DISCLAIMER : All characters and any pre-existing events, situations,
timelines or plots referenced to are the sole property of the ingenious JK
Rowling and whoever else she's given the go-ahead to over the years, not
me. My only editorial comment: Bummer.
A/N : Here comes the first reason it's an 'R' - a single and sacred coupling extremely danced around. If there's one thing that absolutely no part of this story or the events depicted with in are intended to be, it's gratuitous.
Please forgive my half-cocked Latin.
And now, on with the show:
~ Chapter 2 : Heir of Slytherin ~
She was about to begin, but he was first to break the silence; "That's impossible." He made the statement resolutely but absently, as though it were actually spoken by a knowing stranger inside of his skin. She said nothing; she knew he would contemplate what the foreigner said, then his conscious mind would deduce its meaning and elaborate - a process she was well aware that outside interference only hindered. He proceeded down the known path faithfully, staring vaguely ahead as he went on "The year Sirius died I was worried I was being possessed by Voldemort, and you were the only person that could tell me what it felt like because you had been second year . . . you described it, you knew what it was like. If you had been acting freely, you wouldn't have." "You're partly right. I knew because Tom told me what it was like in case I was discovered; that the mind was unquestionably put to sleep for the period of possession, to block any interference from the possessee and deter knowledge of the situation if the possessor desired long-term service. I knew, but not first hand. The person I was then - the person he helped me become- knew what she was doing." His look was that of someone who was thoroughly but flatly boggled. Silence and receptiveness, admittedly born of stunned desire of logic but still available having been achieved, she began.
"As ironically *child*ish as it sounds, he understood me. He never judged me, no matter what I said, no matter what later-to-be-realized-as- unimportant crap I was prattling on about in the beginning. He always listened, always cared, always asked precisely the right questions that made me see the situation for its sheer unimportance, or the crystal clear answer. As time went on, I began to gain the gift myself, asking the questions and seeing the answers on my own. After a couple of months I did it unconsciously, knowing the answers before even asking the questions. And that was only the beginning.
"He brought everything into focus. I felt my intellect sharpen, my wits quicken, my instincts grow more revered, but still controlled- I was beginning an evolution, into a distant relative of what I am now. I was *me* when I was with him. I never realized until I met him that to the rest of world, I was nothing but a bundle of titles. Daughter, sister, student, friend, or one of the above in relation to someone else. Never me. But with him I was simply myself, and I had value.
"After a few months it was like being a different, better person, and I liked it. The more I evolved, the more sophisticated I became, and the more I could appreciate him- the more sense he made to me. The more I could tell he enjoyed our then relevant and engaging conversations as well. I felt myself expand with him. I felt ready. For what I wasn't sure, but I was always ready for whatever may come. I never hesitated in anything, always instantly sure of what to do. I was better. I felt complete. It was as though the Slytherin part of me was coming out. Though I didn't realize that until I was sorted, of course."
His memory quickly accessed, attempting to throw his conscious mind any life-ring of comprehensible information it could to help him from his stupor- she had told him a year into their relationship that the sorting hat had told her 'Ah- yet another Weasley, but here a special one. One part Slytherin, but still two parts. . . GRYFFINDOR!!!!'. She knew his thought process well enough to realize it's current occupation and gave him a moment to process the retrieved information before continuing "I've never told anyone else about the hat saying that. You're the only person who would ever understand." He had indeed understood, knowing what it was to be judged merely for dark *potential* - it had never again entered his mind until now.
She resumed "But while yours lay nearly dormant, merely feeding the fervor of your Gryffindor traits and giving you the edge of confidence in yourself, mine was being developed; at first it was only the aspects of a Slytherin that one has respect for that were cultivating within me, but as time went on I felt myself grow darker. Just slightly at first, then deliciously. After about two and a half months, I told him how much he had changed me, what I was like before I met him. My insecurity, my fears, my idolic reverence for you. Everything that even unusually mature eleven year olds care about, and how much I appreciated him bringing it all together. But then he surprised me when he said that I mustn't let anyone else see it, that I mustn't change in the real world. When I asked why, he explained that the one thing people fear most is change. Even my own family would never see me the same way if I suddenly changed overnight, even if it were for the better. I thought about it, and finally saw that he was right. I could think of dozens of examples of people being temporarily if not permanently excluded for suspicious change, just as he said. So I went on behaving as the old me would have, very careful not to let anyone see the change in me; I sent you the poem on Valentine's Day that year to keep up appearances, and when I tried to tell you and Ron something that morning in the great hall, it was just about finding Percy and Penelope together. I was just acting how I thought the old me would have at the information.
"I was changing so much with Tom, and so quickly that every once in a while I would be talking with him and express what was for me a revolutionary idea or opinion, and he would tease me 'My goodness, that would never come out of the girl even *I* knew a week ago' . . . Finally, I felt like I was on the same page with him, and we began to discuss the past and future of wizardry." She looked him dead in the eye to impress the one thing she most needed him to understand through the entire episode- "Harry, I want it straight right now that I *do not* think like this any more. I didn't before I met him, either. And even while I was with him, I never shared his true enthusiasm, and I never hated anyone." She gave the critical statement a moment to be appreciated before going on.
"When he first asked me to open the chamber and let the basilisk out to do its duty, I hesitated. But then he explained the whole thing, and I couldn't say no to his logic. His logic was perfect. Always impeccable. Humans are above many creatures that they respect and keep, even educate to low levels, but would never admit to a wizarding school. Such was our opinion of muggle-borns. They had to be gotten out of Hogwarts, and though I wished they didn't have to be hurt, I knew that it was the only way that society as a whole would ever listen - that the blind who ran the education systems would ever see - if it was an actual danger to their safety to come. All he had to do was explain, and I understood. And he always explained, he never kept me in the dark. He never said he couldn't tell me that, never said I couldn't handle anything. And because he treated me as though I could handle it, I could. I was trusted, and therefore trust- *worthy*. He brought things out in me that I had longed for all of my life, yet never really thought I could be. I was confident, I was sure. There was simply a quality about him, even in ink. . . he expected it of me, and I was therefore magically capable of it. As soon as I sat down with the diary, as soon as I was with him, I was a different person. A better person. A stronger person, who was capable of anything. Even opening the Chamber of Secrets.
"When that person found out that you were a parselmouth at the dueling club, she saw the opportunity for them to have the basilisk kill you, in the Chamber where it would be considered the accidental death of a foolish student who had lucked out of death twice and thought himself invincible trying to play the hero. All they had to do was feed you enough clues to figure out the basilisk, or rather feed Hermionie enough, then drop a hint to make her realize the pipes, which would lead even Goyle to Moaning Myrtle. But Tom wanted to meet you; meet the famous Harry Potter. She said no, constantly insisted that it was too dangerous. But then the basilisk accidentally petrified Hermione because she used the mirror around the corner before the plan was finished. It wouldn't have hurt Hermione - we had trained it to recognize her scent and pass her by, but she used the mirror to look at it around the corner. But they became concerned about the unexpected depth of your investigation afterwords - worried you would realize that it was my body and turn me in before he was strong enough for the ascension or you had entered the chamber to be taken care of- so they decided that it was worth the risk.
"She had been keeping track of the three of you for the entire year and knew that you used Myrtle's lavatory to brew the polyjuice potion and have your private conversations. She also knew that Myrtle would complain to you if someone threw something down her toilet. So she snuck in when she knew you weren't there but knew you would be soon, really immaterial since Myrtle would flood the bathroom and get your attention anyway, and flushed it down the cubicle she knew the dolt always hung around. Then it was simply a matter of his showing you all he needed to and her retrieval of the diary from your dorm.
"She was so terrified when it fell out of your bag on Valentine's Day and Draco almost took it - him she *couldn't* get it back from. She couldn't have cared less that you knew it was her who sent the Valentine, she was simply on the verge of heart failure over what had almost happened- it would have ruined everything. But you got it back, and she retrieved it from your quarters as planned, being sure to leave the place ravaged to make you think it was a crazed attacker who had ransacked the room in search of it. . . "
The remainder of the story did not need to be explained - he remembered it all to well from his own point of view. They sat in silence for a moment, her position now seated on the floor, leaned against the wall beneath the window and bracing her knees to her chest, mouth buried in her sleeves and eyes that refused to reveal her fear intently watching the raspy carpet as she let him decide when to begin the flow of time again.
He sat in a sort of coma for a few minutes, but finally felt his stunned heart begin to slowly beat again. A slight and somewhat grimacing smile reached his face as well, the floundering result of an attempt to keep his mouth from saying something he would regret, and trepidation that she might not be finished.
It was then of no concern as she recognized his partial thaw, crawled across the room and hugged him for dear life, never wanting to let go, not yet wanting to look him in the eye. It was with impeccable timing at that very moment that the butterbeer she had ordered for eight o'clock arrived. She retrieved it from Madame Rosmerta at the door, utilizing her keen acting skills to have a light and happy momentary conversation. She returned to the room and her real facial expression and handed him the first pint, a small itch of humor tickling the back of her mind at the deity-thanking look on his face for the miracle of alcohol. They silently sipped the liquid paradise for several minutes, imbibing just enough to loosen their spirits without truly interfering with their minds; each was petrified of what may come out of their own mouths.
He knew that there was more, but also sensed that it involved the exposure of something deeper, something that was an infinite source of self-loathing for her. . . and something else. Her fear was palpable, but she need not have experienced it. He loved her too much to ever feel anything else, no matter what she had done or felt or planned in her past. Once his mind had absorbed the facts of the matter and purged all of the emotions involved, he would move on as he had done so many times before. He knew her in the here and now, and that was all that would ultimately matter to him. He would later think in retrospect how grateful he was for this night; far too many parts of his life's pasts had been shrouded in mystery- his soul was weary of lurching revelations rocking his world as soon as he had built it around false truths. He would also realize upon reflection that her knowledge of and respect for that fact were responsible for her timing. She could not reveal her past and expose the core of her soul to him until they had reached the levels of trust and oneness that they had achieved together then, but she also knew the devastation to be had were she to wait even another month, to wait until she was his wife; the keeper of his soul, only to have him learn that he knew nothing of the creation of hers. He needed to know, now.
There were several empty moments before he decided with uninhibited conviction to press on; to make her understand that he needed to hear. She could almost hear the gears working in his head as he stumbled with the wording to his first question- "Gin, why. . .? How. . .?" She shrank away and addressed him almost formally before returning to her station on the floor under the window: "You're wondering how the first thing I told you fits into all of this, aren't you?" It was more a statement than a question, and he knew he needn't answer it. She attempted to explain, slowly and deliberately relaying what understanding of him could be had with mere words.
"The first thing you have to understand is the kind of bond we had. Actually, the first thing is what kind of person he was. He completes you. He captivates you. He didn't need the Imperius to control his followers. He didn't even need to control them. Once he explained something, it was crystal clear. He would bring everything you ever wanted to be out in you and truthfully, dutifully promises everything you desire, and you know he is capable of giving it to you. And he would ask for nothing in return but your love, your loyalty, your trust. And you give it, you would even if he hadn't asked, for there is a pull about him that defies the will of wizards. The effortless magic that is Tom Marvolo Riddle."
She paused momentarily, wondering how to express what she needed to before softly, thoughtfully going on. "He was ambitious, cunning, aristocratic. . . in personal style if not lifestyle. . . everything the heir of Slytherin should be, yet also instilled with a keen sense of honor. He would never have cursed you behind your back, he would never have shot at the count of two. He would never have cared about worldly standards like money in judging a person. He would never have killed without a reason, even if it existed only in his own mind. And he would never, *ever* have raped a woman." The look that then flashed across her face was an odd mixture of lingering anger at his earlier suggestion of said atrocity to her lost lover's memory and sheer fervor to impress the point- it was a key and sacred foundation of her Tom's character, with a far higher significance than Harry could currently understand. The moment lingered, then was finally dismissed by her breaking of their eye contact.
She then softly continued "I was a part of him, just as he was a part of me. We needed each other to survive, mentally . . . and in the end physically. I would never be alone again as long as I lived, because I would always have him, in my mind and my heart if not physically at my side. I was constantly aware of his presence, as he was aware of my soul. He was the only person who truly understood me, the old me or the new, the lighter or the darker. And I loved him. I loved everything about him; his manner, his mind, his soul, his intangible flavor that was infused into every facet of his being, even his handwriting. . . and I know for an undeniable fact that it was not an illusion or girlish crush, nor was he pretending in order to use me, because it worked. Because he came back.
"He had cast the Animo Amororis on the diary - that was how he arose. An ancient and mostly forgotten spell, it's based on mutual love; the ultimate magic. And the only way to revive a memory. For love is the only affair of so basic a creature as humans that deals with so deep a metaphysical plane that it is powerful enough to contend with time, death, even existence itself. But as with all so complex forms of magic, the powers of only one soul can not execute it. He could never have come into even transphasic existence if he hadn't told me his secrets, given me pieces of his soul as well. My love would never have been powerful enough to resurrect him if he hadn't loved me enough to deserve and complete the resurrection. I'm still not sure how Lucius knew that I was the one . . . Even if he had been writing to Tom and found out what he wanted in a woman, which I doubt since he never mentioned having such discussions with anyone, almost none of it was even remotely evident in me then. Maybe it was just a wild gamble when the opportunity presented itself. Certainly one that paid off. Merlin knows that love is far too magical a thing to ever be achieved with planning."
She temporarily drifted off, her mind again latching onto a diversion from the moment, taking comfort in a train of thought that had become routine for it. She realized the need of her continuance, however, and went on, not daring to look up at him.
"I had respected Tom instantly- to not would have been impossible. By Halloween, I felt the deepest friendship for him, and was amazed by the feeling of power and oneness when he projected his conscious into me to open the chamber the first time and establish communication with the basilisk. But then, towards the middle of November, real feelings began to stir in me. They were like nothing I had ever felt before, yet not foreign somehow. They were supposed to be there, just as much as my hair was supposed to be red. By December, we were both behaving strangely. The first few emotional links we had were full of the strange feelings, the odd urges. He was the one to mention them first, of course. Then, in the beginning of January, we finally realized that we were in love with each other. As soon as it was said, it was obvious. We were like a single person by the time we began our real plans for the chamber, and for you. Emotions of the other were constantly sensed and thoughts were a mere matter of concentration away from telepathy, and both bonds exponentially increased as he became stronger; as time and our feelings advanced.
"That was how he signaled me when he was finished with you after I had planted the diary in Myrtle's lavatory. He met you, led you down our diversionary path, had me come get him, and then we began to prepare for the night of the chamber. I wrote the last message on the wall a few hours before it was found, and entered the chamber to wait for you as planned. He had yet to explain how he would transfer from the transphasic state to become real, though. He was about to, a month or so before, but he never finished. That was the night we discovered each other's ages.
"He began telling me how much he loved me, how much he cared, how much he needed me. When I told him I felt the same, loved him more than he could imagine, he utilized the delicate loving manner he reserved for personal declarations to say that I didn't quite understand- he needed me to live, literally. 'You are a virgin', he wrote. No question mark, but no period either. A piece of common knowledge to be added to once I responded, but I didn't- I froze for a moment at the odd comment. He felt my uneasiness and said 'It is quite understandable, as you are as pure, noble, and self- respecting a girl of sixteen as I have ever met.' I was confused, because in all of the memories he had ever shown me he was no more than what I took to be a mature thirteen. I thought rather than wrote back to him that I wasn't sixteen. Was that how old he was? He said yes, then genuinely inquired if I was fifteen or seventeen. My hand has never shaken more in my entire life than when I wrote the word twelve on that piece of paper. Then it was his turn to freeze.
"It was almost an entire minute before he responded 'I did not know.' That's why he never treated me like the rest of them did; he didn't know how old I was. He changed the subject after that, very slowly and carefully skirting the issue as he was so skilled at doing. He never brought it up again, never even mentioning our plan to go into the chamber again- I always had to bring it up to get him to plan the preparations with me. When we arrived that night, though, I knew what needed to be done. He never asked me to do anything. He never explained how it had to be accomplished, I just knew, I understood. The natural order of life and death, of male and female. The only interaction with that deep medium that humans are capable of. And I needed it to live too, or at least the part of me he had awoken did. He never made me do anything. I walked into the chamber and lay the diary down, open to the last page I had been writing on as he had instructed, and he told me to go around the side of one of the statues; there would probably be a flash of light, and he was worried it might blind me. When it was dark again, I heard his voice call to me, not inside my head, but in my ears for the first time."
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She sat on the damp stone of the floor behind the nearest pillar, knees to her chest and eyes in her sleeves as the coming forth began. As soon as the flash was over, she knew he was there. She could feel his presence, more powerfully than ever before. Her instincts were fighting each other, the old parts of her somewhat frightened, the new elated, the both thrilled by the energy and expectation of seeing the man she loved in human form at last. It was then that he called out to her, his voice containing the same anxiousness she felt. As she slowly crept out from behind the mock reptilian pillar, her shoe struck a pebble that proceeded to skitter across the chamber and inform him of her position. He had heard the noise and whipped around to face her by the time she emerged and looked at him, then slowly walked toward him as he stood stalk still on the spot he had materialized on. She reached him an eternity later, standing with their thumping chests only inches apart. He had a physical presence from the exchange of souls, he was solid, but he wasn't real yet. The spark that is true life wasn't within him, yet.
They stood for a moment, simply gazing at one another, occasionally allowing their eyes to fall and absorb the entire image of their completor. After several minutes of this optical caress and loving assessment, his eyes slowly trailed down her arm to her hand. He then brought his own from its statuesque position at his side to meet hers, gently touching her fingertips, one by one aligning their touchpads, then undersides of fingers, then heels of their hands, locking them in a palm kiss that felt united by a metaphysical cement binding them together. Her opposite hand gracefully claimed his in the same fashion, leaving them with the faint electricity of life crackling between them. They could now effortlessly hear every one of the other's thoughts, but both sets were consumed by the moment. He felt her wish, her total lack of fear, and slightly smiled, replying that he loved her, loved her thought process. Even her ingeniously skewed thought process.
At that moment, they kissed- no one moved first, no one suggested or even thought about it first, it was simply the liquid conclusion of the moment. As the flaming lock deepened, they slowly slid their hands up each other's arms, ending in a desperate embrace as their mouths melded into sweet unity. The intangible charge increased between them, gaining momentum and strength with each circuit of their linked beings. It played upon endless nerves, plucking drawing from each the beginnings of the exchange- the melodious life-giving symphony to come.
Their hands remained plastered to the other's form, both knowing it would be physically impossible to force them to leave the other body until the unification was fulfilled. The kiss slowed, then stopped. As she looked in his eyes, she found herself lowering in front of him, intertwining their fingers as she did so. She used his grasp to support her weight, shifting back to lie on the frigid floor, knees still raised and willingly yielding his width as her extended arm's grip demanded he shift forward onto the flagstone with her. His knees found contact with the ancient foundation directly between her own, and her arms then fell back onto the solid cold, the rest of his body then using the pivot point of their united hands to lower onto her form as they fervently kissed once more. The natural path followed, the only remaining border between them was finally ripped down, absolute circulation was then granted to the force guiding them, through the most potent of couplings humanly possible.
When it was complete they lay exhausted, but only for a moment; as soon as the joining was complete and the joyous charge had completely washed through them a very similar but infinitely more powerful sort of energy began to build within her. Catalyzed by the presence of its carnal cousin and needy pull of his soul, it wrapped within it her very essence, then jolted into his exhausted body. He reacted as though he had been struck by lightning, convulsing before collapsing again, now lank and desperately inhaling all that his lungs could hold, struggling to survive. As he laboriously sucked for strength, she felt her own drain with every breath. She was being drawn on, giving to him what the nervous electricity of the powers had somehow tangibly seized and formed an invisible tap into; her life. He was breathing lungfulls not of air, but of existence. The transfer had begun.
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"It only barely even hurt, he was so gentle and careful. Then what came after . . . It was so odd at the time. I was never frightened, just slightly surprised. I had never even heard the word and was experiencing it. But it was normal, I was safe. It was the entire point, because it began the shift."
His reaction to this particular piece of information was far more internally violent than anything he had yet heard; first love was a force that none could control and in all fairness she hadn't been his either, and the physical act was the inescapable need of the magic to be achieved. But the idea that another had bestowed her first real pleasure was intolerable to his mind, clawing for definition of territory in the matter of the woman that he loved. His stomach churned and ire pooled below the surface as he listened to her go on.
"He took me to the base of the statue as soon as he was strong enough and put me back down on my side. He was so gentle, knowing how drained I was, carefully turning my torso to be nearly front-down on the swell of the stone foot, so I would look face down and distressed when you arrived. Then, from somewhere, he had a bowl of water and a rag. That's the memory I kept the most dear and vivid about the whole thing: him just cooling my face and neck, all the while speaking to me in that beautiful voice . . . talking about our meeting, how much he loved me, our plans, our lives, our children. How he would reverse the energy flow when he was real and I was nearly gone - just before I entered the limbotic existence he had been in at the beginning. He spoke soothingly, but I felt a surge of worry from him - he started thinking on how he could know the precise moment it happened and not waste time. I knew that he was worried that if I was left for too long that there would be no way to revive me, I might die completely. Just the utter hollowness and pain he felt at the concept made me realize all over again how much he loved me.
"I used our bond instead of my voice to speak to him, and though it was less of a strain than speaking it still took effort so he told me to stop. It was then that the 'conversation' shifted to my listening to his mind, musical in its inscribed orderliness. He just thought to and ran the water over me for what seemed like hours, I have no idea how long, really. After a while, he said that soon the name Ginny Weasley would be dead, and Virginia Riddle would rise to her place . . . as his wife. It was then that he slipped the ring on my finger. It fit perfectly . . . two pewter Ouroboros snakes, eating their own tails and overlapping under my finger to make the circle of the ring, their flows in opposite directions so their nearly triangular heads interlocked. Their eyes made a neat little line of four emeralds, with their long silver tongues darting out in flourishes all around it. It was so beautiful to me then.
"He hugged me to him as tightly as possible, and I just cried in his robes. He kissed my hair and laid me back down like I had been, and suddenly I was even more exhausted. He just kept running the water and his hands over me . . . 'This will all be over soon, darling, all over soon. I'll be real, I'll reverse the shift so we're both real and half-energized, we'll be normal in a day, and then we'll take our places. It will all be over soon, my heiress.' It was then that we heard you open the sink portal, and both knew he had to make me look dead. He took several deep breaths in a row, and I deflated to the point of being only faintly aware through fuzzy sounds around me and his mind; I couldn't even move, let alone think strait.
"He must have arranged my robes and brushed my hair across my face, then taken the bowl to hide it behind the pillar with him as he waited for you. I barely heard your footsteps running to me, saw you shake me through his eyes, felt his surge of angered fear that you might shake too hard and hurt me, but I never felt you touch me. When he was telling you that he used me, when he said that he seduced and controlled me, mocked me and pretended not to care in the slightest, it was agony for him. I worked up enough strength to think to him that I understood, and that made it easier. But you never saw a falter, because he was a consummate actor- well trained in mental reservation to fuel the sincerity of lies; Ginny Weasley *would* be dead.
"I wanted to follow him willingly as far as the rest of the world was concerned, but he insisted I leave my life and name behind - the woman I was then wasn't that girl anymore. And he would not have even her name remembered with disdain by anyone. And . . . everything happened. Afterwards, I spent six weeks wracked with the worry, the pain, the joy and heartache I had just been through, even more difficult to deal with because he wasn't there. I was lost as my old self again- he had been the vital silent piece of the logical machine my mind had become. And the next six weeks . . . I spent waiting. I told myself that since he wasn't 'real' yet, it couldn't be. But if there was one thing that I learnt form him, it is that boundaries exist to be broken- and magic's boundaries are the most intriguing, the least defined, and the most feared. One never knows with magic. And Merlin knows that he had unlocked kinds that most thought were impossible. When I woke up that horrible morning, I let out one burst of laughter and then cried for three days strait."
It was at this point that her emotions were caught up in the ghost reality of her story, beginning silent rivers down her cheeks. "Why? Why did he have to stop at *that* boundary? How could he have left me alone like that?" She now broke out sobbing into her hands, reliving the morning in horrid detail after dredging up the events, her composure weakened by the butterbeer and fear.
A shell-shocked and entirely instinct driven Harry instantly crossed the room to her, his brain acknowledging only the fact that his Gin was hurting, to hell with why. But when he reached her, began to pull her to him, she lunged away as though he were trying to murder her. Her sobs heaved more and more heavily as she stood facing the corner next to the door, as far away from him as possible in the room that had become their universe. He stood and tried again, not letting her escape as she struggled to leave him "No, I don't deserve it!" "Of course you do, you deserve the world . . ." "No, I don't, I don't deserve anything, I don't deserve you!" "What could ever make you think that?" "Because of what I felt!" At this she succeeded in breaking free of his grip and retreated to the nail-marked bedpost next to the window, leaving him afraid to move. "Because of what she felt" came her defeated voice, before her body slid down the post to the floor, hugging her knees once again.
He cautiously approached her, placing only a gentle hand on her shoulder, daring not to say a word. She reeled, digging for the best possible delay to not have to assault him further that night. Her rare and obvious flounder was punctured, however, when he found his voice for the simple, boring utterance - "Gin." She went limp under his touch, giving in to the part of her that knew this entire episode was truly over the single fact he wanted.
"To be a part of someone, to love them and need them on every level of the word. To have what we have." She looked deep within his eyes at the statement, trying desperately to enforce what was the current fact of their relationship and the fact that she was indeed his, landmark romantic frontiers forged together or not. He silently lied that he was fine and urged her to go on,
"People search their entire lives for something like that, and I had it at twelve. I had it, and I had it ripped away in one minute. When you pushed that fang through the diary, I felt the venom in my veins, too. As he disappeared, so did that part of me that he occupied, the part he had awakened. The part that dreamed of snuggling into his chest as they sat on their thrones. I was being ripped in half, my lover was being destroyed, and I couldn't even form an expression to show the pain. All she wanted was to scream his name, but he couldn't even hear her in his mind, he was already so eaten away. And as he fought to move forward, as he collapsed on the ground and disintegrated, his last desperate thought to her was 'I love you'. When I first rewoke, I could still feel her. Still feel the echo of who he had made me. And when I saw you, the man who had ripped everything she had and could ever hope for away, for a split second, the echo of her hated you. She loathed you with every fiber in her being for taking her Tom away from her. But she faded away, like echoes always do, and I was left with just me.
"I had woken up and seen you as soon as he was gone, the instant it was over. I watched you pull the sword out of the basilisk, trying to think of what to do. I knew I had to continue the lie that he was controlling me, to honor him and protect myself, and realized the breakfast when I tried to tell you about Percy was a perfect way to have tried to confess to you. Then everything that had happened began to sink in, and I began to realize what I had truly done- what could have happened. Everything after saying that he forced me was genuine; I couldn't believe you'd killed the basilisk, and I suddenly realized that I would surly be expelled from Hogwarts, the one place I had most wanted to be all of my life, and what about my parents? They would be so ashamed, even by the cover story that I was overtaken by so silly a thing as a diary. I was so sorry for the people I hurt, for you - but I couldn't feel sorry for loving him, or not feel the pain of losing both him and a piece of myself in the process. And I couldn't just *stop* loving him.
"Everything that I felt for him was rooted in who I used to be; in the first admiration and thirst for him that even my original self had. Even she had fallen in love with him, on far more childish levels, beneath the surface and unnoticed. I couldn't deal with him suddenly not being there and having a hole left in my heart like that. I just couldn't. And I couldn't excuse, or explain, or forget that for one instant a part of me hated you. For more than a year afterwards I couldn't even look you in the eye without feeling the stab of monumental guilt for that one instant. Some days I still can't. I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you . . . " She then dove into his arms, feverishly repeating the mantra over and over. He had never seen her like this - she had always been a doormouse that he hadn't known, or the strong and self-controlled woman that he currently did. He softly rocked her, not wanting to insult her with too much coddling, but still understanding, all be it in shock from everything that had transpired.
He knew that she loved him and understood how she could think that she had betrayed him, but she was a different person during that one moment- and it was just one moment, years before their hearts had even fathomed each other. He didn't believe in holding the uncontrollable from one's past against anyone, and could never hold anything against her. And though he could not feel sorry for the echo who had hated him, he also could not blame her. He had in essence done to her what Voldemort had done to him- ripped away the foundation of her life, everything she could ever hope for, any possibility of the natural stability that she dreamt of, and in the sense that Tom had helped create her, he had also killed her parent. He couldn't hate her, and he could *never* hate the being she had inhabited.
He could only hope that his soothing rock and muttered nothings in her ear were enough to communicate that to said being. He knew they were when she finally stopped crying an hour later, the sky now reflecting the deep velvet black of their reality with shining pinpricks of possibility and hope piercing through weak points in the bleakness.
~*~*~*~
A/N : Here comes the first reason it's an 'R' - a single and sacred coupling extremely danced around. If there's one thing that absolutely no part of this story or the events depicted with in are intended to be, it's gratuitous.
Please forgive my half-cocked Latin.
And now, on with the show:
~ Chapter 2 : Heir of Slytherin ~
She was about to begin, but he was first to break the silence; "That's impossible." He made the statement resolutely but absently, as though it were actually spoken by a knowing stranger inside of his skin. She said nothing; she knew he would contemplate what the foreigner said, then his conscious mind would deduce its meaning and elaborate - a process she was well aware that outside interference only hindered. He proceeded down the known path faithfully, staring vaguely ahead as he went on "The year Sirius died I was worried I was being possessed by Voldemort, and you were the only person that could tell me what it felt like because you had been second year . . . you described it, you knew what it was like. If you had been acting freely, you wouldn't have." "You're partly right. I knew because Tom told me what it was like in case I was discovered; that the mind was unquestionably put to sleep for the period of possession, to block any interference from the possessee and deter knowledge of the situation if the possessor desired long-term service. I knew, but not first hand. The person I was then - the person he helped me become- knew what she was doing." His look was that of someone who was thoroughly but flatly boggled. Silence and receptiveness, admittedly born of stunned desire of logic but still available having been achieved, she began.
"As ironically *child*ish as it sounds, he understood me. He never judged me, no matter what I said, no matter what later-to-be-realized-as- unimportant crap I was prattling on about in the beginning. He always listened, always cared, always asked precisely the right questions that made me see the situation for its sheer unimportance, or the crystal clear answer. As time went on, I began to gain the gift myself, asking the questions and seeing the answers on my own. After a couple of months I did it unconsciously, knowing the answers before even asking the questions. And that was only the beginning.
"He brought everything into focus. I felt my intellect sharpen, my wits quicken, my instincts grow more revered, but still controlled- I was beginning an evolution, into a distant relative of what I am now. I was *me* when I was with him. I never realized until I met him that to the rest of world, I was nothing but a bundle of titles. Daughter, sister, student, friend, or one of the above in relation to someone else. Never me. But with him I was simply myself, and I had value.
"After a few months it was like being a different, better person, and I liked it. The more I evolved, the more sophisticated I became, and the more I could appreciate him- the more sense he made to me. The more I could tell he enjoyed our then relevant and engaging conversations as well. I felt myself expand with him. I felt ready. For what I wasn't sure, but I was always ready for whatever may come. I never hesitated in anything, always instantly sure of what to do. I was better. I felt complete. It was as though the Slytherin part of me was coming out. Though I didn't realize that until I was sorted, of course."
His memory quickly accessed, attempting to throw his conscious mind any life-ring of comprehensible information it could to help him from his stupor- she had told him a year into their relationship that the sorting hat had told her 'Ah- yet another Weasley, but here a special one. One part Slytherin, but still two parts. . . GRYFFINDOR!!!!'. She knew his thought process well enough to realize it's current occupation and gave him a moment to process the retrieved information before continuing "I've never told anyone else about the hat saying that. You're the only person who would ever understand." He had indeed understood, knowing what it was to be judged merely for dark *potential* - it had never again entered his mind until now.
She resumed "But while yours lay nearly dormant, merely feeding the fervor of your Gryffindor traits and giving you the edge of confidence in yourself, mine was being developed; at first it was only the aspects of a Slytherin that one has respect for that were cultivating within me, but as time went on I felt myself grow darker. Just slightly at first, then deliciously. After about two and a half months, I told him how much he had changed me, what I was like before I met him. My insecurity, my fears, my idolic reverence for you. Everything that even unusually mature eleven year olds care about, and how much I appreciated him bringing it all together. But then he surprised me when he said that I mustn't let anyone else see it, that I mustn't change in the real world. When I asked why, he explained that the one thing people fear most is change. Even my own family would never see me the same way if I suddenly changed overnight, even if it were for the better. I thought about it, and finally saw that he was right. I could think of dozens of examples of people being temporarily if not permanently excluded for suspicious change, just as he said. So I went on behaving as the old me would have, very careful not to let anyone see the change in me; I sent you the poem on Valentine's Day that year to keep up appearances, and when I tried to tell you and Ron something that morning in the great hall, it was just about finding Percy and Penelope together. I was just acting how I thought the old me would have at the information.
"I was changing so much with Tom, and so quickly that every once in a while I would be talking with him and express what was for me a revolutionary idea or opinion, and he would tease me 'My goodness, that would never come out of the girl even *I* knew a week ago' . . . Finally, I felt like I was on the same page with him, and we began to discuss the past and future of wizardry." She looked him dead in the eye to impress the one thing she most needed him to understand through the entire episode- "Harry, I want it straight right now that I *do not* think like this any more. I didn't before I met him, either. And even while I was with him, I never shared his true enthusiasm, and I never hated anyone." She gave the critical statement a moment to be appreciated before going on.
"When he first asked me to open the chamber and let the basilisk out to do its duty, I hesitated. But then he explained the whole thing, and I couldn't say no to his logic. His logic was perfect. Always impeccable. Humans are above many creatures that they respect and keep, even educate to low levels, but would never admit to a wizarding school. Such was our opinion of muggle-borns. They had to be gotten out of Hogwarts, and though I wished they didn't have to be hurt, I knew that it was the only way that society as a whole would ever listen - that the blind who ran the education systems would ever see - if it was an actual danger to their safety to come. All he had to do was explain, and I understood. And he always explained, he never kept me in the dark. He never said he couldn't tell me that, never said I couldn't handle anything. And because he treated me as though I could handle it, I could. I was trusted, and therefore trust- *worthy*. He brought things out in me that I had longed for all of my life, yet never really thought I could be. I was confident, I was sure. There was simply a quality about him, even in ink. . . he expected it of me, and I was therefore magically capable of it. As soon as I sat down with the diary, as soon as I was with him, I was a different person. A better person. A stronger person, who was capable of anything. Even opening the Chamber of Secrets.
"When that person found out that you were a parselmouth at the dueling club, she saw the opportunity for them to have the basilisk kill you, in the Chamber where it would be considered the accidental death of a foolish student who had lucked out of death twice and thought himself invincible trying to play the hero. All they had to do was feed you enough clues to figure out the basilisk, or rather feed Hermionie enough, then drop a hint to make her realize the pipes, which would lead even Goyle to Moaning Myrtle. But Tom wanted to meet you; meet the famous Harry Potter. She said no, constantly insisted that it was too dangerous. But then the basilisk accidentally petrified Hermione because she used the mirror around the corner before the plan was finished. It wouldn't have hurt Hermione - we had trained it to recognize her scent and pass her by, but she used the mirror to look at it around the corner. But they became concerned about the unexpected depth of your investigation afterwords - worried you would realize that it was my body and turn me in before he was strong enough for the ascension or you had entered the chamber to be taken care of- so they decided that it was worth the risk.
"She had been keeping track of the three of you for the entire year and knew that you used Myrtle's lavatory to brew the polyjuice potion and have your private conversations. She also knew that Myrtle would complain to you if someone threw something down her toilet. So she snuck in when she knew you weren't there but knew you would be soon, really immaterial since Myrtle would flood the bathroom and get your attention anyway, and flushed it down the cubicle she knew the dolt always hung around. Then it was simply a matter of his showing you all he needed to and her retrieval of the diary from your dorm.
"She was so terrified when it fell out of your bag on Valentine's Day and Draco almost took it - him she *couldn't* get it back from. She couldn't have cared less that you knew it was her who sent the Valentine, she was simply on the verge of heart failure over what had almost happened- it would have ruined everything. But you got it back, and she retrieved it from your quarters as planned, being sure to leave the place ravaged to make you think it was a crazed attacker who had ransacked the room in search of it. . . "
The remainder of the story did not need to be explained - he remembered it all to well from his own point of view. They sat in silence for a moment, her position now seated on the floor, leaned against the wall beneath the window and bracing her knees to her chest, mouth buried in her sleeves and eyes that refused to reveal her fear intently watching the raspy carpet as she let him decide when to begin the flow of time again.
He sat in a sort of coma for a few minutes, but finally felt his stunned heart begin to slowly beat again. A slight and somewhat grimacing smile reached his face as well, the floundering result of an attempt to keep his mouth from saying something he would regret, and trepidation that she might not be finished.
It was then of no concern as she recognized his partial thaw, crawled across the room and hugged him for dear life, never wanting to let go, not yet wanting to look him in the eye. It was with impeccable timing at that very moment that the butterbeer she had ordered for eight o'clock arrived. She retrieved it from Madame Rosmerta at the door, utilizing her keen acting skills to have a light and happy momentary conversation. She returned to the room and her real facial expression and handed him the first pint, a small itch of humor tickling the back of her mind at the deity-thanking look on his face for the miracle of alcohol. They silently sipped the liquid paradise for several minutes, imbibing just enough to loosen their spirits without truly interfering with their minds; each was petrified of what may come out of their own mouths.
He knew that there was more, but also sensed that it involved the exposure of something deeper, something that was an infinite source of self-loathing for her. . . and something else. Her fear was palpable, but she need not have experienced it. He loved her too much to ever feel anything else, no matter what she had done or felt or planned in her past. Once his mind had absorbed the facts of the matter and purged all of the emotions involved, he would move on as he had done so many times before. He knew her in the here and now, and that was all that would ultimately matter to him. He would later think in retrospect how grateful he was for this night; far too many parts of his life's pasts had been shrouded in mystery- his soul was weary of lurching revelations rocking his world as soon as he had built it around false truths. He would also realize upon reflection that her knowledge of and respect for that fact were responsible for her timing. She could not reveal her past and expose the core of her soul to him until they had reached the levels of trust and oneness that they had achieved together then, but she also knew the devastation to be had were she to wait even another month, to wait until she was his wife; the keeper of his soul, only to have him learn that he knew nothing of the creation of hers. He needed to know, now.
There were several empty moments before he decided with uninhibited conviction to press on; to make her understand that he needed to hear. She could almost hear the gears working in his head as he stumbled with the wording to his first question- "Gin, why. . .? How. . .?" She shrank away and addressed him almost formally before returning to her station on the floor under the window: "You're wondering how the first thing I told you fits into all of this, aren't you?" It was more a statement than a question, and he knew he needn't answer it. She attempted to explain, slowly and deliberately relaying what understanding of him could be had with mere words.
"The first thing you have to understand is the kind of bond we had. Actually, the first thing is what kind of person he was. He completes you. He captivates you. He didn't need the Imperius to control his followers. He didn't even need to control them. Once he explained something, it was crystal clear. He would bring everything you ever wanted to be out in you and truthfully, dutifully promises everything you desire, and you know he is capable of giving it to you. And he would ask for nothing in return but your love, your loyalty, your trust. And you give it, you would even if he hadn't asked, for there is a pull about him that defies the will of wizards. The effortless magic that is Tom Marvolo Riddle."
She paused momentarily, wondering how to express what she needed to before softly, thoughtfully going on. "He was ambitious, cunning, aristocratic. . . in personal style if not lifestyle. . . everything the heir of Slytherin should be, yet also instilled with a keen sense of honor. He would never have cursed you behind your back, he would never have shot at the count of two. He would never have cared about worldly standards like money in judging a person. He would never have killed without a reason, even if it existed only in his own mind. And he would never, *ever* have raped a woman." The look that then flashed across her face was an odd mixture of lingering anger at his earlier suggestion of said atrocity to her lost lover's memory and sheer fervor to impress the point- it was a key and sacred foundation of her Tom's character, with a far higher significance than Harry could currently understand. The moment lingered, then was finally dismissed by her breaking of their eye contact.
She then softly continued "I was a part of him, just as he was a part of me. We needed each other to survive, mentally . . . and in the end physically. I would never be alone again as long as I lived, because I would always have him, in my mind and my heart if not physically at my side. I was constantly aware of his presence, as he was aware of my soul. He was the only person who truly understood me, the old me or the new, the lighter or the darker. And I loved him. I loved everything about him; his manner, his mind, his soul, his intangible flavor that was infused into every facet of his being, even his handwriting. . . and I know for an undeniable fact that it was not an illusion or girlish crush, nor was he pretending in order to use me, because it worked. Because he came back.
"He had cast the Animo Amororis on the diary - that was how he arose. An ancient and mostly forgotten spell, it's based on mutual love; the ultimate magic. And the only way to revive a memory. For love is the only affair of so basic a creature as humans that deals with so deep a metaphysical plane that it is powerful enough to contend with time, death, even existence itself. But as with all so complex forms of magic, the powers of only one soul can not execute it. He could never have come into even transphasic existence if he hadn't told me his secrets, given me pieces of his soul as well. My love would never have been powerful enough to resurrect him if he hadn't loved me enough to deserve and complete the resurrection. I'm still not sure how Lucius knew that I was the one . . . Even if he had been writing to Tom and found out what he wanted in a woman, which I doubt since he never mentioned having such discussions with anyone, almost none of it was even remotely evident in me then. Maybe it was just a wild gamble when the opportunity presented itself. Certainly one that paid off. Merlin knows that love is far too magical a thing to ever be achieved with planning."
She temporarily drifted off, her mind again latching onto a diversion from the moment, taking comfort in a train of thought that had become routine for it. She realized the need of her continuance, however, and went on, not daring to look up at him.
"I had respected Tom instantly- to not would have been impossible. By Halloween, I felt the deepest friendship for him, and was amazed by the feeling of power and oneness when he projected his conscious into me to open the chamber the first time and establish communication with the basilisk. But then, towards the middle of November, real feelings began to stir in me. They were like nothing I had ever felt before, yet not foreign somehow. They were supposed to be there, just as much as my hair was supposed to be red. By December, we were both behaving strangely. The first few emotional links we had were full of the strange feelings, the odd urges. He was the one to mention them first, of course. Then, in the beginning of January, we finally realized that we were in love with each other. As soon as it was said, it was obvious. We were like a single person by the time we began our real plans for the chamber, and for you. Emotions of the other were constantly sensed and thoughts were a mere matter of concentration away from telepathy, and both bonds exponentially increased as he became stronger; as time and our feelings advanced.
"That was how he signaled me when he was finished with you after I had planted the diary in Myrtle's lavatory. He met you, led you down our diversionary path, had me come get him, and then we began to prepare for the night of the chamber. I wrote the last message on the wall a few hours before it was found, and entered the chamber to wait for you as planned. He had yet to explain how he would transfer from the transphasic state to become real, though. He was about to, a month or so before, but he never finished. That was the night we discovered each other's ages.
"He began telling me how much he loved me, how much he cared, how much he needed me. When I told him I felt the same, loved him more than he could imagine, he utilized the delicate loving manner he reserved for personal declarations to say that I didn't quite understand- he needed me to live, literally. 'You are a virgin', he wrote. No question mark, but no period either. A piece of common knowledge to be added to once I responded, but I didn't- I froze for a moment at the odd comment. He felt my uneasiness and said 'It is quite understandable, as you are as pure, noble, and self- respecting a girl of sixteen as I have ever met.' I was confused, because in all of the memories he had ever shown me he was no more than what I took to be a mature thirteen. I thought rather than wrote back to him that I wasn't sixteen. Was that how old he was? He said yes, then genuinely inquired if I was fifteen or seventeen. My hand has never shaken more in my entire life than when I wrote the word twelve on that piece of paper. Then it was his turn to freeze.
"It was almost an entire minute before he responded 'I did not know.' That's why he never treated me like the rest of them did; he didn't know how old I was. He changed the subject after that, very slowly and carefully skirting the issue as he was so skilled at doing. He never brought it up again, never even mentioning our plan to go into the chamber again- I always had to bring it up to get him to plan the preparations with me. When we arrived that night, though, I knew what needed to be done. He never asked me to do anything. He never explained how it had to be accomplished, I just knew, I understood. The natural order of life and death, of male and female. The only interaction with that deep medium that humans are capable of. And I needed it to live too, or at least the part of me he had awoken did. He never made me do anything. I walked into the chamber and lay the diary down, open to the last page I had been writing on as he had instructed, and he told me to go around the side of one of the statues; there would probably be a flash of light, and he was worried it might blind me. When it was dark again, I heard his voice call to me, not inside my head, but in my ears for the first time."
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She sat on the damp stone of the floor behind the nearest pillar, knees to her chest and eyes in her sleeves as the coming forth began. As soon as the flash was over, she knew he was there. She could feel his presence, more powerfully than ever before. Her instincts were fighting each other, the old parts of her somewhat frightened, the new elated, the both thrilled by the energy and expectation of seeing the man she loved in human form at last. It was then that he called out to her, his voice containing the same anxiousness she felt. As she slowly crept out from behind the mock reptilian pillar, her shoe struck a pebble that proceeded to skitter across the chamber and inform him of her position. He had heard the noise and whipped around to face her by the time she emerged and looked at him, then slowly walked toward him as he stood stalk still on the spot he had materialized on. She reached him an eternity later, standing with their thumping chests only inches apart. He had a physical presence from the exchange of souls, he was solid, but he wasn't real yet. The spark that is true life wasn't within him, yet.
They stood for a moment, simply gazing at one another, occasionally allowing their eyes to fall and absorb the entire image of their completor. After several minutes of this optical caress and loving assessment, his eyes slowly trailed down her arm to her hand. He then brought his own from its statuesque position at his side to meet hers, gently touching her fingertips, one by one aligning their touchpads, then undersides of fingers, then heels of their hands, locking them in a palm kiss that felt united by a metaphysical cement binding them together. Her opposite hand gracefully claimed his in the same fashion, leaving them with the faint electricity of life crackling between them. They could now effortlessly hear every one of the other's thoughts, but both sets were consumed by the moment. He felt her wish, her total lack of fear, and slightly smiled, replying that he loved her, loved her thought process. Even her ingeniously skewed thought process.
At that moment, they kissed- no one moved first, no one suggested or even thought about it first, it was simply the liquid conclusion of the moment. As the flaming lock deepened, they slowly slid their hands up each other's arms, ending in a desperate embrace as their mouths melded into sweet unity. The intangible charge increased between them, gaining momentum and strength with each circuit of their linked beings. It played upon endless nerves, plucking drawing from each the beginnings of the exchange- the melodious life-giving symphony to come.
Their hands remained plastered to the other's form, both knowing it would be physically impossible to force them to leave the other body until the unification was fulfilled. The kiss slowed, then stopped. As she looked in his eyes, she found herself lowering in front of him, intertwining their fingers as she did so. She used his grasp to support her weight, shifting back to lie on the frigid floor, knees still raised and willingly yielding his width as her extended arm's grip demanded he shift forward onto the flagstone with her. His knees found contact with the ancient foundation directly between her own, and her arms then fell back onto the solid cold, the rest of his body then using the pivot point of their united hands to lower onto her form as they fervently kissed once more. The natural path followed, the only remaining border between them was finally ripped down, absolute circulation was then granted to the force guiding them, through the most potent of couplings humanly possible.
When it was complete they lay exhausted, but only for a moment; as soon as the joining was complete and the joyous charge had completely washed through them a very similar but infinitely more powerful sort of energy began to build within her. Catalyzed by the presence of its carnal cousin and needy pull of his soul, it wrapped within it her very essence, then jolted into his exhausted body. He reacted as though he had been struck by lightning, convulsing before collapsing again, now lank and desperately inhaling all that his lungs could hold, struggling to survive. As he laboriously sucked for strength, she felt her own drain with every breath. She was being drawn on, giving to him what the nervous electricity of the powers had somehow tangibly seized and formed an invisible tap into; her life. He was breathing lungfulls not of air, but of existence. The transfer had begun.
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"It only barely even hurt, he was so gentle and careful. Then what came after . . . It was so odd at the time. I was never frightened, just slightly surprised. I had never even heard the word and was experiencing it. But it was normal, I was safe. It was the entire point, because it began the shift."
His reaction to this particular piece of information was far more internally violent than anything he had yet heard; first love was a force that none could control and in all fairness she hadn't been his either, and the physical act was the inescapable need of the magic to be achieved. But the idea that another had bestowed her first real pleasure was intolerable to his mind, clawing for definition of territory in the matter of the woman that he loved. His stomach churned and ire pooled below the surface as he listened to her go on.
"He took me to the base of the statue as soon as he was strong enough and put me back down on my side. He was so gentle, knowing how drained I was, carefully turning my torso to be nearly front-down on the swell of the stone foot, so I would look face down and distressed when you arrived. Then, from somewhere, he had a bowl of water and a rag. That's the memory I kept the most dear and vivid about the whole thing: him just cooling my face and neck, all the while speaking to me in that beautiful voice . . . talking about our meeting, how much he loved me, our plans, our lives, our children. How he would reverse the energy flow when he was real and I was nearly gone - just before I entered the limbotic existence he had been in at the beginning. He spoke soothingly, but I felt a surge of worry from him - he started thinking on how he could know the precise moment it happened and not waste time. I knew that he was worried that if I was left for too long that there would be no way to revive me, I might die completely. Just the utter hollowness and pain he felt at the concept made me realize all over again how much he loved me.
"I used our bond instead of my voice to speak to him, and though it was less of a strain than speaking it still took effort so he told me to stop. It was then that the 'conversation' shifted to my listening to his mind, musical in its inscribed orderliness. He just thought to and ran the water over me for what seemed like hours, I have no idea how long, really. After a while, he said that soon the name Ginny Weasley would be dead, and Virginia Riddle would rise to her place . . . as his wife. It was then that he slipped the ring on my finger. It fit perfectly . . . two pewter Ouroboros snakes, eating their own tails and overlapping under my finger to make the circle of the ring, their flows in opposite directions so their nearly triangular heads interlocked. Their eyes made a neat little line of four emeralds, with their long silver tongues darting out in flourishes all around it. It was so beautiful to me then.
"He hugged me to him as tightly as possible, and I just cried in his robes. He kissed my hair and laid me back down like I had been, and suddenly I was even more exhausted. He just kept running the water and his hands over me . . . 'This will all be over soon, darling, all over soon. I'll be real, I'll reverse the shift so we're both real and half-energized, we'll be normal in a day, and then we'll take our places. It will all be over soon, my heiress.' It was then that we heard you open the sink portal, and both knew he had to make me look dead. He took several deep breaths in a row, and I deflated to the point of being only faintly aware through fuzzy sounds around me and his mind; I couldn't even move, let alone think strait.
"He must have arranged my robes and brushed my hair across my face, then taken the bowl to hide it behind the pillar with him as he waited for you. I barely heard your footsteps running to me, saw you shake me through his eyes, felt his surge of angered fear that you might shake too hard and hurt me, but I never felt you touch me. When he was telling you that he used me, when he said that he seduced and controlled me, mocked me and pretended not to care in the slightest, it was agony for him. I worked up enough strength to think to him that I understood, and that made it easier. But you never saw a falter, because he was a consummate actor- well trained in mental reservation to fuel the sincerity of lies; Ginny Weasley *would* be dead.
"I wanted to follow him willingly as far as the rest of the world was concerned, but he insisted I leave my life and name behind - the woman I was then wasn't that girl anymore. And he would not have even her name remembered with disdain by anyone. And . . . everything happened. Afterwards, I spent six weeks wracked with the worry, the pain, the joy and heartache I had just been through, even more difficult to deal with because he wasn't there. I was lost as my old self again- he had been the vital silent piece of the logical machine my mind had become. And the next six weeks . . . I spent waiting. I told myself that since he wasn't 'real' yet, it couldn't be. But if there was one thing that I learnt form him, it is that boundaries exist to be broken- and magic's boundaries are the most intriguing, the least defined, and the most feared. One never knows with magic. And Merlin knows that he had unlocked kinds that most thought were impossible. When I woke up that horrible morning, I let out one burst of laughter and then cried for three days strait."
It was at this point that her emotions were caught up in the ghost reality of her story, beginning silent rivers down her cheeks. "Why? Why did he have to stop at *that* boundary? How could he have left me alone like that?" She now broke out sobbing into her hands, reliving the morning in horrid detail after dredging up the events, her composure weakened by the butterbeer and fear.
A shell-shocked and entirely instinct driven Harry instantly crossed the room to her, his brain acknowledging only the fact that his Gin was hurting, to hell with why. But when he reached her, began to pull her to him, she lunged away as though he were trying to murder her. Her sobs heaved more and more heavily as she stood facing the corner next to the door, as far away from him as possible in the room that had become their universe. He stood and tried again, not letting her escape as she struggled to leave him "No, I don't deserve it!" "Of course you do, you deserve the world . . ." "No, I don't, I don't deserve anything, I don't deserve you!" "What could ever make you think that?" "Because of what I felt!" At this she succeeded in breaking free of his grip and retreated to the nail-marked bedpost next to the window, leaving him afraid to move. "Because of what she felt" came her defeated voice, before her body slid down the post to the floor, hugging her knees once again.
He cautiously approached her, placing only a gentle hand on her shoulder, daring not to say a word. She reeled, digging for the best possible delay to not have to assault him further that night. Her rare and obvious flounder was punctured, however, when he found his voice for the simple, boring utterance - "Gin." She went limp under his touch, giving in to the part of her that knew this entire episode was truly over the single fact he wanted.
"To be a part of someone, to love them and need them on every level of the word. To have what we have." She looked deep within his eyes at the statement, trying desperately to enforce what was the current fact of their relationship and the fact that she was indeed his, landmark romantic frontiers forged together or not. He silently lied that he was fine and urged her to go on,
"People search their entire lives for something like that, and I had it at twelve. I had it, and I had it ripped away in one minute. When you pushed that fang through the diary, I felt the venom in my veins, too. As he disappeared, so did that part of me that he occupied, the part he had awakened. The part that dreamed of snuggling into his chest as they sat on their thrones. I was being ripped in half, my lover was being destroyed, and I couldn't even form an expression to show the pain. All she wanted was to scream his name, but he couldn't even hear her in his mind, he was already so eaten away. And as he fought to move forward, as he collapsed on the ground and disintegrated, his last desperate thought to her was 'I love you'. When I first rewoke, I could still feel her. Still feel the echo of who he had made me. And when I saw you, the man who had ripped everything she had and could ever hope for away, for a split second, the echo of her hated you. She loathed you with every fiber in her being for taking her Tom away from her. But she faded away, like echoes always do, and I was left with just me.
"I had woken up and seen you as soon as he was gone, the instant it was over. I watched you pull the sword out of the basilisk, trying to think of what to do. I knew I had to continue the lie that he was controlling me, to honor him and protect myself, and realized the breakfast when I tried to tell you about Percy was a perfect way to have tried to confess to you. Then everything that had happened began to sink in, and I began to realize what I had truly done- what could have happened. Everything after saying that he forced me was genuine; I couldn't believe you'd killed the basilisk, and I suddenly realized that I would surly be expelled from Hogwarts, the one place I had most wanted to be all of my life, and what about my parents? They would be so ashamed, even by the cover story that I was overtaken by so silly a thing as a diary. I was so sorry for the people I hurt, for you - but I couldn't feel sorry for loving him, or not feel the pain of losing both him and a piece of myself in the process. And I couldn't just *stop* loving him.
"Everything that I felt for him was rooted in who I used to be; in the first admiration and thirst for him that even my original self had. Even she had fallen in love with him, on far more childish levels, beneath the surface and unnoticed. I couldn't deal with him suddenly not being there and having a hole left in my heart like that. I just couldn't. And I couldn't excuse, or explain, or forget that for one instant a part of me hated you. For more than a year afterwards I couldn't even look you in the eye without feeling the stab of monumental guilt for that one instant. Some days I still can't. I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you . . . " She then dove into his arms, feverishly repeating the mantra over and over. He had never seen her like this - she had always been a doormouse that he hadn't known, or the strong and self-controlled woman that he currently did. He softly rocked her, not wanting to insult her with too much coddling, but still understanding, all be it in shock from everything that had transpired.
He knew that she loved him and understood how she could think that she had betrayed him, but she was a different person during that one moment- and it was just one moment, years before their hearts had even fathomed each other. He didn't believe in holding the uncontrollable from one's past against anyone, and could never hold anything against her. And though he could not feel sorry for the echo who had hated him, he also could not blame her. He had in essence done to her what Voldemort had done to him- ripped away the foundation of her life, everything she could ever hope for, any possibility of the natural stability that she dreamt of, and in the sense that Tom had helped create her, he had also killed her parent. He couldn't hate her, and he could *never* hate the being she had inhabited.
He could only hope that his soothing rock and muttered nothings in her ear were enough to communicate that to said being. He knew they were when she finally stopped crying an hour later, the sky now reflecting the deep velvet black of their reality with shining pinpricks of possibility and hope piercing through weak points in the bleakness.
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