Name: Courtney Kathrys
Title: Tom Riddle
E-mail: Faeriedeath@hotmail.com
Summery: Second in the "Be But Sworn My Love" series. Ginny goes into detail about the nature of her relationship with Tom, what happened in the Chamber, and the lasting effects..
Notes: This series is the prelude to the "We Were Ony Two" series
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters are by JK Rowling. I only own the plot.
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The irony that I have come to view my life as is really quite astounding, I assure you; take for example this situation: I fell out of love with Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, and in love with Tom Riddle, the Boy who became the Dark Lord. Yes, that is right: I, Virginia Weasley was in love with Tom Riddle. I know people say that you can't fall in love at eleven – but then, they've never been possessed by their lover have they? I don't think you can truly love a person unless you know them, body, mind, and soul. And that is literally how I knew Tom.
Most everyone knows the story of my first year, and the Chamber of Secrets and the Diary. Everyone knows, but no one likes to talk of it. It was as if when I started my second year, everyone except me was placed under obliviate and left me to suffer alone with my memories.
Yes, that is all he is now – a memory. But he was real once, or almost real. We were both so half way, him almost there and I almost gone, that we could be corporeal to each other. And his words were so life like, swimming in my head and intoxicating me.
It started off so innocently. I was surprised to find the Diary in my books, and thought it a kind gift from my father to his little girl before leaving for Hogwarts. I knew better than to make a big deal of it, my brothers already tease me enough about my special treatment – no need to rile them up further. So I thanked my father for the books, and hoped he got my true meaning laced behind my words.
Tom was a wonderful correspondent and I would talk with him all hours into the night, and even through classes like History of Magic. He was my cocaine, euphoric and hot through the veins, and feelings of emptiness and despair when you've gone too long without. Slowly throughout the year I became more addicted to him, bending and complying with his whims and favors without hardly realizing or addressing the situation.
Was I scared? Oh yes, I was terrified! I was eleven years old, I was supposed to be in love with Harry Potter and here I am, fallen head over heels with a diary! I tried to rid myself of him, but I never could. He always found a way to come back to me. That's what convinced me that it was real love – isn't real love supposed to come back when you set it free?
That night he told me that he would come to me in person, I just had to go to that horrible chamber once more. So I complied; never knowing that it would almost be the death of me.
He was beautiful. Dark hair, pale skin, and obsidian eyes that you could loose yourself in. Those first kisses were so sweet, so gentle, and so wonderful. My first real kiss to my first real love. I never noticed myself slipping away as he became firmer beneath my fingers. Then it wasn't so gentle.
People always say that when a boy pressures you, and you're not ready, to just say no. But what if that boy is you and he has taken possession of your mind and your soul? How do you stop him from taking your body as well? You can refuse him nothing. And I was no exception.
I don't have any hard core memories, only passing details. Hands, and lips, and skin, and pleasure, and pain. I remember screaming in a mixture of both and I felt so dirty and so alive. I was only eleven.
The last I saw of Tom was of his cruel smirk as he kissed my forehead and thanked me. He straightened my skirt and disposed of my torn knickers, laying me down carefully in the puddle of water. I remember his voice exclaiming the arrival of Harry soon after, and I can't remember any more before waking up to find out Harry had killed him.
I cried that night, and all through my summer at St. Mungo's. Everyone thought I cried because of my horrible experience, but I was crying because I had lost him. I would wake up screaming in the night, and my mum thought the terror to be nightmare induced memories. They were memories, yes, but not from my nightmares. Nightmares could never produce such pleasure and pain.
I realized in my second year that I still carried a bit of him inside, and I can still feel his emotions and think his thoughts, though I'm sure he pays me no mind at all, and doesn't even know my name. It took a long time to let Tom go... and I don't think I'll ever quite succeed.
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Title: Tom Riddle
E-mail: Faeriedeath@hotmail.com
Summery: Second in the "Be But Sworn My Love" series. Ginny goes into detail about the nature of her relationship with Tom, what happened in the Chamber, and the lasting effects..
Notes: This series is the prelude to the "We Were Ony Two" series
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters are by JK Rowling. I only own the plot.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
The irony that I have come to view my life as is really quite astounding, I assure you; take for example this situation: I fell out of love with Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, and in love with Tom Riddle, the Boy who became the Dark Lord. Yes, that is right: I, Virginia Weasley was in love with Tom Riddle. I know people say that you can't fall in love at eleven – but then, they've never been possessed by their lover have they? I don't think you can truly love a person unless you know them, body, mind, and soul. And that is literally how I knew Tom.
Most everyone knows the story of my first year, and the Chamber of Secrets and the Diary. Everyone knows, but no one likes to talk of it. It was as if when I started my second year, everyone except me was placed under obliviate and left me to suffer alone with my memories.
Yes, that is all he is now – a memory. But he was real once, or almost real. We were both so half way, him almost there and I almost gone, that we could be corporeal to each other. And his words were so life like, swimming in my head and intoxicating me.
It started off so innocently. I was surprised to find the Diary in my books, and thought it a kind gift from my father to his little girl before leaving for Hogwarts. I knew better than to make a big deal of it, my brothers already tease me enough about my special treatment – no need to rile them up further. So I thanked my father for the books, and hoped he got my true meaning laced behind my words.
Tom was a wonderful correspondent and I would talk with him all hours into the night, and even through classes like History of Magic. He was my cocaine, euphoric and hot through the veins, and feelings of emptiness and despair when you've gone too long without. Slowly throughout the year I became more addicted to him, bending and complying with his whims and favors without hardly realizing or addressing the situation.
Was I scared? Oh yes, I was terrified! I was eleven years old, I was supposed to be in love with Harry Potter and here I am, fallen head over heels with a diary! I tried to rid myself of him, but I never could. He always found a way to come back to me. That's what convinced me that it was real love – isn't real love supposed to come back when you set it free?
That night he told me that he would come to me in person, I just had to go to that horrible chamber once more. So I complied; never knowing that it would almost be the death of me.
He was beautiful. Dark hair, pale skin, and obsidian eyes that you could loose yourself in. Those first kisses were so sweet, so gentle, and so wonderful. My first real kiss to my first real love. I never noticed myself slipping away as he became firmer beneath my fingers. Then it wasn't so gentle.
People always say that when a boy pressures you, and you're not ready, to just say no. But what if that boy is you and he has taken possession of your mind and your soul? How do you stop him from taking your body as well? You can refuse him nothing. And I was no exception.
I don't have any hard core memories, only passing details. Hands, and lips, and skin, and pleasure, and pain. I remember screaming in a mixture of both and I felt so dirty and so alive. I was only eleven.
The last I saw of Tom was of his cruel smirk as he kissed my forehead and thanked me. He straightened my skirt and disposed of my torn knickers, laying me down carefully in the puddle of water. I remember his voice exclaiming the arrival of Harry soon after, and I can't remember any more before waking up to find out Harry had killed him.
I cried that night, and all through my summer at St. Mungo's. Everyone thought I cried because of my horrible experience, but I was crying because I had lost him. I would wake up screaming in the night, and my mum thought the terror to be nightmare induced memories. They were memories, yes, but not from my nightmares. Nightmares could never produce such pleasure and pain.
I realized in my second year that I still carried a bit of him inside, and I can still feel his emotions and think his thoughts, though I'm sure he pays me no mind at all, and doesn't even know my name. It took a long time to let Tom go... and I don't think I'll ever quite succeed.
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