A/N: Life sucks, but we carry on.

Thank you to hp-picspams and lilythefreak and iron-maiden of Tumblr for their inspiring presence on my dash, which helped me get through this chapter. And thank you to all my friends (who won't see this anyway) who helped me get through the last few months.

I'm just going to be honest here, life isn't going so well for me, and things aren't quite stable yet. I'm trying to use Shadows as an escape, but writing takes effort which is difficult in my usual state of mind. I am still working at this. In fact, I already have 500 words of the next chapter written up, and I'm hoping to get more done tomorrow. We'll see how it goes.

I'll also be a real live employed adult soon, which will eat into my time. But the goal is to complete this within the next two months, so. Fingers crossed?

Thanks for your patience, everyone.

Enjoy.

They walked together down the streets of London, a fair distance between them despite walking side-by-side. Tom occasionally glanced at Ginny, while she tried to pretend he wasn't there. The streets were busy with people, mostly shoppers with brightly-colored bags or tourists who held up the crowd by stopping to take a photo here or there. People walked between them until they turned onto a side street, one that led nearly nowhere, except for the way to Ginny's flat.

Here they were mostly alone, and finally Tom drew breath to speak, beginning with no preamble.

"There is a footnote in Secrets of the Darkest Art, the book that taught Voldemort – me – how to create a horcrux. It is titled 'Reconciliation', and his – my – eyes flickered over it so briefly, I barely acknowledged the fact it existed. It seemed useless information at the time. Who, once becoming immortal through the art of the horcrux, would then give it up?" Out of the corner of her eye, Ginny saw Tom shrug. "It didn't matter, not at the time. But while we were in the shack, I started to remember it. I remembered it every time I failed to win your love, I remembered it the night you found Potter's body, I remembered it when I had to drag you from his grave, I remembered it when you were dying in the flat in Paris."

"What was it?" asked Ginny, turning her head slightly to look into his face. His face betrayed his desperation to have Ginny really hear him, to listen to his words and understand what he was saying. This struck Ginny as unusual, mostly because she was so used to being unable to read his expression. Maybe it was the new face. Maybe it was the new Tom.

He cleared his throat for a moment, and then said, "A sort of repair spell, only it was meant to repair the soul, and it wasn't a spell. Magic wasn't needed to put a soul torn apart back together again, though it would seem that was a problem only magic could have a hope of fixing."

Ginny frowned. "Well then, what was it, if not a spell?" She was a little impatient. She didn't want to be around Tom more than she absolutely had to, and he seemed intent to drag things out for as long as he possibly could.

"The night it seemed over, finished, after we saw Láska, I realized I had only one option left. If I was ever going to win your love, I had to be capable of love, and there was only one chance I had at that. You slept and I sat before the fireplace, watching it though it was cold and without flame, trying to draw up what courage I had to do what I knew I must do. I had to let it in, I had to feel everything, and it would either save me, or destroy me."

"What?" Ginny demanded. "What was it?"

"Regret," he said finally. "I had to feel full and total remorse for every last one of my actions. Remorse for torturing the children at my orphanage, remorse for the manipulation of my fellow students at Hogwarts, remorse for the murder of my father and of Myrtle and of framing Hagrid for all that the Basilisk did. I had to shed tears for my sheer, blind hatred, for sharing that hatred with others and building an army to wipe out a whole people, a people that outnumbered my own, a people whose blood I shared. Remorse for every torture, every death, every single member of every mourning family. And finally, remorse for you, for the darkness I exposed you to when you were just a child, the way I haunted you after my death, the actions I took to isolate you and drive you mad just after you had already suffered terrible blows, my kidnapping and abuse of you. Yes, I know I abused you. I abused you emotionally, and mentally, and at times physically and even sexually. I was a monster, and I had to understand that and feel the guilt of it...I had to experience it all."

They walked a half a block in silence, while Ginny mused over everything he'd said. He'd really been willing to let all of that in? Part of her questioned that, but the other knew it had to be the truth. Tom Riddle would do anything for power, even that. He needed to do whatever it took to win her love, and the power he thought would come with it. And if he hadn't done it, he wouldn't have his soul, and without his soul he would be incapable of the empathy required to do any sort of charity work, the way Dante had. So he was telling the truth! Tom had felt remorse for every little disgusting part of Lord Voldemort. Tom had suffered for not just his actions, but his motivations. Tom Riddle felt guilt.

Tom took another breath. "It tore me apart for days on end. I was in a state of sheer agony for nearly five months. I knew it might kill me, and it very nearly did. The one thing that kept me alive was the thought of you. I knew that I had to live to see you again, so I could give you the explanations I owed you. And…and I had to live to apologize to you properly."

Ginny stopped in her tracks and turned to face him. "Is this your apology?"

Tom had moved a few steps forward before realizing she'd stopped, and he turned back to look at her, and slowly he shook his head. "No. This is my explanation. This – this is my apology." He took a deep breath and his eyes betrayed his hot shame as he fought against himself and his own pride before finally, he knelt down before her. Her eyes widened as she looked down at his head, only seeing his full, wild hair as he kept his head lowered a moment longer, and then finally his grey eyes met hers and they were tinged with red and shining with tears. She couldn't tell if the tears were for his actions, or for his shame in kneeling before another person, but either way the vision of Tom Riddle on his knees took her breath away. "I am sorry, Ginevra. There are no words in the English language or any other that could express the deep grief I feel for what I have done to you, and to your family, and to your friends, and to many others. I have been a monster, a demon; I have been pathetic, cruel, and yes, worthless. There is nothing I can do to ever fully make amends. I could never hope for your forgiveness, so I will not beg for it. I am wretched, and I am so, so sorry for what I have done, Ginevra. 'Sorry' is such a weak word, but there it is. I am sorry."

Ginny didn't know how to respond, and could only stare down at Tom. His hands were slightly outstretched as though he meant to take her hands but knew she would reject the gesture. She heard his speech and understood his words, but could find no words of her own. What could she say? He was right, she could never forgive him for his abuse. But his gesture seemed genuine, and she couldn't just dismiss it, either.

But Tom wasn't finished yet. "I fully and completely take the blame for all of my actions, and every action you took while under my influence. None of it was ever your fault, it was only ever entirely mine. You must never blame yourself."

"I don't!" Ginny insisted suddenly. "Why would I ever blame myself for what you did? Why would I ever blame myself for the way you dismantled me?"

She thought Tom would argue, would say something, but he didn't. Instead, his expression changed only vaguely. But it was this change, this small tilt of his head, slight widening of his eyes and small shift of his brows that showed her she was wrong.

The truth was, Ginny had blamed herself, had always blamed herself. She had blamed herself for being too weak to fight Tom off when he possessed her, blamed herself for not asking for help, blamed herself for letting him manipulate her into giving him his own body, blamed herself for giving in to her weakness and letting herself slowly die. She was supposed to be strong, fiery, a powerful witch that never let weakness touch her and she had curled up in a ball and cried and let Tom take control over her destiny. Deep down, she had been disgusted by herself, and had blamed herself for this weakness and punished herself by giving in, punished her weakness by trying to let herself die.

She could see now, clearly, that it had all been Tom. She was to blame for none of it. It was Tom's manipulation of her, not her foolishness that had caused it all. It didn't matter that she'd been weak. Tom had exposed that weakness and taken advantage of it, and every last action was on his shoulders.

A sort of release flooded Ginny's body as tension that had hidden away for years melted away, and finally, she nodded. Tom nodded in return, got to his feet, and they both continued down the sidewalk. It was as though the scene had not taken place at all on the outside, but inwardly a clear sense of relief emanated from them both and an easiness settled down on them.

"Anyway," Tom finally breathed, his hands sliding deep into his trouser pockets, "It's my theory that a combination of Voldemort's death – my death – and the reconciliation of my soul washed it clean and removed the curse that was on me from the day I was conceived."

"What curse is that?"

"I feel as though I now have the ability to love," he admitted. "I won't know for certain until I fall in love, but I am capable of empathy now, and I feel that is a kind of love."

"It is," agreed Ginny, though the idea of a Tom that was capable of actual love seemed unreal to her. He'd never been able to love before, how could it be possible that he could now? Was the curse being removed all he needed in order to capable of true love? There were so many out there incapable of love without having been cursed. And if he was capable of love, what would that even look like?

They reached the steps up to her flat, and Ginny stopped and turned to face Tom. "This is it."

"Oh," said Tom, a note of disappointment in his voice. He looked up at the tall, brown building with dissatisfied eyes. She couldn't tell if he didn't like that the walk had ended, or that he disliked where she lived. To be honest, she hadn't been the biggest fan of the place at first; it was clearly old, run down, and cheaply made in the first place. A lot of the front windows were mis-matched from being broken and replace with some other fixture. The corners of the building were worn, and someone had managed to graffiti the wall about eleven feet up, and no one had bothered to clean it.

It wasn't the nicest area, or even the safest, but still Ginny loved it. Perhaps that was because it was her own place, her first home that was completely hers. Well, and Luna's, but the two got along so well that didn't really matter.

Remembering that Luna was out studying today, Ginny made an impulsive decision. "Do you want to come up?" Tom looked at her with such surprise, she quickly explained, "You've had your chance to speak. I want my turn."

An expression of understanding appeared on his face, and Tom nodded. "Of course. That's what I want – to hear what you have to say."

Ginny opened the door, and together they went up to the second floor, the stairway a bit cramped. Ginny took out her keys and opened the door, and stepped inside, and let Tom come in after her before she closed the door, set her bags down, and looked around.

The two girls were almost as different at night and day, and yet they complimented each other; their flat was exactly the same. Their two styles seemed to marry well, and the look of the flat expressed their ability to work together and compromise.

Luna brought in her own look, bringing in things she'd collected from countries she wanted to visit so she could study their magical wildlife, and yet everything had a touch of the whimsical. Most of her things were made of bamboo, a mix of earth and pastel colors, and animal prints. She had a large blue glass vase that held long branches of pale bamboo, dark inlaid boxes with tribal patterns, Moroccan candle lanterns fixed with pale colored glass set on Ginny's cherry wood end tables, and strings of origami birds around the top of the walls Luna had learned to fold herself, made with brightly colored patterned paper.

Some of Luna's things had reminded Ginny a little too much of her room at the shack, so she brought in some of herself. She had brought in a grey couch, that was decorated with white pillows depicting painted zebras with rainbow-colored stripes – the pillows were, of course, Luna's, but the faux-mink oxblood throw that was sprawled across the back was Ginny's. Around the walls were simple black-and-white prints of flowers, just underneath the strings of origami. In a corner stood a tall cherry wood bookcase cramped with books Ginny read, and the books themselves were filled with little marks and words Ginny had left in Luna's colored ink pens (a gift from one of their neighbors). Displayed on their coffee table were Ginny's cranberry, fig and tobacco-colored and scented candles on gold and silver candle holders, as well as a copy of Witch Weekly disguised to look like Vogue Italia to any Muggle guests they might have.

Since Luna did sometimes have Muggle guests, anything magical was locked away in the linen closet. But they did sometimes use magic to keep their flowers living longer than they normally would, and nearly every surface was filled with vases of flowers, all wildflowers, pink buttercups, and dark blue cornflowers, and vibrant bluebells, and red poppies, and yellow evening primroses. Of course, most of their vases were white porcelain milk jugs and brightly colored watering cans, but that was what they had on hand. Their shared love of nature meant they never grew tired of the flowers, but often their guests did.

The table by the door held a black stone bowl with gold rim – also Ginny's – to hold keys, which Ginny gratefully used to drop hers into, as well as part of a red, white and gold magnolia-printed tea set her mother had given her for a house warming gift, and a collection of still Muggle pictures in simple frames. Among this collection was a picture of her brother Ron and now sister Hermione at their wedding, both smiling at each other as Ron carried Hermione bridal-style. The picture had been taken just as Ron nearly dropped his new wife.

They lived in their own flat now, close to the Ministry. How things had changed, in all the unexpected ways. Ron was a husband, Hermione her sister, and she had invited Tom Riddle into her home.

With a sigh, Ginny turned to face Tom, and realized he was taking in the flat with hungry eyes, like he was desperate to know every detail of it and memorize it all.

"Have a seat," she offered. Tom turned his gaze to her, and then moved around the couch, examining the contents of the coffee table, then turning to look at the couch before pausing. He stared at something in the corner of the couch that Ginny couldn't see due to the high back.

"What is it?" she asked, bending down to pull Dante's – Tom's – books out of the bag.

"That bird," he muttered. Ginny walked around the couch towards the bookshelf, and spotted Shikoba curled up on the edge of the couch. He'd been resting peacefully, but now he was glaring at Tom as though the wizard had somehow wronged him.

Ginny resisted a laugh. "You don't really get along, do you?" she asked as she placed her new books on the shelf beside the other Dante Wickham novels.

She turned in time to see Tom make a face as he sat down as far from Shikoba as he could. "I'm not terribly fond of birds, to be honest," he said. "I only chose one for you because it was easy to find and manipulate with the magic I had."

Ginny stood in front of Tom, watching him move the rainbow-colored zebra pillow out from behind him and set it between himself and the diver. He wanted Ginny as she began to pace the space in front of the coffee table, her hands behind her back. Finally, he spoke. "Are you going to sit?"

"No," said Ginny, feeling like her chest was filled with fire. "I'm going to rant, and then you're going to leave and we're going to pretend this never happened."

She'd expected an argument, but Tom just smiled, a genuine smile she wasn't used to seeing on his face, new or not. "Alright. Go ahead."

"So," she began, and then drew in a deep breath as she watched her brown shoes pace the worn beige carpet that had come with the flat. "So. You first used, possessed and nearly killed me when I was eleven years old. Then you – or some distant part of you, whatever you want to call it – spent your life trying to kill my boyfriend, and people like my family, and people like my sister Hermione. You tried to commit actual genocide."

She paused, and looked at Tom, waiting to see if he was listening. He nodded encouragingly. "Yes. I did all those things. Go on, I'm listening."

"Okay," breathed Ginny. "And then you died, but not before being responsible for the death of my brother Fred. Then your spirit or soul fragment decided to haunt me, driving me mad and isolating me and eventually using me to get it's own body. Then you kidnapped me and held me hostage at the shack, where you tried to emotionally manipulate me into loving you. You sexually assaulted me, physically assaulted me, threatened me with more things than I remember."

Again, Ginny stopped to look at Tom. His smile had been replaced with a frown, and something akin to guilt glinted in his eye. No, it wasn't akin – it was actual guilt. She could see it in his expression, and he wasn't bothering to hide what she thought he'd consider to be a weakness.

"I did all those things, yes," said Tom.

Drawing in a breath slowly, Ginny continued her pacing. "And then your actions killed Harry and burned my house to the ground. Instead of giving me time to properly mourn, you dragged me to Paris before I could even see Harry buried. There, you watched me slowly dying, and still couldn't be bothered to let me go or get help for my physical condition until you had given up. I could have died. You could have killed me, and that didn't matter to you."

"No," said Tom, and Ginny bit her lip to keep from making a snide comment as he disagreed, but then he continued, "No, it didn't matter to me. You're right. You are absolutely right."

Ginny swallowed, and then said, "And you damaged me. Not just physically, but emotionally. I have permanent damage because of what you did, and I'm not just talking about the loss of Fred and of Harry. I mean I can't read poetry or certain fictional names without it choking me with flashbacks of the endless hours of solitude I endured. I can't eat certain foods or drink certain teas without hearing your fake sweet voice ringing in my ears. I can't be alone with men, because I don't trust them not to try to force me to kiss them. Every time I visit Harry I remember that I wasn't there when they put him in the ground. I remember that if it weren't for me, Harry Potter would still be alive. And again, that's you: I wouldn't be blaming myself for things I had no control over if it wasn't for you. You have scarred me in every way I can be scarred."

Her voice always remained level, with only a little anger showing through in the way she said certain words, in the force she used on certain syllables.

"I am guilty of all you say," Tom spoke softly, his voice more choked with emotion than hers was. She heard the deep regret in his voice, the guilt, the shame. "I have done it all and more, and again there is nothing I can ever do to fix it all, and there is nothing I can ever do to earn your forgiveness. If I were a stronger man, I would turn myself in. But I am weak, and my desire to survive is too strong to allow myself to be executed, or worse, to spend the rest of my days in Azkaban. So I go on, and I try to make up for all my evil by doing good and bringing beauty, but it will never be enough. I know that. And I hear you. I am listening, Ginevra. I understand. I hear you."

And he did. This was the first time Ginny could think of that he wasn't pretending to listen to her, acting like he was absorbing her words in order to seduce her. He was actually hearing her, listening to her words without any agenda of his own. This was her chance to finally say everything she had ever wanted to say.

But what was left to say?

With a sigh, Ginny collapsed in a crimson Louis-Philippe chair near the bookcase. "I wish I could hate you," she said softly, and she wasn't sure if he could hear her. "I wish I had that strength, but I don't. I'm exhausted. I am so tired of fighting everyone and everything and I just want some peace. We won peace, and I still don't know what it is. I haven't known peace since the day I saw Harry at King's Cross. I just want to know what it's like."

Tom stood, and moved to stand in front of Ginny. Her head was in her hands and she refused to look up, and instead examined the shine of his black shoes. "I know, Ginevra. And I am sorry. After this, I will leave your life forever and you can finally find the peace you deserve. You've more than earned that much. If you want to hate me, I accept that. If you can't, I accept that too. I deserve worse than your hate, anyway. I deserve to never be thought of by you again. And I hope…" his voice broke. Tom Riddle's steady voice broke, and Ginny blinked up in surprise. "I wish I could say I hope you give me that punishment, but again, I am not that strong. I am selfish; I hope you think of me as often as I think of you. But for your own sake, I hope you find a way to forget me."

Ginny paused, and then nodded. A kind of peace had settled on them, and Ginny stood. "Are we finished, then?"

Tom nodded. "We're finished."

She felt this final goodbye needed something more solid, something to say it was absolutely the end of it. She offered her hand as a farewell gesture, and Tom held it tightly as he shook it.

"Goodbye," she said.

"Goodbye, Ginevra," said Tom, speaking her name slowly. Then he released her grip, turned and walked for the door. Ginny's gaze turned to the line of books with the words Dante Wickham on them, and wondered briefly if she should throw them out.

"Ginevra?" came Tom's questioning voice. She turned, and he stood at the door, both his hand and gaze on the worn handle. "I…I understand if you want to throw me out, or slap me, or most likely jinx me for this, but…I feel the need to ask you a question."

"What is it?" she asked, curious.

He turned to look her in the eye. "Were you…were you ever close to giving in to my seductions of you?"

Ginny's eyes shot fire, but she was completely speechless at the daring, horrible question.

Quickly, Tom explained, "I just mean that…well, I have given up on my childish fantasies of being physically immortal. My thoughts lately have turned to my legacy, and…and I would like to have an heir someday. It is the only true immortality in this world. I could build magnificent buildings or compose masterpieces or be a great world leader, but eventually the world would forget my name and my actions and who I really was. But if I began a family line – I do not count my birth parents as a part of this line – then I would achieve true immortality. I may not live forever, but my DNA and my stories would through my children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren."

Again, Ginny was speechless, only this time it was with shock rather than rage. Tom Riddle wanted to be a father? Had she stepped into some sort of alternate reality? How was this possible?

"I don't have you in mind as the mother," Tom reassured her. "Trust me. I know that is a ridiculous, impossible idea. But someday perhaps I will meet another woman who is…at least as fascinating to me as you are, and I want to make a good impression on her. But I am still new to the very idea of love. I want to know if any of my seduction techniques were remotely successful, or if I was a total failure."

Ginny drew in a slow breath and tried to organize herself. "You this is a really weird thing to be asking me," she said, but continued. "However. Ignoring the abuse, the kidnapping, the deaths, your sheer hatred of pretty much everyone who wasn't yourself, the torture, the isolation, the intent to make me feel crazy and force me to love you…despite all that, and excluding the fact that I was never capable of loving you or even just wanting to stay with you…there were times when giving in felt like it would be easier. Though I don't recommend wearing a girl down, being a little determined is good."

Ginny paused to be sure Tom was listening, and then continued, reluctantly, "And though you do look handsome in Muggle clothing, and cooking meals and making tea for a girl is probably a good idea, drowning her in aphrodisiacs is not."

Tom smiled. "Thank you, Ginevra."

Nodding, Ginny walked around the couch to take the door handle from Tom, moving his hand out of the way and opening the door. "Goodbye, Tom," she said, looked up, and froze.

She hadn't realized how close to him she was standing, and as she'd moved her head to look up at him, her lips came so close to his that she could feel the energy coming off of him. Something electric passed to and fro their mouths, as something else heated passed through their bodies. Ginny's chest felt warm, and she realized her cheeks did, too. Her eyes met his and his gaze was heated, like something dark and rich and warm was just behind his eyes. The heat in her cheeks grew hotter as his hand inclined a little and she felt one of his hands take hers.

But the physical contact broke the spell, and Ginny stepped back before she realized that Tom was raising her hand to his lips. He pressed a soft kiss on her fingertips, and it was clear in his eyes that he was forcing himself to be satisfied with that.

Ginny gasped for air. "Maybe…maybe I'll see you at the next book signing," she said, pulling her hand out of his grip. "I have a few questions about the previous one."

Tom smiled. "I'd like that."

Artificial: I hope you all liked the chapter! It was written partly one week, partly another which may be why it's a bit disjointed, and a little out of character. I also apologize for the heavy description, but I couldn't resist. There are reasons for it, if you're looking at the story as a whole, which may not shine through as well as I would like but what the heck. Anyway, please leave a review and let me know what you think. It is actually very important for me to have feedback, both for my writing and for my own well-being (because reviews cheer me up, okay, I'll just say it). If you have any questions, I'll do my best to message you or address them in the next chapter. Thank you!