Close Your Eyes, Cover Your Ears, and Pretend

I let the beast in too soon

I don't know how to live without my hand on his throat

I fight him always and still

Oh darling, it's so sweet

You think you know how crazy

How crazy I am

You say you don't spook easy

You won't go, but I know

And I pray that you will

Fast as you can, baby

Run - free yourself of me

Fast as you can

Chapter One
And So It Begins

Well, it all began during Ginny's fourth year. As mentioned before, Tom was stuck. He was inside her head, tired and powerless. He often chose to ignore her actions, ignore her words. They meant nothing to him now. Most things he heard from her weren't directed at him; therefore, he gained no strength from them.

Besides - he was too depressed to really care. He still wanted to bring an end to the one who had caused his own end. In his mind, this meant both his creator and the demise of his creator. But he couldn't make her do that. He didn't know how.

He knew he couldn't leave. He had tried and tried and tried again. All he accomplished was giving her a headache. So what was the use?

He was soon, however, to find motivation and his goal. What he needed now was power.

Things were normal in the beginning.

In the beginning, as according to Ginny, she would wake up and talk to the first person she talked to every morning since the beginning of her fifth year, Rebecca, in the next bed over, and not see her again for most of the day. She would get up, shower, and go down to breakfast, and usually sit somewhere near Hermione. She would attend her classes, work on her assignments, and spend a perfectly good half of an afternoon gazing at Harry, doing her homework in between glimpses. She would go to bed with good thoughts in her head and high hopes for the future.

So what happened?

Ginny leaned out of her dormitory window Tuesday, which was almost in perfect view range with the Quidditch field. Practice was on. She scanned the field for the seeker, finding him in an instant. Clad in his Quidditch robes and uniforms, broom casually swung over his shoulder.... She swooned at him like this almost every morning. The "almost" is simply because practice wasn't everyday. In fact, it was Sunday, Tuesday, and Thursday. From six A.M. to eight A.M., seven to nine on Sundays. She memorized the whole schedule within the first week of school, getting up early every morning and making note of when she saw the Gryffindor team on the field.

She admitted that her obsession with him was only getting worse, but she figured that she wasn't doing anyone harm. So she got up, every Sunday and Tuesday and Thursday morning, and sat on her window seal.

A sudden voice behind her made her jump.

"I think he likes you," whispered Rebecca one morning. Ginny spun around to see her friend standing over her shoulder. She looked at Rebecca in disbelief. How did she always do that, sneak up on people? I'd love to know how to do that.

"Becky," she said silently in alarm. "What are you doing awake?"

"What are you doing awake, Gin?" prompted Becky. "Goggling over your favourite celebrity at practice, are we?"

In the dim light of the dawn, Ginny blushed slightly and turned back to the field.

"How did you know it was him?" she demanded quietly.

"To be frank," explained Becky, "If you were staring at anyone else, it would be looked at as either lesbianism, incest, or insanity."

Ginny shot her a horrified look.

"Wow, that is frank," she said sarcastically.

"Oh, I know."

"But there is Colin Creevey. He's on the team now. See?"

Ginny pointed out the boy, already on his broom and floating up near the goal post.

"Insanity," she said with a smirk. "You don't like Colin, do you?"

Ginny shrugged indifferently. "He's nice, but..."

"He's not Harry?"

"Exactly."

"Oh, I see. So you do this every morning?"

Ginny shook her head, only vaguely listening as Harry mounted his broom. "Only on Sundays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays," she said, a far away expression displayed on her face. "From six to eight, seven to nine on the weekend..."

Becky glanced at her, her dark eyes sparkling from behind her glasses. She then shook her head.

"You're so weird, Ginny."

Ginny wasn't really paying attention, causing her to absently respond, "Thanks."

Becky looked at her strangely and then at the field with her.

"But seriously, I think he might fancy you."

This caught Ginny's regard once more. Her heart skipped a beat. "Really? Why do you think that?"

"Well, you did say he asked you to the ball, didn't you?"

Ginny abruptly became belated. "He did. After Cho turned him down," she said bitterly.

"Okay, well...oh, yeah!" said Becky brightly. "He saved your life, right?"

Ginny's stomach tangled into a knot, thinking back to her days of Tom Riddle. "No, please don't bring up that."

Becky just stared at her curiously. "Why not?" she prompted. "It's over. What are you so afraid of?"

"I just don't..." said Ginny, fruitlessly searching for a way to explain. "You weren't here, you wouldn't understand how bad this really was..."

Becky sighed and changed her gaze to the field. "I still think he likes you."

Despite her friend's efforts to cheer her up, Ginny felt her heart sink.

"No, he doesn't," said Ginny dispiritedly, looking down at the floor. "If he ever did, he obviously doesn't now. He never even talks to me. Not much anymore, at least."

"You don't talk to him that much, either, and you like him," pointed out Rebecca. Ginny shrugged halfheartedly.

"It's different. He can look me in the eyes and breathe at the same time." Again, a sort of dreamy look came over her face. Harry had caught sight of the Snitch and was going after it as fast as his Firebolt would allow, the cool wind of the morning ruffling his already messy hair.

"Just try to talk to him some time," said Becky. "You never know until you try."

After a while, she sighed heavily and finally gave in to her friend's words.

"Okay, maybe one day..."

Becky smiled softly, beginning to retreat to her trunk.

"I'm going to take a shower," said Becky.

"It's only, like, 6:30," Ginny informed her.

"More like 7:30," replied Becky. Ginny heard her dig around and remove something cloth-like, closing her trunk afterward.

"I'm next," said Ginny over her shoulder. "Tell me when you get out."

The only sound was the closing of the bathroom door.

"Today, we're going to begin our unit on psychology," announced Professor Jarvis in Medics, waving his wand toward the chalk tray. A piece of chalk moved across the board. The word "psychology" appeared in bold, white letters.

"Study of the human mind that explores what we do and why we do it. The reason behind our emotions, our thoughts, our actions, our words. The things that mold our perceptions of right and wrong, the things that distort them. Now, can anyone name any psychological terms or, perhaps, disorders?"

Many hands went up. Rebecca, on the other side of the room than Ginny in the seat she was assigned to, was always quiet during class. They really didn't talk much, and sometimes, Rebecca wasn't there at all. She had grown up a sickly child, she told Ginny. She often wasn't found in crowds, being very much of an introvert, despite, in Ginny's opinion, her features like her long, pretty hair, her pretty skin and her quick-witted nature. Ginny had always wondered why and one time even asked. Becky just shrugged.

Becky was a new student, a transfer from a smaller wizarding school in Ireland, the Shannon academy. She'd only been there since the beginning of the year. All the other girls in her dormitory pretty much ignored her and sometimes gave Ginny funny looks when she hung out with her or talked to her during the morning. She didn't see anything wrong. Maybe they were just jealous because she was better looking, like a Cinderella type situation.

Hmm... That's a psychological term.

Her hand raised as well.

"Miss Weasley?" said Professor Jarvis.

"Jealously?"

"Very good. Any others?"

Several other students spoke out as well.

"Greed," said one girl in the front.

"Pride," said a boy to the left of the girl.

"Lust!" said a boy nearer to the back. The class roared with laughter.

"Yes, that's one," said Professor Jarvis, shaking his head with a smile. "Any others outside the seven deadly sins?"

"Depression," said another girl.

"Excellent. What else?"

"Mania."

"Manic depression."

"Anorexia and bulimia."

"Schizophrenia."

"Multiple personality."

The boy who'd said "schizophrenia" gave the girl who'd said "multiple personality" a look. "Schizophrenia and multiple personality are the same thing, Daphne," he teased. Daphne glared in his direction.

"No, Tim, they are not," corrected Professor Jarvis. "Does anyone know the difference between the two?"

Daphne's hand went up.

"The difference is that people with multiple personalities think they're several different people," explained Daphne. "Schizophrenics tend to have hallucinations. To them, the extra people they see respond like normal human beings, though they're not really there."

"Very good. Another similar situation would apply to, say, dyslexia and ADD. Individuals with ADD have trouble paying attention, while dyslexics have trouble learning and comprehending things. We'll be learning about things like that. We'll look into phobias, also."

Now, it is time to explore the matter of schizophrenia a little, which gets Ginny into all of this trouble in the first place. Sooner or later, she would be convinced she was suffering from this disease, trying to block out the extras that weren't supposed to be there. True, the extras were not supposed to be there, but a schizophrenic Ginny was not.

Schizophrenia is a very serious illness of the mind. It often involves hallucinations and delusions, or seeing and hearing things that are not there. Disordered thinking and emotions and a withdrawal from reality can also characterize it.

And one day, in her fourth year, this disease was attached to a rumour about Ravenclaw Cho Chang. It was later proven to be false. But not before giving Tom Riddle a brilliant, brilliant idea which, once again, almost brought young Ginny to her demise. It was almost certain the Tom would surely be repeatedly hitting himself in the head if it weren't for his lack of hands.

Schizophrenia. Why didn't I think of that? It's perfect!

And so begins this twisted little tale.