A/N: This was meant to come out ages ago, but hey – I'm getting better with the updating, and that's what counts. Right?
Anyway, I spent all day working on this because there's a lot of research involved and I really, really wanted it up for Valentine's Day. Though it's not exactly romantic, I do consider it a Valentine's Day chapter. (Or a Single's Awareness Day chapter, if you're like me.)
So, a few things first. I tried to guess what Ginny would call the three meals of the day. After research, I still couldn't figure it out. So I settled on Breakfast, Dinner and Supper. If anyone in the UK knows what she'd have called them and I'm wrong, I'm very sorry! I'm an American girl who is easily confused and I just couldn't understand who calls what where.
Next, to QueenGinevraWeasley: I couldn't fit the entire story in here, but there is a certain nickname and comment Tom makes that I hope you'll be pleased with. I love your insights, they were very interesting and I agree about the Mordred and Guinevere thing. Also, I didn't have any particular symbolism in mind for the lemon tree – I wanted to see what readers would come up with themselves. And you had a fantastic interpretation. =) I have a feeling you're disappointed with Tom announcing that he no longer wants to destroy Muggles and therefore won't be following in Voldemort's footsteps, but he does have plans and I hope you'll be okay with where they end up. (I'm not messaging because I like to do things old school, yo.)
Speaking of plans, I really need to plot out the rest of this fanfiction. The next chapter is the only one I have outlined. Oops.
Okay well, I don't own Harry Potter (JK does), I go a bit overboard with descriptions here but whatever, the beginning of this chapter is crap but it does get better aaaaand I hope you enjoy this chapter!
Bonus Challenge: See if you can count all the aphrodisiacs!
The sheer opulence of her bedroom was breathtaking.
Apparently, Tom had changed his mind about the emerald sheets, and had enchanted the room to look completely different. The room had a textured painted look to it, dark white covered with a deep beige color like the room belonged in an older house. The floor remained a pale grey wood, but now across the majority of it was a lush deep red Persian carpet, compete with a design of dark blue, gold and sage colors. The original, simple bed frame was replaced by a dark wood one, with a tall headboard and footboard but with low, curved sides. It was covered with some large, soft golden fabric lined with silk and stitched Moroccan designs in red and fawn. It was piled with more pillows than she could count in amethyst, emerald, ruby and sapphire, all with gold thread designs. Over the top of the bed was deep red gossamer fabric, and along the walls were intricate mirrors and bright red paintings. The two wardrobes were painted white to match the walls or bright red to match the carpet. There was a small wooden chair painted bright yellow, low footstools, a couch of highly decorated fabric and intricate wood designs, end tables with Moroccan tiles on the surface with books or colored votives or vases of exotic flowers sitting atop them. The room was lit by Arabic lamps with brightly colored glass hanging from the ceiling by golden chains, lit by some sort of magic candles that burned brightly without needing to be lit. Incense filled the air, smelling of sandalwood and cinnamon.
Ginny had never been surrounded by such fine things in all her life. It felt strange to be in such a familiar house surrounded by such an unfamiliar atmosphere. She hoped that somehow this place would return to it's old, homey and very Harry style and feel, but the more things changed the less probable that seemed.
A spark of hope suddenly – but wouldn't Harry someday come back here? Even if it was months from now, surely he was going to come here again. And then he would find her. Unless Tom somehow found a way to keep Harry away forever –
She didn't really want to think about that.
Instead, Ginny took a seat on the couch and tried to understand what she'd just learned.
Tom wasn't really Tom Riddle, not in the traditional sense. This was perhaps the most strange revelation, yet it made sense. It would explain why he always claimed that he was not Lord Voldemort, yet he was quite clearly Tom Riddle.
If she understood correctly, what had happened was Lord Voldemort had made the diary his first horcrux, putting a piece of his soul inside it. Then she'd begun writing in the diary, and while she gave the diary secrets, parts of her own soul, in order to control her it somehow tore again – with the murder of the chickens? – and part of that soul was placed in her. Then when Voldemort was killed, all the pieces that had been destroyed couldn't move on to the next life because part of the soul still remained in a living body – hers.
The part that was really confusing was that though he seemed to have all the pieces of his soul back, he still claimed to not be Voldemort. He was the bit of soul that had lived inside her since her First year, though he had all the memories of the other pieces of soul. Could it be that his soul wasn't pieced back together yet? She remembered Harry mentioning something about people who made horcruxes having to feel remorse in order to put their soul together again. Maybe that was why he didn't feel like he was Voldemort – all the pieces of soul were gathered, but not fused together.
There were also his other comments to consider, and these were even less clear. He wanted love so he could have the same strength Harry had. He didn't plan on killing muggles, because he disliked them only as much as he disliked anyone else. He didn't actually have any further plans.
Her head was beginning to hurt from the smoke of the incense, and her stomach was beginning to hurt due to her refusal to eat anything he gave her. The last 'decent' meal she'd had was at St. Mungo's. Merlin, that felt like it was months ago. It was time for her to eat…but she would get the food herself.
Slowly, Ginny opened the door to her bedroom and peeked out. She couldn't see Tom in the hall, nor could she hear him moving about in any rooms. That could mean he was downstairs, but if she were lucky he may have gone out again.
But then, Ginny remembered that luck had never been on her side. She heard noises coming from the kitchen, but she refused to turn back. She was hungry, and she wasn't going to let him chase her away any longer. She walked into the kitchen, tall and confident.
Tom was peeking into the oven when Ginny arrived, hair gone wild from the heat. She was surprised to see him dressed in muggle clothing, in pale grey trousers, a button-down shirt in a blue so bright she was shocked to see him wearing it and a pale grey V-necked cotton sweater pulled over the shirt. He wore only grey socks on his feet, but otherwise everything was very put together, well tailored and lovely.
She was further surprised when she realized that everything he was doing was the Muggle way. Oh, the dishes were doing themselves, of course, and spoons stirred bowls on their own, but otherwise he seemed to be hand-making everything.
When he realized she was in the kitchen, Tom turned to her, standing straight with his hands folded politely behind his back. "Good afternoon, Ginevra," he greeted her pleasantly, with a charming smile that only disturbed Ginny. Why was he being so…so casual and friendly?
"You're wearing muggle clothes," was the only response she could think of.
"Ah, yes," said Tom, looking down at his clothing. "While I do detest muggles, their clothing is much easier to move about in than heavy robes. And they didn't sell robes at the shop I was forced to purchase clothing at, so this is what I ended up with."
Ginny stared, unsure of what to say or do. His attitude was just so casual, like he was a friend of hers and she was merely staying at his place for the day, rather than he being a soulless, cruel creature that kidnapped her and held her hostage here.
Tom observed Ginny's face, and then smirked. "Do you like it? Rather handsome, aren't I?"
Ginny blinked. "Stop it."
"I'm sorry – stop what, exactly?" Tom asked, turning from her now to a cutting board, where he began to pour some sort of vinaigrette over arugula.
"This," she said, moving forward, motioning to the kitchen around her though she wasn't sure why. "This fake friendliness, this…easiness. You're behaving like we're friends."
"Are we not?" Tom asked, feigning hurt surprise though she could hear a cold amusement behind his words. "I'm the only person you've been able to talk to for a long time, Ginny. Doesn't that count for something?"
She scowled, folding her arms across her chest. "You were the only person I could talk to because you made it that way."
"Perhaps," Tom commented quickly, turning now to a counter-top grill where asparagus was cooking, apparently drizzled with olive oil and black pepper. As he checked the greens, Tom added, "But you can't say you didn't find me comforting, at times, Guinevere."
Ginny opened her mouth to protest, but she realized he was right. The night after they'd found the corpse of the hiker, he had recited the Lady of Shalott for her again, but that time she had found it comforting, had thought his voice soothing, and had let him coax her to sleep. There were other times, too, small things like when he put out the flames in her room without her knowledge. And she had in all honesty found him to be the one person she could depend on – depend on to always be there, though mocking and cruel. Everyone else had seemed to abandon her, but he was always there.
Because he had no choice! She reminded herself quickly. This was a dangerous line of thought.
She found something else to object to, instead. "Stop calling me by these weird names," she insisted, walking to a kitchen counter and leaning her hip against it. "My name is Ginevra, and that is my only name. You keep calling me the names of fictional women, or historical or legendary women, and I'm not them. I seem to be every woman in the world to you except for the one that I actually am."
"I find Guinevere to be quite fitting," was Tom's only response. Ginny sighed in frustration, though really she should have known better than to expect him to actually do what she asked.
Tom went to a cutting board and began slicing up pears. "You may want to wash up and dress for dinner," he said, his eyes not leaving the pale green fruit. "It will be ready soon, and as ravishing as I find you I would prefer you didn't eat in the clothes you wore yesterday."
Ravishing? Something very strange was happening.
Still, though Ginny didn't like the idea of doing anything Tom asked, she did feel a little grungy. She left the kitchen and went upstairs to her room, grabbed clothes without paying much attention to what it was, located the bathroom and locked herself in. Fifteen minutes later, she emerged from a hot shower, dressed with hair and teeth brushed and feeling at least minimally better. She went back to her room to put her dirty clothes – well, somewhere, at least. While in there, she caught a glimpse of her reflection. She had to admit…she looked better than she had in ages. Her cheeks were rosier – though perhaps due to the hot water – and her eyes held more independence and fire than they had since before Fred died. She had her still wet hair pulled over one shoulder, and the revealed skin on the other side had actual color, rather than the pale yellowed skin she'd had for a while now. Part of her thought that maybe Tom had put some magic in her soap, but that wasn't it.
Being trapped here was awful, and she wanted to leave as soon as she could. But something about being physically around Tom had caused a spark in her. Not the sort of spark he seemed to hope to create, but a determination to not allow herself to be used anymore, to not put up with his abuse of her, to fight back. She was finished being a whimpering victim; now, she wouldn't let him do whatever he wanted with her without making him regret it somehow.
Ginny smirked in the mirror. These were confident words. She hoped she could turn them into action.
She took another moment to admire her new reflection, and appreciate the dress. It wasn't something she'd choose normally (even when she wore muggle clothing), but it fit her well. The top was white and fitted with strap sleeves. At her waist was a thick tan leather belt, and the skirt was a lovely sea green, ruffled and flowy and going down to her knees. She looked like a young woman in it, the confident young woman she would have been had Tom's soul not began to haunt her on top of the war and deaths that haunted her.
With a deep breath to steel herself against whatever she faced downstairs, Ginny left the room and headed back down to the kitchen. Finding it empty, she walked through the kitchen and turned into the dining-room, where a delicious-smelling meal was set.
The old round table had been replaced by a longer, rectangular one, covered by a dark green tablecloth. The plates were gold-tinted white with a thick ring of the same green around the edges, the silverware was faintly gold, the fabric napkins gold, the glasses and mugs glass. The centerpiece of the table was a vase of white snapdragons and white gerber daisies. The light scent of them mingled with the smell of rosemary, lemon, pear and red wine. Just looking at the food made Ginny's stomach growl. There were thick cuts of lamb where the smell of red wine and mint drifted from, roasted red potatoes with rosemary sprigs, beautiful grilled asparagus and a salad of arugula, pears and dates with parmesan and some sort of lemony vinaigrette.
Tom stood on the far end of the table, and her place had been set at his right-hand side. Ginny scowled, not liking this arrangement, but held her head high and walked to her place. He pulled her chair out for her, and wordlessly she took her seat. Tom sat beside her and with a wave of his wand filled their plates, mugs and water goblets. Ice water with lime wedges and a mug of strong coffee were the beverages for this meal, and all Ginny could think was that this was awfully extravagant for dinner, a meal usually made of sandwiches and crisps for her.
They began eating without a word to each other, and at first Ginny was appreciative. But the quiet was quickly becoming oppressive, and though she hated talking to Tom, it was started to seem preferable to not speaking at all. When it was too quiet, she thought too much about where Harry was and if he was okay, if her family was surviving, how her friends were, and worst of all she still heard the Lady of Shalott repeated again and again in her mind, like when she used to stare at words too long and still see ghosts of them when she looked away.
"How do you know so much about muggle literature?" she asked quietly between bites of asparagus.
Tom looked vaguely surprised at her attempt at conversation, and then amused. He set down his fork. "You know I was raised in a muggle orphanage. There wasn't much there for me to do, except for playing with the other orphan's minds, of course. So I spent a good time stealing books and reading them."
He didn't say anything more on the subject, but watched her as though he expected her to say something else. She couldn't think of any follow-up questions, so she continued to eat, picking at a date. She felt a little disappointed that the conversation had gone nowhere, because now it was quiet again. And, she admitted, she'd sort of hoped to learn more about Tom. Not for such simple reasons as wanting to get to know him, but she wanted to find something she could use against him. He must have some sort of weakness, she was sure of it.
"When you wrote in the diary," Tom finally spoke, and Ginny now wished he'd stayed silent, "You talked about how you used to read about the famous Harry Potter in books and dream about him. You'd fantasize about meeting him and making his jaw drop with your beauty and wit, and befriending him and eventually having him fall for you, and getting married. Is that not so?"
Ginny blinked back tears of anger and embarrassment, but decided not to say anything. Maybe he had a point beyond mocking her.
Tom picked up the water glass and took a sip, speaking again as he carefully set it down. "When I was young I had the same sort of thoughts, but of the great literary women, rather than simple celebrities. I dreamed of meeting Lady Elaine and taking Lancelot's place in her heart, of befriending Guinevere and being her closest confidant, of seducing Delilah rather than being seduced by her, of being Hades and forcing Persephone to become my bride."
Ginny now set down her fork, and folded her hands in her lap. "Is that why you call me those names?"
"Perhaps," breathed Tom. "Or perhaps it's merely because they irritate you so."
Ginny sighed and rolled her eyes, picking her fork up again. "You keep suggesting that you want love, yet you're incapable of it. And you used to despise it."
"As I told you," said Tom, speaking firmer now, "Hating love was my weakness, and Dumbledore's strength. In the end, Voldemort was defeated by love. I do not intend to make his mistakes. Love is the path to ultimate power, and though I cannot confess to understand why, I will gain it and use it to my advantage."
Ginny watched his as he spoke, and his dark eyes were locked on hers. Somehow, the blue in his shirt brought out gold flecks in his eyes. Her gaze narrowed as he spoke of possessing love as though it were an object he could steal, but he only stared at her in seeming fascination. When his eyes left hers, it was slowly, almost hesitantly. Ginny was left feeling strange, almost breathless with her heart pounding.
"Love doesn't work that way," she said, though she knew there was no use. He would never listen to her.
"Of course it does," he responded. "Potter used it to his advantage. I will use it to mine."
"And how do you intend to get love in the first place?"
He glanced up at her again, but before she could read the emotions in his eyes he looked back to his plate. Ginny followed suit, spearing a bit of arugula with her fork.
They ate in silence, and it wasn't until Ginevra felt nearly full that Tom spoke again.
"So, dearest….how do you feel?" The word 'dearest' felt too affectionate, not only coming from Tom but the tone of it. It was honeyed, sweet yet poisoned, like the word itself was a dangerous temptation.
Ginny was so fixated on the strangeness of the word on his tongue and the sickly sweet tone in which he'd spoken it that she almost forgot to respond. "…What?"
"How do you feel today?"
Ginny's brow furrowed in confusion. "I feel like I've been kidnapped and my kidnapper is holding me hostage in the same building where he killed my boyfriend's parents," she said flatly.
"Lord Voldemort killed Potter's parents. I am not-"
"Close enough. You can't deny you would have killed them, too, given the chance."
"Before they conceived, certainly…" Tom looked upwards thoughtfully, as if trying to recall something. "After? His father, perhaps. Lily Potter looked too much like you. And if I remember correctly, Lord Voldemort wanted to avoid her death. If she hadn't gotten between him and Harry, she would have lived."
Ginny remembered Harry telling her the story of how Snape had loved his mother, and begged Voldemort to spare her life. She was, however, surprised to hear that he would have done it.
She opened her mouth to speak again, but Tom beat her to it. "Tell me about your dreams, your goals."
Ginny set down her fork. "Why? Why do you care?"
"I do not need to give you a reason, my dear." Again, the words were tinted with honey and venom.
"No," Ginny said, shaking her head. "No, you do. Why are you asking me that? Why are you speaking to me like this at all?"
"Would you rather I spoke cruelly?"
Ginny wanted to say yes, but she wasn't that strong yet. She knew what it was like to have Tom Riddle speak cruelly to her, and though she was piecing herself back together, returning to that situation would break her fragile self again. She couldn't really take Tom on after all, at least not until she was completely strong, completely herself again.
"I would rather you made sense."
"I thought I spoke very clearly, forgive me," he said, setting down an empty coffee mug. "I meant that I want to hear more about what you wish to accomplish in life."
Ginny was nearly speechless with fury. She stood, shaking, and threw her napkin on the table. "I wish to get away from you, to be with Harry, to have my family back and to stop feeling insane, and broken, and used! That's what I want, Tom!" With those words, she turned and stormed back up to her room.
The hours ticked by slowly, and Ginny spent most of them escaping into books. First she'd found an old copy of Tales of Beedle the Bard, and she relived her childhood through each story, remembering when her mother tucked her into bed and told her these tales in her own beautiful words. Her heart ached by the end of the book, and she curled up on the soft couch and watched the incense smoke dance on the air, this time smelling of almonds and jasmine.
She lay there for maybe an hour or so when she heard a firm knock on the door. Refusing to answer, Ginny left the couch and went to the bed, and was pleasantly surprised to feel the softness of the mattress and the luxurious feel of the blankets. The knock came again, and Ginny leaned back and looked at the art on the walls. She found one red painting in particular very evocative, a background of red and gold furnishings and a woman in the foreground arranging her long red hair, a table with a hairbrush before her, her white robe exposing her shoulder and nearly slipping off her breasts. The woman had such a far-off, almost haunted look in her eyes, and Ginny couldn't help but identify with her.
Tom seemed to have given up, and Ginny slipped off her bed and approached the door, listening against it to make sure. She noticed that the line of light below the door was interrupted by something, and opened the door to look. There on a large silver tray was her supper: A tall glass of what smelled like elderflower cordial, a glass and bottle of Pinot Blanc, pasta in a pesto sauce that smelled of sweet basil, toasted garlic bread and – and were those oysters? Upon closer inspection, she realized that they were. She'd never had oysters before. She picked up the tray, went inside her room and found a place to eat in quiet. When she was finished, she set her tray outside her door.
Unsure of what else to do, Ginny picked up another book – this time a book by Lockhart, of all people – and curled up in bed to read. She breathed in deeply, loving the smell of ginger and roses that now filled her room. She was beginning to feel more relaxed, and though she knew she would never feel safe or comfortable here, she allowed herself to feel calm and begrudgingly content to sit and read.
Hours later, her book nearly finished, Ginny decided to get ready for bed. The light outside her window had disappeared, and the smell of lavender and vanilla was making her pleasantly sleepy. She went back to the bathroom and drew herself a hot bath, using scented oils to make her skin smell of almonds, and closed her eyes, willing the tension to leave her body. Maybe if she could feel completely serene, she could start regaining her old strength better.
She let her bath run long, and didn't get out until her fingertips were wrinkly. When she made it back to her room, she was pleased that the floral and spicy ginger and rose scent had returned. She found lotions in the top drawer of one of the tables and put on an amber-scented one, then changed into a long, soft, flowing olive-colored nightgown with thin straps and a neckline that was a little low for her comfort. She went to her bed and crawled under the covers, and the lights began to dim.
Then she heard a knock at the door again.
Ginny sighed, frustrated. "I'm going to sleep."
"Without tea?"
"Yes."
"I don't think so," she heard Tom mutter, and then heard him whisper a spell and open the previously locked door. The lights went up again, though still dimmer than their full brightness. Tom entered with another tray, this time a glass tray tinted with pale green. He walked to the bed despite Ginny's protests, and set the tray down beside her, then took a seat on the mattress at her feet. He still wore the grey trousers, but now wore a deep green long-sleeved jersey shirt (though the sleeves were pulled up to expose his forearms), that fit comfortably loose as though it was well broken in.
Ginny pulled the red covers up to her neck and held them in place with a hand as she looked at the tray. There was cream tea in fine porcelain cups with little pink buds on them, champagne chilled in a bucket with two champagne flutes of red glass, a plate of chocolate covered strawberries, a plate of dark chocolate squares and a plate of six roasted figs drizzled with honey, sprinkled with almond pieces with a tablespoon of mascarpone on top of each. It all looked and smelled incredible, and Ginny couldn't resist the temptation. She reached out for a fig, picked it up and took a bite. Her eyes closed in ecstasy, and she nearly moaned at the flavor of the succulent delicacy.
When she opened her eyes, Tom was offering her a glass of the champagne. She hadn't had any of the wine, but now alcohol didn't seem like such a bad idea. She accepted the red glass, took a sip, and then decided it was bad idea, after all. Coughing and wrinkling her nose in disgust, she handed the glass back, and she heard Tom laugh.
"Not to your taste?"
"No," she choked out.
He sipped the champagne. "It's a cheap sort of drink, anyway. It's better that you dislike it. Though I must admit a desire to know what you're like drunk…"
Ginny ignored the comment and finished eating her fig, then feeling too warm under the heavy blankets and Tom's unwavering stare, she pushed the covers back and pulled her legs out, no longer caring about the cut of her nightgown. It wasn't as though he hadn't had full opportunity to see her nude while he was in her head.
She watched Tom slowly reach for and then even more slowly bite into a chocolate-covered strawberry. Like the apple from that morning, it left juice on his lips, and she again felt the need to look away as he licked the juices away.
When he finished with the strawberry, he reached for his teacup, and she felt the tips of his fingers brush past her legs as he leaned forward. The touch was so light she wasn't sure if he noticed, and if he had he didn't react. Ginny felt sickened by this situation suddenly, at the nearness of him and the familiar tone he took with her, but she still felt so very tired of being alienated from everyone, of being angry and hurt and scared all the time, and just this once she wanted to feel calm and in control without having to throw a fit. So rather than make some comment about his attitude and the real darkness of their situation that would be ignored, she took a strawberry for herself and indulged in it.
"Do you like your room?" Tom wanted to know as he set down his tea and instead took up his champagne glass. "I couldn't bring myself to decorate in Gryffindor colors alone, so I thought this would be a good compromise."
"It's fine," she said sharply, not wanting to admit that the room had grown on her. She liked the warmness of it, the feeling she got while looking at it, like it was both welcoming and mysterious, fiery yet comfortable. It occurred to her suddenly that if the room were a woman, it would be much like she had once been.
"Only 'fine'?" Tom asked, searching her eyes, and then letting his gaze trail along the rest of her face, from her high forehead to her cheekbones to her narrow chin, and finally her pink mouth. "What do you dislike? I can change it for you easily."
"I don't dislike anything, it's fine," said Ginny, reaching for a piece of dark chocolate.
"If you don't dislike anything, then you may as well admit you like it, my dear."
Ginny sighed, and then bit into the chocolate. It was very bitter and made Ginny's mouth feel dry, but it tasted so incredible with a hint of spice and roses that she didn't mind. "Fine. I like it."
Tom smiled, satisfied. "Now…was that so hard?"
Ginny rolled her eyes, but didn't respond. She just watched as his eyes continued to roam her face, and then her still damp red hair. Something deep in her stomach squirmed when his gaze lowered to her long neck and bare white shoulders, but before this venture turned indecent, he looked into her eyes again.
"How about some music?" he asked, taking out his wand, and with a wave music began to play. It matched the room, with drums that reminded her of something African, seductive Spanish guitar, and a woman's husky voice singing in some warm-toned language. The drum beat was quick, the guitar slow, and though that should have clashed it didn't. It sounded almost…primal.
"Why are you in here?" Ginny wondered, tilting her head to the side a little with curiosity.
"I thought you could use a little…company," Tom responded slowly, his voice low in both volume and tone, his eyes looking deep into hers. Once again, he had that expression as though he were looking into her soul, and it made Ginny uncomfortable. Still, she refused to look away, and she glared back with a look of defiance and challenge. This only seemed to encourage him, and slowly he downed the glass of champagne, took the chocolate from her hand and placed it onto the tray and then pushed it to the other side of the bed, crawled up and laid beside her, an elbow on the gold pillow next to her, his head resting against his hand.
She looked at him in confusion. He had been odd all day, and she found this unusual familiarity much more disturbing than his cold amusement. She wanted the dark Tom back.
"What do want from me, Tom?" she asked breathlessly.
"Oh…" Tom whispered back, and the fingers of his left hand trailed slowly up the fabric of her nightgown, not with enough pressure to touch her skin but still most certainly touching her on purpose. When he reached the line between improper and intimate, his hand stopped, and he drew circular designs on her mid-thigh with his middle finger. "I think you know what I want, Ginevra."
She shoved his arm away. "Get away from me."
"No," he said, and he leaned in closer, his left hand moving to the other side of her so he looked down into her eyes. "You don't really want me to."
"Yes," she insisted loudly, and tried to push him away from her. "I do. Leave me alone."
"Kiss me, and I will," he promised.
"What?" Ginny gasped, her eyes wide with shock, her hands frozen on his broad shoulders.
"Kiss me," Tom insisted, his voice thick and gentle. "And I'll leave you alone tonight, and again for as long as you want tomorrow."
"I would never," Ginny spat, "Kiss you."
"That's too bad…" Tom sighed wistfully, and his breath smelled of alcohol and chocolate. "Because that means I will have to kiss you, and I won't be going anywhere afterwards."
Furious, Ginny used all her strength to push him away (and still felt as though he allowed her to), and sat up. "What the hell is wrong with you?" she demanded. "You've been acting weird all day, and now this? You can't kiss me, and you can't stay in here. You might have me hostage, but I won't let you take advantage of me like that! Now get out!"
Tom only smiled. "There's the feisty Ginevra that I've missed."
He reached towards her face and she flinched away, but he took hold of her hair. Not roughly, but gently, and he lifted it off her shoulders and held it back. Again he examined her chest – not her breasts, but the curve of her shoulders, the shape of her collarbone, her long neck. She was surprised by this move and momentarily stunned into silence, but then she tried to get out of the bed. She stopped when he gripped her hair harder and she realized that any further movement would only pull her hair. In a desperate move she tried to reach for the wand, but in that moment Tom leaned forward and before she could object, his mouth was on hers.
Ginny closed her eyes and quickly clenched her teeth together to avoid his deepening the kiss, and since she knew any attempts to pull away would fail, she sat still and waited for him to finish. She couldn't help but notice the unexpected softness of his lips, and then she couldn't help but notice the softness of the kiss. She'd expected something hard and hurried, but that wasn't what this kiss was. It was gentle, almost tender. His lips were barely brushing hers, and his only movements were small circles that almost massaged her own soft lips. His mouth opened only once, but not to attempt to push his tongue into her mouth, but to open and close on her lips, drawing her lips closer, pushing his mouth against hers only a little firmer. She shivered when she heard a soft sound of satisfaction deep in his throat, and when he finally pulled away she could taste champagne on her lips.
His eyes had been closed as well, but now they both opened their eyes at the same time and they looked at each other with astonished looks, though Tom's held more satisfaction and Ginny's held more sadness.
Tom released Ginny's hair and it fell down around her shoulders, and he lowered his hands by first cupping her face, then trailing his cool fingertips down her neck, then caressing her shoulders with his plans before pulling his hands away. But instead of putting them by his sides, he placed them on her legs. He moved slowly and continued to look her in the eye – she was too stunned to move – and he raised her nightgown to expose her knees, then placed his cold hands on her warm skin and massaged her knees in circles.
Finally, the situation clicked in her head, and Ginny shook herself out of her trance.
She rolled out of the bed, her whole body hitting the floor hard. She was only there for a second before getting to her feet, and spinning to face Tom with tears in her eyes.
"GET OUT!" she screamed, her voice hoarse with anger and despair.
"Why?" asked Tom leisurely, in dulcet tones. "Did you like it more than you thought you would?"
"No," she said sharply, "I want you to get out because I hate you."
Like he had that morning, Tom reacted to those words more than she thought he would. He covered his flinch by standing, and towering over her. "Love and hate are very close to each other, Ginevra. They both inspire fiery passion."
"Tom, I hate you!" she screamed, nearly at the top of her lungs. Her throat already burned from the force of her voice, but she kept going. "Don't you understand? I hate you! I don't want you near me, I don't want you touching me, I don't want you kissing me!"
"Your reaction said otherwise, my d-"
"Stop calling me pet names, Tom." she demanded, her hands balling into fists. "I hate you, and you have no right! The only person I will ever love is Harry, and you have kept us apart for years."
She was beginning to choke on her tears, but she tried desperately to force the sobs back. Meanwhile, something cold had crept into Tom's eyes.
"Harry isn't enough for you. You should-"
"Shut the fuck up, you disgusting worm!" she charged him now, and with all her strength she shoved him away from her. She was triumphant when he actually stumbled back. "You fucking bastard child, you pathetic excuse for a human being! Harry has spent most of his life helping others, he saved the world, he continues to strive to be productive, and what have you accomplished?" She was breathless with rage, and though the coldness quickly filling Tom's being should have made her pause, it only made her angrier. "All you do is take and take and take and give nothing back. There's no point to your existence! You're worthless, do you hear me? Worthless. And I would rather die then let a disgusting thing like you touch me again!"
Tom stared at her, unmoving as a statue, so Ginny crossed the plush carpet, pointing to the pocket she knew he kept the wand in. "Go on, then," she continued. "Take out the wand. I'm not afraid. Perform the Killing Curse, because if the only reason I'm here is to fall in love with you then you might as well kill me. It's not possible for me to love something so evil, I will never fall in love with you, I would rather-"
Ginny's rant was cut off when a blinding pain filled her face, and she found herself flying to the side, her ribs hitting a table and she could almost swear she heard one crack. She blinked the tears from her eyes, gasped in agony and turned, and saw Tom quickly approaching her. He had backhanded her, she realized, and the murderous look in his eyes terrified her. She tried to run, but he grabbed her by the hair. He threw the table out of his way and threw her against the wall, further bruising her body and causing another injury to her head. She cried out in pain and weakly tried to fight him off when Tom gripped her by the waist and lifted her up, holding her against the wall. She was at his eye-level now, and the dark, cruel look had returned to them, along with a cold fury.
"You will die only when I'm finished with you, Ginevra Weasley," he growled, his voice coarse. "And I won't be finished with you until you love me – and you will love me."
Ginny found the alcohol on his breath repulsive now, and tried to push him away, but he refused to budge. "There's nothing you can do-"
"Love me, Ginevra," Tom insisted, and the cacophony of his harsh voice, the primal drums, the loud guitar and shrill singer hurt her ears. "Everything will be so much simpler if you just give in and love me."
"I wo-"
"No, Ginevra, refusal is not acceptable," he spat, and she winced at the rage in his voice. "You will love me. You must love me. I worked too hard for this! I refuse to believe that it was all wrong!"
"That what was all wrong?" Ginny asked, wincing in the pain at her waist from the pressure of his grip and her weight.
"The books!" Tom roared, as though she was supposed to know all along. "The stories and the techniques and the studies! I did everything, everything right today – I asked about your feelings, tried to discuss your interests, kept eye contact, examined your body, fed you aphrodisiacs and surrounded you with arousing colors and scents. I was damn charming and polite and I followed every seduction technique the experts said would work!"
"You…you were trying to seduce me?" Ginny asked in surprise, though now it all made sense. The false friendliness and 'dears' and even the oysters.
"You are supposed to want me now! Why didn't it work?" The anger was disappearing from his voice, and now he just sounded confused. Casually, he threw her to the ground as though she were a doll he no longer wanted to look at. Her nose hit the ground first, and she knew that soon it would begin to bleed.
"It didn't work," she said calmly into the floor, her voice sounding strange after her nose injury, "Because I'm not attracted to you. You can't seduce someone who isn't attracted to you, and you can't make someone attracted to you. It's chemistry, it's there or it isn't."
"There was a time you would have wanted me."
"That was when I didn't know you. You disgust me too much for me to want you now."
She heard her bedroom door close a moment later. Ginny looked around and realized with relief that Tom had left. She got to her feet and took a napkin from the tray, pressing it against her nose as it began to drip blood. Quietly, she moved the tray to a table, and then crawled back into bed. She had to sit up to wait for the blood to stop, and while she sat there, she began to cry. Not the loud sobs she'd initially felt building, but a quiet, despairing cry with silent tears dripping down her cheeks.
She missed Harry so much she felt like she was going to break apart. Without him, a part of her heart was missing and she felt that hole so strongly she wanted to die. But there was nothing she could do about it. The way things were going, it looked as though she would never see him again – especially if she continued to throw her love for Harry in Tom's face.
Tom. His actions today terrified her, and as she slipped down under the opulent covers, she felt even more terror at the possibilities of what he could do next.
Artificial: I hate to be a beggar, but here I am, begging: PLEASE review! I know, I'm terrible at leaving reviews too, but I know you guys are out there reading this and whether you liked it or not, I need your opinions. At this point, your comments could easily shape the direction of the story, not to mention will help me improve my writing and storytelling skills (important for aspiring novelists like me!). So please, please, please. If you read, please leave a review. I love hearing your feedback, whether praising or critical! Oh – and Happy Valentine's/Single's Awareness Day!