His hand caresses me, touching the tendrils of hair that frame my face, and I fight hard not to shudder in disgust. I have felt his touch before, but not like this. My hands curl into fists and I have to force myself to relax, to not reach up to the sharp pins holding up my hair.

Tom pulls his hand away and eyes me carefully. "You are ... different tonight."

Of course I'm different. The body before him is the same, but the spirit inside is not. I could not let him see that, though. Snape had warned me that my defences were not strong enough to withstand anything more than a cursory examination. If Tom suspected anything was out of place, if he saw the truth in my eyes, all would be ruined. So I drop my gaze and murmur, "I guess I'm nervous."

He seems to take my explanation at face value. Fingers trail from my jaw to my half-opened shirt. There they linger as he slowly works the buttons free. Seconds later, he pushes the shirt off my shoulders and nimbly unclasps the bra beneath. The chill air of the underground chamber makes goose bumps rise up.

As his head dips forward and his mouth roves over the sensitive pink flesh, I separate myself from what is happening to the body I occupy. Carefully, though, or he will notice. I cannot allow myself the luxury of mentally absenting myself completely as I had when Dolohov or Carrow paid me visits in the dungeon. A part of me remains aware and responds to Tom's motions with the anticipated sighs and gasps of pleasure.

The other part of me remembers what this man will become, the horror he will inflict upon others in the future if not stopped. I recall vividly the final battle and how hope was destroyed in a flash of green light. Harry died easily, quickly. His face had been peaceful as he collapsed to the ground.

Ron had not been so lucky. He was torn limb from limb after days of torture. I could still recall his screams vividly. Ginny and I had had it worse, though, far worse. Dolohov and Carrow were not the most evil of the visitors that called upon us. No, that was Bella - she was the one I feared the most. Her husband would hold me down as Bella used a broken-off broom handle to pleasure me. Poor Ginny didn't last long under their 'tender' ministrations.

Tom pushes me down on my back. I find myself awkwardly grateful to him for interrupting my thoughts. My eyes open and focus on the statue of Salazar Slytherin. With one hand, Tom pins my wrists above my head and enters with a thrust. There's a brief, tearing pain as he fills me. My gasp is swallowed by Tom's mouth hard upon mine.

What Ron and I never shared, Tom claims.

I had lost count of the many visits his Death Eaters had paid me when, in the dead of the night someone unexpected entered, using a secret passage. Cloaked in shadows and spells, Severus Snape whisked me away. A Potions master who did not carry an antidote? Everyone had thought him dead, but he had been too clever for that.

Clever and desperate. With Harry's death, there was only one option left. Send someone back in time to kill Tom Riddle. Impossible, I had thought; all of the Time Turners had been destroyed during the battle at the Ministry, back when Sirius had died. No one could go back in time and change what had happened.

I was wrong.

A potion fashioned with Dark magic. A spell wrought with blood. A plan crafted out of desperation. Snape had given me a single shot at changing everything. He was too weak himself to attempt it. Even if I succeeded, I would never be able to return; it was a one-way ticket. My body died the moment Snape cast the spell.

Only one person had ever truly been close to Riddle. A fellow classmate, Lilith. She was like him in so many ways: a kindred soul. The accident that ripped her soul from body, leaving her a comatose shell, had unsettled him ... and helped to shape the course of his life. It had given him further impetus to cheat death, to sustain body and soul forever.

It's her shell I now inhabit. Thrust across time, my spirit entered the moment hers left. To all outward appearances, Lilith never fell into a coma and the accident became nothing more than a failed experiment.

He rolls over on his back, pulling me along so that I straddle him. Hands on my waist, Tom guides the one woman he allows himself to desire. Only it's not Lilith who moans in pleasure. I reach upwards and remove the hairpins, clasping them tightly in my hands. Waves of raven-black hair cascade downwards. Tom tangles his hands in my hair and pulls me forward, seeking my lips - no, Lilith's lips. I close my eyes and see Harry's peaceful face. Once more I watch how my beloved Ron was tortured, hear his sister's screams as she was raped time and again.

With the suddenness of a striking snake, I plunge the first hairpin through Tom Riddle's neck. The thin, long metal rod pierces the skin smoothly and hot blood sprays out across my face. His dark eyes fly open in shock. Blood trickles from his mouth as he gurgles, releasing a hissing and sibilant breath. I stab him with the second hairpin in the chest, again and again, riding him as his body bucks in agony. Only when his body is still between my legs do I stop. The shock and rage in his eyes dies away, and I climb to my feet. By then it's too late.

With Tom's last breath, he had called forth the Basilisk. But I am unafraid. I have faced the worst life can offer. A large sinuous shadow rises up, cloaking me in darkness.

I open my arms and willingly embrace death.

~ Finite ~