Dancing With Shadows

Stone melted into stone as the room spun in front of Tom's eyes. His legs shook as pangs of dizziness banged across his skull. Giving up on his pitiful strength, he fell knees first onto damp stone ground.

He choked out a ragged piercing cough. Blood sprayed onto the flagstones. Gripping a nearby chair, the only furniture in the bare damp room, he leveled himself, testing his legs before properly standing.

Again the world formed into a whirlwind spinning around his head as Tom crashed down cracking his head off the handle. He blacked out for a minute, before coming to, sprawled upon the floor, the chair in a heap beside him.

He opened his eyes slowly and stared at the offending article. Raising his slender fingers, he muttered a small curse under his breath. It stayed in one piece; still lying untouched beside him.

He raised himself slightly and watched the seat with cold eyes. Suddenly he flung his arms out.

"Incendio!" he bellowed, expecting an inferno to match his rage. Not even a puff of smoke emitted from his shaking digits.

Tom stared at his hands, confusion setting in as he tried to comprehend this conundrum. He had long ago learned to practice magic without the unreliable use of a wand, believing that relying on a stick of charmed wood revealed weakness, something he loathed. Also, he enjoyed the frightened looks of his dueling partners when, his wand lying useless in a corner, they found themselves wheezing on the floor.

He turned back to his wooden opponent, fury boiling around his eyes, which were flashing red. He dived, smashing down upon the chair, the wood splintering beneath the force of his blows. Pain began to shoot up his arms as splinters embedded themselves into his knuckles but he kept at it until the broken pine was stained scarlet from the blood dripping from his bruised hands.

"Oh Tom."

It could have been an angel's sweet tone, but he did not believe in such beings. Bringers of good didn't have much use in his world.

A child's soft white hands began to stroke his bleeding fingers and he pulled back while red lips planted kisses across his torn knuckles.

"Better?" she purred. Tom finally raised his eyes to meet hers.

Almond brown flecked with black and framed with locks of red hair, they evoked a nasty case of Deja vu.

"Recognize me?" The girl tilted her head to the ground, shielding her eyes with her lashes.

Tom looked her up and down noting subtle differences. Her body was curvier than he had seen her last. Less freckles too. Her hair was also sporting a better cut so it curved around her face more. But something else was gnawing at him for attention; a difference not usually attributed to age, which he averaged at about sixteen plus.

"Ginny," he whispered as the sun suddenly shone, "Ginny Weasley, left the scrawny waif look behind, huh? He relaxed and raised himself, leaning against the wall. This was familiar territory.

She stared at the small splashes of blood and didn't answer.

"I knew you would come back for me, I knew you wouldn't leave me." He mentally willed her to look up, one flutter of his eyes and she would be his again.

"Do you know what I gave up for you?" she said so abruptly that Tom was taken back. This was wrong; she'd never spoken to him like this. That numb tone was not right at all.

So what had she given up… Virginity was a main one; girls liked giving that to him, still, he was almost certain he'd never taken her.

"Girls have given up their lives for me, what have you?" His voice was tinged with menace. This was where conversation should be, under his control.

Ginny flashed her eyes towards him, boring into him and tom got a shock. Beneath her lashes half hidden by her eyelids was a difference that struck him. They had lost their sparkle, that childhood hope that a hug could cure everything. They were dark now, world weary and circled with shadows. They should belong to an old woman, not to a sixteen-year-old girl.

"Have they ever given up their innocence?" Her voice was dangerously quiet.

"No," he admitted. The girls had been gagging for it, innocence was hardly a matter, "But you took my magic, you had no right to it."

Her lips curved into a cold tired smile. "Merely a precaution, you can have it back. Soon."

"How did you do it?" He was curious, this was powerful magic, he could almost taste it.

"The same way I brought you back, I just left it in the diary." She produced the diary and left it hang loose between her thumb and forefinger. Tom lunged for it but Ginny raised it.

"I see you shaking," she said, "You can barely stand." She ran a finger over his brow where droplets of sweat were beginning to form.

"How did you do it? Only I had the power to remove myself from the diary, only my will could make me real." His voice was raspy. She was right; he barely had enough power to stand.

"Your will was based on the thirst for power, there are other ways, ones which you have yet to discover their existence." She gazed at the cover, running her fingers over the gold engraving.

"Explain," Ginny stared at him and he cringed under her gaze; it knew too much.

"Love," she said simply, "I loved you dearly all my life ever since your words first appeared, and it was through this love that you are standing here today."

Tom was silent after this speech. This destroyed all his beliefs, things like love…. It had no place for him, yet here was a mere girl standing here saying it was stronger than all of his power.

"What did you give up for me?" His voice was horse.

"My innocence, but I kept my heart with you always." Shiny pathways began to roll down her cheeks, but she still kept her composure.

"What hardships you suffered," it wasn't a question, only a statement, but Ginny answered gently.

"To bring you back was worth everything, although I am not sure you were worth it."

"Tell me."

Final Note: The title "Dancing with shadows" has a hidden meaning, if you can guess it, include it with your review.