AN: I wrote this for Ariel Riddle who is such a darling. Happy Birthday my lovely.

Beta thanks to RooOJoy, any remaining mistakes are my own.

It's quite dark and twisty. Major Character Death warning.

They say history repeats itself, but that is not entirely true. History isn't circular, it is more like a spiral. Similar events may take place over time, but they are never exactly the same. Sometimes they are smaller. Sometimes they are bigger. Sometimes they start the same, but the result is completely different.

The first time he noticed her, she was dancing the Cotillion with Lord Malfoy - elegant, perfect, radiant. But it was not her smile, her elaborate and refined dress, or the intricate way her hair had been pinned up, discreetly shaped with diamonds and gold filigree to reflect the flickering candle light in the ballroom, that attracted him. No, it was none of that, though he did notice all those things. It was the power that radiated out from her, the magic thrumming on her skin.

It was the power he had come to find.

Ginevra Weasley was the only daughter of a large pureblood family, a renowned beauty and one of the most eligible debutantes of the Season. The family was relatively poor, but in a Magical society money only mattered where power was lacking. Ginevra Weasley was the seventh child, the first daughter in seven generations, and, as such, the Lady Magic had favoured her with skill and power the likes of which society had not seen in ages. Tom Riddle knew she was the one the moment he saw her.

He'd had no idea she was watching him as intently as he watched her, until that evening. The dance ended and she came to a stop right before him. He could hear her breath catch in her throat, saw her eyes widen in recognition, then approval, and noticed the blush on her cheeks that did not come from the exertion of dancing. He bowed at her and extended a hand with the easy assurance of someone who would not be refused, and she accepted, unperturbed by the angry mutters of Lord Malfoy, to whom she had promised the next dance.

A powerful witch is a sought-after companion, no matter her heritage. Magical bloodlines only matter when the mastery of magic is below par. But the lucky witch who combines strong power with pure bloodlines is the highest prize to be won. It is, therefore, not at all surprising that Ginevra Weasley's hand was highly sought after. Wherever she appeared, all eyes would be upon her. She would enter a ballroom and be surrounded by young hopefuls, swarming to her like bees to honey.

He could not call on her the next morning, for business took him out of town, but he sent a card and flowers instead. He heard later that she had been very disagreeable to the suitors who had called, claiming the headache and retreating to her bedroom long before she could politely have done so. He hid his smile from Lord Malfoy and Lord Nott, who both nursed firewhiskey, complaining loudly about the wench and her unsuitable behaviour. If only she were not so powerful, they could have ignored her, but no, such a prize must be won. They were soon reminded to keep their voices down or be evicted from the premises. The Dragon was not a rowdy pub, so the proprietor reminded them, but a respectable gentle-wizards' club. Tom Riddle observed his rivals with cool blue eyes and dismissed them as inconsequential.

Tom always knew how to be charming, and he used his not inconsiderable skills to attract Miss Weasley's attention. And, indeed, she slowly began to respond to his advances. Many a jealous eye was fixed on them as they danced together, the handsome, tall, dark-haired wizard and the beautiful, elegant red-headed witch. They made a striking couple.

At the next ball, they danced together again.

"They tell me you are a dangerous man, Mr. Riddle," she said, amusement sparkling gold in her eyes.

"They are not wrong," he answered, with a smirk. He'd never known a dangerous reputation to make a lady withdraw her attentions, quite the contrary, and he liked to play up to the image of a rake.

She'd let her eyes rove over him, then an impertinent, assessing glance, before it was their turn again to dance in the set. The touch of her hands seemed to burn through his gloves.

"And, what, pray tell, would be so dangerous about you?" she asked archly.

He stiffened and almost missed a step, so offended was he at her derisive tone. "Your ears are too innocent to hear such tales," he said, recovering himself with some effort.

She laughed, then. "I wonder." Her eyes gleamed black for just a moment, gone so quickly he later wondered if he'd imagined it.

But though they danced together often, he defied convention and did not call on her in person. He merely sent a card and some flowers, the basest of courtesies a lady could expect. Miss Weasley was by no means so ignorant that she did not feel this for the slight it was. What she did not know, was that this was his trademark. I knew. After all, I fell for it once, too. And now I had to watch from the sidelines.

She refused to dance with him the week after that, ignoring him altogether, although he knew perfectly well she was conscious of his every move. She'd link her arm through Lord Nott's just before he'd get to her and walk away in the opposite direction. She'd look everywhere except at him. He knew she was ignoring him, he knew this was part of the game, but, hell and damnation, he'd never been bothered by it before.

It was almost laughable how she danced with Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy, pointedly looking everywhere except whichever part of the room Tom was. She flirted and laughed, and danced and walked about, and it was all a game, all for him. All to highlight what he was denied. Her mother fussed over her and told her to be more guarded around her suitors, her brothers glared at whoever came near her, and all that time she was acting out the part she was expected to play, and very poorly too. It was the first time I realised how young she was, how innocent. How soon that innocence would be gone.

He caught her alone on the balcony where she had retreated for fresh air, claiming the ballroom was too hot that night. She'd sent Lord Greengrass off to find her some refreshments and he'd taken his chance. "You're angry with me," he observed, a touch of amusement in his voice, calculated to conceal the irritation he really felt and rile her temper at the same time.

Her shoulders stiffened at the sound of his voice and she did not turn around.

"Will you tell me why?" He waited, eyes flicking between the balcony doors and the lady's back. A quick spell ensured they would be left alone, and he could now focus all his attention on her.

"I will not be trifled with," she said, eventually, just as he was about to ask her again.

He drew a slow, deep breath, waiting for her to elaborate, but she didn't. He took a step closer to her, reaching out to touch her back but thinking the better of it. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean." His voice was soft and hypnotic.

She did turn around now and studied him, her eyes lingering on his face, his shoulders, his hands, his legs, until she met his gaze unflinchingly. "You do, though," she said, her lips curling into a cruel sneer. "You think you can use me and discard me at your leisure. But I am not such a witch, Mr. Riddle." She paused, then repeated slowly, emphasis on every word, "I will not be trifled with."

He tried to read her mind surreptitiously, but her Occlumency shields were strong and he stumbled backwards, surprised by the sheer force of her defences.

"Think carefully, Mr. Riddle, about your next move."

She then stalked past him without granting him another look, dissolving the complicated ward he had thrown up around them with an impatient flick of her wrist, and returned to the ballroom. He swallowed with difficulty. Her unwitting display of power had made him hard instantly. He wanted her. Soon.

Tom Riddle is excellent at reading people and predicting their reactions. I only know him to have made a mistake once. He played Ginevra Weasley expertly. She was irrevocably drawn to him, as the tides were to the Moon. She was lost the moment she came into his orbit, much as she thought she held the reins in this game. He observed her behaviour around her suitors with well-concealed disdain. He wasn't at all surprised at her cold demeanor. I could see the amusement in his eyes, the way he catalogued her every move, and I knew he was preparing to take it one step further. I could see the moment he decided it was time to make his courtship official. I'd known that moment was coming, but I wasn't prepared for the pain it caused.

He called on her in person the next day, and though she was discourteous towards him and seemed to favour Lord Malfoy, he thought he'd seen a gleam of satisfaction in her eyes when he'd entered the room. He waited patiently for the other men to leave, but they seemed determined to stay for as long as he was there. And what was more infuriating, she knew. She knew and she was toying with him. He'd never met someone like her, and the more time he spent around her, the more intoxicating she became.

I did not have to witness every part of his courtship, thank the Gods, but I knew everything that happened all the same. I knew Miss Weasley had played coy at first, pretended to divide her attentions between Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Potter again, hoping to see jealousy in his eyes. I know how he laughed at her childish attempts to rile him afterwards, and how he threw himself into the role of a desperately infatuated lover, letting anguish mar his features whenever she pointedly ignored him. She really was just a child. She had no idea she was playing with fire.

He finally had to risk humiliation and ask her out in front of her other suitors. He saw the amusement in the quirking of her lips, the challenge in her eye as she considered his offer to drive around Hyde Park in his curricle the next day. He'd never before doubted the answer he was about to get and almost sighed with relief when she accepted.

Tom was almost called out by Mr. Potter for his forward behaviour, but he brushed off the insults and assured Mrs. Weasley that his sister would accompany them on their ride through the park, so Miss Weasley would be perfectly safe.

I had no illusions, I knew Tom was cruel. But I had not thought him as cruel as that.

They had driven around the park twice in complete silence before he said, in a thoughtful manner, "You're different."

She smiled at him, and with astonishment he noticed it was a real smile, not the polite society mask she usually wore. But her words shocked him even more.

"Perhaps I'm just tired of being good. Perhaps that is why you fascinate me."

Being introduced as Miss Riddle to the woman he was pursuing was a special kind of hell. But I could see why he had chosen her. Her magic was so pure, so inspiring, everyone else just seemed to diminish in her presence. It was as if one was staring at the night sky, admiring the stars, and all of a sudden, the Sun would come out. That was the effect Ginevra Weasley had on most people.

It didn't take him long to understand that he would not be able to follow through with his plans. She was different. She was Dark. She was powerful. She saw right through him, and he couldn't get enough. He couldn't turn away. He didn't want to admit it to himself until he found himself staring at a ruby ring at a jeweller's and imagined it on her hand. It was the colour of blood. She'd like that.

I must pride myself on my acting skills. Pretending to be happy as Tom finally asked Miss Weasley to marry him, pretending to be happy to gain a sister. I had known it was coming from the start, but I was still unprepared for the white-hot hatred that flared through my blood every time she'd touch him, every time he'd kiss her hand. I wanted to choke her there and then. But I suppressed my feelings and played the dutiful sister for as long as it was needed.

Their marriage was a small affair and he took her away to his country house as soon as the wedding breakfast was over. He couldn't wait to be alone with her, to let her magic course through him, to ravish her inside and out. And from the looks she gave him, he had a feeling she was just as impatient.

The family objected to her being taken away so soon, of course, but eventually they complied, appeased by promises of letters and Fire-calls and frequent visits. They were, perhaps, a little surprised I joined the newly-wed couple, but Riddle Manor is my home as much as his. We left together and we would always return together.

They had barely crossed the threshold when she wrapped her arms around him and pressed her lips against his. He was surprised by her forwardness, but responded in kind. Her magic thrummed along his skin and ignited a fire that had never before been aflame. Skillful fingers loosened his cravat and unbuttoned his coat and breeches, and he nearly lost himself when her hands stroked him, without hesitation, though not quite yet with skill. They didn't make it to the bedroom that first time.

I could see her nerves getting the better of her as soon as we arrived home. She was, after all, merely a child. But Tom was courteous as always, showed her around the Manor, listened with a smile on his lips to all the changes she proposed to make to the interior, looked eager to explore the grounds with her. He played the perfect husband in all ways but one. He would not join her in her bedroom that night. Instead, he came to me.

He became moody and sullen during the daytime, though he was an ardent lover in the night. He prepared the ritual as he had planned, but even as he drew the lines, cast the spells and mixed the potions, he knew, deep in his heart he wouldn't go through with it. He went as far as to take her to his ritual circle, kiss her senseless, undress her and make her wild with desire… and then he stopped. He could only stare at her, his wife, his intelligent, beautiful, ruthless wife. And she laughed - taunting, elated, relieved. So many emotions in one laugh.

It was easy to slip her a Compulsion Potion at the full moon, to take her to the ritual circle and undress her, to lay her down in the pentagram, ready for her sacrifice. The potion didn't stop working until it was too late, and she was confined in the strongest magical bonds we could create. That was the first time I saw fear in her eyes. It was exhilarating.

"I can't kill you," he said, astonishment in his voice.

She sat up, shaking her long brown curls off her shoulders, and wrapped her arms around her knees. She looked at him, her eyes dark as obsidian. "Of course you can't. You were never meant to."

"I need your power to survive." He was confused, still. He didn't even know why he tried to explain it to her, when he couldn't understand his own motives.

"Oh, Tom," she said, amusement in her voice, "you can share my power for a while. And when enough time has passed…" She paused, licked her lips with slow deliberation, then bent them in a cruel smile. "When enough time has passed, we'll find someone to sacrifice so we can both be young forever."

She fought us every moment, but she couldn't keep hold of her magic once the ritual was underway. We drained her of everything, magic, life force, the will to survive. The betrayal on her face was the cherry on top. She lay in our circle, a sacrifice to the Gods, her magic settling in our cores, rejuvenating us, giving us so many more years to live. We stood over the dying girl and he kissed me as she let out a last, painful breath, a bruising, punishing kiss that made me feel more alive than I had felt in years. The blood that trickled down her body and mingled with the wax of dying candles was the exact same hue as the ruby ring he'd given me.

We tossed her body into a nest of Blast-ended Skrewts, who were all too happy to feast on her. I watched until there was nothing left but charred remains, barely even human. It would lend credibility to the story of a sad accident we would soon have to tell her family. It was the perfect end for a woman who had caused me so much pain... He took my hand and I gripped his fiercely. I never liked sharing what was mine.

"How poetic," I mused, "that she should see us kiss in her last moments."

Tom laughed and kissed me again. "Sweet, darling Hermione," he whispered in my ear. "How I bless the day you came into my life."