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Note: One line blatantly stolen from Stephen King's IT.

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When I saw her that day, speaking in that mock baby voice to Harry, I felt both hot and cold. a flush crept onto my cheeks, pretending anger but feeling my very flesh pulse. I ran. I ran with the others, cheeks red, harsh breathing. Ran for my life. For she, the queen, chased us in the department of mysteries, her black hair streaked with grey. Her mouth curved up in a smile that promised blood.

Later that night, feeling heavy with Harry's rage, as if my feet could not lift up off the floor, I though of her. the way her slitted eyes had fallen on me and then dismissed me. As if I was nothing more than a child, as if I were nothing. The coldness crept through my limbs, leaving only my cunt hot. I was not surprised when my hands crept down into my panties, dipping my fingers into my wetness. Tasting the darkness on my tongue, tasting of Tom.

I had seen her before. Long ago. In Tom. He had showed me memories as I had fallen into his icy embrace. This dark haired woman (she had been little more than a girl, then) had been one of them. She had fallen at his feet and looked up with heavy lidded eyes that held filthy promises. I wanted those filthy promises. Remembered feeling the cold weight of Tom's hands on my prepubescent breasts as he sucked my life out as if he were sucking poison out through my parted lips. Tom had left me with a bitter seed in my heart, he had left it and I had neglected it. Instead opting for the warmth of Michael's kiss and the feel of Dean's hands knotted into my hair. I would tend to that seed. Finally.

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It looked like a mere tattoo etched in black, the serpent and the skull; but it breathed, it lived. It was as if a piece of Tom had been burned into my very flesh. At nights I could sense him. It was like a red eye that opened and searched for me in the night, pinning me to my bed. It saw and it was aware. The mark had drawn that eye.

I had killed a Muggle girl. She had looked at me with glassen eyes and I had raised my wand and had spoken softly, 'Avada Kedavra.' The green light glowed and she had died. That had pleased me. When I had spit on her I had wiped my mouth and turned away.

I had turned my back on my old life. My family was dead to me. My father, with his love for all that was Muggle, and my mother, nagging and shrieking. My brothers dissolved into one. Their red hair looked like blood in my dreams.

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Her mouth was like sandpaper, dry and peeled. It burned along the flesh of my neck. when she pressed her lips to mine, she devoured me. she sucked out the poison of family and love and gave me back blood and sex. I was wet; it slicked down my thighs, dirty. Her mouth tasted sweet, when I ran my tongue along her teeth she grinned. That harsh grin that promised destruction. Her laugh was like the caw of a crow. It traveled down my throat into my cunt, resonating. she moved her lips down my throat and I felt the scratchy feel of her hair against me. That hair, the purest black streaked with gray. She did not feel the need to hide her age. She had only need beckon me with a glance that crawled across my skin, down to the hot flesh between my thighs.

She threaded her hands into my hair, hard hands with nails jutting and ragged. My robes felt as if they were suffocating me. I needed her mouth on me. I was pressed against the wall of her room. In the safehouse he kept us in. Her knee was wedged between my thighs, moving against me. When she ran her teeth along my neck I gasped. When she bit me I did not cry out, only pressed against her. She was the red queen and I was her subject.

I could not explain myself. Only a year ago I had been unsatisfied under Dean's ministrations. Feeling a deep, dark emptiness where my cunt was. I was not myself these days. Or at least not the same self I was. I spoke in a language of moans and pants. They wound their way out of my throat like demons. I thought of the Dark Lord's serpentine eyes. There was no pleasing a serpent. They slither and hiss, they wound themselves around your neck until all the breath was sucked out. He was Tom yet not Tom. He had given me over to her and I was her breakfast, lunch and dinner.

I was disvested of my robes and they fluttered around my legs like ropes. I was not wearing anything underneath. My flesh crawled and it mewled for her touch. Sometimes I expected my skin to turn black and dead where her fingertips touched, expected her hands to leave sooty imprints. Instead it sang.

Her hands possessed. My nipples hardened. She went down my body, tonguing the hole of my bellybutton. Her eyes were open and vicious. They mocked and danced. She had Rodolphus gibbering like an idiot in his room and me groaning in hers. Her sandpaper mouth kissed the pudge of belly below my bellybutton and I shuddered. I was electric. I thought of Tom and his mouth hard on mine. I had only been eleven. Now I was sixteen and Bellatrix Lestrange's mouth and hands played me. I was a marionette and my former master had given the strings to a new master. A new master with heavy lidded eyes and a wicked mouth that bit and drew blood.

I was shaved smooth. She preferred me that way. Her fingers bruised my thighs, nails biting in, leaving deep crescents that slowly filled with blood. My cunt throbbed and waited for her hands to destroy and bloody and bring me to the edge. When her fingers found the hole of my cunt they plunged in, her nails scratched along inside me. My mouth opened but no sound came out. I rasped in air but it did not seem to reach my lungs.

When she touched her tongue to my clit I jerked, my flesh feeling the cold of the dirty wall behind me. My hands scratched along the smooth stone, searching for purchase. I did not dare touch her without permission. It was unconscionable.

She was relentless; her fingers slipped in and out of my cunt, her mouth sucked at my clit, tongue flicking. When she bit me I keened. It was a lost sound, a sound that made me ashamed. The pain sank into me, it sank its dirty teeth into me and I screamed. She looked up at me, her mouth red and wet, and grinned. 'Like that, don't you, Ginevra?' she said, she was pleased. My mouth begged for more, I could not control it.

When she put her mouth on me again, she was gentle. Her fingers were not gentle, though. It stung viciously even as I throbbed with desire. When I came it was with Tom's name on my lips. She did not have to ask who he was.

Her fingers were slick with come and bloody when she took them out of me. They slipped along my thighs and pinched me, leaving a red stain behind. My mouth relaxed into a thin smile. when she looked up at me she was smiling. She knew my secret. Even as she possessed me, my puppetmaster, I still belonged to Tom. Only to Tom. Many a night I had imagined the feel of his hands and the blood-dirt taste of his mouth as my fingers moved feverishly on my clit.

When she stood up and kissed me I could taste myself on her lips. She laughed and I was pleased. I liked pleasing Bellatrix. Even later, when my mouth was on her cunt, I was pleased. That night I dreamed of Tom.

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When Tom beckoned me with a cold, white hand I was filled with a joy that teased its way to my cold heart. He told me he had something for me, his voice was high and cold. It made me slick with desire. He ordered them all out, every last one of them. Bellatrix left last, her mouth curved into smile, her eyes dark and sooty.

He gazed upon my face with dispassionate eyes, they gleamed red in the light. then, he told me, 'Your brother, Ron, is dead.' A numbness crept into me, leaving behind footprints. I felt nothing. I thought of Ron laughing with delight as he bested Harry Potter at chess. I thought of Ron's moon-eyed stares at Hermione, his heart plain and dirt common. It stirred no feelings. I was a dirty page upon which no words were written.

When he touched my hand the flesh there seemed to cry out and go to sleep. I did not jerk away. His hands were like large, pale spiders. They crept along my flesh, certain. When he kissed me with his lipless mouth his mouth tasted the same, of dirt and blood.

His kiss hurt, my mouth bruised. The smell of death was in the air. It clung to him. His long fingers dug into the flesh of my arms.

Later, when he pushed into me I screamed. it was the scream of a rabbit. A weak, defenseless creature. My nails dug into the skin of my arms, tearing at the soft flesh. I could not feel the blood trickling down. His mouth, pale, was red with my blood. It painted it. He bit down on my nipple and I looked at the snake-like slit of his nostrils and feel reality start to turn red. Red as my blood. When I shrieked he grinned and I saw that there was blood on his teeth.

He drove in and out of me. My cunt was numb and dead. Tom had killed it and I still belong to him. Still belong to him. Still belong to him. When he drew out of me I saw that his cock was slick with my blood. With my mouth I smiled at him and he touched one cold hand to my cheek and dismissed me.

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When Bellatrix crawled into bed with me I could not feel the heat of her body. When she moved her face down my body to my cunt I could not feel her lips. I thought of Tom and his blood-dirt kiss. When she tongued me I felt nothing. She sucked and sucked and I lay still and silent. There was still my blood beneath my fingernails.

I am cold.

The Dark Mark burned and I could feel that eye opening. It found me and I was pinned.

I belong to Tom. I belong to Tom. I belong to Tom. The words disarticulated and my hands crept down to my cunt and I could feel my blood. It was dried.

When I dreamt I dreamt of red eyes with slitted pupils and I woke up shrieking. Bellatrix held me. I could taste Tom in my mouth.