The Chamber of Secrets

"Look out, Harry!" Ginny cried helplessly from the stands, her whole body so taut she was sure her muscles would snap...but it was too late. The Bludger soared right past Malfoy and smashed into the top of Harry's back with a sickening crunch, and the pitch exploded into confused and frightened roars.

The Bludger had been chasing Harry around the field for the whole game. Fred and George had tried to protect him from it at first, but to no avail. Finally, they'd called a time out and Harry had convinced them to let him handle the Bludger. He'd been doing an excellent job of it, in fact, looping, swooping, spiraling, zigzagging, and rolling to avoid being hit. He'd even managed to mostly ignore Malfoy's snide comments about training for the ballet, and had taken advantage of Malfoy's inattention caused by amusement to pluck the Snitch right out the air beside Malfoy's ear, narrowly avoiding a Bludger hit to the arm in the process.

But in the moment of euphoria and triumph at having won the game for Gryffindor, he'd forgotten about the Bludger altogether, and that moment was enough.

Ginny sat frozen in her seat as the rest of the Gryffindors rushed down onto the field, where Harry's prone figure lay splashed across the muddy ground like a bloodstain. The Slytherins, having lost, had already slunk off the field, presumably to sulk, yell at each other, and drown themselves in the showers.

"Back away!" snapped Madam Hooch furiously, her face as gray as her hair as she pushed through the crowd and bent to examine Harry. Nearby, Hermione was crying softly, her face buried in Ron's shoulder, while he looked on with shock and worry.

"Hospital Wing," she said tersely, performing a Petrificus to keep Harry immobile and then levitating him carefully off the pitch and walking quickly toward the castle, followed closely by Professors McGonagall, Snape, and Lockhart. Professors Flitwick and Sprout remained behind to shoo students back to their Common Rooms, although kind-hearted Sprout let Ron and Hermione follow the grim trail of teachers.

As the field emptied and the professors made their way back to the school as well, a lone figure sat unnoticed in the stands. Hardly surprising, though, since nobody ever noticed her. Ginny, being the youngest of seven and the only girl, was used to getting lost in the shuffle of things. She was quiet, shy, and entirely unremarkable to boot, and her reserved personality was often completely overshadowed by the rambunctious and strong extroversion of her elder brothers.

It was, therefore, equally unsurprising that nobody had noticed the change in her behavior as of late. Instead of even attempting to be sociable, most of her time since arriving at Hogwarts had been spent hidden in various nooks and crannies of the school, her knees tucked into her body, her head bent, and her little hand flying furiously over paper. Little Ginny had taken up writing, and was never to be seen without her leather-bound diary. In fact, even now she had it clutched to her chest, her knuckles white as her fingers curled around its soft black cover. If anyone had been watching, they would have seen her lips moving slightly as she whispered, perhaps to herself, perhaps to the book, and then closed her eyes, taking a deep breath and holding the book even closer as if drawing strength from it. It was only then that she stood silently and began to make her way down from the stands.

+

About an hour later, the Hospital Wing had been completely cleared of all unnecessary personnel, meaning everyone save the patients and Madam Pomfrey, who hovered over Harry's bed like an excessively watchful mother hen. Harry lay sleeping, although the slight line between his eyebrows suggested he was in at least some amount of discomfort. The Bludger had cracked four of his ribs and had shattered three vertebrae, as well as causing some amount of internal injury. He was expected to make a full recovery, but it would take time, and he certainly would not be permitted to play Quidditch for some time, perhaps even for the remainder of the season.

Ginny might not have known these things had she not happened upon her brothers attempting to comfort Oliver Wood, who was wringing his hands in anguish, in the Common Room. Wood was, of course, worried about Harry's well being, but now that he knew Harry was out of immediate danger, he was extremely distraught by the fact that his Seeker was out of commission for quite possibly the rest of the year and that he would have to find a replacement. Since Harry had joined the team the previous year, he had actually neglected to work with his first reserve Chaser as a Seeker, and, as a result, the boy, a muscular but not overly speedy fifth year, did not have the skills required to act as Seeker. He certainly couldn't pull one of his current Chasers and replace her with the first reserve, because he'd been working tirelessly on formations and plots and plays, and the three of them worked harmoniously together. He was therefore faced with the task of finding a speedy, light, coordinated student who could pick up on their plays quickly and could outmaneuver and outfly the other Seekers, none of whom were especially lacking in skill. Thus far, they had been undefeated largely because Harry was, hands-down, the best flyer the school had. They wouldn't last long without an excellent replacement.

Ginny ducked her head a bit as she made her way through the Common Room, hoping to slink unnoticed into her room, draw her bedcurtains, and spend the next several hours in peace and quiet. However, the simplest of plans could be quickly foiled by an exuberant brother, and in this case, there were two of them. Noticing her, they sprang across the room quickly, each one seizing one of her arms and spiriting her toward Oliver with identical grins on their faces. She struggled, but to no avail, as they reassured her not to be shy and deposited her flushed and slightly out of breath before the distressed Quidditch captain.

"Oliver," said Fred thoughtfully, "I know we'd already mentioned Ron as being out, since his expertise lies mostly in playing Keeper, but Ginny here..."

"Has been playing Chaser since she was old enough to ride a broomstick," George piped up, "and while that's not Seeker..."

"Charlie's worked with her on a bunch of moves," Fred cut in again, elbowing George. "She's definitely light and speedy, our Gin."

"And coordinated too," George added proudly, dropping a brotherly hand on her shoulder. She blushed scarlet and clutched the diary closer to her chest.

Oliver peered at her from beneath bushy brown brows. "What year are you, Ginny?" he asked, looking contemplative.

Ginny opened her mouth but nothing came out, and she looked away quickly, her freckles almost vanishing on her flushed cheeks.

"She's a first year," Fred answered for her, resting a hand on her lower back. "Sorry, she's a bit shy of strangers."

"And you're right scary, mate," George reprimanded Oliver calmly, shaking his head a bit. "No wonder she's terrified, the poor girl."

Oliver scowled at his Beaters, but only for a moment, most of his attention caught by the idea of a Seeker who was trained by Charlie Weasley himself. "Well, Ginny, you certainly have Quidditch in your blood, and if your brothers are willing to vouch for you, I'm certainly willing to try you out. What do you say?"

Ginny bit her lip, turning enormous blue eyes to Oliver's face and looking as though she were about to say something, but she paused in the middle of an inhale, almost as if she were listening to something. An unfamiliar look passed over her face like a shadow, but was gone so quickly that her brothers hardly had time to think anything of it. They only saw the small smile that curved her lips as she opened her mouth and answered, "I should like that, thank you."

Oliver couldn't help but smile at that, the gesture making him look somewhat less imposing. "All right then," he returned. "I shall speak to McGonagall directly about bending the first year rule again. I'm sure she won't have a problem with it; since you've had to play with these nincompoops all your life, the question of exposure to violence at too young an age is somewhat moot." He winked at her, and she blushed again before shrugging off her brothers' hands and darting up to her dormitory.

Oliver watched her go before turning to her brothers, who were wearing matching self-satisfied expressions. I would say she seems somewhat odd, he thought, but, knowing her brothers, that hardly surprises me. Out loud, he simply said, "Does she have her own broom?"

+

Two days later, Ginny found herself delicately cradling Harry Potter's Nimbus 2000. His broken bones were mended, and his internal injuries had healed enough so that Madam Pomfrey had (reluctantly) allowed him to leave the Hospital Wing and return to classes. However, he had been quite firmly instructed not to fly for at least a couple of months. And since he was not able to use his broom, he had generously agreed to let Ginny use it for the duration of her run as Seeker. The boy himself sat in the stands, flanked by Ron and Hermione, preparing to watch the first practice since the weekend's game.

Ginny took a deep breath and kicked off, leaving her reservations and fears behind on the ground as she reacquainted herself with the sensation of wind whipping through her long, red hair, the exact position of hands and body required to execute a perfect figure eight, the amount of pressure required to turn the broom seven degrees to the right. Up here, she could be herself, enjoy the solitude of being on her own broom, away from everyone and everything, and without all the restrictions that came from being confined to the ground. Up here, she felt free.

Ron turned to Harry, who was gaping, and poked him in the arm. "See?" he crowed. "She's a natural. Not as good as you, of course, but with her riding your broom, nobody else stands a chance."

Apparently, Oliver seemed to agree with that sentiment as well; once practice was over, he clapped Ginny on the shoulder with brotherly pride, a huge grin on his face. "Weasley," he announced, propelling her toward the showers, "I think this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

Ginny glowed, her hand tightening on the broom, but stopped dead when Oliver tried to lead her into the showers. He looked at her, surprised. "Something wrong?" he asked.

She shrugged off his arm swiftly, backing away just a bit, and stared at him, her eyes wide. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm not...feeling well..." And with that, she turned and ran toward the castle, her robes billowing behind her, much to the confusion of her fellow players.

+

When Ginny entered her room, her roommates were just in the process of leaving, and were speaking to each other in low, frightened voices. She quickly pushed past them, darted inside, and shut the door, leaving them to look at each other in confusion.

"Everybody is acting so strangely," commented Kelly Plympton, a slight, blond girl with enormous eyes. "Do you think that Mister Filch was telling the truth, and people really are being possessed by...by the Ghost?"

One of her companions, an elfin brunette named Deena Kennicot, bit her lip. "I'm not usually scared of ghosts," she breathed, clutching Kelly's arm for support, "but this one sounds particularly mean."

"He certainly would have been ugly," shuddered the third, a mousy-looking girl named Catarina Elthbert. "Body like a skeleton, black holes instead of eyes, yellow skin, and a slitted nose like a snake..." She also clung to Kelly, who looked positively ill.

"Hush!" she commanded, looking around in fear. "Remember what Professor McGonagall said about idle gossip! The ghost won't like that!"

It was with great trepidation and caution that the three young girls made their way out to the Common Room for breakfast, leaving little Ginny to her own devices.

+

When Ginny finally emerged hours later, she very nearly bumped into Harry, who was pacing the Common Room. She blushed slightly. "Sorry, Harry," she murmured, looking at her shoes and clutching her diary closer. "I didn't see you."

"That's okay, Ginny," he replied, and she started. Harry had never actually spoken to her before, at least not without one of her brothers around, and hearing him use her name was enough to give her pause.

She stared at him for a moment, her eyes wide, and he actually grinned at her, his easy smile enough to make her stomach flutter. "I was waiting to talk to you, actually."

She nearly dropped the diary in shock. "F-for me?" she asked in a small voice, certain that he must be playing some kind of a joke, and that Ron was hiding just out of sight somewhere, laughing. She actually looked around, trying to see if she could catch a tell-tale glimpse of red hair anywhere, but when that failed, she looked back toward Harry, staring somewhere in the middle of his chest.

"Yes, to you," he replied patiently, his voice gently. "I just wanted to say that...I was really impressed with your flying today. I agree with Fred and George. You're a natural."

She blushed so dark, her freckles nearly disappeared. "Oh..." she whispered, eyes enormous. "Th-thank you."

He touched her shoulder gently, trying to get her to look at him, but she flinched and took a step back, holding the diary across her chest like a shield. "Sorry," he apologized. "Just...would you look at me a moment?"

Reluctantly, she dragged her eyes up to his face, and saw something there that she didn't think she'd ever seen before. The way he was looking at her made her both nervous and fluttery happy, and she couldn't repress a soft gasp.

He smiled, a lopsided grin that made her heart skip a beat. "In fact..." he said softly, "I don't think I've ever seen anything so beautiful before."

That was too much for Ginny. Face flaming, she turned on her heel and darted out of the room, needing to put as much distance between herself and Harry as possible. When she finally stopped, she was out of breath, her hair messy and spilling into her face, her face flushed from a combination of exertion and embarrassment. She slumped against the wall, breathing hard, and slid down until she was nestled on the floor. After a short pause, she extracted a quill, flipped open the diary, and started to write again.

+

Ginny was conspicuously absent from all meals for the next several weeks. In fact, aside from all required activities (namely, classes and Quidditch practice), she spent all of her time in her room, her bedcurtains drawn. Every time someone tried to talk to her, a deer-in-headlights look would cross her face and she'd make some excuse and walk off as quickly as she could manage. Even her brothers had no idea what was up with her.

Harry felt himself rather affected by this. While he hadn't noticed Ginny much over the summer, after seeing the way she handled a broom, the freedom with which she flew, and the look of utter joy that crossed her face when she was flying, he found himself inexplicably drawn to her. So when she began avoiding him at all costs, his immediate response was to pursue her with more determination.

Ron, of course, was delighted by this; he liked the idea of his best friend and his sister, and, as he had seen the way Ginny had looked at Harry all summer, he knew she had liked the idea as well. He couldn't say why she had been actively avoiding social interactions, however, and, as she was avoiding him as well, he couldn't very well ask her. And he certainly couldn't seek her out in her room, because the dormitories were spelled so that boys could not enter girls' rooms at all.

That is why he found himself asking Hermione if she would check on Ginny and see if she was all right. Hermione felt that he was overreacting a bit; girls, after all, have a right to be mysterious, and every woman has her secrets, but, after much pleading on his part, she finally made her way up to the first year dormitory.

When she entered, Ginny's curtains were only partially drawn. The rest of the room was empty, as all the other girls were eating dinner. Ginny sat with her back propped up against several pillows, her diary across her knees, writing furiously, a lock of hair falling forward into her face and just brushing against the page.

"Ginny?" Hermione asked quietly. Ginny started violently, sending ink splattering everywhere. "Her-Hermione!" she gasped, setting the diary aside hurriedly. "I didn't hear you come in!"

"I'm sorry," Hermione apologized, crossing to the younger girl, and grimacing slightly as she noted the mess of ink on her bed. "Here, let me help you." She pulled out her wand and cast a quick cleaning charm on the sheets, watching as the ink dried and disappeared. Another charm banished the ink from Ginny's clothing as well.

Ginny shifted on the bed so that Hermione would have somewhere to sit, shutting the diary and cradling it in her lap, but not before Hermione could see the blank pages, completely free of writing; even the ink that had splattered everywhere had somehow not sullied the pages. She filed that away in her mind before turning her full attention to Ginny's face.

"I'm sorry to intrude," she said quietly, "but your brother is worried about you. He's afraid you're upset about something because of the way you've been avoiding H...everyone." She stopped herself from mentioning Harry, knowing quite well that Ginny's feelings on that matter were none of her business, unless Ginny felt like bringing them up herself.

Ginny sighed quietly, hugging her knees to her chest. "I wish he wouldn't push the matter," she murmured, her tone fairly benign, but with an underlying hint of irritation and vehemence. "I told him I just wanted to be left alone. He doesn't like it when I'm away too long."

Hermione lifted an eyebrow. "'He'?" she repeated, studying Ginny's face closely and wondering how shy, quiet little Ginny had managed to involve herself with a boy without anyone knowing about it.

Ginny's grip on the diary tightened. "Tom," she whispered.

That, Hermione could understand. When she was younger, maybe eight or so, she'd had a stuffed cat, and she'd named him Crookshanks and had told him everything that had ever made her happy, sad, or angry. Crookshanks had been the best friend she'd ever had, because he always listened and never judged her, and she'd always been able to be just Hermione without having to feel embarrassed about herself. "Your diary's name is Tom?" she asked gently.

A shadow flitted across Ginny's face, but so briefly that Hermione was sure she must have imagined it. "Yes," Ginny replied softly, nodding. "I tell him everything, and he understands me. He's been so wonderful, with all of this new Quidditch stuff, being very supportive and reassuring."

Ah, Hermione thought to herself in an almost clinical fashion, personification of an inanimate object as a coping mechanism for newly induced stress. Out loud, she simply said, "It's always helpful to have someone to talk to, isn't it?"

Ginny's eyes widened as though she couldn't believe someone else understood. "Y-yes," she agreed. "It is."

Hermione smiled and softly laid a hand on the younger girl's shoulder. "Only, Ginny...there are other people who care about you as well. You don't always have to rely on Tom."

Ginny stared at her, her eyes still wide, and Hermione could see the wheels turning in her mind. She stood, letting her hand slide from Ginny's arm. "I'll leave you alone now," she said gently, smiling at Ginny for a moment more before turning and leaving the room as quietly as she'd entered.

+

Hermione returned to the Common Room, sitting down in her usual spot and curling up with a book, and completely ignoring Ron's repeated pleas for information as to her conversation with Ginny. When he looked at her with hopeful eyes and pouted, she merely rolled her eyes and said, "A woman is entitled to her secrets," leaving Ron feeling extremely frustrated and rather sick of 'women' altogether. That in mind, he went off to seek out Harry, who was serving detention with Professor Lockhart that evening.

He found his friend standing stock still in the middle of the hall, his eyes enormous and his head cocked ever so slightly, as though he was listening to something, but Ron couldn't hear anything. It was with some trepidation that he took a few steps forward and hesitantly asked, "Harry?"

Harry jumped, fixing Ron with frightened and confused eyes. "Can you hear it?" he breathed, gesturing to the wall.

Ron narrowed his eyes. "Hear what, mate?" he asked, wondering if Ginny's constant rejections of his friend had caused Harry to lose his mind.

Harry blinked, looking around in confusion. "It's gone now," he sighed, taking a few steps forward and pausing in front of Ron. "There was a voice...it was...telling me to stay away from Ginny."

Ron lifted a fiery brow. "You've cracked," he said concernedly, taking Harry's elbow with the intent of taking him back to the Common Room, but Harry pulled away.

"I heard it!" he insisted. "The voice was telling me to stay away from the girl with hair like fire, and saying I would suffer a fate worse than death if I did not obey."

Ron sighed, forcefully dragging Harry along. "Come on," he urged. "You just need a good night's sleep, and--"

He stopped dead, and followed Harry's eyes to the sight before them. The caretaker, Argus Filch, was hanging in thin air, his eyes wide and glassy, his body rigid. On the stone wall above his body was painted a statement in deep, thick red: "The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir beware." Astonished and rather frightened, they stared between the wall and the body, uncertain of what to do, until a group of Gryffindor girls approaching solved the problem for them and screamed rather loudly.

That caught the Slytherins' attention, and their leader, the same Draco Malfoy who'd flown against Harry not so long ago, sneered at the girls. "Enemies of the heir, beware?" he scoffed. "You'll be next, Mudbloods!"

"It's the ghost's doing!" screamed little Deena Kennicot, swooning in her friends' arms. A low murmur blossomed at the statement, and hat brought a large group of teachers running, all of whom started when they saw their caretaker suspended from apparently nothing. McGonagall looked especially grave, her lips pursed.

"Prefects," she ordered, "take your students back to your dormitories. Mister Potter, Mister Weasley...and you three," she pointed to the three Gryffindor first years, "you will remain."

Still murmuring, the students emptied the halls, looking at each other fearfully, clutching each other, wondering what on earth could be going on. Meanwhile, the three young Gryffindors were looking absolutely terrified, eyes huge and faces very pale. McGonagall stepped over to them and regarded them rather sternly.

"Do you remember what I told you about gossiping?" she asked quietly but firmly, fixing them with a cat-like stare. Unable to speak, they merely nodded frantically, huddled together for support. McGonagall gazed at them for a moment longer before straightening and waving her hand. "Off with you then," she commanded, her voice somewhat gentler now. "Go back to your dormitory."

They didn't have to be told twice; they scuttled off in fear and silence, leaving Harry and Ron to face McGonagall, Snape, Lockhart, Sprout, Pomfrey, and Flitwick alone. Soon afterward, though, they felt themselves relax as the Headmaster arrived, looking very grave behind his spectacles as he stepped forward and examined the caretaker.

"Punjab lasso spell," he murmured sadly. "I'm sure of it."

Harry and Ron gazed at each other, confused and frightened at the same time. What on earth was a Punjab lasso? What could have done that? They both found themselves, independently, of course, wondering if the rumors about the 'ghost' they'd been hearing had any basis in reality.

"Ah," Lockhart said grandly. "I thought so."

Everyone stared at him. He grinned back, completely oblivious.

Rolling her eyes, McGonagall asked Flitwick and Pomfrey to take Filch to the Hospital Wing pending further investigation. That done, she fixed the boys with quite an intense gaze. "What happened?" she asked sternly.

"I don't know, Professor," Ron replied honestly. "I had just gone to fetch Harry from detention, and he said that--"

Harry elbowed him sharply and he cut himself off. Snape looked at them suspiciously. "Said what?" he sneered in a low voice.

"Said I--wasn't hungry," Harry lied. "We were just headed back to the Common Room."

Snape and McGonagall both regarded them carefully, but Dumbledore seemed satisfied. "You may go," he said, smiling slightly at both of them, and go they did. As soon as they were out of earshot, though, Ron grabbed Harry's arm.

"What was that about?" he asked sharply.

Harry shrugged slightly. "No use bringing your sister into this. Besides, maybe you're right, and I'm just hearing things."

But it was with a significantly heavier atmosphere that the two boys returned to the Gryffindor Common Room.

+

The weekend was upon them, and with it came another Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch match. This was the first match that Ginny was to play in, and she was, unsurprisingly, rather nervous, and was still refusing to see anyone, especially Harry. In fact, since that last evening they'd talked, she'd taken to completely ignoring him whenever she saw him, instead of just making excuses and running away. So he was surprised when, before the match, he entered the locker room to wish his teammates good luck and saw her sitting in a corner, knees tucked up to her chest, writing furiously. He approached quietly, curiously, and just caught the name "Tom" before she looked up and saw him. Her face twisted into an expression of shock and fear and she slammed the book shut, clutching it possessively.

"What do you want?" she murmured defensively, biting her lip.

Harry held up his hands in the age-old expression of surrender. "Ginny..." he faltered, then pressed forward. "I know I must have done something to upset you, but I only want you to know that...that I care for you. You're a remarkable person, Ginny Weasley."

She trembled a bit, her cheeks flushing, looking as though she wanted to say something, but, at the last moment, she closed her mouth, holding the diary closer. "Harry, please," she whispered, her blue eyes sad and frightened and angry all at once.

"Please what?" he breathed, taking a step closer.

That was enough. The look on her face hardened, and she sat up straighter. "Please don't talk to me anymore," she requested coldly, politely. "I can't do this."

And with that, she stood and brushed past him, taking up his broom - his broom - and heading for the pitch, leaving him to stare after her with an expression of shock and confusion.

Numbly, he wished the other members of the team luck before heading out to the field and up into the stands to join his friends. He was greeted amiably by Ron and half-heartedly by Hermione, who seemed to be angry at both of them and siding with Ginny through some unspoken female bond, although, on what issue there was sides involved, they were unclear.

"She looks wonderful out there," Ron said proudly, elbowing Harry gently.

"Yes," Harry replied quietly, a bit sadly. "She does."

The three of them watched as the game began, holding their breaths as the Quaffle flew from player to player at breakneck speed, the Bludgers flew pell-mell at every player in sight, and Ginny and Draco circled, keeping an eye out for the Snitch.

Harry glared at his nemesis, who seemed to be making some snide comment as he was prone to do, the arrogant tilt of his head and curl of his lip indicating his malicious intent. As Harry watched, Ginny's shoulders began to shake, probably with tears. Harry growled, his hands clenching into fists, and was about to yell something very rude at Malfoy, but, before he could, Malfoy...wobbled a bit, slid sideways off his broom, and plummeted toward the ground.

Time seemed to stop. Someone, somewhere, somehow managed to get their wand out and cast a quick cushioning charm, but falling from the height he did, it didn't do as much to help as would have been preferable. When he finally came to rest after bouncing a few times, he was still, and the pitch was silent, everyone reminded of how something similar had happened not so long ago, with Harry.

There was another mad stampede for the pitch, another cluster of worried professors, another caravan to the Hospital Wing, and, with the game canceled, the Gryffindor team made their way back to the locker room, speaking only in hushed whispers.

When Ginny finally landed, she looked drawn, shocked, her eyes huge in a pale face and her lips very white. She brushed past her brothers and friends without a word, running into the locker room, her red hair streaming out behind her. When Harry tried to follow, Hermione rested a gentle but firm hand on his arm. "Don't," she said sternly. "If she wants to talk about it, she will when she's ready."

"But, Hermione, what if..." Ron was almost frantic with worry for his baby sister, his blue eyes wide.

Hermione grabbed Ron's arm as well. "Don't," she repeated crossly. "She needs to be alone right now. Tom will take care of her." As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she blanched, her eyes widened, and she began walking hurriedly toward the school.

Ron and Harry exchanged a look before chasing after her. "Hermione!" they called. She ignored them and kept walking. But her friends were nothing if not persistent, and they caught up to her just at the door of the castle and begged for clarification. She resisted for some time, but as they continued to ask, she felt her resolve weaken, and she paused in the hallway, looking at them sternly.

"Now, you have to promise not to laugh," she instructed firmly, fixing them with the Bossy Hermione look they both knew.

"We promise," they said together, attentive and hopeful, and she sighed softly.

"All right. When I was younger, I didn't feel as though I had anyone to talk to, and so I used to talk to a..." She paused, taking a deep breath. "A stuffed animal." She glared at them, as though expecting derisive snorts, but instead only got confused looks.

"What does that have to do with Ginny?" Ron asked.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Ginny has a diary in which she writes everything. She calls the diary Tom. That's all." She glared at them, her hands on her hips. "I hope you're happy now. No wonder she doesn't want to talk to either of you." One last, irritated stare, and she spun on her heel, storming off...and stopping dead, staring at the wall.

"That's odd," she murmured, almost to herself, approaching the wall and touching it gently. "I don't recall this wall being quite so...shiny."

"It looks like a mirror," Harry blinked, joining her and touching it as well. He pressed against it slightly, and felt it give, just a bit, beneath his fingertips, and pulled his hand back in shock. "It certainly doesn't feel like one though," he gasped, wiggling his fingers, which were inexplicably cold. "That's weird."

Ron nervously approached as well, running fingers over the surface gently, and gasping as the tip of his little fingernail bit into the material. "Agreed," he murmured in wonder. "Definitely not a mirror."

"It feels almost like gelatin," Hermione mused out loud. "I wonder what could be--" She cut herself off abruptly. "I have to go to the library." And without another word, she straightened and flounced off, for the third time in less than ten minutes, leaving Ron and Harry staring after her in shock, again, for the third time in ten minutes.

"This whole school's gone mental," Ron grimaced, shaking his head. Casting another wary look at the mirror, he took Harry's arm. "Come on, let's go."

Harry nodded, and turned to follow his friend, but stopped dead in his tracks when he heard that same deep, hissing voice again, sounding as though it was coming through the walls...but this time it was laughing, maniacally, rising in pitch until it was positively painful to listen to.

"Stop!" Harry cried out, clapping his hands over his ears and shrinking to the floor. Ron was at his side in an instant, helping him to his feet again with steady hands.

"Harry, what's the matter?" Ron asked concernedly.

"The voice...I heard it again..." Harry muttered, as if in a daze, staring wildly around through unfocused eyes.

"It's all right, mate," Ron replied soothingly, although he was convinced Harry had caught whatever illness was inducing mental instability in everyone at Hogwarts. "Come on, let's get you back to the Common Room." Supporting Harry against his side, he began to walk, wondering all the while how he had managed to be so lucky in his choice of friends.

+

When they made it back to the Common Room, Oliver was sitting anxiously in the corner, his knees drawn into his chest. When he noticed them, he pushed himself upright and crossed to them, blue eyes round and a bit disturbed. "Have either of you seen Ginny anywhere?" he asked. "She ran out of the locker room after...well, after the match didn't end, and nobody's seen her since."

"That's hardly abnormal these days," Ron returned, shrugging his shoulders, but Harry couldn't help but feel there was something decidedly wrong with this whole situation. The odd voice still prickling at his subconscious and the feel of sticky gelatinous mirror still haunting him, he turned and ran out of the room again. Ron shouted after him, but, when he was ignored, he tore out of the room after his friend, leaving Oliver standing there and looking very confused indeed.

"Harry!" Ron panted, trying to catch up with him. "Harry, come on, wait up!"

"I have to find Ginny," Harry said urgently, not slowing his pace.

"Why, what's wrong?" Ron asked, looking at Harry suspiciously.

"I don't know," Harry replied. "I just get the feeling something's very wrong."

Ron looked as though he wanted to say something calming or reassuring, but thought better of it, knowing better than to argue with Harry when he got like that. Instead, he simply said, "I'll help you."

The school was huge, but Harry was determined to check every inch of it, running up and down hallways, poking his head into classrooms, all of the little corners he'd ever seen her sitting in, but there was no sign of her anywhere, and she didn't answer when he called her name, over and over again. He was just nearing the library when Hermione emerged, clutching a piece of paper and looking quite white in the face.

"Hermione!" he choked. "Ginny's gone!"

Hermione only looked at him, a grave look on her face. "I know," she murmured. "Tom took her."

Ron approached from the other side, breathing hard, and looking utterly confused. "What was that about her diary?" he panted, his voice slightly rough.

"He took Ginny," Hermione repeated, her mouth pulled into a tight line.

Ron opened his mouth, about to ask what the hell she was talking about, but Harry elbowed him sharply and he closed his mouth again.

Harry turned his full attention back to Hermione, swallowed hard, and touched her hand. "Where?"

Hermione's eyebrows furrowed, and she twined her fingers with his. "The Chamber of Secrets," she whispered.

+

On the way back to the hallway with the mirrored wall, Hermione explained what she'd read. She remembered something she'd read in Hogwarts, A History, about a story that was deemed to be a myth, the story of a Chamber that had been built below the school by Salazar Slytherin. She'd passed it off as myth as well, since the circumstances surrounding it had seemed too ridiculous to be true - it could only be opened by the heir of Slytherin, and was rumored to hold terrors worse than death within. There were two ways to get into the chamber. The first was to be taken there yourself, in the company of the heir. The second, however, was the door that would open only once there was a living being inside the Chamber, a door that would take on the appearance of a mirror, but a one-way mirror, only for entrance. Exit was an entirely different matter.

"That's all well and good," Ron said impatiently, "but what does that have to do with Ginny's diary?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, looking as though she wanted to say something about impatience, but mercifully restraining herself. "When I spoke to Ginny a few weeks ago, I happened upon her writing in her diary, and startled her so much that she splattered ink everywhere. But the diary pages were clean, as if they'd reflected the ink, like a mirror. But when I read about the mirror as a door, I realized that the diary wasn't reflecting ink...it was sucking it in."

Both boys stared at her blankly.

She sighed loudly. "Tom isn't the name of her diary. Tom is her diary. He's...a contained memory, of sorts. She's actually been talking to him by writing in the diary, and he can respond, somehow. I'm not entirely positive how it works, only that it does."

Harry's mouth fell open. "You mean that that book actually contains..."

"Yes, a boy...or man...named Tom. Or, his memories, at least." Hermione quickened her pace marginally as they approached the hallway. "But there's more."

Ron and Harry both leaned closer, eyes huge, looking at her expectantly.

"I went into the Restricted section, looking for more information on the Chamber of Secrets, and it turns out that it has been opened before, fifty years ago."

"By whom?" Harry whispered, not certain if he wanted to know the answer.

Hermione looked especially grim. "Hagrid."

Ron gasped. "Hagrid? He's the heir of Slytherin?"

Hermione's lip curled just a bit. "He was expelled for it in his third year."

Harry stopped in the hall, shaking his head. "I don't believe Hagrid could be capable of something like that."

"Nor do I," Hermione returned, still grimly. "But he was caught by the head boy, and with his word against Hagrid's, Hagrid was expelled immediately. They snapped his wand and everything." She started walking again, forcing them to follow her.

"Who was this head boy?" Ron asked angrily, his hands clenched into fists. After the incident with the slugs, he was feeling especially devoted to Hagrid.

Hermione frowned. "The book only listed him as Mr. Riddle," she said thoughtfully.

Ron stopped this time, his blue eyes wide as he struggled with something. "Riddle...Riddle...why does that sound so--oh!" He looked up excitedly. "There was this plaque I had to polish when I was serving detention with Filch...T Riddle, for special services to the school, dated fifty years ago!" At his friends' surprised looks, he shrugged. "I kept burping up slugs on it. I had to polish it for an hour."

Suddenly, Harry's face went pale. "T Riddle...Tom," Harry gasped, feeling anger and fear for Ginny coursing through his veins. Ron and Hermione stared at him in horror, and they began to move again immediately, knowing that they had to get to Ginny, and soon.

+

They reached the mirrored wall soon after. The halls were dark and deserted, the mirror foreboding in the dim light, and they stopped in front of it, clutching each other for support.

Harry was the first to break away, and he took one resolute step forward. "Let's go," he said, his voice hardly trembling at all, and rested his hands against the gelatinous surface. He felt the coldness, the suction of it wanting to swallow him whole, and he took a deep, calming breath. He'd faced Voldemort once already; this Tom fellow couldn't possibly be anywhere near as bad. He took a step forward, and another, and felt himself being swallowed, pulled through, and it felt like drowning. Like dying.

He fell onto hands and knees on a hard stone floor. After taking a moment to catch his breath and calm down, he pushed himself upright and waited for Ron and Hermione to join him. Hermione was the next to come through, but just as he was about to help her up, Ron fell through and knocked into him, sending them both to the ground.

"Ron!" Harry hissed, trying to push him off of her, but failing miserably as he seemed to weigh somewhat more than usual. "What did you-oh." Hermione also stopped dead as she realized that extra weight Ron was carrying was a very irate-looking Professor Lockhart.

"What are you doing here?" Harry growled, somehow managing to get out from under them and pushing himself upright.

"I was simply attempting to stop your friends here from doing something unbelievably stupid," Lockhart sniffed with as much dignity as one could muster while wearing turquoise, "but instead, they managed to drag me along with them."

"Oh, good, Professor," Hermione trilled, stepping closer to him. "Then you can help us. We're trying to save his sister from the preserved memory of a student who was here fifty years ago who's brought her down here for some evil purpose."

Harry and Ron exchanged a look, and then rolled their eyes.

Lockhart, however, merely puffed up his chest proudly and patted Hermione on the head. She glowed and only just managed to repress a sigh. Ron gagged. Harry narrowed his eyes. "Can we get a move on?" he snapped irritably, beginning the trek into the unknown.

+

After walking for some time, they came upon a tall pile of loose stones. While Ron watched, unwilling to do anything with his broken wand, Harry and Hermione carefully began moving stones aside, revealing the entrance into what looked like a big, empty room. Once the gap was big enough, they slipped through, and looked around their new environment.

The room was dark, but there seemed to be something large and sturdy-looking right in the middle of it. Harry moved closer to study it, while Ron moved across the room to see if he could find another wall. Hermione just rolled her eyes. "Honestly, you two are impossible," she grumbled. She pulled out her wand. "Lumos!"

The room lit up, and all four of them stared around in surprise. The room was a hexagon shape, and in the middle stood a gigantic metal tree. The walls all seemed to be made of mirrors, smooth and cool to the touch, but that rippled and swirled and seemed to send off shocks of magic whenever touched.

"This is a very odd sort of place," Lockhart pointed out unnecessarily.

"Thank you," Harry grumbled, circling the room and trying to figure out if there was another way out. When he reached the place they'd come in, he cried out in dismay as he found that it, too, had been closed up, leaving them trapped in a room of mirrors.

"This isn't good at all," Ron moaned, putting his head in his hands.

"Hush," Hermione shushed, approaching the tree and looking at it carefully. "There has to be a way out of here. This room can't be here for the sole purpose of looking 'odd'."

Lockhart snorted. "Ever the romantic, Miss Granger," he said a bit hysterically. "Not everything has to have a way to be solved. That only happens in books."

Hermione looked at him in surprise. "But all those impossible situations you got your way out of before...those were all real, and you managed to--"

"I didn't 'manage to' do anything," Lockhart interrupted her, getting more of a manic glint in his eyes.

Hermione looked shocked, and ever Ron and Harry stopped their explorations to stare at him. "What are you talking about?" she asked in her know-it-all voice. "Your books--"

"My dear girl!" Lockhart snapped. "Do you really thing my books would have sold half as well if people didn't think I'd done all those things?"

Silence. Then, "You're a fraud," Hermione whispered, her face very white.

Lockhart shrugged. "I'm a writer."

Hermione's eyes narrowed, and she looked as if she was about to scream. But before she could, Harry sprang across the room to her and clapped a hand over her mouth. "Shh!" he hissed into her ear. And they listened.

"Join me, or suffer the consequences," a voice was saying. It was deep, masculine, and yet somehow very hissy in nature. Harry recognized it instantly as the voice that had been whispering to him.

"It's the voice!" he told Ron quietly.

"What voice?" Lockhart asked. Harry ignored him, pressing his ear against the mirror and ignoring the tingle of magic that sent through him.

"Please..." came a choked sob, easily recognizable as Ginny's voice. Harry looked at Ron with caution blazing in his eyes, a finger over his lips, and Ron dropped his fists to his sides and merely looked murderous.

"It's not that hard of a choice," the male voice (Tom, Harry told himself) purred. The sound of fabric rustling, and then a sharply indrawn breath. "Just answer me, Ginny. Will you be mine, or shall I have to try something else to...convince you?"

No sound but quiet sobbing for several moments, moments in which both Ron and Harry looked as if they wanted to scream and Hermione looked as if she wanted to be sick. Lockhart, as per usual, looked rather blank.

Tom's voice again, this time softer. "I thought you said you loved me, Ginny," he murmured, and the sound that followed was the unmistakable one of a wet kiss.

Again, no verbal response. Just quiet sobs.

"Why are you crying, Ginny?" Tom said, this time sounding sad. "You're hurting me, you know. Why do you want to hurt me?"

The sobs stopped, only to be replaced by silence. Harry held his breath, listening, and did not take another breath until he heard footsteps, fading footsteps, and the grate of stone on stone. After a short pause, he leaned up against the wall. "Ginny!" he called in a low voice. "Ginny!"

Hermione came up behind him, and Ron behind her. "Ginny!" they called as well.

"Harry," came a soft murmur. Harry felt a soft glow at that, and raised his voice a bit. "Ginny, it's me! I'm here, and so are Ron and Hermione!"

A sniffle. "H-Harry?" Ginny asked.

"We're here, Gin!" Ron called out, his voice slightly choked.

"Ron!" Ginny gasped. "Oh, I'm so sorry, so sorry..."

"It's all right, Ginny," Hermione interrupted her, gently. "We're here to help you...but we seem to be trapped in this room of mirrors and we can't figure out how to--"

"Shh!" Ginny hissed. "He's coming back! Oh, I can't help you; he's cast Petrificus on me! I'll see what I can do though! Now hush!"

The same scrape of stone on stone. "Have you calmed down now, Ginny?" Tom asked, his voice low and probably what was supposed to be soothing but only sounded dangerous.

"Yes, thank you," Ginny answered bravely, taking a deep breath. "You can let me go now. I shan't go anywhere."

"You'll try to run away again." Flesh on flesh, what sounded like a hand caressing a cheek.

"I promise, I won't," Ginny breathed.

Silence, punctuated only by the breaths of the three friends, and Professor Lockhart, who had, up until that point, been silent. However, he chose that rather inopportune time to cough.

"What was that?" Tom snapped, his voice definitely sounding dangerous now.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron froze. Ginny drew in a sharp breath. "I don't know," she lied, affecting as much of a surprised tone as possible. However, apparently she wasn't a very good liar.

"Do you know, my dear, there is another way into this chamber aside from the one I brought you through?"

"Is there really?" Ginny breathed, hoping that keeping her voice quiet would hide the tremors.

"Mm," Tom said nonchalantly. "Quite. Would you like me to show you?" Before waiting for a response, he murmured a spell, and suddenly, the room in which the friends were trapped lit up to blinding brightness.

Ginny gasped. Tom narrowed his eyes. The rest of them finally got a look at their enemy.

"Well, well," Tom sneered, tossing a malicious glare at Ginny, who eeped softly, and then stalking toward the chamber. "It would seem we have visitors, my dear. Do greet them appropriately."

Ginny smiled weakly, although her eyes were still wide with horror. "H-hello," she stammered, trembling.

Tom looked over his shoulder. "Come now, my love. What about introductions?"

Ginny shivered. "Tom, this is...Pr-ofessor Lockhart, who tea-eaches Defense against the Dark Arts...and my brother Ron...and my friends Hermione a-and Harry."

Tom fixed them all with a shrewd gaze. "Well. Delighted to meet you all. I apologize for my lack of hospitality, but as you came uninvited, I'm certain you weren't expecting a proper greeting." The steel in his voice did not go unnoticed.

Harry, however, didn't care. "Let her go!" he demanded, throwing himself at the wall and growling. Next to him, Ron bared his teeth as well, blue eyes cold, and even Hermione looked as though she wanted to cause him significant damage. Ginny, after all, looked to be absolutely terrified and in at least some pain, if the expression on her face was any indication.

Tom lifted an eyebrow. "So forceful...Harry, was it? Well, Harry, I certainly hope you understand that you're hardly in a position to make demands." He narrowed his eyes, his very red eyes, and something in that expression, the curl of his lip, the tone of his voice, made Harry feel as if he'd seen this man somewhere before.

"Go to hell," he growled, raising his wand, but, in an instant, he found his hand empty, his wand held between Tom's fingers.

Harry gasped. Tom laughed. "Nice little trick, isn't it, Harry?" Then, his eyes widened a bit as he turned the wand over in his hand, wrapped his fingers around it. He looked back toward Ginny, who merely bit her lip and looked at the ground, and then back at Harry again. "Harry...Potter?"

Harry stared back defiantly, unblinking, his eyes furious, but he was surprised when Tom began to laugh again. Without taking his eyes from Harry, he spoke again, but addressing Ginny.

"Well, my love, you have quite outdone yourself. I was going to ask you to take me to meet young Harry, but you have anticipated my request. How very...ideal of you."

Ginny whimpered. Tom ignored her and waved his hand, and, that quickly, Harry found himself on the other side of the wall, facing the business end of his wand. "Go stand over by dear Ginny, Mister Potter," Tom ordered, gesturing with the wand, and Harry could hardly argue with that. He went.

"Harry," Ginny whispered as he came to stand next to her, "I'm so sorry..."

"Shh," he soothed her. "It's all right, Ginny. We'll get out of here somehow."

"Now," Tom was saying, addressing the remaining three, "I am sorry to have to leave you in there, but my business is with those two," gesturing toward Harry and Ginny. "However, since I would like you to be comfortable, I'll make sure to turn on the heat. Lumos lucidus!" The light in the room brightened, and, reflecting off the mirrors and metal, was amplified to an uncomfortable level. Ron threw himself at the mirror again, growling and spitting, but Hermione grabbed his arms, waiting until Tom had laughed and turned away before gesturing surreptitiously to her own wand.

Tom paused, and, without turning around, nonchalantly called, "Oh, and by the way...Accio wands!" Hermione's and Lockhart's wands went flying straight through the mirrors and into Tom's outstretched hand, much to the horror and dismay of everyone present (except for Tom, of course, who simply laughed again and sauntered back to his other prisoners).

Tom reached out and caressed Ginny's cheek gently, prompting a growl from Harry. Without taking his eyes from Ginny, Tom said, "Careful, Mister Potter, or I may have to petrify you as well."

"You heartless bastard," Ginny breathed against his hand.

Tom raised an eyebrow. "What was that, my dear?" he murmured. "A compliment? Why, I've never been so flattered."

"I hate you," she growled, her eyes narrowed. A whoop came from Ron in the mirrored prison. Tom glowered at her.

"Very well, then," he snapped. With one swift movement, he cast two spells - one to increase the temperature in the prison, the other conjuring a rope suspended in mid-air and wrapped around Harry's throat - the Punjab Lasso. Ginny gasped, looking at Tom in hurt and fury and disgust, but he merely smirked at her.

"I told you, Ginny love...join me or watch everyone you love die. It's your choice. You have one hour." And with that, he spun on his heel and stalked out of the room again, slamming the stone door behind him with a flick of his hand.

+

Inside the prison, Ron, Hermione, and Lockhart were starting to panic. The temperature was rising exponentially, thanks to the reflection of light from mirror to mirror, and the way the metal tree captured heat and held it, until, soon, the heat was visible, emanating from the walls in waves.

"Hermione," Ron moaned, "we're going to die in here, aren't we?"

"Nonsense," Hermione replied firmly, although her face was scared. They were still both ignoring Lockhart, who was now sitting in the corner, rocking back and forth and banging his head on the walls. His robes, apparently, captured quite a lot of heat, and he was demonstrating the early signs of heatstroke.

"But I don't see how we can get out!" he whimpered, "and Ginny and Harry are both...indisposed over there."

Hermione began walking in a circle. "There has to be a way out of this room, some sort of a catch, some trigger...I could probably find it if I still had my wand--"

"Wand!" Ron cried. He reached into his pocket and, fumbling, extracted his wand. "I have mine, but it's...broken." He trailed off dejectedly, slumping against the wall. He sighed. "I guess that's why it didn't go with yours."

Hermione's brow furrowed, and she too leaned against the wall, thinking hard. "What happens when you try to cast a spell with it?" she asked.

"It backfires and hits me instead," Ron grumbled, his head in his hands. Hermione frowned, the thought process visible on her face, but then lit up. "That's it then! All you have to do is cast a cooling spell, and it will cool you down. It won't get us out of here, but at least we won't roast to death."

Ron's face lit up for all of two seconds before falling again. "I don't know how," he wailed, letting his head hit the mirrors with a thump.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "It's easy. Here, give me your wand and I'll show you." She took the proffered wand, took a moment to adjust to it, and then commanded, "Frigidulus!" A jet of blue sped out of the wand and hit her in the stomach, sending her flying about six feet, where she crashed into the wall and fell down.

"Hermione!" Ron cried, running over to her.

"I'm fine," Hermione gasped, sitting up with some difficulty. "You really need a new wand," she added weakly, and then smiled. Ron looked at her anxiously.

"Are you sure you're all right?"

"I'm fine," she repeated, with a bit of irritation. "In fact, I'm better than fine. I'm nice and cool now. Right, your turn." She let him help her to her feet, and handed him his wand, which was still clenched in her hand.

He held it cautiously, as though afraid it would bite him, and looked at her uneasily.

"Come on, Ron," she urged. "Just flick it and say 'frigidulus'. It's simple, and you'll feel so much better when it's done."

Ron took a deep breath, squeezed his eyes shut, and flicked the wand. "Frigidulus!" he commanded in a slightly shaky voice, and felt a strange, tingling sensation in his stomach. Cautiously, he opened his eyes. "Hey!" he cried, grinning. "This is great!"

Hermione was looking at him with a raised eyebrow. "It worked then?"

Ron nodded. "Sure did! I feel wonderful." He paused, looking at her in confusion. "Why didn't I go flying too?"

Hermione sighed. "Probably because it's your wand."

Ron shook his head. "But the last time I cast a spell, I did go flying."

Hermione rolled her eyes again. "Maybe it's because you can't cast very powerful spells. What, are you disappointed?"

Ron waggled his eyebrows a bit, forgetting to look hurt. "I dunno. It looked like fun."

Hermione swatted him in the shoulder. He grinned. She scowled. "Come on, let's go deal with Professor Lockhart before--"

Unfortunately for her, the 'before' chose just that moment to come back through the door. Their hour was up.

+

While Ron and Hermione were trying to find a solution to their perilous situation, Harry was concentrating very hard on not choking, and Ginny was trying not to cry, repeating apologies over and over again.

"Ginny!" Harry finally interrupted her. "It's okay, really. This isn't your fault."

"But it is!" Ginny wailed. "Mum always told me not to trust something when you can't see where its brains are, and I ignored that, and I told him everything...but he understood me, you know? And he told me I was a beautiful person, with great intelligence, and I was funny, and really nice, and that I was great at Quidditch, and..." She trailed off, turning her head, the one part of her body she could move, to the side so he wouldn't see her tears.

"Ginny!" Harry said again, his voice gentle. "You are all of those things. But you didn't need to go to him to hear them. I've been trying to tell them to you all along."

Ginny stared at him, her eyes wide, her face pink and a bit blotchy. "I-I am?" she whispered, biting her lip.

"Yes," he affirmed softly. "You're really wonderful, and you're a great Quidditch player, and Ginny...I really like you."

"You do?" She sounded incredulous, as if she thought this was all some big joke.

Harry laughed gently. "I know I'm just a skinny kid with silly glasses, clothes that don't fit, and an ugly scar, but...I do like you, Gin. A lot."

Ginny blushed, and smiled at him, her eyes sad but the rest of her face screaming happy. "I like you too, Harry," she murmured.

He smiled at her, that lopsided grin that always made her weak in the knees. "Then let's get out of here, mm?"

"Definitely," she breathed, "but...I don't know how."

Harry bit his lip, shifting his position a little bit. "Where's the diary?"

Ginny gestured with her head toward the corner, where the book sat propped up on an outcropping of rock. "But I don't know how..."

"Shh," Harry shushed her. "Trust me. We'll find a way to do this somehow." He was about to continue his statement when a huge crash had them both turning surprisedly toward the prison, their eyes huge as they noticed Hermione splayed out across the floor. "Hermione!" they both cried, wanting to rush forward to help her, but having to watch helplessly instead as Ron did just that, propping her up. They breathed a sigh of relief when she struggled to her feet, and then watched in confusion as Ron took the wand (How does he still have that? Harry wondered aloud) from her hand and, after a pause, cast a spell, one that hit him in the stomach. However, he didn't seem to be in pain; in fact, he was grinning when the magic faded. They were headed toward Lockhart, Harry and Ginny watching in surprise, when the telltale scrape of stone announced their captor's return.

+

Tom, eyes glinting and fixed on Ginny and Ginny alone, breezed into the room like a lord, smiling maliciously as he approached her and laid a hand on her cheek. "Well, my love?" he asked her. "Have you made your decision yet?"

Ginny took a deep breath, feeling as though her insides were turning to mush. She looked at Ron and Hermione, who were surreptitiously hiding Ron's wand again, and then at Lockhart, who was now grinning like a fool and doodling on the mirror with his finger, and then at Harry, who looked back, his eyes holding a hidden promise, and then back at Tom. "Yes," she said softly.

"And?" he asked in that same amused, gentle tone that was more chilling than affectionate.

She closed her eyes. "I'll join you," she murmured.

"Ginny, no!" Ron cried, his voice muffled by mirrors. Tom ignored him though, fixing her with a pleased smile.

"Well, my dear. I see you are definitely more intelligent than your peers." He waved his hand, releasing the spell that bound her, and then held out that same hand, waiting until she walked over to him and laid her hand in his before speaking again. "Yes, you are quite intelligent." He leaned down, placed a kiss on her forearm, and, when he pulled back, her arm was already beginning to burn black, a serpentine creature embedded in her skin seeming to curl and writhe and flick its tail just below the surface. She cried out in pain, and then in surprise as he reapplied the spell and left her standing there, immobile, silent tears from the pain dripping down her face. "Only not as intelligent as you should be. Honestly, Ginny, you should know better than to make a deal with a Slytherin."

"You bastard," Harry growled, straining at his bond, wanting to rip the other man apart with his bare hands.

"Oh no, Harry, I assure you, my parents were married when I was born. Only..." And here he grimaced. "My father WAS a filthy Muggle, a disgusting excuse for a person, and deserving of everything that happened to him." His lip curled and he glared at Harry, appraising him. "You...you're half-blood as well, aren't you? Yes, Ginny told me quite a lot about you. About how you defeated Lord Voldemort and became the famous Boy Who Lived. What would the Wizarding World think if they could see their great hero now, mm?"

Harry growled again, trying to lash out and failing miserably. "What do you care about Voldemort anyhow?" he snarled. "He was before your time."

Tom raised an eyebrow, and then smirked, casting a meaningful glance at Ginny's arm, which was now sporting an ugly black mark, about half-formed and still nebulous, but resembling a snake wrapped around a skull. Then, he looked back at Harry. "Voldemort is my past, present, and future," he sneered, pulling out a wand - Harry's wand - and writing something in the air. Tom Marvolo Riddle. Then a flick of his hand, and the letters rearranged themselves - I Am Lord Voldemort.

From inside the prison, Ron and Hermione gasped, their eyes huge, and Ron's wand fell to the ground with a clatter.

Tom looked up, and his lip curled as he saw the piece of wood lying on the ground. "Ah, clever clever," he chuckled, crossing the room and leaving Harry and Ginny staring at each other - and the words suspended in the air - in horror. "Trying to keep your wand from me...tsk tsk. You shall be punished for that, Ron. Come here." He beckoned, and Ron found himself moving forward, unable to stop himself.

"Ah ah," Tom smirked. "Bring the wand."

Ron stopped, bent down, and picked it up, holding it outstretched like an offering as he walked straight through the wall and right up to Tom.

Tom took it without even looking at it, staring all the while into Ron's empty blue eyes. "Good boy," he murmured, that same strange smile on his face. Without looking away, he called, "Well, Ginny, this is poetic justice, isn't it? I shall kill your brother using his own wand. There's something very prosaic in that, isn't there?"

Ginny made a strangled noise, pained and furious and despairing, but Tom only laughed, turning to look at her while keeping the wand trained on Ron. "Come, come, my dear. Ladies do not make such sounds." In that moment of distraction, however, he didn't see Hermione and Harry exchange a rather significant Look.

When he turned back to Ron, the boy was still looking at him blankly, blue eyes filled with nothingness. He scowled and blinked, and the hollow look fell away, leaving Ron rather disoriented. Tom laughed. "It's no fun to kill someone who can't look scared," he murmured, and pointed Ron's wand. Ron looked down at it, and then back up into Tom's face, eyes filled with defiance.

"I'm not scared of you," he growled.

Tom smiled. "Oh no?" he replied. "Well then, maybe a little pain will teach you some respect. CRUCIO!"

Time seemed to stop as the jet of light burst forth from the wrong end of the wand and struck Tom right in the stomach. He doubled over in pain around it, and the force of the spell propelled him fifteen feet across the room where he hit the wall and crumpled. "Ron, quick!" Harry shouted, seeing his own wand on the floor, where it had fallen from Tom's grasp. Quick as lightning, Ron grabbed the wand and tossed it to Harry, who caught it with ease thanks to his Seeker reflexes, pivoted on his toes while still in the noose, pointed it at the diary, and bellowed "INCENDIO!"

A horrible shriek came from the corner. Everyone who could whirled around only to see Tom, his face contorted with pain and anger, his clothing and hair ablaze and his skin melting off his bones. He tried to get to his feet, howling, hands outstretched, but Harry pointed his wand at the diary again and screamed, "DIFFINDO!"

As he watched, an enormous tear formed right in Tom's solar plexus, but there was no blood, no internal organs...just light. The light spread, brighter even than the fire, engulfed the whole of him...and was gone.

There was silence. Ginny had stopped crying and was staring at her arm in shock. Harry was breathing hard, his face red from the rope around his neck. Ron was trembling violently, staring at the place where Voldemort had stood. And Hermione, typical Hermione, was looking quite pleased with herself and somehow utterly calm.

The silence was broken by Harry's murmured spell, which released him from his noose and almost sent him tumbling to the ground. He gasped for air, reaching up to rub at his neck. Ron was at his side in an instant, helping him to his feet.

"Are you all right?" Ron asked concernedly, supporting Harry.

"'M fine," Harry murmured. "Help...Hermione..." He gestured to Hermione's wand, which was also lying on the floor. Ron picked it up and crossed the room to the prison, where he would undoubtedly receive instructions from his friend on how exactly to get the prison open.

Harry, meanwhile, cast Finite Incantatem on Ginny, who would have slumped to the floor as well if he hadn't been there to catch her.

"Harry," she murmured, sniffling, looking up into his face with eyes that held sorrow and pain and relief and happiness all at once.

"Shh, Ginny, it's all right. It's over now," he murmured, reaching up to wipe away her tears with slightly calloused fingers. "He won't bother you again."

"I'm so sorry," she said again, her arms going tightly around him as she buried her face in his shoulder and tried not to cry again.

"It's all right," he repeated, stroking her hair gently, soothingly, the only thing he could think to do. In fact, he couldn't think about much at the moment, what with the smell of Ginny's hair permeating his nostrils and her soft arms wrapped around his back.

"Aw," said a voice from close by. "Isn't that cute."

Harry tore his face away from the top of Ginny's head to see Ron and Hermione grinning at him idiotically. He scowled. "You're going to regret that later," he grumbled, but without any real venom. Ron laughed, followed shortly thereafter by Hermione, and Harry couldn't help but join in. Even Ginny cracked a smile, although she still looked extremely guilty and slightly miserable.

"Come on," Harry said, still laughing, one arm around Ginny and one around her brother. "Let's get out of here. You know the way you got in, right, Gin?"

She nodded, relaxing just a tad at the thought of being useful, and Harry grinned wider. "Good. We're out of here then. Lead on, fair maiden!" Ginny giggled and began walking.

"Er, Harry, aren't you forgetting something?" Hermione coughed, gesturing toward Lockhart, who was now tap-dancing across the stones.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "What happened to him?" he asked, trying not to laugh.

Ron snorted. "Heat addled his brains. He doesn't remember who he is or what he's doing here."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Oh good," he muttered. "Sorry, Hermione, but it would seem your favorite professor won't be doing any more teaching anytime soon."

Hermione grimaced. "He's not my favorite professor anymore," she grumbled. "Not after what he said about not having done any of the things he claimed to do. Stupid git."

Harry, Ron, and Ginny stared at each other, amazed at the language, and then burst into laughter. Hermione turned red, but, after a moment, she grinned too, looping her arm through Ron's. "Come on, Weasley," she chuckled. "Let's go lead Stupid back to the asylum."

"Aw," Harry grinned, just loud enough for Ron to hear. "How cute."

Ron turned and shot him a menacing look as Hermione dragged him off to try and subdue their tap-dancing professor.

Ginny laughed, tightening her hold on Harry's arm, but suddenly stopped dead, her eyes going wide. "Wait," she said, and turned and ran back to the corner of the room. Harry followed her, concerned.

"Ginny?" he asked, his brow furrowed.

"Sorry," she replied breathlessly. "Just had to get this." And she held up the diary, smoking and slashed, but otherwise somewhat intact.

Harry narrowed his eyes at it. "Ginny," he glowered, "what are you--"

Ginny cut him off. "To give to Dumbledore," she murmured, "so he can make sure that T--he won't come back again."

Harry smiled. "Oh," he said gently. Then, "Ginny, you remember what I said, right?"

She bit her lip a bit, and smiled back. "Yes," she returned softly. "I do." She closed the distance between them and raised herself up to tiptoes, brushing a gentle kiss across his cheek, before threading her arm through his. "Come on, Harry," she murmured. "Let's get out of here."

Harry laughed, and, arm in arm, the two of them followed Hermione, Ron, and the quite cheerful Professor Lockhart.

+

A gigantic roar went up as Ginny's hand closed around the struggling, fluttering Snitch. Harry, Hermione, and Ron were jumping up and down and screaming loudest of all as she floated triumphantly to the ground, a huge grin on her face. She looked up into the stands and shot the three of them a private smile and wink before turning her attention to her teammates, who hoisted her onto their shoulders and carried her triumphantly around the pitch. Off to the side, the Slytherins sulked and skulked off the field, led by Draco Malfoy, who was still having some trouble walking. He'd recover, of course; Madam Pomfrey was one of the best Mediwitches in the country. But he hadn't recovered in time to play the rest of the season, and, as a result, Slytherin had been completely steamrollered by Gryffindor. This match had ended 260-30.

"Ginny!" Hermione squealed breathlessly, having just run down from the stands, followed closely by Harry and Ron. "You were fantastic!"

"You really were, Gin!" Ron added, his freckled face glowing with excitement and pride.

"Absolutely," agreed Harry, his green eyes sparkling. Ginny giggled and swatted at Fred and George, who let her down with identical grins, winking at each other before heading off for the showers.

Ginny leaned against the stands, head tilted back so she could look up at her friends. Harry grinned down at her, his eyes shining. "You're going to give me a run for my money next year, aren't you?"

Ginny laughed, tossing her head a bit. "Well, I admit it's fun," she replied, "but personally, I think I'd much prefer to be Chaser."

Ron blinked at her. "But Gin, that means you probably won't be able to play until..."

"Right," Ginny affirmed. "Until the other three girls graduate. But Oliver said I'm guaranteed reserves if I try out, and I'd rather do that. Give me more time to practice, work on my strategies, you know." She winked at Harry. "And other things."

Ron looked horrified. "I didn't want to hear that," he grimaced, throwing his hands up in the air.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Honestly," she snorted. "Boys." She followed Ron as he walked away, muttering something about immature, overprotective older brothers, but Ginny could see that she was smiling.

"Well, madam," Harry coughed, drawing her attention back to him, "now that you're the heroine of the hour, what are you going to do with yourself?"

Ginny grinned, reaching up and twirling a lock of unruly hair around her finger. "Spend some time with my hero, of course," she murmured.

Harry snorted, but affectionately. "And live happily ever after, I imagine?" he breathed, leaning forward until their lips were mere centimeters apart.

A smile. "Something like that."