Secrets

Author's Note: This chapter was horrifically draining to write, once I got past the bits that Rowling had already half-done for me. That's because my portrayal of post-Chamber Ginny draws on my own experience with depression, guilt spirals, and other negative thought patterns. Revisiting that time of my life is never fun.

Thanks to Lasair and Cat for cleaning up this chapter, particularly the first scene; it still tiptoes along the precipice of melodrama, but would be ten times worse without their 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 13: Shattering

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She was cold, her back ached, and her head was pounding as if a goblin raiding party had invaded. Tom had possessed her again. What had she done this time? Was he gone? Was he waiting? Where had he left her?

Ginny listened: dripping water, a distant crackle of torches, and slow, arrhythmic footsteps, as if the walker were picking a way over rough ground. She cracked her eyes open, trying not to be obvious, not to show Tom she was awake.

Dim light. A smooth stone floor, like ice against her skin. She was so cold; her teeth rattled and she shivered before she could hide the motion.

No hiding now. Ginny shoved herself upright, biting back a moan at the stiffness in her arms and legs and the lines of pain radiating down from her temples, and looked around.

Tom wasn't there. Instead, a giant snake -- the basilisk! -- she didn't have a mirror -- what if it turned--

It wasn't moving. Its eyes were punctured, oozing yellowish glop. Blood flowed sluggishly from its mouth, pooling on the floor. Harry stood close by, soaked in blood and ink. His skin showed pale through a gaping, acid-burned hole in his left sleeve, just above his elbow. He held a wand, a sword, the Sorting Hat, and the diary.

The diary was ruined; pierced and burned by whatever acid-like liquid had destroyed Harry's sleeve.

No diary, no Tom. He was gone.

Ginny bent over her knees and sobbed.

"Harry. Oh, Harry, I tried to tell you at b-breakfast, but I c-couldn't say it in front of Percy." She was shaking, stuttering through her tears, everything pouring out like poison from a wound. "It was me, Harry, but I-- I s-swear I d-didn't mean to--"

It was Tom.

"R-Riddle made me," she said. She couldn't say his name, not the one she'd trusted. One thing to hold, one last secret -- nobody had to know how much she'd hoped he was innocent, how she'd tried to talk to him even after she knew everything. Ginny buried her face in her hands. She couldn't bear to look at Harry.

"He t-took me over, and..." And then nothing. Why wasn't she dead? "How did you kill that-- that thing? W-where's Riddle? The last thing I remember is him coming out of the diary..."

"It's all right, Riddle's finished," said Harry, holding up the diary and pointing out the hole. "Look! Him and the basilisk." His hand shook, and he adjusted his grip on the sword and hat. "C'mon, Ginny, let's get out of here."

Harry didn't understand. He didn't realize how much had been her fault, how much she'd let Tom get away with. The professors would see what he was too kind to notice.

The stupid tears wouldn't stop falling. "I'm going to be expelled! I've looked forward to coming to Hogwarts ever since B-Bill came, and n-now I'll have to leave, and-- and what will Mum and Dad say?"

They'd be so ashamed of her.

Harry helped her to her feet, squeezing almost hard enough to hurt. Ginny clutched back equally tight. His hand was hot and damp in hers, proof they were alive. This wasn't one of Tom's tricks. This was real.

Her fingernails were digging into the back of Harry's hand, but he didn't pull away.

They climbed over the dead snake and walked between rows of tall pillars that looked oddly familiar -- maybe from her dreams? Was this the dragon's chamber? Dumbledore's phoenix hovered in the entrance, urging them out of the strange room. The doors slid shut behind them with a soft hiss, almost like someone saying 'farewell.' Ginny rubbed her eyes, risking one glance behind, and flinched as the carved snakes seemed to wink at her.

She followed Harry along the dank corridor in silence, past coils of shed snakeskin. Their feet crunched over tiny bones -- and some not so tiny. Ginny thought about the length of the basilisk's fangs, the breadth of its jaws, and shuddered. Harry had faced it alone. Her fault.

She pulled her hand out of Harry's grasp. He half turned, a question in the tilt of his head and the set of his shoulders, but she pretended she didn't see. He drew a breath--

Up ahead, rocks shifted and clattered, redirecting Harry's attention. "Ron!" he yelled, speeding up, leaving her behind. "Ginny's okay! I've got her!"

She was not okay. She might never be okay again.

Ron gave a strangled cheer, and then Ginny turned the final bend to see a massive pile of fallen stones, with one narrow gap cleared at the far side. Ron was staring through, eager, desperate, his pale face framed by darkness.

"Ginny!" He thrust one arm through the gap; blindly, Ginny grabbed hold and let him pull her through, let his babble wash over her. "You're alive! I don't believe it. What happened?" Beaming, he tried to hug her.

She didn't want anyone touching her. Ginny pushed his arms off and shuffled away from the gap.

"But you're okay, Ginny," Ron said, undaunted, still smiling. Then he ducked as the phoenix darted through the gap to dance overhead. "How -- what -- where did that bird come from?"

"He's Dumbledore's," said Harry, clambering awkwardly over the fallen stones.

"How come you've got a sword?" asked Ron, gaping at the sharp metal, still glittering under the bloodstains.

Harry shifted his grip on the hilt and looked sideways at Ginny, biting his lip. She turned away, still crying. Why couldn't she just disappear? Tom was gone; shouldn't everything be over? Why did she still hurt? Why did she have to face everyone, before she'd had any chance to work things out?

"I'll explain when we get out of here," said Harry.

"But--" Ron began.

"Later," Harry said shortly. Small stones clicked and clattered as he moved away from the gap. "Where's Lockhart?"

Lockhart? What did that idiot have to do with anything? Ginny risked a glance at the boys, rubbing her sleeve over her face to disguise her attention. Why couldn't she stop crying? Shouldn't she be relieved? She'd be punished, of course, but at least nobody else would get hurt anymore.

"Back there," said Ron, jerking his head down the corridor. "He's in a bad way -- come and see."

The phoenix flew ahead of them, casting a soft, golden light from his scarlet wings. After another handful of twists and turns, they reached the mouth of a wide, grime-streaked pipe, big enough for a person to fit inside. Lockhart sat beside it, humming; his smile was small and genuine instead of the glittery thing he usually assaulted people with.

"His memory's gone," Ron said quietly, leaning in toward Ginny and Harry. "The Memory Charm backfired -- hit him instead of us. Hasn't got a clue who he is, or where he is, or who we are. I told him to come and wait here. He's a danger to himself."

Funny. Lockhart almost looked like a decent human being for once, and Ron was complaining about it. Ginny felt hysterical laughter bubbling in her throat and turned away, pressed her hands against her eyes, ground the heels of her palms against her skin.

One last life ruined. It wasn't directly her fault -- she hadn't asked anyone to come after her, hadn't known anything about Memory Charms, and what had Lockhart been trying to do with a Memory Charm anyhow? -- but if she hadn't been so stupid, none of this would have happened. Her fault in the end.

Hers and Tom's. No, not Tom. Riddle. She had to get used to calling him Riddle -- had to put an inch between herself and him, a space to breathe and think and work out what to say when the teachers asked her about him.

Oh god, Tom was dead. He'd tried to kill her. Ginny choked on a sob.

Now Harry was touching her shoulder, pushing her toward Ron. "We've got to hold on to each other. Ginny, grab Ron's hand. Professor Lockhart--"

"He means you," Ron said sharply.

"You hold Ginny's other hand," Harry said to Lockhart, who nodded amiably.

Harry hadn't even asked her opinion. But she couldn't leave Lockhart down here alone. Ginny tried to smile through her tears -- it sat oddly on her face, so she gave up and just held Lockhart's hand as firmly as she could. Ron clung to her other hand, lacing their fingers together

Harry tucked the Sorting Hat and the bloodstained sword into his belt. Then Ron grabbed onto Harry's robes, Harry grabbed the phoenix's tail, and a strange, hot, floating feeling swept through Ginny, flowing from Ron's hand through her and on into Lockhart.

The phoenix beat its wings and they flew into the pipe -- Ginny banged her shins -- and upward, higher and higher. How far under the castle had they been? How had Tom brought her back up before? Surely there was a simpler way to do this.

"Amazing! Amazing!" Lockhart said, tipping his face back and laughing in childlike joy. "This is just like magic!"

It wasn't fair. She'd tried so hard to do the right thing, to protect Harry, to stop Tom -- and Lockhart ended up happy while she hurt so much she wanted to banish herself into nothingness and never come back. Lockhart! Stupid, toad-licking, scum-sucking, puffed up, dirt-for-brains Lockhart! Why couldn't she have been the one who forgot everything?

The wind brushed her tears away as fast as they fell.

And then they popped out through the dismembered corpse of a sink and landed with a splash on the wet floor of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Ginny looked at the window seat where she'd bound herself to Tom, and wondered why she was surprised. She'd always ended up here, all year long. Of course she had. This was where Tom had wanted her to be.

Behind them, the sink slid back into place like a living jigsaw puzzle. Myrtle hovered across the floor, just outside her stall, and stared at them with a flabbergasted expression. "You're alive," she said.

"There's no need to sound so disappointed," said Harry, stealing a bit of toilet paper to wipe blood and slime off his glasses.

"Oh, well, I'd just been thinking... if you had died, you'd have been welcome to share my toilet," said Myrtle. She blushed a deeper shade of silver.

As if Harry would want to share a toilet with anyone.

Ron shivered dramatically as they pushed open the bathroom door. "Urgh. Harry, I think Myrtle's grown fond of you. You've got competition, Ginny!"

As if she cared! They'd both nearly died, and all Ron could think about was her stupid crush? Did he think she was so shallow she could forget everything that had happened? Did he want her to smile so badly he'd pretend nothing was wrong?

Ginny cried harder, silently. She wanted to be alone, but if she ran now -- if she hid, if she didn't face judgment -- it would prove Tom right, prove that she was twisted and wrong inside, like him. She had to stay, no matter how much it hurt.

"Where now?" Ron asked after a moment.

Harry pointed down the corridor. The phoenix had flown to the corner and was hovering with an expectant air. Harry strode toward the bird, Lockhart at his heels.

Slowly, Ginny followed. Ron walked beside her. He touched her shoulder, feather-light, barely enough to feel. "It'll be all right," he whispered. "I swear it'll be okay. You're alive, that's the important part. You'll be fine, right?"

No, she wouldn't be fine. She should have died down there, along with Tom. But she couldn't say that to Ron. No one else should get hurt, not now, not anymore.

And Ron didn't mean to hurt her. He used to pick her up when she fell, used to help her wash dirt from her scrapes, used to peel off the backing paper so she could put plasters over her cuts. He just didn't know how to deal with cuts that didn't bleed on the outside.

Ginny scrubbed at her face with the least dirty corner of her sleeve. She was a failure and a coward, but she'd tried. She'd kept Tom trapped for months, she'd made sure he couldn't tell lies to Harry, she'd warned Hermione, and she'd almost got the diary to Professor McGonagall in the end. That was something -- not anywhere near enough, but something. And she didn't have to be alone anymore. Tentatively, Ginny reached up and clasped her brother's hand.

They walked into Professor McGonagall's office together.

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For a moment, there was silence.

Mum and Dad sat in an armchair beside the fire, hunched in on themselves, arms around each other. Professor McGonagall stood near her desk, looking distraught, and Dumbledore stood by the end of the mantelpiece, his grave expression transmuting into a smile as he examined the intruders.

Her parents stared at her like she'd come back from the dead. Mum went white, then red, and leapt to her feet. "Ginny!"

Ginny braced herself against the doorframe and did her best not to buckle under Mum's strangling embrace. Dad was barely a second behind her, roping Ron into the hug as well.

Mum wept into her shoulder, mumbling a broken litany of relief. "Oh my goodness, I thought you were dead -- thought I'd never see you again -- oh Merlin, you're alive, you're safe, Ginny -- Ginny, what happened, who did this to you -- oh thank goodness -- oh, I thought I'd die--"

"She's fine, Mum," said Ron, slipping out from under Dad's arm. "Harry saved her."

Mum unbent and lunged toward Ron and Harry, gathering them into her arms, giving Ginny a bare second to stand unsupported before Dad wrapped her up again.

"Can't breathe," she muttered into his chest.

"Sorry," he said, but he didn't let her go.

Mum was babbling at Harry now. "You saved her! You saved her! How did you do it?"

"I think we'd all like to know that," Professor McGonagall said weakly, leaning on the mantelpiece as if a stray breath might knock her over without support.

Mum let go of Harry and reached back to touch Ginny's shoulder. Harry walked over to Professor McGonagall's desk -- getting out of Mum's reach -- and laid the Sorting Hat, the bloodstained sword, and the diary in a row.

"For me, it started on Hallowe'en," he said after a moment, looking at the fire and avoiding everyone's eyes. "We went to Nick's Deathday party, and on the way back I heard a voice in the walls. It was talking about blood and stuff, but Ron and Hermione couldn't hear anything..."

Of course Harry had heard the basilisk. Of course it hadn't meant anything to him. Before the Dueling Club, he hadn't known he was a Parselmouth.

"Just before she was Petrified, Hermione figured it out -- about the basilisk, anyway -- it was using the pipes to get around. And since she knew it was a basilisk, she had a mirror, so she got Petrified instead of killed. She was probably trying to explain things to that other girl she was with," Harry continued.

Ginny nudged Dad in the side and waved her hand at the open door. His face softened into more familiar worried lines -- lost a bit of that unnerving taut desperation -- and he shuffled over and pulled it shut. Mum took the chance to sweep Ginny against her side and clutch her tight.

"Before Hagrid was arrested, he told me and Ron to follow the spiders," Harry was saying. "We had no clue what he meant, but in Monday Herbology we noticed a bunch of them heading toward the Forbidden Forest, so that night we sneaked out..."

So that was why they'd waited in the common room instead of going up to bed. The twins had been right; Harry and Ron had been planning something bloody stupid.

"Here, Ginny," whispered Mum, tucking a handkerchief into Ginny's hand with a worried smile.

Ginny attempted to smile back. It didn't work. So she nodded and scrubbed at the sticky residue of her tears while Harry shifted his feet.

"...drove up and rescued us," he was saying, "and we snuck back in. Ron thought we hadn't learned anything, but I figured at least we knew Hagrid was innocent. Later I kept thinking about what Aragog said, and it hit me. He said the girl who died was found in a bathroom, and I thought, what if she never left it? What if she was still there?"

"You refer, of course, to Myrtle Leeds," said Dumbledore.

"Yeah, Moaning Myrtle," agreed Ron.

No, Myrtle Leeds. She had a name. Ginny blew her nose and tried to melt into the wall. Sooner or later Harry would have to explain about Tom and the diary. He couldn't avoid accusing her forever.

"We got distracted by exams, but we tried to go look around this morning. Professor McGonagall caught us, and I said we were going to visit Hermione," continued Harry. "That was when we realized Hermione had figured out about the basilisk and the pipes, and Ron said, if the basilisk was getting around in the plumbing, what if the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets was in a bathroom?"

"It wasn't that brilliant. I only thought of it after you explained everything Hermione had figured out," muttered Ron.

Harry ignored him. "We went to the staff room to tell Professor McGonagall, but I guess someone found the Heir's message and she told everyone to go back to our houses. We couldn't go -- we had to tell someone about the basilisk -- so we hid in the wardrobe and heard about Ginny. We forgot to explain anything after that."

Mum grabbed Ginny's hands while Dad rubbed her shoulder. Ginny tried not to flinch away.

"Ron figured that Ginny knew something about the Heir -- she'd tried to talk to us at breakfast, but Percy interrupted her -- and he said we should tell Lockhart about the basilisk and Myrtle's bathroom."

"But why tell me?" asked Lockhart, with a puzzled smile.

Harry ignored him, too. "Lockhart admitted he was a fraud. All the stuff in his books is other people's stories -- he just took the credit and stole their memories. He tried to Memory Charm us, too, but we disarmed him and took him to talk to Myrtle. She said she saw glowing yellow eyes and then died, and they'd been right in front of her toilet. So we looked at the sink there and found a little snake mark on one of the taps."

Harry shrugged and turned slightly, staring out the window. "I told it to open, in Parseltongue, and it did. Then we went down."

Hissing echoed through Ginny's thoughts, twisting into words: open, and in the name of Slytherin, and patience, you'll get blood soon enough. If she closed her eyes and pictured snakes, she thought she might still be able to speak them aloud. That was Tom: bits of him left in her, like venom in her blood, ink stains on her skin.

The stupid tears welled up again. Ginny pressed the handkerchief to her face and wished it were an Invisibility Cloak.

"Very well," said Professor McGonagall when Harry didn't continue his story, "so you found out where the entrance was -- breaking a hundred school rules into pieces along the way, I might add -- but how on earth did you all get out of there alive, Potter?"

Harry clenched his hands on the edge of the desk. "Lockhart got hold of Ron's wand and tried a Memory Charm again, but Ron's wand has been acting funny all year. It exploded -- brought down half the ceiling and split us up -- so I went on alone. Ginny was in the Chamber, on the floor. And then the basilisk got loose."

Mum shuddered and pulled Ginny's head close against her shoulder, stroking her damp hair.

She had no idea. Whatever horrors she was imagining, she had no idea at all. But Harry hadn't said a word about Tom. What was he playing at?

"Fawkes saved me," said Harry, nodding at the phoenix perched on Dumbledore's shoulder. "He put out the snake's eyes and gave me the Sorting Hat. I had no idea what to do, but the basilisk knocked the hat into my hand and I asked it for help. It dropped that sword on my head." He waved his hand at the sword on the desk. "The snake had to open its mouth to bite me, so I held the sword up and shoved, and it went up into its head."

"But -- surely the fangs..." said Dad, miming something giant and sharp coming downward fast. This time, Ginny shuddered. Harry had risked death to save her. She didn't deserve that. He should have saved himself and left her to her fate.

"Yeah. It bit me." Harry shrugged, as if his life meant nothing. "Fawkes saved me again -- he cried on my arm, and--"

"Phoenix tears, of course," murmured Professor McGonagall. "Albus, I don't suppose your bird would enjoy some sunflower seeds?"

"You never know," Dumbledore said with a faint smile, reflected firelight masking his eyes. "Now, fascinating as your story has been, Harry, you appear to be skipping several important elements. What interests me most is how Lord Voldemort managed to enchant Ginny, when my sources tell me he is currently in hiding in the forests of Albania."

Ginny froze.

Voldemort? But-- Tom-- but-- Tom Riddle was the Dark Lord? That didn't make any sense! Voldemort was old -- older than Mum and Dad, even -- not a boy, not someone who could listen and laugh and tell her stories as a Christmas present. Not someone who'd bother to help with her homework. Even though he'd been lying, Tom had done all that. Ginny couldn't imagine Voldemort doing anything so normal.

But... Tom had been in the diary for fifty years. So he was old, even if it was only a sideways sort of age, like paintings and enchanted armor. And he was evil. He would have killed her to get out of the diary, just because it was faster than waiting for her to help him honestly. Maybe he would have grown up into the monster who'd tried to kill Harry when Harry was just a baby, the monster who'd killed her uncles before she was born.

Mum was protesting. "Enchant Ginny? But Ginny's not -- Ginny hasn't been -- has she?"

Yes, she had. Whatever Mum was thinking, she probably had done, and worse besides.

"It was this diary," Harry said quickly, snatching the ruined book from the desk and holding it up. "Riddle wrote in it when he was sixteen."

Dumbledore gently took the diary from Harry and peered down his long, crooked nose at its mutilated pages. "Brilliant," he said softly. "Of course, he was probably the most brilliant student Hogwarts has ever seen."

He turned around to face the sofa. "Very few people know that Lord Voldemort was once called Tom Riddle. I taught him myself, fifty years ago, at Hogwarts. He disappeared after leaving the school -- traveled far and wide -- sank so deeply in to the Dark Arts, consorted with the very worst of our kind, underwent so many dangerous, magical transformation, that when he resurfaced as Lord Voldemort, he was barely recognizable. Hardly anyone connected Lord Voldemort with the clever, handsome boy who was once Head Boy here."

Tom had made Head Boy despite the Chamber and that mess with Rose? Good for him.

No, wait, bad for him! Why hadn't anyone seen through him then? He'd killed Myrtle and -- if Ginny had pieced the story together right -- framed Hagrid for her death. If Dumbledore had been Tom's teacher, why hadn't he done something then instead of letting him turn into even more of a monster?

"But, Ginny," said Mum, clutching Ginny's shoulder so tightly Ginny thought her bones might snap. "What's our Ginny got to do with-- with him?"

Harry looked at the carpet. Dumbledore was suddenly quite absorbed in studying the diary.

Tom was gone. He couldn't stop her anymore. She had nobody left to blame for her cowardice.

"His diary," Ginny said, twisting the handkerchief tighter and tighter in her shaking hands. Her voice sounded all wrong, hoarse and thick with tears and snot, but she pushed on. "I've b-been writing in it, and he's been wr-writing back all year."

Dad reached forward and caught her shoulder, turning her to face him. "Ginny! Haven't I taught you anything? What have I always told you? Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can't see where it keeps its brain! Why didn't you show the diary to me or your mother? A suspicious object like that -- it was clearly full of Dark Magic--"

Then why should she trust the portraits or the suits of armor that guarded Hogwarts? It wasn't like they kept their brains out on display! Dad hadn't shown her how to find where an enchanted object kept its personality, so how did he expect her to know which ones were secretly evil?

"I d-didn't know!" she said, trying to hide behind her tangled hair. "I found it inside one of the books Mum got me. I th-thought someone had just left it in there and forgotten about it..."

"Miss Weasley should go up to the hospital wing right away," interrupted Dumbledore, before Ginny could figure out how to explain about Tom -- about Riddle -- being almost exactly like a real friend at the beginning. "This has been a terrible ordeal for her. There will be no punishment."

What? But she'd let Tom out! She'd kept his secrets all year, even when she'd had chance after chance to tell someone about him. If she'd taken the diary to the professors in January, for example, Hermione and Percy's girlfriend would be fine right now. She'd done everything wrong.

"Older and wiser wizards than she have been hoodwinked by Lord Voldemort," Dumbledore continued serenely, striding across Professor McGonagall's office and opening the door. "Bed rest and perhaps a large, steaming mug of hot chocolate. I always find that cheers me up." He smiled down at Ginny, his blue eyes twinkling reassuringly.

She cried harder, ducking her head and pressing the ruined handkerchief to her face. This wasn't right. This wasn't fair. She was supposed to be punished -- forgiven, maybe, but still punished. She wasn't innocent. She didn't deserve to escape blame.

"You will find that Madam Pomfrey is still awake," Dumbledore said, looking at Mum and Dad. "She's just giving out Mandrake juice -- I daresay the basilisk's victims will be waking up any moment."

"So Hermione's okay!" Ron said brightly.

If losing nearly a month of her life was okay, then yes, Hermione was fine. Once again, Ginny wanted to smack her brother.

Dumbledore stooped and tipped Ginny's chin up. "There has been no lasting harm done, Ginny," he said.

"There could have been," she whispered.

"But there was not. Remember that."

"Come on, Ginny," said Mum, stepping toward the doorway and offering her hand. "I think... I think we need to talk. But not now. You need to rest." She gathered Ginny in close and led her and Dad out the door -- at Dumbledore's signal, Ron stayed behind, with Harry.

They walked in silence to the hospital wing.

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Madam Pomfrey restored the Petrified students (and cat and ghost) shortly after midnight. There was also a massive celebration in the Great Hall. Ginny slept through both events, quarantined in a private room off the main infirmary.

"Your father's gone home to tidy the house and feed the chickens," said Mum the next morning. "He'll be back for lunch. Your brothers all came to visit last night, but I said there was no point in them staying so we sent them off to the feast.

"I'm fine, really," Ginny said as Mum levitated a tray towards her that held buttered toast, jam, bacon, kippers, sausage, a bowl of porridge, and a tall glass of pumpkin juice. "You don't have to watch me eat."

"Maybe not, but I want to," said Mum, and sat down beside Ginny's bed with an air of great resolve. "I've obviously been rubbish at watching out for you all year -- you could have told us you were in trouble! -- but I'm going to start making up for that now."

Ginny stared morosely at the massive breakfast. She didn't want Mum to watch out for her. She wanted to be alone, so she wouldn't have to act fine and cheerful and normal to keep people from smothering her.

Tom was dead. And Ginny had only escaped being a murderer through sheer dumb luck -- any of a hundred tiny changes in the past year and she would have killed him or he would have used her body to kill someone else.

Harry had killed Tom.

Ginny stirred the porridge, watching the glop scab over in the wake of the spoon. But Harry hadn't planned to kill Tom, not like she'd tried to. He'd just done something to the diary -- maybe stabbed it with the basilisk's missing fang? -- while he was fighting for his life and trying to save her. Which she hadn't deserved.

Anyhow, that wasn't murder. Not exactly. Ginny wasn't sure how to articulate the difference, but she was sure there was one.

Tom could have helped her find the right words.

"All the stirring in the world won't do you any good until you put some in your mouth and swallow," Mum said sharply. "Ginny, you need to eat. Are you certain you're all right? Should I fetch Madam Pomfrey?"

Ginny dropped the spoon and took a bite of toast instead, chewing pointedly.

"Oh, Ginny." Mum raised one hand as if to touch Ginny's hair. Ginny leaned away, and Mum's face tightened. "Ignoring me won't fix anything," she said. "Talk to me, Ginny. What happened to you this year? Why didn't you ask anyone for help? What were you thinking?"

"I thought it was my problem!" Ginny said. "I let Riddle out -- I thought he was my friend -- so it was my responsibility to stop him. You have to fix what you break, right?" She tore off a corner of the toast and pinched it between her fingers. "But I couldn't fix it. I'm useless. Harry shouldn't have bothered saving me."

Mum went white. "Ginevra Weasley! Don't you ever, ever say that again! It was not your fault. Dumbledore said so, and I remember what it was like before You-Know-Who vanished -- all the whispers and lies, and how hard it was to see right from wrong. If it was him in that diary, there was nothing you could have done to stop him. And everyone deserves to be saved. Especially you."

Ginny crumbled another corner of the toast, getting butter on her fingers. "Fine." Maybe it didn't matter whether she deserved to live or not -- Harry would have tried to save anyone, because that was just how he was. But Mum was wrong about the rest. Ginny hadn't been helpless. She could have done more to stop Tom. You could always do something.

It was just that some people got things right -- like Harry, or Dumbledore -- while other people did everything wrong -- like her.

She set down the toast and drank a sip of pumpkin juice.

"Listen to me, Ginny. You are not worthless. You are not evil. You were tricked and manipulated by the most dangerous wizard in the past fifty years," Mum said fiercely. "This was not your fault."

Ginny threw the glass across the room.

"YES IT WAS!" She threw the porridge after the pumpkin juice and twisted to glare at Mum. "It doesn't matter if Tom-- if Riddle did horrible things to me, too. I'm still the one who let him out! I'm the one who didn't tell anybody when I got suspicious, and I'm the one who just threw the diary away instead of killing him properly! I'm the one who was stupid enough to think I could fix everything all by myself! It was so my fault. Stop trying to tell me it wasn't! Stop lying!"

"Ginny--"

"That's what Tom said," Ginny said, shouting over Mum. "'You had nothing to do with it, Ginevra,' he said. 'You were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time,' he said. 'You're lucky you escaped from the Heir,' he said. And he was laughing at me all the time -- I know he was, the toad-licking bastard. But I know better."

"Ginny--"

Ginny kept talking, pouring it all out before second thoughts could catch up and choke her. She had to make Mum understand. "I could so have done something to stop him. I could have made proper friends instead of writing to him all the time. I could have asked for help. I could have looked up the spell he asked me to cast. Don't tell me it wasn't my fault! Because it was.

"It w-was," she repeated, her voice catching, and now the stupid, stupid tears were gumming up her eyes again. "I know it was his fault more -- he was the one who wanted to hurt people -- but it was my fault too."

"Oh, Ginny," said Mum, and gathered her into a tight hug. "Hush. It's all right now. He's dead, he can't hurt you anymore. Cry it out, Ginny. I'm here now."

She rocked Ginny back and forth, like a baby in arms, until they both ran out of tears.

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While Mum tidied the room, Ginny pulled herself together, more or less, and managed to eat a whole slice of toast and most of the porridge. Then she pretended to doze, so as to avoid any more awkward conversations. This backfired, somewhat -- she really did fall asleep -- and then she had to scramble to clean up before Dad arrived at noon.

"How is she?" he asked Mum, sticking his head in through the doorway.

"I'm fine," Ginny said before Mum could say anything incriminating. "Can we get something from the kitchen and eat outside? I'm sick of being in hospital." She raked her fingers through her damp hair and decided she looked good enough for family.

Mum and Dad exchanged a long, unreadable look, and then Dad shrugged. "I remember the way to the kitchens. Why don't you fetch the boys, Molly -- Ginny, come with me."

The whole afternoon was like that: nobody would leave Ginny alone for more than a minute, and everyone was constantly watching her with worried faces when they thought she wasn't looking. Even the twins were oddly subdued.

"Really, I'm fine," said Ginny as Dad folded the red-checked blanket and Mum tucked the used dishes back into the wicker basket. "Riddle's gone, I've slept, I've eaten, and this is Hogwarts -- nothing is going to happen to me. I just want to catch up on my studying. I was, er, distracted last week, and I don't want to fail my exams."

Ron blinked. "You didn't hear? Exams are cancelled! There's no point studying now -- why don't we walk around the lake instead?"

Ginny stifled a snarl. Why couldn't anyone see that she needed some time to herself?

"The point of studying is to learn the material so she won't have problems next year," said Percy, offering his hand to pull Ginny up. "While it's been lovely to see you, I do think it would be helpful for us to return to our normal routines," he added to Mum and Dad. "I'll escort Ginny to Gryffindor tower."

Ginny could have kissed him.

"I'll be fine," she reiterated as Mum wavered. "Percy will keep an eye out, and I swear I'll write to you if anything happens."

"Let the children be," said Dad. "They're past the age when parents are the solution to every problem, Molly." He rested a hand on Mum's shoulder.

"Oh, fine," said Mum. "We'll walk you back to the castle, though." She cast yet another worried glance at Ginny, which Ginny did her best to ignore.

"Fair enough," Percy agreed, and led the way back up the hill, still holding Ginny's hand.

"Thanks," Ginny said, scuffing her feet through the grass and clover.

Percy shrugged. "Our parents don't always know when to leave well enough alone. I suspect you could use a few hours to let everything settle, but I won't fly interference forever, so don't be surprised if Fred and George start pushing at you soon."

"As if you could stop the twins anyhow," said Ginny, but she smiled to show she didn't mean anything by it. Percy was a prat, but in some ways he was more like Bill than any of her other brothers. He knew when to back off and let someone be, which was more than the twins, Charlie, or Ron had ever learned. Well, no, she was being unfair; Charlie and Ron had their moments. It was just Fred and George who were impossible.

Besides, she owed Percy. "I'm sorry I Petrified your girlfriend," she muttered. "Is she all right?"

Percy's hand tightened around hers, and he glanced back to make sure the others were out of earshot. "Yes, Penelope is doing well," he said a bit stiffly. "Don't apologize for that. You weren't the one who Petrified her; she told me you shouted a warning."

"But I'm the one who gave Riddle the chance to Petrify people," Ginny said, trying to explain. Why was it so hard for people to understand? "I'm not saying I wanted to hurt anyone, but I'm the one who was stupid enough to trust Riddle. I should've realized something was wrong, and then I should've done something useful instead of just chucking the diary into a toilet and pretending everything would get better if I didn't think about it."

Percy sighed in the overly dramatic fashion he used to preface a lecture. "Ginny. Be logical. You had no reason, initially, to think that Riddle was anything other than a friend, correct?"

"I should've known about not seeing his brain--"

"Ginny." Percy stared at her with his most condescending expression, the one that asked why the world saw fit to persecute him by surrounding him with idiots (or with the twins, which was often the same thing).

"Yeah, I thought he was my friend," said Ginny, sulkily.

"What sort of person would you be if you constantly suspected your friends of being dark wizards?" asked Percy, still sounding infuriatingly calm and logical.

"A toad-licking cow," said Ginny. "But I still should have known!"

Percy sighed. "You can lead a horse to water..." He released Ginny's hand as they reached the castle doors and said, "I don't blame you. You did your best in very trying circumstances, and I'm proud of you as your brother and as a fellow Gryffindor. Now smile, or Mum and Dad might decide to stay through dinner."

The family gathered in a lopsided circle in front of the doors, everyone a bit awkward and unsure of the next move. Finally George reached over and took the wicker basket from Mum, which jolted Fred into grabbing the blanket from Dad.

"We'll take these back to the kitchen," said George. "See you in a few weeks."

"Don't worry, we promise not to try topping Ron and Ginny's trouble," added Fred, with a decent imitation of his usual grin. He and George ducked into the castle before Mum could work past her spluttering and start yelling properly.

"I never!" she said, frowning after them. "This is no time for jokes."

Dad wrapped his arm around her shoulder. "Maybe it is, Molly -- they do say laughter is the best medicine. We're trying to get back to normal, and for those two, inappropriate jokes are normal." He turned to Ginny. "Write to us, Ginny. You can always ask for help or advice."

Ginny pasted a weak smile on her face. "Sure. Erm. About that -- how do you know where an enchanted object keeps its brain? I didn't know where Riddle kept his, but I can't tell where the portraits and the suits of armor do their thinking either, and I know there must be a difference, since they're not evil. At least, I think they're not evil..."

Beside her, Percy coughed. "Ginny. They keep their brains in their heads, like everyone else does." Dad nodded in agreement.

"In their heads," Ginny repeated. "Oh." And she'd complained about all the other students being illogical. She felt unutterably stupid.

"Never mind that now, Ginny. Just... get your strength back. It's a beautiful spring -- you haven't got exams -- we're all here if you need us -- so don't worry. It'll be all right," said Dad. He reached out and pulled her into a one-armed hug; Mum squeezed her from the other side, wrapping her up completely.

It was comfortable. It was safe. It was a trap.

"I should make sure Fred and George haven't done anything unfortunate with the picnic supplies," said Percy. "Ron, why don't you take Ginny to see Harry and Hermione? I'm sure they'd like to know she's doing well, and Ginny hasn't seen Hermione since she was restored."

Mum and Dad took the hint and let Ginny go, slowly. "You will write to us," said Mum as Percy opened the doors and walked into the shadowed entrance hall.

"Yeah. And I'll be fine. Really I will," Ginny said. She slipped into the castle and swung the door shut behind Ron, closing Mum and Dad outside in the brilliant sunshine. "So. Where's Hermione?"

"No idea. Five Knuts on the library?" said Ron, venturing a smile.

If everything were normal, she would grin and take the bet. Nothing was normal. But if she didn't try to move on, wouldn't that be like letting Tom win all over again?

"Five Knuts on the common room," Ginny said, and let Ron laugh and lead her off into the depths of the castle.

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

The common room was nearly empty -- there were more interesting places to be on such a lovely spring day, better places to celebrate -- but a few upper years were revising for OWLs and NEWTs, which Dumbledore hadn't had the authority to cancel. They glanced up as Ron and Ginny climbed in through the portrait hole, and then stared at Ginny. She couldn't tell what they were thinking: pity, curiosity, contempt? She flinched. Ron snarled under his breath and the pressure of a dozen eyes slid aside.

"Bloody useless wankers, all of them," Ron muttered. "And you were right; I'll pay you later."

Harry and Hermione were ensconced in the back corner of the common room, muttering about something -- possibly Charms or Transfiguration, judging from Hermione's open books, or possibly something more private, judging by the way they broke off at Ron and Ginny's approach. Harry smiled awkwardly.

"Ginny. Erm. Are you all right?"

Ginny felt herself flush scarlet. "Sure," she mumbled. "Er, are you okay?"

Harry looked down at Hermione's books. "I'm fine."

"Lovely," said Hermione, scooping up the books and closing them with a brisk snap. "Will you two go away for a bit and keep anyone from wandering back here? I want to talk to Ginny."

"About what?" asked Ron, suspiciously. "You know it wasn't her fault, right?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'm not completely dense, thanks ever so. I just want to ask a few questions in order to get everything clear. Shoo."

Harry levered himself out of his squashy armchair and trudged off to the fireplace without any protest. Grudgingly, Ron followed. Hermione motioned Ginny toward Harry's abandoned chair and then stared at her interlaced hands.

"I tried to warn you," Ginny said after a long silence. She tipped her head down, letting her hair fall forward into her face. "I'm sorry I couldn't shut him out sooner. I'm sorry I didn't tell anyone I was in trouble. If I hadn't tried to fix everything on my own--"

"What's done is done; there's no point playing 'what if' all the way back to the beginning of the year," Hermione interrupted. "Mostly I wanted to ask what possession felt like... if that's okay, of course. If you don't want to talk about it--"

"I don't," said Ginny.

"Oh." Hermione bit her lip. "Sorry."

"But maybe I should anyhow," Ginny said, picking at the carved oak knob at the end of the chair's arm. "Erm. It was dark, mostly. At first, it was like dreaming -- I sleepwalked a lot -- but I suppose after a while Tom got... I mean, Riddle got strong enough to shove me all the way down. I hardly remember anything about the last bits, just flashes where I almost got to the surface." She dug her fingernails into the grain of the wood, working a sliver loose. "I don't remember going to the library, but I remember walking down the corridor toward you. After I yelled, it's all black. He shoved me back down."

"It was awfully brave of you," said Hermione. "I had a mirror out to show Penelope Clearwater, but if you hadn't yelled, I might not have turned in time. We might have been eaten instead of Petrified."

Ginny shrugged, minimally, and snapped the splinter in half. "Maybe. Or maybe Riddle wanted you alive. He was trying to get at Harry so he didn't want the school closed, not at first."

Hermione chewed harder on her lip. "Then why did he take you to the Chamber? He had no way to know Harry and Ron would come after you."

Ginny pried loose another sliver of wood and turned it around and around in her fingers. "Because the Mandrakes were grown and all the Petrified people were going to be restored. You'd all seen or heard me, so the professors would come get the diary. Checkmate. He must have figured it was better to kill me fast and get a real body -- he'd make a new plan from there." She snapped the splinter; one end dug into her thumb, drawing blood. "It almost worked. It should have worked."

"But Harry stopped him."

"Harry killed him," Ginny agreed. She pricked her other thumb with the splinter, watching her blood well up like scarlet ink.

"Don't do that," Hermione said fiercely, leaning across the low table and knocking the splinter out of Ginny's grip. "You did the best you could and now it's over. The Heir is gone. We're safe."

Ginny laughed; it echoed oddly in her chest and throat, hissed between her clenched teeth. "You know the stupidest part? I was going to take the diary to Professor McGonagall and confess everything. I knew how to shut him out, almost, most of the time. But there was a hole in my sock -- I was trying not to touch the diary, so I put socks on my hands -- and there was a hole in my sock. That's how he got me. Because I was in such a hurry to get rid of him that I didn't stop to be c-careful."

The laugher kept bubbling up, as unstoppable as last night's tears, carving her voice into little spurts and jolts. She was stuttering again. She didn't care. "Harry d-didn't stop to be careful either! But it works for him. He killed the b-basilisk. He killed Tom. He sh-should've died, just like me, but he didn't. Why does everything work out for him and n-not for me?"

Hermione grabbed her by the shoulders and shook, hard. "Breathe, Ginny," she said. "Put your head between your knees and breathe."

Ginny obeyed. After a minute the laughter trailed off, leaving her sore and embarrassed. "Sorry."

Hermione waved one hand, brushing away Ginny's apology. "Don't worry about it. You've every right to be upset. Just try not to be stupid about it."

Ginny choked back more laughter. Try not to be stupid? Oh, if only!

"Look, you're right. Harry rushed into things without thinking. He does that," Hermione continued. "The difference is that he didn't rush in alone. He had Ron and Professor Lockhart, and then Fawkes and the Sorting Hat. He would have died on his own. You fought the Heir all alone for months, and you held him to a draw until the end. So don't think Harry's any better than you, because he's not; he's awfully dense sometimes."

She patted Ginny's hand, awkwardly. "And thanks for warning me."

"It wasn't anything," said Ginny. "Anyone would've tried to stop him."

Hermione shook her head. "No. An awful lot of people would've been too scared to go against the Heir, especially if he was inside their heads. You remember what everyone was like after Hallowe'en and the Dueling Club. You stood up to him. That means a lot."

"I suppose," said Ginny. She pried herself out of the chair and tucked her hair behind her ears. "Thanks for listening, anyhow."

"Thank you for letting me ask," Hermione said, opening her Transfiguration book again. "You can send Ron and Harry back now -- even if we don't have final exams, there's no excuse for them not to learn the material."

"Sure," Ginny said, and trudged off. Finally she could get some peace.

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

It was barely past two o'clock, but Ginny pulled her bed curtains shut, crawled under the covers, and dozed until the other first years clattered into the room in a laughing mob. Nearly suppertime, then -- they usually dropped by to tidy up and put away schoolwork before heading down to the Great Hall.

"Hey," said Gwen. "Look at Ginny's bed. D'you think she's back from hospital?"

"Yes, I am," said Ginny, twitching open a small gap in the curtains. "No, I don't want to talk about it. Go away."

"Figures," Susan muttered, with a sour look. "You'd think nearly dying would make a person reconsider her priorities in life, but no such luck."

"Well, I'd think nearly dying would win a person some time to catch her breath and try to wrap her head around what happened," Ginny snapped. "But maybe that's just me."

Susan had the grace to look embarrassed. "Sorry."

After a moment, Ginny shrugged. "Yeah, me too. But I still don't want to talk about it. Erm. Will you tell my brothers I'm fine but I don't feel up to facing the whole school yet, so could they bring me a sandwich or something?"

"Certainly," said Apple, with a sharp nod. "However, before we go, will you answer one question?"

Ginny shoved the curtains further open and flopped back down on her side, glaring at the floor. "Maybe. Ask me and I'll see."

Apple tapped her fingers against her night table, an oddly nervous gesture. "Colin said you were the last person he saw before he raised his camera and looked at the basilisk. That implies that you were either controlling the basilisk or working with the Heir." Ginny flinched and tried to ignore the other girls' hungry stares.

"But the Heir abducted you and Headmaster Dumbledore told everyone that Harry Potter and your brother Ron barely managed to save your life," Apple continued, her dry, analytical tone at odds with the rapid drumming of her fingers. "That doesn't make sense, unless the Heir turned on you and broke a partnership, or unless the Heir was using you against your will or without your knowledge. You can be unpleasant and stand-offish, but I don't think you'd enjoy Petrifying people. So were you tricked or were you possessed?"

Ginny dug her fingernails into her sheets and forced back the hot, shameful prickle of tears. She was not going to start crying. Not again. Never again.

"Both," she said. "But mostly possessed, by the end."

Jia-li gasped and pressed her hands to her mouth. Apple stilled her fingers and nodded, satisfied to have a clear answer. Susan and Gwen looked skeptical.

"That doesn't make sense," Gwen protested. "Why would the Heir need to possess anyone? Couldn't he cast his own spells?"

Ginny glared at the wall. "Didn't Dumbledore tell everyone?" If he thought she was a victim, why not explain things so people wouldn't keep pushing at her?

Susan shook her head. "He said the Heir abducted you and that Harry Potter saved you. That's all. He may be a great wizard, but he's rubbish at explanations. So who was the Heir? If anyone knows, you ought to."

Who was the Heir? Tom Riddle. Voldemort. A memory. A diary. Her friend, her enemy, her confidant -- almost her brother -- the only person who'd really seen her for months. Maybe the only person who'd ever seen all of her.

"His name was Riddle, and he was... sort of a ghost," Ginny said slowly. "He opened the Chamber of Secrets fifty years ago and he left a memory of himself in a diary. I found the diary at the end of summer, and wrote in it. I thought he was my friend, but he was just using me to open the Chamber again. He would've used anyone stupid enough to trust him." She shrugged, rolling onto her back and scrubbing irritably at her burning eyes. "You don't have to worry. Harry killed him."

"Oh!" said Jia-li. "He was using you all year? That must have been awful." She took a tentative step toward Ginny's bed, hands fluttering as if she wanted to help and had no idea how.

"I still think it sounds fishy," said Gwen, folding her arms. "What sort of spell could stick a memory in a diary, without any picture to tie the likeness to? And how do you kill a diary, anyway?"

Ginny dug her hands into her bedcovers to keep from making fists or lunging across the room. "Why would I know how to put a memory in a diary? Do I look like a dark witch to you? And I don't know what Harry did to the diary, either. I was unconscious! Because I'd been possessed."

"If I were a dark witch, I'd try to look like everyone else," said Susan, "otherwise I'd be pretty dim. You're a stuck-up cow, but you're not stupid. Maybe Harry Potter was in league with the Heir. Maybe you both were. If this Riddle opened the Chamber fifty years ago, but nobody ever knew it was him, he must have fooled everyone back then. Maybe you just played innocent to fool Dumbledore now."

"Stop it!" said Jia-li. "Stop it, both of you. Maybe Ginny's been unpleasant a lot of the time, but it obviously wasn't her fault. Don't push at her. Think how you'd feel if you'd been possessed all year, and once you'd finally got free, nobody believed you. We were wrong about thinking Harry Potter might be the Heir. Let's not do the same thing to Ginny."

It was so her fault, Ginny wanted to say, and she didn't care if anyone thought she was as evil as Tom, because only idiots would be too stubborn and thick to see the truth after Dumbledore told them... but she managed to bite her tongue before she made everything worse all over again.

"You really were possessed?" asked Gwen after a moment.

Ginny nodded. "Not all the time, but he used my body for the attacks. There was a basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets, and he needed a body to speak with it."

"A basilisk?" said Susan.

"It's a giant snake, hatched from a chicken egg incubated by a toad," said Apple. "If you look directly into its eyes, you die instantly, but if you only see it in a reflection, supposedly you turn to stone. Apparently that detail was slightly inaccurate; the Petrification is metaphorical, not literal."

Susan ignored most of this. "A giant snake. So the Heir was a Parselmouth! Ha!"

"But Harry Potter's innocent," said Gwen, slowly. "What a mess. Two Parselmouths, an evil diary, possession, dead roosters, a basilisk... Wow." She whistled, long and low, and when she looked over at Ginny again, she seemed oddly respectful. "I can't believe you lasted all year against a dark wizard, especially when he'd got into your head. That was awfully brave of you. I bet I'd have gone mad by Christmas."

Yes, well, if Ginny had realized sooner what was going on, she might have gone mad too. She'd only lasted this well because she'd been too stupid to notice Tom's lies, so he hadn't needed to treat her as a threat.

"That's as may be," said Susan, "but off and on possession doesn't explain why Ginny's been such a cow the rest of the time. I don't think the Heir cared about us, so she's got no excuse for being stuck-up and standoffish and treating us like dirt. I notice she hasn't apologized for any of that."

"Susan!" said Jia-li, sounding scandalized.

"I'm not going to apologize, either!" said Ginny, utterly furious. "You've been just as horrid to me, and you're still doing it! And I don't want to talk about any of this anymore." A stray tear seeped over the edge of her left eye. Toad guts. Why was her body still betraying her like this? She wasn't going to cry. She wasn't. Especially not in front of Susan.

"Fair enough," Apple said briskly. "We'll leave you in peace for the moment and I'll bring you a sandwich in an hour or so." She pushed Susan toward the doorway. After a moment, Gwen followed.

Jia-li turned in the doorway and cast a sympathetic smile back at Ginny. "I'm so sorry we didn't notice that you were hurting," she whispered. "If there's anything I can do to help, please tell me." She closed the door.

Ginny choked back a sob and grabbed for a handkerchief, blotting tears and blowing her nose. Everything was wrong. People were supposed to blame her, not pity her. Why couldn't anyone see that she hadn't been innocent?

She buried her face in her pillow and waited for the tears to go away.

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

Ginny didn't need to go to lessons on Monday -- Dumbledore had excused all the Heir's victims from lessons for two days, and he'd included her in the list -- but she went down to breakfast with the other first years anyhow. She'd been expecting accusations, disbelief, or shunning, but everyone seemed to be following Jia-li's path instead of Susan's. The space around her echoed with pity and fascination, as if people thought she was innocent and wounded and fragile, and they weren't quite sure how to offer sympathy without sounding like prats.

And all right, Dumbledore had said she'd been just as much Tom's victim as anyone else, but it wasn't the same. Colin, Hermione, Sir Nicholas, Penelope Clearwater, and Justin Finch-Fletchley hadn't talked to Tom. They hadn't had any chance to figure out what was going on, or to fight back. Ginny'd had those chances and failed to use them. That was the difference.

Ron cast her a worried look but she faked a smile and waved him off toward Harry and Hermione. The twins and Percy were already amongst friends, which made them easy to avoid. Ginny grabbed a seat in the middle of an empty section and began to spread marmalade on a slice of toast.

Apple sat down beside her.

Ginny fumed. She didn't want sympathy. She didn't want Apple saying 'I told you so' or analyzing everything in her chilly way, either. She wanted to be alone.

Apple served herself a bowl of porridge, asked Ginny to pass the salt, and then ate in silence. Ginny fidgeted, waiting for her to start a conversation. Apple remained silent, almost as if Ginny weren't there at all.

After five minutes, Ginny lost her patience. "What do you want?"

"At the moment, I want to finish eating," said Apple, resting her spoon on the rim of her bowl. "Do I need ulterior motives for choosing an empty seat?"

"When it's next to me, yes!"

Apple sighed. "Fine. Let me think of something intrusive to ask you." She twirled her spoon between her fingers for a moment, then said, "This morning is Double Potions. Do you feel steady enough to face Snape? Depending on his mood, he may discuss your ordeal in all sorts of unflattering terms."

"I don't care what he says anymore," said Ginny, tearing her toast in half. "He's nothing."

Apple hummed noncommittally. "What about Daphne?"

"We still have a truce, don't we?" said Ginny. "I'm not going to break." That would be letting Tom win.

"I'm sure you know yourself best," said Apple, and stood from the table, leaving Ginny to stew in splendid isolation.

Ginny decided to skip Potions after all.

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

The trouble with not going to lessons, of course, was that she had no idea what to do instead. All that time she'd wanted to be alone, and she still didn't know how to start wrapping her head around everything. This was why she'd talked to Tom -- he'd helped her put her thoughts in order, helped her understand what was going on and how she wanted to react.

He'd also been twisting her around so she'd trust him and have no use for anyone else, but still. She needed to talk to someone. Telling Hermione a bit of the story had helped, but she couldn't lay it all out for just anyone. She couldn't bear for people to know how ugly she was inside.

Ginny paused in her aimless wandering and realized she'd wound up outside Myrtle's bathroom. Again.

Which reminded her of Sir Vladislav... and Ginny frowned. Tom had gone down to the Chamber several times. Why hadn't Sir Vladislav noticed Ginny's body walking in and out of Myrtle's bathroom? He couldn't have been asleep through all of the attacks.

Ginny turned and walked to his alcove. The armor stood at attention, motionless, and her frown deepened. "Sir Vladislav?" He didn't respond.

Ginny sighed and drew her wand. Tom again. She didn't know what he'd done, how long the spell would last, or how to counter it specifically, but if he'd been hasty or lazy, she didn't need to know the details. "Finite incantatem," she said.

Sir Vladislav jerked back to life, drawing his sword half out of its sheath before he paused, shook his helmet, and shivered all over in a rustled of steel and leather. He offered his sword to Ginny and awkwardly sat down on his pedestal. Ginny leaned the sword against the marble and handed him parchment and a quill.

"Thank you," Sir Vladislav wrote. "Wat happened? I thout I saw you with a bucket of paint, but now you have no bucket and the lite is different. Is the kastle safe? Are you well?"

Was she well? Of course not. But she was free and safe, which was probably what he'd meant. "More or less," said Ginny. "I'd shut Tom out -- really I had -- and I was going to take the diary to Professor McGonagall and confess. But I touched the cover by accident, and let Tom back into my head."

She slumped to the floor and tipped her head against the cold marble of Sir Vladislav's pedestal, staring at the vaulted ceiling. "He possessed me. He'd been possessing me all year -- you remember -- only this time, instead of attacking someone else, he decided to steal my life and make himself a new body. He left another message on the wall, which is probably what you saw me starting to do with the paint." She closed her eyes. "You must have seen him all year, only he kept freezing you. I bet he made you forget, too; he was good at twisting minds."

Sir Vladislav rested his gauntlet on her shoulder, and Ginny continued. "He took me down to the Chamber of Secrets. The entrance was in Myrtle's bathroom -- how silly is that, to put a secret passage in a bathroom? But it worked, I suppose, since it stayed hidden for a thousand years. Anyhow, Harry and Ron and Professor Lockhart went down after me, and Harry killed the basilisk Tom was using to Petrify everyone. Then he killed Tom. So it's all over. I'm safe. I'm free."

Ginny jammed the heels of her hands over her closed eyelids. The stupid tears leaked out anyway. "Dumbledore says it's not my fault, that I was just another victim. Everyone agrees with him. They all stare at me like I'm helpless, like I didn't spend so long fighting Tom, like I didn't do anything. I wasn't helpless! You know that, don't you? You saw! You heard! You know how hard I t-tried."

Sir Vladislav squeezed her shoulder. His other gauntlet ran lightly over her hair, the way Mum used to do when Ginny woke from nightmares.

"I don't want anyone to hate me, but I think I might go mad if they keep on like this," said Ginny. "Nobody else saw, after all, so what if I only imagined trying to fight Tom? What if it was all a fairy-tale he made me believe, so I wouldn't do anything r-real to get in his way? What if I really was helpless?" She pounded her fist on the marble pedestal, and then again, setting a hot, dull ache spreading through skin and bone. "But I wasn't. I wasn't."

She swung her fist again, but Sir Vladislav caught it before she could hit stone, cradling her hand in the steel and leather of his gauntlet.

Ginny wrenched her hand free and hunched forward, wrapping her arms around her knees. "I want to apologize, but how can I apologize if no one admits I did anything wrong?" She stared at the floor tiles, refusing to turn and look at Sir Vladislav. She couldn't stand it if he pitied her.

After a moment, she heard the faint scratching sound of a quill on parchment. Sir Vladislav paused several times, either re-inking the quill or considering his words, and then he held the sheet of parchment over her shoulder.

Ginny pulled it forward.

"I know you fouht," Sir Vladislav had written. "I saw. I remember. Wenn you saw Tom was evil, you stood agenst him insted of surrendering. You did not always make wise choisses, but you chose and you lived with wat you had chosen. Now you have new choisses to make. Wat is more important to you? That YOU remember your deeds and lern from them, or that you make every one else to see the truth?

"I once heard a story of a nite, Sir Gawane, who played a game with a lord. Each day they woud give each other any thing they were given, and for to days Gawane played true. But on the third day, he kept a belt with a spell to shield himself, because he was going to find a nite all in green to whom he had promised to bare his neck and aksept one blow. Then Gawane lerned that the green nite was the lord he had played with, and he was shamed. Wenn he told the story to his friends, they laffed and did not understand that he had done rong. But Gawane knew, and he kept the belt to remind himself of honour.

"You know that you fouht, and you know wat you did rong. Will you remember honour? Will you still stand agenst evil? Will you lern from your mistakes?"

Ginny blew her nose and scrubbed a hand over her face, trying to clear her mind. "I won't try to do everything by myself anymore," she said. "I think that's where I went wrong. I couldn't bear to tell anyone, so I never had any help, not like Harry did at the end. But I won't stop fighting, either. If I see evil, I'll stand against it. I swear."

"Good," Sir Vladislav wrote. Then he paused and looked at Ginny with an uncertain set to his shoulders.

"Whatever you're going to say, just say it," Ginny told him. "I'm sick of being babied."

Sir Vladislav scribbled quickly, then handed parchment, quill, and ink to Ginny with an air of finality. "I woud not koddle you. How can you lern from your errors if no one shows you wer you made an unfortunate choiss? And choisses are the most important thing, because they reveal the shapes of our souls. Tom chose evil. You were slow to chuse, and fearful, but in the end you wer true of hart. That is good.

"But one fite is never the end, and not all evil is so dark and obvius as Tom. We chuse every hour and every day, in small things and larj, and are not saved until the end of life. It is said, faith, hope, and charitie abide, but the gratest virtue is charitie. You have a good hart. Trust it."

As Ginny read the note, Sir Vladislav clambered back to his feet, standing at watch with his sword resting point down before him.

Ginny folded the parchment into quarters, pressing each crease to a flat, even edge. "I know I can't stop watching out for trouble," she said, "and I know I messed up a lot. I said that. But I don't think trusting my heart is a good idea -- I'm obviously no good at figuring out who's evil or not, and then I wasted so much time hoping Tom wasn't really the Heir or that maybe I could talk to him and change him instead of just killing him."

Sir Vladislav held out his hand, but instead of accepting the ink and quill, he unfolded the parchment and pointed at what he'd already written: "Will you lern from your mistakes?"

"Oh, fine, be like that," said Ginny. "I can tell when I'm not wanted." She stuffed the parchment into her bag. Then she paused, not quite willing to storm off; it felt as if that would somehow be admitting defeat. "Shall I come back on Friday? I can bring some polish -- it's been a while since we cleaned you."

Sir Vladislav nodded.

"Until Friday, then," said Ginny. "And, er, thanks." As she turned to leave, Sir Vladislav saluted with a great flourish of steel, and bowed his head for a moment.

It was the sort of thing a knight would do before royalty, Ginny thought. She didn't deserve anything of the sort. So either he was mocking her -- which was ridiculous; she wasn't certain Sir Vladislav even had a sense of humor -- or he was... was pushing at her, telling her what sort of example she ought to be living up to. Which was almost as bad as being mocked or pitied, in its own way.

She hadn't given in to Tom, and she was going to do better from now on, but really, she wasn't ever going to be worthy of that sort of respect. She couldn't be that wise or brave or forgiving. She wasn't a hero; this year had proved that beyond a doubt.

Still.

There was no harm in trying, right?

She'd skipped Potions instead of facing her fears. She still didn't want to deal with any of the other first years, didn't want to explain herself, didn't want to endure their stares and questions and disdain or pity. But she couldn't hide forever. Life wouldn't go away just because she didn't want to deal with it.

That was how she'd gone wrong with Tom.

Ginny slunk into the Great Hall, glanced up at the clock over the professors' table, and ate a hurried lunch. Then she set off for the History of Magic classroom. The lesson would be over soon, and she needed to apologize to Colin.

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End of Chapter Thirteen

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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.