Part I - The Beginning
Eyelashes fluttered open and a clouded mind suddenly became crystal clear. Slowly, Ginevra Weasley eased herself off of the ground.
Pillars of grapevines and paved marble stones surrounded her in an ancient courtyard reminiscent of the Roman greatness that pervaded her History of Magic textbooks. Above her, the sky glistened with a midnight hue that stole her breath away. Wisps of breathing stars pulsated like hordes of laughing children whose purity would never die out.
Instead of death claiming her innocence, it had been stolen. Slowly whittled away by quiet yet powerful words that swayed her away from the loud jolly laughter and warm smiles she had grown up around. Luring her into a dark, lucid chamber where the water never seemed to stop dripping.
Shivering in the cool night air, Ginny closed her eyes again, whisked back to memories, memories she thought had been forgotten…
"Like what you see?" a soft, velvety voice muttered.
A tremble shot up her spine at the sound of that voice. Impossible.
Not daring to meet his eyes, Ginevra slowly craned her head around. His shoulders loomed, high and narrow and thin, yet with a firm strength that conveyed his sharp conviction. Iron force of will that tore and tore and tore until she was no more. Lifting her head, she felt like crying all over again as her eyes raked over his long neck and flawless alabaster skin. A strong jaw, the lips of Adonis the Greek God, a high, straight nose...and oh, Merlin, that gaze. Bottomless obsidian eyes that flashed with triumph when their irises locked, his eyebrows arched like the angled stroke of a paintbrush.
He stepped forward coolly and she flinched. "It's been a long time, Ginevra."
Despite the terror bubbling up in her chest and threatening to spill out in heaving, messy sobs - whatever you do, please don't kill me - she managed to keep her composure on the outside. "Indeed, Tom. These seven years have been far too long." To finish what you've started, a devilish voice cooed inside of her head.
That shadowy ebony gaze peered down at her with approval. "So it has. You've grown into quite the exquisite one."
Ginevra paused, her eyebrow cocking up. Of all of the things she'd been expecting him to say, it hadn't been that. What was he trying to do to her?
His - Tom's - lips quirked upwards. "Oh, but you always knew that I come back to claim what is mine. You always knew." His voice trailed off at the end, satisfied with the nervous tremors that now racked Ginevra's entire body. She was convulsing like a rabid dog, her eyes wild and fiery, reflecting the flames which burned oh so deep inside of her. Hands groping blindly, she furiously reached inside of her robes - secondhand ones, the last year she'd ever have to wear them - for her wand, 11 inch yew wood, sturdy and solid. Whipping it out, she hastened to point it at the tip of his face -
"I always loved the way you hated me," Tom chuckled softly. "You were quite the childish spitfire, thinking you could take on all of the world's evils." A biting edge entered his voice. "Now, put down that thing before I kill you."
Despite the seven years of wizarding training she'd endured, time she'd had to learn and grow and flourish, her fingers opened and the wand slipped from her grasp.
Wordlessly, Tom conjured a spell that sent it spinning into his hand. He looked at her with great amusement, eyes sparkling. Except instead of Dumbledore's mysterious, twinkling irises, there was only catastrophe and ruin in there. During those times when she had poured her heart and soul, her entire being, into that diary, Ginevra had never once seen his face. In the evenings when she'd stayed up long past sunset, quill scratching past the surface of pristine ivory papyrus, magnificent visions of dancing with a saviour under the moonlight had goaded her into revealing her deepest secrets, the thoughts that she had sworn to keep hidden till the day she died.
She once imagined him to be fair haired with eyes as radiantly blue as the daytime sky, just as the nursery stories described princes as. Strands of golden locks that spilled down his back, hands running tenderly through her own hair and braiding them together, interlocking the two souls into an eternity of peace. How wrong she had been.
For those magic words - yes, they were truly magic - were deceptive and beautiful, yet there was always a part of her that lived for their touch. Intricate, elegant promises of forever love which enraptured her senses, consuming her whole. Luring her under the surface into the depths of deep and endless passion, a lust for affection that would never be satisfied.
Since she was little, Ginevra always knew that she wanted a strong man. A solid figure with direction who would guide her boundless energy towards something greater, something more tangible than soaring Quaffles and dazzling dreams. One who would willingly withstand the violent storms which shook her into a heavy sense of helplessness.
Yet the figure standing in front of her was more god than man. Pale features that even Michaeangelo would admire with an ardent admiration, concealing darkness and blood and all of the gory enigmas that lay beneath.
"Do you remember when you summoned me from that prison?" He paused, laughing mirthlessly. "Do thank yourself, Ginevra. After all, you are my true saviour."
It chilled her to the bone to hear him utter those words, what she had once considered him as. Her voice came out cracked, hoarse. "All of those people you killed, I stopped you, remember? Harry came in and defeated you."
Momentarily, his eyes flashed with rage before settling down to their usual coldness. "Ah yes, I remember that. He will be gone soon enough, I assure you of that. In the meantime, shall we catch up?"
Tom didn't give her time to react before his hand snatched her arm unyieldingly, leading her across the courtyard. "So much time I've had to think, so many experiences I've had. I've traveled all across the world. You wouldn't believe the places I've seen, the stories I've heard." His hands were animated and gesticulating wildly. "Mythic palaces and demonic beasts. Hellfire unleashed upon whole cities, curses woven into infants. Lore passed down through the ages." He paused, pale face flushed fervently. "But then, what would you know of any of this? For you have never known the hunger of pure desire."
She knew exactly the kinds of things he desired. Wrenching her arm from his grip in disgust, Ginevra wrinkled her nose. "Do not talk to me of desire, Tom. How dare you come back into my life and demand my presence." She sneered, childhood innocence relegated to a mere figment of her imagination. "I'm no longer the girl you manipulated ages ago. I grew, thirsty and strong and aching for revenge. So fuck off about your desires!"
She didn't know where this impulsive burst of valour had come from. But she was beginning to feel a bit emboldened. Perhaps she should continue down this path, end the connection right here and now.
A hard slap sent her reeling to the ground. Knees skidded across concrete, peeling open layers of skin. Ginevra shrieked as her elbows made electric contact with the ground. Panic split her open at the seams. She was falling apart and no one would be here to save her!
"Don't." Behind her, Riddle was breathing hard. "Ever talk to me like that again." The air thrummed with quaking bursts of magic, vigorous and ready. "You won't like the result."
Her joints ached as ruby droplets spilled onto the ground. She knew that today was her last. Drawing her robes closer around her, she shakily stood up. "If I'm to die today," she hissed. "I at least won't die a coward."
She whirled around to face him with the most hostile look she could muster. Anger pushes and pulls. Like the tides crashing upon the shoreline...in a cave that won't ever see the light of day.
At the sight of her defiance, his features morphed once again into that painful softness. "Oh, that Gryffindor courage," he murmured. "Show me it, Ginevra. I do so want to see it...so I can crush it."
"If I only had a way to kill you." Ginevra gritted her teeth hard. "You would already be a pile of maggots by now."
"But you don't." Tom smiled pleasantly and shifted the topic of conversation. "We never had that midnight dance that you once wondered about."
Instantly, all of the air was sucked out of her lungs. Her first kiss...it was the night before she had drenched those birds in cold crimson. Their blood had almost looked like paint when she recalled it. Red that would soon cover her body as she keeled over with lifeless eyes.
Tom stepped closer. "Would you like to dance with me?"
"Please, no -"
"Too late." His fingers were already gripping her waist with a gentle tension that was airy; however, their mere presence wracked her body with cold sweat. "Relax, Ginevra, it will be over soon. Then you can go home to your family and be safe. In the meantime…"
He leaned slowly into her, his eyes morphing into the blackest of black. Up close, Ginevra could see that his cheeks were almost a faint shade of crimson. "What are you -"
"Shut up." And his lips crashed onto hers, possessing her once again.
End.