Here is my entry for the Wordcount Challenge, hosted by the one and only TuesdayNovember on The Dark Lord's Most Faithful forum!
Goal: write a fic of an unspecified number of words. Do not post it. Return here when you've written it, and give us a pretty little post with your exact wordcount. Don't round up or down –exact. Then I will give you a number, and that will be the number of words you need to remove from your fic. Once you've done that, and removed exactly that number of words, you may post your fic. :3
Prompt: write a fic involving one or more characters and comfort or discomfort – be that physical, emotional, or psychological.
My first wordcount was of 3036 words, and my assignment was to remove 548 words. Actually, I must have removed MORE by accident, because the OpenOffice wordcount was off when I typed up the result, and I was able to go back and add a few bits again… Hilarious. I hope you're proud of me, Lizzie ;P
Named after the Florence and the Machine song.
Sitting in a corner of the train with her legs pulled up against her chest, little Ginny Weasley tasted loneliness for the first time.
No noisy brothers, no fussy mother to fill the silence and the emptiness. Even Harry seemed to have vanished – as important as he was – and it felt like symbolism, weighty, ominous symbolism.
Quite simply, she was alone.
Ginny dimly remembered having looked forward to this, passionately. Unfolding her limbs, she reached out for her trunk, and picked up one of her worn manuals. She couldn't just sit there feeling sorry for herself.
Something fell from the pages, and she leaned over curiously.
Colin was nice. Colin was funny, and kept going on about Harry, which got tiring sometimes, but could also feel like being a bit closer to him. Colin sat by her side in Charms and was the one schoolmate she felt most comfortable around.
Sometimes she wondered why. She had never really been a shy girl, and she'd gotten the house she wanted after all. The people there were pleasant. She should have felt right at home.
These things take time, Tom told her. They are going to love you, just be patient. Let them come to you – nobody likes a pushy girl. Perhaps it would only be hard for her to get a real friend because Tom already held so much of her heart. Running to her dormitory every evening, clutching her quill as she watched his smooth words unfold in the small black diary. Tom was the first friend she had ever had, affectionate, understanding and bright, and she needed him a little more every day. Not like her brothers, in unquestioned companionship, and not like Harry in endless daydreams – Tom was a more powerful presence, the smallest event of her day drawing her mind to him, and he was the best confidant a girl could have dreamed of. Tom would never lie to her, mock her or tell on her. And oh, he was fascinating – Tom the orphan, the lost child, with such certainty within. He told her of his fears though – being alone, rejected – and she promised she would never let him down.
I will always be there for you, too, he wrote. Thank you, Ginny.
She clutched the book tight, heart hammering with joy.
The cat had died and she sobbed in shock, curled up on her bed.
It hadn't really died, and she'd never been that sensitive before. Something was different here. She could see the animal in her mind's eye, though she hadn't actually witnessed the discovery, and her head was a messy blur of conflicted emotion – with a feeling of danger, as tangibly anchored within her as the frantic beating of her heart.
Oh Tom, this is so, so horrible, she scribbled, pushing frightened strokes between the lines and into her next word. She watched paper drink ink and tears, terribly anxious for his reply. Calm down, Ginny, she could read eventually. Everything is going to be all right, dear. Take a deep breath and tell me what happened.
It's so awful, she wrote. And I feel so lost. Hogwarts wasn't supposed to be like this.
I'm here for you, Ginny. No matter what happens, I'll be here.
I just don't know what's happening to me. I've been so tired… Oh Tom, I don't know what I'd do without you.
Go to sleep, Ginny. Get some rest. It will feel better in the morning.
Her eyelids drooping, Ginny clutched the diary closer, and sank gratefully into darkness.
They think it's Harry, she wrote on Christmas day, isolated in her canopy with the curtains pulled tight. They think it's Harry, but I think it's me. Everything is my fault – I just don't know how…
Don't be silly, Ginny, he replied. Who could have cursed you? You are at Hogwarts after all… You told me yourself you were exhausted, that must be why you are forgetting things. You should sleep more.
My dreams are frightening…
I know. Calm down, dear. Tell me about Harry, that always makes you feel better.
But they're all accusing him, making his life hell, and what if it's MY FAULT?
Ginny muffled a sob with her hand, fighting to breathe quietly, evenly.
It can't, don't be ridiculous. Tell me about Harry now.
You're the only one I can say those things to, she scribbled next.
I know, but you dwell too much upon them. Nothing is coming from you.
Ginny exhaled in a long, low sigh, before she started writing again. He is… perfect, handsome, brave, and strong… I could never be that strong…
Yes, and? Go on, Ginny, go on…
He defeated the Dark Lord himself. He was just a baby.
Really? How did he do that?
I told you before, I don't know… Nobody knows.
The little girl gritted her teeth, biting back tears. Tom was right. If even he deemed that she was whining and worrying too much… She wouldn't be a burden. He could talk to nobody but her after all, he was her secret… Her Hogwarts secret, her support, her strength.
All year he'd been there for her… Clever, understanding Tom, so much more mature – just listening to her ramblings and fears, always attentive, asking about Harry… reassuring her that she hadn't been cursed, that nobody could have done anything to her… that it would only bring trouble to go to a teacher – that they had more important things to deal with, things that were in no way related to her, little Ginny…
You can make it on your own. I believe in you – and you have me, no matter what.
Tom, always Tom. Her miracle friend, found just a few months back, right in time for Hogwarts – the only one to whom she told everything…
Ginny blinked down at the book. It seemed so inconspicuous, like her – like her here, not the Burrow's lively little girl. In the darkness, it appeared strangely ominous, weighty in her hands. She could tell no one about Tom, or bad things would happen – people would take him from her.
Under the bright sunlight of Egypt, would it have looked differently? she wondered. Alone with her parents and Bill, her biggest, sweet brother, the adventurer, the curse-breaker…
The diary fell from her hands. She picked it up, fingers shaking slightly. Who are you, Tom? she asked.
The answer was swift and simple. I'm your best friend.
Ginny paced the dormitory like a caged animal, whirling around regularly to glance at her crimson covers – and the black book lying there. The other girls had gone to dinner, long used to the tiny Weasley girl having mood swings, being tired, skipping meals – a behaviour she would have scorned as pitiful and attention-seeking, back in the Burrow, before she met Tom.
It made her want to scream, this smothering certainty, of the one thing she never wanted to acknowledge. Tom, her friend, had changed her. It had all begun with him. Tom had slipped his way into her soul, stripped it bare and engraved himself within. She had told him everything… but he had told her about himself too, told her she was special…
Grabbing the diary, she bolted for the door, heart racing in sync with the pounding of her feet. Her body seemed to know where to lead her – right forward until she hit the door of the second floor's lavatory.
Here, it belongs here, she thought, and tossed the book inside with all the strength she could gather. It flew, surprisingly heavy, as though in slow motion and Ginny threw herself back when Myrtle shrieked shrilly in outrage. She fell to the ground in a gasping, shaking heap. Get him back, a distant voice shouted in her head, making her cringe.
The ghost was howling inside, and only the keening sound drove Ginny away, bone-white and reeling.
She woke from a heavy sleep, blinking confusedly into the sunlight. Slowly sitting up, Ginny looked down at herself – her black robes, on crimson covers – and the book.
Her heart leaped, twisting madly in her chest. For two seconds she didn't understand. Then things resurfaced – the diary in Harry's hands, sneaking into the boys' dormitory in a daze, tossing things everywhere. Wanting to scream. But she had it now. Ginny breathed deeply, throwing her head back. Her secret, safe with her again. It had been childish, stupid, to think she could just get rid of it, pretend nothing had happened. She would only need to hide the diary and never pick it up again. As long as nobody else could find it, and she stayed away from Tom and his soothing, caring words, she'd be fine. She'd be safe.
Hastily, Ginny buried the book at the bottom of her trunk, under a pile of her mother's knitted jumpers. Then she headed out, to the common room, staggeringly. She had missed the Quidditch match. Percy would be fussing over her again…
The room was overfull, buzzing with noise. She paused for a second, unsure. No joy, no celebrations – had they lost, then? But Harry was so good, they'd never lost a match with him before. Here he stood, with Ron at his side, both looking lost. Nearby, Percy sat wordlessly, white-faced.
"Ginny!" She gasped as she nearly ran into Fred. "Hey, careful. You look really pale."
"Hey," she muttered. "I'm sorry I missed the match."
He stared at her strangely. "What?"
"I just missed it." She spoke quickly, defensive. "I overslept. I'm a bit tired, that's all, I swear –"
"Ginny," he cut her off. "There was no match. They cancelled it. More attacks."
She felt the blood drain from her face. "Who?" she choked out.
"Hermione, and that Ravenclaw prefect, Penelope Clearwater."
She swayed, and he caught her elbow. "Hey, careful. Don't faint on me, love."
"I'm all right," she wheezed. "I think I'll go lie down."
"Good idea, you do that." He watched her scramble her way up the stairs.
Ginny wasted no time in lighting a fire in the hearth. She dug into her trunk, scratching her hands in her frenzy. Ron's best friend, Percy's girlfriend. The book was so heavy, sweat was beading on her forehead, the back of her neck, as she waited until the flames were sufficiently high, she had to put it down. Go to sleep, Ginny. She was so tired, so frightened and she sobbed as she dropped the book into the fireplace.
She slumped to the ground, the flagstones cool under her hands, watching the dance of the flames. They licked at the pages, leaving dark shadows that gleamed oddly and then vanished. They rose higher, and then, slowly, decreased. They flickered and died. Ginny reached out a shaking finger to touch the diary's cover. It felt hot, smooth, undamaged.
She held her fists tight against her mouth to keep the screams inside, and tasted blood on her tongue.
The shouts and cheers roared deafeningly into Ginny's head, and she felt as though she were about to be sick. This was how it ended, then – victims would talk and she'd be expelled, thrown into Azkaban, perhaps, for crimes she could not remember. Nobody would believe her stories of a soothing, considerate friend in a diary and of waking up with blood on her robes. Would her family? Would Harry –
With her last strength, she tried to drag herself to him, to speak – but terror muted her – nobody could know, nobody would believe her. Then Percy's voice next to her ear made her want to scream, in a mix of relief and frustration, and she bolted from her seat, dashing back to her dormitory.
She pushed the door shut, and tore the diary from the bottom of her trunk, falling, breathless, onto the bed.
If they get me, at least they'll get you, too, she wrote, shaking so hard the words were barely readable.
Oh, I don't think so, Ginny. But rest assured, my dear, they won't have you either.
Impossibly, her heart beat faster still. Perhaps Tom could make her escape. Perhaps Tom could make it all better. She cursed herself as she wrote: Why?
Because I will. Or rather, I already do…
A haze was creeping over her conscious mind. Not fear, nor tiredness – this was something else, slipping into her limbs and lulling her brain to sleep. Ginny tried to lean away from the diary, so heavy in her lap. "No," she said aloud. "No, NO!"
She screamed and screamed, trying to crawl from the bed, but as she neared the edge she glimpsed more writing on the page, and leaned over to read, gasping.
JUST SHUT UP!
"No!" she sobbed. "You won't have me! I won't let you!"
Stop talking –
Nobody could help. Nobody could hear her. What was the point, then?
Cease and desist –
Gasping, Ginny grasped the curtains and hurled herself upwards. She fell in a heap on the floor.
There's a good girl!
When she stood again, she wasn't shaking anymore and her eyes stared off into the distance, wide and unseeing.
The room was suffused with a greenish glow, but she could not tell where the light came from, and her eyelids were so very heavy. Wearily, Ginny Weasley raised her head from the ground, and tried to make out shapes.
There he stood, towering above her.
"You lied to me," she croaked. "You were never a Ravenclaw."
His answering smile was easy, innocent, handsome. "Are you just figuring this out now? I am a little disappointed."
"Not that it matters," she mumbled, and his laugh made her cringe – too loud, and cold. He was exactly like she'd imagined him, but the laugh was off…
"Oh, but it matters, de ar little Ginny." He stretched out his arms with a ferocious grin. "You just offered Harry Potter, on a silver platter, to the heir of Slytherin!"
She closed her eyes. Emotions – fear, hope, betrayal – felt numbed and faraway, it was hard to reach them and pull them closer to the surface, into the dim light of her faltering mind. Everything seemed unreal, and so very tiring. "You won't get Harry," she muttered, the words barely understandable.
He leaned closer and she looked up. His face was a little blurred, but getting clearer. "Oh yes, I will," he breathed. "And all because of you."
Her head bobbed and fell back. He looked like Harry, she realized. Taller, more beautiful, dark eyes – but there was something. "Sleep now, little Ginny," he crooned. "This will be easy, I promise. You won't even feel a thing. After all, you've been so useful to me."
His voice, lulling her, seemingly familiar. Ginny sighed softly. Her consciousness was wrapped into the warmth of his soothing words and he expertly pulled the strings to lower her into the blackness.
Her limbs went limp, and her face was hidden by the fire of her hair.
Dedicated to the lovely Lauren, who suggested I use the Doctor Who quote "Just shut up – stop talking – cease and desist – there's a good girl!" with Ginny and Tom. Thanks for being the sweetest, most faithful little bunnylove ever =) (Put that at the bottom so the quote wouldn't get spoiled!