A/N: I do not own Harry Potter.
Ginny Weasley, eleven years old, has already lived a thousand lives.
She pretends to be a whirlwind of blazing red, snarky comments and protruding bones in order to hide her feelings.
She's a Weasley, after all.
...
"Ginny, are you alright?" Hermione asks her one night.
Oh Hermione, please help me. I think I'm going insane. Help me. Please, please help me, she thinks. "Of course I'm fine, 'Mione," she lies with a snarky smile.
Ginny, only twelve years old, already knows what people want to hear and what people do not want to hear.
It's kind of sad, really.
...
Most people just laugh at her when she admits she's scared of the frightening nightmares and the cool voice whispering inside her head twenty-four seven.
"Ginny, dear, it'll blow over," they say.
"Look at Harry. He's doing just fine," they say.
"We all have nightmares," they say.
People seem to forget the horror she has faced.
She does not stop them.
...
Ginny, at age thirteen, decides to stop sleeping.
She does not want to hear his seductive voice murmuring soothing words inside her ears.
Lie.
She does not want to feel his hands touching her innocent body.
Lie.
Hogwarts is too busy gossiping to notice her bloodshot eyes, her growing bags and greying skin.
...
She wears short skirts and high heels and smiles prettily at every guy who stares at her.
She knows damn well that she's way too young for this kind of behavior.
It's nice to hear his dangerously low growl, though.
...
She breathed spring; meadows full of dandelions and poppies and buttercups.
The grass greener than green, the sky bluer than blue.
The nearby woods entrancing and seductive.
"Ginevra, my dear," an enthralling said.
"Ginevra, my love, come to me."
Oh, how she loved spring.
...
Ginny, at age fourteen, cannot help but snap.
She knew people would see past her bubbly self.
She knew people would forget about her.
Nevertheless it still hurts.
...
Ginny, only fifteen years old, screams and screams and screams like there's no tomorrow.
Her skin is on fire, her crimson hair damp with cold sweat and blood, and her pajamas torn and filthy with dirt and mud.
She claws at her face, then goes to remove her eyeballs, then goes to destroy her arms by carving poetry onto them, then goes back to screaming.
"Mommy! Daddy!" she cries, ignoring his cruel, cruel words.
It's Charlie who wakes her.
"Ginny. Ginny, it's okay. You're safe. You're safe, Ginny. Please don't be scared, 'sis."
...
She does not want to tell her family about the nightmares.
They're not that important, really.
Dad believes her.
Mom does not.
...
Once upon a time there was a beautiful, beautiful girl who would do anything to protect her family, so down, down, down she goes.
It's a bit like Alice in Wonderland, she cannot help but think, except Alice eventually left Wonderland and I will be stuck there for eternity.
...
Ginny, on the eve of her sixteenth birthday, goes to sleep.
She does not wake for several days.
...
He's cruel, malevolent, hostile and so, so possessive.
She purposefully wears the shortest of short skirts, showing her beautiful legs. She 'accidentally' forgets her shirt and even pretends to be frustrated.
She deliberately presses herself against him when he's busy making plans to take over the Wizarding World.
He throws her against the floor, rips her clothes off and presses his fingers inside her and she grinds her teeth together while his kisses travel lower and lower and lower and—
oh
He pushes himself inside her, moving against her, grasping her hips, urging her to go faster and faster.
She knew this plan would work.
Afterwards, he sits up and she moves down on him, losing herself over and over again.
Oh, how she had missed him.
...
He's not gentle with her; he painfully pushes her against the walls and the cold floor of the Chamber while grinding against her.
He bites her, marks her, lets his nails make a piece of art on her back.
His lips claim hers and only leave hers to go up for breath.
"Mine," he growls. "You're mine, Ginevra."
She wants to reply – wants to say she's not his property – but his kisses make her go quite insane.
...
He gives her a ring.
She can't remove the band.
She pretends to hate it.
She does not.
...
Ginny, just seventeen years old, watches the Wizarding World burn.
Tom - Voldemort - and his slaves the Death Eaters kill and torture and spread fear throughout England and Scotland and Wales and Ireland and soon after—
"He's going to take your soul, stupid fool," Bellatrix hisses in Ginny's ear, interrupting her thoughts.
Ginny does not blink, does not cower, does not cry.
"Dearest Bella," she says dangerously low. "Jealousy does not suit you."
...
It's Hades and Persephone all over again.
Except Ginny did not eat the forbidden fruit like Persephone had; Ginny had kissed her tormentor instead, bonding them together for eternity.
...
"You can't kill him, Harry," Ginny whispers into Harry his ear. "He's immortal, no matter what."
Harry looks confused. "But I already did."
Ginny wants to scream and cry and rip his heart out and curse him over and over and over again for not believing her.
You're a fool, Harry, she almost snarls.
Instead, she just laughs and shakes her head whilst staring fearfully at the diamond on her left ring finger.
...
Ginny, only eighteen years old, is hauntingly beautiful and Tom knows this damn well.
She hears his voice inside her head everywhere she goes.
It's not fair, she wants to think, but can't.
She loves him, she realizes, whether he loves her back or not.
...
She still wakes up screaming, feeling like her skin is on fire.
...
She wants to throw up as she stares at the body in front of her.
You're mine, Ginevra Riddle.
Your lousy 'ex-boyfriend' tried to take you away from me.
It's better this way, don't you think?
Don't be late, this evening, love, or I will have to kill Potter again.
...
Ginny, only eighteen years old, dies on the first day of Spring.
It's for the best, really.
She tried not to stare at her heartbroken family while caressing her belly.
She did not want to hurt them, honestly.
...
She wriggles against him and laughs sarcastically as he swallows his pride.
His hands are touching her swollen belly, his lips pampering her ears and neck.
"What do you think of Dean for a boy?" she pesters him.
He snarls angrily and moves his hand down her panties, circling his fingers ever so slowly, making her see black spots of pleasure.
"Tom," she gasps as he grinds against her, trapping her.
"Don't you even dare, you witch," he groans.
She just cackles.
...
Three months later, a single mother named Bella welcomes a perfectly healthy son.
The healers try not to whisper, though her behavior is rather strange, for the blond woman did not cry during child-birth.
He's perfect, Ginevra.
I know my son is perfect.
Our son, you hear me.
I know, you bloody fool. What do you think of Marvel?
Are you fucking kidding me?
No… What about Ophiuchus, then?
Oh my I did it. My very first one shot. I'd like to say thank you to the amazing Chris ( stcrwar . tumblr . com) for being the best beta ever!
Please review this story if you want to let me know your thoughts. I don't bite. Pinky promise.
Update 20/3/16: Alrighty so hereby an explanation concerning my use of Tom his surname. I KNOW Tom absolutely hates his surname, but in order to get 'married' or some use some 'bonding contract/spell/whatever' you're going to have to use a surname... in my opinion. Whether the girl takes the surname of her husband/wife or keeps er own name, that doesn't matter. Since Voldemort is not, and does not have, a surname, I thought I'd use Riddle instead. Yeah so that's why.