Shadowed Brandy

Shadowed Brandy

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"You used to captivate me by your resonating mind, now I'm bound by the life you left behind. . . Your face, it haunts my once pleasant dreams, your voice chased away all the sanity in me. . ."

-My Immortal - Evanescence

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~*~*~*~

He had haunted her dreams for six years now. Even on the nights where she tossed and turned, staring at nothing - staring at everything - to keep her body from falling asleep, and keep her mind from allowing the memories to resurface, sleep eventually claimed her. As he did, as in dreams he would come to her; a wraith in form, but always handsome, always self-possessed . . . everything she wanted to be; everything she wanted. . .

He knew it, too, and taunted her for it; sometimes staying only long enough to sweep his fingers across her cheek as she slept. . . Although she would only turn over in response, sighing softly as long, crimson hair shifted over her shoulders, she still knew he had been there. He was the only person she knew with long, artist's fingers. And so he was an artist in his own way; but the world was his canvas, and he painted with deception. . . fury. . . violence. She lived in one of his paintings, and in moments where he was less guarded, he admitted she was one of his finest creations.

She was a fractured soul; for while her hair burned with righteous fire, as did her heart, her soul was darkened; an 'old soul,' he had called her once, on one of his more pleasant visits. Her eyes reflected this; she had come to this place unmarked, completely innocent . . . and before the first year had passed, shadows danced amidst the brandy-hued orbs. Not always, and never when anyone was looking. But still. . . even though time had made her a beautiful woman, and she always was brilliant. . . few people ever looked at his Virginia. Perhaps this was because she was overshadowed by her family - perhaps due to her childhood admiration of his nemesis - but he liked to think they did not look too closely at her because he had marked her as his. . .

No, not in the same way that he marked those who were willingly faithful; if he had anything to do with it, her delicate skin that freckled wildly in summer would never be marked in the same way that he claimed his minions. She, loath as he was to admit it, was beyond the rank of minion to what remained of his heart. Somehow, she had become Regent. . . and her shadowed eyes seemed to speak this louder, more forcefully than any artificial mark ever could.

Which is why he came to her this time, to tell her to escape. . .

~*~*~*~

"Virginia. . ." he whispered, sweeping her hair off of one cheek, almost in a caress. Stepping back, his voice took a harsher tone. "Wake up."

And she did, using one hand to rub the sleep from her eyes, while she raised her upper body against the pillows, and stretched catlike. Her eyes met his, and the immediate expression of fear was quickly quenched with a calculating expression as her eyes lowered.

"Tom. . ."

He nodded brusquely, but his eyes flashed. "Really, Virginia; one would think you would know how to address me properly by now. . ."

She smiled, but it did not reach her hooded eyes. "You're here, aren't you? It cannot annoy you that much, Thomas. . . or would you prefer. . ."

He cut her off. "That is quite enough, Virginia. Merlin, woman. . . you try the patience of the saints! Besides. . . I am 'Tom' to you, aren't I? Your confidant?" Pausing, he took a step towards her bed, his expression predatory. "Your 'friend?'" Another step. "Perhaps. . . your lover?"

At this, her eyes snapped up to meet his. "That's - that's impossible. You know that. Besides, what makes you think I would ever want you to?" But her voice trembled as she answered, and he noticed, raising one eyebrow in silent mockery.

"Really. . ."

"Really, Tom." Propping her back against the headboard of her bed, she crossed her arms across her chest. "You're a dream. . . a figment, if a damned persuasive one. And I don't want you to touch me. . ." Tossing her hair over her shoulders, she glared at him, and he returned her glare spark for spark, leaning against one of her bedposts as if he owned it.

He seemed almost . . . real . . . in that moment, she thought. Oh, he definitely looked more human than the ghosts that haunted the place; it was only the hazy 'edges' of his body that gave him away, standing boldly in her room, clad in his Head Boy uniform, which she thought he wore to try to intimidate her. It had worked when she was younger, but no longer. Dark hair fell into his eyes as he looked at her; she'd noticed that he seemed to be growing it out in her recent dreams, and she wondered why.

She couldn't deny she was drawn to him; he had his own pull, and she had given him her soul of her free will, once. While he had twisted it to his own purposes, introducing the shadows to her eyes along with the need for secrecy, for stealth, her own strength had saved her. He had not killed her; rather, she had found strength in the flames he had drawn her through. . . But two souls so entwined rarely can let each other go, and it showed in both of them. For where deep shadows swirled in the eyes that were once bright and guileless, bright fire now danced in those that once were malicious and guiltless. . .

A hand underneath her chin, tilting it upwards, brought her out of her musings. He stood beside her now, eyes sardonic as ever, but with something unreadable in their depths. His expression turned superior. "Why then, little girl, do you shiver so when I touch you . . .?" Tracing her nearest leg through the coverlet, his eyes registered triumph as she shuddered, if slightly. He had to give her credit though, for her eyes never left his as he did so . . . and they still burned in fury at him.

She drew in a breath as she answered. "You're cold . . . cold as the dead." Realizing what she had just said, she suppressed the fear that flickered into existence, and chuckled warmly. "Rather fitting, don't you think?"

He laughed, to her surprise, but it was a joyless sound. "Perhaps, Virginia . . . But I think at times you prefer me this way. Why else would you summon me, nearly every night, I might add . . . Lonely, little girl?"

"You're the powerful one," she replied defiantly, not liking what she saw in his eyes. "Tell me if I am. You're going to, anyways. . ."

"I rather think you are. Weak, Virginia, weak. You tremble, you look away. . . yet you cannot deny you are drawn to me. . ."

She had had enough. Sweeping the blankets away, she stood up boldly, bare inches away from where he had jolted back, startled by her sudden movement. "So fragging what if I am," she yelled. "What do you want me to say? That I'm in love with TOM-bloody-MARVOLO RIDDLE?" Seeing the shock in his eyes, she relished the moment, as she could never remember shocking him. It was usually the reverse, she noted, quickly amending her words. "And - and I'm NOT, so you can stop looking like- that."

It was silent for a few moments; both seemed stunned by the words that the redheaded woman had just said. Which, considering the personalities of these two, was something in and of itself.

He was the first to speak. "How. . ." he paused, his expression hardening, "how droll, Virginia. . . You won't be crushed, little girl, if I say the feeling isn't mutual?"

A flash of gold - her watch - caught his eye just as the arm attached to it flexed, presumably to punch him. He captured her fist effortlessly with one hand as it flew towards him, his grip deliberately painful. "You are terribly maudlin tonight, Virginia. . . professions of love, terrible language, attempted violence. . . tsk, tsk. Hardly suiting of a lady," he scolded, taking a half step away from her.

"I'm. . . a *lady* to you, Thomas? Since when?" Her tone matched his - scornful, but mildly incredulous. "No. . . no, don't answer that." She looked down - bloody Merlin's glasses, exactly when had his fingers entwined with hers? Holding back a stutter - or a swear, whichever came first - she loosened her fingers from his grasp, and lowered her other hand. Taking his hand in both of hers, she returned it gently to his side. "Leave me be, Tom. . . you've had your laugh for tonight. Just. . . go."

She turned, intending to go back to bed. . . perhaps another dream would claim her, but she doubted it. The best she could hope for was dreamless sleep; peaceful, beautiful oblivion.

But it was not to be. He spun her around by the shoulders as she turned, his grip unyielding this time. "Surely, Virginia," he purred, "you are not going to leave without hearing what I have to tell you? You might find it the least bit. . . interesting."

Trying to draw herself out of his hold, and failing, she sighed angrily. Eyes flashing, the shadows nearly chased from their depths, she responded. "Well then. . . let's hear it, shall we?"

At her words, he removed his hands from her shoulders, and realizing that she was not going to try to evade him again, he twisted the ring from the fourth finger on his left hand. Clasping it firmly in his right hand, he smiled at the oval gemstone, a flawless black opal, as it flickered in what little light there was in the room. "Hold up your hand, Virginia," he said, his voice a velvet-lined command.

"No."

"Why not, little girl? Afraid?"

"I'm not taking any of your jewelry, Tom. Besides, it wouldn't fit. ." But her voice trailed off as she watched the ring. . . shrink. . . on his palm.

"Take it, woman. I shall not ask thrice."

She felt his will bending her, and although she fought it wildly, her left hand brushed his as she removed the ring from his palm. Holding it at distance from her body, she smiled wickedly. Two could play at this game, and she had learned from a master. . . "Fine, then. Just what does this ring do, and why do you wish me to have it?"

"Surely you have heard that my. . . mortal. . . element is gathering his forces for an assault on Hogwarts?"

She tensed. She had heard whispers of its possibility. . . but as she was still - for some reason that Merlin only knew - not allowed to join the Order, despite living in its headquarters for two years now, and being related by blood to several of its key members, she had heard only whispers. His words rankled her, and he knew it, as he continued, his words oozing false sympathy.

"Surely they have let you in that foolish band of renegades, Virginia? Or do the shadows in your eyes keep them away? Make them feel guilty?"

"Sod off." Oh, she hated him. Hated him for making her relive those dark days in her first year, sometimes every night for a week, if he felt inclined. Hated him for being who he was, for what he had done to those around her. But she hated him most because he simply would not go away.

"Language, Virginia. . ." His expression turned dangerous, but her eyes still danced. Tom was -relatively- harmless when he looked dangerous. . . it was when he went silent, she knew, that he WAS dangerous. Unfazed, she replied.

"Sod off, you bloody bastard." She smirked. "Better?"

He was tempted to roll his eyes, and refrained only due to the juvenility of the action. "Hardly," he hissed. "But you miss the point, Virginia. He will come tomorrow at twilight. . . his forces are impressive, and with those of his within the castle. . . it does not look good for you, little girl." He paused, and closed her hand around the ring that still rested on her palm. "The ring is a Portkey; I had it designed for you. Twist the gem, and it will take you wherever is safest."

She had no such compunctions about juvenility, he noted, as she rolled her eyes. Naturally, she did not trust him. And it made sense - if he were her, he wouldn't trust himself, either. . . trust was an expensive commodity these days, and the cost more often than not was that of your life. Commending her in his thoughts, he answered the question that her eyes had formed.

"No, I do not know where it will take you, Virginia. But the reputation of its maker is impeccable, and as Light as that befuddled Headmaster of yours. Of course, the fact that the maker did not know who he was making the ring for made things rather simple. . ."

"I don't care WHO made it, Tom. . ." she interrupted.

He returned the favor, smoothly cutting into her reply. "Consider it an. . . option, Virginia. You will die if you stay; this is almost certain - the Portkey will give you a way out."

"Fine," she countered. "But what if I were to go to my 'befuddled Headmaster', and tell him of all of this? Surely then, I would have no need of your ring."

"He knows, little girl. . . he knows that Voldemort will march at twilight. Or do you think you are the only one whose reveries I. . . visit?"

"Of course," she half- whispered. "The student that he lost. . . you bastard."

Uncharacteristically, he half-bowed to her. "In the flesh, Virginia. Well. . . not actually, I'm afraid."

"Tom. . ." she questioned, looking up at him through her lashes. "Why the ring?"

Ignoring her question, he looked out the arched window beside her bed. "Morning draws, Virginia. I must leave. . ."

Something - she wasn't quite sure what, and she suspected that she would never know - flashed across his eyes as he stepped forward and reached for her, tracing one cheek as he did to wake her earlier, the other hand sliding around her neck, drawing her closer.

His kiss was. . . unearthly, she decided, as his lips met hers. Passionate, perhaps, but cold. . . a cold that stole her breath, much like stepping outside on a crisp midwinter's day from a warmly-lit room. Unconsciously, the hand that was not holding his ring slipped around his back, holding him closer. . . his kiss, like his words were deadly, but they beckoned stronger than any Siren's song for her. . . He had never kissed her before, and she knew, as he did, that he was never going to again.

Perhaps that was why she poured whatever warmth she could summon into the embrace, as they unconsciously pulled the other closer. Perhaps that was why she nearly acquiesced to his request as the kiss ended, and they stood, still enfolded in the other's embrace.

"Remember the ring, Virginia. . . don't be daft. Run, little girl, if you must."

She wanted to. . . and the fact that he wanted her to almost won her over. But the fire that danced in her heart won, and she mirrored his earlier gesture, tracing the side of his face. . . aristocratic cheekbones. . . slightly squared jaw. . . and then his lips, drawing two fingers over them, as if to memorize the way they felt beneath her fingers. Smiling wistfully at the sharp breath that he drew in as she did so, she wondered exactly how human he had become. . . But it was still not enough. Standing on her tiptoes, she closed her eyes, and kissed him gently. Carefully, she whispered against his lips. "No. . . I will not run."

Something - regret? - was clear in his response, but he did not argue. "As you wish. . . Ginny."

~*~*~*~

Her eyes flew open at this. Never. . . not once in the six years that he had appeared to her had he ever called her thus. But this time, as she opened her eyes, she found herself alone.

It was morning - or near to it, she discerned - from the first beams of sunlight drifting through her window. Smiling sadly at the soft snores coming from her roommates, she felt as if a massive weight had been lifted from her shoulders, and she gasped sharply as she realized what the lack of that weight meant. Tom. . . any thought, any presence of his sardonic, laughing specter in the back of her mind was gone. And gone with him were the shadows that he had placed in her eyes, replaced by the fires that she had given to him, and that he had returned, albeit in his own way.

Opening her hand, she was only half-surprised to see the white gold band shining on her palm, the black opal resplendent in its simple setting. "Shadows and fire. . ." she whispered, noting the flashes of color within the smoky gem. Placing it on her finger, she brushed her hair over her shoulders, and got out of bed. Padding over to the window that Tom had looked out of, she surveyed the grounds below her.

She would not run; she had told him that she would stay partly out of defiance. But, she realized, this was her home. . . for all the nightmares, for all the darkness that had tortured her, it had also taught her to appreciate the lighter moments much more; the banter, the Balls, the stolen moments with friends between classes and exams and Quidditch games. This place was hers, she resolved, and she would not abandon it in its hour of need.

So, the man who had stolen away the boy she loved and the girl that she once was was bringing his army to her doors. When he did, she knew, she was going to kill him.

~*~*~*~

Finis. . .

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