Disclaimer: I am beginning to think that perhaps these characters are not Rowling's....perhaps they exist within her mind- not created there, but born, for they truly seem to live.
Ebony Moonlight: you are truly the best reviewer for this story- the reviews are eloquent and beautifully worded. I could hope for no better a review for this tale; they are well suited to one another. Your observations are a thrill to read.
It was dark. Poison would have burned through his veins, if he had possessed any. Instead, the fierce agony of it tore through his very existence, and he could not halt that. He would not have wanted to- he had spent so much of himself into ensuring that he would continue to be, throughout the ages that passed so slowly. The thought of revenge, the thought of success and of glory, mingled with her grief- that kept him going.
He would not have wanted to forget her...the girl whose fault it was that he was like this. A deplorable thing, only energy, and that he did not have much of. Negative energy.
He would think of her and his psyche would be thrown into the depths of pain. Oh, the thought of her was torture. His mind lingered only on her, her words, her face, the soul that he had fed upon, preying on her as though a vampire.
He had controlled her, yes, she had been his pet, his toy, plaything, his little doll. He had never meant for her to control him.
He doubted if she knew it. How could she know it? It would have been terrible if she had realised what power she had.
She had never wanted power. Maybe that's what drew him towards her in the first place.
He had wanted to speak with the Potter boy, and he had- so essential to his plans. But he had not wanted Ginny to talk to him again. He had lied to Harry about the reason- not because he found her boring, but because he didn't.
And because, well....it was hard to say.
She had been so frightened after she saw Harry with the diary, she had written furiously to him, demanding that he tell her what it was he told Harry. Had he spilled secrets? Had he told? No, he hadn't, not at all; he didn't want Potter to know Ginny even had the diary. She was afraid of Harry finding her out.
And Tm was afraid of Ginny finding him out.
I am Lord Voldemort. I am Lord Flight-of-death. Do not defy me, Ginevra Weasely.
No; he could not let her know him. Or his plans. And what she meant to them.
He had wanted to dispose of her, but he couldn't. He had half her soul in him. Half his soul in her. And the foolish Potter boy had believed him when he said that she was dying. He grew stronger while Ginny grew weaker? Laughable!
Ginny was not weak. She was weak at the time, but she would have become strong again. She would have been his.
His queen? His servant? His follower?
No.
His.
And he was hers.
Or he would have been.
He cursed in his mind, the venom ripping through him, the venom of his only friend he had ever had, who was dead, dead, all because of a silly little girl. He cursed that girl and tough it brought him much torment, it eased the tempest of hurt somewhere else, somewhere he didn't know he had.
Wanted to weep. Never cried before but he wanted to now.
Tears would have leaked from his eyes, if he had possessed any.