Ghost Of A Memory

The gentle trickle of ink onto his brow would wake him, revive him after years of dreamless sleep. Warmth reached him now, in the form of hands gingerly caressing the black cover that bound him; and part of him longed to feel those same hands brushing flesh, his real, solid, bare flesh- but the rest of him held up a hand that no longer was to yield that part of him, and recalled hands in times before, grasping the book that chained him yet never picking up a quill to wake him, never letting the ink he so desired trickle onto his pages and lure his resting spirit into consciousness. Through the pages that served as blankets during his eternal sleep, he could sense physical warmth, a vigilant mind- he longed for those, they would renew him, make him human again and bring him power afresh. The thought of power, the taste of magic lingering on his lips, he waited, as he had in years past, and predicted to in years to come.

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Ginny turned the small book over in her hands, examining it. The thing looked ordinary enough, somewhat worn with a black cover. Yes, it seemed perfectly ordinary, except for the fact that she couldn't remember how it had gotten inside her Transfiguration book, where shed found the thing a moment ago. She thought back to earlier that day..... in Diagon Alley with Harry Potter and her brothers, going to buy their things for Hogwarts, where she would be attending that year. She was so excited, especially because she would be with Harry.... a blush crept across her face- but back to the diary, she thought. Ginny shrugged, and opened it to the first page.

The book was empty, completely empty except for a faded name on the first page. She glanced at it, wondering why its owner, a 'T. M. Riddle' according to the only thing written in it, had never used the diary. But the book was old, old enough so that even if T. M. Riddle had once owned the thing, he- or she- wouldn't be back for it. Ginny took a quill from her desk, and, slumping onto her bed, flipped to a blank page and began to write.

To her immense surprise, at which she almost dropped the diary, her own words began to fade away, to be replaced by new ones in long, curling letters.

Startled, Ginny gave a little yelp and nearly dropped the diary, but Riddle continued, as if oblivious.

Ginny again put her quill to the page and replied.

Riddle's answer was prompt.

Ginny was starting to get interested.

Riddle replied quickly, his neat, elegant hand scrawling slightly on some letters in his haste.

Ginny's answer was in two hurried words: yes, please.

I grew up in an orphanage, he said. My mother only lived long enough to name me. She died in the hospital where I had been born, and I remained for about two years with the doctor that had delivered me, until they were able to find my birth records and locate my father. He had left before I was born, when my mother told him she was a witch. He, a Muggle, was terrified of magic, and when I arrived on his doorstep, he knew I was like her- magical. So, my father, with his parents, the elderly couple to whom he had fled after leaving his wife, put me, his own son, in the care of the orphanage, where I had little peace and no freedom. A housekeeper was kind enough to me- I suppose she pitied me- and let me leave the place to run a few regular errands for her.

A little window had opened in the centre of the page. Ginny's eyes widened, and she leaned forward in curiosity. She felt herself falling, but before she had met the sudden landing she anticipated, the falling sensation ceased, and she blinked and found herself somewhere entirely different.

The boy moved past a few shelves, and then his deep blue eyes fell upon a shabby paperback, the title of which Ginny could just make out: Oliver Twist. She watched as he picked it up, sat down in a corner, and began to read.

Ginny had glanced up to find she had quite suddenly left Ollivander's, and was now back in her room, the diary in her lap. Blinking a few times, she peered down at Riddle's words, and smiled, lifting her quill to pen a reply.

She beamed as Tom wrote back a comment.

You got into Slytherin? Ginny asked, shocked. All she knew of Slytherins her brothers had told her, and they didn't sound like a very amiable lot.

Ginny stared down at the diary in her hands, frowning thoughtfully. She saw Riddle's invisible hand scrawl a few more words.

Well, Ginny began, I'm the youngest of seven children, and I live with my brothers and parents in a house called the Burrow. I think my brothers are outside playing Quidditch now. They didn't want me to play, though. They said it was cause it would make an odd number of players, but I think it was just cause they didn't want me around. They do that sometimes, or they tease me. Did anyone ever tease you?

Riddle paused for a moment, as if thinking, and then penned a reply.

Ginny felt a blush rising to her cheeks.

Oh yes, he replied. Now, why don't you continue?

Flustered by Riddle's remark, Ginny paused to remember what she'd been saying before.

Ron? Harry? Tell me more, Riddle cut in, interested by the appearance of new names.

They met last year at Hogwarts. She paused, and then realised that Riddle wouldn't know the importance of Harry's name, or her (slight, she told herself) crush on him, and offered an explanation of his greatness.

Tom appeared very interested then. Lord Voldemort, you say? Do continue.

Slightly overwhelmed by his sudden, almost forceful, attention, Ginny frowned, puzzled, and moved her quill to reply.

'GINNY! Time for supper!'

'Coming, Mum!' she called back, reluctant to leave her new friend.

All right, came the reply, and Ginny dashed downstairs.

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He had remained in the diary for a long time, since the day he'd told Professor Dippet who the Heir' had been. Tom Riddle still couldn't believe that the old headmaster had fallen for such a trick, but thankfulness had outweighed disbelief. Still, Dumbledore had always been suspicious of him, especially after that little girl- what had been her name, Myrtle, was it?- had been killed. Of course, that had been an accident on Tom's part, but Dumbledore..... why, Riddle had gotten the feeling that the man suspected him of intending to do it. It hadn't mattered to him, really- the little girl had just been in the way, almost a Squib, really. But still, he had had to be on his guard ever since then.

Now, this other little girl, Ginny, was one he could use. As bait, of course; she was the sort to trust another easily, and she knew a lot about this Harry Potter person- that would be useful. She was a naive little thing, eager to trust him, and probably easily wounded- annoyingly sweet in his opinion. She trusted him, trusted him for the kindness he showed her and the little things- the suspicious things, his heritage obviously, his gifts of Parseltongue and deceit- and for that he was relieved. He knew, of course, the seductive power he could weave over others, a charm he spun from sugar-coated words that could put anyone, anyone except Dumbledore, under his spell, but still felt a certain sense of unease, one he quickly put aside. It wouldn't do to consider defeat, for he was above that. He was also, he told himself, above human compassion, the indifferent god who governed over insignificant mortals rather than be governed as one of them, yet he had to admit he was somewhat fond of the child. It would almost be a shame to kill the little brat, really.

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Ginny found the note scrawled onto the open page of the diary when she came back to her dormitory.

Quite all right, he replied, politely as ever. Talk to me, little Ginny. What house did you get into?

Gryffindor. Ginny leaned back, remembering being Sorted, and supper with her brothers and new classmates, though mostly fishing for a subject. I just came upstairs to my dorm. You know, they must know which house you're going to be in before you get Sorted cause they moved my trunk in here, next to my bed and everything. Isn't that weird? Anyway, at supper I sat by this girl in my class, Jen, and Colin, whom I'd met on the train. I kept watching for Harry and Ron but they didn't show up. They did later though, apparently the barrier to the train had closed on them and they had flown Dad's car to Hogwarts, and they didn't even get expelled!

She almost thought- imagined, really, she corrected- she could hear Riddle chuckle as he replied.

Ginny laughed at the memory of the two wandering into the Gryffindor common room, sheepish, only to be met with cheers.

Did you ever try anything crazy like that? What happened while you were at Hogwarts? Could you tell me? Her hand tired from writing so much, Ginny straightened and stared down at the diary.

What about your friends? Ginny asked, eager to hear more.

My Transfiguration teacher, and the Head of the Gryffindor house, is Professor McGonagall! Ginny exclaimed, cutting in. Who was Transfiguration professor in your day?

He's Headmaster now! Ginny scrawled the words in her surprise, and a crimson ink blot marked the page for a moment, and then soaked in with the rest of the words as Riddle replied.

No, Ginny replied, curious. What is it?

Tom's answer was scrawled and hasty, as if the words were coming to his hand faster than he could scribble it down.

Before Ginny could even scribble in an answer, another tiny window, growing ever larger, had appeared on the page and she felt herself falling forward, almost as if she'd been pushed.

Tom sneered at the spider. It gave him the creeps, frankly. 'What is that?'

'You know the penalties for keeping unauthorised, er-' he glanced up at Aragog 'um, pets. I'm afraid I may have to go to the headmaster....'

Tom Riddle smirked inwardly at the boy's pathetic attempts to save the creature, but he put up a do-gooder, 'prefect' look on the outside. 'I'm so sorry, Rubeus,' he said, voice dripping with false sympathy. 'But I just can't go on knowing that there's a possibly dangerous creature lurking inside the walls of the castle. Please find it in your heart to forgive me if I do....'

'Well.... I suppose if the monster doesn't hurt any innocent students.... I might let it slide....' Tom absently twirled his wand between his long fingers, looking as he was considering it. He smirked slightly.

Tom raised an eyebrow, stunned. That thing's a baby?

Hagrid looked as though he might have hugged Riddle, had he not bolted from the room a minute later, the only thing on his mind being a desire to get as far away from Aragog as possible. Tom hated spiders.

As the dormitory slowly faded back into view, Ginny noticed the words written on the page.

She climbed into bed, and placed the diary down on the table beside her four-poster, open to a page where the Riddle's words had been scribbled by way of a parting:

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Weary, Ginny rubbed her eyes, and moved her hand over her quill.

She shut her eyes in pain at the sight of her Potions text atop her desk, and glanced down at the diary again, to see Riddle's sympathetic reply.

Ginny smiled, but a troubling memory from the previous night had risen in her mind.

She waited for the reply, trying hard to remember what had happened, and what they had talked about in the days before it, when they had talked. Had she possibly told him about it then and she had forgotten? She knew she had forgotten something..... there was something buried deep in her memory that she just couldn't touch upon, but what?

Ginny smiled weakly, and opened her Potions book.

Okay, she began, changing the subject. Question one.

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Ginny, silently chewing her nails, leaned back against her pillow, waiting for Tom's reply. After awhile, she shut her eyes, telling herself she'd only rest them to relieve the dark circles she'd recently acquired, and fell asleep. The scarlet curtains around her bed stirred, as if by some peculiar wind, and one pale, long hand fondly drew the blankets up to her chin.

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Humming quietly to herself, Ginny tapped a quill against her cheek, tuning out Professor Lockhart's droning- he's probably going on and on about himself, she thought, absentmindedly scratching something across a sheet of parchment with her quill.

Dear Tom-

Silly, she reprimanded herself, you can't write to him here. Last time you tried Lockhart actually noticed and tried to confiscate the diary.

It had been too bad, really- Lockhart had snatched it right out her hands and she hadn't gotten a chance to reply to Riddle for the rest of the lesson. He thought she had been avoiding him.... he didn't like that at all. It was sort of like when she had almost left him at home on her way to the Hogwarts express at the beginning of that year; he hated being left behind, or excluded, and had a fiery temper when provoked. But he was always very patient with Ginny.

She was glad for that, his patience, his kindness, his ability to actually listen, which her brothers had apparently been born without. Before she'd met him, and after Ron had grown up' a few years ago, and decided that he would rather hang out with his older brothers than his sister and childhood playmate, she'd been very lonely indeed. But Riddle knew what lonely was, he understood her. And she could talk to him without feeling embarrassed or blushing, like she did whenever Harry came about.

Harry- her crush on him had been rather disappointing, as she still couldn't string two words together when he was around for fear of looking silly. But, strangely, his presence in her daydreams had begun to lessen. Even more strangely, he had been replaced by another knight, who shone silver rather than gold and took time to listen to her. Ginny felt her cheeks burn as she thought of this other person, and realised she had developed a crush on her best friend. Great, Weasley....

She highly doubted, of course, that Riddle felt the same way. He was, of course, about four years older than her, and it was unlikely he'd be interested in an eleven-year-old. Maybe I whine too much.... I act immature, that's it. Does he think of me like a little sister, too?

She sighed, and tapped her quill idly against the top of her desk. Tuning into what Lockhart was saying for a moment, she heard a few fleeting words, 'grading, look over, books', and deciphered them with little trouble when the other students pulled out their copies of Voyages With Vampires and began to leaf through them, and Lockhart sat down at his desk to grade their most recent quizzes on his exploits. After waiting a minute, just to see if Lockhart was still paying any attention to his students and finding he wasn't, she tugged Riddle's diary out of her schoolbag and opened it.

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That next evening, after textbooks and Transfiguration notes had been put away, Riddle decided to relate to his friend a little story. He figured that he could easily wash the memory from her mind if it brought any immediate problems. For the moment, he simply wanted someone to talk to.

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Ginny leaned back, waiting for a reply. She was swiftly awarded with one.

Ginny's eyes narrowed; at the moment she could hardly call her worries idle', and she thought Riddle was being rather insensitive. But she quickly brushed that thought away- her Tom was kind, sympathetic; he cared about her and if he ever snapped at her, he had a good reason for it. She was sure of it.

Still, though- lately he had been making her feel a bit uncomfortable; often during their studying he would become irritable, but hastily apologise when she reacted to his sudden ill temper by tearing up. She hated to admit it, but something about Tom was different now. Ginny tried to recall- what had gone wrong? She glanced, down at the diary again, and suddenly she remembered something he had said- about an Heir, Tom was an Heir- the Heir?

But he couldn't be.... he was too sweet, he wasn't evil.... wouldn't hurt her- wouldn't.... And he hadn't done anything wrong- no, that had been her.... he'd made her.... But he wouldn't, he was good, he liked her, he wouldn't.... would.... would.

Well, now it was quite obvious to her. After all, nothing strange had happened before she'd found the diary, and Tom- Riddle- had been acting a bit.... off.... for so long now, though she'd brushed it off in defence of the boy she'd believed to be her gentle, caring friend. And, of course, Riddle was a Slytherin- the Heir of Slytherin, she corrected, shivering as the image of the Petrified cat came to her mind, stiff and wide-eyed. As her brothers always said, one could never trust Slytherins.

Before Riddle could scrawl another word, she snapped the book shut, scooped it up, and dashed out of the common room. Running now, she almost collided with a Hufflepuff prefect, shouted a 'sorry!' and sprinted on. When she finally reached the broken-down girl's toilet on the first floor, she threw it into the air, not caring where the thing landed, only glad to be rid of it. The moment Riddle's tie to her had been snapped, the cloud enveloping her mind dissolved, and she was hit with the full force of what had happened since her arrival at Hogwarts. Ginny was torn between joy at the fact that she could remember clearly again, and horror at how Tom- her friend.... her friend- had controlled her, manipulated her..... and it came to her again, precisely why he had.

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But it seemed Riddle didn't need it, Ginny figured out after waking from another dream filled with visions of a charming, black-haired spectre. She sat up, and hugged her knees to her chest, frightened. There hadn't been any attacks since she'd disposed of the diary, but Tom Riddle had been haunting her mind despite the fact that her physical tie to him was broken.

Realising that she wouldn't be able to fall back asleep again in a long time, she headed down to the common room. A clock she passed revealed the time to be midnight. Ginny found a seat at the far end of the common room and glanced around.

The only others left in the room were her twin brothers, who were busy working with something in the corner- probably something dangerous, and Ron, Hermione and Harry. Ginny couldn't see what they were doing, but she was certain that Hermione was working on homework, as was probably Harry, and Ron was probably asking her to help him cheat.

She smiled weakly at that thought, and moved to join them- so that she wouldn't be alone with her own thoughts, and the figure haunting them. She had gotten within a yard of the trio when she saw what was in Harry's hands: a small diary with a worn black cover.

Ginny gasped, and nearly turned and bolted, but thought to linger a moment. Harry would glance down at the page it was open to, scribble something, again wait for a reply..... just as she had done. Hundreds of thoughts raced through her head: what if Tom was angry at her for trying to be rid of him, what if he told Harry that she was the one attacking everyone..... She wasn't sure he would do anything like that, but she knew she had to get that book back.

She retreated to the far corner of the common room yet again, and began to devise her plan.

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Well, there you are, the voice of the diary greeted Ginny as she opened it. From the common room she could still hear Harry exclaiming over the disappearance of the book.

Sorry, Ginny scrawled back, stopping to wonder exactly why she was apologising, and decided it to be force of habit. There was a long pause before Riddle replied.

Ginny frowned, and waited for him to continue. When he did, he asked something quite startling of her.

Ginny blinked in surprise, and sucked on her quill a long time before answering.

What? she moved to scribble back, but another window had appeared in the diary. Her eyes narrowing, Ginny tossed it to the floor. Nope, not this time, Riddle, she thought, when she felt something grab her foot, and she was falling again.

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Ginny sat straight up in bed. Was that the wind? Involuntarily, her chocolate brown eyes flickered down to her lap, where the diary had lain as she had drifted off to sleep. The little black book was gone.

No- it was a soft voice, a rich, soothing tenor. She drew back the scarlet curtain around her four-poster and squinted into the darkness, and saw in the dim moonlight.... a ghost? The spectre was milk white, swathed in robes as black as its hair, locks with a slight blue tint. A forest green cloak billowed about its boots.

Ginny's eyes widened. To her surprise, she found herself moving, obeying the voice.

'Tom?' She was standing now, and he stood a few feet away from her. She could see him more clearly now, despite the fact that he was little better than transparent. She took a step toward him.

He was taller than her by at least a head, and his blue-black hair from her crimson was as different as dark from light. She wore scarlet pyjamas, a satin shirt and pants in Gryffindor colours, and he the regal cloak. Ginny shivered; they were standing so close now.

Riddle raised a hand to brush her cheek; his touch was cool and dry as a serpent's. She involuntarily jerked back, and he moved that hand to her shoulder. She glanced down, and saw that he held the diary in his other hand.

'Good girl,' he finally said. 'You haven't forgotten your little friend living in the diary.' His eyes too fell upon the book in his hand. 'Well, who did live in a diary. I've gained enough power by now, little Ginny, to come out.'

'H- how?' she stuttered, and he laughed coldly.

'Why, you, my dear. You freed me. Thank you.' His arm encircled her waist now, and he leaned forward and hissed, 'and now, you're going to help me.'

'With what?' Ginny asked in what was barely over a whisper.

Riddle didn't answer. A twisted smile lit his features, and he purred, 'come,' pulling Ginny closer. With that, he swept his cloak around both of them, and they were gone.

'-the Mandrakes are ready for cutting at last. Tonight, we will be able to revive those who have been Petrified. I need hardly remind you that one of them may very well be able to tell us who, or what, attacked them all. I am hopeful that this dreadful year will end with our catching the culprit.'

With the explosion of cheering and clapping that sounded in the Great Hall, Ginny's head snapped up, and she stared around in disbelief.

She was, all of a sudden, seated at breakfast beside Ron at the Gryffindor table. Am I going mad? she wondered. What had happened?

Her brother and Harry were staring at her, and she realised how terrified, how confused she must have looked to them.

'What's up?' Ron asked, glancing at the porridge he was helping himself to, rather than her.

Ginny opened her mouth to speak, when suddenly a voice in the back of her mind- Riddle's voice- hissed, 'don't tell them anything!' The words died on her lips.

'Spit it out,' said Ron, now glancing up at her.

'I've got to tell you something,' Ginny mumbled, ignoring Riddle's protests inside her head. She didn't look at either Ron or Harry.

'What is it?' Harry enquired, curious.

Ginny opened her mouth again. 'Don't tell them ANYTHING!' Riddle suddenly cut in, furious. She trembled.

'What?' Ron wanted to know.

She opened her mouth yet again, but nothing came out. Ginny blinked in surprise, and she swore she could hear Riddle's relieved sigh.

Harry leaned forward, and she could feel his warm breath on her skin. 'Is it something about the Chamber of Secrets? Have you seen something? Someone acting oddly?'

If only Ginny could tell him.... She felt Riddle inside her burn with hatred at the sight of Harry, and she drew a deep breath- but at that very minute, Percy Weasley appeared. His skin was pale, and there were dark circles under his eyes.

'Have you finished eating, Ginny?'

The girl hadn't taken a bite.

'If so, I'll be taking that seat. I'm starving.... I only just came off of patrol duty.'

'Come with me, little Ginny,' she heard in the back of her mind, and leapt out of her seat again, and dashed off.

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'Write it down,' he said.

Ginny turned. She held the paintbrush in one hand, her long red hair streaming over her shoulders. She shook her head.

'I said, write,' he repeated, his soft voice icy. 'I will dictate. Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever.' Paint it right under the first one.'

'Tom....'

'Now.' His voice had chilled by several more degrees, if that was even possible.

Ginny turned back to the wall and painted the letters he desired.

'Very good,' Riddle pronounced when she'd finished. 'And now, you will join me in my Chamber.'

Ginny began to back away, but he seized her arm and began to drag her down the hallway, his words lingering behind as they faded off into the distance.

'See now, you should obey me more readily, like you did before. You carried through my plans nicely, really, managed to pick up enough Parseltongue to subdue my Basilisk. Not bad for a first try, even if you weren't entirely willing....'

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Ginny sank to the cool stone floor of the Chamber, the soft thud her weight made as it hit the rock and the soft scratch of robes against rough stone echoing loudly in the hollow cell. Pillars- stone entwined with the statues of serpents- rose high above her head into the murky green darkness above.

Tom Riddle leaned casually against on the pillars, watching her. His long, thin hands fingered the diary he held, his pale figure seeming to fade into the gloom around, and then standing out sharply when one finally noticed him.

He had been staring at her for a long while, waiting for her to say something, or look at him. Why wouldn't she? He knew, of course, what she had against him, and didn't blame her. He was used to being hated, even liked it a little: they would glare and curse, and he would just smile; it gave him power, a sense of being above them all. But usually, he recalled, they at least acknowledged his presence. Why wouldn't she?

Ginny leaned forward, head on one knee. She felt ill.... no, not ill..... faint. Like she was fading. She glanced up and met Riddle's burning eyes- his outline, rather than remaining eternally misty about the edges, was very slowly growing stronger, more solid. So that's what he had meant, she realised. Now she felt very ill.

She glanced down again, almost wishing for it to end soon, now..... he was planning on killing her, wasn't he? If not that, what? Her wonderings halted sharply when she heard the soft sound of Riddle's footsteps approaching her. There was a swish as his cloak swept around him, and he swooped down to sit beside her. Ginny turned away, afraid the sight of his face would weaken her. She felt his fingers on her chin, turning her head to face him.

'You needn't run from me, Ginny,' he purred softly. She raised her eyes to look into his, and was mesmerised by their colour: a deep, dark blue. They showed nothing of remorse, nothing of sadness..... they might only be called empty, blank. His expression held the same, save the rather sadistic smirk illuminating it.

Ginny slowly backed away, and found herself against the wall. 'I'm not running, per se.'

'Oh, shut up,' Riddle retorted, glaring. But the ugly look had faded from his face as quick as it had appeared, to be replaced by one of thoughtful curiosity.

'Tell me, little Ginny. Whatever persuaded you to spill out your soul to the boy living in your diary in the first place?'

When she at first didn't answer, he added softly, 'You know, it's not too smart to talk to strangers.'

'I'll say,' Ginny muttered under her breath, prompting Riddle to lean a little closer so that he could hear her comment.

'But, do tell me why, Ginny dear. We've got a long while till Harry Potter comes....'

'Harry?' Ginny suddenly cut in. 'What does Harry have to do with anything?'

Tom Riddle realised his error, and what little colour there was to his face drained away. 'That's no concern of yours right now,' he snapped. 'I'll tell you when the time is right.' His harsh tone gave way to a soothing purr again, and he continued. 'But for now, talk to me, little Ginny.'

He was smiling again. She bit her lip. 'Well.... my brothers always said I was gullible.' Her eyes narrowed as he opened his mouth to say something, a smirk plastered on his pale face. 'But I'm not letting you take that for an answer.' She frowned thoughtfully. 'Actually, I think the real reason I trusted you was because you seemed like someone I could trust. I told you how my brothers teased me, how no one noticed me..... I really just wanted someone who would notice me, who would accept me and be kind to me. Unfortunately, I happened to choose you. Why are you so heartless and manipulative anyway?'

Tom Riddle stroked his chin thoughtfully. 'I'm not sure.'

'I think I know why,' Ginny announced.

'Oh? Why, then?' He raised one thin black eyebrow high over his dark eye.

'You never knew anything besides hatred. You told me yourself how they beat you at the orphanage, how your father deserted you. Obviously you scorned love; your mother loved your father, and she wasted away when he left her. You weren't enough to keep her alive, and that's enough to make anyone bitter.'

Riddle glared. 'Anything else you want to tell me about me?'

'Well.... what exactly do you want to hear?' Ginny's voice was as cold as his.

'Personally, I want to hear you shut up.'

Ginny raised her arms in a dramatic gesture. 'Oh, he wants to hear me shut up now, does he? And to think just a moment ago he was telling me to talk.'

Tom Riddle rolled his eyes. 'Of all the possible hostages in the school, I get this one.'

Ginny feigned a gasp. 'Tom! Whatever happened to don't you love me anymore, Ginny?' For shame!'

Riddle glared, and then, as if on second thought, twisted his face into a very cruel smile. 'Yes, Ginny. Tell me, do you remember what came after that? What I said.... and how I had to tug at your foot to get you to come?'

Ginny's face paled. She hadn't been expecting that.

'Let me show you something, little Ginny.' Tom placed a hand to her forehead, and everything went black.

His father's brown eyes fell upon the cloak and wand his son held in his hand. 'You're one of them,' he said, disgusted emphasis on them.'

'If you mean a wizard,' Tom replied, 'I am.' He held up the wand to elucidate his meaning, and smiled with satisfaction when the Riddles backed away. 'Now,' he continued, 'I have come to see swift justice. Thanks to you, father, my life has been Hell. First, my father deserts me, and is-' he smiled very coldly at this '- as if dead to me.' T. M. Riddle raised his wand, and glanced at Mr Riddle, the cold man who had come with his father to put him away, carried little Tom to the orphanage and thrown him to the grimy, cold floor there so long ago. 'Avada Kedavra!'

His son continued, 'And then, out of grief, grief that you caused by deserting her, my mother wasted away. She only lived long enough to name me. After you.'

Panting, Tom Marvolo Riddle turned back to his father, his expression unnervingly calm, his voice terribly soft. 'And because of you, I was left to die at that orphanage, until my eleventh summer, when I got a letter from the one place I ever belonged at.' He smiled, and held his wand close to his father's heart. The room was unnaturally cold now, like an air conditioner blasting chill on a hot summer's day. 'So, it's probably thanks to you that I learned this. Avada Kedavra.'

Tom Riddle jerked his hand away, and slowly rose. Ginny drew back, her brown eyes large and glassy with horror. Very gradually, she seemed to regain a sense of her surroundings. Her voice was weak when she finally spoke.

'How could you?'

Riddle had turned his back to her; all she could see of him was his dark green cloak billowing around his tall, wiry frame and his slick black hair. His head appeared to be tilted down, though.

'You know very well how I could.'

His voice was perfectly even, yet a tad too soft; it echoed dimly in the still Chamber.

'But- but-' Ginny fell silent, and then leaned back against the wall, suddenly weary. A series of thoughts crossed her mind, wonderings of what Riddle planned to do, a shudder at the thought of what he was capable of, musings of what Harry had to do with it all.... and what was going to happen to her when Dumbledore found out. She knew how fond Riddle was of lies, though she wondered if the headmaster would be fooled by his truth-twisting. Will Tom say I helped him willingly? Would Mum and Dad believe him? She hadn't before had any time to think about this, and now she drew in a shuddering gasp and buried her head in her arms.

She sniffed again, and backed against the wall upon hearing Riddle's approaching foot-steps echoing in the silence. She turned her head away, felt his icy hand stroke her cheek, rub the tears she had shed into her skin. She trembled, pushed up close to the wall, on one side the rough stone scraping her flesh, on the other the gentle touch of the Judas who had lured her down to his Chamber.

Was he Judas? He had pretended to be her friend, gained her trust so as to use her for his own devices, manipulate her..... and what did he desire? What would be the reward, the thirty silver pieces, she had unknowingly secured for him? And what had he meant with his mention of Harry?

'Who are you, really?' Ginny asked suddenly, startling Riddle, who had been trying to pull her away from the wall and into his arms.

'What do you mean?' he asked, suspicion in his voice.

'Who are you? What do you want?' Ginny wished she could say what she was trying to with more clarity, but Riddle seemed to get it.

He moved away, gazing thoughtfully at her, hugging his knees to his chest, the green cloak sweeping around him. 'You wouldn't have known me very well,' he said finally, his voice hollow. 'The me you would have known, though not as well as others knew me, would have been before your time. My reign ended the year of your birth, and though you would have heard the stories, I wouldn't scare you as much because they would just have been stories.'

An icy chill was beginning to creep up Ginny's neck. She drew her robes tighter around her for warmth. 'Oh?'

''Oh, indeed,' Riddle remarked. 'You're so innocent, girl.' He turned his head to look at her, and gestured toward the wand she held. 'Here, may I have that? I fear I'm going to have to spell things out for you, literally.'

Reluctant, she handed it to him. Her brothers' words about her being 'so gullible' returned to slap her in the face as he used the wand to draw his name in the air.

With a flourish, he twirled the wand, and the letters rearranged themselves.

He turned to her, and tossed her back the wand, which missed her hands and clattered to the floor. The letters of what had before been his name still hung in the air.

'Of course,' Ginny breathed. 'Of course you would want to lure Harry down here, and of course I would be the bait.'

'Of course,' Riddle agreed. With one hand, he casually waved away the words, as if they had been made of mere smoke.

'You won't win,' Ginny said, trying to sound more confident than she felt, but that assurance was as hollow as his kindness to her, all words and nothing to back them up.

'How can you be so sure?' His tone was rather light, but much colder than usual, almost mocking, even.

'You tried to kill him last year, too, but Harry survived. I can't say, or rather, I don't know exactly what happened, but I know he beat you. And look at you now, you're practically transparent. How can you possibly kill him if I can almost see through you?'

Riddle glared, his thin mouth twisted in a cruel sneer. 'Does he have a basilisk on his side? If the mere memory of me could drive Dumbledore out, why not famous Harry Potter? Quit dreaming, little girl.'

Ginny shivered. He was right; Harry Potter had no idea what was coming. He had come down to the Chamber to face a basilisk, a creature that killed on instinct, fed on death without thought, and to try to rescue a little girl in hopes she might still be alive. He, of course, would think she had been eaten by the basilisk. Harry had no idea of what he would really be up against, not a mindless killing machine but something cold, calculating and cunning, a frighteningly human monster.

Ginny was beginning to feel the grey haze of sleep coming on; she blinked and saw Riddle's outline the clearest it had been so far. She felt his fingers running through her hair, decidedly more solid than they had ever been in her memory, long and bone white and sifting through thick layers of silky scarlet locks. She pulled away from him, stubborn despite the fact that she was losing consciousness.

'You won't be so defiant for long,' she heard him murmur, and it sounded as though his words came from a distance. 'You're getting sleepy, aren't you, little Ginny?'

Ginny shook her head, yawned, and then silently cursed.

'Oh, no, I think you are....' Riddle's hand paused where hair met skin, and then gently stroked her forehead.

'Don't,' Ginny murmured. Everything was spinning..... was she sinking to the floor?

'Don't what?' Riddle asked, moving his hand to her cheek. 'I'm not hurting you now, am I? And I never struck you before; rather, I was just a little rough bringing you down here. You were very stubborn coming down the pipes, you know.' He shuddered slightly, recalling their trip down the pipes. He didn't much care for slimy things. Riddle only tolerated them if he had to.

Ginny weakly shook her head, and as if to say 'not physically,' moved her hand to her heart. In her growing lack of consciousness, however, it began to drop before reaching her chest. Tom Riddle caught it halfway there and held it. Ginny shut her eyes, let them flutter open again, and then closed them in a way that made things seem just.... final. Riddle still clutched her hand; very slowly, raised it to his lips. A moment later, the kiss broken, he let it lay across her chest. Riddle pulled away, and then, cocking his head- as if on second thought, he leaned down, kneeling over her. One long, pale hand smoothed back the ginger locks strewn over her unnaturally white face, he slipped his other arm around her waist and drew the girl towards him, his cape settling around both of them. Gingerly, he brushed her cheek with one long finger, and, bringing it down across her neck, leaned down, his face only an inch from hers now, his now-warm breath clinging to her icy cheek- and a moment later he had caught her lips with his. After a long moment of utter silence, he pulled away, carelessly letting her fall to the floor. Still silently, he rose to his feet. Ginny hardly stirred, but she vaguely heard his last soft, cold words before oblivion overcame her:

'Good night, little Ginny. And sleep well, angel. I'll tell them you were killed by the true monster of Slytherin.'

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The next time Ginny remembered stirring, the fuzzy figure of a tall, black-haired boy stood in front of her. A moan escaped her, and she sat up expecting to see Riddle and the basilisk, with Harry's corpse on the stone floor of the Chamber.... when she realised that the figure before her wore bloodstained black robes rather than the dark green cloak, was actually quite short, had green eyes rather than blue, and..... wore glasses?

'H-Harry?' she murmured softly, and when he nodded and knelt beside her, began to sob again.

'Harry- oh, Harry- I tried to tell you at b-breakfast, but I c-couldn't say it in front of Percy- it was me, Harry- but I didn't m-mean to, I swear- R-Riddle made me, he took me over- and how did you kill that- that thing?' Her eyes drifted over to the dead basilisk; she supposed Harry thought she had meant it, and offered her next sentence as a bit of illumination. 'W-where's Riddle? I remember him c-coming out of the diary, and then....' Ginny's voice trailed off, ending with a long gasp of breath.

'It's all right,' Harry said, holding up the diary. There was a great hole in the middle of it, as if something like acid had burned through its worn black cover and pages. 'Riddle's finished,' he continued. 'Look- him and the basilisk! C'mon, now, let's get out of here.' And he held a hand out to her to help her up, Ginny still weeping.

'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....' Harry offered his arm by way of comfort. 'What'll Mum and Dad s-say?'

'Shhh,' Harry whispered, leading her over to where a great red bird was waiting for them. The creature hovered in the entrance to the Chamber. As they passed over the threshold towards it, the stone doors shut behind them with a soft hiss, and Ginny felt a tremendous weight leaving her shoulders. She followed Harry down the long tunnel.

And through the pipes. She was silent, save her tears, and numb to thoughts or feelings, as she and Harry, joined by Ron and Lockhart in another tunnel (Ron had tried to throw his arms around her in his relief, but she had pushed him away to stand alone), and the phoenix, climbed up to Dumbledore's office. Harry knocked and slowly, as if waiting until the others had gathered in a neat little clump behind him, pushed the door open.

For a moment there was silence, and then a shriek.

Mrs Weasley had been sitting before the fire, crying. She leapt up, closely followed by Mr Weasley, and the two of them flung their arms around Ginny. The girl, smothered by her parents' embrace, couldn't quite see what was going on until Mrs Weasley drew away and hugged Harry and Ron.

'You saved her! You saved her! How did you do it?'

Professor McGonagall spoke next; until then Ginny hadn't even noticed her there. 'I think we'd all like to know that.'

Harry told them everything. Yet Ginny, glancing down at the ruined remains of Riddle's diary, noticed he was careful not to bring her, the Heir or his diary into the story.

At least until Dumbledore said gently, 'What interests me most, is how Lord Voldemort managed to enchant Ginny when word has it that he is currently hiding in the forests of Albania.'

Harry breathed a sigh of relief at those words, and Ginny relaxed a little.

'W-what's that?' Mr Weasley cut in, stunned. 'You-Know-Who? En-enchant Ginny? But Ginny hasn't been..... has she?'

Ginny hung her head. She had been miles away from Dumbledore's office and the conversation, lost in her own thoughts and a memory of the Chamber, but her mother's voice had brought her back.

Harry gestured towards the diary. 'It was this diary,' he replied quickly. He held it up for Dumbledore to see. 'Riddle wrote it when he was sixteen....'

Dumbledore took the diary and glanced down over his spectacles at it. 'Brilliant. True, he was probably the most brilliant student Hogwarts has ever seen.' He turned to look at the rest of them standing there, Harry and Ginny and the stunned Weasleys.

'Few people know that Lord Voldemort's name was once Tom Marvolo Riddle. I taught him myself at Hogwarts, fifty years ago. He disappeared directly after leaving the school, fell into the Dark Arts, met with the worst of our kind..... and then, when he later resurfaced as Lord Voldemort, hardly anyone connected him to the clever, handsome boy who had once been Head Boy at this very school.'

'But, what does Ginny have to do with- with him?' Mrs Weasley asked.

'H-his diary!' Ginny burst out after a moment of silence, in which she had been considering letting Harry tell the whole story. 'I've b-been writing in it, and he's been writing back all year!'

'Ginny!' came her father's astonished voice. 'Haven't I taught you anything? What have I always told you? Never trust anything that thinks for itself if you can't see where it keeps its brain? Why didn't you show the diary to your mother or me? A suspicious object like that was clearly full of Dark Magic....'

'I don't know,' sobbed Ginny. 'I just found it inside one of the books Mum bought me.... I thought m-maybe someone had left it there and forgotten about it....' Her voice trailed off, and she drew in a long breath. She opened her mouth again, to defend Riddle, tell them how nice he'd been to her at first, when Dumbledore cut in.

'Miss Weasley should be going to the hospital wing right now. This has been a terrible ordeal for her. There will, of course, be no punish-ment. Older and wiser wizards and witches than she have been hoodwinked by Lord Voldemort.' He opened the door for her. 'Bed rest and perhaps a large, steaming mug of hot chocolate. I find that always cheers me up,' he added, his kind blue eyes twinkling down at her. 'You will find that Madam Pomfrey is still awake. She's just dealing out the Mandrake juice. I daresay the basilisk's victims will be waking up any moment now.'

'So Hermione's okay!' Ron exclaimed brightly.

'There has no lasting harm done, Ginny,' Dumbledore said, and she smiled weakly back at him as her mother led her out of the headmaster's office and down to the hospital wing, where Madam Pomfrey immediately began fussing over her. The hot chocolate was being prepared as Ginny climbed into bed and drew the blankets up to her chin.

She glanced up at the ceiling, pretended she was looking at the sky on a summer's day. All vast blue sky, unthinkably large heaven, enough to just lose yourself in. Now it was white, the plain, bland white of the hospital wing ceiling. And then blue again, a darker, empty blue this time, like his eyes.....

She shut her own, trying not to think about that. Ginny was asleep long before Madam Pomfrey arrived with the hot chocolate.

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Tom shrugged. 'With just one little look at the diary, specially after it was ruined, I doubt he would have figured out quite how it worked. Even I don't know.... all I know is I'm here.' He lifted his head to the clouds again. 'Your dreams are nice.... peaceful. Bit boring actually, but I'll change that for you,' he remarked.

-and then she woke up.

The hospital wing was fairly dark, but Ginny could sense a lingering presence in the room, see the dim figure that accompanied it. She shuddered, and heard Madam Pomfrey's voice in the dimness.

'Are you all right, dear? You look frightened.'

Ginny opened her mouth to speak, to tell the witch to send for Professor Dumbledore immediately, but before she could get a word out, as if some other force lived inside her now, shut her mouth, and then opened it again. The words that came out were in her own voice, yet the tone was different: melodious, cold, clipped and eerily familiar.

'No, thank you. I just had a bad dream. I think I'll be going back to sleep now. Good night.'

Madam Pomfrey nodded, and a shocked Ginny heard her footsteps echoing in the quiet hall as she left the room. Ginny relaxed a little, curled back up in the blankets, and closed her eyes. A little voice, a familiar voice, played at the back of her mind.