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He catches the child masturbating in the bath, and he’s not angry. She’s a shivering, wet thing, wrapping her arms around her thin chest flushed with shame. She’s mouthwateringly tiny. He could swallow her whole.
“Gingerbread, come here,” he beckons.
She leaves watery footprints as she steps out of the tub. He could lick them off the floor. He could sit her on the edge of the sink and tongue her virgin pussy.
Tom opens his arms and subsumes her in his black cloak. Her girl body is slippery like a fish. He just might swallow her, bones and all.
She calls for him when she wakes up screaming from the nightmares, which is too adorable. Barelegged under her precious nighty, she whimpers for her Tom. He scares her, but the nightmares scare her worse.
He palms his girl’s soft bottom through her nighty while dragging her into his chest. Little Ginevra squirms, trying to get comfortable. When he grabs the back of her neck, she goes limp like a kitten.
“What did you dream about, Gingerbread?” he asks, stroking the red baby hairs on her soft nape.
Her face presses against his shirt, muffling a whimper. “Roosters,” she says.
“That’s not how you do it, my darling girl.”
He reaches down and pulls the rolled up sock out of her underwear. It smells like musty honey.
She starts to stutter an apology as he sits on the edge of her bed. He silences her with a look.
“Open your legs for me,” he says.
She whimpers as he presses his fingers to her soaked panties, stroking her clit through the cotton. He holds her thighs apart when she struggles. She cums with a small shriek of surprise. The pleasure blows her pupils out.
“Now, isn’t that so much better?”
He likes sucking on the gemstone between her legs, waiting for her to slip up and call out the wrong name.
(She’s too young to know she wants to fuck the Potter boy, but she must imagine crushing his ears between her thighs. Tom reads all of her dirty thoughts like a book. Poor, frightened Ginevra. She licks her baby soft lips, her underwear sticky with want, and doesn’t speak a word.)
He pulls her clit with his teeth. She digs her nails into his scalp and her narrow hips shake like a whore’s, and she’s crying Tom, oh, Tom.
“Are you really here?” she asks. “Or is this all in my head?”
Tom is bored by the question and more interested in fucking Ginny on his hand while the dorms are still deserted. He wants to see her pink with tears.
“You seem so real when we’re alone,” she adds, her eyes too-bright with the hope that he’ll tell her anything.
“Hold your tie in your mouth.”
She listens, biting down on scarlet and gold. He peels her stockings from her creamy legs. She’s starting to attract boys with these thighs. He’s anticipated this, sharing her. His tasty Gingerbread.
“Him?” Tom questions, raising an eyebrow.
Ginny’s embarrassed. He’s so beneath her.
Tom lets her go to the ball with Neville. He hopes the experience humiliates her. Then she’s standing under the mistletoe with Michael Corner and the kid is snaking his sweaty hands through her hair.
“Him?” Tom asks, and Ginny nods, blushing.
Fine, Tom’s in an indulgent mood. It’s Christmas and his little girl has been well-behaved. Tom says nothing when Michael smashes their lips together, and nothing when Ginny lets the boy lace their fingers together and lead her to a less crowded part of the ballroom.
But Tom would be her first. That was one of his conditions.
He stretches her out slowly with his cock, savoring it, and feels unexpectedly sentimental. He watches her shoulder blades move as she struggles to find the best way to prop herself up, clenching around him with quiet spasms of pain.
She’s delicious. Her tiny body is so pliable for his claiming. Niceties over with, he fucks her. He winds a hand through her long hair, yanking her head back just in time to catch the low moan from her throat. He fucks her like this, like an animal.
His girl is bouncing prettily on Michael Corner’s dick. When Tom nips her earlobe, her rhythm stutters.
“Don’t let me get in the way,” Tom murmurs. “Keep going.”
She’s an obedient little slut. Michael’s closed eyes flutter as he moans, “Shit, Ginny, you’re squeezing me so tight.”
“More,” Tom says, and Ginny whines, “More.”
Michael pumps himself inexpertly into her hot, hungry cunt. Her head lolls and her tiny hips move like a porn star’s. That pathetic boy is nowhere near enough for her.
“Shit, I’m gonna cum,” Michael grunts.
“Not yet,” Ginny gasps, hands already reaching for his throat.
Dean Thomas is nice, and hopeless around girls. Tom, annoyed by how long this is all taking, makes the first move. He lets Ginny find them: Dean flat on his back with Tom’s dick halfway down his throat.
Her wide eyes flit between the both of them, but the name she utters is Tom.
Tom beckons her over. “Come ride his cock like a good girl.”
Dean’s painfully erect, and Ginny licks her lips. She’s already sliding her underwear down.
“It’ll be okay,” she reassures the dazed boy, because she’s nice too. Tom hasn’t fucked that out of her yet.
He used to worry, just a tad, about disappearing.
But his Ginevra won’t let that happen to him. Her claw marks down his back sting and bleed. Her insatiable mouth leaves bruises all over his throat and collarbone. Sometimes his hips ache after fucking his girl hard enough to make her cry for him.
She doesn’t cry much anymore, but he doesn’t mind her snarls. One time she backhands him across the face and it stuns both of them. She could have hit him again, but instead she apologizes.
She’s still afraid, his Ginny. But she’s growing out of it.
Ginevra could drag him behind the bleachers if she wanted to, but all she does is kiss Potter sweetly on the mouth. Tom doesn’t know whether to be disappointed or jealous.
But it’s Tom she’s fucking behind the bleachers, anyway.
“I’ll bite your dick off if you hurt him,” she promises lowly. Her hands are knotted in his dark hair and she stares at him until he feels the beginnings of a shiver.
“I won’t if you won’t,” Tom murmurs, and it pleases her. She shutters her bright eyes and when he orders her to cum, she does it beautifully.
When Potter says goodbye to her, Tom considers gouging the boy’s eyes out of his skull. But Ginevra wouldn’t want it and for some reason, that matters. Ginevra, pale and calm, sends Potter away with only a chaste kiss. She’s “saving herself” for him, whatever that’s supposed to mean.
Tom feels her slipping away. Or maybe he’s the one who stops existing when she stops thinking about him. It’s a sensation like fleas on skin. But there’s no way to prove it.
She’s crying over that boy, again. He’s never been more infuriated with her. He’s never been this infatuated.
Sometimes he dreams, and in his dreams he wakes up behind Ginevra’s eyes and feels her heartbeat in his chest. Sometimes he feels like she has outgrown him. He’s worried about disappearing again.
“Tom. Tom.”
She’s staring at him, sitting up in bed, not bothering to cover her breasts with the sheet. He thinks about chewing her up, but he doesn’t really want to.
“You were shouting,” she says. “Were you having a nightmare?”
Roosters, Tom thinks suddenly. What kind of nightmare would a little girl have about roosters? He never bothered asking her, and now it no longer matters.
Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.
– “Lady Lazarus” by Sylvia Plath