FIC! :D
A Beginning
By: Chloe (illiterate)
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Harry/Tom, Tom/Ginny, Harry/Ginny
Notes: Written for the The Shameful Secrets Fest. Beta'd by the lovely Lout, to whom I am grateful. My second piece of Harry Potter fiction in a year, and decidely PWP. I'd call it atmospheric, personally. I would love feenback.
Once, when they were alone together in the quiet dark of a helpful broom closet, Ginny told Harry that he looked like him. That in the dark, she could barely tell the difference. Then, she gently touched in cheek and for a moment, looked as though she were searching for something that she knew wasn’t quite there.
“Who’s him?” Harry had asked, slightly startled, and adjusting his crooked glasses with uncertainty.
“Tom,” Ginny had stated solemnly. “You look like Tom.” Then she had buried her face in his neck.
“Huh,” Harry had said, voice barely a whisper, but he had let her teasingly nip at his earlobes anyway.
--
Later, he caught himself looking in the mirror for a long time.
His cheeks were still flushed from his visit with Ginny before bed, his eyes bright green behind his spectacles. He was seeking a trace of the boy Voldemort had been. Ginny, of course, had no idea that Harry was now acutely aware of who that boy was.
Dumbledore had called Tom Riddle handsome. Ginny knew nothing of that though; she knew nothing of the Pensieves Harry had been visiting. But she did know Tom. Perhaps better than Harry ever would, although Harry was now certain that he shared a part of something that Tom had.
It made Harry both sick and excited to know that he reminded Ginny of someone who had so thoroughly possessed her. It made the beast in his chest that responded only to Ginny hum with lust and curl contentedly around itself. Harry knew that he lacked the red tinted eyes, and the striking looks, but he too could see the slight resemblance. He’d thought so the first time he’d really seen Tom, in the Chamber of Secrets.
It was there in their dark hair, their pale English skin, the indubitable determination written across their faces, and if Harry were being honest, in their clear ability to manipulate others. But he’d only seen the latter recently.
Sometimes Harry thought that he and Tom were two sides of the same coin, except Tom’s side was the one that always lost. Still, it pleased him. Pleased him in a way that made him feel slightly uncomfortable in his own skin. It was the same feeling he got when he spoke it Parseltongue. He liked that Ginny thought he looked like Tom. He knew that he shouldn’t, but he did.
He’d been so caught up in Tom lately, anyway. It wasn’t the same as when his scar was hurting and he could feel Voldemort inside his head, for it was certainly not so bright and painful-but more like a silent identification. Harry didn’t like it, but ever since Dumbledore had started taking him into the Pensieves, he’d started seeing more and more of himself in Tom. Or rather, more and more of Tom in him. He was beginning to think that was Dumbledore’s point.
Now he had a hard time connecting young Tom Riddle to the Dark Lord he would become.
Certainly, Harry was aware that Tom would, indeed, become the Dark Lord Voldemort, but he didn’t see it as quite so concrete anymore. He found himself wondering about the man, and the boy that he had been. He found himself reliving the various moments he’d spent with Voldemort, who was always broken and maniacal when Harry encountered him. He even found himself wishing that he could have Riddle’s diary back for a second. Just so he could ask him a few questions, ask him anything, ask him about Horcruces.
--
The next time Harry was alone with Ginny, they were trysting in the Astronomy tower, and Harry had his hands wrapped tightly into Ginny’s long red hair. Between kisses, he heard himself say, “Do I really look like him?”
“What?” Ginny asked, breathless.
“Riddle, do I really look like Riddle?”
“When you look at me like that, you do,” Ginny responded.
“What do you mean?” Harry said, and heard his voice soften from what must have been high pitched and urgent.
“I mean,” Ginny said slowly, as though she were carefully considering her words, “when we’re together like this, (Harry’s hands loosened in her hair,) you remind me of Tom.”
“But… but,” Harry sputtered. “What do you mean, ‘together like this’?”
“I mean when you’re holding on to me like you want to crawl inside me. God Harry,” Ginny’s cheeks flushed to a deeper red, “Why did you make me spell it out?” She scowled at him.
Harry flinched.
“I’m going,” Ginny said, and disentangled herself ungracefully from Harry’s limbs. Her eyes softened slightly before she turned to leave. “I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”
“Yeah,” Harry said distractedly. “Yeah.” He looked up to see her heading toward the stairs, her hair swishing elegantly from side to side, her skirt disheveled. He wondered if Tom had noticed all of the things about Ginny that he saw in her. All of the things that made Harry want to keep her with him for a moment longer than he ever could. He wondered if she was the same to Tom at eleven, as she was to him now.
Harry sat in the Astronomy Tower for quite some time after Ginny had gone. He could hear the soft flapping of the owls coming and going from their coop. He could hear the wind rustling through the Forbidden Forest. He thought that he heard a wolf howl, and thought briefly of Remus. Mostly, he though of Tom Riddle. Tom Riddle wrapping himself around a pre-pubescent Ginny Weasley, taking her in green dark of the Chamber of Secrets, building his own secret within her, touching her skin with his very real ghost hands. Touching her like she let Harry touch her.
He imagined himself in Tom’s place, because he’d been there. Then, just for an instant, he imagined himself in Ginny’s. His stomach churned and he realized that he was hard. Slumped against a hard stone wall of Hogwarts, Harry tested a theory: he bit down sharply on his lower lip, and when he tasted his own blood he imagined that Tom had made him bleed instead. His heart sped up. The beast in his chest roared with triumphant glee.
Harry blinked furiously in the dark and tried to push away the image of Tom, Tom standing over him the Chamber while Ginny slept in lifeless slumber a yard away. Tom, pushing Harry’s dark fringe out of his eyes and staring intently at him with red-tinged eyes. Harry shivered in the night air, his skin felt prickly, too sensitive. He could still smell Ginny on his clothing.
He couldn’t remember what she’d smelled like at 11, but he bet he could ask Tom.
Tom… the name brought more unbidden images to his mind. He imagined standing beside a young Tom Riddle. Conversing about Hogwarts, about what it feels like to have a home. He imagined Tom, older and wiser than he, holding Harry’s hands above his head and pressing him against the very same wall he leaned against now. Harry shuddered, disgusted with himself and undeniably turned on.
Ginny did this to him. She made him want things he should never want. Touching her was like touching just a little bit of the Dark Arts. She was tainted, and he was tainted too, but Harry had a sneaking suspicion that Ginny had, in some strange way, enjoyed her time with young Tom Riddle.
Harry knew that he would have to leave her. He knew that she was only another distraction, another way for Voldemort, for Tom, to get inside his head. He sighed, his heart slowed to a normal pace, and for a moment, the night was quieter and calmer than Harry could remember it being for a long time.
END.
By: Chloe (illiterate)
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Harry/Tom, Tom/Ginny, Harry/Ginny
Notes: Written for the The Shameful Secrets Fest. Beta'd by the lovely Lout, to whom I am grateful. My second piece of Harry Potter fiction in a year, and decidely PWP. I'd call it atmospheric, personally. I would love feenback.
Once, when they were alone together in the quiet dark of a helpful broom closet, Ginny told Harry that he looked like him. That in the dark, she could barely tell the difference. Then, she gently touched in cheek and for a moment, looked as though she were searching for something that she knew wasn’t quite there.
“Who’s him?” Harry had asked, slightly startled, and adjusting his crooked glasses with uncertainty.
“Tom,” Ginny had stated solemnly. “You look like Tom.” Then she had buried her face in his neck.
“Huh,” Harry had said, voice barely a whisper, but he had let her teasingly nip at his earlobes anyway.
--
Later, he caught himself looking in the mirror for a long time.
His cheeks were still flushed from his visit with Ginny before bed, his eyes bright green behind his spectacles. He was seeking a trace of the boy Voldemort had been. Ginny, of course, had no idea that Harry was now acutely aware of who that boy was.
Dumbledore had called Tom Riddle handsome. Ginny knew nothing of that though; she knew nothing of the Pensieves Harry had been visiting. But she did know Tom. Perhaps better than Harry ever would, although Harry was now certain that he shared a part of something that Tom had.
It made Harry both sick and excited to know that he reminded Ginny of someone who had so thoroughly possessed her. It made the beast in his chest that responded only to Ginny hum with lust and curl contentedly around itself. Harry knew that he lacked the red tinted eyes, and the striking looks, but he too could see the slight resemblance. He’d thought so the first time he’d really seen Tom, in the Chamber of Secrets.
It was there in their dark hair, their pale English skin, the indubitable determination written across their faces, and if Harry were being honest, in their clear ability to manipulate others. But he’d only seen the latter recently.
Sometimes Harry thought that he and Tom were two sides of the same coin, except Tom’s side was the one that always lost. Still, it pleased him. Pleased him in a way that made him feel slightly uncomfortable in his own skin. It was the same feeling he got when he spoke it Parseltongue. He liked that Ginny thought he looked like Tom. He knew that he shouldn’t, but he did.
He’d been so caught up in Tom lately, anyway. It wasn’t the same as when his scar was hurting and he could feel Voldemort inside his head, for it was certainly not so bright and painful-but more like a silent identification. Harry didn’t like it, but ever since Dumbledore had started taking him into the Pensieves, he’d started seeing more and more of himself in Tom. Or rather, more and more of Tom in him. He was beginning to think that was Dumbledore’s point.
Now he had a hard time connecting young Tom Riddle to the Dark Lord he would become.
Certainly, Harry was aware that Tom would, indeed, become the Dark Lord Voldemort, but he didn’t see it as quite so concrete anymore. He found himself wondering about the man, and the boy that he had been. He found himself reliving the various moments he’d spent with Voldemort, who was always broken and maniacal when Harry encountered him. He even found himself wishing that he could have Riddle’s diary back for a second. Just so he could ask him a few questions, ask him anything, ask him about Horcruces.
--
The next time Harry was alone with Ginny, they were trysting in the Astronomy tower, and Harry had his hands wrapped tightly into Ginny’s long red hair. Between kisses, he heard himself say, “Do I really look like him?”
“What?” Ginny asked, breathless.
“Riddle, do I really look like Riddle?”
“When you look at me like that, you do,” Ginny responded.
“What do you mean?” Harry said, and heard his voice soften from what must have been high pitched and urgent.
“I mean,” Ginny said slowly, as though she were carefully considering her words, “when we’re together like this, (Harry’s hands loosened in her hair,) you remind me of Tom.”
“But… but,” Harry sputtered. “What do you mean, ‘together like this’?”
“I mean when you’re holding on to me like you want to crawl inside me. God Harry,” Ginny’s cheeks flushed to a deeper red, “Why did you make me spell it out?” She scowled at him.
Harry flinched.
“I’m going,” Ginny said, and disentangled herself ungracefully from Harry’s limbs. Her eyes softened slightly before she turned to leave. “I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”
“Yeah,” Harry said distractedly. “Yeah.” He looked up to see her heading toward the stairs, her hair swishing elegantly from side to side, her skirt disheveled. He wondered if Tom had noticed all of the things about Ginny that he saw in her. All of the things that made Harry want to keep her with him for a moment longer than he ever could. He wondered if she was the same to Tom at eleven, as she was to him now.
Harry sat in the Astronomy Tower for quite some time after Ginny had gone. He could hear the soft flapping of the owls coming and going from their coop. He could hear the wind rustling through the Forbidden Forest. He thought that he heard a wolf howl, and thought briefly of Remus. Mostly, he though of Tom Riddle. Tom Riddle wrapping himself around a pre-pubescent Ginny Weasley, taking her in green dark of the Chamber of Secrets, building his own secret within her, touching her skin with his very real ghost hands. Touching her like she let Harry touch her.
He imagined himself in Tom’s place, because he’d been there. Then, just for an instant, he imagined himself in Ginny’s. His stomach churned and he realized that he was hard. Slumped against a hard stone wall of Hogwarts, Harry tested a theory: he bit down sharply on his lower lip, and when he tasted his own blood he imagined that Tom had made him bleed instead. His heart sped up. The beast in his chest roared with triumphant glee.
Harry blinked furiously in the dark and tried to push away the image of Tom, Tom standing over him the Chamber while Ginny slept in lifeless slumber a yard away. Tom, pushing Harry’s dark fringe out of his eyes and staring intently at him with red-tinged eyes. Harry shivered in the night air, his skin felt prickly, too sensitive. He could still smell Ginny on his clothing.
He couldn’t remember what she’d smelled like at 11, but he bet he could ask Tom.
Tom… the name brought more unbidden images to his mind. He imagined standing beside a young Tom Riddle. Conversing about Hogwarts, about what it feels like to have a home. He imagined Tom, older and wiser than he, holding Harry’s hands above his head and pressing him against the very same wall he leaned against now. Harry shuddered, disgusted with himself and undeniably turned on.
Ginny did this to him. She made him want things he should never want. Touching her was like touching just a little bit of the Dark Arts. She was tainted, and he was tainted too, but Harry had a sneaking suspicion that Ginny had, in some strange way, enjoyed her time with young Tom Riddle.
Harry knew that he would have to leave her. He knew that she was only another distraction, another way for Voldemort, for Tom, to get inside his head. He sighed, his heart slowed to a normal pace, and for a moment, the night was quieter and calmer than Harry could remember it being for a long time.
END.