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Three Parts of a Whole

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Part Three:


Flower petals rained down upon the path, covering it in white and delicate pink, as she and Harry walked down the aisle. Her family was seated on both sides, since they were the closest thing Harry had to a family, too. The sky was a brilliant, clear blue, and the grass was so green it almost looked unnatural. A spring wedding, with the apple trees flowering in profusion, just as she’d always dreamt of as a little girl. 

A wizard garbed in the customary ceremonial robes of a High Priest stood upon the dais at the end of the aisle, waiting for them.

For whatever reason, Ginny couldn’t make out the features on his face, almost as if they were blurred. But that didn’t matter, she was too overjoyed to care. She was finally going to marry her soulmate.

They reached the end, and she and Harry turned to face each other. Harry grinned down at her, looking a bit nervous.

She looked up into his ruby-red eyes and grinned back. It was truly a perfect day.

(No, no, no, this is wrong.)

They joined their left hands, and the High Priest raised his wand and tapped on their concealment bands in turn. Both bands melted away, dissolving like mist.

Harry’s Mark was a snake in the shape of an “S.” There was no other.

Ginny looked down at her own wrist in curiosity. She, too, had a snake, and nothing else.

(That’s not right! That’s not right at all!)

Puzzled, she looked back to Harry. The scar on his forehead was bleeding. Blood dripped down his face. He was still smiling, but his eyes were wide and scared.

(And red! They’re green, not red! This is wrong, wrong, wrong!)

“You may now kiss each other,” a high, cold voice, tinged with sibilants. Familiar. Too familiar.

(Wake up, Ginny!)

The High Priest was standing very close to them now. Too close.

(Wake up!)

Cold, pale hands wrapped around her wrist and Harry’s. Pain sang along every nerve as the glamour that hid the true nature of the High Priest fell away.

(Wake up!)

Red, slitted eyes glittered with malice in a horrid, pale visage that looked more like a skull than a person’s face.

(Wake up!)

She couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe. Distantly, she heard as her family clapped and cheered, unable to see the truth in front of them.


“The bond must be completed, my dear.”





Ginny woke, clammy with sweat and gasping for breath. For a confused moment, she thought she was still dreaming, since the fine silk sheets beneath her hands weren’t anything like her bedding at the Burrow, or even Hogwarts.

“You were having a nightmare.” Tom’s smooth, velvety voice soothed and frightened at the same time.

He was lying on the bed next to her, his dark hair artfully tousled, falling over one red eye. A vision and a nightmare. On the other side of him, Harry slept on.

Tom held out his arm in clear invitation, and Ginny had a moment of indecision (wake up) before wriggling closer. Wordlessly, she allowed him to wrap his arms around her, and together they lay back against the dark green silk and she stared up at the velvet canopy above them.

“How long have we been here?”

The question was more a ritual than anything else, since there was no way of knowing for sure, and Tom never answered.

Tom hummed, and said nothing.

The suite she and Harry were kept in was luxurious beyond anything they’d ever known before, but there was no method of keeping track of time.

The large window wasn’t really a window, but an illusion trapped behind glass—sunny days and starry nights that seemed to change on a whim, even after what couldn’t have been more than a couple of hours. It only showed the sky, which is how she knew it was an illusion and not a real window. (Though that hadn’t kept them from trying to escape through it, the first few days/weeks/months.) A mockery of freedom.

The only thing that showed the linear passage of time was the fact they’d both outgrown their first set of fine clothes, and Ginny’s hair was down to her waist. He never let her cut it.

Tom ran his fingers posessively through her hair, as if he’d picked up on that thought. She shivered, in disgust or desire, she didn’t know.

Harry, at least, was allowed a haircut every once in a while.

Fine clothes, fancy jewelry (which they both studiously ignored), three solid meals a day, almost any books or entertainment they’d desired, including a wizard chess set (they’d both gotten very good at chess). A bathroom bigger than the whole kitchen at the Burrow, with a tub almost as large as a swimming pool. Harry said it reminded him of the Prefect’s Bathroom at Hogwarts, though how he knew that, she had no idea.

And, of course, a bed soft as a cloud and large enough for three.

It was more luxury than either of them had ever had. But a cage was still a cage, no matter how gilded.




The first time she’d seen him in his current form, she’d thought she was dreaming. The old nightmare in the Chamber with Tom and the demon. (Sometimes she dreams she’s the demon.)

It had been the early days of their imprisonment, before all hope had fled, when anger and resentment simmered just below the surface, and she’d lashed out when he appeared in their room.

But a murmured spell stopped her in her tracks.

“This is why your soul is fire, Ginny my dear.”

He stepped close, and she was powerless to resist as he pressed his lips to the inside of her uncovered left wrist.

There was a snarl from somewhere to her right, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Harry rush at him too, only to be stopped just as effortlessly as she was.

Harry, similarly, was powerless, and could only watch as Tom stepped even closer to Ginny, grabbed her hair and kissed her soundly. She tried to back off, escape, something, but her traitorous body melted against his, surrendering as he explored her mouth.

He pulled back with a smirk and then turned to Harry.

Harry, who had just witnessed his soulmate kissing his greatest enemy. (His soulmate being kissed by his other soulmate.)

Harry, whose heartbreak and betrayal shown plain on his face.

She still couldn’t move when Tom released her and turned to Harry. Tom crossed the room in  measured steps, dragging out the scene for his own sadistic pleasure, no doubt. He pulled Harry’s left wrist up to his mouth, and, without breaking eye contact with him, pressed his lips to the Marks there. Ginny felt as if she were intruding on something painfully intimate.

With one last, mocking look at back at Ginny, he tangled his long fingers into Harry’s hair and kissed him—far more violently than he’d kissed her. A flash of teeth and then a dribble of blood from the corner of Harry’s mouth.

Now she felt her own heart breaking in two, watching her soulmate kiss another (which one, she couldn’t say, and that was the worst part.)

She couldn’t look away as Tom deepened the kiss, as Harry trembled and finally submitted, closing his eyes in defeat even as he opened his mouth further and let Tom devour him.

Harry looked dazed when Tom finally pulled away, his green eyes dark, and lips swollen. She wondered if she’d looked the same.

Tom licked a bit of blood from his own swollen, red lips, and with one last, pleased smirk, was gone.




And that had been the beginning of the end.

By unspoken agreement, they didn’t talk about their lives Before. They didn’t talk about her family, or the Order, or the fact that the war must’ve fallen in his favor, now that the Boy-Who-Lived had been captured.

Now, it seemed they both waited for Tom’s visits to break up the monotony of their existence.

Often, he would come in the dead of night (or, at least, when the illusionary window showed only stars and darkness) and climb into their shared bed.

Sometimes, he’d fuck one of them and make the other watch. Other times, he’d command them to please each other while he reclined upon the bed like a king, stroking himself while he watched them.

And sometimes…

“Hold him still, Ginevra,” Tom instructed.

Ginny did as she was told, sitting on the bed with her legs spread in a V and Harry between them, his back to her chest. She wrapped her arms around him, securing his wrists in her hands. His breathing was heavy, and his messy hair tickled her naked breasts. She squirmed a bit, trying to get comfortable, and shamefully, already slick with desire.

Tom spread Harry’s legs wide, stroking along the inside of his thighs, and running his fingers through the thick, dark hair at the base of Harry’s cock. Harry was hard, his cock leaking against his twitching stomach.

“Are you watching, Ginny?” Tom murmured.

He wasn’t looking at her, his gaze possessively locked upon Harry’s face as he left teasing touches along the length of his cock. Harry writhed, trying to seek out more friction, but Tom pulled his hand away.

“What do you say?”

“Touch me,” Harry hissed.

“Not what I meant, darling.”

Tom lifted one of Harry’s legs and settled it over his shoulder. He pressed a kiss to the inside of Harry’s knee, and then curled his hand over his own hard cock, stroking lazily.

“Your stubbornness has outlived its charm. Perhaps I should spill myself, and then leave you both bound and wanting on opposite ends of the room.”

Ginny felt Harry tense, the urge to escape battling with his need.

“Touch lord,” Harry bit out, finally.

Tom leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the scar on Harry’s forehead. “Good boy,” he whispered, and Harry whined.

Ginny watched as Tom wrapped his hand around Harry’s hard cock and stroked it, running his thumb over the sensitive spot under the head. She shifted again, her clit throbbing at the sight. Harsh breathing and the soft sounds of skin on skin were the only noises in the room.

Just as Harry’s quick breaths seemed to reach a crescendo, Tom pulled his hand away again, and Harry actually moaned, writhing.

Tom smirked, and whispered a pair of spells they both knew so well. He looked Ginny right in the eye as he lined his hard cock up with Harry’s spell-slick arsehole and slowly, relentlessly, pushed in.

Harry cried out, and Ginny held him closer, murmuring sweet nothings into his ear as Tom rolled his hips and bottomed out. Tom adjusted his grip on Harry’s legs and started to thrust, setting a punishing pace.

Ginny’s body cushioned Harry’s as Tom fucked him into the mattress. She tightened her grip on Harry’s wrists when he tried to pull free to reach for his neglected cock.

“Not yet,” she whispered, because playing along with Tom’s demands was easier than fighting him.

Tom’s thrusting increased in intensity, and the bed rocked, the headboard knocking into the wall, and she could tell he was nearing his end.

But before he could finish, he pulled out, letting Harry’s legs drop to either side of his hips.

“Ride him,” he commanded Ginny, and her clit throbbed at his tone.

She let go of Harry’s wrists, and somewhat awkwardly climbed out from behind him. Harry flopped, panting, to the bed, arms up and twisting his hands into the silk sheets on either side of his head. His cock was flushed so hard it looked painful.

She swung a leg over Harry’s waist, bracing herself with her hands against his chest. Before she was fully in position, Tom’s hand was around Harry’s cock, holding it in place so she could line herself up.

Tom’s hand slid away as she sank down on Harry, his heat filling the aching void within her.

Tom gripped both of her hips as she started to fuck herself on Harry, so tight there would no doubt be bruising. She was close enough already from simply watching that she knew it wouldn’t take long.

She rolled her hips and chased her end, and only moments later Harry let out a long moan and she felt him spill hot and sticky inside her.

Tom pressed himself against her back, his breath hot on her neck as she rode out Harry’s orgasm. When Harry whimpered from overstimulation, boneless against the sheets, Ginny took pity and lifted herself off.

Tom’s still-hard cock pressed hot against the crack of her arse, and he held her close, the fingers of one hand reaching up between her breasts to the scar over her heart the burning locket had left. (What had become of that locket, she didn’t know.) His other hand snaked down between her thighs, his thumb rubbing circles against her clit while two fingers slid up inside her. She came in seconds, crying out as her climax rippled through her body.

Tom let her go, and she collapsed atop Harry, panting and sweaty.

Behind her, she heard the slap of skin as Tom wanked himself, his free hand hot on the small of her back. Tom hissed as he came, and she could feel hot stripes of come landing on her arse, and probably Harry’s spent cock and balls, since Tom took pleasure in marking them any way he could.

Harry’s fingers tangled into her hair and he kissed her, gentle and sweet, and for a moment she could almost forget everything else.

The tingle of a cleaning charm took care of the mess, and Ginny knew that meant Tom would stay for a while. He had no problem leaving them sticky and spent if he had somewhere else to be, but he was too fastidious to sleep on come-soaked sheets, himself.

Ginny rolled off of Harry onto her back, while Tom wormed his way between them.

She watched as he reached for Harry’s left wrist, pressing his lips to the Marks there. Without being prompted, she presented her left wrist to him, and he did the same to her Marks. The ritual complete, he wandlessly pulled the sheets over them and extinguished every light in the room.

Tom wrapped an arm around her, and she snuggled close, resting her head upon his shoulder. She reached blindly across Tom’s chest, and found Harry’s hand.

The darkness of the room echoed the darkness within her soul, as she clasped hands with her soulmate, across the sated form of her other soulmate. She wasn’t happy, but she wasn’t unhappy , exactly, and the guilt that nested in her heart was not enough to keep her awake at night.

She only prayed to whatever power might be listening that she didn’t dream.