Sleeping Beauty

"Tom?"

He looks up. Glares. "Yes?"

There is blood on her lip from where she's biting it. "What is this place?"

His mouth curls up into that slow grin that makes her heart pound with equal parts fear and thrill. "The Chamber of Secrets."

She's shivering from the cold. "Do you live here?"

His eyes are so dark she could swear they're made of ink. "Yes."

"Why?"

"You ask many questions, Ginevra."

She wraps her arms around herself and doesn't say anything more.

He lets the silence stretch for nearly half a minute (it feels like hours) before he sets aside his diary and walks to her. "Don't you like it here?" he asks, placing his hands very deliberately on her skin - one wrapping around her shoulder, one cupping her chin.

She shrugs. "I - I could learn to."

"Good." Slowly, and with his eyes holding hers, he drags his thumb across her lip. "You're bleeding."

"Sorry."

He looks at her with an odd expression that drips with confidence and tenderness and hunger. "If I wanted to," he says, keeping his thumb pressed against her lower lip, "I could snap your neck."

Her heart is thumping so hard she's sure he can hear it. "Do you want to?"

"No." He drops her chin. "But if I did want to, would you let me?"

She shakes her head.

"Oh?" He still has one hand on her shoulder. His grip is tight, possessive, and a piece of her loves belonging to him.

(Because belonging to someone means being wanted by someone, and she will gladly give up any and all freedom if it means justoneperson wants her.)

"How would you stop me?" he asks, moving his hand up from her shoulder to her neck - and the grip isn't painful, but it's there, and it makes her burn with something very Adult that she's never felt before.

"I don't know," she whispers, and what she means is I couldn't.

"How would you deny me anything?"

"I can't," she admits, because it's what he wants to hear, but also because it's true.

(She's never been kissed, but she's aching to feel his lips against her own.)

He smirks, and that sick thrill rushes through her again. "I want to show you something." He lets go of her neck - a rush of cold air swoops in and chills the handprint he's left behind - and goes to his diary. She follows. He doesn't need to beckon. "Give me your hand."

She obeys.

"Palm up, Ginevra." He seizes her hand (she's so cold) and lowers a sharp quill to the pad of her index finger. She bites down hard on her lip as blood pools on her finger, but she doesn't make a sound. He flips the diary open to a blank page and drags her finger roughly across the paper, smearing her blood on the book in a pattern that looks like the petals of a flower.

It disappears, just like ink always does.

"What are you doing?" she asks.

"Claiming you."

She feels a tug behind her naval. "Claiming - " she begins, but then her knees go out from under her (Tom doesn't catch her) and everything goes blurry. "Tom!"

"Not Tom," he whispers as he crouches next to her. He's ripped out the paper she bled on, and he's holding it in front of her face. "Not anymore."

The sickly sweet scent of dying flowers overpowers her, and she's drowning. "What have you done with Tom?"

He laughs. She doesn't think she's ever heard him laugh before, but it's a cruel sound, and it jars her. "I have given him a new name."

The tip of her finger stings far more than it should for such a small prick, and everything is fading.

"It's a name you know," he says, lips at her ear. "It's a name you have heard before."

"Help me," she moans as the world turns red.

"Hush, love," Tom says as he smooths her hair back from her face. She can't keep her eyes open. "Even as we speak your soul is draining out of you and into me." He holds her chin again. "Which is why I must thank you, Ginevra, from the bottom of my heart."

"Thank?"

"Yes." He runs a finger down the smooth skin of her cheek - traces her jaw - caresses her neck. "Sweet Ginny, every breath you take makes me so much stronger."

"Am I dying?" she whispers.

"Dying? Ginevra. I'm insulted. A sacrifice is too much to ask for," he says. He is still holding her. (Kiss me.) "Which is why I didn't ask. But you would have said yes. I know you would have. You can't deny me anything."

He breaths the last word - she shivers a little at the coolness of his breath on her skin, and her eyes aren't open, but she knows he's hovering just over her lips.

"You would sacrifice yourself for me, wouldn't you?" he asks, and his hands are touching her - not anywhere forbidden, but they are touching her - they ghost across her neck and her cheeks and her shoulders - and she is burning - kiss me -

"Anything," she gasps.

"So don't think of it as death," he purrs.

She forces her eyelids to lift. He is soclose.

"Think of it as going to sleep."

Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me, kiss me.

"Just a long sleep, and when the hard parts are over, I will wake you."

Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me. "Kiss me," she begs.

He smirks. "Close your eyes, Sleeping Beauty."

She obeys.

"I will be here when you wake," and it could be a promise, or a threat, or a lie, she doesn't know, and she has a terrible feeling she is never going to find out.

"Who are you?" she asks.

He laughs softly. His breath washes over her.

This must be what it feels like to drown.

"I am Lord Voldemort."

(She already knew.)

Then there is pressure against her lips - he tastes like nothing, he tastes like air, he tastes like the staleness of an empty room.

The world grows inky.

(When she wakes, he isn't there.)

[Defense Against the Dark Arts Class: Write about a Dark Wizard. Prompt: paper]

[Disney Character Competition: Jafar - write about someone with malicious intent]

[Last Man Standing Competition: OTP - Ginny and Tom Riddle Jr.]