A/N: This fic's incredibly dark, especially in my opinion, considering I've never been one to read or write dark fics, but I wanted to see something else in Ginny/Tom, try something new, in addition with my new obsession with Tom Riddle Jr. It was interesting to play around with though. If you're not ready for it, don't read for your own sake.

Warning: Rape, physical and emotional abuse.

His hips ground savagely against hers, his sweat-drenched body sprawled entirely against hers, his weight crushing hers to the chamber's stone ground as cold and as hard as his body.

He'd promised it wouldn't hurt, that it would feel good after the first five seconds, and even those five seconds wouldn't hurt much – but then why was she crying? Why was her body hurting in places that she didn't know could hurt as much as they did? It didn't feel as nice as he said it would at all.

She lay still on the ground with the her arms flat by her sides, too afraid to fight back in case she would disappoint him. She pressed her lips together, letting the tears stream down her face and holding back screams of pure, utter pain.

His hand on either side of her head, he leaned down and bit the bruised skin of her neck, bit it until it broke the surface of the soft skin there, and she couldn't help the yelp that fell from her dry, cracked lips. How long had she been lying there, letting him do these awful things to her? Hours, she was sure.

And then the warm, thick liquid filled her and he collapsed on top of her, his body still connected to hers, and she couldn't breath and her ribcage was breaking, she was sure of it—

He was pulling back as quickly as he'd fallen. His cold, spidery fingers found their way to her face, and he pushed her sticky red hair off of her face. He kissed her swollen mouth.

"Mine," he muttered against her mouth, his fingers reaching out and squeezing her underdeveloped breasts too firmly.

The words weren't as comforting as they might've once been; I'm his, heart, mind, and soul, she'd thought dreamily, feeling herself special and unique. Now those were the last two things she felt.

"Mine," he repeated, his fingers clenching harder against her breasts before he leaned down and bit her nipple, and she was so sure that he'd torn it from the skin, and oh God, it hurts! She let out a little sob. But she didn't want him to use that curse again, not the one that sent drills and saws into her skin and made her feel as if she were vomiting razors, that curse hurt too much to bare, but this hurt too! This hurt so much, and she couldn't take it, she couldn't…

"Don't cry, Ginerva," he whispered, his voice as soft as silk. For some twisted reason, his voice soothed her. "Only I can make you feel like this. Because you're special to me, Ginerva. You're the prettiest girl I've ever seen, and I want to make you feel pretty."

She didn't care for her intelligence or her wit; she just wanted Tom to find her as pretty as she did him. And she'd let him, no matter what the cost.

"I'm only showing you my love for you, Ginerva." He promised. A promise that made her smile weakly through the tears, drawing a shuddering breath. "I love you, Ginerva. Don't you love me?" She nodded mutely. She didn't trust herself to speak, in case she stumbled over her words, and that wouldn't impress him very much. "Then show me your love for me like I show mine for you. Will you do that for me, Ginerva?"

Anything.

"Would you kill for me, Ginerva? I'd kill for you."

Yes.

"Nothing would be too terrible for me, would it, Ginerva?"

I'd do anything. Anything.

As long as he kept her feeling so beautiful and precious, and even when he lost his temper and started hitting her, she'd do anything for him. It worked as well as the Imperius curse would on the naïve little redhead. It kept her feeling beautiful and grown-up.

"Mine." He repeated. "Let me mark you, Ginerva. Let me mark you."

Anything.

He lifted his wand and penetrated her skin in the shape of a snake. The blood oozed out in thick waves, forming a small puddle to her side as she screamed in pain, the tears coursing down her face.

"Mine." The words echoed in her head, imprinting in her mind as she felt the cutting cease although the pain didn't and the blood still drifted from the cut.

His. His. His. His.

He dug his nails into her cheeks as his cold, sweaty hands clamped around them and he forced his tongue down her throat, making her gag and nearly struggle against him.

It didn't feel very good. He tasted of poison and the pain in her arm was unbearable, but she didn't move for fear that he would stop making her feel something other than plain old Ginny.