Cherry Dance

It was darker in the club than he remembered, but the twisting tendrils of smoke still remained, writhing in the lights with the couples that suckled on one another in the centre of the room. His eyes slowly adjusted to the dim atmosphere, and his pupils widened until his eyes were almost entirely black. He might have laughed at that - it was rather fitting, considering his recent exploits. The little one's blond hair had looked like moonlight's rays against the stark red of her blood. He smiled to himself. It was beautiful.

His mind turned back to his task, and he began to walk around the room, pushing past the groups of youths yelling at each other, the inability to hear coming from both the environment and the alcohol. Glancing at them in what little light is available, he deems them all hideous. Just like all the others. Eventually, he muses, he will end up settling for one of them. That was the way these nights always worked. Somehow, they all seemed second-class. It often led him to wonder what perfection was, if it was so rare that he had never beheld it.

Leaning on the bar, he tentatively eyed the silhouette to his left. It seemed feminine enough, but he wasn't sure. It turned towards him, and a whiff of jasmine scent caught his nose. It was a good smell, and his breath hitched in anticipation. She was moving her hands upwards to her hood...pulling it down, a curtain of red hair falling freely in front of her face. There was a flash of brown eyes towards him, and the beautiful, pale head slowly lifted up. She smiled briefly at him, a little, teasing smile, and turned to the barman. He couldn't hear what she ordered, but it was a red liquid, dark and sticky like blood.

She lifted the slender glass to her lips and her tongue slipped out to lick a drip of the viscous liquid from the edge of the glass. Then she pressed her lips to the glass and tilted it back, spilling the liquid over her lips and down her throat. When she pulled the glass away and placed it back on the bar, her lips were stained with the liquid, slowly turning sticky over the cracked skin. He could not resist it any longer, and stood up straight, holding his hand out to her. He was taller than her by a foot or so, but he couldn't be sure. She smiled devilishly, and placed a slender, pale hand in his.

He tightened his grip on her fingers, savouring the feeling of hers grinding against one another. He guided her through the crowds to the dance floor and pulled her close to him, wrapping his arms around her waist, feeling her lift her arms up and place them around his neck. The flesh on her wrists was cold against the back of his neck. The wide sleeves of her outer cloak had fallen around her elbows and tickled his chin slightly. Examining her lips, he noticed that the dark red liquid was still there. He pulled her closer to him, and felt her press her forehead against the crook of his neck. Leaving one arm around her waist, he slipped the other under her cloak and found his hands meeting with a suede skirt and satin top. Something told him they were both black. It seemed to suit her.

Before he knew it, her hands were slipping up into his hair, tangling in the long black strands, and her mouth was moving to meet his. He accepted her kiss gladly, darting his tongue out to relieve her of the sticky red drink. It was cherry, and once he had licked it all from her lips he pushed his tongue through into her mouth, tasting more of it and relishing in the sensation. By the time he pulled away his lips had gone numb but for a small tingle. Her eyes were closed, her own lips parted slightly. She took a deep breath and her eyes fluttered open. He had expected to see some sort of innocence. All he saw in her eyes was desire. Before he could think, her hand was in his hair again and she was pulling his face towards hers, closing her mouth over his.

He worked his way up her back with his touch, trailing delicate patterns across the cold skin there. She pushed closer to him and was almost moulding herself into his skin. Somehow he managed to regain control of his legs and moved her slowly to the side of the room. He bought a hand up into the torrent of red hair about her shoulders and pulled her head back so that he could kiss her neck as she pulled him against the wall. A moment later and he had his hand under the satin of her shirt, grasping at whatever he could find, with shaking hands that had not felt such cold skin before. For a moment he wondered what it was that could have made her so cold, but a slender, almost bony leg wrapping itself around his hips and pulling him even closer distracted him from his thoughts.

"Tom..." she breathed heavily, and reached to deepen the kiss. He pulled back suddenly, throwing her leg from around him and staring at her.

"How did you know my name?" he asked, trying to find some memory of her face. Something seemed similar about it - the red hair, the hazel eyes full of desire and vindication and fire...a name began to creep into his memory. It was a memory of a memory...Gi...Gin...Ginny?

The red-haired woman just smiled and pulled him closer to her again.

"You remind me of someone I used to know."

After that, it occurred to Tom Marvolo Riddle that it was highly unlikely that he'd ever forget her again. When he woke up the next morning she was gone, which disappointed him, but at the same time he knew that one night was more than enough. From then on, whenever he slept he dreamt of the cold and pale skin of Virginia Weasley.

It was not until later that he realised it was he that had made her so cold.

It was, as he said to himself many times while waiting for the opportune moment to attack, the single greatest conquest of his career. Back in Hogwarts, seventeen-year-old Virginia Weasley was sneaking back into Gryffindor Tower, on reflection deciding that her exploits with Hermione's time-turner were most profitable indeed. Then Ginny understood what her leaving Tom back in the past had meant. It meant that she would never escape his presence, always feel him in the back of her mind.

It kept her company in the nights in Azkaban that followed his second rise to power.