Crimson Ink

Dear Charlie,

It’s halfway through October, and I’ve got loads and loads of homework. I don’t know how I manage to keep up with it all. And half of it is complete babbling – homework for Professor Lockheart. I really don’t understand him, he asks us to write the most ridiculous things! Half of which are about him. He must have had a really horrid childhood if he needs us to feed his ego all the time.

Speaking of traumatic childhoods, Tom let me into his memory again today. It’s the most intoxicating experience. He’s showing me the deepest and most vulnerable part of himself, and I feel so privileged that he actually trusts me. Me! Ginny Weasley! It’s so unthinkable, I couldn’t believe it! Nobody ever trusts me.

This time, it was his childhood. I was wondering how he grew up, since he hardly ever reveals anything about himself without prompting, and he started writing to me about it. His words are like magic Every time he tells a story, he spins me into it. And it’s like it’s happening right before me, like I was there when he grew up.

But you see, now I know why he never talks about it. It’s just so utterly heartbreaking. He grew up in an orphanage, and he hadn’t ever had any idea who his parents were. And none of the other kids liked him much either for some reason, I can’t see why, I mean, he was always nice to them. The owner didn’t seem all that nice to him either.

And they were all Muggles too. I can’t imagine that, growing up not ever knowing who you truly were. It’s a bit like Harry I suppose, I mean, he didn’t find out that he was a wizard until he turned eleven either.

I think I’ll tell Tom about Harry. Not necessarily about the fact that I like him, but just about him in general, so Tom’ll know that he wasn’t the only who had to grow up like that. After all, I imagine that Harry’s family, the Dursleys, were every bit as horrible as the people Tom grew up with.

I also found out that Tom’s a Parselmouth! That’s such a rare ability; I’ve heard that only those who are true descendents of Slytherin have it. Could that mean that he’s Slytherin’s heir? I mean, he can’t be can he? He grew up with Muggles, in a Muggle orphanage and everything, wouldn’t that mean that he was Muggle-born?

I’ll really have to ask him about that next time, though subtly. For some reason, he gets all defensive whenever I ask about something directly. I’ll just have to find a way to lead up to it

You know, it’s so funny, Charlie. It’s not even like I’m talking to you anymore. More like I’m talking to myself. This is practically turning into another diary, only this one doesn’t talk back. It’s so funny. Before this year, I didn’t even have one diary, and now I have two.

It’s just that I still haven’t gotten around to sending these. I’m always busy with homework during the week, like I’ve mentioned before, and on the weekends, I’m either sleeping in or doing things with my friends, or writing to Tom I haven’t even had time to find the Owlery.

I suppose I could always give it to Ron, or the twins, or Percy or someone, but I don’t really trust them. They’re always going and snooping through my things, it’ll just be wonderful for them if I handed this to them. I’m just going to have to wait. Sorry for the delay. I’m such a procrastinator.

Love,

Ginny

Dear Charlie,

It’s really late at night, and everyone’s asleep so I don’t want to bother them with a light. So please excuse my chicken scratches.

Oh Charlie, I’m really frightened. The most horrid thing happened tonight. Filch’s cat (Mrs. Norris, you know her) is dead or something, she was from a torch holder on the second floor, and she wasn’t moving at all, as Ron excitedly informed me. According to him, she isn’t dead; she’s only petrified, whatever that means.

What’s going on? He says that there were huge letters written on the wall where she was hanging, talking about a Chamber of Secrets. For some reason, I have the strangest feeling that I’ve heard that somewhere before. And I haven’t the slightest idea where. I wish I could remember; it’s probably vital to finding out who did this.

I know she was a horrible-tempered thing, but I can’t stand the thought of her getting hurt. I mean, animals are all innocent, they haven’t a say in the decisions that make the world go round. It was probably Filch’s horrible nature that corrupted her and made her that way.

But it’s not just that. There’s some red liquid dribbling down the front of my robes – some of it has dried and gone sort of brown – and it’s getting all over the place. That’s what the spots on this are, in case you’re wondering. I think it’s paint, but I don’t remember painting anything, and paint doesn’t go darker when it dries, does it? I don’t work with art supplies enough.

Maybe it’s ink. You know, that crimson kind that Flourish and Blotts started making, and it turns to different colours when it dries? Fred and George did give me some of that for my last birthday.

And the oddest thing is, I don’t have the slightest memory of what I was doing tonight. I mean, there was a feast, so I must have gone to that, but I remember leaving there at seven, because I was feeling squeamish, and it’s almost ten now, but I remember getting into the common room at nine. What did I do for two hours?

Tom doesn’t seem too worried about it. I’ve told him already, and he says I’ve probably just got a fuzzy memory since I was feeling sick. He was awfully sweet about it, telling me to dress warmly and drink some hot chocolate

I don’t think it’s just that though. It’s not that it’s fuzzy; I just don’t remember anything at all. It’s like all that never even happened to me. Like those two hours were just cut out of my life.

Maybe I’m overreacting. Maybe it is just a memory lapse, like Tom said.

It’s not me I’m worried about most. It’s Mrs. Norris. Even if she was mean to us all, she still doesn’t deserve to be lying motionless, dead or whatever Ron said she was. I hope they can save her.

Love,

Ginny

Dear Charlie,

It’s happened again. The attack. This time it was Colin oh, it’s just horrible. I think I’ll go through the events in order though. I’m so upset; I know I’m going to botch it all up if I don’t.

Everyone was talking about the Heir of Slytherin. Ron’s been ranting and raving about it. He and Harry think it’s Draco Malfoy, but Hermione’s not so sure. They’ve been all secretive lately, sneaking around. Don’t they think that I would notice things like that?

Colin and I have been talking a lot, he’s in just as much admiration of Harry as I am. It’s so nice having someone who thinks exactly the way you do. I mean, Tom understands me and everything, but even when I’ve told him, he hasn’t any idea who Harry is. I guess it’s all after his time.

I can’t really show him either. I mean, I’m not exactly an artist. And I haven’t the slightest clue how to let him see one of the many photos Colin’s let me keep. He’s such a sweetheart. Colin I mean, though Tom is too.

Anyhow, there was a Quidditch match that day: Slytherin against Gryffindor. It went all right at first, but about halfway through the game, this one Bludger kept trying to knock Harry off his broom. I think it was charmed or something, no matter what Fred and George did to it, it always went back to trying to kill Harry. Okay maybe it wasn’t trying to kill him.

I feel so sorry for Harry. He always has the worst luck. Ron said that last year; this teacher was trying to curse him off his broom. I don’t know if he’s overexaggerating; I can never really tell with him.

They never did manage to get that Bludger under control, but we won the game anyways. It was amazing; the snitch was right above Draco Malfoy’s head and he didn’t even see it, and then Harry dove towards him, and caught the snitch. He broke his arm though, the poor thing, when he fell off his broom. And then Professor Lockheart tried to fix it, and he ended up making Harry’s bone disappear completely.

So then poor Harry had to spend a night in the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey was absolutely furious with Professor Lockheart, for making his bone disappear; she said that mending bones was easy enough, but growing them again was a painful process.

I think I went back to the common room after that, but I’m not quite sure. I asked one of my friends, and she gave me this weird look and said I was there, but I disappeared after about ten minutes.

What is wrong with me? When I came to my senses again, I was lying in some corridor. I think I was near the hospital wing. And I was sore all over and the red inky stuff was all over my clothing again.

And then I moved to get up, but I couldn’t because there was something on me. When my vision finally cleared completely, I saw it was a body. Colin’s body. He was lying completely still, and he was holding a bunch of grapes in his hand.

I was so scared, I just bolted. How did I end up like that? And poor Colin oh, I hope he’s not dead. He looked I don’t know, for the strangest reason, I get the feeling that Mrs. Norris looked like that too.

Oh Charlie, I’m shaking right now. What horrible thing could have happened to him? And why was I there? And why wasn’t I hurt? Why was it only him?

Do you suppose no, it couldn’t be. I couldn’t have done it. I would never intentionally hurt someone.

Tom’s no help at all with this. He keeps saying it’s not a big deal, that I’m probably just sick or something like that. Which is true, in a way. I’ve been feeling horrible lately, like a case of the flu that won’t go away. It’s not really like coughing and stuffy noses either. I feel like sleeping all day, and sometimes when it’s late, I can’t even get myself to climb the stairs. I’m always tired. I even sleep more than usual in Professor Binns’ class.

I wish it would just all go away.

Love,

Ginny

Dear Charlie,

The twins are absolutely horrid. They keep jumping out at me from behind statues and things, and they’ve covered themselves in fur and boils and scabs and other frightful things like that. Oh, I feel bad enough, just knowing what’s happened to everyone, and that slight possibility that I might have something to do with it.

Of course, if I told them, they wouldn’t understand at all. Probably start following me around and calling me the Heir of Slytherin or something like that.

Speaking of which, two others have been attacked again, just yesterday. Nearly Headless Nick, and a second-year Hufflepuff, Justin Finch-Fletchley. I was so distraught, I couldn’t write.

It can’t just be a coincidence. Every time it happens, I’ve lost a part of my memory and I have red stuff all over the front of my robes.

I wish from the bottom of my heart that it weren’t true, but I think Tom is lying to me. Nothing is "fine" as he says. In fact, it’s just the opposite. Everything is absolutely dreadful. In fact, I think it couldn’t be worse.

Oh, I shouldn’t say that. It will probably get worse.

Maybe I should just get rid of him. Throw in him and his diary into the trash bin or something.

But the thing is, I can’t. I’ve grown much too attached to him. I don’t know what I’ll do without his company. And I think he knows it too.

I mean, he’s been getting less and less nice lately. Maybe it was just an act, so I would get friendly with him, and then he would show his true nature, after using me to do his dirty deeds.

No. I won’t believe that. I’m so stupid, even if all the clues point to him, I still trust him. I believe that he’s not hurting me intentionally.

Oh, sometimes I really hate myself! I’m so naïve and even when I tell myself that something’s true, my heart refuses to believe it. At least if something hurtful does happen, it’s my fault and I’m the only one hurt by it.

I wish I was braver, I wish I was wiser, I wish a thousand and one things, but none of them will ever come true. Nothing will ever come of wishful thinking, that’s what they always say. If you want something, you have to go do it yourself.

So that’s what I’ll do. I’ll confront him tonight, and if everything I say is true, I’ll dump him tomorrow.

Oh, who am I kidding? I don’t even fool myself with that sort of talk. I’m going to end up keeping him until he destroys me. Life is hopeless.

Love,

Ginny

~

Tom?

Yes, Ginny?

Are you lying to me?

Whatever do you mean?

You keep telling me that nothing’s wrong, and that’s not at all true! Everything is wrong! I feel like the world is tumbling down around me.

Oh sweetie, I’m sorry you feel like that.

You haven’t answered my question.

Do you trust me?

Of course.

Then don’t ask me questions. Just trust that I’ll do the right thing.

Tom, that’s what you always say, but I just don’t know anymore! I want to trust you, I really do, but the things that are happening are just the opposite of what you’ve told me.

I can’t predict the future.

Then don’t say anything at all. I feel like you’re lying to me.

Ginny, sweetie, I don’t lie.

No. You just avoid the question. And then you stretch the truth so far, that it’s practically like lying. And its every bit as hurtful.

I’m sorry you feel that way.

Stop saying that! You’re the reason I feel that way! Do something about it.

Even if you are angry at the world, that’s no reason to take it out on me.

Why won’t you listen? You’re part of the problem! I’m only angry because of you.

Ginny

What?

Just trust me.

That’s a lot to ask.

If you don’t trust me, we have nothing. Do you trust me?

I’ve told you already! I just don’t know anymore!

Well, maybe you should figure it out.

Tom, what’s happened to you? You’ve changed.

What are you talking about?

You’re not nice anymore. You keep telling me things that aren’t true. I think you’re lying to me, even now. And I don’t like it one bit.

And what if I am?

Excuse me?

What if I am lying to you? Hmmm?

Are you saying you are?

I’m not saying anything.

I’d get rid of you.

Would you really?

What’s that supposed to mean?

I think you can’t get rid of me, sweetie. I think you’re far too attached to me for that. You can’t live without me anymore. I’ve grown to be part of your life.

You’re wrong.

Am I? Even you don’t sound too sure.

You are wrong.

Stop trying to fool yourself.

I hate you. I despise you. I loathe you with all the depths of my soul.

Love you too, sweetie

~

Dear Charlie,

It’s Christmas! I just love Christmas, don’t you? I hope you got those dragon plushies I sent you. Even if you don’t love stuffed animals as much as me I really couldn’t help myself. They were just adorable!

I’ve gotten so much stuff. Mum sent me another jumper, green with a red G in the center. Christmas colours! Or, you could look at it another way, and it would be the house colours of Slytherin and Gryffindor. Only no silver and gold. How contradictory.

Ron’s gotten me loads of candy; Fred and George gave me this gigantic box of Zonko’s stuff. Percy gave me some textbooks, and said he "hoped I’d use them to improve my grades". My grades are perfectly fine, as far as I know!

I think you’ll be glad to know that Tom and I are no longer fighting. I don’t know what came over me that day; I just wasn’t myself. Even if I don’t agree with everything he says, I shouldn’t snap at him like that. Everyone’s entitled to their own opinion, after all.

Still, I wish he hadn’t changed. I liked him so much better before he got so mean.

What am I saying? It isn’t his fault at all. Maybe it’s me who’s changed. Maybe I’m just not happy with anyone if their beliefs don’t match mine. Maybe I’m trying to control people.

I can’t believe myself. I better go apologize before he hates me forever.

Love,

Ginny

~

Tom, I’m so sorry!

For what?

Yelling at you. Saying I hated you. I really don’t.

You should be sorry, then.

Excuse me?

You should be sorry.

That’s not what you’re supposed to say!

What am I supposed to say, then?

That you’re sorry too. That it’s not my fault, maybe?

Then what’s the point of you apologizing? When you say you’re sorry, it means that you’ve accepted the fact that the whole thing was your fault.

It takes two to make an argument.

And you’re the one who started it.

You’re being so rude!

I’m being truthful.

I can’t believe I ever thought of apologizing to you.

You already did.

I was right.

About what?

About hating you. You’re disgusting.

Thank you.

That’s not a compliment. I really do detest you.

And yet you still keep me.

What’s that supposed to mean?

Supposedly, you hate me so much, and yet you still don’t get rid of me. You can easily throw me out anytime. And yet you don’t.

I can leave you!

Of course Whatever you say, sweetie.

I can! And I’ll prove it!

~

Dear Charlie,

I can’t believe him! And I can’t believe me either oh God, I’m so stupid! And to think I poured my deepest secrets out to him too! I thought he was so wonderful, he was nice to me when no one else was, but I guess this shows he’s really not.

I should have known it was too good to be true.

And the more horrible thing is, I think he’s right. I can’t get rid of him, as much as I want to. There’s always this part of me that wants me to keep him.

Oh Charlie, I don’t think I can do this. You and the others were always so brave. I mean, you, running off to go play with dragons, when they could have killed you so easily. You’re practically flirting with death.

Bill, too, with his treasure hunting. Even with the spells supporting him, the stones could all fall down on him or something.

And then there’s Fred and George, being Beaters on the Quidditch team. Any Bludger could have easily broken their heads open or something, yet they choose to do it, protecting their team so they can win. Even if it is a silly game.

And Ron, with that giant chess match he played last year while he and Harry and Hermione were looking for the stone. He sacrificed himself for the sake of his friends, when he could have easily been cowardly and run away.

Even Percy’s brave, in a way. He withstands all our teasing without a single complaint. And that’s pretty big, considering how much Fred and George tease him.

And then there’s me. I have so much to live up to, and I can’t even overcome this. I wish I was brave, like all of you. But I’m only me. I can’t do this. And I can’t ask for help either.

Oh Charlie, help me. Even though this isn’t going to get sent, even if you never happen to read this, give me the strength to do this. I need you.

Love,

Ginny

~

Ginny scampered down the hall, a little black book tucked under her arm. With each step she took, she only felt weaker.

You can’t do this. You can’t get rid of me.

"Shut up," she told it crossly as she continued on her way.

You need me. You can’t live without me.

"I thought I told you to shut up!" A student walking down the hall gave her a strange look, and she smiled sheepishly.

Stop trying to fool yourself, sweetie. We both know you can’t do this.

"That’s where you’re wrong," she muttered. She pushed through the door of the first floor girls’ bathroom. "Goodbye Tom."

No! Tom was beginning to sound more panicked now. You can’t do this to me! Not after all I’ve done for you.

She laughed. "Like what? Lying to me? Trying to manipulate me?"

What about all the fun times we had together? Huddling under the covers, sharing secrets?

"More like me telling secrets, and you listening."

Sweetie, don’t do this. I’m begging you.

"Sorry Tom. I don’t like you anymore. I’m stronger than you think."

With that, she tossed the little book into a stall, trying to block out the agonized screams in her head. Ignoring Myrtle’s whining, she ran out of the bathroom, as fast as her legs would carry her.

Never looking back.