Learning from the Master

It was another night, another dream. Another dream that would leave her reaching out longingly for something she could never have, and another dream that left a throbbing heat between her legs that would know no resolution. It was a dark hunger that had driven her, and it had been doing so since long before she could even remember what it meant to feel like this.

She had known a reprieve from it, between second year and fourth, but during the summer of her fifth year, it had crept back into her dreams, thinking her willing, thinking her able of being devoured again. After all, she was the weak one, the one that was already taken, already his. Images filled her dreams of being bent over and taken hard and fast while her fingernails dug and clung into the sheets beneath her.

She didn't give, but he took. He took until there was nothing more left of little Ginny Weasley but the cold, cruel eyes of Guinevere. The eyes that watched, and listened with her own secret inner core of magic and waited. While he took what was his, what he had claimed while she was still a blushing schoolgirl with a crush on Harry Potter that knew no end. At first, she reached out, and clung to that innocence with everything in her soul that remained Ginny Weasley.

However, every innocence dies, eventually, and one night, laying sprawled on her stomach while she was taken from behind by a dream figure determined on devouring her, she let it go. She let it die, and felt her nipples tighten into hard points at the danger, at the darkness that seeped from the soul over her. She took it in, and let it think that it devoured her, while she watched, waited, planned, and learned.

The things she learned had gone against her every teaching, but she took them in and begged for more. Begged for more of the ways to work oneself into the soul of another, and entirely take over until there was nothing left but yourself.

There had been a time when she had rebuilt herself from the ground up after he had devoured her, and struggled through the nightmares that followed. Hoping, praying that he had seen the last of the innards of her soul, and that hat the mark that sometimes she could feel at the back of her mind and twisted her stomach in a nausea that never left, wasn't something he could take advantage of.

She had been wrong.

After years of denying it, finally she took it in, forced it to flow both ways, and felt the power seething and writhing between her hands, dark, light, and all between. Then she smiled and understood the thing that Harry had spoken of once, that time he had faced Voldemort first, when he had informed the boy that there was nothing but Power, and those who knew how to claim it without drawing lines between it.

Knowing Tom, it hadn't been like that, it had been shorter, sharper, more succint, but these were the words from a panic-stricken fifteen year old boy frightened from a nightmare. Another one.

Her lips curved up in a sneer of distaste.

Finally, the day came where she was waiting, in the middle of the dreamtime she had learned how to warp and twist to her own whims. A chill wind blew through deserted Hogwarts, and where once she had skipped through this half- dreamsent place alone, wide-eyed and innocent, she hovered in the corridors, and waiting for him to stumble upon her. As he would, as she knew, because he loved preying upon the innocent.

Innocence had been long since lost for her, but she could give the mask another use beyond fooling her own family. She could use it to lure him to her. Patience was her strong suit now; she knew how to wait for him to pounce before she leaned in, and took him in. She shivered with the thought and found her own desire rising darkly as she waited.

He didn't keep her waiting long.

When he approached her, he turned on all the charm, and like the doe-eyed innocent child she had been, she took it in. She took it all in. She knew that Tom, only a memory in this place, would not recognise her at first, but see her as only another victim to be taken and consumed by the likes of him. He pulled her to him then, and without a word, took her mouth with his own, devouring her soul even as he devoured the cavern that lay behind her teeth.

Then was when he gave her the opportunity to strike. She reached out and encased his head between her hands, fingernails grown long like claws. She held him there and tasted from his mouth. The dark, sweet taint of that soul flowed into her through parted lips and she let out a moan of sheer rapture. She had known these things from the time she was eleven, and the time that had passed in the meantime had allowed her to refine them to a sharp edge.

Refine them until she was better than him.

She had learned from the master, after all.

Only to take that mastery, take it, twist it and use it. Use it to devour him as he had devoured her.

Her legs, grown long, wrapped around his waist as she tasted him. Her hair flowed in a red banner down her back, and when there was nothing left to take, she took her mouth away, throwing her hair back before coming to look back at eyes lax and empty of all he had known.

Then she whispered, "How does it feel, Tom? How does it feel to be taken, broken, devoured? How does it feel to be so open that you can be molded to anything I desire you to be?" A tongue swept across her parted lips. "How does it feel to be me?"

His lips parted, and he whispered her name. "Guinevere..."

"So you do remember me, after all. I despaired of it."

"What do you want?"

Her smile curved up, evil and tainted as he had made her.

"Just you, Tom. It has been a long time."

"So it has."

"That will do. For now."

With that, she turned back to the kiss of death, until the empty shell crumpled to the ground. She had taken him inside herself, continuing the job that she had started, that he had taught her so well. He did not fight, but accepted another way to cast the entire wizarding world into darkness and shadow, to fear the power, and what better path than through this girl that he had started to devour so long ago.

That is what he thought. She knew it, she heard it.

But after she was done, and smiled herself awake in the bedroom of a little girl, a young witch on summer vacation from schooling, Guinevere Weasley knew he had no idea what he was in for.

That was how she liked it.

That was the price she had paid to gain the mastery straight from the master. And, as soon as possible, she was going to put it to good use.

It was only Power, after all, wasn't it?