What She Wanted To Forget

Suffocating. Unable to move. She thrashed wildly like a dying animal underneath his arms. Her eyes were silently screaming, her throat open but no noise came. An arm reached, fueled by pure horror and pain, only to find his grinning, maliciously insane face above hers, leering. "Virginia," he said softly. "Virginia," her name echoed and echoed. As suddenly as the nightmare came, it was gone. Her wild eyes snapped open and she sat up in bed, gripping the bedpost, her knuckles white. She gasped and drew the cool, sweet air into her lungs. After a few breaths, she managed to get her breathing under control. She turned to her bedside table. A flick of her wand lit the numerous candles around the room. She calmed down enough to grab the pitcher of water that lay beside her bed and pour a goblet for her dry throat. Closing her eyes, she gulped down half the goblet and set it on the table once again. When she was calm enough to think, she put a hand out to tug the blue curtains away from the window beside her bed. It was raining softly outside. But she couldn't see very far. The sky was still dark and silent. She put a hand to her forehead, uncomfortably aware of the thin filmy layer of sweat. Pulling her hand away, she stared out at the window at the rainy night and smoothed down the rampant red curls that cascaded down her back.

Another nightmare. How many more of these? She wished she were at Hogwarts again, where Professor Snape, as ugly and spiteful as he had been, was considerate enough to make a mild Dreamless Potion for her. He'd packed her off to the Burrow with a few bottles, only enough for a fortnight. And two days ago, when the last sip of potion was gone, the nightmares had started again. His unbearable presence upon her body. The sound of his breath, urgent and hot. It was horrible to just think about it. Harry hadn't noticed her bloody underclothing. Of course, he wouldn't. But had he taken a look under her school robes, carelessly flung on after the brutal encounter, the sight would've been enough to shock anyone. She had fainted afterwards, and just awoken in time. She had told no one. But why would they believe her? Even though he was more than capable of forcing himself on a girl at such an age, who would've believed her if she said a spirit? A memory of the past, which had summoned enough of her soul to force himself on her? Her lips curved into a bitter smile. How ironic it was. Her own power and strength, thrust upon herself. In the end, she was her own downfall. But she hadn't peeled away layers of her own clothing and clawed a path down her soft, virgin skin. She hadn't made the scars that were still concealed underneath her cotton nightgown. She shivered. She had no desire to remember that. But it was true, wasn't it? It happened three years ago, but Ginny Weasley could remember the night she was raped as clearly as yester eve.

~*~*~*~

Stifling a frightened sob, Ginny Weasley ran out of the Great Hall. Her footsteps slowed and gradually grounded to a halt. She'd just been about to tell Harry and Ron about Tom, and how he'd made her do all those things she didn't want to. Strangling the roosters, setting free the monster of Slytherin, and painting those letters on the walls. Inside, she was scared to the end of her wits. She silently cried to herself about how she was trapped. Trapped. She stumbled to a stop in a dimly lit hallway. Collapsing in a corner, she wept of her frustration and anger at all of this. And most of all, utter fear. There was nothing Tom couldn't make her do. A few minutes passed, and her sobs gradually ceased. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve and stood up again. What could she do now? A small voice told her to stand up to him. She almost jumped away from herself. Was she going crazy? He would kill her! She screamed inside herself. But the small voice replied with reasoning. Hadn't her mum always told her to stand up to a bully? To never let him see the weak side of her? Being a Weasley meant knowing how to defend yourself and your honor. And Ginny Weasley wasn't about to break tradition. I'm sure Mum and Dad faced down worse things, she told herself. And if she could just summon up the courage that was in her, the courage that was worthy of a true Gryffindor, she could face him down and make him go back to where he came from! The idea grew and grew in her head and two minutes later saw an empty hallway where a first-year girl had wept what she thought would be her last tears over this.

It's payback time, Tom,

she thought with a spiteful smirk on her face. And opened the small black book. Holding her breath, she let a drop of dark red ink fall onto its creamy pages. A second later, it was sucked up and the page was unmarred once again. But something else was happening. A thin, smoky wraith was rising from the book, twisting and contorting itself into something material, something solid, something... humanlike. A face formed itself out of nowhere, a handsome one. He looked like the kind mentor he'd made himself out to be. A mop of jet-black hair, piercing eyes, and a tall frame sketched the portrait of Tom Riddle. I'm ready this time, she thought, and with a heart full of vengeance and anger, pointed the eleven inches of willow and phoenix feather towards the figure. "Vulneratis!" she cried out at the figure before her. A dark yellow streak shot from underneath her fingers and slowed in front of him. A counter-clockwise twist of his hand and the bolt went screaming back to its originator. She ducked quickly, not expecting the retaliation. She looked up, red curls askew. The forming figure was material enough already, and she felt her strength drain from her fingers, the piece of wood slowly falling onto the floor. Her vision was dimming already and she couldn't hold on to her resolve any longer. From far away, she heard him say a word. Immediately, she felt strength flood back to her body. But it wasn't her strength. Someone else's, she realized with a sickly comprehension. And suddenly, her body wasn't hers anymore. She moved as if in a haze and as suggestions appeared in her mind, in a distant part of her mind, she was horrified to see herself obeying; a can of red paint, diabolically hidden under her floorboards, a brush, and the diary, she grasped and walked out of the dormitory. And in that distant part of her mind, Ginny Weasley was screaming.

Her feet, hers, yet not hers, traced a path to the corridor where she had gone on Halloween. And through blurry spectacles, it seemed to her, she saw her own hand trace a message in bloody letters underneath the first one. "Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever," they said. She stepped back, as if surveying the handiwork. Then, she knelt down and taking out a piece of parchment and a quill, scribbled her own signature on the paper in a handwriting that was not her own. Then, she left the parchment, quill, paint and brush under the ghastly message. Ginny strained against her mental bonds as she recognized where her feet were taking her. Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Oh, no, her mind whispered softly. Standing in front of the sink, she opened her mouth and hissed. The entrance suddenly loomed in front of her once more, and against her very will, she slipped inside and slid down to the Chamber of Secrets.

An eternity passed before she stood in the Chamber again. Then, as if there had suddenly been a sign from the heavens, she was released and slumped forward on the stony floor. Fighting her weary body, she sat up and was horrified to regard Tom's figure once more. He was clearer now, and suddenly, not so ghostly, as a cold finger touched her cheek. His smile told her all what was going to take place. The worst night of her life, in the Chamber of Secrets. Her shrieks, torn from her fatigued throat, resounded in the Chamber, unheard by any but her own ears and the ears of her attacker. She wept in the brutal violation of her young, innocent body and mind. And her strength was not there anymore. It was in the very spirit of Tom, the one she had trusted so much, the one above her, giving her the ultimate glimpse of Hell. Yes, a far-off corner of her mind replied, this must be what Hell feels like. She struggled to open her eyes again, and saw the diary had fallen from her pocket to lie on the floor. His head was lowered on her chest, biting painfully and Ginny, with a supreme effort of bravery, grabbed the book with her left hand and tore a handful of pages out. His head snapped up and started to fade. She felt a flood of relief inside her and almost started to crawl away from him when he pointed a finger at the book and torn pages. In a dream, she saw them mend together again, whole and untouched. But he was not solid yet. And with another effort, she made a grab for the book, only to find that she was too far away... and falling through darkness.

~*~*~*~

When she woke up once more on the flagstones, the figure she saw was Harry, bloody and dirty, one hand triumphantly holding the diary. Poison dripped from the book, and she suddenly knew, Tom was gone. It was as if she'd blocked off the part of the night that scared her the most, when Riddle had taken her innocence, and only remembered being kidnapped. She had heard herself blubbering endlessly about being expelled from Hogwarts, in disgrace from her parents, and all sorts of trivial worries in the face of true horror. She remembered afterwards, Harry helping her out of the Chamber, being embraced by her brother, and being spirited up by Fawkes to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom once more. There was the feast, grand and exhilarating. At least, it would have been for Virginia Weasley had she been able to remember anything but the haunting voice of Tom Riddle. Afterwards came the confrontations with Dumbledore, McGonagall, and her parents. Then she was ushered up to the hospital wing. And the next weeks were absolutely the worst in her life. The nightmares came, every night, and she had to work hard in the day to keep up the calm façade of happiness and relief, when inside, she screamed for a savior to rescue her soul from damnation. Outside, she seemed fine, but inside, she was trying to pick up her broken spirit and what remained of her innocence. On the train, she told them about Percy and Penelope Clearwater. She watched them laugh and secretly thought that they would be horrified had they known about her ordeal that night. But she smiled bravely and said goodbye to Harry, whose bright green eyes that told her in no uncertain terms that she was safe. If only she could believe that. If only.

And as she sat in her bed, her eyes glazed over with recollection, the rain pounded down once more on the roof of the Burrow. Ginny Weasley wiped away the tears that had somehow made their way out of her eyes and swallowed the bitter bile that threatened. Now, her mind said calmly with resolve. No more memories. No more of this torture. No dreams, pain, or tears. It was too much to bear any longer. One more dream and she was sure she'd go insane. And so she let the numbing calmness take over. Again, as if possessed by another spirit, she saw her arm raise the wand, and in a voice which was not hers, say, "Obliviate!". Salvation came in the form of an electric blue beam of light and abruptly, she knew nothing. Wiping her eyes, she wondered suddenly, why she'd been crying so much. There was no reason to cry. Harry was coming over tomorrow to play Quidditch with them. He'd be surprised to see how she was developing as a Chaser herself. And they'd be happy and have fun. No reason to cry at all, her mind repeated. And flicking her wand again, the candles went out, leaving the moon outside the window, the only illumination, and the only witness of the crime she had done to herself. The rain kept falling.