The Piper's Gallery

It's nighttime--dark out and I can smell the rain from this afternoon. No one's awake in the dormitory. Candlelight jumps around the room. The shadows scare me so I don't look up. Just at the paper. I think he knows he's my best friend. He doesn't laugh at me. He always promises not to tell.

Something I've never told anyone else before? Why do you want to know that?

He says I'll feel better. He says to trust him. And I do. Why wouldn't I?

Something I've never told anyone before... sometimes I hate my brothers. It's horrible of me, I know. Everything I ever do they've already done. I'll never be a first. They tease me. Sometimes I hate them for it.

Don't you feel better now? He asks.

And I do. Lighter, like a weight is gone. So much lighter... as if a little hurt has been taken right out of me leaving a tiny empty spot. The empty spot feels funny... so light that it's rushing to my head. A black cloud of light and nothing...

Don't you feel better now?

I can't remember why I'm walking. How did I get outside? The grass is wet. It's cold. Cloudy in my mind... safe, and light, and comfortable. Not to worry. I trust him.

I've caught it! Wasn't hard... he was sleeping. I don't want to but Tom tells me it will be all right. I won't even remember. I don't want to. He asks me if I trust him. I do. It's cloudier suddenly. Light and soft and I shouldn't worry about anything.

The feathers are soft and I hold him tight. It's a horrible feeling. He's struggling, but I hold him tight. He lets out a sharp, panicked noise, and I know I'm hurting him. I hold him tight. I don't want to. He says I promised to trust him. I think he might make the clouds. They feel like him--this promise of comfort and light, soft clouds... like a fever dream.

He isn't moving anymore but I still hold him tight. There's a snap, a terrible snap. Oh, I feel like I'm going to be sick! How could I do that? I must be going mad!

The clouds come in a rush of warm, dark emptiness. Dizzy and empty. He was right, I don't remember.

You can trust me, Ginny. Go to sleep.

*~*~*

Ginny took a great shuddering breath, her eyes snapping open. She whimpered quietly and rolled over, rubbing her face into her pillow. She tried reminding herself that the diary was ruined, that Tom was gone forever, but it didn't help. She was remembering in bits and pieces of what it had been like under Tom Riddle's spell, and every new memory made her stomach churn and tears rush to her eyes.

She twisted her hands in her nightgown. She could still feel it dying as she held it... the snap of its neck. It was too much. Ginny crawled out of her four-poster, certain that she was going to be sick.

She knew where she was going. The girl's washroom was down one flight of stairs and around the corner, but that wasn't where she was now. She caught her breath as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped over her head. She was standing in front of the door to Piper's Gallery.

Ginny took a quick step back and turned around. Last time she had been stuck on a moving staircase; last time she had walked down a long corridor. She knew that Piper's Gallery was dangerous, from what she read in that book she knew she shouldn't be there. The door was slightly ajar, just as it had been last time. She shivered and pushed it open--not planning on going inside, but just to see if anyone was there.

Her nightmare was fresh in her mind, eating at her, and she had no one to tell. But that woman, the one who had been so kind and understanding, she would listen. She wouldn't judge her for it, or say she shouldn't talk of such things. It was nowhere near dawn, Ginny told herself. It wasn't even that late. Nothing bad would happen.

She walked past the ruined man, past the jumping woman, and paused at the frame she had stopped at before. The painting was an extravagant mess of rich colors: bed sheets hung draped over the tall, metal headboard and fell casually to the carpeted floor, and articles of delicate clothing, in dark mysterious shades, looked like they had been removed in a hurry and were scattered about the room. The woman, however, was nowhere to be seen.

Ginny's face flushed again and she quickly looked away, scanning the Gallery. It felt like a spider was pricking down her neck, like someone was watching her.

"Who're you?" a young man's voice asked from behind her.

She spun around, her nerves on edge all over again. "Who's there?"

"I asked first."

Ginny's eyes darted around the room. Dark Wizard, lost souls, extreme caution. "Where are you?" she whispered, trying to keep her voice steady. The boy had sounded like he was speaking right into her ear.

"At the end... near the window."

Didn't you learn anything last time? You shouldn't be here! You should go! Do you want to lose yourself to another Tom Riddle? Have something happen that worse than last time?

Ginny took a deep breath. "I shouldn't be here. I have to go." She took a step towards the door.

"No, wait! I wouldn't hurt you... I couldn't hurt you. Just let me see you for a moment... no one ever comes to look at me."

Ginny looked at the end of the Gallery. Pure, silver light shone in from the window as if every star in creation was beaming through it. It didn't look dark or scary or as if anything bad could happen. She turned and walked back, standing in the puddle of starlight.

Before her was a painting bathed in blue light. A circular frame, bigger than herself, housed a desolate hillside, crowned with a lone willow tree. Its branches hung softly in the still night, and a gray moon balanced carefully on the left side of the landscape. The night sky was deep violet-blue, as thick as velvet. A boy stood under the willow, his double-breasted jacket and old-fashioned gun holster resting at its roots. He wore fitted breeches held up with suspenders, and a loose, cream button-up shirt. The boy looked older than her, probably in his late teens, with a tall, athletic build. His dark hair was long--the fashion of an era gone by--and tied back neatly at the nape of his neck.

Ginny walked closer. A dark, ornate frame circled the painting, and a burnished sliver nameplate had been placed at the bottom with the title of the piece engraved on it--Orion's Night. She looked up to the painted sky and could faintly make out the constellation stretched across the inky night. Her gaze drifted over the painting in its entirety. Nothing was black or white; even the boy's pale skin glowed a soft shade of blue. Her eyes paused. She had just noticed the small marble headstone that was also set under the willow's branches.

"Oh," Ginny murmured softly and stepped back from the painting.

The boy had been watching her, and carefully moved so that he blocked the headstone from view. He did not want to explain its presence, and by the frightened look on her face, he knew she would not ask.

"What's your name?"

"Um... Ginny." Her heart was racing uncomfortably as if all the nervous energy was trapped right at the base of her throat. She was terrified of repeating the mistake she had made last year--trusting something, giving part of herself to it, even if it was just her name.

"I'm Christopher." His voice was calm; he seemed to recognize her apprehension.

"Oh..." she nodded.

"You don't look very old," he commented, tilting his head.

"I-I'm twelve."

Christopher smiled--not a happy smile, just by looking in his eyes Ginny could tell he wasn't happy, but it was a genuine smile all the same. "Don't be frightened, there's no need. Nothing here can hurt you."

"That's... that's not true," Ginny stammered. "I read that book--I read it in a book. There was a dark wizard, people... people have disappeared here."

He nodded grimly. "You can't be here at dawn break. You'll have to leave before then, but nothing can hurt you now, I promise."

"I don't have to believe you. You're--you're just a painting."

"You can leave if you don't feel safe. Maybe you should go..." Christopher studied her a moment. She had a look of fear in her eyes that he had never seen before.

Ginny shook her head; if she fell asleep and had another dream--she couldn't face that right now. And she somehow did feel safe, despite everything that she had read, and despite the warnings that hovered in the back of her mind.

"I can't sleep."

"Why not?" he asked.

"Oh--it was horrible," a rush of tears that suddenly fought to be shed blocked her words. She looked back up at the painting. He had somehow gotten closer and was no longer a distant figure on a hilltop. It was as if he had become a reflection standing just on the other side of a mirror. She shook her head again, but there was such real understanding in his eyes that she began talking without making up her mind to begin.

"It was a dream--a nightmare--only it wasn't because it really happened. I haven't remembered it all before because he made me forget, but I can remember now... and it's horrible. I just can't..." Ginny put her face in her hands and turned her back to him. She didn't want Christopher to watch her cry, painting or not.

"Hey now," he said softly. "I had a little sister, you know. She was a bit younger than you, but I never once teased her for crying."

"You... you're not real though. How could you have a sister? You're a painting," she took a deep breath, but didn't turn back around.

A pained look crossed Christopher's face, and he gave a half-hearted shrug. He knew if he tried to explain everything to her she wouldn't understand, and knew that what she needed now was someone to listen and help solve her own problem.

Ginny turned to face Christopher, who was still near enough to be standing right in front of her... if he had been a real person. She wiped her eyes quickly, but was embarrassed to find that they once again filled with tears. "I wanted to find the... the lady I talked to before."

"Oh," he paused and offered an apologetic smile. "I don't know where Vikki is. She doesn't stay in her frame like some of us. Why did you want to talk to her?"

"Because... I'm not scared of her."

"And you're scared of me?"

He didn't sound offended, merely curious, but Ginny's face went warm all the same. "I... oh, you remind me of him," she blurted in a rush and rubbed at her eyes again. "Just- just the way he acted like he cared. He would always ask me what was wrong," she paused. "I shouldn't tell you because I should know better."

"I don't have any powers--for good or bad. You don't have to tell me anything if you'd rather not; you just seem upset."

Ginny gave up. She was not strong-willed to being with, and she wanted to tell someone so badly. She was too ashamed to bring it up with her family, and no one had initiated a conversation about it before. They all seemed content to forget that it had happened. Ginny had felt the same way--that life was just easier if it had never happened; only now she was reliving it.

She began, and Christopher did not interrupt. "It was Tom's diary. He was in it still. I would write to him and he would write back. He was my best friend. I told him everything, all my secrets," she took a deep breath. "He was older than me--sixteen. I was upset... because Harry... Harry doesn't notice me, and Tom understood. He never ignored me; he made me feel like..." Ginny trailed off, and blushed. "I was special with Tom, I never was anywhere else... and he cared. I believed everything he said. I trusted him, even after it started," she looked up and saw Christopher watching her with eyes as blue as the painted sky.

She folded her legs under herself and sat down on the soft carpet. "I started to forget where I was--I couldn't remember... and terrible things were happening at Hogwarts. I didn't know I was doing it for a long time, and I was too scared to tell anyone. If... I told them about the diary then Tom would tell my secrets--about Harry and, and how I thought I was the one. He used to show me after I knew he was bad. He'd bring up my writing--my own handwriting--of all the things I told him. I didn't know how strong he was. I didn't have to tell him secrets anymore; he could use me to open the Chamber. I was so tired; there wasn't any energy to fight him. He took all of me, 'til I had nothing left to live on... that was the last time."

Christopher was silent for a long moment before answering. "You're dreaming it now? Remembering everything?"

She nodded helplessly. "I know it's over. I know that he can't hurt me, and that it already happened, so I can't stop it, but..."

"But it is just as real for you now?"

Ginny nodded again. "It was frightening when it happened, but for a much different reason. I knew I had done those horrible things, but I couldn't remember doing them."

"What did you dream tonight?" Christopher asked.

She took a deep breath, subconsciously rubbing her hands on her knees as she sat cross-legged on the floor. "I killed a rooster; I strangled it."

He sighed softly.

Ginny wrapped her arms tightly around her legs, hiding her face in her crossed arms. "Killing is something that can never be fixed... it's unforgivable." Ginny paused. "I know it was only a rooster, but I killed it."

Clear discomfort flashed across Christopher's face, but Ginny, whose eyes were still lowered, was unable to see it. There was a moment before he responded. "You didn't kill anything. Someone else was acting through you."

She looked up.

"It was a Dark power you had no control of."

"I trusted him when I never should have. I should have known better," Ginny mumbled.

"Making a mistake is an easy thing to do, but facing a consequence... that takes real courage. And this mistake that you're paying for was anyone's to make."

"Do you really think so?" she asked.

Christopher nodded. "I'm sure of it."

Ginny looked up again, studying the painting carefully. "You're not like other... artwork in the castle, are you?"

"No," he replied, simply.

"Why not? What makes you different?" she eyed the jagged signature scrawled across the bottom corner of the painting. A.O. Eglamour.

"Well..." Christopher cleared his throat and rubbed his hand across his forehead as if carefully considering his next words. "I was alive once. And I suppose you could say that unlike other paintings, I still am."

Ginny stared up at him, confused.

He went on, quietly. "I was alive over a hundred years ago. When I died..." he paused, looking down at Ginny and trying to think best how to explain this to her. "Some people die in their sleep, and some people are ill or suffering. Sometimes their life was full and happy and they're ready to go. But sometimes that's not the case at all. It might be too sudden or violent or sad... and there's this sort of unrest. Eglamour could tell and used all that energy that was left over... he trapped me in the painting, just as I was the night before it happened."

"Like--like a ghost?"

"No, like a scene that repeats over and over again in a play. Every dawn, just as the sun rises it happens again, to all of us. We die just as we did in our lives. That's why you can never stay, and that's why Piper's Gallery is only visible three nights a month--the risk is too great, if anyone was to watch at dawn... it would be too much to bear."

Ginny chewed lightly on her lower lip, in thought. She couldn't imagine spending eternity reliving the moments of her death. "Isn't there any way to be let out?"

He shook his head sadly. "The spell is irreversible."

"How is it," she started, tentatively, "how is it that people become lost in here? The book said they disappear."

"That was Eglamour, again--" he stopped short. "Someone's coming. You need to go."

Ginny shot to her feet.

"Promise you'll come back someday?" Christopher called.

She glanced fearfully over her shoulder. "I--I can't."

"Please?"

She took a deep breath and murmured, "I'll try!" before sprinting to the door.

Ginny never made it to the door, though. Just as she reached the exit of the Gallery she was blocked as a tall figure stepped in front of her with a suddenness that knocked her backwards to the floor. She closed her eyes, her heart racing, afraid to open them and see who it was.