Un baiser, mais à tout prendre, qu'est-ce?
Une façon d'un peu se goûter, au bord des lèvres, l'âme!
"Cyrano de Bergerac", Edmond Rostand
Tom…
What's wrong? You should be in the Great Hall for the Hallowe'en Party
It was all for nothing!
The money I saved up for that nice green velvet, the hours I didn't sleep to sew the dress… all for nothing!
Ginny didn't bother to wipe her tears, letting them fall on the journal's yellowed pages.
Harry…
Harry won't come to the party…
Ginny told Tom how she had spent the whole afternoon getting ready—she even ironed her dress twice to make sure it was perfect and polished her shoes until they looked almost new. She had even asked one of the twins' teammates for a dab of lip gloss.
When she was about to go to the Great Hall, she overheard Harry Potter, Ron and Toother talking about missing the Hallowe'en party. Ginny had blabbered some excuse to run back into her dorm and hide in her four-poster bed.
I'm so sorry, Ginevra!
You've worked so hard for a dress that, I'm sure of it, would make you look like a real princess.
And I'm sorry I can give you nothing more than some ink on a piece of paper to cheer you up.
Ginny smiled bitterly, sniffing.
I could… use the potion to come there, can I?
I know, I promised not to drink it, but…
Just this once?
Tom didn't reply right away.
All right.
But drink only one tiny sip: it's highly addictive.
Also, don't forget you'll be a little dizzy once the effects wear off. You might even lose consciousness for one or two hours.
However, before you drink it, you must solemnly swear to go to the Infirmary first thing in the morning if you're not feeling well.
I promise.
With an odd excitement, Ginny took a small vial filled with an opalescent peacock blue liquid. It was only a bit of the potion; the rest was still hidden in the second-floor bathroom. The potion was bitter, but not unpleasant, a bit like the herbal liqueur that once Fred and George passed off as a Muggle drink.
At first nothing happened.
Ginny dipped her quill to write that the potion wasn't working; however, as soon as her fingers brushed the diary, the dorm swirled around her so much she had to close her eyes. She was like a dead leaf, spiralling higher and higher in the sky. Then it was like falling from a broom while playing Quidditch.
Will it hurt? Will I die?
The air around her took a musty smell, of damp paper and old ink.
Two hands grabbed her waist, lowering her gently until her feet touched the ground. Only then Ginny dared to peep.
The boy in front of her was Tom, she recognised him from his memories, and yet it was like seeing him for the first time.
He was as tall as Bill; his wavy black hair was carefully combed like Percy's. His robe and school uniform were second-hand but mended to fit perfectly. But his face made her speechless; a face with proud features, like Prince Charming from Snow White, handsome like the boys from her dormmates' magazines. And his eyes… at first, his eyes seemed black, but looking closer, there were green.
It wasn't a clear and bright green like Harry Potter's, but a darker and uncertain hue like the seaweeds rotting on the shores—like the wallpaper in Aunt Muriel's best rooms—like the powder the Muggle farmer on the other side of the pond used against rats—like the blackening green of the anti-flesh-eating slugs' potion that she brewed for Mum.
Ginny couldn't tell if she liked that colour, but those eyes called at her like Bluebeard's secret room.
"I asked if you are well, Ginevra."
Tom's voice shook her out of her fascination—it sounded deeper than in the memories. She nodded and looked down at her feet, suddenly shy. She sensed, rather than saw, Tom kneeling before her.
"Are you sure?"
Ginny didn't reply but threw her arms around his neck and cried all her anger and disappointment for the ruined Halloween party. She felt Tom hold his breath and tense—maybe, he hesitated to hug her back because he hadn't hugged anyone in fifty years.
Tom let her cry, gently rocking her and caressing her hair. When her sobs calmed down, he pushed her a little and conjured a handkerchief.
"That's enough. Tears won't solve your problems, and they tire you out. Must I remind you that you've drunk a dark potion and can't allow yourself such weakness?"
"Are you… angry at me?"
"No, not at you. I'm angry at that stupid Harry Potter who made you cry." His voice was kind but a little upset.
He took her hand and made her sit on the walnut and green leather couch, the only piece of furniture in that non-place.
"Lie down. And I apologise, I don't have much to offer: I hadn't been expecting guests for… fifty years."
He pushed the books off the couch and helped Ginny to lie down. Tom stayed up, staring at the features of her face and body with such an intensity that Ginny felt almost naked.
"I thought you would look different."
Ginny's face burned with embarrassment, and lowered her eyes.
"Are you… disappointed?"
"You are as beautiful as a rosebud waiting to bloom."
Tom's words were unexpected and filled with excruciating sincerity. He hovered over her, leaning on the couch's back and fixing his blackening green eyes into hers.
"Indeed, you are so beautiful, Ginevra, my rosebud," he added, brushing her forehead with his full lips.
It wasn't the first time someone kissed Ginny on her forehead; it wouldn't be the last one either; yet, that simple touch made her all weird, as if her tummy was a cauldron filled with a boiling potion, and as if her heart missed one beat or two.
Tom pulled away, but still leaning and looming over her.
"Have you dined?" The rumble from her belly made him chuckle. "Let's if I can get you something to eat…"
Tom straightened his back, and the air around them twirled until it became a room filled with students wearing masks, laughing, chatting, and dancing. He went to a table and brought back some roast beef, Yorkshire puddings, cucumber sandwiches and a slice of chocolate cake. Ginny thanked him and chewed a piece of meat, twisting her lips.
"You must eat, rosebud, even if it's not tasty. It's unwise to take certain potions on an empty stomach," Tom insisted, pushing a sandwich into Ginny's mouth, like Mum when she was little and didn't want to finish her meal.
"It tastes like paper…" she explained, gulping down some bland pumpkin juice to swallow the bread.
"I know, and I'm sorry. It's been fifty years since I ate real food: I've forgotten what it tastes like."
"Then, I'll bring a picnic next time, so you'll remember! Tom, what are your favourite dishes?"
"I don't… at the orphanage, I had to eat anything they put on my plate. You can choose whatever you like."
An embarrassed silence fell between them, barely broken by the memories of laughs and music. Ginny tightened her skirt, chewing on her lower lip; she stood up with a jump and twirled.
"What do you think about the dress?" she asked, trying to change the topic, as the velvet fell around her legs.
Tom studied her carefully.
"It's pretty, and that shade of green goes well with your hair. But isn't the skirt a little… short?"
"Short?" Ginny looked down at the lacey hem, frowning. "It's the same length as the school uniform."
"Please, forgive me: it would have been improper in my time. When I was at Hogwarts, the dress code stated that skirts had to be below the knee. Times do change! Nevertheless, I want to reward your dress and the work you put into it, but not here. I want to give you a very special memory."
The air around them trembled again, as on a hot August day. The room turned into a marble and wrought iron gazebo, surrounded by nothing but the starry sky and the sea. Tom took her hand and walked Ginny to the centre of the gazebo, then pointed his wand at the dome, drawing a large half-circle.
"Orchideus!"
Vines of roses wrapped around the pillars and the black iron coils, thick with leaves and dark buds.
Ginny was astonished by such beauty.
"Wow… it's so beautiful, Tom!"
"I've created this place for you and you alone, Ginevra. Do you remember the flowers I wanted to give you for your birthday? I was thinking about this breed of roses—watch out!"
However, the warning came one moment too late. Ginny only wanted to pick a rose, yet hurt herself, but it was more than a prickle—it was a deep cut.
"Cherna roses are gorgeous, but their thorns are as sharp as a razor: male students used to pick them when they wanted to impress the girl they loved." He looked up. "Right now, the diary's magic is too strong to make them bloom…"
"Is there anything I can do to help?"
"Write to me," Tom said, looking down at her. "About your life, your feelings, your dreams and fears. Pour your heart into the pages: it'll turn the diary's magic into nourishment for these roses, and slowly but surely, we'll see them bloom. And when they bloom, I will be able to get out of here—"
"I'll write to you more! At lunch and dinner! And during classes even if I understand everything the teachers are saying! I can't wait for the roses to bloom: it'll be wonderful!"
Ginny grabbed Tom's hand and pulled him into an enthusiastic twirl that made her dizzy. She stood on her tiptoes and pulled him closer.
"I love you, Tom!"
Ginny only meant kissing his cheek, as with Bill and Charlie. And maybe Tom wanted to kiss her nose like Bill and Charlie. However, both were surprised to feel those of the other on their lips. they stared at each other with wide eyes, and then, slowly, Ginny closed her eyes.
In a moment that stretched into eternity, Ginny wondered if it was right to kiss someone who wasn't her beloved Harry Potter if an accidental kiss counted as cheating. A doubt, a suspicion slithered into her mind.
What if she had fallen in love with Tom?
It could be. Tom was so caring; he always helped her and cheered her up, like Prince Charming. Maybe that was how she was embarrassed when she met him, even more embarrassed than when Harry Potter said "hello" to her.
The eerie thrill ran down her spine like every time she kissed the journal's yellowed pages—only stronger, more overwhelming, as if a tidal wave ran through her whole body. The quiver went up her spine and hips; it knotted her lower belly and the mouth of her stomach; it grew in her chest and made her heart beat faster—did Tom taste like paper, just like the sandwiches?
She sensed Tom stiffen and hold his breath as if he didn't know what to do. Ginny was scared to be turned down, only to be overwhelmed with joy when Tom kissed her back as if he wanted to swallow all her affection for him.
Tom's hands left hers to entrap her waist, to sink into her hair, clinging to her with the despair of a drowning man.
Ginny wondered if the girl she had caught Percy kissing only a few days before had felt the same. Did she feel that warmth rising from her belly to her face? Did her head feel light and her heart all fluttery? Did she get drunk on Percy's smell, just like she on Tom's cologne and old ink, so strong it stifled her? Did she feel like a blooming rose, offering nectar and pollen to a wondrous insect? Did she feel the urge to melt with Percy and into Percy as if her existence was for that very instant? Did she as well want more and more from that feverish touch? Did she as well wish for that instant to stretch into eternity?
Ginny's head started to swirl like a dead leaf in the wind. Her consciousness slipped away into sweet oblivion while Tom's embrace and lips were lost in the echo of a dream. And yet, right in that instant, Ginny was certain that the closest rosebuds had started to bloom, spreading their perfume of honey and pepper that, like white lilies, made her head spin.
.
.
.
.
.
Ginny didn't know that the way out lay through her lips.
.
"Un baiser (...) l'ame!": "A kiss, when all is told, what is it? A way of tasting a little of the soul with the edge of the lips!" Edmond Rostand, Cyrano de Bergerac
Snow White: in Morohoshi Daijirou's words, "Snow White is the story of a girl who dies and comes back to life three times, a necrophiliac prince who tries to buy her body, and a final torture scene in which the evil queen is killed with red-hot iron shoes".
Bluebeard: rather than the punished curiosity, the theme I went for is temptation and attraction to the forbidden. Also, Bluebeard is based on Gilles de Rais, a companion-in-arms of Joan of Arc and a confessed serial killer of children, so there are some parallels in the way he and Diary!Tom acts toward their victims.
Cherna roses: a variety of my invention - cherna means 'black' in Bulgarian - and characterised by black petals, branches riddled with thorns, and a scent similar to white lilies. Of course, this is not a coincidence since 1. white lilies perfume is very strong (got one cut once, and it gave me a headache); 2. in ancient times, it also symbolised rebirth, love, lust and sexuality.
Now, let's address the elephant in the room: Tom's eyes colour.
1. We didn't know the colour until JK revealed it. Before then, they were all shades, from brown to red to whatever; and Christian Coulson's (the actor who played him in CoS) eyes are green, so I always went with that.
2. I've always loved the specularity of Harry Potter.
3. Green is the most complex colour, from a symbolic point of view: it has many positive meaning, like growth and renewal; however, it also have much negative meaning. Shakespeare called jealousy a "green-eyed monster"; the god Osiris was depicted with green skin.
4. I found a compromise between canon and my headcanon in Scheele green, an arsenic-based pigment that was used in Victorian times for everything, from dying cloth to painting, from wallpapers to... food dye, and which had the tendency to blacken in the presence of sulphur (sulphur = Hell). Also, a similar compound known as Paris green (developed to prevent the blackening issue) was used as an insecticide for still waters and... potatoes.
Another thing I would like to clarify that explains why Ginny is so bold, even though it's her first kiss.
I didn't want to develop the kiss as the romantic expression of two people's feelings, rather, I referred to its primal function of nourishment and premastication, from which the kiss as we know it comes. In the story, food is replaced by the life force and magic with which Ginny feeds Tom, making a kiss far more effective than writing in the diary. Moreover, the contact helps Tom's possession of Ginny's will and body, acting as a catalyst and starting a domino effect that will culminate in the Chamber of Secrets.