Ghost Of A Memory

Ginny blinked to clear the image of the eyes from her mind, and rubbed them. No light spilled through the corners of the thick grey curtain of the hospital wing's four-poster, but she could hear the rustle of robes outside, and a muffled cough told her someone was out there.

"Hello?" she called out, drawing back one corner of her curtain to reveal Dumbledore standing before her.

"Good morning, Ginny," he replied pleasantly.

"It's morning?" she asked, sleepily.

"Just barely three o'clock," he answered. "The celebrations are still going on, but you looked too tired to get up earlier, so we didn't wake you."

"Oh," Ginny said simply. She yawned, and then asked, "May I come down to the Great Hall now?"

"Of course," Dumbledore replied, and waited patiently for Ginny to climb out of bed, still in her pyjamas, and led her down the long hall out of the hospital wing. Both walked in silence for a long while, and then as they began to near the dancing and music, Dumbledore spoke.

"I wish I had had the chance to speak with you earlier, before you left for the hospital wing. I feared you might have been very badly affected by the whole experience."

Ginny thought for a moment, chewing her lip and wondering whether or not to tell him about Riddle. She hadn't made up her mind yet when, for some reason, she didn't.

"You were talking to Harry in there, weren't you? Did he say what happened in the Chamber?"

Dumbledore looked thoughtful. "He only gave a vague summary. I expect, though, you will want to hear more. I suggest you ask him yourself sometime."

Ginny glanced away. "I imagine he was very brave."

"As were you yourself. Harry may have faced a Basilisk, but you bore the spirit of the Dark Lord for the better part of a year without losing yourself. His betrayal must have hurt you terribly, especially for someone so young. You were very strong."

"I didn't do anything special. He controlled me- it's not as though I had any choice of whether or not to put up with it."

Ginny turned away, and there was a long pause before Dumbledore continued, changing the subject slightly.

"Tom was the best student I ever had, you know. It was partly my fault..... that he came to such ill. I was younger then, foolish."

Ginny glanced back up at him. She doubted the headmaster could ever have been called foolish, and listened carefully as he continued.

"He was too bright, first off. I didn't see at first how..... good he was at hiding feelings. One deeper glance and you'd see how a smile never reached his eyes, or a hateful glare would give way to an almost wistful look in his eyes- something was always.... off.... about him. If I had seen sooner, perhaps....."

Ginny stared up in silence, waiting for him to continue.

"Oh well," he sighed. "No matter now, certainly nothing to dwell about." They had reached the entrance to the Great Hall. "Go on inside, join the festivities," he urged, and Ginny stepped through the door, throwing a glance back at him, as he wandered down the shadowy hall, whistling a tune that sounded vaguely lonely under his breath.

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Ginny was sampling the treacle pudding when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She spun around to see a vaguely familiar curly-haired girl standing before her, grinning.

"J-Jen?" Ginny asked. The girl was a first year Gryffindor as well, and one of Ginny's roommates, though she didn't know her very well. Ginny thought with a frown how introverted she had been that year, hardly bothering to speak with anyone save her diary friend.

"Yup!" Jen sat down next to Ginny, her dark hair bouncing. "I heard what happened today- well, sort of. No one really knows much about the whole Chamber of Secrets thing, but it sounded awful! Why'd the Heir take you down there?" she asked, all in one breath. Ginny remembered that Jen was like that: brisk and bright.

Ginny opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Oh, no, not this again, she thought, before realising that Riddle had no part in this; she didn't know what to say. Ginny shrugged. "He never told me," she replied simply. It wasn't a lie- he hadn't, but of course she knew why. But she couldn't tell Jen about the whole diary thing: thoughts of her naivety still made her face burn, and besides, she didn't know if Dumbledore would want her to. And Riddle would certainly object.

Jen, to Ginny's surprise, seemed to sense that the other girl didn't really want to talk about it. "Well, yes, I guess it's best if you try to forget all that- but if you ever need someone to talk to, you can come to me."

She shot a genuine smile Ginny's way, which Ginny returned. Then, her act of serious empathy spent, Jen grinned and raised her eyebrows. "And incidentally," she added, "if you ever need someone to trash Snape's office with, you can come to me too."

Ginny, who had forgotten over the events of the past few months that she had learned the hard way her first week at Hogwarts that Jen was the first year female equivalent of one of her twin brothers, burst out laughing- partially out of relief. When she had caught her breath, she smiled again. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Jen replied, and turned to glance at the Slytherin table. Having shot a spoonful of treacle pudding their way, she turned back to Ginny. "Hey, did you hear the news? You weren't here when Dumbledore announced it, but Lockhart's not coming back next year!"

Again, Ginny felt relief wash over her. "Thank goodness."

"I know. I heard he set pixies loose on the second years."

Ginny raised an eyebrow, wondering if Jen was kidding, but the curly-haired girl stared back at her gravely and nodded.

"It does sound like something he would do," Ginny commented. "He came down into the Chamber too, you know, but apparently tried to perform some kind of memory charm with my brother's broken wand, and inadvertently lost his own memory."

Jen burst out laughing. "Seriously?"

Ginny nodded, and was about to say something else when a bit of trifle came flying over from the Slytherin table and struck Jen's cheek. The girl wiped it away indignantly and said, "Excuse me a moment- I have a score to settle." She stood and strode over to the other table, with Ginny shaking her head. Jen had, after all, started the whole thing. She chuckled a bit before realising that the room had begun to spin. Blinking in surprise, Ginny took hold of the table to steady herself. The sickening movement forced her to shut her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them again-

"Ginny? Ginny- are you all right?"

Ginny blinked, trying to focus her eyes on the face above her. She could make out bushy brown hair.... Hermione.

"Huh?" she wondered, her head pounding. The room swam around her, and for a second she thought she might still be in the dream.

Ginny felt Hermione grab her arm and push her back down- had she tried to sit up? "Don't speak," came the older girl's voice. "You fainted in the Great Hall..... Ron thought you had had a seizure or something."

Ginny blinked. Had Ron been there? A blush coloured her cheeks as her thoughts continued. Had Harry? She moved, was about to say something when Jen burst through the door.

"There you are! Are you all right? You just keeled over at the table and everything? What happened?" As usual, Jen hadn't even stopped to catch her breath.

"I- I'm fine, I think," Ginny replied, realising she was in the hospital wing. She had no memory of how she'd gotten there. "Just a little headache. I, er- fainted."

"Just a little headache!" Hermione exclaimed, taking on a motherly tone. "You hit your head on the marble floor! It could have been a concussion! Thank goodness Madame Pomfrey fixed you up as soon as she could!"

"Er- I think I'm going to lie down now," Ginny said awkwardly. Hermione looked at her worriedly, but stood, turned to leave and motioned for Jen to follow her. They had nearly reached the door when Ron burst in, dragging Harry behind him.

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed. "Ginny was just about to fall asleep, and you're disturbing her!"

Ron ignored her, and bounded over to Ginny. "Are you all right? You had some sort of epileptic seizure or something!"

Ginny shook her head. "No- No, I just fainted." She glanced over at the doorway, where Harry stood, and tried to read his expression. He was concerned, and certainly confused, and yet he seemed to radiate some sense of comprehension. Could she possibly tell him about what was going on, about the dreams? Would he understand?

She tore her gaze from Harry and glanced back at Ron, who looked unconvinced. "But- I, er, need to get to sleep now," she tried, but still he did not move. "Really. I'm fine. Goodnight," she added, and Ron reluctantly drew back.

She lay back down and shut her eyes. She could hear the others retreating, and through the cracks of her eyelids caught a glimpse of the light fading to nothing. She could hear a low wind just outside the open window, and the chirp of crickets. One of the last thoughts before Ginny fell into the restless sleep of nightmares was that the sun would be up soon.

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Ginny sat down at the Gryffindor table the next morning, a perfectly calm smile lighting her face. Riddle had not entered her dreams at all since Ron had left that previous night, and she was to leave the hospital wing for the Gryffindor tower just after breakfast, despite Madame Pomfrey's better judgment.

Jen sat down beside her, chattering on about something. Ginny noticed how careful she was not to bring up last night's events, though Ginny didn't think she would have minded it if the girl had. She was feeling much better today- her head didn't even ache with the reminder of Riddle's interruption of the feast.

Riddle. Thinking about him wiped the smile from her face and replaced it with a thoughtful frown. She could still see his face in her mind, hear his soft voice. Gentle, cold, flat.... dead. His eyes held the same empty darkness; she traced the image of him inside her mind, and watched it glow with new life, remembering suddenly that he was still inside her. The eyes burned into her again, and she watched something rather like surprise take form in their empty, indifferent depths, surprise that soon gave way to watchful meditation. She almost wished he would speak, voice his thoughts, and yet feared what the sound of his words would bring. She wondered briefly if he could hear her thoughts, where he was now, if he was sleeping for the day, dormant and harmless.

How bitter she'd become, Ginny realised, cynical and more wary. What was she afraid of? Riddle was inside her; the worst he could do was always in sight, what mysteries had she to fear? Mystery.... enigma.... riddle- it struck her as humourous that she had caught that, considering how mesmerised by word play her captor seemed to be. Perhaps he had noticed that himself- she knew how clever he was.

Yet it struck her as odd that he should lose the fight with Harry; it seemed too cliche that the hero would automatically win, because he was the hero- and noble and brave as Harry may be, he was no god, had no extraordinary powers save those that a smitten little girl might invent. Riddle had been more ambitious, more cunning, and had had both the element of surprise and a basilisk on his side- the perfect villain, and because of that he had lost. It made no sense to her whatsoever. Of course, at the time she had only been concerned with the fact that Harry was all right and had a way out.

She had never asked him what had happened in the Chamber of Secrets while she had been unconscious. For that matter, she had never asked Riddle either- but was more reluctant to do so, as asking him would involve voluntarily talking to him. So Ginny decided to talk to Harry. But, she thought determinedly, I've gotten over him.

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"Harry!"

Ginny found him in the library, bent bleary-eyed over a thick Transfiguration book. He glanced up when he saw her striding towards him.

"Oh- hi, Ginny."

She had reached him, and smiled warmly. "Listen, Harry- may I ask you a question?"

Harry shrugged, his expression unconcerned. "Sure."

"Harry-" Ginny sat down in the chair beside him "-what happened in the Chamber of Secrets, after I'd gone unconscious?"

Harry blinked in surprise. He hadn't expected that question; he'd been prepared for something easy, like a question about her Charms homework or something.

"Er...."

"Why won't you tell me? Riddle's gone; there's nothing to be afraid of." Ginny was surprised at how smoothly the lie had come.

"Well, er- okay, yeah, you're right. I mean, Mr Malfoy took the diary back, and it was ruined anyway.... look, I don't know what happened right after you fell asleep, I came later..... but I was trying to revive you when Riddle appeared, and he took my wand- and, and then he said a lot of stuff- about you, and the diary. Then Fawkes came with the Sorting Hat and Riddle set his basilisk on me. And then-"

"Wait," Ginny cut in. "He talked to you about the diary.... and me? What did he say?"

"Er- well, he said some of the things you had written to him, and how he'd tricked you..." Harry let his voice trail off here, rather disturbed by the whole conversation and the way Ginny's eyes were blazing so fiercely. "Erm, Ginny- are you all right?"

"Fine," she replied, stood and walked away, leaving Harry blinking in confusion over just what had happened.

Ginny's eyes were fixed on the ceiling during her trek past the long bookshelves guarding the portal to the corridor just beyond the library doors.

"How could he? I trusted him, I kept trusting him, I was naive, again, but still, how-"

"Ginny!"

"Huhn, wha?" Ginny glanced around, and realised she was on the floor, slumped against a bookshelf. She glanced up to see Colin Creevey jogging towards her, accompanied by a new camera his mother had sent him. Inwardly, she groaned at the sight of another one of those.

"Come on, get up! Didja fall asleep or something? C'mon, Harry's right over there!" He held up his camera so as to further drive the message into her head.

"Er- you know what, Colin? I don't think I can come with you today, I've, er- got class now."

"Oh. Okay. Well, why don't I come with you?"

Ginny stood. "Er- no thanks. That's not necessary, Colin. Why don't you go talk to Harry?"

A grin spread across Colin's face, and with a wave he trotted over to where Harry had been sitting. Ginny watched after him, allowed herself a smile of sympathy for Harry, laced with guilt: she remembered when she had been that badly obsessed.

It had been very unusual, actually. She had never considered herself the sort to become obsessed over something, least of all a schoolgirl crush, and yet from the day she had first seen him on the train the September of Ron's first year at Hogwarts, she had fallen head over heels- with no one to catch her.

But it hadn't worked out, of course. She had been too shy to speak around him, and even when she'd dreamed of some fairy tale wedding, she would sometimes wonder if it was just an infatuation, if her crush would burn out quickly, if it was meant to be. It's not, she decided, and left it at that. I'm over him.

Which reminded Ginny- when she got back home for the summer holidays, she would have to redecorate her room, put away all the photos of and articles on Harry Potter. Not only would they prevent her from forgetting her crush, they would remind her of how indifferent he seemed to her attentions, and she could only imagine Tom Riddle's reaction to them. She shook her head to rid it of the already-present hysterical laughter her mind was able to conjure up at that thought, and shuddered, the image of his dark eyes burning into her head.

Preoccupied with such thoughts, she did not notice when she collided with a bookshelf, bruising her brow and making her cry out in pain. Yet as soon as she did, her Tom was there, his soothing voice inside her mind.

She answered back, silently, that she had merely bumped her head, and would be fine.

Ginny frowned in confusion at Riddle's sudden change in mood, and her sudden recollections of blindly trusting him her first year, but disregarded them. He sounded so sincere now, after all. I forgive you, Tom.

He replied quickly enough, and she swore she could feel his smile. Ah, good. Thank you, Ginny- may I help, if your bruise still hurts? I'll take away the pain, absorb it into myself- just close your eyes, stand back and let me take over, and I'll make everything all better again....

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Now, it was over an hour after Riddle had taken over briefly, sapping his host's pain and trouble into his spirit; having grown stronger of that nectar, he was asleep, dormant in a thick blanket of thoughts and wonderings inside her head. He was close to Ginny, inside her, closer than anyone else could be. They were more than two, more than one, and he was easily the dominant- but none of that mattered to him at the moment. Had he had a physical form, it would have been curled up tightly, as if to keep the world away, fidgeting ever so slightly like one caught in the throes of a nightmare. Which, in fact, he was.

He didn't like to sleep, because the dreams would come, but he knew he had to. Many a night during his school years had he stayed up studying in the library until the first rosy tinge of dawn brushed the sky, earning him the dark circles under his eyes that had more often than not refused to go away. The nightmares were worse now, as worse things had happened since his last memory of sleep during school. He'd tried, many times before, to free himself of their icy grasp, but no matter- he couldn't think of any way to leave the state he was, trapped inside his own mind.

It was dark inside there. Night, moonless, starless night gripped him, and he felt safe, albeit slightly uneasy. The shadows warmed him, comforted him, kept him close like a mother, and he stayed there, for the time being. But he was restless, wanting to race from the eternal night in which he could never sleep, into the bright blazing dawn. He would leap off a cliff in hopes of catching the sun, were such a thing humanly possible.

Leaping.... the scene played out slowly in his mind. He was leaping, was suspended in midair for a moment, and then was falling. It was a long, slow fall, like Alice down the rabbit hole. He was squirming, clawing desperately at the air, and then a low whistling of the wind beside his ear, and he shut his eyes to keep the dust out.

Darkness. Darkness again, and he heard himself cry out. And then-

Light.

It was day again, bright again, with no more dark, and he was watching a Potions lesson through Ginny's eyes, confused and weary, and panting like one suddenly released from a feverish nightmare.

Daylight now. No nightmares, nothing dark or twisted coming to hurt him. Safe, alone.

"Weasley, can't you do anything right?"

That comment, made by Ginny's exasperated Slytherin partner, snapped Riddle back to reality. He watched shrewdly as the cauldron bubbled over, a reaction he was positive had not been intended. Ginny bit her lip, ducking from a particularly angry splash of the potion. Despite her efforts, the liquid struck her hair, and appeared to ignite it- her flaming red locks blazed with real fire. Riddle felt his temper flare as her partner chuckled a little; Ginny was feeling awful and he had the strangest urge to comfort her.

The lamps went out, very suddenly, all at once- until the only light in the room came from Ginny's hair, which, though obviously on fire, did not appear to be burning. Snape had rushed over to put out the fire, a detention slip in his hand. Obviously, he blamed Ginny for the accident with the potion, and probably for the lights going out as well. Riddle felt a spark of irritation- that had been his fault, rather than hers, the result of a temper he had supposedly learned to control a long time ago. He was primarily irritate with himself; he shouldn't have been affected in the least by Ginny's worries and woes, should have been stronger than that. Riddle couldn't figure out why he'd gotten so angry a moment ago, and not being able to understand something, as well as the fact that what he couldn't comprehend obviously had something to do with that annoying little girl, irritated him. He swayed dizzily as Ginny backed away from Snape, who had extinguished her hair and thought it necessary to take ten points from Gryffindor in addition to the detention.

Ginny herself was very confused. She knew the potion overflowing had been her fault: she had forgotten to add the Billywig stings when they'd been needed, and thrown them in at the last moment in hopes nothing serious would go wrong- something had, and now the other students would be calling her "fire hair" more often than usual. But the lights going out had not been her fault.... but if it hadn't, then who? Perhaps- Riddle? But why would he.... Worse than that, Snape thought it was her fault, and now she would have to accept his detention, because she was the most likely suspect.

Riddle, unabashedly listening in on her thoughts, silently cursed himself, first again for letting his temper get out of hand and then for being the one she would be most likely to suspect. Her doubts vexed him as well; his guilt should have been obvious to her, in his eyes. Of course, in his eyes it should have been obvious that he had only been pretending to be her friend that past year. He knew full well he expected too much of others, and that this was a factor in his arrogance. He had laughed at her naivety, her blind trust of him, and pitied it at the same time, though not so much to really care. More than that, he had hated it, because he knew all too well that he would only end up manipulating her, and how she would think of him after she had realised that.

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Tentatively, Ginny raised her fist to knock upon the rough wooden door. For a moment, she held it back, and then let it tap gently on the door.

There was not a sound from inside. After a minute's hesitation, she knocked again, harder. Three knocks had passed before there was the sound of wild scratching from behind the door, several barks, and a rough, rustic voice.

"Git back, Fang. Back- hold on, will ya?"

Ginny waited patiently, wondering if this had been a good idea. She was almost considering leaving when the door flung open.

A tall, hairy giant of a man stood there, trying to keep hold of the collar of a huge black boarhound. Raising a hand timidly in greeting, Ginny smiled shyly up at him.

"Er- hi?"

The giant's face broke into a grin. "'Ello! Weasley, eh? I know yer brothers. So, what kin I do fer yeh?"

"Er-" Ginny paused, thinking of the best way to say what she was planning to say. "Did you- erm- hear about what happened with the Chamber of Secrets?"

Immediately, Hagrid's face went dark and Ginny wondered if perhaps she should have worded her question differently.

"Come inside," Hagrid said gruffly, and when she scampered in, shut the door behind them.

"Dumbledore told me," he continued, motioning for her to sit down at the table. His hut had only one rough, albeit cozy, room, with a table, bed and some shelves. "I'm sorry yeh were brought into this too. Figures 'e'd use a child."

"'E- er, he?" Ginny wondered, trying to make sense of just who Hagrid was talking about.

"Riddle," Hagrid answered simply. He was heating up a kettle of water for tea, his back to her.

"Oh.... Did you know him any, before he framed you?"

"Know him? Everyone knew him. 'E was like some demigod."

"Demigod? What'd'ya mean?"

"Perfect." The kettle had begun to whine now, but Hagrid hadn't taken notice. "Model student, every teacher's pet, charming, han'some, never a hair outta place or a crease on his robes, Prefect badge shinin'. Popular, but like some statue on a pedestal no one could touch. Firs' years 'd beam if he ever said a word to 'em in the halls. But I s'pose yeh know all about 'is act."

Ginny nodded, as Hagrid poured tea into two mugs and set one down before her.

"Do yeh 'ate 'im?" Hagrid wondered, and Ginny blinked in surprise before realising he meant 'hate'.

"I suppose I should, after all he did. For some reason, though, I don't. For some reason I can't seem to let go of the boy I thought he was, and I can't hate that Tom."

Hagrid, shaking his head, took a gulp of his tea. "Charmed yeh, then, 'e 'as. Dunno 'ow the creep could manage to seem perfect. No matter now, though- 'e's gone; no need to keep thinkin' about 'im. Cheers."

He lifted his glass, and Ginny did the same.

"Cheers."

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Hermione's head, previously bent over her Charms homework, snapped up when Ginny, with a frustrated sigh, sent a crumpled piece of paper flying into the wall. The older girl watched with concern as the first year stood and crossed to the paper, picking it up and smoothing it out.

"All right?" Hermione asked gently. "Were you drawing something?" She nodded towards the sketchbook and pencil lying open on Ginny's chair.

"Yeah," Ginny said softly, still staring down at the paper. "It keeps turning out wrong."

"What is it?" Hermione wanted to know. "May I see?"

Ginny didn't answer, but she crossed to the couch and sat down next to Hermione, and held the paper up.

"It's Harry," Hermione commented. "But, his hair doesn't look right."

"I know," Ginny replied. "It's too slicked back. And he looks too arrogant. His eyes are too cold. No emotion." She feigned a yawn and stood. "I'm going to bed now. Goodnight."

Hermione watched her go, and then glanced down again at the paper in her hand.

"What's that?"

Hermione glanced up into the face of a small girl with dark curly hair whom she vaguely knew from Ginny's year. "Oh, something of Ginny Weasley's- you're in her year, aren't you?"

"Yup. Name's Jen. I'm heading up to the dorm now; if she wants it I could give it to her," the girl chirped.

"Er- that's all right, I think it was rubbish-" Hermione had started to say, but Jen had already snatched the paper from her hand and was studying it curiously.

"Looks kinda like Harry. Smitten, isn't she?" Jen remarked, turned on her heel and scampered up to the dormitory, leaving Hermione wondering just what had happened. And then she went back to her Charms homework.

Tossing her head cheerfully, Jen skipped into the first year girls' dormitory and over to Ginny's bed, where the red-haired girl lay fast asleep behind the crimson curtains. Jen, apparently oblivious to the fact that her friend was asleep, drew back a corner of the curtain and shook Ginny's arm. The girl did not awake; her face was pale and her eyes were shut tight, as if she was trapped in a nightmare, except that she didn't stir. Jen didn't seem to notice a thing, not even when Ginny fidgeted slightly, and a look of peace and utmost calm came over her face, and she lay still again; Jen merely shook her head.

"She's been sleeping far too much lately," Jen commented, tossed the paper so that it landed beside Ginny, and left.

When the remaining girl woke twenty minutes later, she discovered that the crumpled page had apparently followed her into the dormitory. Frowning thoughtfully, she picked it up, smoothed it out, and leaned back, her thoughts still lingering on the fading abstraction of the most recent dream. She couldn't quite recall what had happened, but she remembered hearing Riddle's voice, and had awoken feeling strangely peaceful, different. It reminded her of those occasions, months ago, when she would wake up with no recollection of where she was and how she had gotten there, with the diary lying open on her stomach.

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Bored, Ginny absently twirled a daisy in the air, thinking. She'd had only days to ponder her first year at Hogwarts so far; mind you, there was only a month or so left of that, but anything could happen in a month.

She'd thought about some things- the dreams, her fear of Riddle and his betrayal. It had hurt, of course, because he had been her friend, her best friend. And she had thought she had been his best friend, too.

It had scared her at the time, lingering feelings for the 'friend' who had used her, a tool in his explorations of dark magic. Now though.... it was strange, her fears had faded considerably over time, the sunlight was reality, and Tom wasn't there. He was dormant somewhere inside her mind, but she had difficulty believing that; she couldn't see him or hear him, he was gone.

Yet, for some reason, she wanted him back. She felt braver now, his smiles were kinder, at least the way she was imagining them, eyes shut tight. She wondered if he was awake yet, how easily she could fall asleep if he wanted to talk, if he'd want to talk. She imagined he would. After all, she was the only person he had contact with anymore; they would have to get to know one another better, and- she felt herself hoping- even like one another.

Riddle smiled to himself. He was watching, close enough to brush her hair with one lazy hand, had he not been pure spirit. Unbeknownst to her, he had not been asleep, but rather silently pondering her mind, listening to her thoughts and reviewing her memories, quite pleased with the outcome of things- not, of course, because he was harbouring tender feelings for her, but because he had her bewitched again. Now, he wondered, what's in this for me?

He mused over this for awhile, and then appeared to reach a conclusion that seemed to please him. Gently, he slipped his hands- little more than spirit form, not even on the same plane as her- over Ginny's eyes. She gave a soft sigh and settled into the grass, whilst he entangled himself with her mind, letting his thoughts become hers, and yet not hers, willing hers to become his. And when she was as solid as he, he pulled her into his arms and rested his head lightly on hers, closing his eyes.

Ginny was slowly growing aware of quiet breathing in her ear. She felt the heavy cloak of sleep drift away, leaving her groggy and puzzled. Her eyes fluttered open, to observe long arms twining around her waist, a warm weight against her back, someone's face burrowed in her hair. Startled, she spun around in a sort of half-turn, to catch a glimpse of pale skin and tousled locks of black hair tangled in her own locks.

"Tom?" she wondered.

One of his eyes opened, staring at her in a rather eerie sort of way. "Oh. Hello, Ginny."

"What are you doing here? Is this a dream?"

Riddle smiled, pulling slightly away from her. She shivered; he was so close now, yet was never quite close enough for her to affect emotionally as he did her. "I imagine so," he replied. "How else would we be able to meet like this?"

"I- I don't know," she confessed, eyes fixed on his. Before, contemplating him, she had forgotten the captivating aura of his grin, his eyes, something that made one want to lose oneself to him.

"Well, I don't either. So I imagine this must be a dream." He turned away, smiling quietly to see his own logic, and then thoughtfully. "You look very pretty today," he commented. "But you should wear green more often. It goes well with your hair."

With that, he flopped onto the grass and closed his eyes, seemingly asleep, leaving Ginny to stare at him numbly, shocked at the unexpected compliment. Then, with something like shy anticipation, she settled down next to him, eyes wide with amazement and adoration.

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Humming cheerfully, Ginny rearranged the items on top of her trunk, removing from it a green scarf. Tentatively, she tied it over her hair, adjusting it carefully, and then turned from the mirror.

"What are you trying to be, a Slytherin or something?" Ron questioned as he watched his sister enter the common room, raising an eyebrow.

Ginny's face fell, but she felt angry.

"No. I just like green. I'm told it looks good with my hair...."

Percy, who was lounging on a nearby armchair, his nose buried in some thick book, glanced up sharply at his brother. "It does. Shut up, Ron- you're just cross because I broke up that fight between you and Draco Malfoy in the corridors yesterday."

Ron turned and stalked down to breakfast. Ginny shot Percy a grateful smile that masked the annoyance she felt at her cowardice, the contempt she felt at having had to be defended.

"Honestly, I just don't know what's gotten into him," the Prefect muttered to himself, returning to his book. He glanced up briefly to meet Ginny's eyes. "You know he was really worried when you were taken, though. I-"

Ginny smiled, putting aside any bitter feelings. "I heard you locked yourself in your room."

Percy smiled, and shut his book. She came over to sit beside him, half on his knee. "Were you scared?" he asked. "I mean, that's a stupid question- but, what were you feeling?"

Ginny leaned forward, pondering. "Well, I was scared, of course, and hurt. I'd thought he was my friend.... To- Riddle, that is. He'd seemed to really care about me.... he listened to me. He's really sweet, he was even after I'd figured out.... who he really is. He didn't harm me...."

Percy stared at her, a tinge of worry lighting his stony features. "And you think he wouldn't have? It sounds like you're defending him."

Ginny shrugged, and silently turned away. "Well, why not?" she wondered quietly. "He's not here to defend himself to you."

Percy raised an eyebrow, both in interest and concern. He looked rather disturbed, but pressed on. "Why does he need to be defended? He kidnapped you. As I heard the story, he tried to drain you of your life. He tried to kill you, Ginny."

Ginny shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "He just wanted to live himself. He- he didn't mean any harm. I have to go now." With that, she stood and quickly strode from the room, leaving a puzzled Percy to stare after her.

******************************************************************************

"....And then he started hounding me. Asking me questions about you. He just kept pressing on and on and I got scared...."

Her eyes wide, Ginny turned back to Riddle, who was lying on his stomach on the bed, arms curled under his chin, watching her.

"And so what did you do?"

"I just.... left. He was looking at me funny."

"What- does he think you're crazy or something?"

"Probably," Ginny replied with a sigh. She collapsed to the mattress, lying on her side next to Tom. A little startled at their lack of distance from one another, she inched away, blushing. For a moment there, she almost imagined his hand entwined with hers, and then froze, pushing such thoughts away.

"Don't worry. I used to get counsellours looking strangely at me all the time, too."

"Somehow I don't find that very reassuring."

Riddle shrugged. "I guess we just have something else in common, then."

Ginny rolled over, her head buried in the blanket. "Great."

She heard her friend chuckle, and then thought of something else she wanted to ask him. She glanced up-

-but Tom was gone.

******************************************************************************

"I'm very concerned about you, Ginny. According to these psychology books I borrowed from the library, you're displaying heavy tendencies of-"

"Honestly, Percy- I'm fine!" she exclaimed, letting her bookbag drop to the floor with a loud thud. With a sigh, she sat down next to her brother.

"You most certainly are not," he replied, matter-of-factly. "Now, as I was saying, I am considering speaking to Madame Pomfrey about you."

"I'm not mad," she insisted.

"And I'm not saying you are. You just have some psychological tendencies that you need help.... altering." Percy's voice was starting to sound vaguely patronising.

"But-"

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some studying to do." With that, he stood and had gone before Ginny could speak another word; her parting remark was as if to the air.

"But- I- wait.... what problems?"

"Eh, sanity is relative, anyway."

Ginny glanced up, startled, to see her brother George sitting across the table, his chin resting upon his fist. Fred must have already gone off to class.

"Don't feel bad," he reassured her. "Percy takes things much too seriously. He's always had his wand up his-"

"George!"

"What?" But he was laughing, and so was she. After a moment, though, George sobered, looking more sympathetic.

"You know, you can talk to me, if you want. I admit I don't really know what's going on, and I don't always know what to say to make someone feel better, but I plan to listen, and I'm not going to judge you or make up some crazy analysation like Percy might."

Ginny nodded. "Thanks. I will talk to sometime- not now. I've got to get to class."

******************************************************************************

Ginny was late for Herbology that day; she had bumped into Draco Malfoy in the corridor, literally.

"Ow! Watch where you're going!" Then, spinning around, Draco caught sight of just who he had collided with, and frowned. "Oh, it's you, Muggle-lover."

"Don't call me that," Ginny snapped, eyes cold and venomous. She had just regained her footing and a partial grip on reality, and had mentally reprimanded herself for daydreaming and not paying attention to where she was walking.

"You're right. You're more like the Muggle-lover's daughter." Draco cocked his head to one side, arms folded across his chest. He was an epitome of bitterness and distaste. "So what did he think about your little rendezvous with Slytherin's Heir?"

Ginny froze. "Who told you about that?"

"Oh come on- everyone knows by now. You were kidnapped by some guy with a snake," Draco added, sneering.

Ginny relaxed very slightly, still cautious. "That's all they heard? Nothing about the diary?"

"What diary?" Draco snapped.

Ginny looked only surprised now. "You weren't told? I thought.... I dunno, Harry said something about your father taking it back...." She blinked, confused. "Was he the one who gave it to me, then?"

"Look, I don't know what you're talking about. What diary?"

"The one.... the one Tom wrote-" Suddenly something clicked. "Your father didn't tell you anything, did he? Do you even know the Heir's name?"

Draco scowled. "Shut up." With that said, he turned and strode off. Ginny noticed, though, that he had looked more than slightly jealous throughout their whole meeting.

******************************************************************************

Hmm, perhaps I've developed a heart, Riddle mused, shifting in his blankets. I must be sure to have it removed as soon as possible.

******************************************************************************

Grey. He awoke early, and it was grey out. Yet it wasn't; he was surrounded by green, green velvet curtains. And Draco Malfoy lay for a long time, swathed in green and grey, thinking.

Lucius hadn't told him anything about the Heir of Slytherin, at least not anything of substance. Most of what Draco knew he had received from picking out the truth in various rumours around the school- he was very skilled at that. But in reality he knew naught besides what most of the other Slytherins knew, and far less than Potter or that Weasley brat. She had been on a first name basis with the Heir, and Draco didn't even know the fellow's surname.

What hurt even more than that, though, was that apparently Lucius had not even trusted his own son enough to give him the details. True, Draco sometimes made mistakes, sometimes shamed his father, but he still didn't see any reason for him to have been kept in the dark about such a matter. He wanted to learn, wanted to please Lucius, but apparently was incapable of doing so, no matter how hard he tried. Draco sighed aloud, and flopped onto his side, tugging his blankets over his head. He didn't want to think about his father right then, and he figured he still had another hour or so before breakfast, so Draco decided he would get some sleep.

But try as he might, he couldn't. He tossed and turned, tangling his sheets and sending his head spinning. Focused as he was on getting some sleep, Draco didn't even notice when a hand drew back the curtains around his bed, and someone peered down at him.

"Hey- you okay? I was just passing outside your dorm on the way to the common room- you're making a lot of noise.... is it insomnia?"

Draco glanced up suddenly to meet the eyes of a slightly older boy he happened to know casually, mostly from Quidditch practises. Adrian Pucey was a few inches taller than Draco, with longish black hair tied sloppily back into a ponytail, olive skin and sharp black eyes that now looked bleary from his recent awakening.

"No, I just couldn't sleep," Draco replied earnestly, and by the time he figured out what he had just said, Adrian was smirking quite merrily. Draco glared.

"Seriously, though- what's eating you?"

Draco shrugged, and sat up. "I've just been thinking."

"'S always good," Adrian remarked, and sat down beside him, on the edge of the bed. "What about? I mean, I know it's not my place to intrude, but I'd like to hear, if you want to tell me, y'know."

Draco sighed. "It's sort of complicated. Have you heard about the Heir of Slytherin?"

Adrian chuckled. "I think everyone has by now. So what about 'im?"

"Apparently my father has a lot to do with him coming back, even if Potter killed him," Draco added, a hint of bitterness in his voice. "But my father didn't tell me anything at all. That Weasley brat knows more than I do about the whole thing."

"Well, considering the Heir kidnapped her...."

Draco shook his head. "It's not really even about the whole Heir thing. It's deeper than that- all my life I've been trying to please my father, and he hardly nods in my direction. He wants to mold me into an exact replica of himself, and gets angry because I'm not perfect. It's not like he's perfect either."

Draco sighed again, and shivered slightly, feeling almost as if Lucius had been listening, but knew he'd never say such things to his father's face. He felt very strange, and the realisation that no one other than Adrian had witnessed such a flood of words from him before. Draco had said some things he had hardly dared to think, and now felt bare, exposed.

"I hear ya. I knew your dad, sort of- he was a friend of my father's. 'Course, my dad died in Azkaban awhile back, and Mum married a Muggle. Far as I can tell, he hates me for no reason." Adrian sneered to convey his personal feelings about his stepfather, and then glanced down at Draco and brushed a lock of silvery hair out of the younger boy's eyes.

"Er- thank you," said Draco, somewhat surprised at the gesture.

"For listening or reminding you that you need to brush your hair?"

"Both," Draco replied, feeling considerably more light-hearted now.

"I do what I can." Adrian grinned. "Now, you'd better hurry and dress or you'll miss breakfast."

******************************************************************************

The occasional clinking of glass bottles, coupled with an off-key sort of humming, were the only sounds that penetrated the heavy silence of the hospital wing that afternoon, as Madam Pomfrey sorted medicinal bottles and daydreamed, until suddenly, a rather tall red-headed boy with horn-rimmed glasses burst through the door.

"Hello, dear," she said, though, putting on a smile despite her bemusement.

The boy nodded once, a ridiculously earnest expression on his face. "Percy Weasley. I'm a seventh-year Gryffindor. Now, I need your help. I think my sister is ill, Madam Pomfrey."

"Your sister?" Concerned, the mediwitch put away her bottles and turned to face Percy.

"Yes. Ginny. I think she's suffering psychologically from her experiences in the Chamber of Secrets. You remember- she was the one taken into it. I believe she slept in the hospital wing that night."

"Oh yes, the poor dear."

"Indeed. I was hoping either you could help, or direct me to a therapist."

Madam Pomfrey frowned slightly, thoughtful. "What sorts of ailments is she showing symptoms of?"

Percy's eyes narrowed slightly at the memory the mediwitch's words brought back. "Well, judging from how only a few days ago she chattered on about how sweet the Heir of Slytherin had been to her and how 'he isn't all bad,' I'd say she's suffering from a case of Stockholm Syndrome. I'm not entirely sure of what else she may be suffering from, but her behaviour lately has not been healthy."

Madam Pomfrey shook her head, clucking her tongue in sympathy. "Poor darling. I'll make arrangements for her to talk with someone who will be able to help very soon."

Percy nodded. "Thank you. The Heir- frankly, it's disgusting the way she fawns over his memory, I- I appreciate your help."

The mediwitch turned back to her bottles and vials of draughts. "You are obviously very concerned for your sister, but you'd really best go now, Mr Weasley. I will speak with you later."

Percy nodded, and silently, briskly, left the room, promptly bumping into the very person he had been speaking of only a minute ago.

"Ginny! Er- what's that for?"

Ginny glanced down at the bandage on her arm. "This? Herbology lesson. I got scratched up by some thorns, but it doesn't hurt at all. Professor Sprout tied this up, though, and sent me down to the hospital wing."

"Oh. Well, I'll see you later, then." Percy strode past her, down the corridor. As he was turning a corner, he heard her call out a goodbye to him. He smiled, and walked on, too far away to hear anything clearly when another voice, lazy and male, sounded.

"Doesn't hurt at all, does it?"

"Not anymore," Ginny replied. "Thank you, Tom."

"Don't mention it. I'm only concerned for you, love. I don't want you to feel any unnecessary pain."

******************************************************************************

Ginny couldn't sleep. She'd been lying awake for several hours now, ever since she'd climbed into bed and turned off the light. Heavy curtains drawn about her bed, the room was like pitch, but still it was as if someone were shining a bright light in her eyes. She just couldn't sleep.

The excited whispering of her roommates had died down awhile ago, and she was just getting used to the quiet when she heard the soft creak of bedsprings, and felt someone's weight beside her, on the edge of the bed.

"Hello?" she whispered, drawing the blankets up close to her chin. "Who's there?"

She could sense someone's presence, somehow feel him or her turn to face her, the barest glint of moonlight through the window and the disturbed curtains revealing the dark, distorted shape of the figure to her.

"Hello," a soft voice murmured lazily, and Ginny shivered slightly in relief.

"Oh.... Tom. It's you. Wait- how did you get here? Is this another dream?"

Riddle inched closer. "I imagine so. Like last time, how else would we be able to be together?"

Ginny shrugged, and then frowned- Riddle's long hand had snaked up to gently stroke her cheek, and, with he much closer to her now, she heard him continue.

"Intense, I suppose, as our own desires to meet must be, I doubt they would be enough to give me a physical form. Although.... emotion can be a very, very powerful thing, can it not?"

Ginny shivered slightly, both at his words and the fact that he had inched closer now, enough so that she could feel his breath on her skin.

"I- I suppose so, Tom...."

"Not sure, are you? Well, let me show you how right I am. What are you feeling now, Ginny?"

"Frankly, Tom?"

She was sitting straight up now, trying to shrug Riddle's arm off her waist and tugging the blankets tightly around her. She heard him hiss directly into her ear, "Yes, Ginny."

"Well, Tom.... right now I'm feeling frightened."

"Are you? Of me?" At this last comment, she could detect what sounded like a hint of pleasure in his voice, but brushed it away, regarding it as merely her imagination.

"Ye- yes, sort of.... and kind of falling asleep. I've been afraid of that for awhile now, I think- before it was because of you, but you come no matter what...."

"Poor dear." Riddle's voice, though, was chilly and slick like cold silver.

Ginny was silent, still and apprehensive, almost waiting for what he'd say next. When he didn't speak, she offered to fill the silence.

"Tom? Are you.... going now?"

"You want me to leave? I wasn't planning on it."

He felt her turn away, and frowned, eyes narrowing. Riddle tugged on her arm roughly, turning her to face him again, and slowly smiled.

"Ginny- do you remember when you used to bring the diary under your covers, with a lighted wand, and we would talk?"

The girl nodded, and then realised he couldn't see her through the darkness. "Yes."

"Well, I'm not held captive inside the diary anymore. However, I was wondering if you would mind if I come under your blankets with you, and we chat until you fall asleep?"

"I guess.... if you want to...."

"Good. I would be delighted to be with you, Ginny. Come now, let me in."

Feeling only the slightest nagging doubt, Ginny released her iron grip on her covers, sliding them back to let Riddle crawl in under them. When he was lying there beside her, still and warm, her doubts faded away, to let the soft grey comforter of sleep begin to slip over the two. Gently, Riddle drew the blanket over the both of them, concealing the pair in the secret, dark little world they shared. Shyly, she rested her head on his chest, and he slid his arms around her, and the two lay there in cozy silence for a long while.

"Tired?" he murmured some time later, feeling somewhat tired himself.

"Just a little," she replied, sounding half-asleep. "Tom- aren't we supposed to be talking?"

"Do you want to talk about something in particular?"

She yawned, and he felt her weight grow stiller against his chest. "Would you tell me a story, Tommie?"

"Er.... all right, Ginny.... what sort of story do you want to hear?"

"I want to hear a happy story. A fairy tale."

"All right, Ginny. I've got one."

Smiling, she snuggled into Riddle's arms and waited for him to begin.

"Once upon a time, there was a girl named Virginia. She was very sweet and pretty, albeit rather naive. She lived with her parents and older brothers in a small house, and they were quite poor but very happy. One day, though, her father had to go on a business trip into the city, and asked each of his children what they wanted him to bring back. The older boys asked for various things, broomsticks and Chocolate Frogs, and Percy of course wanted books. Virginia, however, requested a single red rose."

"Did I?" Ginny asked sleepily.

"Yes, indeed you did," Riddle replied, smiling in spite of himself. "And on his way home, Virginia's father stopped at a nearby manor, because it was raining and the poor fellow didn't want to be soaked anymore than he already was. So he went inside without even knocking and made himself at home. The estate appeared empty, but of course Virginia's father didn't know its history or anything, or that it had once been the residence of.... er- Lord Thomas. But anyway, he happened to catch sight of a red rose, freshly cut, lying there on the table, of all places. Thinking only of his daughter, Virginia's father snatched up the rose, and just as he did, the savage hissing of a beast split the air, and said beast came bounding up. Now, this particular beast happened to be the owner of the manor, and he was very enraged at Virginia's father having stolen the rose. But the thief explained his motives, how he had merely wanted to give the rose to his only daughter, and the beast decided it would be best if either Virginia or her father were to stay with him, to pay him back for the theft of the rose. The beast, though, secretly knew he would prefer it if Virginia would come to stay, because the beast was actually not a beast, merely a very handsome young man who had had a curse put on him for being the teensiest bit cruel to a load of worthless, ignorant peasants. This was, of course, Lord Thomas.... did I mention he was handsome?"

"You did, Tom," Ginny replied with a yawn. "And you are.... who went to stay with the beast?"

Smirking quietly to himself over this compliment from the girl, half asleep as she was, Riddle continued.

"Why, Virginia did, because as well as being very sweet, she was quite brave. So, she lived with the beas- er, Lord Thomas- for quite awhile, and he was very kind to her. Soon, she grew to like him very much, and he was very pleased, because the sorceress who had placed the curse upon him.... something about looking just as he was inside and what not, something Dorian Gray-ish like that.... anyway, she had said that the only way to break it was for someone to love him for who he truly was. Lord Thomas was hoping he could somehow convince Virginia to fall in love with him, and marry him. Then, he supposed, the curse would be broken and he could live life as he always had. Er.... except with her there too."

"Who's Dorian Gray?" Ginny asked.

"Er- never mind, sweetie. Character in a Muggle novel I read years ago.... I'll tell you more tomorrow. Now, continuing....

"But one day Virginia received word that her father was sick, and she wanted to go home immediately. She had grown to care for Lord Thomas, but she missed her family often, and when her father fell ill she demanded him to let her free. He did so, and she went back home. Lord Thomas made her promise, though, to return within one week's time, lest something awful happen. She agreed, but the moment she left, something awful did happen. Lord Thomas found himself missing Virginia terribly; without her he had started to lack the desire to eat or sleep, and he became very depressed. He soon realised that he had fallen in love with the girl. He was a wimp, wasn't he, Ginny?"

"I think it's romantic," Ginny murmured.

"Yeah, you would," Riddle replied, playfully ruffling her hair.

"What happened next, Tommie?" she asked, yawning.

"Well, Virginia returned to find her beast lying listlessly on the floor, at the verge of death. My, he's obsessive, isn't he? Well, she was in tears to see him like this, and pulled his limp body close and kissed him, and told Lord Thomas she loved him. And then, he changed back into the.... handsome.... young man he had been, and the two married. They were very much in love, but throughout their marriage, which lasted until their untimely deaths, the burial of their entwined bodies and the returning of their rotting flesh to the earth, Lord Thomas was rather henpecked, and became so sappy that now, at the end of this story, I am ashamed to share my name with the fellow. The end."

Ginny smiled sleepily. "Thank you, Tommie. I know it was painful for you to tell a happy story."

Riddle glanced down. "Eh, it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be," he mumbled, shrugging. "The ending was rather cheap, though- can I change it?"

She merely giggled in response to his question. "You'll have to tell me another one sometime. I like to hear you talk," she added, closing her eyes, her head resting on Riddle's chest. The most microscopic of smiles curling his lips, he tightened his grip on her slightly, and sighed.

They lay in silence for awhile, before her voice broke the still air.

"Her name wasn't really Virginia, was it?"

"No," he replied. "It was Beauty. No difference."

"And his name wasn't Sir Thomas."

"No. Close enough, though."

Again, the silence fell over the two, and after awhile he began to wonder if she had fallen asleep. He shook her shoulder gently, but she hardly stirred. His smile grew slightly, and he snuggled back into the blankets.

"Goodnight, Virginia. Sleep well."

And so she did, but he could not. Riddle lay there in the darkness for a long time, contemplating recent events.

She was sleeping so peacefully now, lying snugly swathed in binding sheets, ginger locks spilling over her cheek. He reached down and brushed them away. His porcelain skin moving over hers, one long nail happened to catch her flesh and draw blood.

It seemed impure, sacrilegious, like a chip in the flesh of some china doll. Yet, despite or perhaps because of this, he was fascinated by the red. There was only a little, but enough to taint her, relieve her of some innocence.

Again, he had hurt her- not emotionally this time, and not even with intent to do so. Riddle frowned; Ginny had hardly stirred, and perhaps she was used to him by this time. Suddenly, he found he didn't like the red anymore; it tainted her. But it would feed him, nourish him with hate and pain and sadness, and leave her. Leaning down, over her, he brought his face close to hers, licked her cheek and tasted blood.