the pieces of this puzzle (ginny/tom, nc-17)
Title: the pieces of this puzzle
Author: rubykate
Pairing: Ginny/Tom
Rating: NC-17
A/N: written for nightfalltwen as part of dearsanta. Thanks very much to hiddenshallows for beta'ing! (I'm assuming nobody else was up for beta'ing - but I can never have too many betas so if you did want to beta this, do go ahead and do so anyway!)
On a lazy winter afternoon a few days after Christmas, Ginny is lying on her stomach on the dusty floorboards in the attic of Grimmauld Place, sorting idly through a trunk of faded lace petticoats, when her hand closes on a small golden hourglass.
The pieces of this puzzle have been coming together for some time.
*
Ginny's been having these dreams for five years now. They've changed, evolved, progressed, of course, but they share a common theme - Tom Riddle.
As Ginny grows older, her dreams grow with her. First she dreamt simply of kisses; slow and gentle, lips firmly pressed together, with fingers tightly intertwined. By the time she was thirteen, Ginny had seen a bit more of the world and the kisses in her dreams grew deeper, faster; lips opening to accommodate tongues; hands moving across her shoulders, brushing against the straps of Ginny's dress, pushing them down in one swift movement -
The next year the dreams grow more vivid, and Ginny finds she doesn't even have to be asleep to dream them. Sometimes, lying in her four poster feeling stubbornly restless and not at all ready for sleep, she finds her dreams stealing over her mind as if they're too impatient to wait for sleep. They tempt her body into life, and she imagines that her own stubby fingers with their chipped-polish nails are Tom's hands, long elegant fingers moving down over her bare stomach beneath her nightdress, between her legs.
*
Three years ago, Ginny learnt what a timeturner was.
She's more observant than most people; soon spotted the spark of silver hanging around Hermione's neck. Hermione's not one for sparkling jewellery, especially not for school, and come Christmas time, when Hermione invites her up stay in her otherwise empty dormitory, Ginny gets a chance to take a closer look at it.
When Ginny came up to bed late on Boxing Day evening, it was sitting neatly on Hermione's bedside cabinet, carefully covered by a Gryffindor scarf, but Ginny caught sight of the silver glint in the candlelight. After all, she'd just spent two hours outside on the Quidditch pitch, training herself to spot the slightest sparkle.
Hermione was sleeping soundly, hair spread out on the pillow. Ginny reached out carefully and picked it up, letting the chain fall softly through her fingers as her hand closed around the hourglass. The sand inside shone white, but didn't move. She frowned, and then -
"Ginny, don't touch that!" Hermione was sitting up in bed, not angry but worried. Ginny stared back at her, waiting for further explanation. Her fingers cautiously stopped in their movement over the hourglass.
"It's... well," Hermione seemed to give in. "Give it back, and I'll tell you. But you must promise to not to tell."
Another piece slots into place, and another dimension is added to Ginny's dreams.
*
A gold timeturner must be something special. Must take you back further than a mere silver one. Ginny holds it up to the sunlight shining through the cracked attic window, watching the white sand inside glisten and glow, impossibly stationary.
*
Ginny goes back to school in January, the golden time-turner wrapped in her silk nightdress, safe in her trunk. Her first visit is to the library, to research her precious time-turner. She feels closest to him in the library, some how. He told her once, all those years ago, that he spent all his school days in the library, preferring it to the crowded common room, staying there until late into the night. Now, whenever she visits the library, she pictures him alone in a corner, his dark eyes frowning over books, oblivious to the world around him.
A golden time-turner will take you back years. One turn, one year. Ginny counts in her head - fifty-five turns. She leans over the book, finger tracing the words, her heart beating impatiently against the time-turner around her neck. Her dreams are becoming more real by the minute.
*
Ginny finishes her History of Magic test before anybody else in the library. It's not that she found it easy, just that she knows where her limitations lie. She stares at the clock on the wall, listens to the scratchings of quills around her, the intake of breath from students encountering harder questions.
Ginny's eyes close, although her mind is still full of the library around her. She feels Tom's presence in her mind; sometimes she feels as though he never truly left her. She imagines him standing behind her, his hands on her shoulders, running down her arms, resting on her waist. His lips on her neck, teeth nipping at her bare skin. She shivers, and has to stop herself leaning back into somebody that isn't really there.
Its in that moment, that Ginny realises that there really is only one way to get rid of the ghost that haunts her.
*
She's considered all the easier options, of course. She's tried to recreate her dreams with other people - Michael Corner with his dark hair and pale skin, who was over-excited and clumsy, and who she had to restrain from lifting up her skirt because he was simply interfering with her fantasies. Then there was Dean Thomas, who was gentler, softer, but that wasn't quite right either, he didn't seem to know that he was supposed to run his delicate artist's fingers over her smooth skin, dancing over her freckles, moving slowly and deliberately.
Ginny knows there is only one person who can cure this fever.
*
There is a Quidditch match this coming weekend: Gryffindor vs. Slytherin. Malfoy has been talking about nothing else all week, boasting about his new broom, throwing taunts at Harry in the corridor. Harry puts on a brave face, but Ginny notices him looking tired and anxious when he finally comes into the common room late in the evening, and knows that for the next few days at least, he's not going to notice the absence of his invisibility cloak.
*
Ginny wakes up in her four poster bed with her mind clear. Everything has been pointing to this moment.
She slips out of bed, clad in her silk negligee, and opens her trunk. Inside is her precious time-turner, and the silver invisible cloak. She pulls out her wand, and stares into the mirror onto the wall. Time for some make-up charms. Thick black eyeliner over her lids, red blusher sweeping across her cheeks, scarlet gloss upon her lips. Her hair already has gold and copper highlights, more vivid than the faded orange of the little girl Tom used to know. She doesn't want him to ever make that connection.
Now is the time.
*
Covered in the silver fabric, Ginny tiptoes down the corridors, heart beating fast. The time-turner hangs heavily around her neck, the cold metal against her breasts. Her lit wand guides her way, through the shadows.
In the library, she lets her invisibility cloak fall to the floor, whispers "nox" to her wand.
She stands in the middle of the floor, holds her golden time turner up to the moonlight shining through the windows. She counts out loud, her heart beating in time to the turns. Her breathing becomes tuned into the rhythm, slow and regular, and then at last, she reaches fifty-three, fifty-four, fifty-five. The world spins before her eyes, blurring and shaking before settling into an almost identical picture.
But this time, there is a solitary gas lamp casting an extra glow across the room. She turns round to face it, and there, sitting at the desk, is Tom Riddle.
Her heart leaps, she gasps involuntarily, and Tom looks up. At first he looks annoyed to be disturbed but then his expression changes to surprise as he takes in her flimsy negligee.
She steps forward, letting go of the time-turner and letting it hang on its chain around her neck again. "Tom," she whispers, and smiles. He is the same Tom, of course.
"Who are you?" he asks, almost demands. "I don't think I've seen you before. Are you a seventh year?" He seems cautious, wary, hesitant; yet still somehow firm.
"In a way," she answers, stepping forward until her legs touch the desk. She leans forward, leaning over him. She sees his eyes flick towards her cleavage, and then flick down to his book again.
"I've come here to see you," she tells him. "I can only be here tonight."
He looks up at her then, eyes narrowed as he tries to make sense of her. She leans down further over him - he doesn't move. She reaches out and strokes his cheek, something rushing through her and making her shiver. He stares back at her, still assessing the situation. Tom was always such a thinker, analysing everything, pausing so long before his words appeared on the page that she'd think he was never going to write back again (this was, of course, before she learned to be patient). Then he reaches up and moves her hand with his, takes it away from her cheek, and holds it still on the desk, still staring at her.
"Tom," she says, again. And then, softer, "Voldemort." The very word makes her shiver, but she knows he's not really You-Know-Who, not yet. But this is the name that will open doors for her, a password into her fantasies.
His eyes widen, letting his guard drop for just a moment. And then she kisses him firmly on the lips, hand on the back of his neck so that he can't wriggle out of it, but he doesn't try. He wouldn't let just anybody kiss him, of course - not that any of his fellow students would find strange, quiet young Tom Riddle attractive, not like she does. But she knows his biggest secret, knows him better than anybody else at this moment in time.
"Who are you?" he asks again as she releases him from the kiss. "How do you know...?" He lets his sentence go unfinished, but doesn't sound weak, uncertain. His expression seems to finish his sentence for him, staring at her now with interest.
"It doesn't matter. The only thing that matters is..." she pauses for a second, feeling her tongue hot against her lips. "that I'm here now. For you."
She leans forward again, kisses him again. This time she flicks her tongue against his lips, feels them open up for her. She lifts one knee up onto the desk, hand finding his tie and pulling him close towards her. He doesn't resist, letting her move him how she will. Her tongue scrapes against his teeth, sending a shiver through her, and her own calm poise drops for a moment of Weasley recklessness as she scrambles up onto the desk, revealing a half-second glimpse of her silk shorts beneath her nightdress. She lets her legs fall either side of him, pulling him closer by his tie again, regaining her composure in a second.
She can see their shadows against the bookcases, flickering in the light of the gas lamp. She arches her head back, and watches her shadow do the same, elongated and graceful. His lips press against her neck, and she smiles. A moment later, his fingers brush over her shoulders as his tongue dances over her skin, just as she's imagined in countless dreams.
He moves slowly, tentatively, as though he's carefully planning every slightest movement. She lets her hand rest in his hair, her fingers loosely entwined in the dark strands. Her heart is beating hard against her chest, her breathing shallow. She shrugs her way out of the negligee, letting the straps fall down over her shoulders, and he moves his mouth down over her skin to her breasts, kissing them softly. He has never done this before, of course, but he's a quick learner, grazing her nipples with his teeth, his tongue flicking over her skin.
His arms are around her waist as she leans heavily against him, suddenly feeling so dizzy she might fall. Her hands tighten in his hair, and then let go, running down between them to slip between her legs, running her fingers over the silk of her shorts, already damp.
"Show me how to do that," he says, breaking his mouth away from hers, and he sound so certain that it's almost a demand. He pushes her hand away to be replaced with his, his fingers stroking the silk between her legs, staring at her questioningly.
She shifts her bottom backwards a little on the desk, and parts her legs, allowing his hand further access. "Just keep doing that," she says, and kisses him again, slipping her tongue into his mouth.
His fingers become more confident in their ministrations, rubbing at her sex through the silk. She reaches down to slip the shorts to one side, nudging his hand with her own to encourage it to carry on. He pauses for a moment, and then slips one finger inside of her, surprising her with the speed at which he's learning. She gasps against his lips, holding onto him with one hand to stop herself from slipping off the desk. With her other hand she places his thumb on her clit, showing him how to rub and tease her, trying to teach him a rhythm, but he impatiently moves her hand aside and show he can do it well enough alone, finding a rhythm of her own that surpasses any sensation she's created herself to accompany one of her many daydreams.
So, instead, she moves her hands just inches away to his trousers, deftly undoing the button and pulling down the zip. He gasps slightly as he realises what she's doing, and she pretends not to notice but is secretly pleased at the effect she can have on his cool, proud demeanour.
She slips her hand inside his trousers, pulling out his already half-hard cock. It stiffens under her touch, as she begins to run her fingers lightly across it. She feels his teeth graze her lip in response, his fingers quickening between her legs.
"Tom," she breathes against his lips, the word catching in her throat. He says nothing, merely biting her lip harder. She takes his cock more firmly in her hand, squeezing it in a clenched fist, matching his rhythm.
His touch is rapidly feeling more intense, her mind spinning faster. He seems to interpret her shivers and gasps correctly and moves his fingers more deftly, breaking away from the kiss to look her in the eyes.
"Tom," she whispers again, "Tom... please, now..." She can barely find the words to ask him anything, let along plan it the way she's planned the rest of this seduction. But Tom is practically an expert when it comes to understanding her now, and he slips his fingers out of her, while his thumb continues to circle her clit. He pushes his hips towards her, and she spreads her legs further, her fingers guiding him inside of her.
This is everything she's dreamed of, everything that's haunted her mind. He was her first love all those years ago, now she can be his. She catches her breath as the sensations take her over, feeling herself shiver under his touch, gasp beneath his intense stare. This is everything she imagined and more, and now she knows for certain that she's done the right thing tonight.
His hand slips away from between her legs and he pushes deeper into her now, leaning into her so that she lies back on the desk with him over her. Her mind is still reeling as he fucks her; she thinks of all the dreams she had and how they're all melting into the real thing, and all the dreams she's going to have from now on. Her hands lazily entangle themselves in his hair again as she stares up at him, her lips breaking into a smile. He doesn't smile back, ever enigmatic, but meets her gaze.
She runs her tongue over her lips, tempting him. He takes the bait, reaches down and kisses her harshly, his teeth roughly hitting her lips, his tongue seeking hers. She fights back, her fingers tightening in his hair, holding him down, and she feels his movements quicken, thrusting into her hard against the desk so that she feels shaken and delirious. Then finally he slows, gasping into her mouth as she bites his lower lip in delight.
They lie still together for a moment and she toys with the idea of staying, for a few days, a few weeks. Months even. She can leave for the future at any time; it doesn't have to be now. Imagine if she could save him, hold him back from the darkness that lurks in his mind, change the course of the future... but of course, the world would be a very different place when she returned. Better to leave sooner than later, because after all, she doesn't want him to remember anything concrete about her, to make any connections between her and the little eleven year old girl he's going to come across one day. He'll simply be left with a dream-like memory that will haunt him, like his did her. That will be enough.
"Tom," she says softly, and sits up, pushing him gently off her. "I have to go now."
He stands, doing his trousers up again. He is staring at her again, taking every inch of her in, and she knows that he will remember this encounter as vividly as she will.
"Who are you?" he asks again.
"It doesn't matter who I am."
"Just tell me how you know my name."
She hesitates.
"I know what that is around your neck," he tells her suddenly, stepping closer.
"I have to go now, Tom," Ginny says, her heart suddenly regaining its rapid beat, and taking a step backwards.
"Will everyone know my name one day?" he asks her, and doesn't move any closer.
"Yes."
He nods simply in reply, smiling for the first time this evening. "Go on then," he says. "You can go now."
She holds up the time-turner and begins to turn. She counts silently in her head, not wanting to say the numbers aloud in case he ever does make the connection between her age and that little girl who found a diary. She focuses on the numbers, not wanting to get confused and go too far, or not far enough. She's conscious of his gaze, and hopes it's on her and not the time-turner.
The final turn approaches, and Ginny whispers, "Goodbye, Tom" as the room spins and returns, leaving her alone. She picks up the invisibility cloak from the floor, and heads back to bed.
*
Ginny's dreams are deeper now, more vivid. She forgives Dean for not being Tom, because now she shuts her eyes she can replay every sensation almost as if it really were Tom's fingers running over her.
She can control her fantasies now. When Tom appears behind her at dinner, kissing her neck and running his hands down her front, she can whisper a stern reprove and have him vanish obediently, only to return at night when she has the time to indulge in such things.
Harry's invisibility cloak has been returned to its trunk without him even noticing its absence. The time-turner is wrapped safely in the bottom of her trunk again, and Ginny knows its purpose has been fulfilled. Next time she visits Grimmauld Place, she will return it to its dusty attic, and her memories will stay in their own rightful place in her mind.
Ginny has finally solved this puzzle.
Author: rubykate
Pairing: Ginny/Tom
Rating: NC-17
A/N: written for nightfalltwen as part of dearsanta. Thanks very much to hiddenshallows for beta'ing! (I'm assuming nobody else was up for beta'ing - but I can never have too many betas so if you did want to beta this, do go ahead and do so anyway!)
On a lazy winter afternoon a few days after Christmas, Ginny is lying on her stomach on the dusty floorboards in the attic of Grimmauld Place, sorting idly through a trunk of faded lace petticoats, when her hand closes on a small golden hourglass.
The pieces of this puzzle have been coming together for some time.
*
Ginny's been having these dreams for five years now. They've changed, evolved, progressed, of course, but they share a common theme - Tom Riddle.
As Ginny grows older, her dreams grow with her. First she dreamt simply of kisses; slow and gentle, lips firmly pressed together, with fingers tightly intertwined. By the time she was thirteen, Ginny had seen a bit more of the world and the kisses in her dreams grew deeper, faster; lips opening to accommodate tongues; hands moving across her shoulders, brushing against the straps of Ginny's dress, pushing them down in one swift movement -
The next year the dreams grow more vivid, and Ginny finds she doesn't even have to be asleep to dream them. Sometimes, lying in her four poster feeling stubbornly restless and not at all ready for sleep, she finds her dreams stealing over her mind as if they're too impatient to wait for sleep. They tempt her body into life, and she imagines that her own stubby fingers with their chipped-polish nails are Tom's hands, long elegant fingers moving down over her bare stomach beneath her nightdress, between her legs.
*
Three years ago, Ginny learnt what a timeturner was.
She's more observant than most people; soon spotted the spark of silver hanging around Hermione's neck. Hermione's not one for sparkling jewellery, especially not for school, and come Christmas time, when Hermione invites her up stay in her otherwise empty dormitory, Ginny gets a chance to take a closer look at it.
When Ginny came up to bed late on Boxing Day evening, it was sitting neatly on Hermione's bedside cabinet, carefully covered by a Gryffindor scarf, but Ginny caught sight of the silver glint in the candlelight. After all, she'd just spent two hours outside on the Quidditch pitch, training herself to spot the slightest sparkle.
Hermione was sleeping soundly, hair spread out on the pillow. Ginny reached out carefully and picked it up, letting the chain fall softly through her fingers as her hand closed around the hourglass. The sand inside shone white, but didn't move. She frowned, and then -
"Ginny, don't touch that!" Hermione was sitting up in bed, not angry but worried. Ginny stared back at her, waiting for further explanation. Her fingers cautiously stopped in their movement over the hourglass.
"It's... well," Hermione seemed to give in. "Give it back, and I'll tell you. But you must promise to not to tell."
Another piece slots into place, and another dimension is added to Ginny's dreams.
*
A gold timeturner must be something special. Must take you back further than a mere silver one. Ginny holds it up to the sunlight shining through the cracked attic window, watching the white sand inside glisten and glow, impossibly stationary.
*
Ginny goes back to school in January, the golden time-turner wrapped in her silk nightdress, safe in her trunk. Her first visit is to the library, to research her precious time-turner. She feels closest to him in the library, some how. He told her once, all those years ago, that he spent all his school days in the library, preferring it to the crowded common room, staying there until late into the night. Now, whenever she visits the library, she pictures him alone in a corner, his dark eyes frowning over books, oblivious to the world around him.
A golden time-turner will take you back years. One turn, one year. Ginny counts in her head - fifty-five turns. She leans over the book, finger tracing the words, her heart beating impatiently against the time-turner around her neck. Her dreams are becoming more real by the minute.
*
Ginny finishes her History of Magic test before anybody else in the library. It's not that she found it easy, just that she knows where her limitations lie. She stares at the clock on the wall, listens to the scratchings of quills around her, the intake of breath from students encountering harder questions.
Ginny's eyes close, although her mind is still full of the library around her. She feels Tom's presence in her mind; sometimes she feels as though he never truly left her. She imagines him standing behind her, his hands on her shoulders, running down her arms, resting on her waist. His lips on her neck, teeth nipping at her bare skin. She shivers, and has to stop herself leaning back into somebody that isn't really there.
Its in that moment, that Ginny realises that there really is only one way to get rid of the ghost that haunts her.
*
She's considered all the easier options, of course. She's tried to recreate her dreams with other people - Michael Corner with his dark hair and pale skin, who was over-excited and clumsy, and who she had to restrain from lifting up her skirt because he was simply interfering with her fantasies. Then there was Dean Thomas, who was gentler, softer, but that wasn't quite right either, he didn't seem to know that he was supposed to run his delicate artist's fingers over her smooth skin, dancing over her freckles, moving slowly and deliberately.
Ginny knows there is only one person who can cure this fever.
*
There is a Quidditch match this coming weekend: Gryffindor vs. Slytherin. Malfoy has been talking about nothing else all week, boasting about his new broom, throwing taunts at Harry in the corridor. Harry puts on a brave face, but Ginny notices him looking tired and anxious when he finally comes into the common room late in the evening, and knows that for the next few days at least, he's not going to notice the absence of his invisibility cloak.
*
Ginny wakes up in her four poster bed with her mind clear. Everything has been pointing to this moment.
She slips out of bed, clad in her silk negligee, and opens her trunk. Inside is her precious time-turner, and the silver invisible cloak. She pulls out her wand, and stares into the mirror onto the wall. Time for some make-up charms. Thick black eyeliner over her lids, red blusher sweeping across her cheeks, scarlet gloss upon her lips. Her hair already has gold and copper highlights, more vivid than the faded orange of the little girl Tom used to know. She doesn't want him to ever make that connection.
Now is the time.
*
Covered in the silver fabric, Ginny tiptoes down the corridors, heart beating fast. The time-turner hangs heavily around her neck, the cold metal against her breasts. Her lit wand guides her way, through the shadows.
In the library, she lets her invisibility cloak fall to the floor, whispers "nox" to her wand.
She stands in the middle of the floor, holds her golden time turner up to the moonlight shining through the windows. She counts out loud, her heart beating in time to the turns. Her breathing becomes tuned into the rhythm, slow and regular, and then at last, she reaches fifty-three, fifty-four, fifty-five. The world spins before her eyes, blurring and shaking before settling into an almost identical picture.
But this time, there is a solitary gas lamp casting an extra glow across the room. She turns round to face it, and there, sitting at the desk, is Tom Riddle.
Her heart leaps, she gasps involuntarily, and Tom looks up. At first he looks annoyed to be disturbed but then his expression changes to surprise as he takes in her flimsy negligee.
She steps forward, letting go of the time-turner and letting it hang on its chain around her neck again. "Tom," she whispers, and smiles. He is the same Tom, of course.
"Who are you?" he asks, almost demands. "I don't think I've seen you before. Are you a seventh year?" He seems cautious, wary, hesitant; yet still somehow firm.
"In a way," she answers, stepping forward until her legs touch the desk. She leans forward, leaning over him. She sees his eyes flick towards her cleavage, and then flick down to his book again.
"I've come here to see you," she tells him. "I can only be here tonight."
He looks up at her then, eyes narrowed as he tries to make sense of her. She leans down further over him - he doesn't move. She reaches out and strokes his cheek, something rushing through her and making her shiver. He stares back at her, still assessing the situation. Tom was always such a thinker, analysing everything, pausing so long before his words appeared on the page that she'd think he was never going to write back again (this was, of course, before she learned to be patient). Then he reaches up and moves her hand with his, takes it away from her cheek, and holds it still on the desk, still staring at her.
"Tom," she says, again. And then, softer, "Voldemort." The very word makes her shiver, but she knows he's not really You-Know-Who, not yet. But this is the name that will open doors for her, a password into her fantasies.
His eyes widen, letting his guard drop for just a moment. And then she kisses him firmly on the lips, hand on the back of his neck so that he can't wriggle out of it, but he doesn't try. He wouldn't let just anybody kiss him, of course - not that any of his fellow students would find strange, quiet young Tom Riddle attractive, not like she does. But she knows his biggest secret, knows him better than anybody else at this moment in time.
"Who are you?" he asks again as she releases him from the kiss. "How do you know...?" He lets his sentence go unfinished, but doesn't sound weak, uncertain. His expression seems to finish his sentence for him, staring at her now with interest.
"It doesn't matter. The only thing that matters is..." she pauses for a second, feeling her tongue hot against her lips. "that I'm here now. For you."
She leans forward again, kisses him again. This time she flicks her tongue against his lips, feels them open up for her. She lifts one knee up onto the desk, hand finding his tie and pulling him close towards her. He doesn't resist, letting her move him how she will. Her tongue scrapes against his teeth, sending a shiver through her, and her own calm poise drops for a moment of Weasley recklessness as she scrambles up onto the desk, revealing a half-second glimpse of her silk shorts beneath her nightdress. She lets her legs fall either side of him, pulling him closer by his tie again, regaining her composure in a second.
She can see their shadows against the bookcases, flickering in the light of the gas lamp. She arches her head back, and watches her shadow do the same, elongated and graceful. His lips press against her neck, and she smiles. A moment later, his fingers brush over her shoulders as his tongue dances over her skin, just as she's imagined in countless dreams.
He moves slowly, tentatively, as though he's carefully planning every slightest movement. She lets her hand rest in his hair, her fingers loosely entwined in the dark strands. Her heart is beating hard against her chest, her breathing shallow. She shrugs her way out of the negligee, letting the straps fall down over her shoulders, and he moves his mouth down over her skin to her breasts, kissing them softly. He has never done this before, of course, but he's a quick learner, grazing her nipples with his teeth, his tongue flicking over her skin.
His arms are around her waist as she leans heavily against him, suddenly feeling so dizzy she might fall. Her hands tighten in his hair, and then let go, running down between them to slip between her legs, running her fingers over the silk of her shorts, already damp.
"Show me how to do that," he says, breaking his mouth away from hers, and he sound so certain that it's almost a demand. He pushes her hand away to be replaced with his, his fingers stroking the silk between her legs, staring at her questioningly.
She shifts her bottom backwards a little on the desk, and parts her legs, allowing his hand further access. "Just keep doing that," she says, and kisses him again, slipping her tongue into his mouth.
His fingers become more confident in their ministrations, rubbing at her sex through the silk. She reaches down to slip the shorts to one side, nudging his hand with her own to encourage it to carry on. He pauses for a moment, and then slips one finger inside of her, surprising her with the speed at which he's learning. She gasps against his lips, holding onto him with one hand to stop herself from slipping off the desk. With her other hand she places his thumb on her clit, showing him how to rub and tease her, trying to teach him a rhythm, but he impatiently moves her hand aside and show he can do it well enough alone, finding a rhythm of her own that surpasses any sensation she's created herself to accompany one of her many daydreams.
So, instead, she moves her hands just inches away to his trousers, deftly undoing the button and pulling down the zip. He gasps slightly as he realises what she's doing, and she pretends not to notice but is secretly pleased at the effect she can have on his cool, proud demeanour.
She slips her hand inside his trousers, pulling out his already half-hard cock. It stiffens under her touch, as she begins to run her fingers lightly across it. She feels his teeth graze her lip in response, his fingers quickening between her legs.
"Tom," she breathes against his lips, the word catching in her throat. He says nothing, merely biting her lip harder. She takes his cock more firmly in her hand, squeezing it in a clenched fist, matching his rhythm.
His touch is rapidly feeling more intense, her mind spinning faster. He seems to interpret her shivers and gasps correctly and moves his fingers more deftly, breaking away from the kiss to look her in the eyes.
"Tom," she whispers again, "Tom... please, now..." She can barely find the words to ask him anything, let along plan it the way she's planned the rest of this seduction. But Tom is practically an expert when it comes to understanding her now, and he slips his fingers out of her, while his thumb continues to circle her clit. He pushes his hips towards her, and she spreads her legs further, her fingers guiding him inside of her.
This is everything she's dreamed of, everything that's haunted her mind. He was her first love all those years ago, now she can be his. She catches her breath as the sensations take her over, feeling herself shiver under his touch, gasp beneath his intense stare. This is everything she imagined and more, and now she knows for certain that she's done the right thing tonight.
His hand slips away from between her legs and he pushes deeper into her now, leaning into her so that she lies back on the desk with him over her. Her mind is still reeling as he fucks her; she thinks of all the dreams she had and how they're all melting into the real thing, and all the dreams she's going to have from now on. Her hands lazily entangle themselves in his hair again as she stares up at him, her lips breaking into a smile. He doesn't smile back, ever enigmatic, but meets her gaze.
She runs her tongue over her lips, tempting him. He takes the bait, reaches down and kisses her harshly, his teeth roughly hitting her lips, his tongue seeking hers. She fights back, her fingers tightening in his hair, holding him down, and she feels his movements quicken, thrusting into her hard against the desk so that she feels shaken and delirious. Then finally he slows, gasping into her mouth as she bites his lower lip in delight.
They lie still together for a moment and she toys with the idea of staying, for a few days, a few weeks. Months even. She can leave for the future at any time; it doesn't have to be now. Imagine if she could save him, hold him back from the darkness that lurks in his mind, change the course of the future... but of course, the world would be a very different place when she returned. Better to leave sooner than later, because after all, she doesn't want him to remember anything concrete about her, to make any connections between her and the little eleven year old girl he's going to come across one day. He'll simply be left with a dream-like memory that will haunt him, like his did her. That will be enough.
"Tom," she says softly, and sits up, pushing him gently off her. "I have to go now."
He stands, doing his trousers up again. He is staring at her again, taking every inch of her in, and she knows that he will remember this encounter as vividly as she will.
"Who are you?" he asks again.
"It doesn't matter who I am."
"Just tell me how you know my name."
She hesitates.
"I know what that is around your neck," he tells her suddenly, stepping closer.
"I have to go now, Tom," Ginny says, her heart suddenly regaining its rapid beat, and taking a step backwards.
"Will everyone know my name one day?" he asks her, and doesn't move any closer.
"Yes."
He nods simply in reply, smiling for the first time this evening. "Go on then," he says. "You can go now."
She holds up the time-turner and begins to turn. She counts silently in her head, not wanting to say the numbers aloud in case he ever does make the connection between her age and that little girl who found a diary. She focuses on the numbers, not wanting to get confused and go too far, or not far enough. She's conscious of his gaze, and hopes it's on her and not the time-turner.
The final turn approaches, and Ginny whispers, "Goodbye, Tom" as the room spins and returns, leaving her alone. She picks up the invisibility cloak from the floor, and heads back to bed.
*
Ginny's dreams are deeper now, more vivid. She forgives Dean for not being Tom, because now she shuts her eyes she can replay every sensation almost as if it really were Tom's fingers running over her.
She can control her fantasies now. When Tom appears behind her at dinner, kissing her neck and running his hands down her front, she can whisper a stern reprove and have him vanish obediently, only to return at night when she has the time to indulge in such things.
Harry's invisibility cloak has been returned to its trunk without him even noticing its absence. The time-turner is wrapped safely in the bottom of her trunk again, and Ginny knows its purpose has been fulfilled. Next time she visits Grimmauld Place, she will return it to its dusty attic, and her memories will stay in their own rightful place in her mind.
Ginny has finally solved this puzzle.