
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/9897104.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage, Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence
  Category:
      Gen
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Character:
      Other(s), Tom_Riddle, Voldemort
  Additional Tags:
      Explicit_Language, Heterosexual_Sex, Sexual_Content, Angst, Tragedy,
      Drama, Romance
  Collections:
      HPFandom
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-12-05 Words: 1637
****** The Ghost of You ******
by Bellatrixs_Lament [archived by HPFandom_archivist]
Summary
     True love never dies, even if that love is unrequited. Lucretia Black
     had the misfortune of losing her heart to the Dark Lord when she was
     just a girl; this is that story. Mentions. character death, suicide
     attempt. No gore. (It should also be noted that Lucretia Black is not
     an OC, her name can be seen on the Black family tree.)
Notes
     Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally
     archived at HP_Fandom, which was closed for health and financial
     reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its
     works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I
     e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but
     may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator,
     please contact me using the e-mail address on HP_Fandom_collection
     profile.
Disclaimer: Everything and everyone belongs to JK, I just warp them slightly
and return them later confunded but unharmed. Please read and review!
                                   Prologue
"At the end of the world,
Or the last thing I see,
You are never coming home,
Never coming home..."
The Ghost of You - My Chemical Romance
All Hallow's Eve, 1992
She was ready to go.
The only thing that had stopped Lucretia from giving up years ago was the
promise he had made to her. She'd held his words close to her heart, her very
own well kept secret; the last thing shared between them, and had never dared
whisper it to another soul. They would have called her crazy, and maybe she
was; holding onto the perpetually thinning shred of hope that a dead man, a man
who had died eleven years ago tonight, would return to her. Perhaps he was
mistaken, after all. Perhaps he had not achieved what he had set out to do all
those years ago. She couldn't understand it. Tom was never wrong, not about
anything that she could recall, and he was always so sure that his mortality
was a thing of the past, that he would never cease to breathe, never cease to
live, never give himself over to the human weakness that was death. Never break
her heart by leaving her that way, and yet he had.
She was tired now. Tired of crying, tired of the emptiness in her heart and the
ache her body felt when she thought of him. Tired of being forced by fate to go
on without him. Her entire life she had been forced to do one thing or another;
forced into a marriage she hadn't wanted, forced away from the man she loved
because he didn't meet her father's standard of wealth, forced to raise
children who lived and breathed to disappoint her and go against everything she
had stood up and in her own way, had fought for. Her entire life, everything
was based around decisions someone else had made for her because she was a
woman, and thereby controllable. Everything in her life save for one thing, and
even that, in the end, had been taken from her as well. But no more. Today was
finally the day that she said 'enough', and decided, on her own, to come here
tonight, to a familiar and beloved place, and say her final farewell to the
world.
Sad eyes focused on the murky water that rippled slightly before her, tears
clinging to her lashes and glistening like tiny diamonds in the light of the
setting sun. This had become a ritual for her, every year on this night,
returning to the lake where the two of them had passed many quiet hours wrapped
in each others arms during their school years, the place where he had promised
he would meet her when his business that night was done. The trek from the
village to the lake had become more and more arduous over the years, Lucretia
not being the young woman that she had been so long ago; her bones ached with
age as she shifted her weight from one side of her back to the other, hoping to
relieve some of the pressure there. No, she was nothing like she had been the
first time she'd sat by the lake with Tom Riddle, a girl, young and free,
running ahead and teasing the serious boy with her laughter as they made the
trek together. That had been the first of many times that they would meet in
this spot, and every tree that dotted the landscape held a fond memory of their
time spent there. Recent memories, though, were more difficult for her. She now
sat beneath the tree alone when she came, and the only laughter that could be
heard now came from the school that loomed eerily in the distance. That
Halloween in 1981, she had waited for him, well into the next day, watching the
morning sun cast its first rays on the school, and the dark cluster of owls
returning to their perches for their daily slumber. When he didn't come, she
had known, but she couldn't find the strength in her body to leave her post,
hoping with the heart of a foolish woman that he had simply been delayed, or
even that he had forgotten or dismissed his promise to meet her. Even that
would have been preferable to the reality she still had yet to accept.
The news had traveled fast. By the time she finally made it home, her husband
and daughter were already engrossed in conversation over coffee, and
celebrating the news of the death of the terrible You-Know-Who, while they
spoke in tribute to the heroes who had sacrificed their lives to take the
murderous man down for good. It was vengeance, Molly had said, for the deaths
of her brothers on his command. Revenge for the deaths of people she had known
and loved, and for the innocents who had nothing to do with the war in any
form. It was all Lucretia could do to remain planted calmly in the spot next to
the stove, all she could do to remain in one spot and not launch herself at the
daughter who despite her mother's seeming indifference to the matter, continued
to talk. And where have you been, Mum?', the question had been waved off with a
shaky hand and a shake of her head as she made her way to her sewing room,
excusing herself from their happy little gathering by claiming a headache. She
wanted to scream, to release her anguish in the form of a yell that could be
heard around Britain, she wanted to take out her anger on the walls and her
family, and anyone who happened to smile at her that day, but she couldn't
muster up the strength to do anything more than to allow her weakened legs to
finally collapse beneath her, and cry until she felt no more. The world had
breathed a sigh of relief when the Dark Lord had fallen, but Lucretia Prewett
only wished she could breathe her last.
There was one photo, black and white and wrinkled, and by now so old that the
figures captured in time rarely moved anymore. Every now and again though when
she removed the picture from where she kept it hidden, Tom would give one of
his rare smiles to her and grip the waist of the girl in the photo to pull her
a little closer. Sometimes, she would recall the feel of those hands on her,
and at times, the day that photo had been taken. Both of them so young, so full
of life, and both with the world waiting at their feet. He had dreamed of
taking over that world, and ruling over them all, while she, so hopelessly
devoted to him, had dreamed of giving her world to him and becoming his wife.
But he never wanted that. Not from her, and not from anyone else for that
matter. She knew how little she had meant to him, but it was her love for him
that kept Lucretia bound to Lord Voldemort, and gave her the determination not
to give up on him, for as long as he still reached out to her, she would go,
always, and cling to him as though their romance were not a one sided affair.
That was all in the past now, a past that was better not brought up, neither by
words nor by thoughts nor tears. But she was still ready to go, to be with him
again and in her own heaven, to have the life they had been denied here.
Folding the photo back into a small square and tucking it back against her
heart, she rose slowly from her spot, robes billowing gently behind her in the
breeze as she walked toward the lake, determined that now, tonight, Tom would
at last make good on the promise he had made to her eleven years ago.
A shadow cast in the dying light joined her own, seemingly taking this journey
with her, by her side, matching her step for step. She was sure it was an
illusion, a delusion of her own mind, but the shadow was a comfort to her, and
it made her smile that he had come after all in some way, and that she wouldn't
have to go this alone. As her toes touched the water, she let the warming charm
she had cast on her body go and the icy fingers of the murky depths reached her
ankles, causing her to gasp suddenly and lose her footing in the slippery mud
beneath her feet. The shadow figure reached out to grab her, and she could hear
the sound of heavy footsteps as the figure approached to rescue her, but it was
too late. She fell forward, the splash she had made frightening a school of
brightly colored flower-fish away from the edge of the water, surrounding her
for a moment, her hair wafting out around her in long dark curls, and all
giving her the look of an accidental Ophelia of the Shakespearian tale.
Lucretia didn't feel any pain when her head struck the rock, nor did she feel
the man finally join her in the water, lifting her in strong arms to gently
carry her to safety. For a moment she hovered between sleep and wakefulness,
eyes fluttering as she took in the hazy form that loomed above her. A pair of
dark eyes met her own blue, and a trembling hand reached up to stroke across
the smooth skin of her rescuer. "Tom," she muttered softly, before her world
slipped into darkness.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!
