Healing Rain

I lived in the light, a creature of day,

I was enticed by your darkness, was taken away,

I danced with you under stars, felt our spirit unite

Now drunk on the nighttime, I cannot stand the light,

Sometimes I come back to you,

In visions and dreams,

And take your hands,

As the moonlight streams,

We dance in the shadows,

Where you speak so sincere,

Though my body may leave the night,

My soul will always be here

~ Nighttime's Allure- Sarah

Something had been bothering Ginny Weasley for months now.

There was nothing noticeable about her inner dilemma; she was hardly outgoing and obvious enough to discern any type of waning and melancholy attitude within her. To the observer, she was simply quiet, reserved, thoughtful Ginny Weasley. She would stare off into space, as if the mere air around her caused a great deal of fret. Occasionally, she would twirl her wavy tresses of ruby around her thin pale fingers as she looked about anxiously. There was nothing to suggest anything out of the ordinary; she was always very introverted and even a little jumpy at seemingly nothing.

And this fact, as it is, was very dangerous in itself . . . because silent and composed Ginny had proven herself capable of causing an excessive amount of problems. Being the youngest child out of six older brothers, she had learned patience and values at a very young age. And though it was hard for her to sway from those values, there had been one who had been able to manage. One boy who had been charming and clever enough to make Ginny forget about all she held dear and think only about his vision of what life should be like had always remained inside of her, becoming like a sharp voice in her ear, whispering sweet and comforting words in an elegant manner.

Tom Riddle.

She had met him in her first year, through an old, leather diary just when she had needed him the most. She would tell him of her grief and he would be more sympathetic and understanding than anybody had ever been towards her. Oh, dear, sweet Ginny, he would write back to her through the worn, yellowed pages once she had finished her thoughts, of course you feel that way. Brothers should not overshadow a girl such as you and dressing in rags is hardly acceptable. You should be dressed resembling a princess, as is the only suitable means for one with blood as royal as yours.

Why, of course Harry will notice you, my girl, he had promised her. You have made quite an impression upon me, after all. It is part of your charm; something flowing within your veins, which demands the utmost esteem. It is absurd for you to think that you are at all unremarkable.

Ginny had fallen in love with Tom's charm and sincerity. He had become so dear to her that she began to put more of her trust in him than she had in family. He made her believe that she was the most wonderful and interesting person in the world . . . only to use her. It was her first real taste of heartbreak; to find out that all those things that Tom had told her weren't true.

Since that first year, she had never been without him. She would see his shadow just out of reach, or hear him whispering to her while she dreamed. But they weren't as kind as they had been. Now, they were frightening; they were so alarming because they were so truthful.

Does it hurt, Ginny? she would hear him inquire late at night, just when her eyes began to shut. Does it hurt to see Harry so in love with that Ravenclaw girl? He doesn't give you the time of day, Ginny. Why would he? He doesn't understand the first thing about you. He loves her because she's smart, beautiful, and a good quidditch player. Why do you love him? Because he's famous? Handsome? Is that what you want, Ginny? Because that is what you're chasing after.

"Shut-up," she would mutter bitterly. "Just shut-up. You don't know. Harry is good. Harry is noble. You aren't. You're not even human."

But this had been an easy task compared to now. Now Tom was calling her to him again.

Come with me, Ginny, and Harry will never hurt you again. I can give you the entrance into the Slytherin Chamber once again . . . just trust me. You can be free of that pain. It will be easy. Just do as I say, and you can join me. I can teach you how to disregard that pain, Ginny. Can Harry? Or Dumbledore? No, they feel one must deal with the pain, but only I can show you how to turn that pain into power. You'll be much better than you are now, Ginny. Come with me.

Ginny, now a sixth year, found herself sitting in the Great Hall, twirling her hair around her fingers once again. Harry had once explained to her how he and Tom shared a connection from Voldemort's attempt at his life. That must be what was happening to her. But instead of Parseltongue, Ginny shared the one thing nobody had ever known about Tom . . . .

. . . Part of his soul.

Just as she had given him so much, so he had given her a part of himself when he had bewitched her into doing his bidding. She knew this was a plan of his, and that somewhere, he wanted her to play the puppet once again. But why? To change the present time? To give him something in the past?

She wasn't sure what Tom's plans were. But she decided that she had to find out. She told herself that this was to make sure that he didn't succeed in any crafted plan.

But deep down, she knew there was more to her decision.

****

Later that night, after everybody had gone to bed, Ginny snuck out of her dormitory and down into the common room. She was about to leave through the portrait, but stopped shortly.

She wasn't sure of how well she would be able to sneak around with Filch and Mrs. Norris lurking about the halls at night. And Ginny getting caught out of bed would be different from another student getting caught. She had a record much worse than even the worst Slytherin student.

Well, she thought to herself, looking towards the boys' dormitory, if I'm going to break the rules, might as well nick Harry's cloak to do it.

As she crept up towards the seventh years' room, her heart did small, disagreeable flips. She remembered when she and Harry had snuck up to the Library in her fourth year, trying to assemble enough information on the history of the Dark Order. He had run out of all other options and she, being an expert researcher at times, happened to know of an exceptionally useful book that was kept in the Restricted Section of the Library. If she closed her eyes and tried very hard, she could still smell his unique scent for that moment; a fusion of fireside and field grass, gained from spending one half of his time on the Quidditch field, and the other sitting in the chair closest to the fire, just across from her, reading whatever book she had handed him at that particular moment.

She entered the dormitory and mutely made her way around until she found Harry's bed. His curtains were drawn close and she could hear his troubled breathing as he slept somewhat fitfully. At the foot of the bed, his trunk lay unlocked.

Sometimes, Harry, she thought mournfully, you are much too trusting.

She kneeled down and silently opened the lid of the trunk. As she sifted through the belongings, a feeling of déjà vu surrounded her. It felt all too much like what it had in her first year, as she had frantically discarded everything Harry had owned all over the dormitory, searching for Tom's diary. A sickening abhorrence filled her as she realized how stupid she had been to not realize what Tom had done . . . how he had ensnared her deepest wishes for the sole purpose of making her his own belonging; something meant to do just what he had wanted her to do. This was no surprise, now that Ginny knew who Tom was. It was his menace. He could make the most powerful or most intelligent witch or wizard become so blinded with adoration for him and his views that they would gladly give him whatever he wanted.

As she pulled out the silver, liquid-like material, she could hear what Tom had said to Harry, as if through a dream. The voice was very hazy, but she had heard it still, while she fought to sustain what little life that remained inside of her.

If I do say it myself, Harry, I've always been able to charm the people I needed.

That had been Tom; proud over the fact that he had always been able to trap people by their wants and wishes. His voice had been almost amused, or even triumphant.

Ginny closed the trunk lightly and stood, casting a quick glance to make sure nobody was watching. Then she crept out noiselessly, closing the door behind her with a faint click.

She padded softly down the stairs, as jumpy as ever. What could she be getting herself into? And how would she be able to join Tom where he would still remember? He couldn't very well take her back to his time, because he'd have never met her before, and wouldn't recognize her.

Don't worry, Ginny, his voice cooed softly in her mind. My dearest Ginny, I have it all under control. Surely you know that I always have control, don't you?

Ginny tried to ignore his voice, even though its smooth tone made her feel very lightheaded and almost took away the fright that plagued her whole situation. She entered the common room and took one last look around.

"What am I doing?" she inquired. "I'm sorry, Harry. I'm sorry, Ron. But I simply must find out what he wants."

And with her last ounce of determination, she threw the cloak over herself and swept out of the common room.