Disclaimer: All belongs to the divine Goddess J.K. Rowling. No infringement is intended.
Prelude to In Passion, In Death:
He was with her again. She felt his breath against her neck and his body against hers. He pulled on her hair, made her groan, made her scream. They were in that bed again, completely black marble, black silk sheets and black satin bed curtains. Her skin was pale against it. Her hair fiery. When he dug his teeth into her flesh, the blood that leaked from her veins was fire. It lit the bed ablaze as they made violent, black love. And yet it was love, as she climbed a top him and ripped the bed hangings and wrapped herself in the satin and fire. As he slapped her and she clawed his back and chest. It hurt so good. It felt like hours, but they finished quickly and he gave her a gown of ice, crawling with flame. He led her from pure black places into cities and set her free. People marveled at her beauty. Muggles. Mudbloods.
So she taught them lessons, for lusting after her, for desiring what was above them. She made them suffer. They cried and they clawed at her dress, so she stomped on their hands, snapped their fingers and made them suffer more. She laughed and she thought of the one she loved. With his neat black hair and skin as white as her own. Though he had no freckles, only lean muscles. Which she worshipped and she loved. She wreaked all havoc and caused all pain that she knew he would love and would taste in her mouth and on her skin.
She saw Thomas. She saw Creevey. She saw Finch- Fletchley. She caused them agony and then let them go. Maybe too soon, she would let the next set of Mudbloods feel her true wrath. She would tell the next ones exactly how much she loved him, her lord. His blackness and his passion. She would taunt them, let them feel it from her wand. He would watch. He would love it. Love her. His lady. His queen.
They would return to the bed and crash bodies together again. They would enjoy the clamor of the day, the clamor of the kill in the lull of the time when they were two, when they were the power. Together. And then she arched, screaming soundlessly and she fell down her own throat, into oblivion into a powerful climax and release. Then she would come crashing down and he would take her into his arms. Tom.
Ginny's back was arched and her mouth open. She let herself relax and sat up, panting. Tom had been visiting her again, as he hadn't when she was eleven years old. And she had liked it.