when the moon hides her face

AN: Title taken from Oscar Wilde's Salome. Thanks to Rainpuddle for the beta. For Sushinase, sorry about the delay!

***

When Harry had whispered to her the secret of Lord Voldemort's power, all Ginny had been able to think for a long, terrible, thrilling second was that Tom Riddle still might exist somewhere out there.

Ginny had thought she had put that horrible year behind her. She rarely thought about those moments of disorientation when she awoke in unfamiliar positions with mud and blood and feathers streaking her skin, or those late nights staying up writing her secrets to an invisible friend.

She had filled the voids in her life with laughter and friendship, had become the girl that she had wished to be during those long ink-blotted nights, and had never even felt the need to mourn Tom Riddle until discovering that he might not be gone.

And now that she knew, she couldn't ignore the niggling feeling that there was something she ought to do. She knew that she didn't owe Tom Riddle anything, that there was no paltry need for vengeance stored away in her heart, but as soon as she found out what the Horcrux meant, she knew that she had to find some way to reach through time and trauma to reach him. She wasn't quite sure what for, exactly, but only that a driving need had developed.

She offered to help Harry, and then demanded once he turned her down, and finally he allowed her to help find the location of the remaining Horcruxes.

She helped with smiles and careful research, and everyone thought she was driven by the same need for destruction that spurred them into action. Finally, finally she had learned enough to realize what had become of at least part of Tom Riddle's soul, and the idea of the closeness of it filled her stomach with violently fluttering butterflies.

While the others slept, she stole a handful of Floo powder and slipped away to Grimmauld Place, thankful that she was still capable of entering its shielded walls. She had the benefit of having scrubbed the nooks and crannies of the upper floors, so she headed directly for the basement as the only possible location of the locket.

*

Tom stared at her, but it wasn't the sullen face of a disenchanted teenager any longer. He had aged as she had aged, it seemed, and this Tom was a man grown. Ginny was startled, even though her research ought to have clued her in on the fact that Tom Riddle had made this Horcrux after leaving Hogwarts.

"Who is this?" he asked in a familiar voice. Age hadn't tempered him any. He seemed even more explosive as he stalked around her, weaving serpentine circles around her as he took in his prey.

She didn't offer her name. She hadn't anticipated this gut-deep fear that wrenched her innards, hadn't thought that those clean-cut features could affect her so. She had thought they would be of an age, but instead she was still the innocent under the watchful eyes of an older man.

He was closer now, and came to a stop behind her. She stiffened, aware the slightest brush against her clothing and the prickling of hair raising on her bare skin as he leaned close, a nightmare whispering in her ear and brushing her hair away from her cheek, leaving spidery tingles scurrying across her skin.

All she felt was fear, she kept assuring herself. Fear and fear alone.

"You have set me free, sweet child."

Stiff back, facing forward. She refused to turn her head. "You aren't free."

When he laughed, she felt his cool breath flicker through her hair like flames. "I walk, I talk," he said, lightly stroking her arms. Ginny felt as though she were in a fish bowl, captured by walls she couldn't even see. She wanted desperately to turn, to face Tom, to see her cage, but she knew he would see that as an invitation.

"I desire," he said, and placed a feather light kiss on the side of her neck.

Ginny arched her neck before she realized what she was doing, then stepped quickly away. His hands remained on her arms, so her escape was more as though she were shifting away than fleeing. She felt she had to wound him, had to pluck something out of the tumultuous maelstrom of memories that had surged through her at his touch that would cut into him.

She picked the first barb that sprang to mind, hurled it at him, even though she could barely force herself to use the word. "Step back, Mudblood."

She couldn't see his face, but heard the sharp inhale of breath that meant that she had shocked or angered him. Murder attempts she could handle from this spectre, but not gentle caresses and intimate words. That reminded her too much of the friendship she had forged, the closeness she had once attained with a monster.

In the silence, his footstep sounded as sharp as breaking bones. Before she realized what was happening, he had grabbed her arms- no gentleness, not anymore- and whirled her around to face him.

"What did you say?" There were more than just hints of red bleeding into his clear irises, and despite what logic told her Ginny knew that this bit of soul was more than capable of wounding her. Of killing her.

She couldn't back down now. "You heard me," she hissed. She hoped she sounded disdainful, like Tom had to her back when she'd been an ignorant child. "I know all about you, Tom Riddle. You and your filthy roots."

She almost didn't mind the sharp pressure of his hands on her upper arms. This pain was nigh-nonexistent when compared to that he'd already caused her, and it was clear from his clenched jaw that she was managing to hurt him back. Nervously, she licked her lips, and was startled to notice that Tom was watching her very, very closely. The grip on her arms did not loosen, but he backed her up until she was pressed against a wall.

"How, precisely, did you find out about these accusations?" he asked. There was a definite space between their bodies. Ginny could feel the chilly air as it moved between them. She told herself that was what caused the shiver that ran through her body at Tom's low, dangerous tone.

A more honed version of the voice that had haunted her dreams as a child.

"You told me," she said.

"I've never seen you before."

"That doesn't mean we haven't met," Ginny said, twisting a little to try and loosen his grip. Her fingertips tingled from the lack of blood flow.

"Explain yourself," Tom commanded. His breath felt warm against her chilled cheeks. He leaned in closer, whispering directly into her ear. "Now."

She had hurt him, Ginny thought, and now she had the power of knowledge over him. She wished she'd had a more cognized plan of what she wanted to do with him once she'd humbled him, but all her instincts were screaming for wildly different actions.

"Why should I?" she asked, lips curving into a smile. He wouldn't kill her, not until he discovered how she'd learned about his sordid history.

He pressed closer, and loosened the grip on her arms. A hint of a smile appeared, as if to mask the anger that glowed red in his eyes. "Because it would please me."

Another feather-light kiss on her neck.

"Why should I care about pleasing you?" she said, hoping her voice was steady.

One hand let go of her arm completely, and slid down her side, resting suggestively on her hip. "I care about pleasing you." The words were barely a whisper, and before she had time to fully think about the situation, he was kissing her like she'd imagined when she was eleven and lonely and hopeful. The gentleness quickly faded to sheer hunger, as though this Tom were incapable of feigning the more caring aspects of human emotion.

Ginny kissed back with a hunger of her own, one that also had nothing to do with gentleness and everything to do with anger and frustration and pain and revenge.

This was not her plan, she vaguely thought as the physical contact between them intensified. The hand on her hip had moved, slightly, and now Tom was stroking her lower abdomen with his thumb, low enough to make her gasp. She was unsure how to continue, how to extract her revenge, when all she wanted to do was arch towards him and feel whatever pleasure he had to offer her.

She wasn't sure if she was succumbing or instigating as their contact intensified, but as she pressed herself ever closer she couldn't muster up the ability to care. This was what she had desired from him in those troubled dreams, this closeness and this intimacy and this overwhelming sensation.

But just as she allowed herself this wild abandonment, Tom whispered in her ear, "Tell me what you know."

His voice was as coldly calculating as ever. Ginny pushed away from him, embarrassed and furious and shoving her clothing back into order. She was playing a game she knew little about, she knew, and she had no chance of winning. She didn't know what she was doing here. Her ill-planned revenge was never going to happen, and she was furious with herself for allowing things to go so far out of hand.

"I will see this Horcrux destroyed," she said. "That will have to be revenge enough."

"This was about revenge?" Tom smiled. Ginny half-expected to see a serpent's tongue flicker between his teeth.

"You hurt me once," she said. "I won't let you hurt me again."

She wished she could step away from him, but the wall was cool and hard against her back. She settled (it felt like all she did was settle around Tom) for glaring at him belligerently, and mentally preparing herself to leave this all behind.

"Shame," Tom whispered. "Such a pretty little girl. It's a pity I've already broken you and can't even remember it."

Ginny held back the denials that welled up inside her. She gave him a tight smile, and replied, "I get to remember destroying you."

She had to get out of there, before she managed to do more damage to herself than Tom could ever manage. Trying to push away the memory of his kiss, she began to break the enchantment she'd painstakingly woven.

This had been a mistake.

She couldn't will herself to regret it.

*

She handed the Horcrux to Harry with a bright smile and a babbling story about memories of Grimmauld Place.

He'd grinned. His smile was devoid of guile, and Ginny found it to be too empty, somehow, without all those secret, unspoken plots brewing behind every word.

"Thanks, Ginny," he said. She couldn't imagine that Tom's voice had ever sounded so sincere, so unpracticed and bright. She could see the superficial similarities between Harry and Tom, something lurking behind build and coloring to create an odd mirroring effect of light and dark, but for the first time she couldn't help but think that the lightness was lacking something vital.

Ambition, she thought. The drive and cunning that made Tom so dangerous.

She hoped that Harry had depths she couldn't see, because otherwise-

Otherwise she wasn't sure anymore that he stood a chance.

*

They were nearly complete with the destruction of the Horcrux. With the destruction of another frozen memory of Tom, who could no longer shatter her into a million pieces. She would never be as whole as she had been as a child, or as she had been in those years she had repressed all thoughts of him. She could never undo what she had done, or how she had fallen under his spell so easily. All she could do was pretend like it had never happened.

Flames lapped at the edges of Tom's soul. Ginny tried to suppress the shudder down her spine, but Harry noticed and pulled her close, habit formed during their short-lived romance. Ron was there, and with a rare glimmer of insight he grabbed her hand and whispered, "It's okay, Gin."

Ginny tried to make herself forget, but the dreams were worse than ever.