Disclaimer: I don't own anything but my imagination and whatever else is in this story that doesn't make sense. I was inspired by J.K. Rowlings wonderful world. This is not meant to be a long story only a one hitter I've been waiting to post. Enjoy!
"His knowledge remained woefully incomplete, Harry! That which Voldemort does not value, he takes no trouble to comprehend. Of house-elves and children's tales, of love, loyalty and innocence, Voldemort knows and understands nothing. Nothing. That they all have a power beyond his own, a power beyond the reach of any magic, is a truth that he has never grasped." ~Albus Dumbledore
Page 3
Spellbinding
The whistle was low, very low and very smooth. Yet, she heard it clearly through the crowd of the Apothecary. The older witch behind the counter shouted back a measurement for a wizard standing beside her. In return another order was shouted out, by a rather skinny women with two small boys.
If Ginny didn't know better she would be right to assume that the entire market was on sale. It made her think of a auction, with prices, and pounds of all sorts flying about her ears.
Her mother, Mrs. Weasley, was on the opposite end of the store, stocking up their supply of canned floo powder. But against the noise, again she picked up the soft familiar whistle.
It carried straight to her ears. The sound was like an old tune she recalled from another life, one she had forgotten, or misplaced. It was an intriguing sound at best, and the tone seemed to be pitched just for her, or so it seemed. It appeared that no one else seemed to notice the tender whistle.
Long, soft, and relaxed like a summer night's wind it come twice, the strange whistle. A low sound, so undetectable by the others around her. But it demanded her attention, and screamed for her acceptance of its presence. To be honest for her there was simply no other sound in the room.
"Hey," Ginny asked a younger boy standing to the left of her. "Did you hear that?"
"Hear what?" he grimaced. Frowning look up at Ginny.
"You didn't just hear something like a long ..Er whistle. -" She asked and stopped…"There! There it is again, did you hear it now?"
"No you're not one o' those mental freaks are ye!" Said the smaller boy. "My dad says never to speak to people that can hear things in their heads." he stuck out his tongue and walked away.
She frowned, as it summoned her again, the soft little whistle. It drew her attention as nothing had in the past five years. The sound slipped past the sacks of herbs and sorted barrels of powders, past the buzzing conversations surrounding the busy little shop. It slipped past the hanging dragon roots that blocked her view. It slipped past everything and found its way to her, like an arrow aiming straight for her heart.
He had no way of knowing if she had in fact received his message. Voldemort could only assume that if she had engaged with the teenage boy that he once was, then she would know the sound.
It was the old code. One he had not used it in decades, but the Tom she knew would most definitely have used this method with her. The whistle was charmed, its magic embedded in any that followed him. A means of summoning his followers, Death eaters. Like that of the dark mark, this was also a way he left his signature. If she had known young Tom Riddle, then she knew this code.
His heart remained normal. He waited patiently. He waited to see, if he could summon her. -Again he whistled. . . .
Ginny went completely and utterly still, her heart beating faster than normal. An enormous globe container separated her from him. She tilted her head and stared into blur that was his face. His face unclear though the reflections of the glass, but she couldn't help but wonder.
To answer her curiosity, the misshapen figure stepped slightly away from the glass thing that divided them, and now, he could see her clearly, and she him. His dark black hair and smooth skin briefly made her imagine Harry Potter. That it had been him teasing her. But no, it was not Harry Potter.
This young wizard was taller, leaner and with darker eyes. Not green ones. He was extremely handsome, with strong features and a brilliant jaw structure. An uppity type sneer, or a rather bullish and unpleasant smile, like the ones worn by a too proud Slytherin.
As with any guy, Gryffindor or not, Ginny instantly could imagine how solid he would be beneath his shirt. But she fought away the temptation to appreciate his beauty.
Because the truth of this boy scared her senseless. This could not be real, she simply could not be here face to face with the most dangerous wizard in hundreds of years. And he was standing there smiling at her, as if this whole shenanigan was some sort of twisted little tea party.
Or that he'd never once tried to murder her and her friends.
"I am very fond of my sanity," she said as he came closer to her. "And I don't like to be the center of whatever game your at." she said "and neither would the Ministry." Her fear rising as he came nearer. His presence made her heart leap. "Crawl back into your hole or I swear I'll scream right now."
He stopped and examined the girl. Her red hair, her innocently shy freckles along her nose and that appalling sweater she wore. He thought that it should be burned immediately.
He took a step and she took two back.
Perhaps he was losing his mind, letting the youthfulness captivate him. He must not lose track of time, the potion's magic would be fading soon. He wished only to appear to her once, and once would be suffice for his plans. The vivid shade of her hair was breathtaking to him. It was so fresh, and alive with color, long and lapping her shoulders. One side softly braided and tuck behind her right ear. He wondered how it would feel to touch her hair.
"Did you hear me, did you hear me call for you Ginerva?" he asked stretching forth his arm he offered to her his open hand.
"That sound you made. It was annoying…" Ginny forced out the foolish question that she felt her heart answered for her. She then ignored his offer and frowned at his open palm. "who are you?"
Tom smiled. "Funny, I wanted to ask you the same thing." He said and walked freely behind the isles opposite to her.
She followed him but on a separate row. A blue vasculum, filled with spiders blocked her view now. She took another step and he was there again, clear and very real.
"What's your name?" she demanded of the boy.
"Don't you know?" he asked back.
Voldemort could see she carried a fool's bravery.
"No." she answered softly.
It was a lie, and he knew it. He entered her thoughts at that moment and found the answer he wanted, the answer she was so bravely hiding behind her eyes. She was fearless, and not easily frighten, he liked this, it was indeed a quality his son must possess. He had made the right choice. "Pity…I know who you are Ginerva." He said. "And that's such a lovely name by the way."
She did not respond to his compliment. The room stood still as he moved. She turned to see her mother measuring out more packages of herbs. When she turned back to face him this time, he had moved even closer, and he was inches from her now. The boy Tom had some how circled the counter's end and come to her, face to face, he stood nearly a foot taller than she and so close she could sense his body heat.
To her everything seemed to slow down, her thoughts were hazy as his eyes found hers. He was just as she remembered, and his closeness drew to him like a heavy slumber on a cold winter's night, should her mother turn around ….Ginny didn't want to think of that. What would she say, or what would happen?
He leaned downward and spoke into her ear. And she allowed it.
"Would you like to know my name?" his voice was soft, no higher than a whisper, and she did not know why, but she closed her eyes to the sound of his words, his breathing, his closeness.
"No." she shook her head, as his hand lifted her chin and she was lost, as her eyes found his.
There was no pretending that she didn't know who he was.
There was no pretending that he didn't know, she knew. He saw the flash of fear for only a second. And now he had been replaced by a second emotion. It was devotion and something more. Love. The filthy word laced his mind. He would have to smash this foolishness from her soul. He knew she was afraid, scared. But he could never gain her trust this way.
Any other time he would be a beast with those he ruled and commanded. A terrorist to anyone that could consider them selves fortunate enough to make their way onto his to do list. But he did not want her afraid of him, it would serve no purpose for his plan yet. And in fact could hinder the healthy conception of his child.
No, she would be different, she could not fear him. And there was no time to waste.
Her mother called out her name. "Ginny, Ginny you have my bag" said Molly Weasley fanned her hand, signaling for her daughter to hurry.
Molly had given her the knitted bag they often used when out shopping. It was a special sack her mother had charmed to carry loads of things, much like the ones she had seen Hermione use before.
Molly came over. "Well hello, I'm sorry my dear. I didn't know you had meet a friend here. Someone from school?" asked her mother.
Upon her entrance into their conversation Voldemort grew angry. He was under the impression that the young witch was here alone and unattended. Peter, had obviously gotten this important piece of information wrong.
The last thing he needed, was unwanted attention as he attempted to court and winned the girl away.
"School…Yes." lied Tom.
"No." interrupted Ginny quickly.
"Pleasure to meet you madam, you must be the lovely Mrs. Weasley. Ginny's Mother?" He extended his hand in a formal manner.
"Well yes I am…." Molly gave a timid smile as the young man lifted the upper side of her palm and gave it a simple kiss.
Mrs. Weasley blushed at the boy's politeness.
"Stop that!" demanded Ginny, snatching her mother's hand quickly from his pursed lips.
"Ginny Weasley!" shouted her mother in protest. "That was very rude of you...why ...he was only being polite."
"My apologies Ginerva," said Tom with a nod and a bow. "I didn't mean to offend-"
"Don't call me that name either, you don't have the right to."
"Ginny! What has gotten into you? " shouted Molly, she quickly grabbed hold of the knitted sack, still clenched in her daughter hand.
"Mother, please here's the bag…and could we please, just have a moment, -alone." said Ginny.
She, Ginny had turned scarlet red with anger, and Molly had set her lips for a good round with her
"Mother!" The look in her eyes told her mother that was enough. She handed over the sack containing their money.
It was difficult but Molly bit back her row with the girl's feistiness.
If this was a lover's spat she's best not include her self with such childish worries. Ginny waited for the brief interchange of goodbyes between Molly and Tom to end.
Ginny's smile then faltered and eventually died as her mother returned to pay the clerk behind the counter.
Ginny was going to get straight to it. Straight to business. This was Riddle that she was talking about, and that fact scared the living daylights out of her. But, this was her mother, and how dare he use her heart to play on such a lie in broad daylight.
"I want you to leave." she hissed. Without warning she saw the red demon rise in his eyes. A fiery flicker within their depths, within his soul.
Her voice was harsh, and filled with a threat that almost made him laugh at her boldness. Never before had anyone dare give him an order. Not since his days as a boy. Yet she ordered him about as if he was nothing to fear.
"get out!" she hissed again and launched forward, pushing against his chest. Demanding for him to leave the store at once. Her actions alarmed him and caught him by surprise. He stumbled slightly, and then He took a threatening step towards her and with one movement seized her, embracing her into his arms.
He didn't want to lose his temper with her, but his anger was closing in quickly. He held hard and firm, it was a sure warning for her not to test him. With both arms now locked at her waist, he had quickly proven his strength over hers, the fullness of her breast heaving and pressed into his. She was a young witch filled with fire and would be a delicious morsel when the time was right, and he planned to devour every inch of her.
She struggled against him, but he only held her closer. "You let me go. You're not him...you're not Tom. You'll never be Tom Riddle." She was shaking now, but would not cry for him, not for this thing holding her. She hated him, for breaking her heart this way.
He fell silent as she called his true name.
He swept her away into a dark mist. They were now in an abandoned room, away from the crowd, but not far, because she could still hear the chiming of the door bell beyond their darkness. It was a small room or closet, dark and dusty. A painted window allowed only thin streams of sunlight in. Dried bats wings and lizards hinds hung from the ceiling above.
The sudden and unexpected trip left her mind spinning, and he moved her against darkness of the room. His hand caught the wall behind her, to break her fall and he deposited her there.
She cursed the sun for not hiding how handsome he was. Looking down at her, he covered her lips with his finger. And shushed her attempted to scream for help.
Her neckline was the first to savor the fullness of his lips. Tom pressed his weight onto her and the wall behind her was his accomplice. Don't she whispered as his hands found the roundness of her breast, and gripped her firmly, his hands claimed her body, driving heat and desire into her and this took no effort on his part. She seemed to almost welcome his invasion. He remained silent has she opened to him more, he caressed her waist, beneath her homemade blouse he could feel the tightness of her abs. The gentle deep of her pelvis he knew lead to her ….
The Dark Lord wondered, what had happened between her and the Tom she thought she knew? Could she have developed feelings for the boy at some time?
She would not be the first, he handled many women in his life. But not at that age, not at sixteen. Voldemort knew that the Tom she loved was nothing more than a boy… innocent. Sneaky, conniving, and manipulative yes… But,….
His hands came up to claim the roundness of her young breast. So perfect they made his mouth water. Her firm body had a way of distracting him.
Had her Tom touched her this way before he wondered? No, he doubt it, he had no heart for girls when he was in school.
Voldemort's mind touched the inner thoughts of the mysterious young witch. Once there in her thoughts, he knew that she had always obeyed him. He could see how she cried for him the day their book had been destroyed.
He witnessed the great sadness she carried when she lost him forever… he was dead to her. He had died in the chamber and she knew the stranger holding her was not her Tom Riddle, no more than a beetle was a bug...He released her mind….
Male hunger began gnawing at him, and he allowed it to find him and consume him. She worked her hands, now free up to his chest, along his shirt, up to his neck. She cupped his face with her hands and he lifted his head slowly to look at her, to meet her eyes.
She kissed him softly at the corner of his lips.
He would take her here and now if he did not regain control over his desire.
She searched his dark eyes for even the slightest hint of a liar. She searched for the smallest detail to show her this was not her Tom and that she should fight, kick and scream for her life.
She needed a sign to say this was not his perfect nose, nor his true dark hair, so thick against her fingertips.
A red flame flickered in his eyes, and he felt her heart beating with such a frantic rhythm, he thought she would have a heart attack in his arms.
Her mind told him she had again seen the fire in his eyes. She closed her eyes and imagined it was never there, it was the sun from the window that lied to her. She kissed him, and her kiss overflowed with passion and love…Love. The idea of it made him want to vomit up the last of his dammed soul. But it swam in every corner of her foolish little mind. She had loved Tom. -No, she did love him still, after so long... she could never find another to share her soul with. Never like him.
As she allowed him in, he used her weakness to his advantage. Time's, date's, names, everything he wanted to know and more was there for his disposal. He dranked deeply in the kisses she gave. Voldemort did not shield her thoughts, he allowed them to flow freely. They were hers after all, not his.