Rating:
PG
House:
Schnoogle
Characters:
Tom Riddle
Genres:
Drama Mystery
Era:
Multiple Eras
Spoilers:
Philosopher's Stone Chamber of Secrets Prizoner of Azkaban Goblet of Fire
Stats:
Published: 01/25/2002
Updated: 05/15/2002
Words: 10,323
Chapters: 3
Hits: 3,352

Shadow of Sunlight

Ivy

Story Summary:
Some time in his sixth year of Hogwarts, Tom Riddle is haunted by dreams of a place he’s never been, with someone he’s never seen. Why does he have these dreams? And who is this delicate redheaded girl who is always in them?

Prologue

Chapter Summary:
Some time in his sixth year of Hogwarts, Tom Riddle is haunted by dreams of a place he's never been, with someone he's never seen. Why does he have these dreams? And who is this delicate redheaded girl who is always in them?
Posted:
01/25/2002
Hits:
1,439
Author's Note:
You can thank (or yell at, depending on how you like it ^_^) my sister Chloe for this fic, because she was the one who talked me out of my vendetta against writing; at least long enough to write this.

Prologue

The delicate little redheaded girl was sprawled on the cold hard stone floor, pitiable in her powerless vulnerability. Her eyes were closed, but she did not seem as though she were sleeping, but as if she was simply so very exhausted, to the extent that the effort of keeping her eyes open drained all last vestiges of energy out of her. And as Tom's dream continued further, he himself appeared in the dream as well; but his image was faded, like a ghost's, but more tangible.

Dream-Tom did not so much as walk over to the little girl's body but glide, in a manner that was both graceful and stealthy. Carefully he reached into the folds of the girl's black school robes and extracted a long, thin object. A wand.

Dream-Tom laughed in a most menacing fashion that would send chills skittering down the spine of the most polished Auror. Carelessly he flicked the girl's wand, and bright gold sparks came shooting out of the end of it. Seeming amused at this, he bent down at the girl's side. "Ginny, darling," he sneered contemptuously. "You were faithful to the very end...it's really quite too bad that that your naïveté in placing your faith in me is what will cause you your death." Dream-Tom laughed again and ran a slender hand down the girl's deathly-pale cheek. His long fingers brought a slight hint of body heat to skin that was colder than ice, and caused to be so because of a person with a heart of one. Dream-Tom's fingers danced lightly over the girl's cheek, up into her bright scarlet hair, which appeared quite limp as along with the rest of her. He twisted a crimson strand around his index finger casually. "Dear, dear, Ginny. What will your mother say? Poor stupid Ginny, who was too trusting for her own good."

The girl—presumably named Ginny—opened her eyes weakly. They were very large, and colored a dark, chocolate-brown. Right now they were flashing angrily, a notable contrast from the rest of her, which was weak and feeble. "You won't...get...away—with this," she croaked out, each word seeming to cost her enormous amounts of pain.

"Oh," Dream-Tom mocked, a smirk curling and twisting otherwise truly striking features, "but I have. Quite soon your heroic Harry Potter will be down here, and he will die attempting valiantly to save you. A fruitless mission, of course, and very stupid. The epitome of one's average Gryffindor. The knight in shining armor...saving the damsel in distress. Of course, I would never claim myself to be knight nor damsel. Your darling Harry, however..." Something in Dream-Tom's intense green eyes flickered for a moment, but in a split second they were back to normal and one had to wonder if they had ever flickered at all. "Anyhow, we'll wait here for him. Have a lovely little chat, perhaps. Because, of course, I know you've always enjoyed my company. My dear Ginny."

At this Ginny did not appear to have an answer; her dark eyes glimmered with rage, then fell shut in fatigue. With her eyes still closed, she spoke softly, her faint voice taut with pain. "I...hate...you."

"Oh, you do, now!" laughed Dream-Tom, and he seemed positively gleeful at her response. "Wherever went the devoted Ginny I knew? 'I hate you'...well, isn't that an interesting turn of events. It's a shame you'll be dead soon; this new Ginny might have been quite a bit of fun." His tone was carefully offhand and casual, almost speciously so. Unusually intense green eyes regarded Ginny coldly, though something else was visible in his expression, almost imperceptible. Dream-Tom's head shook slowly, Ginny's wand twirling in his slender hands in a carefree fashion. "Really...almost a shame. Almost," and there was a soft but definite emphasis placed upon the second "almost".

"I'm...dying, aren't I." Ginny's voice was pitched low. A shudder ran through her delicate body, as though speaking so much was agony. Her tone did not go up at the end of the sentence, twisting it into a question, but leaving it as a cold statement of the truth.

"Yes, of course you are," answered Dream-Tom, his tone coldly matter-of-fact. "You really should pay more attention, Ginny dear. Didn't I just say as much a few moments ago?"

"And...and you don't—care?" asked Ginny. A note of melancholy sounded clearly in her voice, audible even through the pain mangling her words. She seemed more fragile than ever, weakness and despair detected easily in her tone.

Dream-Tom faltered slightly for a single millisecond. His composure was quickly regained, however, and he turned away from Ginny sharply. "No. Of course not," yet his voice had lost its casual, triumphant delight. Dream-Tom's grip on Ginny's wand tightened ever so slightly, as though he was attempting to pull himself into a position of control again. Yet, he still did not turn to look at Ginny, his victim, as though he did not want to see what a vulnerable position she was in.

"I...think...you do," Ginny managed to say feebly, and her eyelids lifted slightly; a hint of bright dark pupils were visible, blazing fiercely with—with what? anger? pain? Regardless of what it was, her eyes still managed to burn with vivacious emotion despite her obvious lack of strength.

Ginny ventured to look at Dream-Tom through her long eyelashes. "You...do, don't...you?" and though the words were quiet, softened by her exhaustion, her tone managed to be sharp nevertheless. The question was tinged with a mixture of regret and resentment that she didn't mean to reveal.

"Be quiet and don't talk about things that you don't understand," Dream-Tom snapped harshly. He turned sideways and looked at Ginny out of the corner of his eyes. "Why should you worry about that, anyway? Dearest Ginny," he added, though the term of affection was cold, rather than warm as it should be. "You'd best be off using your energy to steel yourself for your unpleasant death..."

Emerald-green eyes flew open, and sixteen year old Tom Riddle sat straight up in his bed with a start.