Secrets

Author's Note: I apologize, yet again, for the gap between chapters. However, "Secrets" is now at the top of my to-do list, and the rough draft of ch. 13 is at least 75 percent done, so there is hope that the story will be finished by spring. Yay?

Thanks to Lasair and Cat for cleaning up this chapter and giving me Latin advice. Any remaining canon goofs, grammar mistakes, continuity errors, bad dialogue, implausible characterizations, boring passages, and Americanisms are my fault, not theirs.

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CHAPTER 12: Into the Dark

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The moment she opened her eyes, Ginny sagged with exhaustion and only barely managed to crawl under the covers before falling asleep. She slept straight through until noon, panicked, and rushed to the hospital wing for a checkup. "There's nothing wrong with you," said Madam Pomfrey, "but if you don't stop wearing yourself down, this may well happen again. Eat more, dear; you're still too pale."

Ginny mumbled agreement and hid in the library until dinner.

"We nearly thought you had been Petrified," Apple told her that evening. "Susan shook you and slapped your cheek, but you didn't so much as blink. I had to call a prefect to keep them from saying the Heir had put you under a spell."

"Thanks, I suppose," said Ginny. The irony, of course, was that she'd broken Tom's spell... unless he'd tricked her again. What if he was only hiding, waiting for her to let down her guard?

Paranoia could go around in circles forever, Ginny decided as she sliced her roast beef. She'd shut the door on Tom -- for the first time in weeks she didn't feel tired -- and there was no sense driving herself mad over maybes. She'd just try to get on with her life.

The next few days were blessedly quiet. Ginny threw herself into lessons with renewed energy and attempted, awkwardly, to improve her friendships with Xanthe and Neville. The lessons went well; the friendships less so. The one time she got Neville into an actual conversation, Fred and George wandered over, leaned on his shoulders, and demanded to know his intentions toward their "ickle baby sister -- can't be too careful these days, you know! Anyone could be the Heir in disguise!"

"Don't listen to them, they're idiots," she told Neville, but he shrank into himself and stopped speaking to her outside of the greenhouses. Ginny fumed.

Meanwhile, Xanthe kept nagging Ginny for the results of her research. Ginny insisted it had been nothing and she was obviously better now. Xanthe looked skeptical, but eventually dropped the subject. She also pulled away a bit -- more focused on her work and less on just hanging around. Ginny couldn't quite blame her, not when she was being so obvious about shutting Xanthe out... but even so, it wasn't fair.

Stupid Tom. She'd finally got rid of him and he was still ruining her life.

"I hate Tom Riddle," Ginny wrote on a scrap of parchment as she sulked in the dormitory. "I hate him I hate him I hate him. I wish he would DIE!"

Ginny stared at the words. The green ink lay inert on the parchment, glistening in the candlelight, and began to dry into a flatter, less liquid shade. It didn't sink down or reshape into new words in a different hand.

"I'm lying," she whispered after a minute. She didn't want Tom to die. She wanted him not to be evil. She wanted to erase the whole year, back to summer when everything had seemed so bright and new. She'd been scared of not making friends, of not fitting in, hadn't she? Such little things to worry about.

The dry ink mocked her. Silly little girl, stuck in the past -- poor Ginevra Weasley, so twisted up she thought a murderous diary would be her friend.

"I can do this," Ginny told herself. "I don't need Tom." She held the parchment over a candle until it caught fire, singeing her fingers as she dropped the scraps out the window.

She just needed to try harder.

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In early April, Neville was distracted and useless through an entire evening Herbology session, dropping pots and botching spells for no apparent reason. Ginny finally excused them early and hauled him to the common room for interrogation. "You're not ill, are you?" she asked. "Talk to me. If my brothers are hounding you--"

Neville looked miserable, but he shook his head. "They're not. Easter's coming so all the second years have to choose our subjects for next year, and I don't know what to do. All my relatives have sent letters, but they all contradict each other -- I can't make them all happy -- the subjects all sound complicated and I'm terrible at anything difficult. Whatever I do, it'll come out wrong."

He slumped gloomily in his armchair, and nothing Ginny said could change his mind or cheer him up. Eventually she lost her temper. "Pick subjects out of a hat if you can't make up your mind! And dry up, or I'll ask Professor Sprout for a new partner -- I don't care that none of the others are as good as you!" she said, and stomped off to bed.

Neville spent the next week asking everyone in Gryffindor for their advice, but at least he didn't moan about his shortcomings. Ginny considered it a small victory and made a point of smiling at him, especially when Ron and Harry were around. Ron was nearly as big a drip about the whole mess as Neville had been, and Ginny was embarrassed twice over every time he complained.

"It occurs to me," Apple said on Friday, "that it would save a lot of bother to look over the subjects now so we won't be caught by surprise next year." She stared thoughtfully at the knot of second years huddled around a table and muttering at each other.

"Good point," said Ginny, and sidled up to Hermione, who was watching Ron and Harry with a sort of smug despair. "Can I pinch your list? You've already signed up for everything, so it's not as if you need it."

Hermione looked skeptical. "What are you up to? This won't be your problem until next year, and I hope you make more sensible choices than these two are managing." Ron scowled and muttered under his breath; Harry just sighed and slumped further over his own list.

"That's the idea," said Ginny. "If we look over the subjects now, it won't be a problem next year." She held out her hands. "Help me out? Please?"

Hermione laughed and passed her a folded sheet of parchment. Ginny grinned.

Apple copied the subjects and presumably handed them round to anyone who asked; Ginny didn't much care. She took the original list to Xanthe on Saturday, and they spent the afternoon wondering what the point of Ancient Runes was, or why anyone would think Muggle Studies wasn't important. "People our age are better with Muggle clothes than grown-ups, but I bet you don't know how to use the post or a telephone," said Xanthe. "It's all kinds of backwards to look down on Muggle-borns for not fitting into our world when most of us couldn't fit into theirs any better, you know."

Ginny agreed. Then she made Xanthe explain telephones.

April slipped away without further incident, and Ginny almost dared to hope that she'd seen the last of Tom. Harry was holding out much better than she'd managed to do, even if he hadn't caught on and destroyed the diary. But deep down she knew it wasn't over. She could still feel Tom prowling the edges of her mind, and she couldn't break their mental connection unless he agreed to let her go.

She was his link out of the diary. He'd never release her. If she wanted to be free -- if she wanted to keep everyone safe -- she'd have to kill him.

Ginny tried not to think about that.

Classes and Daphne helped distract her. Although Daphne held to their impromptu truce during Potions, she took to tripping Ginny in the corridors and slipping nasty jokes into her bag instead, so Ginny had to keep her guard up all the time. She managed to talk her way out of trouble when Daphne stole a three-foot essay for Herbology -- there were benefits to being Professor Sprout's favorite -- but she wasn't as lucky when a set of Dungbombs exploded during Charms.

"You know better than this, Miss Weasley," said Professor Flitwick when he assigned her detention. "Please don't follow your brothers' example."

Ginny bit her tongue and promised she wouldn't take the twins as role models. She wasn't even lying; if and when she got revenge on Daphne, no one would be able to connect it to her. It was one thing for Fred and George to own up to their jokes -- they never quite crossed the line that would really get them in trouble -- but that sort of trick wasn't enough to pay Daphne back at this point.

"I hope you've noticed that I'm not groveling at your cousin's feet," Ginny told Apple in early May. "That makes seven bets she's lost."

Apple shook her head as the first years filed out of History of Magic. "Daphne never said when you'd grovel. You're trying to prove a negative, which is impossible; you can't win unless you die without apologizing. Until then the bet remains undecided."

"That's cheating!"

"It's careful phrasing." Apple smiled. "In retrospect, I shouldn't have been surprised that Daphne ended in Slytherin; she's always been clever like that."

"There's a difference between being clever and being a toad-licking weasel," Ginny said fiercely, and stomped off to throw stones in the lake, which Xanthe had suggested as a way to control her temper. So far, it was working; Ginny hadn't mended any old quarrels, but she hadn't got into any new ones since March, either.

She seethed as she kicked gravel along the shore. She was doing everything right -- she'd shut Tom out, she was being polite to her housemates, she wasn't even fighting back against Daphne -- but nothing was going her way. The other Gryffindors still didn't like her, Daphne wouldn't let up, and Tom...

It really was all Tom's fault, Ginny decided. If Tom hadn't faked being her friend, she would have spent more time talking to Susan and the boys and then they might have stayed on her side instead of getting fooled by Daphne. If Tom hadn't egged her on, she wouldn't have spilled pumpkin juice on Daphne and then Daphne might have ignored her instead of always making her life miserable. If Tom hadn't sounded so reasonable, she would have noticed sooner that there was something wrong about her dreams and the way she was always tired, and then... and then nobody would be Petrified.

"I wish I'd never met him," muttered Ginny, and that, at least, was the absolute truth. She hurled another stone over the water. It sank with a deep, solid thunk, but the choppy surface swallowed the ripples with barely a trace. After a second, she couldn't be sure where it had landed.

Her life felt like that. Nothing she did mattered. She tried and tried, but Colin was still in hospital -- Daphne hated her -- nobody liked her -- and Tom was still there, just waiting for her to lose her grip on the door of her mind.

She had to get rid of the diary. She had to kill him.

It wasn't evil to kill monsters, right?

Ginny walked back up the hill and threaded her way past clots of students to the Gryffindor common room. Most people were in classes, in the library, or outside -- it was a beautiful sunny afternoon -- and the few people in the common room didn't even look up as she climbed through the portrait hole.

Ginny walked up the stairs to the boys' dormitories without bothering to look inconspicuous.

The second years' room was at the top of the stairs, and she found Harry's bed by process of elimination -- Dean had left a sketchpad and a set of pencils on his quilt; Seamus had stuck pictures of his family round the window by his cabinet; Neville's Remembrall was lying, forgotten, in his open trunk; and Ron, of course, had a poster of the Chudley Cannons pinned over his headboard. Harry's slice of the room was tidy and bland, as if he didn't want to give away anything about himself.

Ginny shut the door, not stopping to let second thoughts catch up. She checked under Harry's pillow, and pulled the covers and sheets off his bed in case he'd hidden Tom under the mattress. She yanked the drawer out of his cabinet and dumped the contents onto his bed. She pulled his cloak down from its hook, tearing it in her haste, and checked the pockets.

No diary.

She paused for a second to catch her breath, then pulled Harry's trunk from under his bed. "Alohomora," she muttered, stomping down a surge of guilt. She didn't have time to be polite.

The lock sprang open and Ginny plunged her hands into Harry's trunk. She grabbed books by the wrong sides and tore pages out in her haste. She tossed Harry's clothes aside when they fell from their neat piles. She smashed a bottle of ink and ignored the stains.

At the bottom of the trunk, her fingers touched a small, leather-bound book. She didn't need to look at the cover.

It was Tom. She could feel him.

Ginny stuffed the diary into her bag, wiped her fingers on Harry's clothes, and did her best not to run or look suspicious until she'd descended the stairs, walked across the common room, and climbed out through the portrait hole. Hurrying would make people notice her. Hurrying would make people remember.

She managed to walk for another hundred feet, until she'd turned two corners, before she couldn't control herself anymore.

Ginny ran.

It felt like hours later when she finally stumbled to a halt, tripping on a rough spot in the floor and catching herself on a convenient wall. Her sides burned, and sweat plastered stray wisps of hair to her face. Ginny closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing.

Finally she steadied herself and looked up, wondering where on earth she was. Candlelight flickered on dingy walls, and weak sunlight filtered in through a dust-streaked window to her left, but she didn't see any portraits or doorways to use as landmarks. Then the scent of mildew and stagnant water, and the soft drip of condensation into a shallow puddle, broke through her confusion. Ginny turned, and yes, there were the dingy stalls and the line of lime-stained sinks.

She'd run to Myrtle's bathroom.

Maybe she should throw the diary into a toilet again? No, she needed something more permanent, more drastic. Water hadn't worked. What about fire?

Ginny closed her eyes and made sure she remembered the incantation and gestures. Then she dropped Tom's diary onto the floor, and raised her wand.

Her hand shook.

"Incendio," she tried to say, but her throat closed on the word. Instead of a firm downward flick, her hand fell slowly to her side.

She couldn't do it. Not like this. This was murder, like stabbing someone in the back. She had to face Tom, had to do this honestly instead of while he was asleep and helpless.

She had to ask him why.

"This is the stupidest thing I've ever done," Ginny told herself, but she pulled ink and a quill from her bag. She wasted nearly a minute sharpening the quill point and drying off a windowsill so she'd have a flat place to rest the diary. She spent another two minutes checking all the stalls and calling Myrtle's name to make sure the ghost wasn't spying on her. But she couldn't delay forever.

"I should just burn him. It doesn't matter why he's evil; all that matters is stopping him," Ginny muttered as she inked her quill. This was stupid. She knew Tom was a monster.

But he was still a person, too. Even though he'd betrayed her, he'd been her friend.

Ginny opened the diary. "Tom?" she wrote. "Are you there?"

Mist boiled up from the pages, twisting and shaping into a body floating cross-legged in front of her. "Hello, Ginevra," said Tom in a whispery voice. "What changed your mind about ignoring me?" His smile was knife-sharp and something jagged and nasty lurked behind his eyes, as if she were a fly and he thought it might be interesting to pull off her wings.

Ginny flinched. She could hear him. Obviously she hadn't done as good a job closing the link as she'd hoped. But she could worry about that later.

"I wanted to tell you I took the diary back, so you can't get at Harry anymore," she said, setting down her quill. "That's all."

Tom's smile widened. "Oh, I doubt that. His unavailability would have become obvious over time without any announcement. I think you simply couldn't bear to forego my company, Ginevra. You have so few friends, after all."

"I have friends! I have Xanthe and Hermione and Neville, and my brothers, and Caroline and Anne a little bit, and maybe Colin when he wakes up again, and I'd have even more friends if you hadn't twisted me up so I did everything backwards in September!" said Ginny. She took a deep breath, trying to slow down. "I though you were my friend, Tom. You were my best friend. I wanted to help you; you didn't have to trick me. I would've let you borrow my body if you'd asked.

"But you lied to me. You made me hurt people! How could you pretend to be my friend if you didn't care about that? Why do you want to Petrify people? Why did you frame Harry? He never did anything to you! Nobody here did anything to you! Petrifying people isn't even revenge -- it's just evil. Tom, why?"

Her hands were stretched out, pleading. Please, let him have a reason. Let this all be a horrible mistake.

Tom laughed.

Inside Ginny, something broke.

"Why?" repeated Tom. "Because I can, and because I want to. It's not a question of good or evil, just power and will. I take what I want; the desires of the weak have are irrelevant. As for Harry Potter... I think I'll keep at least one secret for now, Ginevra. Suffice it to say that your precious Harry HAS done something to me, for which I want revenge. I'm not nearly finished with him yet."

"I won't let you touch him," snarled Ginny, raising her wand. "I'll kill you first."

"I think not, Ginevra," said Tom, leaning forward to seize the tip of her wand. "You may have an unexpected gift for Occlumency, but you have no sense of strategy. You've reopened our link and I doubt you can block me when I'm actively resisting your efforts." He pressed down, forcing Ginny to lower her wand or see it snapped in half. "You see? You caught me by surprise before, but this time..." He trailed off with a triumphant note in his voice.

Blackness crept up from the corners of Ginny's vision. Dizziness sloshed through her head.

"You can't use me anymore," she said, gritting her teeth and yanking her wand out of Tom's grasp. "I won't let you."

Tom grabbed her shoulders instead, keeping her close. "You have no way to stop me. I know what spells are running through your mind, and I assure you none of them will have any effect. You're far too weak to be more than a minor nuisance to me. Now be a good girl and let me in. You've delayed my next move long enough."

Cold, boneless fingers squirmed inside her head. Ginny gagged, slumping over the diary. Tom could read her mind. She couldn't fight him; he'd counter anything she tried before she could open her mouth. Tears prickled in her eyes and the pages blurred, Tom's last words fading as she watched.

Wait. Tom had been talking. There was no reason for the diary to echo his words, unless...

Ginny slammed the diary shut before the thought had finished forming.

Tom hissed something wordless and furious -- his fingers closed on her throat -- Ginny gasped for breath -- and he began to thin and fade, seeping back into the book. "This isn't over, Ginevra," he said.

"I know," said Ginny, pointing her wand at him just in case. "But I beat you before, I beat you this time, and I'll keep on beating you until I figure out how to get rid of you forever. I'm not a hero, not like Harry, but you're my problem and I won't let you win."

Tom threw back his head and laughed until he was gone. The sound bounced around the tiled walls of the bathroom, mocking Ginny even after she was sure the noise had faded and she was only imagining the echoes.

"It's not funny," she told the diary. "None of this is funny, and if you think it is, you couldn't ever have been a real friend. And if you don't care about that, you're stupid, too. So there."

Only silence answered.

Gingerly, using only the tips of her fingers, Ginny shoved the diary into her bag. She'd figure out what to do after tomorrow's Quidditch match. In the meantime, all she could do was pretend she was fine.

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That night, Ginny dreamed.

They stood in the ruined castle, facing each other in a vast, pillared chamber whose air crackled with half-wakened power. The dragon wound around the dark man, shielding him in its coils, and the princess shivered in betrayal.

-Why struggle, my lady? Why deny our vengeance? The castle is shattered and you are alone; why turn from balancing the scales?- The dark man's voice was like silk, twining through the air, binding her in place.

-This is my kingdom,- the princess said. -This is my castle. You killed my people. Your vengeance is not mine. Leave.-

The dark man smiled, and shadows dripped from his hands to curl about her feet and ankles. -Ah, my lady, each time I struck I asked your favor, and each time you granted it. You cannot renounce me so lightly. See, I only live to serve. I protect you from the consequences of your choices-

-Let me go!- she said, and she searched for light to dispel the dark, but her heart was full of shadows and guilt. The dark man's bonds wrapped tighter and tighter around her until all she could do was watch as he led the dragon away.

-Sleep well, my lady,- he said, and his words hissed and echoed from the shattered stones. -Come the morning, all our enemies will be overthrown, so sleep, and dream of me.-

Ropes of shadow held her hands and guilt tripped her feet, but her eyes were open and her tongue was her own.

Slowly, the princess struggled to follow.

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There was light, and shadow, and bones and snakeskin on the uneven floor. Her hands were filthy and someone else was moving her legs, walking down the dank corridor, raising her wand to light the way.

Tom. She'd let him in. She'd opened the door and talked to him and now he was going to use her to wake his basilisk and kill Harry and--

No. He couldn't win. She wouldn't let him.

She scrabbled for control, raised her hands, tangled her feet. This was her body. He had no right. "Get out of me! Get out get out get out!" Her voice sounded wrong in her ears, twisted, hissing. She hadn't spoken English.

He laughed, deep and rough in her throat and chest. Something cold shoved her down.

Darkness.

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They led the dragon through hidden ways, into the upper floors where the traitors lurked. The dark man guided the beast behind the walls, whispering words of power.

-The knight will stop you,- the princess said.

-The knight is blind,- said the dark man, smiling. -We strike from the shadows, unseen until the moment of death. Who can unriddle our secrets? Who can stand against a dragon? Tell me, my lady, where is your protector?-

She held her tongue.

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The Great Hall was nearly empty; everyone had finished breakfast and was heading out to the Quidditch pitch. Harry would be safe. Not even Tom could sneak a basilisk over the open ground between the castle and the pitch.

As Tom used her eyes to search the room, Ginny bit her tongue to keep from shoving his failure in his face. Tom was evil. Maybe he wouldn't care about all the people he'd kill going after Harry. She had to keep him inside the castle, had to keep him distracted until she could shut him out.

Her left hand clutched the diary against her side.

Slowly, carefully, she pried one finger loose. Then a second.

"None of that, Ginevra," her voice said. "Stop struggling; you know it's useless."

Darkness.

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-Where are your knight's companions, my lady? Where are the fool and the scholar? Have they gone to watch the tourney?-

The dark man's voice wreathed around her like smoke, like silk, like lightning. The dragon curled around her legs.

She held her tongue.

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Ginny blinked. In front of her, Madam Pince scowled down at a battered book and said, "Miss Granger left a minute ago, in such a hurry that she threw a book onto the return cart. I've never seen her have such disrespect for books -- spines will be broken if she isn't careful!"

"Did she say where she was going?" asked Ginny's voice.

"To the Headmaster's office," said Madam Pince, turning the book over in her hands.

"Thanks," said Tom, and turned Ginny's body toward the door.

Her fingers still clutched the diary and she could hear something large and scaled moving behind the wall as her body walked down the corridor. Ginny didn't dare try taking her body back. She couldn't reveal herself to Tom. Not yet.

"If anyone could figure out the pattern, it would be that Mudblood," said her voice, with a strange, sibilant overtone. Tom, talking to himself. "It's probably nothing -- she must have thought of a new approach to an essay, nothing more -- but nevertheless, striking at her will hurt Potter." Her body stopped at a large stone grate; her arm extended. "Evanesco," said her voice, and her head turned aside.

A massive snake slid heavily to the floor, coiling around her and staring down the corridor. "Prey, Master," it hissed to itself. "Let me rip, tear, kill! So long without, so long. Alone. Dark. Hungry, thirsty, empty. Let me kill, Master. Let me, let me, let me!"

"Do as you will," said Tom, twisting Ginny's voice into inhuman shapes. The basilisk shivered and rasped down the corridor, faster and faster.

Around the corner, two voices argued in low tones.

"Hermione!" called Tom, sliding back into English. "Hermione, is that you? I've been looking all over for you -- I need to ask you something about Transfiguration!"

"Ginny?" said Hermione, and footsteps clattered toward the corner, approaching the monster. The snake raised its head; its tongue flickered between its teeth.

Now.

"Basilisk!" Ginny shrieked, tearing her voice back from Tom. "BASILISK!"

-You IDIOT!-

Darkness.

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-What. Have. You. DONE?-

The dark man's voice was harsh, like scales on stone, like a knife scraping from a sheath, and the dragon curled around her legs like iron.

But she had found steel of her own.

-This is my castle,- the princess said. -My mind, my body, my soul. You have no place here. You have no power here but what you trick or steal from me. I renounce you. I deny you. I cast you out.-

As she spoke, light welled from the stones and forced the dark man back. The dragon slunk away, back to its lair. A great door swung shut, locking the dark man away.

And the shadows withered like dew in the morning sun.

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Ginny found herself on her hands and knees in Myrtle's bathroom, facing the sinks and panting as if she'd just run twenty miles or lifted a great weight. Tom's diary lay on the tiles, just beyond her fingertips.

Ginny hastily untied her shoes, pulled off her socks, and shoved them onto her hands as makeshift gloves. Then she picked up the diary and stuffed it into her bag. She didn't dare touch it directly.

She dropped the socks into her bag, wrapped her arms around her knees, and rocked back and forth on the cold tile floor. "Oh god, oh god, oh god." It was all her fault. She'd had to talk to Tom, like a stupid crybaby. She'd let him back in and she hadn't shut him out again. She should have done the Occlumency trick again no matter how much she'd wanted to avoid thinking about him.

How stupid could she get? How many people were going to get hurt -- how many people might die -- before she stopped being a coward?

"Oh god, Hermione!" Ginny jammed her shoes on and lunged for the door.

Had Hermione understood her warning? Basilisks could kill -- it was practically a miracle nobody had died yet. If Hermione hadn't run, if she'd looked at the basilisk straight on, if she hadn't been fast enough to avoid its teeth...

Ginny ran down the corridor, past a startled Sir Vladislav, and dashed upstairs to the library. Snape and Madam Pince stood outside the doors, talking in strained voices.

"--onto the cart and said she was going to see Headmaster Dumbledore," said Madam Pince. "I've told you five times already! I don't know anything else."

"You aren't listening," hissed Snape, sweeping one arm outward in a frustrated gesture. "Did Granger leave the library with Clearwater or did they meet in the corridors? We need to reconstruct events as precisely as possible."

Madam Pince sniffed. "Miss Granger was alone when she spoke to me. I don't know when Miss Clearwater joined her; I wasn't watching them. I was attempting to salvage the poor, abused book -- to which, if you will kindly excuse me, I must return."

Ginny hung back around the corner, hoping desperately that Madam Pince wouldn't mention that she -- no, that Tom, in her body -- had come in just after that and asked about Hermione.

Or maybe it would be best if Madam Pince did remember. Then Snape would accuse Ginny and they'd catch Tom. She'd be expelled, and they'd snap her wand, and probably throw her in Azkaban... but maybe that was worth it, if they could stop Tom. She deserved to suffer for letting him hurt people.

She should go confess, right now.

She should.

Her feet refused to move.

"Did anything else happen after Granger left the library, but before Vector found the bodies?" Snape asked, in the tone of voice that usually preceded detentions and massive point deductions.

Madam Pince folded her arms and glared. "No! Nothing! I've told you and told you..." She paused. "Wait. Another student asked about Miss Granger, but I don't remember who. I suppose it was someone who uses the library, since she sounded vaguely familiar -- so perhaps it was Miss Clearwater, who then went to meet Miss Granger." Madam Pince shrugged. "Or perhaps it was someone else. I don't know. I wasn't looking at her."

"Pitiful," said Snape. "Two students Petrified right outside your room, and all you can think of is your books. We're meant to keep order in the whole school, not just our private domains, but if you're too small-minded to realize that, I suppose there's no hope getting any sense from you."

He stalked off in a swirl of black robes, scowling horrifically. Ginny shrank back against the wall as he passed.

"Miss Weasley." Snape stopped and looked at her as if she were a beetle contaminating one of his potions. "Eavesdropping, I see, and in a temporarily restricted area. Five points from Gryffindor."

"Sorry, sir," Ginny whispered. "Erm. Is Hermione all right?"

"She's Petrified. Naturally she is not 'all right,'" snapped Snape. "But she and the other girl aren't dead, if that's what you were attempting to ask. Now leave, unless you want detention."

"Yes, sir," said Ginny, and fled.

Hermione was Petrified, and another girl. Somebody called Clearwater? ...Wasn't that Percy's girlfriend's name? Percy was going to go mental. Ron and Harry were going to go mental. And it was all her fault.

Maybe Hermione had heard her warning -- maybe that was why they hadn't died -- but it was still Ginny's fault. She was the one who couldn't kill Tom. She was the one who was such a selfish coward she couldn't confess.

She headed to Gryffindor Tower, hoping to find a moment alone to think, but the corridors were choked with people walking in tight huddles and talking in hushed voices. Ginny found the other Gryffindor first years and eavesdropped shamelessly.

Apparently the Quidditch match had been canceled. Nobody knew why, but Professor McGonagall had told everyone to go to their common rooms and wait for explanations.

"Why would they cancel the match?" Gwen wondered. "I've never heard of a canceled match -- not even for dragon attacks."

"That's professional Quidditch, stupid. Schools are different," said Jasper. "Obviously something's gone wrong."

"I bet it's the Heir," said Danny.

Jia-li shuddered and Gwen punched Danny's shoulder. "Stop trying to scare people," she ordered. "It can't be the Heir -- Professor Lockhart chased him off!"

"It could so be the Heir. Harry Potter's still here, isn't he?" Danny shot back. "Checkmate," he added as they reached the portrait hole.

"Yes, he's at Hogwarts. He was also out on the Quidditch pitch with the rest of the school, where we would have noticed people being Petrified," said Apple as they climbed into the common room. "If there was an attack just now, it must have occurred inside the castle. I don't think even Harry Potter can be in two places at once."

"It could have been a fake Harry Potter outside," Susan volunteered, stepping up to stand beside Danny. "There's all kinds of disguise spells, right?"

Apple folded her arms and frowned. "Your logic is backwards -- you're starting with a theory and jamming the facts around it instead of building a theory that fits the facts. Disguise spells are upper year magic, and anyway, I doubt Harry Potter would send a doppelganger to play Quidditch for him. Everyone would notice that the imposter couldn't play as well."

"But the fake didn't have to play -- the match was called off," argued Danny.

Apple's frowned deepened to disgust. "You're acting like idiots. And this is a pointless argument -- we don't know what happened, and we won't until Professor McGonagall tells us. I'm going upstairs to wait. Somebody call me down when she gets here."

She stalked off towards the girls' dormitory. After a moment, Ginny followed her.

"It was the Heir," Ginny said softly as she closed the door behind them. "Hermione and some other girl were Petrified near the library. I heard Snape talking to Madam Pince."

Apple turned her scowl on Ginny. "You couldn't reveal this where the others could hear? I thought you'd take advantage of the opportunity to defend Harry Potter. You fancy him, after all, and you're intelligent enough to know he can't be behind this nonsense."

"I don't want to talk to anyone else," snapped Ginny, stung by Apple's scorn. "They're idiots, like you said. And Hermione's my friend -- excuse me for being upset!"

Apple's face softened a fraction. "I'm sorry. I forgot that you know her more than we do. If you want to be alone, I'll go read on the staircase."

"Thank you," Ginny said, and sat on her bed, pulling the curtains shut around her. After a moment, she heard the door click shut.

Hermione was Petrified. It was Ginny's fault.

Ginny wrapped her arms around her legs and shook.

---------------------------------------------

Quidditch was canceled until further notice. All other extracurricular activities were canceled, unless they could be squeezed into the afternoons under a professor's or prefect's supervision, so evening Herbology sessions were gone, too. Professors and prefects would escort students from one lesson to another, so nobody wandered the halls alone. Everyone had to be back in their house common rooms and dormitories by six o'clock, and no one was allowed to leave except for serious injury or violent illness, in which case a prefect had to escort the sick person to the infirmary.

"It's an utter mess," Susan concluded, as the first year girls sat on their beds and tried to make sense of the situation.

"But we know that Harry Potter isn't the Heir," Jia-li said softly, twisting a strand of black hair around her fingers. "Lee Jordan is right -- no Slytherins have been attacked, but we've lost two Gryffindors and our House ghost. The Heir must be in Slytherin."

"Circumstantial evidence," said Apple, without looking up from her copy of Magical Drafts and Potions.

Susan threw a crumpled sheet of parchment at her. "Oh, dry up. We're agreeing with you, aren't we? Why can't you stop rubbing in how much cleverer you are than everyone else?"

"We're Gryffindors," said Apple, setting down her book and smoothing out the parchment, "but courage is meaningless without a good cause. I want to make sure we don't charge off in the wrong direction, and if that means I have to stand up and call you an idiot, then I will. It's the right thing to do." She looked down at the parchment. "Also, judging by your marks on this essay, I am more intelligent than you."

"Stuck-up cow," Susan muttered, but when Gwen, Jia-li, and Ginny frowned at her, she threw up her hands. "Oh, fine! I won't accuse anyone of anything without your permission, Your Honor."

"You're still misinterpreting me," Apple said, but she handed back the essay without further comment.

Gwen shifted the conversation to what might happen to the Quidditch Cup if the rest of the matches were canceled, and Ginny felt free to shut her curtains and ignore them.

It was harder to ignore the jumble in her mind. She'd stuffed the diary at the bottom of her trunk, wrapped the diary in an old jumper. She'd slammed the door in her mind and dragged imaginary furniture across the doorway. She'd tried to piece together Tom's latest actions from the scattered fragments of awareness: most of the morning was lost in blackness and a vague impression of stone walls and a dragon, but she knew how the basilisk moved around the castle now -- in the massive drains and heating vents between the walls.

She had almost convinced herself to confess.

Professor Dumbledore was a good man. Everyone trusted him. Harry trusted him. And he'd let Hagrid stay on at Hogwarts even after he'd been expelled, so maybe he'd find a way to help her, too. Maybe he'd understand why Ginny had waited so long to confess, instead of accusing her of being Tom's accomplice.

Tomorrow she'd find Dumbledore and explain everything. He had defeated Grindelwald, one of the two most powerful dark wizards in the past century. He could handle Tom.

And she would be free.

With that resolution, Ginny slept.

She dreamed of dragons, green and red, locked in an endless struggle... and chained to stone pillars, trapped deep underground. They snapped and snarled, opening and reopening old wounds, but finally the princess seemed to share Ginny's frustration with the fruitless repetition of their war. She stood from her passive place against the wall, walked past the ragged talons and the bloody, slavering jaws, and vanished into a misty distance beyond the dragons' reach.

She didn't look back once.

---------------------------------------------

Apparently the professors and prefects hadn't worked out the details of their new responsibilities, because nobody was waiting to escort people down to breakfast. Maybe they assumed everyone would travel in groups voluntarily, or maybe they'd simply forgotten that some people got up at normal hours even on weekends. Whatever the cause, Ginny was grateful for the time alone.

She planned it as she dressed: first she'd eat breakfast, then she'd go back to Gryffindor Tower to put the diary in her bag -- she didn't want to carry it any longer than she absolutely had to -- and then she'd go to Dumbledore's office and try to guess his password. Harry had said it used to be 'lemon drop,' and Dumbledore was nutty enough to use silly passwords all the time. So she'd start by listing every sweet she knew, and then move on to Zonko's joke products. If none of her guesses worked, she'd find Professor McGonagall and ask her to get Dumbledore.

Ginny couldn't bear to confess to anyone else. Snape or Professor McGonagall might be able to deal with Tom, and Professor Sprout might forgive her, but she didn't trust anyone besides Dumbledore to do both. Besides, she couldn't disappoint Professor Sprout or Professor McGonagall like that, and she knew her voice would dry up in her throat if she tried talking to Snape.

The Great Hall was nearly empty this early on Sunday, but a few people sat in clumps up near the teachers' table. Madam Hooch and Professor Burbage, who taught Muggle Studies, were sitting near the Gryffindor side of the room and trying to ignore Lockhart's droning lies about a poltergeist in Crete.

Ginny slipped into a seat next to Angelina Johnson, who passed her a platter of toast. "You're up early," Angelina said. "If you were Fred or George, I'd suspect you of plotting something. Are you?"

Ginny's stomach lurched. "Er, no?"

Angelina gave Ginny an appraising look, then shrugged. "Well, they never tell me anything beforehand either, but their tricks always work out in the end. You're probably the same. So good luck with whatever you're doing... and pass me the sausage."

Ginny handed over the platter of sausage, picked silently at her toast, and escaped as soon as she could without seeming inexcusably rude.

The gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore's office looked fierce and unforgiving, its claws as sharp as a knife. "Password?" it asked as Ginny hesitated in the corridor.

"Erm. Fizzing Whizzbies?" she ventured. The gargoyle didn't move. "Chocolate Frogs? Candy canes? Every Flavor Beans?" She knew dozens of sweets; why couldn't she remember their names when she needed them? "Cauldron Cakes? Butterscotch?"

The gargoyle hopped to the side as the wall split in two, revealing the spiral staircase Harry had described. Gingerly, Ginny stepped onto the bottom tread, half expecting the steps to scream that she was tainted by dark magic, or the gargoyle to spring back to life and drag her away. But the stairs carried her smoothly upward, circle after circle, until she reached a gleaming oak door with a brass knocker shaped like a griffin.

Ginny took a deep breath, reminded herself that her heart couldn't really sink down through her stomach and out the soles of her feet to puddle on the landing, and knocked.

Nobody answered. After a minute, she tried again. Then she twisted the brass doorknob, hoping Dumbledore might have left his office unlocked -- it seemed pointless to have a password and a lock.

The door remained closed.

"Professor Dumbledore?" she called. "Er, is anyone there? I'm sorry to bother you, but it's important!" She didn't dare mention Tom, the basilisk, or the Petrifications until Dumbledore was in front of her. There was no telling how long the door in her mind would stay shut, especially not with the diary right at her side.

Still nobody came.

It was wrong to feel grateful that her confession would be delayed. It was wrong, and cowardly, and absolutely not what a Gryffindor should be feeling.

"And anyhow, now I have to go find Professor McGonagall and convince her I have a problem important enough to talk to Dumbledore, without telling her about Tom," Ginny reminded herself.

She rode the staircase down in guilty silence.

---------------------------------------------

Professor McGonagall wasn't in her office, either. "Well, it's Sunday," Ginny muttered as she waited, kicking her heels against the legs of her chair. "She probably wants to sleep in and have some time to herself. There's no reason to think anything's wrong -- well, that anything's more wrong than it already is."

She jumped back to her feet and wandered around the office, running her finger over the bookshelves; picking up and setting down paperweights, blocks, teapots, and various other knick-knacks; and helping herself to several pieces of shortbread from a tartan-colored box sitting on the windowsill. Eventually, she pulled down a book -- The Mirror of the Soul: Personal Reflections on the Animagus Transformation, by Maledicta Hawkins -- and tried to read. But the writing was deathly dull and Ginny couldn't stop herself from looking up toward the door every other minute.

The sun poured through the window in a heavy bar of gold. It inched slowly across the wall and floor. Dust motes danced in the warm, still air, and the fire crackled softly in the hearth.

Ginny began to doze.

"Miss Weasley? What on earth are you doing here?"

Ginny jerked upright, scrabbling to catch the book before it slid off her lap. "Professor McGonagall! I, er, I need-- I have to-- that is-- do you know where Professor Dumbledore is?"

Professor McGonagall went very pale and one of her hands clenched into a fist around the cuff of her sleeve, fingers white with barely restrained tension. "You haven't heard," she said after a moment. "Well. We're making the official announcement at supper, but there's no reason not to tell you now. Professor Dumbledore has been removed as Headmaster, and Rubeus Hagrid has been temporarily removed as Keeper of Keys and Grounds."

Ginny raised the book like a shield. Dumbledore was gone? "When? Why? Who's going to save us from-- from the Heir? And Hagrid's never done anything wrong! Why's he in trouble? He lives at Hogwarts -- where can he go?"

Professor McGonagall sighed. "The board of governors has voted to remove Professor Dumbledore, on the grounds that he's been unable to protect students from this so-called Heir. As for Hagrid..." She rubbed her forehead.

"The Ministry of Magic feels a need to be seen doing something about the situation, regardless of whether their actions--" Professor McGonagall broke off and frowned. "Please excuse me. The Ministry of Magic feels that, because of a certain incident in Hagrid's past, it may be best to remove him from the current situation. At the least, it may clarify matters, and at best..."

She shrugged and attempted a smile. "I'm certain this will blow over by the end of term, Miss Weasley. For now, I'll walk you to Gryffindor Tower, and I suggest you not venture out alone again. This is no time for recklessness."

Reluctantly, Ginny followed Professor McGonagall into the corridor, mind whirling. Who would want to take Dumbledore from Hogwarts? He was the strongest wizard in Britain. Even if he hadn't figured out Tom's game, he was probably the reason Tom hadn't tried anything worse. Sending him away was stupid. No, it was worse than stupid -- it was evil.

And Hagrid! Yes, he'd probably think a basilisk would make a smashing house pet, but that was just how Hagrid was. He'd never hurt anyone on purpose. Any idiot could see that by talking to him for five minutes. And the Ministry didn't even know about the basilisk, so what was their excuse for blaming him?

Ginny knew if she could talk to Tom, she could figure this out -- he'd always helped her put her thoughts together, and he probably knew all the secrets behind this mess anyhow -- but she didn't dare touch the diary.

Dumbledore was gone.

She should confess to Professor McGonagall. McGonagall wouldn't understand, not like Dumbledore might have, but she was the head of Gryffindor and she'd bent the rules to get Harry onto the Quidditch team last year. Maybe she wouldn't punish Ginny quite as much as she deserved. Anyhow, even if she was expelled and the Ministry broke her wand, at least Tom wouldn't be able to hurt anyone else. It was the right thing to do.

She could. She would. Ginny arranged her thoughts, opened her mouth--

And choked. Her tongue and throat burned, as if she'd swallowed a mouthful of red-hot coals. She reached instinctively toward her throat--

"There are consequences to betrayal," Tom's voice hissed, and her hands closed briefly around her neck. A warning. She'd taken too long, thought too hard about confessing. He'd woken up.

"Did you say something, Miss Weasley?" said Professor McGonagall, stopping halfway up a staircase and turning a quizzical look on Ginny.

Now! Quickly, before Tom grabbed her hands again, she should--

"No, I just got something in my throat," Ginny muttered, and faked a cough into her sleeve.

She couldn't make herself take the chance.

She was scum, unworthy of being a Weasley or a Gryffindor. But even if she couldn't do the right thing, she couldn't let Tom hurt anyone else. Maybe if she didn't touch the diary, she'd be safe for a while -- Tom hadn't used her to attack anyone while Harry had the diary. She'd have to keep it hidden until she figured out a way to kill Tom, something so fast and foolproof that he wouldn't have time to stop her and she wouldn't have time to get second thoughts and stop herself.

"Checkmate," Professor McGonagall said to the Fat Lady. "Be careful, Miss Weasley. This is no time to try doing things on your own."

But she had to do this alone, Ginny thought as she climbed through the portrait hole. Dumbledore couldn't save her. She couldn't tell anything to Harry, or her brothers, or her friends.

She had to save herself.

---------------------------------------------

Without the reassurance of Dumbledore's presence, the panic caused by the latest attack settled in and festered. Most Gryffindors -- and a surprising number of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws -- had decided that Harry would never attack Hermione, so he couldn't be the Heir, but that didn't stop people from looking suspiciously at everyone else.

On Monday, Jasper punched Danny for "looking at him funny" during Charms. Professor Flitwick had to pin them in opposite sides of the classroom with Sticking Charms to stop the fight. Then he gave them both detention.

On Tuesday, Jia-li had a fit of anti-Slytherin paranoia in the middle of Double Potions, which resulted in a shower of botched Anti-Inflammatory Draught raining over the class and staining their skin and clothes a lurid emerald green.

"If it were a touch less blinding, I think it'd be a lovely color for robes," Daphne said in a stage whisper as Snape strode around the room flicking his wand to reverse the worst effects. "Green's more elegant than black, and not nearly as overdone as, say, red."

"Stop baiting the poor lions," said Electra, smirking at Ginny's tense scowl. "You know not everyone's cut out for green."

"True. Black's much better for hiding mistakes," agreed Daphne.

Apple leaned across the aisle and smacked her cousin in the shoulder. Ginny didn't bother to hide her snicker.

"Two points from Gryffindor for disruptive behavior," said Snape, appearing suddenly behind Apple. "Family quarrels have no place in Hogwarts, Miss Rumluck. Do try to live up to your cousin's example rather than descend to the level of your housemates. Evanesco. Scourgify." Emerald glop removed and silence restored, he swept back to his desk. Daphne and Apple exchanged a speaking glance, and then Apple shrugged, apparently agreeing to drop the issue. Daphne grinned.

Ginny fumed.

"I thought your cousin was cool, but she's just a dirty snake like the rest of her house," Jasper said as the Gryffindors trooped toward the Great Hall for lunch. "Did you hear what Draco Malfoy was saying yesterday? That we're better off with Dumbledore gone, and maybe the next Headmaster won't want to close the Chamber? What's your cousin say to that, eh?"

Apple shrugged. "Daphne said, and I quote, 'Draco Malfoy's a bloody stupid prat, but maybe now we'll get a Headmaster who won't keep overlooking the way everyone looks down on Slytherin, so you won't hear me complaining!'"

Ginny scoffed silently. Dumbledore didn't make trouble for the Slytherins. Slytherins made trouble for themselves.

"Look, Daphne pushes at people," Apple continued in her own voice. "She likes to find people's buttons and make them jump -- that's simply how she is. I don't appreciate you calling her a dirty snake when she's never accused you of anything except being too full of yourself, which, incidentally, is absolutely true."

Jasper flushed bright red. "I am not full of myself! And she is so a dirty snake, and you're a house traitor if you keep hanging round with her."

"Oh, excuse me for thinking my family's a trifle more important than a gaggle of silly geese who never listen to me," said Apple, rolling her eyes, and she proceeded to ignore the other first years for the rest of the week, no matter how much Jasper, Susan, and Danny prodded at her, or Jia-li and Eugene swore they didn't mind about Daphne.

Ginny couldn't bring herself to care. Every morning she pictured the room in her mind and checked that the door was as tightly shut as she could make it. Every day she imagined she felt Tom's thoughts oozing through her own, like cold, slimy currents of stagnant water, or raspy serpent coils. And every evening she watched Harry and Ron sit in the corner of the common room and whisper to each other. She wondered what they were planning. It didn't matter in the long run -- they didn't know about Tom; they couldn't help her -- but she was curious.

"You seem awfully distracted," Xanthe told her as they left the greenhouses Friday afternoon. "Is anything wrong? Do you want to talk?"

"I'm fine," snapped Ginny. "And I'm sick of people asking me that!"

"You don't need to bite my head off, you know," said Xanthe, poking at Ginny's shoulder with an ink-stained finger. "I'm only trying to be sympathetic. Anyway, I was going to that we can skip studying tomorrow and walk around the grounds instead -- if we stay together and promise to keep in sight of the castle, we can probably get permission."

Ginny felt like scum for snapping at one of her only friends. "Erm. Thanks. That might help."

"I'll ask Professor Sprout tonight," said Xanthe, and dashed off to join Anne and Caroline.

Ginny trudged over to the other Gryffindors and fell in beside Apple. She was still annoyed at the way Apple kept sticking up for Daphne, but at least Apple's self-imposed silence meant Ginny didn't have to attempt any conversation. She wanted to pour out all her troubles, but she couldn't trust anyone; it was safer not to talk at all.

Xanthe seemed to have figured that out. Saturday morning she dragged Ginny away from breakfast, led her down to the lakeshore, and sat beside her on their hidden bench talking on and on about nothing in particular. Ginny hummed and nodded and scuffed her shoes in the mulch of last autumn's leaves, letting Xanthe's voice wash over her like warm, clean water.

"I'm sorry I'm such a useless friend," she said when they headed back into the castle for lunch.

Xanthe shrugged. "You're having a bad year -- it happens. Besides, I like to talk, and you're about the only person who doesn't tell me to shut up, so I'm taking as much advantage of you as you are of me. Just remember that I'm willing to listen, too!"

"Yeah, okay," Ginny mumbled, and slunk off to the Gryffindor table. She couldn't possibly tell Xanthe about Tom -- Xanthe didn't deserve that burden -- but it was nice to know somebody cared.

She buttered a piece of toast in glum silence, poking nervously at the door in her mind. It seemed shut, but she had no proof. Tom might simply be lulling her into carelessness.

She'd just taken a bite when the twins flung themselves down on either side of her. "Ginny! Dearly beloved sister! Cleverest girl we know! Light of our eyes!" Fred began.

"Save that one for Angelina," said George, reaching over Ginny's plate to flick Fred's shoulder. "Ginny, you're not turning into Percy and spending all your time studying, right?"

Ginny swallowed her toast and glanced warily from one twin to the other. "Why would you care if I were?"

"Because we need your help distracting Ron and Harry," said Fred, leaning toward her with a more serious expression. "They've lost Hermione again--"

"--terribly careless of them--"

"--and we need to take their minds off everything that's gone wrong this year," finished Fred.

"We thought we'd start with Exploding Snap and move on to more elaborate plans if that doesn't work," added George. "Do you mind sitting in? And do you have any other ideas? Normally we'd take them exploring, but with the curfew and the escorts..." He shrugged.

"Exploding Snap sounds fine," said Ginny. "When?"

"In the evenings," said George. "They stay up too late, whispering in the corner -- haven't you noticed? And they're no good at plotting, either of them. They'll go do something bloody stupid if we don't look out."

Harry would not-- well, no, be fair, Ginny told herself. He would go do something so brave it was bloody stupid, and Ron would cheer him on. They'd done it last year, and without Hermione around to temper them...

"Yeah, I'll help," she said. "Can I finish my lunch?"

"By all means -- can't have our co-conspirator starving, can we?" said Fred, and he and George clattered away.

Ginny picked at her toast for another minute before giving up and going to visit Sir Vladislav.

---------------------------------------------

The next week was an exercise in slowly ratcheting tension. Everyone knew the Heir had just been waiting until Dumbledore was gone, and the other shoe would drop any day now... or maybe the next day... or maybe the next. Each mostly peaceful day only seemed to wind people up more.

Ginny sympathized. She was waiting for Ron and Harry to do whatever mad thing they had planned, and each day they spent acting normal (if subdued) drove her more and more to distraction.

"You know, if you don't take a deep breath and relax, I think you might literally explode," Xanthe told her on Saturday. "Forget going on a walk. Sit down. I'm going to explain Astronomy to you until you fall asleep."

"Doesn't that sort of defeat the purpose of explaining it?" asked Ginny as she spread a star chart over the table.

"Well, yes, but I'm allowed more than one purpose at a time." Xanthe grinned and tossed her plait back over her shoulder. "Now hush and listen. The absolute magnitude of a star--"

Two hours later, Ginny had a crick in her neck from sleeping on her textbook. Xanthe refused to apologize. "You needed a nap. You got a nap. Stop whingeing and come to lunch."

Ginny loftily ignored her friend as they clattered down to the Great Hall.

That evening Susan got into a shrieking fight with Ruth, Daphne's curly-haired friend, which nearly descended into hexes before Professor McGonagall and Snape broke it up and assigned detention to all the Gryffindor and Slytherin first years.

"But we didn't do anything!" Jasper protested.

"Precisely," said Professor McGonagall. "You should have stopped them. There's no honor in failing to stop a disaster before it spins out of control."

"No survival value either," Snape muttered, just loud enough for Ginny to overhear, before gathering his Slytherins and sweeping off toward the dungeons.

On Monday, Ginny drifted through Charms and Transfiguration before escaping to the library and looking up everything she could find on basilisks. Inevitably, Percy dragged her back to Gryffindor Tower -- and took two points for evading protective supervision -- but she didn't care. She thought about deadly eyes and poison fangs and wondered whether, if worst came to worst, she might be able to slip Tom's control long enough to make the snake kill her.

It shouldn't be too hard. The basilisk wanted to kill.

If she died, she'd leave Tom helpless. Nobody else would suffer.

But that would be a coward's way out, and it wouldn't destroy the diary. It wasn't a real solution.

Still brooding, Ginny trailed behind the twins as they barged into Harry and Ron's chosen nook and dealt out five hands of Exploding Snap.

"Oh, give over already!" said Ron. "We're not babies, we don't need looking after." But he picked up his cards and flicked the two of dragons onto the table, starting the first game.

Ginny played desultorily, lost early, and sat out the rest of the games, huddled sideways in Hermione's favorite chair. She was beginning to think the twins' plan was as stupid as whatever Ron and Harry might end up doing. It made sense to keep an eye out, but this was too intrusive, too annoying, like their cockeyed attempt to comfort her by scaring her after Colin was Petrified.

But she'd agreed to help, so here she was.

The twins, who'd never learned to leave well enough alone, kept nagging Harry and Ron for one more game, and one more, and one more, until past midnight. Finally Ginny lost her patience.

"I don't know about you, but some of us would rather not fall asleep in the middle of lessons tomorrow," she said, leaning down to gather the cards before George could start shuffling again. "It's not as if we'll never have another chance to play. Go to bed."

"Ginny!" protested the twins, in chorus, and Ron looked torn, but Harry seemed utterly relieved.

Ginny clutched the deck to her chest. "I'll give them back tomorrow. For once in your lives, stop bothering people when we'd do much better on our own. Good night."

Grumbling, Fred tossed her the card case and followed George upstairs. Harry and Ron stayed seated. "Thanks," said Harry, with an awkward smile, "but I need to talk to Ron for a minute. I swear we'll be fine."

They wanted to talk about Hermione or their latest mad plot and didn't think she deserved to be let in on their secrets. Fine. It wasn't as if she didn't have secrets of her own.

"It's no problem," said Ginny, and trudged up the stairs alone.

---------------------------------------------

Ginny kept closing the door in her mind, though she doubted it did much good. Keeping Tom from outright possessing her wasn't good enough, not if he could still reach through enough to stop her from telling anyone what he'd done.

Although...

"Apple?" Ginny said after the other three girls had clomped off down to breakfast. "Can I ask you a question?"

Apple shrugged, still plaiting her damp and crinkled hair. "I don't see why you'd bother listening to me now, but yes, you may ask."

Ginny wound a strand of hair around her finger and wondered how to put this. "Suppose you had something you particularly wanted to say, but you kept choking up--" she began.

"I take it this is about Harry Potter?" said Apple.

"No! Erm, well, that is... maybe?" Ginny felt her face burning, but she needed advice more than she needed to avoid embarrassment.

Apple smiled and began wrapping her plait into a crown, jabbing in hairpins every now and then. "Fair enough. I think your best chance is to distract yourself. First, reduce what you want to say to a single sentence and recite it until you have it memorized. Second, think very hard about something else, preferably something completely innocuous. Finally, as you open your mouth, switch back to your memorized sentence. That way you shouldn't have time to freeze up again."

Plan what to say, think very hard about something else so Tom wouldn't be paying attention, and confess before he could grab hold of her throat and stop her. It could work.

"Thanks, Apple," said Ginny, and slid off her bed.

"If it disposes you to be less unpleasant to everyone around you, I count it advice well spent," said Apple, adjusting a final hairpin. "Hurry up; you don't want to miss him." She pulled a clean black robe from her bedpost and began to fasten it around her shoulders.

Ginny made a face and slipped out of the room.

Who to tell? Harry? Professor McGonagall? "Harry," Ginny decided. He already knew about Tom and the diary, so she wouldn't have to waste time explaining that part. And what to say? Something simple, something short. No long explanations, not at first -- she'd need to make him believe her right away.

So. 'Tom in the diary is the Heir of Slytherin, and he's been possessing me. Help!' No, that sounded so babyish... What about, 'Tom Riddle is the Heir of Slytherin, and he's been possessing me'? Yes, that could work.

"Tom Riddle is the Heir of Slytherin, and he's been possessing me," Ginny murmured to herself, getting the feel of the words in her mouth. "Tom Riddle is the Heir of Slytherin, and he's been possessing me. Tom Riddle is the Heir of Slytherin, and he's been possessing me. Help!"

Something cold twitched at the edge of her mind.

A distraction. She needed a distraction. What was distracting? The twins, always dragging her off to bother Harry and Ron, or hauling her to Quidditch matches, or stopping her from studying for final exams, which were still being held despite all the Petrifications, and that would be incredibly unfair to poor Colin, after what Tom had done to him, and...

No! She couldn't think about Tom!

Final exams. Ginny was sure she could pass Potions and Herbology with no problem, and Charms was nearly as easy, but Transfiguration was trickier. Astronomy was hopeless, of course, even after Xanthe's help. As for Defense, there was no way on earth she could remember enough trivia from Lockhart's books to pass whatever self-glorifying exercise he'd set. He was such a useless, toad-licking ninny!

Running over Lockhart's flaws carried Ginny safely into the Great Hall. Harry and Ron were sitting halfway down the Gryffindor table, and Ginny wondered if she dared to tell them now. No, she should wait until they left, until she could get Harry alone.

Ginny sat at the near end of the table and grabbed a slice of dry toast. She had just taken a bite when Professor McGonagall tapped a knife against a glass and said, "I have good news."

The Great Hall erupted, dozens of people talking and shouting at once. Professor McGonagall tapped her glass several more times and frowned until the noise subsided. "Professor Sprout has informed me that the Mandrakes are ready for cutting at last," she continued. "Tonight, we will be able to revive those people who have been Petrified. I need hardly remind you all that one of them may well be able to tell us who, or what, attacked them. I am hopeful that this dreadful year will end with our catching the culprit."

Nearly everyone cheered.

Ginny's stomach plummeted. She set her toast aside and tried to smile -- now, of all times, she couldn't afford to look suspicious -- but all she managed was a few seconds of faint clapping.

If Colin and Hermione and Nearly-Headless Nick and Justin Finch-Fletchley woke, they would tell everyone that she was the Heir. Anything she said about Tom would sound like a self-serving lie. She had to tell Harry now.

She hurried down the table and sat down beside Ron. 'Tom Riddle is the Heir of Slytherin, and he's been possessing me.' That was all she had to say, and then everything would be out of her hands. Harry would tell the professors. They would kill Tom. She'd be free -- a failure, a coward, but free.

She twisted her hands in her lap. Finals. Think about finals. She wanted to talk to Harry about whether Hermione would still have to take the exams.

"What's up?" asked Ron, helping himself to a second serving of porridge.

Hermione, at least, would tell the professors that Ginny had tried to warn her. Wouldn't she? Ginny glanced up and down the table, wondering if anyone would overhear her. Was anyone paying attention? No, they were all still distracted by Professor McGonagall's announcement.

Ron was watching her suspiciously. He knew something was wrong; she knew he knew. "Spit it out," he said.

"I've got to tell you something," Ginny muttered, looking down and away.

No, wrong! Be casual, talk about something else! Don't attract Tom's attention!

"What is it?" asked Harry. His voice was funny, a little soft, a little careful, like Mum when she was worried that someone might be hurt.

Ginny gulped. Ron's suspicious look sharpened. "What?" he demanded.

Oh god. She opened her mouth, and something burned. Her breath stopped.

-I see you, Ginevra. I see you betraying me. BE SILENT.-

Tom. Oh god, she'd done it all wrong, and now he knew, and Harry was right here, and what if he possessed her hands and reached out and--

Harry leaned forward. No! He had to stay away from her! But he couldn't hear her thoughts.

"Is it something about the Chamber of Secrets?" he asked. "Have you seen something? Someone acting oddly?"

-SAY NOTHING.-

Her throat burned. But this was her body, not Tom's. One fight, one last time to shut him out -- just for a moment, just a few seconds -- and she'd be free. Ginny drew a deep breath, past the burning knot in her throat. Five seconds. She opened her mouth--

A hand dropped onto her shoulder. "If you've finished eating, I'll take that seat, Ginny," said Percy. "I'm starving -- I've only just come off patrol duty."

She choked. Cold fingers squeezed the borders of her mind.

Leaping to her feet, Ginny glanced despairingly at Percy and fled. She had to get away from Harry, had to keep him safe from Tom.

She had to end this. Now. Today. Before anyone woke up.

She needed to take the diary to Professor McGonagall.

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In the corridors, news was still spreading about the Mandrakes. Ginny ran past clumps and threads of people all smiling and laughing and wondering who the Heir would turn out to be. She tried to shut her ears.

-What are you planning, Ginevra? You know nobody will believe you.-

"You're lying, you always lie to me," she muttered. "I have proof -- I'll show them -- and they'll make sure you're stopped. One way or another, you're finished. I'm only making it easy. Haruspex," she added to the Fat Lady, and dove through the portrait hole before the painting had swung more than halfway aside.

"I never!" the Fat Lady said. "There's no need to jostle me, dear."

"Sorry," Ginny snapped, and dashed up the stairs. So long as she concentrated on holding her mental door shut and didn't touch the book directly, she could probably move the diary from her trunk to her bag and carry it to Professor McGonagall's office.

She pulled an old pair of socks over her hands and reached down into the trunk, past books and clothes, shoving aside a deck of cards and two bottles of ink. There -- a hard rectangle muffled by thick wool -- the diary. Carefully, she pulled out the jumper and its dangerous treasure. The sleeves, only loosely folded around each other, slid aside and half-unwrapped the book.

Ginny stared at the shabby, black cover. Such a small thing, so harmless to look at. So deadly.

"None of this had to happen, Tom," she said. "I would have helped you get a body. You didn't need to hurt anyone. It's been fifty years -- you could have started over and done things right this time. Why couldn't you change? Why didn't you even try?"

Tom was silent, waiting, a press of frozen shadows behind her eyes.

"Fine. Die, then. See if I care." She dropped the jumper to her bed and shifted the diary from her right hand to her left.

Her finger brushed leather. Ginny froze. She was touching the diary. There was a hole in her sock and a hole in her mind, and Tom was right there. If he took her now nobody would ever know the truth. Nobody would stop him. Nobody would save her.

Tom moved her hands, opening the diary, flattening the pages as mist swirled out and coalesced into his body, fully colored and nearly solid now. "I think I won't be the one dying today, Ginevra," he said, and reached out with one hand to stop her scream.

Then there was nothing but darkness.

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AN: Thank you for reading, and please review! I appreciate all feedback, but I'm particularly interested in knowing what parts of the story worked for you, what parts didn't, and why.