Marionette

Ginny sits at a gilded vanity, her red hair spilling over her shoulders and down her back like a fiery waterfall. Everything around her seems surreal and ethereal as if she were in a dream. As she reaches for a soft bristled brush, she feels she is a marionette, controlled by invisible strings and an unseen puppet master.

She picks up the brush, its golden handle icy against her skin. She starts when someone places a hand on her shoulder. Ginny gazes listlessly at his reflection in the mirror and he smirks before slowly trailing a hand down her arm to deftly take the brush from her. As if a string has been cut, her hand falls to limply rest in her lap.

"You look lovely, Ginevra," Tom says, and runs his hands through her hair before slowly starting to brush it.

Ginny doesn't speak, doesn't move; her limbs feel as if they are made of wood. She watches as he finishes with the brush and leans over her, his cologne heady, and sets its back on the vanity with the slight clink of metal on glass. He takes a half empty bottle of perfume and gently drapes her hair over one shoulder, exposing the pale supple skin that is her throat. She shivers as he kisses the spot where neck and shoulder meet, and a burning warmth creeps over her icy skin. He pulls his lips away, and she wants to moan at the loss but finds she can't.

The enticing smell of roses tickles her nose as the perfume dances across the skin he has just kissed. Her heart feels ready to take flight for all its pounding, but she only stares trancelike into the mirror as he places his hands on her shoulders and holds her as an eagle does its prey. Though she wants to, she doesn't wince.

"I have something for you," he says, and taking one hand from her shoulders, he pulls a necklace from his cloak pocket.

Once it was safely clasped around her neck, Tom again grasps her shoulders with bruising force. Numb, Ginny feels nothing save the cold silver against her skin.

He leans forward and whispers in her ear, "Do you like it?"

Ginny's hand moves to the necklace's emerald pendant as if guided by strings. Her fingers glide across the green stone and it shimmers in the room's pale light as she stoically examines it. She nods ever so slightly and feels as if her head lolls like a rag doll's.

Tom smirks. "I knew you would."

He reaches past her again and takes a lone compact from the vanity. Ginny stares at herself as he dabs powder on her cheeks and, somewhere deep inside, thinks she looks like a porcelain doll from a bygone era. He sets the powder back down and smiles at her.

"There now," he says and bows to her with the grace of a proper gentleman. "Are you ready to present yourself, Ginevra?"

She looks at him with wanton eyes and stands, feeling like a puppet moved too suddenly. She takes his proffered arm unsteadily and lets him lead her to the ornate doors of her dressing room. They open as if on their own accord and she squints in the harsh light of the chamber before them.

The assembled people turn to face them and bow as they cross the room; Ginny briefly catches quick glimpses of their white masks beneath their drawn black hoods as they pass by them. Tom releases his hold on her and opens his arms to the crowd as she's seen Muggle priests do. He glances back at her, smirks wickedly, and presents her to the crowd as Lady Riddle.

Standing before them, Ginny feels powerful, like she could conquer the world. Awkwardly, she walks forward and takes her place by Tom, who takes her hand and kisses it. She smirks and raises her hand to wave to the Death Eaters and, with horror, realises she truly is nothing more than a puppet. Glancing at Tom, she realises he is the puppet master, the long strings falling from the wooden control in his hands.

Her panic rises like an all-consuming blaze and his laughter is the last thing she hears before everything goes dark and...

...she wakes with a start in the Gryffindor dormitory in the early morning hours. Her chest heaves as she gasps for breath and adrenaline courses through her veins like poison. As her terror subsides, she looks about the room to make sure everyone is still asleep before taking an ordinary looking diary and quill from her bedside table.

Excited, she takes one last look around the dorm before drawing the hangings around her four poster and flips the diary open after a muttered "lumos." With childish innocence, she hastily dabs her quill into her inkpot before scrawling a quick message in the diary with trembling fingers.

Tom, you'll never believe the dream I had. You were in it!

She feels as if she will burst from anticipation as she waits for the ink to seep into the yellowed pages and for his reply. After a seemingly endless moment, it comes.

Would you like to tell me about it, Ginevra?

Her heart skips a beat and she tells him everything, not knowing that in a few short hours another Muggleborn will be turned to stone, with her own memory suspiciously lacking. After all, she is just a marionette.