[HP] Fear of Falling; Tom/Ginny; Part 4/4
I just decided to go with it. This piece is self-contained. An excuse for TR/GW interaction, a very light touch of smut, and little more. The other chapters are in the memories. Perhaps I'll write other snippets in the near future, considering I'm cowering from some of my original fic.
"Fear of Falling" 4/4
Candles flicker as the devils dance on the wall
Stroking the naked and the silence gets colder
Stuck on the ceiling and the kissing gets bolder
Biting my nails for fear of revenge
The lightest brush of lips and tongue across her half parted lips, the scent of ink, expensive parchment, and musk amber surrounded her. A wing of heavy hair brushed her face as he pulled back enough to capture her eyes. His own narrowed now. “You smell of another, Ginny.” The words were soft, faintly accusatory.
Ginny blinked, remembered the kiss in the common room. “I-“
He passed a hand over her cheek, her lips, halting her words. “I need no explanation, Ginny, but I shall tell you this once: it won’t happen again. I don’t share what is mine.” He leaned toward her once more, breath stirring the hair near her ear.
“What is yours…” Ginny murmured, and the words spilled into her ear: Yes, mine.
Something stirred in her head, in the pit of her stomach, some faint recollection of cold, damp stone beneath her still body as she lay with the last of her spirit slipping away from herself. Echoed in her head were words she barely remembered hearing in her half conscious state inside the Chamber: silly little girl.
“You pompous, arrogant-“ She put her hands flat against Tom’s chest and shoved.
Half lidded eyes blinked at her, seemingly surprised.
“You’re impossible,” she said. “You leave me to die in that chamber-not to mention drive me half mad before hand-and disappear on me for five years only to turn up now and start staking claims!”
She pushed herself off the bed, stumbling on her feet.
Tom reclined on his elbows, eyes shining, lips half curled at the corners, watching her as one might watch a kitten first learning to use its claws by worrying a toy mouse.
“I can’t believe I bothered with that ridiculous spell,” she continued, “I can’t believe I wanted to-Oh, there goes the room again.” Ginny stopped, lurching against the bedpost, hands out, fingers slipping over the smooth wood and finding no purchase. Her knees buckled and she pitched forward into warm arms, felt herself braced against Tom’s frame. She hadn’t heard him move from the bed.
“Are you quite finished, Ginny?” There was a slightly amused exasperation in his voice.
“No,” she muttered, trying to focus on his eyes, unable to due to the black spots swimming in front of her eyes.
“That’s my girl. I was wondering if that spirit of yours was going to make an appearance.”
Ginny bristled slightly at his possessive wording and the use of the word ‘girl,’ but let herself be lifted like a child to the bed anyway, too weak from her last bout with the spinning room to protest.
“As an aside, Ginny, you wouldn’t have died in the Chamber,” he said as he settled them on the bed, leaning against the pillows with her resting half against his chest.
“What?” Ginny asked, only half lucid, the room still spinning slightly.
“Your death was not needed, Ginny. With what energy you gave and what I would have taken of Potter’s, I would have been fully corporeal...”
“Now you tell me…” she murmured, and then stronger, “And I should believe that?”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s all been said and done. Now, I have but to show you that you are mine, little Ginny. You have been since that first swell of ink.”
“Stop calling me little, Tom. I’m not a child any longer.”
“That’s right…” he said, voice barely audible. He leaned her against the pillows and moved back a few inches. His eyes roaming over her from head to toe made Ginny all too conscious of her disheveled hair, her shirt, with its missing top two buttons, no longer hidden by her robe.
“You’ve grown so much over these last years,” Tom said, eyes contemplative, “but tell me, little Ginny, have you grown in mind, as well?”
She straightened as much as she could against the pillows, tossing her hair over her shoulder and meeting his eyes without flinching.
He sat very still, watching. “Why did you come? Will you say you were seduced into coming?” His smile was a razor. “Will you say you didn’t know what would happen? Will you say you were ‘losing your mind?’ Tell me, little Ginny, where will your excuses fall?”
A silence that spanned eternity and then she spoke and she tasted the truth of her own words. “I have no excuses. I knew exactly what I was doing…just like I did when I took the spell from that book. I knew what would happen; I-I wanted it.”
His smile seemed too light and beatific to grace his features, but it did, and she had to turn from the radiance and the triumph in it.
”There’s just one more thing, Ginevra,” he said as he moved toward her, over her.
“What?” Her voice came out as a whisper.
“Your submission.” He passed a hand over her face, the warmth from it radiating along her brow, her cheeks, and traveling inexplicably lower, across her neck, between her breasts, pooling just below her navel. She let out a strangled gasp and the eyes she’d closed flew open to meet Tom’s. What was he doing?
“You’ve told me everything I wanted to hear, but for one thing,” he said. He made a motion with his hand, long fingers curving in a graceful arc and she felt a cool, breezy touch beneath her shirt, grazing the tops of her breasts, trickling over her hardening nipples, the sensation bordering on pain.
“Two.” Another motion of his hand, and the buttons of her shirt parted with cloth. The phantom touch extended over her exposed belly, caressing her sides, curving against her clothed hips and reaching the hem of her skirt only to slip beneath it, pushing the cloth up around her hips. The contrast of heat and cold, and the sudden light caress in the place she had once felt that elusive shivering ache, nearly undid her.
“Simple,” Tom continued, his voice gone rough at the edges. The caressing wind slipped with ease beneath the barrier of cotton, fell against her bare skin, trailed over her folds. She felt the parting, the unfamiliar intrusion, the way her body seemed to tighten and swell at the same time, and the heat and pain that lanced through her as the sensation faded and then returned stronger than before.
“Words.” The last fell from his lips in a sibilant whisper, and her spine bowed, body consumed by ice and fire, the tension rising only to break and flare like lightning in her brain, stalling her breaths, sending shock waves all along her skin, until she felt like one teeming mass of nerve endings.
Someone was sobbing. It was her. And words she could barely make out came from her own lips, and she was strangely unsurprised to find that she meant them. “Yours, yours. I’m yours. I know.” And she felt, not the cool phantom touch, but the actual sensation of his hands on her, his arms pulling her up and holding her to him. She felt the soft pressure of lips on her head and heard the chuckling whisper.
”That’s my girl.”
Serpents kiss and the children play
Serpents kiss for the words you pray
Serpents kiss and the witching hour
Serpents kiss on that untouched flower
Minutes or hours later, she woke, surprised she had slept, and turned her face up to find his gaze on her. She toyed with the ends of her shirt, watched the shadows before breaking the silence. “What happens now?”
He blinked slowly, features gone soft in contemplation. “Before morning comes, you will return to your dormitory and continue as before. Except, Ginevra, no more late night trips to the dungeons.”
She nodded, feeling her lips curl reflexively. “And you?”
“I…will be the bringer of my own destruction.”
She blinked, then understood. “You’re going after Voldemort?”
“Ginevra,” his voice was patient, “I am Voldemort.”
Her eyes closed. “You know what I meant.”
She felt him nod. “Yes. I’m afraid my future self has become somewhat…shortsighted, shall we say. There is madness there.”
She shivered, but whether from the chill in the air or the sudden chill in his voice she wasn’t sure. She curled nearer to him and closed her eyes again as he wrapped his arms around her.
She knew morning must be near, knew many hours must have passed. She could, she thought, sense the press of dawn outside, deep as she was in the bowels of the castle. In an hour or less she would be returning to that light…only to wait for the darkness.
And the darkness, in days or months, would construct his own downfall and become his own successor.
In her mind, the world tilted.
She opened her eyes and let herself fall.
"Fear of Falling" 4/4
Candles flicker as the devils dance on the wall
Stroking the naked and the silence gets colder
Stuck on the ceiling and the kissing gets bolder
Biting my nails for fear of revenge
The lightest brush of lips and tongue across her half parted lips, the scent of ink, expensive parchment, and musk amber surrounded her. A wing of heavy hair brushed her face as he pulled back enough to capture her eyes. His own narrowed now. “You smell of another, Ginny.” The words were soft, faintly accusatory.
Ginny blinked, remembered the kiss in the common room. “I-“
He passed a hand over her cheek, her lips, halting her words. “I need no explanation, Ginny, but I shall tell you this once: it won’t happen again. I don’t share what is mine.” He leaned toward her once more, breath stirring the hair near her ear.
“What is yours…” Ginny murmured, and the words spilled into her ear: Yes, mine.
Something stirred in her head, in the pit of her stomach, some faint recollection of cold, damp stone beneath her still body as she lay with the last of her spirit slipping away from herself. Echoed in her head were words she barely remembered hearing in her half conscious state inside the Chamber: silly little girl.
“You pompous, arrogant-“ She put her hands flat against Tom’s chest and shoved.
Half lidded eyes blinked at her, seemingly surprised.
“You’re impossible,” she said. “You leave me to die in that chamber-not to mention drive me half mad before hand-and disappear on me for five years only to turn up now and start staking claims!”
She pushed herself off the bed, stumbling on her feet.
Tom reclined on his elbows, eyes shining, lips half curled at the corners, watching her as one might watch a kitten first learning to use its claws by worrying a toy mouse.
“I can’t believe I bothered with that ridiculous spell,” she continued, “I can’t believe I wanted to-Oh, there goes the room again.” Ginny stopped, lurching against the bedpost, hands out, fingers slipping over the smooth wood and finding no purchase. Her knees buckled and she pitched forward into warm arms, felt herself braced against Tom’s frame. She hadn’t heard him move from the bed.
“Are you quite finished, Ginny?” There was a slightly amused exasperation in his voice.
“No,” she muttered, trying to focus on his eyes, unable to due to the black spots swimming in front of her eyes.
“That’s my girl. I was wondering if that spirit of yours was going to make an appearance.”
Ginny bristled slightly at his possessive wording and the use of the word ‘girl,’ but let herself be lifted like a child to the bed anyway, too weak from her last bout with the spinning room to protest.
“As an aside, Ginny, you wouldn’t have died in the Chamber,” he said as he settled them on the bed, leaning against the pillows with her resting half against his chest.
“What?” Ginny asked, only half lucid, the room still spinning slightly.
“Your death was not needed, Ginny. With what energy you gave and what I would have taken of Potter’s, I would have been fully corporeal...”
“Now you tell me…” she murmured, and then stronger, “And I should believe that?”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s all been said and done. Now, I have but to show you that you are mine, little Ginny. You have been since that first swell of ink.”
“Stop calling me little, Tom. I’m not a child any longer.”
“That’s right…” he said, voice barely audible. He leaned her against the pillows and moved back a few inches. His eyes roaming over her from head to toe made Ginny all too conscious of her disheveled hair, her shirt, with its missing top two buttons, no longer hidden by her robe.
“You’ve grown so much over these last years,” Tom said, eyes contemplative, “but tell me, little Ginny, have you grown in mind, as well?”
She straightened as much as she could against the pillows, tossing her hair over her shoulder and meeting his eyes without flinching.
He sat very still, watching. “Why did you come? Will you say you were seduced into coming?” His smile was a razor. “Will you say you didn’t know what would happen? Will you say you were ‘losing your mind?’ Tell me, little Ginny, where will your excuses fall?”
A silence that spanned eternity and then she spoke and she tasted the truth of her own words. “I have no excuses. I knew exactly what I was doing…just like I did when I took the spell from that book. I knew what would happen; I-I wanted it.”
His smile seemed too light and beatific to grace his features, but it did, and she had to turn from the radiance and the triumph in it.
”There’s just one more thing, Ginevra,” he said as he moved toward her, over her.
“What?” Her voice came out as a whisper.
“Your submission.” He passed a hand over her face, the warmth from it radiating along her brow, her cheeks, and traveling inexplicably lower, across her neck, between her breasts, pooling just below her navel. She let out a strangled gasp and the eyes she’d closed flew open to meet Tom’s. What was he doing?
“You’ve told me everything I wanted to hear, but for one thing,” he said. He made a motion with his hand, long fingers curving in a graceful arc and she felt a cool, breezy touch beneath her shirt, grazing the tops of her breasts, trickling over her hardening nipples, the sensation bordering on pain.
“Two.” Another motion of his hand, and the buttons of her shirt parted with cloth. The phantom touch extended over her exposed belly, caressing her sides, curving against her clothed hips and reaching the hem of her skirt only to slip beneath it, pushing the cloth up around her hips. The contrast of heat and cold, and the sudden light caress in the place she had once felt that elusive shivering ache, nearly undid her.
“Simple,” Tom continued, his voice gone rough at the edges. The caressing wind slipped with ease beneath the barrier of cotton, fell against her bare skin, trailed over her folds. She felt the parting, the unfamiliar intrusion, the way her body seemed to tighten and swell at the same time, and the heat and pain that lanced through her as the sensation faded and then returned stronger than before.
“Words.” The last fell from his lips in a sibilant whisper, and her spine bowed, body consumed by ice and fire, the tension rising only to break and flare like lightning in her brain, stalling her breaths, sending shock waves all along her skin, until she felt like one teeming mass of nerve endings.
Someone was sobbing. It was her. And words she could barely make out came from her own lips, and she was strangely unsurprised to find that she meant them. “Yours, yours. I’m yours. I know.” And she felt, not the cool phantom touch, but the actual sensation of his hands on her, his arms pulling her up and holding her to him. She felt the soft pressure of lips on her head and heard the chuckling whisper.
”That’s my girl.”
Serpents kiss and the children play
Serpents kiss for the words you pray
Serpents kiss and the witching hour
Serpents kiss on that untouched flower
Minutes or hours later, she woke, surprised she had slept, and turned her face up to find his gaze on her. She toyed with the ends of her shirt, watched the shadows before breaking the silence. “What happens now?”
He blinked slowly, features gone soft in contemplation. “Before morning comes, you will return to your dormitory and continue as before. Except, Ginevra, no more late night trips to the dungeons.”
She nodded, feeling her lips curl reflexively. “And you?”
“I…will be the bringer of my own destruction.”
She blinked, then understood. “You’re going after Voldemort?”
“Ginevra,” his voice was patient, “I am Voldemort.”
Her eyes closed. “You know what I meant.”
She felt him nod. “Yes. I’m afraid my future self has become somewhat…shortsighted, shall we say. There is madness there.”
She shivered, but whether from the chill in the air or the sudden chill in his voice she wasn’t sure. She curled nearer to him and closed her eyes again as he wrapped his arms around her.
She knew morning must be near, knew many hours must have passed. She could, she thought, sense the press of dawn outside, deep as she was in the bowels of the castle. In an hour or less she would be returning to that light…only to wait for the darkness.
And the darkness, in days or months, would construct his own downfall and become his own successor.
In her mind, the world tilted.
She opened her eyes and let herself fall.