Faith Of The Utmost

Faith of the Utmost

Bang.

Ginny Weasley slammed the little black book shut with a vehemence that one would not expect from such a petite girl. Shaking, the young girl inched backwards from the desk on which the book was placed. “I hate you, Tom,” she said aloud. Her voice was uncertain and frightened but poorly covered up with a layer of decisiveness she didn’t feel. She tried not to pay attention to the fact that her skin was prickled with goose bumps and her hands were trembling. “I…hate…you,” she repeated, more quietly.

Ginny, why haven’t you been writing; don’t you like me anymore?…how far would you go for me, Ginny?…you’ve not been writing, Ginny, have you been unfaithful to me?…

Of course I like you, Tom, haven’t I written nearly every day? I’d not do that if I didn’t like you…I don’t know, Tom…I would never betray you, Tom. Never…

She didn’t understand Tom. Sad as it was, Ginny’s best friend was someone who she did not trust, who frightened her, someone who she no longer even liked anymore. Oh, yes, every day Ginny hastened to assure Tom that she did like him, but she always felt…pressured into it. As if she didn’t agree, bad things would happen…

But that was ridiculous, wasn’t it? Tom was only a memory, not a true, living, breathing person. What could he do to her? Why did she feel as though she had to please him, in everything she did? He had seemed so terribly disappointed when she’d told him that she’d been Sorted into Gryffindor. Ginny had been so upset over his disappointment in her that she’d spent an hour crying into her pillow and cursing the Sorting Hat.

But why? Nobody had that effect on Ginny. Nobody. This kind of experience was so new, so different. She’d never encountered anyone—or anything—like Tom before. He was so polite, so charming with his refined sort of manner and insistence to help her through all her problems.

Yet he truly scared her. Ginny wasn’t sure what it was about him, but the Tom of recent times was a far cry from the Tom she’d known and loved, who she’d confided all her most private secrets in. Less open, more mysterious. More adamant, less understanding.

Yes, something about Tom spooked Ginny.

It was dark in the girls’ dormitory. Sinister silhouettes leaped out at her everywhere, and timid Ginny was easily alarmed. Shivering, but not from the cold, Ginny pulled her wand and whispered, “Lumos,” a charm that Tom had taught her a few weeks ago. Yes, she remembered that conversation…

It’s very dark in here, Tom. I’m rather frightened. Please, can’t I write to you elsewhere? Perhaps I can sit by the lake; it’s lovely outside.

No. Stay where you are, Ginny. Perform the Illumination Charm if you like – just point your wand and say “Lumos”. Anyway, do stay. I’ve something quite important to show you.

Ginny’s curiosity had been piqued in spite of herself, and reluctantly she’d agreed. All right, Tom. What is it?

But as much as Ginny concentrated, when she attempted to relive the rest of that specific memory, she’d drawn on a complete blank. It was strange, very strange…

What Ginny needed was answers. She had to understand what on earth was going on, or else she would possibly be driven mad. And much as she hated to admit it, Ginny suspected that the only one who held the key to unlock all the mysterious secrets was Tom.

Tentatively she edged towards the diary again. The black rectangular object lay there on the table, seeming so harmless. Anyone who passed by would surely think Ginny was mad, to look so terrified of a diary.

But she was. Oh, but if only they knew…

Ginny stepped forward decisively and flipped open the diary, with the sort of steadfast determination that is so often found in Gryffindors…and Slytherins. She picked up her quill with quaking fingers and dipped it carefully in a bottle of scarlet ink. Then she touched the quill to the paper. She let her hand pause there for a moment, unmoving. A small blot of ink formed as Ginny contemplated what to say.

But she found that she didn’t have to, as Tom was apparently writing out a greeting to her. She leaned closer to the diary, reading the flowing emerald-green script racing across the page.

That wasn’t very nice of you to do that to me, Ginny. I thought all you Gryffindors had perfect manners, and though Ginny couldn’t be sure, she thought she hinted some sarcasm in his words. Of course, she had no way to tell.

She thought for a moment, then scrawled a reply. Not all of us, Tom. I do seem to recall you saying that you were a Slytherin back in your time. Well, Slytherins aren’t exactly perfect either. You’re being both hypocritical and stereotypical at once, Tom.

His response came quickly. Oh, but aren’t you an intelligent little girl, Ginny. Most girls your age aren’t that astute.

Ginny’s answer was short and matter-of-fact. I’m smart.

Yes, I gathered from when you first wrote in me. But, Ginny, you’re avoiding the subject now.

What subject?

Why did you slam me shut like that? You know I don’t like it.

To this Ginny was rather at a loss as to how to reply. Thoughtfully she tapped her quill against the redwood desk. Then she was struck by inspiration and scribbled away. I’m very sorry, Tom. But I’m was in the Gryffindor common room and Ron – he’s my older brother, in case you forgot —was hovering over my shoulder. I thought it’d be best to move. Don’t worry; I’m in the girls’ dormitory now, by myself. At least that last part was true, Ginny thought wryly.

That’s a lie.

Ginny’s mouth fell open as her eyes flitted over those three words. A lie? How—how on earth could he tell? Was she that transparent, even in her writing? Ginny was rendered quite dumb for a while and couldn’t formulate a proper retort. All she could do was read his further accusations.

Yes, that’s a lie, Ginny. You’re lying to me. Have you been unfaithful to me too, as well as fibbing to me?

There it was again. The question “Have you been unfaithful to me?” He asked it every day, as though he considered Ginny all his own, not to be touched and spoken to by anyone else. Gritting her teeth, Ginny clenched her quill in her hand and ground out an answer.

How dare you accuse me of that. She considered adding a curled line above the period, signifying an interrogation mark, but decided against it. Let it stay a cold, flat statement as opposed to a horrified, indignant question.

As Ginny had guessed, Tom’s response was full of apologies and regret that was most likely false. I didn’t mean that, Ginny, dear. I’m terribly sorry. Please forgive me, I honestly do regret that. Oh, but don’t I feel so guilty and contrite!

With a sigh, Ginny relented. She knew that she’d never be able to get anything out of Tom if she didn’t accept. Apology accepted, Tom, she wrote, each word puncturing her self-confidence. It doesn’t matter.

Oh, good. Thank you, you’re a true friend.

A true friend. Ginny snorted, glad that Tom couldn’t hear her. A true friend, indeed! Perhaps she had been one to Tom, but the respect and friendship had most definitely not been mutual, as he always claimed. On the contrary, she felt that Tom privately scorned and condescended over her. However, she wrote, Thanks, Tom. You are, too.

By the way, Ginny, you didn’t answer my question—I know now why you slammed me shut like that, but I thought you were betraying me before. Just wondering…are you?

Ginny sighed as she chewed on the end of her quill. She should have known he’d come back to that wretched question. What she wouldn’t give to tell him that yes, she’d been unfaithful; in fact, she’d started up a Diary Burning Society and he was to be their first test experiment. But she knew she couldn’t. Not only because she wanted something out of him, but also because Ginny could feel a connection between them, some faint ray of energy shared between them. Or perhaps generating from one and flowing into another….

No, she answered.

Tom seemed satisfied with her one-word response. That’s good to hear, Ginny. That’s very, very good to hear.

* * * * *

Ginny shivered and pulled her cloak around her further, trying to stimulate some warmth. She was huddled inside Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, and it was horribly cold inside. She didn’t want to be here, yet something seemed to propel her feet towards the deserted girls’ bathroom. For some reason, she wanted to write to Tom here.

And she was certain that the reason was not of her personal accord, but had something to do with him.

Ginny took the little black diary from her pocket and pulled out a quill and a small bottle of scarlet ink. She opened up the diary, dipped her quill in ink and began writing.

Hallo, Tom! It’s me. Oh, she sounded so bright and cheerful. And innocent. Innocence was something that Ginny felt was being tugged away from her every time she “spoke” with Tom. She was maturing fast, and not physically but emotionally. In a way that made her world-weary of her naïve roommates who were aged eleven both bodily and mentally.

Hello, Ginny. What’ve you been up to lately?

Ah. There was the question; phrased differently, more subtly, but still there. Tom was very clever, she had to give him that. One might have not even noticed the regular question in the way he’d worded it, if they did not have Ginny’s sharp prudence born of living with six older brothers. Ginny sighed despairingly and began composing her response, being careful to word it just so, as to not alarm Tom that she was slipping out of his clutches. Not too much, Tom. Charlie owled me today. He’s off having great fun being burnt by dragons and all.

Charlie…he’s your eldest brother, isn’t he?

Ginny was rather irritated at this. Did Tom think so little of her that he didn’t even bother learning the chronology of her brothers? She decided to let it slip by unnoticed, as she wasn’t in the mood to hear his polite apologies. Yes, Tom. She paused, then threw in a, It’s wonderful how well you know me, for good measure. Argh. She sounded like such a trusting, doe-eyed little girl. But, she reminded herself, it was all necessary to get answers to her many questions.

Thanks, Ginny. I always like to know my closest friends inside out; it’s really nothing special.

At this Ginny honestly thought she might vomit. So saccharine and clichéd…perhaps Tom wasn’t that good an actor after all.

Curved, graceful handwriting was flowing across the page again. Resignedly, Ginny read Tom’s words, prepared to respond with something just as trite and bland. You’re loyal to me, aren’t you, Ginny?

She should have known. Ginny touched her quill to the diary and wrote, Yes, of course, Tom. You know me. I’d never betray you.

Oh, but would you?

Ginny blinked. Well, well. Good old, unpredictable Tom. Just when Ginny thought she had him pinned down, he’d surprised her again. Then again, at this point Ginny thought that she’d be shocked if Tom didn’t surprise her every other day. Still, “oh, but would you?” was definitely a good change from “yes, I’m sure you wouldn’t, Ginny, I was just checking!”

Sadly, she herself couldn’t reply with something unusual as well. Tom would zero in on it and begin to get suspicious of her, thus losing her advantage in being taken for simply the gullible, cheery eleven-year-old.

Ginny’s lips curved up into a smile as she realized what exactly she was doing. She was actually being manipulative, an adjective that had never been used to describe any Weasley, let alone the youngest and only girl. Oh, but what would her mother think if she knew what her little girl was up to at Hogwarts…

No, of course I wouldn’t, Tom. You’re my best friend. I trust you.

That means a lot to me…. if it were true, that is. I’ll ask you again, Ginny, and this time…will you be so sure when you answer?

A shiver of fear ran down Ginny’s spine. Was Tom aware that she was attempting to outwit him, use him to her advantage? If he was, then…then…well, then Ginny wasn’t sure what would happen, but she was certain that it would be nothing good. With an unsteady hand she wrote out her response: I’m sure, Tom. I would always tell you the truth.

Would you, indeed? and even Tom’s handwriting seemed off, more severely jagged and less pleasantly curly.

Ginny’s hand trembled as she reached to answer. Yes, Tom.

That’s good, Ginny. I thank you.

You’re welcome.

And so if you appear so certain…then let’s test your loyalty.

* * * * *

She was leaving, drifting…hazy memories swirled by crazily in a wild cacophony of blurred color. Ginny cried out, but nothing reverberated from her lips, no sound waves crashing and disturbing the eerie silence. She was floating, free, but not truly broken from the strings of life.

A soft *click* sounded, and a faint, colored shadow of a form appeared in front of her. Instinctively Ginny screamed, and to her surprise this time the sound did fly from her mouth, and she heard it clearly.

She felt her mind being probed experimentally, and though she did her best she could not prevent it from happening. “Who are you?” whispered Ginny to the shadow. The shadow seemed so familiar, as though she had met him or her before but forgotten…

The shadow ventured closer, and Ginny could see it clearer now. It was a tall boy of perhaps sixteen. Ginny caught her breath; he looked so much like Harry Potter. Dark black hair, bright emerald-green eyes. But this boy’s eyes glinted with something like coldness and malice. And yes, he was handsome. Extremely so, actually, in that mysterious enigma sort of way. Ginny felt herself reaching out for him, her hands moving to grasp his. She needed to touch him, to make sure that he was real and tangible; yet she was already sure that he was, for how could Ginny be so fiercely attracted to one that was not physically real…?

She pressed her small pale hands into his, and let out a shriek when a stinging jolt of pain hit her. Ginny pulled her hands away quickly.

A short laugh from him broke the surprised silence. Ginny caught her breath as she heard it. How could a single laugh—a sound meant to express mirth—convey so much cruelty and malevolence? She tilted her head up, determinedly meeting his emerald gaze. “I ask you again,” Ginny stated, trying to keep her voice firm, “because you didn’t answer me the first time. Who are you?”

The boy seemed amused at this. “Why, don’t you remember me, Ginny dear?” he mocked, all but spitting out the last two words. “After all those nights confiding your deep, dark secrets…those other little meetings that no longer linger in your memory…. Really, Virginia. If you weren’t such a pathetic specimen of life, I might actually be hurt.”

Ginny’s lip trembled. “No,” she whispered. “You aren’t—you can’t be—”

“Oh, but I am,” he sneered. He spread his arms. “Ginny…darling…meet Tom Riddle, your best friend.”

Oh, my…I should have realized…what an idiot I am…and you call yourself a Gryffindor, Ginny Weasley! These were the thoughts running through Ginny’s head. She berated herself mentally many times over, her harsh thoughts directed to herself used to ignore the fact that she was breaking into shattered little Ginny-pieces. All those times he had questioned her faith…what did he want from her? He’d already crushed her spirit, just by a few words spoken callously. She honestly didn’t want to think of other things he could do to her…

“Yes, it’s me,” smirked Tom, completely in his element. “Really, Ginny. I do wish I hadn’t had to wipe your memory of our last meetings.”

Those last words managed to jolt Ginny out of her shocked reverie. “Last meetings?” she repeated in a daze. Her forehead creased in confusion. “What…what do you mean by that? I’ve never seen you before. And I’m glad of that,” she murmured under her breath.

Tom didn’t seem to hear her last sentence, or if he did, he didn’t acknowledge it. “You really should listen better, my dear,” Tom said contemptuously. “I did mention that I had wiped your memory. Of course I had to do it, you see.”

“Why?”

Tom grabbed her forcefully by the shoulders. “Don’t you understand, darling Ginny?” he hissed, his voice full of condescension.

Ginny blinked. No, she didn’t understand. She didn’t understand what he was talking about, she didn’t understand what was going on, and she especially didn’t understand the blazing fire radiating inside her, pressurizing her into reaching out for Tom, telling her that it was the only way to understand. She felt his hands gripping her shoulders tighter and tighter, and wanted to scream, for his touch was burning her yet she didn’t want him to pull away. The obvious attraction to him was a mystery to her. It felt as though with one touch he was tugging at Ginny’s soul and that she was losing consciousness. She was scorching hot now, and wanted desperately to pull away. But some deep corner of her mind was insisting that she stay, stay in his clutches…

“Well, then,” whispered Tom. “We’ll just have to make you understand,” and as soon as the last word left his lips he pulled her small body towards him roughly. He seized the back of her head and tilted her face upwards forcibly.

In one fluid movement Tom bent his head and touched his lips to Ginny’s in an aggressive, brusque kiss. He pressed his lips against hers so hard that she was sure they were bruising, and the fire inside her became stronger. Tom grasped her thin face in his hands and to her horror, Ginny found that the fire she had thought was only imagined was real, and it was swallowing her up with every passing second that Tom kissed her.

Tears streamed down Ginny’s cheeks. She’d never, not even in her wildest dreams, thought that her kiss would have been from a memory, from someone so brutal and malicious who didn’t even exist. Blazing blue flames licked at her freckled skin hungrily, lapping her up. Tom finally broke away, but it was too late, she was lost to the raging flames.

With a vicious laugh, Tom stepped into the flames that were Ginny Weasley’s soul and embraced them, making them his.

* * * * *

Ginny woke up with a jolt in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. Cautiously she pressed a hand to her temple and started when she felt the burning heat of her skin, and the sweat drenching it. Ginny glanced around in disorientation; what was she doing there? She looked down and saw her owl feather quill laying on the floor, and a small black object half-hidden under her leg.

Ginny reached down and picked it up uncertainly – and dropped it back to the ground again as if it was a red-hot coal.

It was Tom’s diary.

For some reason she couldn’t comprehend, Ginny didn’t want to even touch it anymore. It was not the little book that frightened her, but the—the kind of monsterthat lived inside it. Ginny shuddered. Waves of dread washed over her, drowning her in an ocean of terror. And in that metaphoric ocean it was not the god Poseidon or Neptune or any other that ruled…

…but Tom.

Ginny sat there for a moment, staring numbly at the seemingly harmless diary. She sat and stared and sat and stared, not knowing exactly what to do.

Destroy it. A little voice in the back of her mind whispered those words, and Ginny shivered. Did she dare? Would anything happen? Though Ginny was not sure, she didn’t think she had the courage necessary to do it.

Ginny pointed her wand at it. “Accio!” she whispered, and the book flew from the ground to hover in front of her. Despite the situation, a smile touched Ginny’s lips. She hadn’t thought that she had actually the skill to perform a Summoning Charm, which was of a fourth-year standard. However, Ginny did excel at Charms, so she supposed it wasn’t that unusual.

Ginny opened her book bag and maneuvered it so that it caught up the diary inside it, as she was still unwilling to touch the diary. Zipping the book bag closed, she slung it over her shoulder and walked out of the bathroom.

* * * * *

Ginny sat crossed-legged on her bed in the first-year girls’ dormitory with the bed curtains closed, ignoring the cheerful chatter coming from the direction of her roommates’ beds. Tom’s diary sat closed in front of her, untouched. She hadn’t dared to write in it ever since Justin Finch-Fletchley and Nearly Headless Nick had been discovered, a few weeks ago.

When Ginny had seen them, she’d just barely managed to swallow her screams and ran away as fast as she could, not daring to be found at the scene of the crime. In the end, Harry Potter and Peeves the poltergeist had been the first (besides her, of course) to find them. She’d not told anyone that she’d found them first. Ginny wasn’t sure why, but she didn’t feel that it was the right thing to do. For one thing, if one of her older brothers – especially Percy – found out that her innocent eleven-year-old eyes had seen the Petrified victims, they’d be horribly overprotective of her. They’d attempt to shield her in any way possible from the crimes at hand, so to speak. And that she really didn’t want.

Ginny sighed, not taking her gaze off the black diary. What was she to do with it? And she wasn’t referring to the diary when speaking of “it”, but Tom. She’d recently taken to thinking of Tom as not a human being (which he wasn’t anyway) but a thing. Ginny wasn’t sure of the reason. It had happened unconsciously, and now she didn’t bother trying to change her impulsive instincts.

Destroy the diary. There was that small voice again, more insistent this time. That was the logical thing to do, yes…but could she? To be painfully honest, Ginny didn’t think that she could. There was still a bond between she and Tom, some sort of faint line of energy connecting the two. Ginny couldn’t comprehend it; all she knew that it existed and she wasn’t sure if she was strong enough to break it.

Have you been unfaithful, Ginny? You’re loyal to me, aren’t you? Ginny, would you ever betray me? Tom’s words ran through her head like a broken record. She no longer wanted answers from him; all she wanted was some peace of mind. And Ginny thought the only way to do that was to get rid of the thing causing her distress – Tom.

It all comes back to him, doesn’t it? thought Ginny bitterly. She was honestly beginning to loathe Tom. She loathed Tom, yet couldn’t find the nerves to perform the task of destroying the wretched thing.

Ginny tilted her head to one side, thinking hard. Hang on…I don’t have to destroy it, per se…what if I simply rid myself of it by throwing it out?

A small smile formed on Ginny’s lips. She could do that – that way, she wasn’t exactly obliterating Tom, as she could never do that, but she’d finally be free of him, something she didn’t think she’d ever be. She wouldn’t have to see the diary on her bed or in her bag every day, wouldn’t have to deal with it…yes, throwing it away was the right thing to do.

But where? If she simply threw it into the rubbish bins, one of the Hogwarts house-elves might pick it up, and the last thing Ginny wanted was to give the anguish Tom inflicted to an innocent creature.

Suddenly, Ginny was hit with inspiration again, and she thought of the one place in Hogwarts that nobody ventured into.

* * * * *

“My friendly, card-carrying cupids!” beamed Professor Lockhart, throwing an arm out in the direction of the dozen surly-looking dwarves. They were dressed up in gold wings and each carried a small harp. “They will be roving around the school today delivering your valentines! And the fun doesn’t stop here! I’m sure my colleagues will want to enter into the spirit of the occasion!Why not ask Professor Snape to show you how to whip up a Love Potion! And while you’re at it, Professor Flitwick knows more about Entrancing Enchantments than any wizard I’ve ever met, the sly old dog!”

Ginny laughed at Snape’s venomous glare and the way Professor Flitwick buried his face in his arms in humiliation. To think of the deadly Potions master discussing the effects of a Love Potion and actually feeding a student one…well, that was nearly too much to bear.

“I’m sending one to Seamus Finnigan,” giggled one of her roommates, Lilianne Mintyn. “D’you think he’d like a limerick? Or just a cute little message?”

Another Gryffindor first-year girl, Annette Berenson, shrieked loudly at Lilianne’s sentiments. “Lili, no!” she squealed. “He’s a whole year older than us!” Annette seemed to consider this a huge age difference.

“What about you, Ginny?” asked Lilac Wingman, a quieter and somewhat more mature classmate. “Sending a valentine to anyone?”

“Oh, come on, Lilac,” Annette barged in before Ginny could answer. “We all knowwhom Gin fancies,” she added, sending a sly glance at Ginny. “So, Ginny, want me to help you compose something for Harry?”

Ginny rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “Oh, do shut up, Annette,” she replied mildly, though she was smiling. “Besides, Roger Davies might get upset if he finds out his little admirer is composing valentines to the Boy Who Lived.”

“Oh, yes,” Lilianne jumped in. “I honestly don’t see why you bother with him, Anne—he’s in fifth year! He’ll never notice you? And you were saying that Seamus is a quote, whole year older, unquote?”

“Yes, but I just have a crush on Roger,” Annette answered loftily. “I’m very much aware it’ll never happen, thank you. You want the heavy-relationship thing with Seamus.”

Lilianne simply gave a wry grin in return.

Ginny poured herself a glass of pumpkin juice, only half-listening to her roommates prattle on about Valentine’s Day. She was thinking of Tom, and how if she had told him that Lockhart was sponsoring dwarf-delivered valentines, he’d ask oh-so-casually if she was going to send one to anyone. Ginny would then, of course, have to insist that she’d never do something as ridiculous as that, pretending that that was the only reason why and that it wasn’t a “matter of faith”, as Tom liked to call lots of things.

Ginny sipped at her pumpkin juice thoughtfully. Actually…she was free of Tom now, wasn’t she? Ginny hadn’t been planning to send any valentines despite her friends’ teasing, but now that she considered it…why not? It was all in good fun, after all.

And it would also be sort of a seal on her freedom. To send a valentine to someone else was to betray him…to ignore his spiels of unfaithfulness…to truly be rid of him.

It was hardly a choice at all.

Ginny put down her glass of orange juice and stood up, slinging her book bag over her left shoulder briskly. “I’m going off to Herbology early, okay?” she told Lilac. “See you there.”

“All right, then. See you later, Ginny.”

Ginny hurried out of the Great Hall, trying to catch the attention of a “cupid” who was striding down the corridor. “Please, wait!” she called. “I’ve a valentine I’d like you to deliver…”