The Oddest of Couples

Curled on her side in her bed, the pillows beneath her head covered in a spread of red hair, the sixteen-year-old witch's lips curled in a smile as a young man slid closer, arm looping around her.

"Are you sleeping?" a voice whispered as a warm hand spread over her stomach, thick blankets the only thing separating them.

Tilting her head as a kiss brushed over her throat, she murmured, "I think I'm dreaming."

"Dreaming?"

"Mmm," A shiver chased down her spine as he continued to kiss her throat, his chest against her back. "You can't be... you wouldn't..." She moaned as a kiss touched the edge of her jaw. "You must be a dream..."

His hand slid underneath the blankets to stroke down her side, her nightshirt already clinging to her body with the dew of sweat.

"Do I feel like a dream?" he asked, slowly running his hand up her body. He turned her face to his. "Do I look like a dream?"

Moistening her lips with the tip of her tongue, she nodded, turning onto her back to gaze at him. "Yes," she whispered, closing her eyes. His lips touched hers, the kiss gentle.

Her hands, hesitant, slid up to his black hair, always so unruly. The sureness of his lips on hers served to remind her he was older, more experienced. He would look after her, she knew, and love her and take care of her.

"You shouldn't be here," she whispered as he drew back, gazing at her with an intensity that took her breath away. "You'll get in trouble being in these dormitories..."

He lifted her hand to his lips. "No one will ever know," he promised, kissing her knuckles, then turning her hand over, kissing her palm. "It's our secret."

"But what...?"

His lips smothered her words, then he drew back. "Trust me," he said softly. "I promise no one'll find out, unless you want them to. None of our friends need to know."

"But..."

Sitting up, he drew her to him, cradling her against his chest. A hand stroked through her hair. "No one will find out," he repeated reassuringly. "We all have secrets, you know... all of us."

"You aren't...angry with me?"

"Why would I be?" he said. "If I was angry with anyone, it would be with that interfering idiot for trying to keep us apart."

"He was trying to protect me," the girl murmured, hand spread on his chest. "After all... he always hated you. He couldn't understand that you were the one I..." Her eyes rose to his. "I loved."

"Really?"

She nodded shyly. "Since first year," she admitted, blushing prettily. "You were nice to me. No one else bothered about me. You were the one to cheer me up."

"I couldn't leave you looking so sad, could I?" he said, lifting her face, brushing a fingertip along her lower lip. "Not when you were going to blossom into such a beautiful woman."

Her blush intensified and she hid her face. "You're embarrassing me," she mumbled.

"I aim to please," he chuckled, stroking her hair. "But now...do you want to go for a walk? Just the two of us? Alone?"

"Sounds wonderful," she admitted, as he slid from the bed, extending a hand to her.

She took it immediately and rose, shivering when the stone of the floors touched her soles. Slipping her feet into her slippers, she looked up at him, so tall and beautiful in the moonlight slanting in the window. "Where...?"

"Close your eyes," he said softly, still holding her hand in his. "I'll take you there, if you trust me."

She obediently closed her eyes and felt the fingertips of his other hand fleetingly brush across her cheek, making her tremble.

Their footsteps were muted in the halls and staircases. She trusted him enough to keep her eyes closed, as they wound their way through the labyrinth of the school.

His fingertips traced across her eyelids and she heard him whisper something as his fingers slipped from hers. "Open your eyes," he breathed, stepping behind her, his arms around her waist.

She gasped, as she did so.

They were in one of the classrooms on the lower levels, the view over the lake beautiful, moonlight flooding into the room.

"I thought," he murmured. "We might try another new...interest."

"O-oh?"

His hand turned her face to the middle of the room, where there sat a large... rock?

"What's that for?"

"I've heard that sculpting can be incredibly romantic," he murmured, threading hot kisses along her throat. "I couldn't get clay, so I thought that rock would be the next best thing."

"But I'm not artistic..."

Another kiss touched her jaw, like electricity. "That's what you said about pumpkin carving for Halloween, last week, and look how good you were at that."

She giggled, remembering.

Gouging fleshy pumpkins up, the juice warm and wet on her fingers, she had made an image of him, making him laugh, then he had made love to her, leaving her soaked and sticky with the juice of the pumpkins.

It was always the way of their little walks.

They would share laughter, then would make love, before separating to keep their relationship hidden.

Anything to lighten the dark mood that had sunk onto the castle, in the wake of the horrific Lord Voldemort.

Every day, bodies were found, inside and outside the castle. It was only her trust of her lover that allowed her to leave her dormitory at night, knowing he would keep her safe.

"Show me what to do," she said, looking up at him.

His arms around her, he lead her to the block of stone, collecting a chisel from the nearby desk. The rock stood about the same height as he did, a deep grey colour.

"Here," he said, placing the chisel and a small hammer in her hands. "What do you want to carve?"

She gave him a coy look. "A statue of the best-looking man in the world," she replied, receiving a kiss for her words. She moaned as he pushed her against the stone, drawing her nightshirt up.

The surface of the rock was rough against her back as he made love to her, sobbing gasps escaping her, her hands wound through his hair as he moved against her body.

"Say it," he hissed.

"I love you," she cried out, as pleasure crashed in on her.

His own sound of release echoed hers and she clung to him, panting, as he held her upright. "You're mine," he whispered. "Always."

She nodded, her face buried in the hollow of his sweat-dewed throat. "I know."

"So...do you want to try sculpting now?"

She giggled breathlessly. "After that...?"

"Why not?" It took several minutes to catch her breath as he smoothed her nightshirt down, then brushed his knuckles down her cheek. "Let me see what work of art you can come up with, love."

Her hands still sweat-slicked, she took the chisel and hammer from him and placed them carefully against the surface of the stone. "What... how do I do this?"

"Just imagine how it will look and carve it."

The pointed tip of the chisel scraped against the surface and she struck it with the hammer. It bit through the strangely-soft stone. A stream of... something oozed out and she stared at it, confused.

"Is-is rock meant to hold water?"

"It's from the lakeside, so that's probably normal," he murmured, moving close, framing her body with his, the intimate contact making her tremble. "Damp rocks don't work for sculpting, though."

"So I can't do anything?"

A kiss touched her throat. "Apparently not sculpting," he replied. "I'm sure we can come up with something else to do."

As the fluid continued to ooze from the stone, the chisel imbedded in it's surface, the dark-haired youth drew his lover down into the puddle at the base and made love to his red-haired lover.

The way she cried out his name made him giddy with delight.

It was only when dawn neared that he returned her to her chambers with a last kiss.

As she, almost in a daze, washed herself, donned a clean nightshirt and climbed into bed, he stood by, his eyes never leaving her.

"I love you, Tom," she whispered drowsily, as she fell asleep.

Tom Riddle smiled as he withdrew from the girl's mind, wondering what poor, Ginny Weasley would do when she heard that Professor McGonagall had been found dead in a classroom on the lower floor, bound and stabbed through the heart with a chisel.

It was like those poor mudblood pupils, carved up by cruel hands the night before Halloween, their faces like the pumpkins in the Great Hall.

Potter thought that he had defeated Tom, but only Tom and Ginny knew that was not the case.

Ginny had loved Tom too deeply.

And Tom, in kind, loved her back.

As he told her, every night, she was his.

Always.