Tom grinned icily, the last remnants of the smoke like presence vanishing, replaced with still ghostly-white skin. He stretched his hands, marveling at the odd sensation he had not experienced in over fifty years. Or at least that he remembered experiencing- had he ever really lived at all? He shook his head. No. He was real now and that's what mattered. Live for the moment.

Poor Ginny, cold and stiff on the damp stones, moaned softly.

"Precious Ginny," he hissed, leaning down close to her ear. She opened her eyes slightly, eyes not quite focusing on the figure above her. It was… who was that? So familiar. So familiar.

"Tom?" she hazarded. The name seemed to fit the spectre lingering above her. He looked at her, smiling eerily for a moment, then leaning closer. His breathing- did he breathe before?- warmed her forehead slightly as he hissed a thanks before closing his lips over hers and devouring what was left of Ginny Weasley.