hair curls, the way she sets her jaw and crosses her legs and chews on her thumb nail, but only ever her thumb nail.

She always likes the pictures you draw when she is unaware much better then those in which she poses. She doesn't understand why, but you know it's because when she's aware of herself, she sets up what she thinks is her beautiful front, and her beautiful front is so much uglier then the real Ginny.

It was her idea to do the nude picture, and you jumped enthusiastically on board. You and Ginny found a secluded spot on the grounds one fall night, far past curfew. You made her a bed of autumn leaves, leant against the base of a tree, and watched with unabashed hunger as she stripped as seductively as she could. Your hands slips into your pants without shame, and she watches just as shamelessly, and you know she likes it by the way you have to force her to take her pose, spread carelessly on the ground, instead of jumping you right then and there.

At first, you plan to draw her as quickly as possible, your hands aching to relinquish your quill and see how brown you look against her snow white skin, ghostly and translucent in the moonlight. But then it occurs to your that you won't always have a beautifully naked Ginny Weasley willing stretched front of you – and you'll certainly never have a Ginny Thomas in any way but your dreams. And so you draw her slowly, every curve, every muscle outlined and outlined again, the irises of her eyes perfectly alight, the curve of her neck arched and elongated, the moonlight dappled through the leaves above onto her skin.

You draw her finishing touches and when you look up next she's standing over you and you take her virginity with fervor, and your brown skin with her white is so beautiful it hurts, but you know that her brown eyes would look much better with his green.