Disclaimer: All characters belong to J.K. Rowling. "Beautiful Stranger" is
Madonna's.
Beautiful Stranger
Ginny stared at it; luminous, roaring, moving as if it was caught in the middle of a turbulent, devastating thunder storm, the green flames danced savagely in the fireplace. Green...exactly like when someone put a piece of copper in the flames and it turned to that fascinating shade of green that belonged to Harry's eyes.
Harry's eyes...They resembled polished gems which might've belonged to a king's royal treasure, but certainly not to an ordinary boy's face. And yet, if Ginny concentrated hard enough, she could visualise them becoming blue. Not any kind of blue. Deep and penetrating. Once you had been captured by its persistent gaze, you could almost imagine yourself on a deserted beach in northern Ireland or Scotland, your feet sinking into the wet, mud like pale sand, your full attention captive of the ocean's soothing rustle of the dark, midnight blue waves. Like the ocean's cold temperature, the eyes' freezing calmness could root you to the spot - unable of braking eye contact with them.
These unnatural eyes had haunted her for years, ever since the episode inside the Chamber of Secrets, where the most cuddly looking boy had suddenly popped up out of a leather bound diary – the one of Tom Riddle. Ginny closed her eyes shut, trying to remember what had happened. There she was, waking up of some kind of a trance, which placed her in an unreal world of shadows and blurred shapes. Her breath almost froze, her heart barely beat anymore. It was like being caught between a dream world and reality, where you could not act consciously.
Slowly, the shadows had begun to take shape, her vision sharpened considerably. The blue eyed boy had surveyed her. His eyes alight with the urge of manipulation, lips twitched on one side expressing his amusement. Ginny had realised she'd been goggling at him like an unreachable god, a wild and desperate lust was incinerating her very heart. There was a blind longing to hold that magnificent body close to hers, so close, one would have thought, they were falling into each other, as if their lives depended on it.
As her feet set on something solid - stoneflags - Tom then grinned widely, and Ginny had a very funny feeling her gaping had given her away. She found herself staring passionately at his unblinking eyes, transfixed by their icy beauty.
A sudden shiver ran down her spine, as if the eyes had the magical gift of freezing people to the spot, making them feel as if they had been transported to the North Pole. Tom was scaring her. His impeccable face features were stinging her sixth sense with alert, something was extremely wrong here. That was not the sympathetic school boy who owned the black diary, not the guy she used to confess all of her fears and complaints to. This, Ginny shivered again as Tom started approaching her, was a madman, a hidden desire of a maniac making his eyes glitter maliciously.
His footsteps echoed in the Chamber. Ginny broke eye contact, for once she had heard, looking someone straight in the eye meant fight, which was the last thing she wanted to find here, especially since they were alone and escape was out of the question.
Dreading what future might be waiting for her, Ginny bit her lip, as she noticed how Tom was standing upright in front of her, his brown leather shoes touching her black plain robes slightly.
Tom bent slowly touching Ginny's hair softly, his delicate fingers playing with one of her locks, apparently fascinated by its unusually brilliant colour, resembling molten lava remarkably.
Ginny was shaking, as if there was an earthquake and she was caught in the middle of it. She herself could not define the source of it, though. Fear. Passion. Fury. Parts of a well mixed potion, a potion which contained all of her feelings and was constantly being changed, according to which new ingredient you added to it.
Tom had been whispering in her ear now, words she could not understand. They were English, yet she felt herself being at some other place at the time, not really in her body at all, but somewhere inside a swimming pool or a lake, where you had no real sense of yourself, where you could not move nor breathe nor hear what others might be saying. The dominant wish of survival urged her to reach the lake's surface, where fresh oxygen would fill her lungs again.
The surface...It reflected her, she had to get there, she was trapped. Trapped. The surface moved ever closer, her air supply was almost over, she'd die. But then, the surface vanished. Gone. Yet the requested rush of air filled her mouth, somehow very wet, like fog, yet extremely warm and comfy, like the vaporised water of a sauna.
With a jolt, Ginny realised Tom's mouth was over hers, their tongues dancing like wild Indians from the Amazon Rainforest celebrating in their cave. Tom's eyes were the surface she'd been waiting for, his breath was her oxygen, she couldn't release him without drowning. She needed him beside her, his every body cell, thoughts, wishes and dreams would be shared with her.
Unfortunately for her, a certain hero decided to make his appearance.
"What the hell are you doing?!" exclaimed one twelve year old Harry Potter, pointing an accusing finger towards them.
Beautiful Stranger
Ginny stared at it; luminous, roaring, moving as if it was caught in the middle of a turbulent, devastating thunder storm, the green flames danced savagely in the fireplace. Green...exactly like when someone put a piece of copper in the flames and it turned to that fascinating shade of green that belonged to Harry's eyes.
Harry's eyes...They resembled polished gems which might've belonged to a king's royal treasure, but certainly not to an ordinary boy's face. And yet, if Ginny concentrated hard enough, she could visualise them becoming blue. Not any kind of blue. Deep and penetrating. Once you had been captured by its persistent gaze, you could almost imagine yourself on a deserted beach in northern Ireland or Scotland, your feet sinking into the wet, mud like pale sand, your full attention captive of the ocean's soothing rustle of the dark, midnight blue waves. Like the ocean's cold temperature, the eyes' freezing calmness could root you to the spot - unable of braking eye contact with them.
These unnatural eyes had haunted her for years, ever since the episode inside the Chamber of Secrets, where the most cuddly looking boy had suddenly popped up out of a leather bound diary – the one of Tom Riddle. Ginny closed her eyes shut, trying to remember what had happened. There she was, waking up of some kind of a trance, which placed her in an unreal world of shadows and blurred shapes. Her breath almost froze, her heart barely beat anymore. It was like being caught between a dream world and reality, where you could not act consciously.
Slowly, the shadows had begun to take shape, her vision sharpened considerably. The blue eyed boy had surveyed her. His eyes alight with the urge of manipulation, lips twitched on one side expressing his amusement. Ginny had realised she'd been goggling at him like an unreachable god, a wild and desperate lust was incinerating her very heart. There was a blind longing to hold that magnificent body close to hers, so close, one would have thought, they were falling into each other, as if their lives depended on it.
As her feet set on something solid - stoneflags - Tom then grinned widely, and Ginny had a very funny feeling her gaping had given her away. She found herself staring passionately at his unblinking eyes, transfixed by their icy beauty.
A sudden shiver ran down her spine, as if the eyes had the magical gift of freezing people to the spot, making them feel as if they had been transported to the North Pole. Tom was scaring her. His impeccable face features were stinging her sixth sense with alert, something was extremely wrong here. That was not the sympathetic school boy who owned the black diary, not the guy she used to confess all of her fears and complaints to. This, Ginny shivered again as Tom started approaching her, was a madman, a hidden desire of a maniac making his eyes glitter maliciously.
His footsteps echoed in the Chamber. Ginny broke eye contact, for once she had heard, looking someone straight in the eye meant fight, which was the last thing she wanted to find here, especially since they were alone and escape was out of the question.
Dreading what future might be waiting for her, Ginny bit her lip, as she noticed how Tom was standing upright in front of her, his brown leather shoes touching her black plain robes slightly.
Tom bent slowly touching Ginny's hair softly, his delicate fingers playing with one of her locks, apparently fascinated by its unusually brilliant colour, resembling molten lava remarkably.
Ginny was shaking, as if there was an earthquake and she was caught in the middle of it. She herself could not define the source of it, though. Fear. Passion. Fury. Parts of a well mixed potion, a potion which contained all of her feelings and was constantly being changed, according to which new ingredient you added to it.
Tom had been whispering in her ear now, words she could not understand. They were English, yet she felt herself being at some other place at the time, not really in her body at all, but somewhere inside a swimming pool or a lake, where you had no real sense of yourself, where you could not move nor breathe nor hear what others might be saying. The dominant wish of survival urged her to reach the lake's surface, where fresh oxygen would fill her lungs again.
The surface...It reflected her, she had to get there, she was trapped. Trapped. The surface moved ever closer, her air supply was almost over, she'd die. But then, the surface vanished. Gone. Yet the requested rush of air filled her mouth, somehow very wet, like fog, yet extremely warm and comfy, like the vaporised water of a sauna.
With a jolt, Ginny realised Tom's mouth was over hers, their tongues dancing like wild Indians from the Amazon Rainforest celebrating in their cave. Tom's eyes were the surface she'd been waiting for, his breath was her oxygen, she couldn't release him without drowning. She needed him beside her, his every body cell, thoughts, wishes and dreams would be shared with her.
Unfortunately for her, a certain hero decided to make his appearance.
"What the hell are you doing?!" exclaimed one twelve year old Harry Potter, pointing an accusing finger towards them.