EDIT: Delving into this again was uncomfortable to me, but ultimately worth it, if only because the icky cheesiness has been forever banished from this fic. I grew out of my girlish need to have happy endings. Sometimes the ending isn't happy, it's what you need to change. Ginny knows all about that. ;)
Disclaimer: Nope. Some quotes are taken directly from Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets and Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. No suing.
A/N: I love writing Ginny. She's so cool. Oh! While writing this story, I had to use Chamber of Secrets and my sister had stuck a very chilling story about Tom Riddle within its' pages, which I unknowingly stumbled upon. I've read it before, but it still freaks me out. (It's called Moments in the Dark by Vindictus Viridian from MNFF). (shivers) It weirds me out, but mostly just because the interpretation is so like Tom. So I smacked my sister a good one 'cause now I'll probably have nightmares. JK. :D
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Worth
When dementors attack, weakness is the least of it. They have the greatest effect on those possessing the very worst of memories...
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It had taken her a long time to find the other three, Neville a few feet in front of her all the while. It wasn't the unexpected darkness or the sudden, lurching stop of the train that had prompted Ginny Weasley to leave the haunting quiet of her own compartment, but the strange creeping feeling that she was losing herself again.
The slamming stop had jarred her considerably, more internally. She glanced around nervously from where she had fallen in the chilling dark. Ginny didn't want to be alone anymore. She kicked the seat angrily at her stupidity.
Back at the station, she should have followed the others. They hadn't invited her to sit with them (Ron had actually told her to 'go away'), and she had imposed on their time so much during the summer, especially Ron's, she didn't want to burden them. Not the rest of her family, either. A witch her age should have been able to take care of herself.
Her parents, Fred, George, Charlie, Ron, good old Bill when she had seen him in Egypt, and Percy too, proud, pompous Percy had taken the time to listen to her. They had told her to share what was on her mind, no matter what it was, if it seemed insignificant, but that was impossible. Too many worries flitted around, and they might think less of her for sharing it, for wasting their time with her childish nattering.
Part of her still felt as though she had let them down by getting caught up in the wickedness that Tom's diary held. Saying she had been 'enchanted' felt like an excuse. Just because wizards older than she had been hoodwinked by You-Know-Who, why was that supposed to make it okay? "Stupid little Ginny."
Another noise startled her. A few girls looked about to enter, but they stared at her instead rather rudely. She got up quickly, brushing herself off but the brunette gestured to her blonde friend and the two of them passed on, glancing over their shoulders disapprovingly.
"Isn't that the little second year who nearly got herself killed last year?"
"Hush, Devona. She'll hear you!"
"Not very friendly though, is she?"
Ginny looked down at her hands, the color already rising on her cheeks. Why must these things get to me?
Soon she was too lonely again to be embarrassed.
Oh, where was Hermione? The older girl had seemed imperious and frightening to Ginny from looks alone when she had first seen her, verbally abusing Ron quite spectacularly. She had actually been incredibly kind and very understanding, in a motherly way.
Not the way a friend was. Ginny was prone to laugh at the thought, half-scandalized. The best friend she'd ever had had turned out to be not such a friend after all. Murder was so tainting that way.
Even attempted murder.
Ron would protect her. He had promised and so had all the rest of her family. The empty gesture was comforting all the same despite the fact that they hadn't been able to help her when she most needed it and she did not want to need protecting. He couldn't come back to get her anymore, and they believed that that was where the feelings of confusion, worthlessness, guilt, and deep burning shame ended—with Riddle's ghost, and Harry's final strike with the basilisk fang.
Her fear didn't stop at such rational conclusions. It fed itself on the lies she had been told, a wraith-like monster, undefeated and getting stronger:
Nobody cares. They didn't even notice your loneliness.
They did!
Your parents had so many children, they wouldn't even miss you.
They loved her. They needed her.
You'd be better off without your soul.
No.
Why do you pretend…? Isn't it boring, doesn't it get old?
Her mind, fueled by a paralyzing fear, had taken up where he had left off, taunting her with enticing lies, and she was still too vulnerable to have strength enough to finally dismiss them as lies. It was easier to simply believe. A shadow fell over her, which was logically impossible in the dark, and the new, darker presence demanded silence and a sense of insecurity. She began to breathe in little flighty puffs, and almost as though she had been torn from her body, Ginny felt her eyes fluttering shut all on their own.
"Little Ginny?" The voice was not so kind anymore, but forced and mocking. She winced as he filled her mind, like water seeping into the lungs of one who was drowning, her eyes beginning to water. What happened to you? I thought you cared.
An elfin smile spread, pained and yet somehow, grateful, grateful for a return to what she was used to—the hate, the lies, the cold chilling feeling of death that had been her partner for those horrid months of her life. You never laughed at me. Until the end. Why must you change?
"What's the matter? You can tell me..."
You didn't really want to know, did you? You were lying. You weren't honest until the very end…
Her head shifted in noncompliance, dropping onto her quiet shoulder. The creature outside the compartment stirred and a rotting, shrunken hand pulled open the glass door. Staring unfeelingly at the little girl, its' blank and uncomprehending eyes hid behind its' oversized mask, a greenish slime staining the blue-white flesh near its' eager mouth. Food, perhaps?
"I know."
Consciousness ebbing… the light was so very far away. If only her hand could lift itself and reach, just a bit farther, she was sure she could make it back. The dementor watched her fingers clench and unclench in disinterest. It lingered for a moment longer, sensing the dark vibrations from within her, but passed on. Sirius Black aboard the Hogwarts Express. Somewhere. Find Sirius Black.
She felt the thing leave her, but she was too entranced by his voice, that deadly melodic pitch. She hated it, but loved the way it had made her feel, in that glorious time of caring for someone and being cared for in return. She wanted to have the happiness, without the crushing pain, and he wouldn't let her, slipping back in when her mind had no useful occupation.
"It's that Potter boy."
She stiffened, her body rigid and taut, unmoving, as if by keeping very still, she would be saved. Come and find me. Isn't it time yet? Where are you? I can't reach you...
She could imagine his voice, conjure it all the way from the Chamber: a lilting laugh. "Do you love him, Ginny?"
An icy hand went through her skin, the tiny hairs on her arms standing on end, and coiled itself round her soul, squeezing her essence in a firm grip. She gasped and came to herself, wiping the sweat from her brow. She shivered in the endless dark and instinct took over, pushing her from the seat and out the door.
Ginny brushed something in the dark. She was too frightened to pay it any mind. Her mind registered it as "dead" and "cold." She marched on, hoping for a voice to follow, a sound, a familiar smell. Bring me back…
She heard footsteps in front of her and froze, quietly taking in the voices. Neville's low apology, Harry's murmured greeting, the angry hiss of a cat, and then Hermione's quiet excuse. Was Ron there? Her hands stretching blindly in front of her, her fingernails found a smooth surface, the glass of a compartment door. She groped and thrust open the handle, entering as someone was exiting.
"Who's that?" came the startled voice.
"Who's that?"
"Ginny?" Hermione asked.
"Hermione?" Her relief was inexpressible.
"What are you doing?"
She explained and was admitted into the compartment. After nearly sitting on Harry, Ginny sat, blushing and uncomfortable, in a corner. Her heart was already strangely warmed by the presence of the others.
"Quiet!" The unknown voice was food for her fear. Why? Wasn't the shadow gone?
The operative answer was no.
No one spoke, or even breathed too loudly. A strange light filled the suddenly cramped space, and the source of the voice revealed himself, a tired-looking man. She was too nervous to even wonder why he was there. "Stay where you are."
Ginny experienced a deep sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach as the shadow returned. Back again? The compartment door slid open and this time she could see it, though it didn't help matters any. She started shaking quietly, lost to her recollections. This time, she wasn't blessed with closed eyes. Ginny stared at the horrible thing, quaking as if it was Tom himself, come to drag her to her death.
The diary was in front of her again and as much as she had grown to mistrust it, she had not been able to ignore his words scrolling on the page.
-Ginny, I've met this Harry Potter.-
I thought you'd give something back. I was wrong.
A tear rolled down her pale cheek and she bit her lip to keep from crying out.
-He is nothing so extraordinary.-
Oh, but he is, Tom. He is.
Harry had fascinated her, still fascinated her. How could a boy with so much pain in his past and present, a boy with such a depressing future filled with doom and murder and despair, how could he laugh with such reckless abandon? Play Quidditch and chess calmly after escaping You-Know-Who so narrowly yet again? It was extraordinary.
Sometime in her first year, she had realized that she truly was in love with Harry, or at least incapable of caring for anyone else. After watching him and hearing about him for so long, it was not astonishing. She had confided in this to Tom in the diary, and he hadn't laughed at her, like her brothers had. Like Ron had. Even Draco Malfoy had taken the time to throw jeers at her. He'd never bothered before. Being around him was like a breath of fresh air.
And in those desperate times she had heard of, he relied completely on Ron and Hermione's support to return him to his natural contentment. Wouldn't it be wonderful for someone like him to need her, to ask from something from her that only she could give? The girlish dream made her squirm when she remembered Tom's horrible words, how he had tried to harness her desires into a way to capture Harry himself.
-You must bring him to me, Ginny.-
She still remembered what her shaking hand had written, practically stabbing the paper in haste. -No! You can't have him.- He's too good for you, Tom. He did not write back for a long minute.
-Selfish little girl.- He had never called her a name before, always polite, always kind, always lying.
-Tom?- The ink had barely disappeared before his reply flashed before her eyes.
-You will bring Harry Potter to me.-
-But Tom-
She had felt another presence fill her and she wanted to block it out, but somehow she couldn't. And then she felt nothing. She had walked like a ghost, all the way down to the corridor he chose, all through the painting of the wall, and all the way down to the Chamber.
Then she met the real Tom.
He was slightly blurred, though he had a handsome face, surprising her. But there was something lurking in his eyes that was not handsome at all. And then his mouth broke into a pleased sneer, driving away anything remotely attractive about the face. "Little Ginny," he said, his voice drippy and mocking.
You never loved me. But you did need me.
"Welcome… again." He laughed.
"Where's Harry?" she asked urgently, wishing to be gone as soon as possible. Tom was frightening her.
"He should be here very soon, Ginny."
Ginny remembered feeling very strange. There was nothing like the feeling of dying, of your soul slipping from your body. "What's happening to me, Tom?"
His face turned solemn, his expression flat. "You are dying."
"W-What?"
He merely stared, offering no explanation. She sank to her knees, feeling too weak to stand, tears easily leaking from her eyes from the exhaustion and pain.
"I don't understand, Tom."
He looked down at her, shaking his head. "Silly little girl. But I will soon be rid of you."
He told her what he was doing with her, why he was letting her die, why he was killing her, why Harry was coming, and what she had already done.
"You killed the roosters.... you wrote the messages on the wall... you, Ginny Weasley, you set the Basilisk on your friends.... It was you... you did this..."
She was horrified, convinced that some sort of misguided jealousy and sense of loyalty had caused her to pick those people for Petrification. It still haunted her, the way Tom had used her devotion to Harry to entice her to do something so evil.
"You almost killed them, Ginny... and now it is your turn... to die.."
Her sobs had filled the long room. "Why, Tom? Why?"
Then he told her who he really was. And she fell back on the floor, her head banging off of the stone floor.
"Goodbye, Ginny Weasley."
"No, Tom…" But her voice was barely a whisper. And her eyes closed. Harry came. And she could remember snatches of what Tom said about her.
"…very boring, having to listen to the silly little troubles of an eleven-year-old girl. But I wrote back…. Ginny simply loved me…. Ginny opened the Chamber of Secrets… She didn't know what she was doing at first. It was very amusing… stupid little Ginny…. foolish little brat… I made her write her farewell…. she struggled and cried and became very boring…." And she remembered nothing more.
But then, as the Patronus flew from the tired man's wand, a voice said, "It's all right. Riddle's finished."
Finished.
He wasn't finished. He still had life and breath, not only as a spirit out there, roaming tirelessly to kill Harry Potter, but also inside her, in the very depths of her recaptured soul. Until she could finally cast him out, recall the memory with less pain, he would still conquer over her, again and again and again. No one could save her from it. She was left to her fate.
She pulled her legs into herself and cried soundlessly. She was only partially aware when Harry passed out and only partially aware when he came to again. Something was thrust into her hand and Ginny stared at it blankly through her tears. Chocolate?
She gave another sob and a warm, feminine arm slid around her. Hermione. She rested her head on the girl's shoulder until the tears slowed and then ceased. Only then did she feel steady enough to even think about eating the chocolate in her hand.
"I haven't poisoned the chocolate, you know…"
Ginny gave the man a very small smile and took a nibble. Relief? She took a larger bite and felt worlds better. Calm. She did not speak the rest of night. But during the feast, Harry astounded her again. He was eating and talking and laughing all throughout the feast. Once again, he had managed to forget. Had he not passed out on the train? What strange power did he possess that enabled him to forget the horrors and rise above them?
It bothered her the rest of the week. One particular day after she had stared at a laughing Harry in the common room, Hermione asked her for heaven's sake, what was the matter, what was troubling her.
Ginny looked at her, wordlessly conveying her wish for the girl to follow her to the dormitories. Once there, she spilled everything, watching Hermione's face flicker from exasperation to sadness. "…I don't understand, Hermione."
"I don't understand, Tom." Why was it so hard?
Hermione looked less imperious, and for once regarded her and for once spoke not as a mother, but as a friend, a peer. "You can't move on, Ginny, or let go of what you're feeling because you still believe what he said about you."
"What're-"
"You're not silly, Ginny," said Hermione calmly.
"What?" That was unexpected.
"You're not silly," Hermione repeated. "You didn't do it on purpose, and what he did—listen closely—what he did to you was wrong, Ginny. It was wrong." Ginny stared at her as tears filled her eyes. That was it. The piece of the picture she had not been able to see. The hollowness that consumed her was not Tom himself, but the words he had left, the way he had used her and discarded her, and the way she still was desperately clinging to his last words as if he hadn't been lying to her then as well.
That darker, meaner part of her told her she deserved it for the things she had done, the things he had made her do. No one had ever told her that she hadn't. No one had ever told her that Riddle was wrong. They must have simply assumed that she understood that.
They hugged each other on Ginny's rumpled bed. Hermione's words brought peace and understanding.
"Thank you," she whispered, when they pulled away. Hermione merely nodded, smiling as she wiped the tears from Ginny's face as she departed. Her mountain of homework and the academic woes of Ron and Harry made it necessary for her to return to the common room. "You understand," Hermione said, before her massive hair disappeared down the staircase.
She laid awake for a long time that night. It would be difficult to believe in Hermione's words, so much so that it would be easier to quit and let herself evaporate into nothing from the pressure of the lies. She had to be stronger than that. The time to wallow in the misery and shame had passed and admitting defeat against Tom—Voldemort—was not something she could allow to continue.
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