Conversation with a Killer
The first thing she was conscious of was a soft tinkling sound, the sound of water dripping in a large cavern. It seemed eerily beautiful in her half-aware mind.
Then sensation and sense returned to her, although each seemed as slow as cold treacle. She opened her eyes and squinted up at the dim ceiling. She couldn't place it. She rolled onto her side, trying to figure out where on earth she was.
"Step into my parlor, said the spider to the fly," purred a baritone voice from behind her. It seemed on the verge of laughing, which made no sense. "You are easily lured, Ginny dear."
A single jolt of fear wormed its way ever so slowly up Ginny's spine. She sat up with some effort, still feeling as if drenched in molasses. She turned her head towards the voice, blinking as a reflection off a water puddle sent sudden light into her eyes.
He was tall, and darkly handsome, and utterly transparent. He was less corporeal than a ghost- like mist caught in limbo, a half-banished wraith trapped in the currents of time. There was no color about him. There didn't have to be. Ginny already knew what he looked like, how frighteningly alluring he was. Now, however, he was only frightening.
"Where am I?" she asked weakly, feeling rather dizzy. The wraith smiled wolfishly and gestured expansively at the space around them.
"The Chamber of Secrets. Clever, isn't it? A bit damp, but far better than some places I could mention." A ghostly foot kicked at a black book on the wet flagstones- the foot went right through it, but he had already done what he wanted. Ginny's eyes were drawn to it like a magnet.
"I was an idiot, wasn't I," Ginny murmured. "To trust you." Her eyes flitted back up to him, her gaze misty, as if she were incredibly tired. He seemed slightly more solid now, she noticed. Terror wound its way around her heart, but she was so tired…
"Quite." The amusement vanished from his silken voice, replaced by flat tones, as if he were utterly uninterested in the world. "Don't look so upset, girl. You won't feel anything."
"What?"
He kneeled, face close to hers. Pity crept across his painfully handsome features. "Don't you know, Ginny dear? You won't leave this place. Even if your precious Harry Potter-" he spat the name like a curse- "manages to find the entrance, it will be too late."
He stroked her hair with one misty hand- Ginny was lying down again and didn't remember how she got that way. Color was bleeding into him now. She closed her eyes and savored the slight touch without meaning to. She hated herself, but then, there was nothing she could do now…
"Don't worry. You won't have died without purpose. And-" he chuckled here, sending thrills through Ginny's muggy mind- "you'll soon have your precious Harry, I guarantee it."
"Mmm."
"Sweet dreams, Ginny dear…"
The last thing she heard was his honeyed laugh. The last thing she felt was chilly fingers trailing down her face. And the last thing she thought was that at least she wouldn't have to see the disappointment in Harry's eyes when she told him about the diary.