There's Something About Ginny

'It is strange that the vanity which accompanies beauty - excusable, perhaps, when there is such great beauty, or at any rate understandable -should persist after the beauty was gone.'

Aristotle

Voldemort appeared to wish to waste little time, and immediately turned towards Draco and Avery. "Bind her!" he commanded. As Avery approached her with noticeable delight, Draco appearing somehow forlorn, both immediately conjured ropes with their wand, binding the hands of a witch too pained and confused to struggle more than futilely trying to remove her hands from their hold.

Yet Ginny was surprised as, although Avery was expectedly brutal, Draco was gentle. She was completely shocked, however, when Draco leaned near to whisper something into her ear. It was so unexpected and surreptitious that she later wondered if it was merely her pure imagination.

"I tried to warn you, Ginny," he whispered hurriedly. "Now I have little else to do. You are weak and in pain, I can see that - for your own sake," his whisper turned into a hush plea, "please try not to fight - it is futile, and it will only hurt you more."

Ginny could not believe what she was hearing. Draco Malfoy, in a Death Eater's robes, warning, advising... caring... she grew up amidst headstrong Gryffindors, values based upon honor and defiance, and yet she knew that he was right. She answered her compliance with a clandestine nod. Somehow, his warm presence at her side comforted her, and she felt oddly reassured that he was besides her, despite having Avery at her other side as well.

Voldemort began walking towards Ginny, his black cloak billowing behind him, and Ginny's panic returned to her. Frantically she looked around the room, hoping without reason that the Order would arrive at any second... her eyes met those of Draco, and they exchanged a glance of fear, empathy, and something which they had hidden inside for years, as it was simply impossible... indeed, a Malfoy and a Weasley? They must take such silly notions out of their minds. Her frantic thoughts were interrupted as she found herself face to face with Voldemort, Draco's grip tightening against her arm as he saw him so close.

Voldemort's dark voice rose throughout the dank chamber. "I had you in mind as I prepared for this night, Ginevra," he said, "and we both have been waiting too long." Without further ado, he summoned an object from behind the cauldron, and upon seeing what it was, Ginny nearly fainted with shock.

In Voldemort's pale, spider-like hand was none other than his old diary; leather-bound and with a hole in its center.

Ginny was stunned.

She had always surmised that the diary had been destroyed by Dumbledore, for they did not let her see it when she had deliriously requested to; and yet here it was, as real as herself, and completely intact but for a hole in its middle.

It was the very object that had caused her pain and torture in her first year at Hogwarts. The very thing that tormented her heart, possessed her mind, and nearly killed her body. Seeing the diary again forced Ginny to recall a flood of memories that she had worked so hard to forget; terrible memories, each like a knife plunging deep into her heart. She recalled blood on her robes, the blank moments, Mrs. Norris and the petrified students, the guilt, the fear, the despair... and Tom... Tom whispering to her in the darkness and tainting her forever.

"Surprised, Ginevra?" Voldemort asked, his tone filled with amusement and anticipation. "But worry not - bigger surprises await you tonight." The unnerving sound of Death Eater laughter ringed in her ears. Being so close to Draco, Ginny could sense that his laughter was sycophantic.

To Ginny's immense relief, Voldemort turned suddenly away from her. "Wormtail, is it ready?" he questioned impatiently, and Wormtail, no longer stirring the cauldron, stuttered back a positive reply. Ginny gingerly turned her head, attempting to get a better view of the mysterious cauldron without overly agitating her aching body. Voldemort left her side, and confusion and fear suddenly came over the witch... whatever was supposed to happen was clearly about to occur.

Wormtail began to move towards her, an ancient dagger in his hand. Immediately Ginny began to struggle, and she could sense that even Draco's hands tightened around her in fear as Wormtail came near her, raising the dagger. His ratty face was clearly visible at such a close distance, and Ginny averted her eyes. Please... she begged to no one in particular... I can't take any more of this torture...

Avery lifted up Ginny's right arm, as her hand clenched into a fist, and she felt the cold metal of the dagger slice into the skin of her wrist. She and Draco winced in pain, yet neither made a sound. Wormtail motioned towards the cauldron and she was dragged there by the two men at her side. She ceased her struggles as Draco hushed softly into her ear, allowing her arm to rise above the cauldron and the blood to drip into the steaming liquid. The shade of the potion immediately changed from frosty blue to blood red, and a metallic scent filled the chamber. Voldemort cackled in pleasure, the sound cutting through Ginny's hopes of escape like the dagger that had sliced through her skin.

She watched as the diary was dropped into the bubbling liquid, causing the steam to rise into the air and the dark mark to appear within it. Wormtail took the macabre symbol as his queue and poured some of the blood-red liquid into a silver goblet, handing it to Voldemort. The Dark Lord smiled, raising the goblet towards the petrified witch before him as though making a toast. Not wishing to wait any longer, his gaze continued to stay fixated her as he held the goblet to his lips, and quickly downed the elixir.

Voldemort began the transformation as soon as the last drop of the potion was consumed. He cried out in agony, as his features started to melt and change. With a mixture of curiosity and disgust, Ginny watched as Voldemort seemed to go backwards in time, his features changing into ones terrifyingly familiar to her. His eyes turned from a reptile red into an icy grey, his face losing the emaciated appearance and becoming the same handsome face that Ginny thought that she had seen upon Harry once when he had startled her in the dark. His body became taut and firm and dark straight hair emerged from his scalp. Before long, Ginny was no longer looking at the monstrous Voldemort, yet Tom Riddle - the sixteen year old Adonis with cold, victorious eyes.

At long last, the transformation was complete. Tom Riddle was on the floor, gasping for breath as though he had suddenly emerged from the depths. Yet he quickly leapt to his feet, nimble and adept, enjoying the look of pleasure and surprise upon his follower's faces.

He smugly ran his fingers through his hair, enjoying its silky texture. It had been so long since he had felt remotely human, for eternity it seemed that he had abhorred mirrors, hated the body in which he was contained. Each time he had summoned and bargained with the denizens of Hell to increase his own power, each time that he torn his soul into pieces, he had lost a bit of his humanity. Yet the fool Dumbledore had been certain that the diary was merely a horcrux... little did he know that with his magnificent intelligence, he, Lord Voldemort, had another plan up his sleeve. Surely the dead former headmaster of his did not expect him to be content in such a shriveled body as before? The Dark Lord had made sure that there would be a way for him to return to his former glory, and that way was the Adulescentia Glacialis potion which he himself had concocted in secret, not allowing the potions master to know what the ingredients that he was collecting were for. The only thing that had been missing was the blood of the one whom had opened the chamber - he had it all now... immortality, power, youth... and his Ginevra.

Voldemort was surprised at the feelings he felt towards her, feelings which had been dormant for so long, and which were unexpectedly strong towards the red haired witch. Had his youthful form really felt that way towards the girl? He entertainingly recalled the memories which accompanied the diary, drinking the feelings he experienced like a man drinking water after a sojourn in the desert. He scoffed at Ginevra's foolish diary entries, feeling pleased as he recalled consuming her soul, enraged as he experienced defeat by Harry Potter, and the strange feeling resurfaced as he remembered Ginevra when she was with him in the chamber, one such memory particularly strong.

-*-

"Do you believe in God?"

Tom did not answer at first. He contemplated the question, amazed that a girl he had originally thought to be weak-minded and fickle could ask such a question. Her tone was flat and dull, quite a contrast from the rich, lively voice he heard when he would visit her in her dreams. It was now the tone of a victim who had already accepted her fate. Her appearance also reflected a change in mindset; her fiery locks appeared limp, and her once rosy cheeks were as pale and sallow.

They were both sitting on the stony floor of the secret chamber, Tom tolerating her presence only because he was convinced it was temporary. He too had a thirst for knowledge; he wanted to satiate hers as much as possible. He viewed this as an act of generosity.

Did he believe in God? No. He'd had enough of religion; he was his own god now. He remembered living at that awful orphanage, where he would have to memorize verses and psalms... bullshit in his own opinion. Little more than fairytales. The matron would scare them with stories of hell, demons, and pits of fire, so that they would behave as "good little boys should."

It was at the orphanage where he realized his talent for acting - tears rolled down his cheeks, a show for the other children, as the paramedics removed the matron's body one summer night, the same day as his thirteenth birthday. "Unnatural," he had heard someone say during one of their weekly church visits. "Eyes wide open, expression of terror on her face... other than that, she was perfectly healthy. If I hadn't known better I'd say she was frightened to death!"

He was shaken out of his thoughts as Ginny repeated the question. "Do you believe in God?"

He was ready to answer now. "No," he said, "I don't, and you shouldn't either." She tore her eyes away from a rat's skeleton in the corner and turned to face him. "Why?" she asked. Tom was shocked. "How can you still believe in God? Even now, when you're about to die, how can you still believe there's still a benevolent force above you?"

"Because if there's no God, there's no heaven, and I don't want to stop being." His heart missed a beat. He turned to face Ginevra Weasley, the eleven year old girl he had deceived, abused, brainwashed and planned to kill. Why was he suddenly feeling so guilty? She was unnatural.

He heard a sound of footsteps in the distance; her savior was arriving. He kissed her pale lips, and faced the chamber's entrance.

-*-

Years had harbored him against guilt, and what he had felt then was separated from him now, as energy and passion finally reemerged inside of him. He wanted his trophy at last, and he always got what he wanted. He had waited long enough, Voldemort decided, to take what was rightfully his.

Ginny slowly walked backwards as she saw him approach, as her mother had always cautioned her to do were she to see a wolf while by the Burrow. Yet Voldemort was impatient, and with a sudden movement of his arms he pulled her towards him, holding her by his wrists. He could tell that she was frightened, drowning in agony, yet he cared not.

Ginny felt his lips graze her ears, hearing him whisper in a voice that caused coldness to engulf her. "We're king and queen, Ginevra," he said, "and there is nothing you can do about it."