He was beautiful.
That was the only thought that was able to break through the haze of pain Ginny Weasley was in. She was able to think that no man should have the right to be so damn beautiful. He was all angles and cheekbones, and she was entranced by the parlor of his skin. But when another wave of pain went through her, she found herself no longer caring how beautiful he was.
She screamed instead. She was barely aware of him lifting her up and carrying her off. She didn't have it in her to care when her brain felt like it was melting and everyone sounded like they were screaming at the top of their lungs.
Blackness soon engulfed her, and when she opened her eyes, he was still there fast asleep in a chair.
He looked young; she'd never seen him this young and it was very disconcerting. She didn't really remember Tom Riddle. She'd talked to him, sure, but she never saw him. Now here he was, and he was the most beautiful man she'd ever seen. Suddenly she understood how he'd gained so many followers. People were probably enamored by him.
It didn't make him any less a monster or her any less a prisoner. She'd been taken by force from her home, and for what? For fun for him, probably. Perhaps he'd grown tired of Bellatrix throwing herself at him. Who rightly knew what he wanted or why. No one, not even Harry, truly understood this man.
His black hair was carelessly falling into his eyes, and his lithe frame was stretched out in the chair as though he'd plopped down and immediately passed out in a deep sleep. Ginny craned her neck, listening for any sound, but all she could hear was his deep, even breathing. There wasn't even so much as the noise of plumbing in the walls.
Ginny wasn't sure how foolish an escape would be, but she was fairly certain it would end in death for her. Whatever the reason she was there, they needed her alive for the moment. That was slightly comforting.
The minutes seemed to drag by before he finally began to stir and open his eyes, raking them over her as he assessed her.
"How are you feeling?" he asked in a clipped tone.
Ginny didn't want to answer. She wanted to be stubborn and ignore him. But he was the darkest wizard to ever live, and he could easily kill her, probably without even uttering a word. He didn't look like he had muscles, but she bet he could snap her neck easily if he felt inclined to do so.
"The pain is gone," she said after a moment of thought, "But my muscles are pretty sore."
"We can fix that easily, but the potion cannot be taken on an empty stomach. So first you must dine. I'll have food brought up here."
He stood up and walked away gracefully, long limbs moving smoothly. He stopped at the doorway, a smile on his lips as he said, "By the way, you were right about not escaping. There's no way out, and I'd rather you die then leave anyway."
Then he was gone.
Ginny shivered in a way that had nothing to do with the cold, though she burrowed deeper into the bed she was in. It was grand, all oak and fourposter. It spoke of riches, and Ginny wondered whose house this was. Tom Riddle didn't have money. Was this Malfoy Manor, then? The thought gave her hope. Draco and her had been fairly friendly, though now that he was a death eater she doubted he'd be as kind.
It bothered her how easily her mind had been read by Tom, but she supposed there was nothing for it. He was powerful. He'd been fully restored when he'd taken full control of the Elder Wand by disarming Harry, and he'd used it to regain his looks.
After he gained his youthful appearance, his numbers had grown exponentially. There was something about his face that charmed people. Ginny didn't trust it. He was too pretty, and she was repeating that to herself like a mantra.
As a house elf came in with a tray of food and a potion, Ginny ceased her line of thought, thinking hard of a brick wall. But Tom wasn't with the creature.
Ginny ate the food as she wasn't sure if she'd be fed regularly or not. She couldn't trust anything to stay regular. They might try starvation if they thought she was withholding information from them. Maybe that was why he was treating her kindly in the first place; he wanted something.
Ginny drank the potion for her sore muscles and felt relief course through her. It was so nice, but it also made her slightly drowsy. She burrowed back into the covers as he reentered the room and watched her. He said nothing, simply observed her.
As she drifted off to sleep, she thought she felt the brush of fingers on her cheek, but she couldn't be sure if she simply wished for it or if it was truly there.
When she opened her eyes, he was once again there, this time sitting at the desk working. On what she'd no idea, but he was writing something, an intense look of concentration on his face.
Ginny sat up slowly, easing out of the fog of her brain as best she could. She was certain he knew she was awake, but he said nothing to her as of yet. He was ignoring her for the most part as he finished what he was working on and sealed it up with a wax seal.
He turned to face her and drummed his fingers lightly on the desk, a thoughtful look on his face as though making up his mind on a very important decision.
"How are you feeling now?" he finally asked.
"Better," Ginny answered simply.
Tom—because she refused to think of him as the dark lord—nodded. "You'll need to get cleaned up. I'll send in a servant to make sure you don't try and drown yourself."
Ginny looked at him with shock and indignation. She wouldn't even be allowed to bathe alone like a normal person?
"You're my prisoner, regardless of how nice the surroundings. You're of no use to me dead," he said carelessly.
And so he did send in a servant to watch her bathe. The woman was a nervous little thing, but she managed to get the bath water just right, and it was nice to take a hot bath despite being watched. It made Ginny angry that she didn't get to do something normal on her own.
She thought to her family and wondered if they were alive. They were of more use alive than dead, and that was the only thought that could give her comfort. It also gave her anger. The man holding her prisoner was responsible for every foul thing that had happened during this war. It all fell on his shoulders. Part of her wished she could kill him, but she knew it was impossible. Drowning herself suddenly seemed like a great idea. It meant not allowing herself to be used by him, didn't it?
But that was impossible with the woman here. Ginny sighed and finished her bath, the anger wearing on her. She was a Weasley. They didn't know how to hide their anger, and he was going to pick up on it easily. There was no way around it. She shrugged on the dry, fur robes. She'd forgotten that the temperatures were dropping outside. Not that she would be going outside anytime soon. Maybe not ever again. She wasn't free to do anything ever again.
"Chin up, doll," he said to her as she exited the bathroom, a smirk on his face.
He was too pretty, really. She wanted to rake her nails across his face and mar his looks.
He must have heard her thoughts, or whatever he did to know what she was thinking because his smile grew even wider. He said nothing, but it looked like he was having a hard time controlling his laughter.
"Dear little Ginny, you're going to be so fun," he laughed.
Ginny was shaking with rage now, but by the time she'd raised her hand as though to strike him, she was pinned by her throat to the wall.
"Don't ever think you can touch me and get away with it. I can crush your bones into dust one by one with no effort at all. Do you know how painful that is? It's all the muscles, nerves, and tendons being crushed too that cause the pain. Don't fuck with me, Ginny. I can end you whenever I like."
When he released her neck she was gasping for air, tears swimming in her eyes. She felt nothing for him but hatred, and she knew she'd always hate him. As his laughter rang through her ears she knew that she'd never give him any satisfaction. She'd fight him at every turn that she could. Ginevra Molly Weasley was a fighter, and Tom Riddle had met his match. Magic be damned.