Author's Notes:
Italics are for flashbacks.
And I would never dream to claim any of the Harry Potter world as my own.
It was a tight squeeze, for a fragment of soul to fit between leather bindings. Especially if that certain fragment of soul has been gaining power. Very soon though, Tom Riddle would not need to be restricted to these cramped quarters.
o o o o o o o
Eleven-year-old Ginevra Weasley chewed her lip has her hand hovered over the worn journal. She knew she shouldn’t open it, after so many accidents and complications. She wrestled for the determination that had possessed her to toss the despicable book into Moaning Myrtle’s toilet.
Chicken feathers…sickly complexion…the attacks…her momentary lapses of memory…The pieces were falling into place and exposing an answer Ginny hadn’t wanted to acknowledge. She had no grudge against Muggle-borns; she respected them.
Harry Potter’s mum had been Muggle-born, for Merlin’s sake. And she’d produced Harry. And Harry Potter was…well, perfect. (And smart and courageous and cute.)
But it seemed like the only possible solution. She had been duped, used. And now he was using her to hurt her friends: Colin, Hermione…even that innocent cat.
The betrayal hurt more than anything else: a leaden weight in her stomach. How could he do this to her? And when she had written to him, worried, he had comforted her. Assured her that nothing was wrong. He was probably laughing at her.
Rage began to boil in her veins. The shame of being hoodwinked, walking so naively into a trap, gave way to anger.
She wanted revenge: he had manipulated her. He was evil. Tom Riddle was NOT a wonderful boy. He was just a b-b-bastard!
She tore at the leather binding, trying to tear it in half. She couldn’t. The flickering torchlight glanced off the creased cover and reflected onto the writing on the wall. She had written that. He had made her. She had to get rid of this book, and fast.
Glancing around wildly, she spotted the girls’ loo.
No one ever went there due to an unpleasant ghost. It would be bittersweet indeed if Tom Riddle spent the rest of his days in a toilet. She quickly crossed the hall and yanked open the door.
The smell of turpentine and moisture hit her. This place was disgusting. She hurled the small book inside and ran away as fast as she could.
She couldn’t do it now, Ginny realized. Tom had too powerful a hold on her. All because she’d insisted on keeping the journal away from Harry. (How mortifying would it be if Harry knew that she was the one harming all those people? He would never look at her again!) And once she’d stolen the journal back (she’d almost taken a pair of Harry’s underwear too) she had felt compelled to check with Tom and make sure he hadn’t told Harry anything.
Only now she couldn’t stop herself from writing to Tom. It was almost as though he were inside of her, making her open up the book and write to him. Fingers trembling, Ginny slowly lifted the cover of the hated diary once again.
o o o o o o o
Stupid little girl, she really needn’t have gotten involved in this again, Tom thought with a hint of regret. She was really quite a powerful young witch (and a pure-blood at that).
He didn’t really care about killing Mudbloods now. He could do that later. Right now he wanted to kill Harry, his nemesis.
And the young fool had been quite gullible; gobbling up the idea that Hagrid had accidentally opened the Chamber of Secrets. As if he could, that dimwitted half-breed wouldn’t know the first thing about the powerful magic surrounding the Chamber. Just as all his peers and professors had swallowed the lie.
If Tom Riddle had lips, they would be smirking.
All of a sudden, he caught a whiff of fresh air. Ginny was writing to him again. She couldn’t resist, not anymore. His grip on her was too strong. Had she been weaker he would already have his own body. Still, she couldn’t hold out to him much longer. He was ready to try and take over.
As her quill scratched the rough paper, he let a little bit more of himself seep up the feather and from the feather to her fingers. Ginny stopped writing, Tom saw no need for her to be writing, he just needed the connection to control her.
He didn’t quite understand how he was able to control her, it was almost like the Imperius Curse, but he didn’t need to worry about his own body.
Deftly he guided her to stand up and close the book, keeping a finger in between the pages for a stronger connection.
There was a small bit of a struggle as Ginny strove to slide her finger out of the book but in the end he subdued her. Once he was confident in his control, he directed her out of her dormitory, through the Gryffindor common room and into the school hallways.
Her feet made a beeline for the second floor corridor girls’ bathroom. The filthy squib Filch was guarding the corridor, but he could take care of him. Shoving Ginny’s body behind a statue, he lifted her arm and aimed her wand at the Squib.
Tom was inwardly pleased with his ability to cast difficult spells such as Imperius while still maintaining control over Ginny’s body. Filch promptly wandered off in the direction of the Trophy room.
Like a master puppeteer, Tom guided Ginny closer to the wall.
Now to write a farewell message. He raised her wand arm again and silvery paint emerged from the tip.
About halfway through the message, Ginny seemed to break from his spell a bit. Maybe I shouldn’t have cast such a powerful spell on Filch, Tom thought.
o o o o o o o
Write “Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever”.
Of course I will, Ginny thought dreamily, it’s just like painting.
You shouldn’t paint on school walls, another voice spoke. Ginny’s arm hovered momentarily in mid-air, unsure of whether or not to continue.
This is a school assignment, the first voice spoke again. The professors want you to write on the wall.
No they don’t, insisted the second voice, Tom wants you too. He’s talking about your skeleton, he wants to kill you. Ginny stopped writing again.
FINISH THE SENTENCE!
Tears spurted from her eyes as her arm jerkily continued writing. Her mind felt as though it were clawing itself to pieces. Ginny realized with a start that she was dying. She felt herself growing weaker by the minute. The wand strokes became more fluid and the sentence drew near completion.
That’s it, now go into the girls’ bathroom and open the Chamber…
o o o o o o o
There was no way she could win; Tom didn’t understand why she insisted on putting up a fight. It would be a lot less painless if she’d given up right away. He examined her disinterestedly. Her vibrant red hair contrasted violently with her pale face. She was slumped against the feet of Salazar Slytherin’s statue, having lost the strength to stand. In the dark chamber her bright hair glowed like a precious gem.
He had now amassed enough strength to begin forming his own being and was free to watch her from a distance.
The diary lay on the floor, it’s creamy pages exposed as his soul continued to seep out.
“Tom,” she croaked.
Tom stared at her patiently. To observe someone die so slowly was a singular experience, especially when every last breath she exhaled allowed him to inhale.
“Tom,” she repeated, tears forming in the corners of her brown eyes. “How could you do this to me? I trusted you.”
There had been a time when Tom had been forced to be patient with Ginny’s moods. When he’d faked sympathy for her comfort. Those times were past.
“Of course you trusted me,” he stated dryly, examining his hands as they slowly gained color and shape. “I can be very charming when I try.”
“But you said you cared for me,” Ginny pleaded softly.
“I did care for you,” the words emerged unbidden from his ghostly lips, shocking himself. “I entertained dreams of rising to power and you helping me. I could see the potential in you to be a powerful witch.”
“Then why…?” Ginny seemed at loss for words, she had not expected such a response.
“You turned out to be a silly, love-sick girl,” Tom scolded mockingly. “ ‘Salvaging’ the diary from your ‘precious’ Harry’s trunk.”
His words came out a little harsher than he’d intended. He silently checked himself, when he was so close to victory he could not allow his emotions to overwhelm him. If he acknowledged his feelings it was possible one of them might push him to relinquish his hold on her.
Ginny flushed angrily and slid a bit further down. “I hate you,” she whispered maliciously.
Somewhere deep inside of him, a dormant part of Tom Riddle roared in agony at her words. But that pain was so distant that Tom simply ignored it.
“That’s odd,” he commented lightly. “I can remember a time when your feelings were the opposite.”
o o o o o o o
Why was he bringing that up now? Ginny grumbled to herself. She could feel heat rising to her cheeks. She feel pale and feverish, her back bent at an uncomfortable angle and wedged against the cool stone. She couldn’t see much in this chamber, but the air felt cool and smelled of damp, mold and rot.
About ten feet away, the face of Tom Riddle glowed, becoming more opaque by the second.
“I think your memory must be faulty,” she spat bitterly.
“Care for a recitation?” Tom queried mockingly. “December 12th : Dear Tom, Thank you s””
“STOP!” she shouted, water spilling out of her eyes and cascading down her face.
“A bit touchy are we?” Tom asked quietly.
Ginny didn’t answered, just allowed herself to slump a bit further down as she dissolved into tears. Through her sobs, she heard him stand up and approach her. As he kneeled down in front her, she tried to twist away but found herself too weak to move.
“You don’t believe me, do you Ginny?” he whispered softly. “I really did mean I had plans for you, for us.”
“Well forgive me my lapse of trust,” she responded acidly.
A clammy wetness clamped onto her hand and she gave a yelp of surprise only to realize that it was his hand. She watched dumbfounded as his icy fingers wrapped around her own cold digits.
“I could have done so much for you,” he continued earnestly, looking straight into her eyes. “I was so proud of you that day you mustered up the strength to throw me away. And I celebrated when the next time I was visited by Harry Potter.
“You see,” he went on enthusiastically, “I knew that eventually I would have to drain the life force out of someone and you were the only possible choice. But I didn’t want to because you were such a powerful pureblood. So when my half-blood nemesis began writing to me, I thought I’d found a solution. I hate to waste good blood.”
Ginny stared at him in amazement, when discussing the sanctity of blood, Riddle’s face transformed as though lit by a beacon of bright light.
“You’re mad,” she intoned hoarsely.
“Most geniuses are said to be mad at some point or another,” he cocked a tiny smile at her. It was as though he saw her as an unlearned child and it was his duty to teach her the ways of the world.
Her vision began to slide in and out of focus.
“I know you may find this hard to believe, Ginny,” Tom explained somberly, “but I really am disappointed to lose you.”
Her head spun and her eyelids felt heavy. She closed her eyes in hopes to alleviate the spinning. The last of her muscles relaxed and she collapsed onto the floor. The last thing she remembered was Tom’s hand squeezing her’s.
o o o o o o o
She’s gone, Tom realized.
He gazed at her mournfully. She would have developed into a lovely young woman, he thought. Her freezing hand hung on tightly to his, he raised them both and brought her hand to his lips briefly before letting it drop back down.
He started to rise, but something held him back.
He crouched back down and leaned over her. Gently he kissed her lips.
“Goodbye, Ginevra.”
At the other end of the chamber, the walls were parting. Tom Riddle stood quickly, Harry Potter had arrived, now was the time to face his destiny.
o o o o o o o
The sun shone brightly on the green fields. The buds of wild flowers were just beginning to open. Students frolicked happily up and down the corridors of the Hogwarts Express. Amidst all this gaiety, Ginny felt distanced and cold.
Across from her, Harry and Ron were playing Exploding Snap.
She couldn’t believe Harry had saved her, the thought of Harry fighting valiantly for her life made her swoon. She’d secretly hoped the real reason Harry had defended her was because he was secretly in love with her, but as he’d not yet offered up his heart she guessed he was just shy.
Hermione was curled up next to her with a book in her lap, somehow the lack of exams had inspired her to study over the summer as she didn’t have test scores to gauge how much she’d fallen behind while petrified.
Remarkably, no one had blamed her for any of the trouble. Ginny had feared blatant animosity, but so far all she’d received was compassion, sympathy and candy.
“You alright, Ginny?” Hermione inquired kindly, making Ginny tear her gaze away from Harry to look at her.
“Uh, yeah, I’m fine,” she assured her.
“I always find reading a book makes me feel better,” Hermione confided.
“Er, no offense Hermione,” Ginny grinned nervously, “but right now, I don’t think I’ll ever look at a book the same way again.”
o o o o o o o
December 12th:
Dear Tom,
Thank you so much for helping me study for my Charms exam. I’m pretty sure I aced it with flying colors!
As for your questions about Harry, he’s a really nice boy and so courageous. He defeated this very powerful wizard Lord Voldemort when he was only a baby. No one knows how he avoided the Avada Kedavra, but all he got from it was a dashing lighting bolt scar.
Emily teased me again for mooning after him. She considers herself far more successful with boys. I wonder what she would say if she knew I was writing to a boy every night in our room!
No one understands me like you do Tom. Whenever I try to confide in Percy, he always asks me if I’m sick and then tries to feed me medicine. The twins and Ron are hopeless because they’re always involved with their own groups of friends. You’re so compassionate and understanding.
I love you.
Ginny
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