Author's Notes: Just a little essay from Ginny's point of view that I wrote at midnight. I feel that Ginny probably went through a terrible ordeal during her possession by Tom Riddle, and it forced her to grow up too fast. We don't see that it had too much of an effect on Ginny, from what we see of her from Harry's point of view, but I'm pretty sure she suffered something fierce. This is just a little piece in which Ginny addresses this possession and her thoughts on Harry. Anyway, hope you enjoy. Just a warning, it contains adult content.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything out of the HP universe, but I sure wish I did.
Name
What's in a name? Can it express the essence of a soul? Is it possible? The answer is both yes and no. Words are simply symbols used to express a feeling or thought, but they cannot capture the entirety of that thought. Names are the same. They can only convey an aspect of a person, like a moment captured by an artist's brush.
Glancing around the Common Room, a flash of raven black catches my eye, and my head whips around only to be confronted by the most brilliant green eyes. Case in point: Harry. The name originates from the Medieval English form of Henry, derived from the Germanic name Heimerich which means 'home ruler.' Certainly, I see aspects of Harry's nobility (or as I like to call it, his sweet side) in the way he downplays his own achievements and defends his friends without so much as a second thought. Hermione call it his 'saving people thing,' but I see it as the only way he knows how to show his love. Harry is a natural born leader, just another aspect that can be extracted from his name. Despite all the characteristics 'Harry' denotes, it cannot come even close to describing the Harry I know. It cannot express the hardship Harry endures from day to day or tell you how he internalizes these struggles and blames himself for others' actions. No name can communicate what a wicked temper he has, convey how fluidly he controls his broomstick, or demonstrate his precise duelling skills. And the name cannot convey how he will always hold a piece of my heart. Harry is his name, but it does not define his choices, his personality or his life's circumstances.
Then there's Tom. Such an innocent name, deceiving like a wolf in sheep's clothing. It originates from the Aramaic name Te'oma which means 'twin.' When one thinks of a Tom, they see a great uncle smiling toothlessly, or a well-meaning gentleman. But, the Tom I knew, the Tom I got to know through the diary, was nothing like his name implied. At first he was nice, complimenting, encouraging. I thought I found of friend. But on Halloween, everything changed. It was like a switch was flicked. His words whispered in my ear, and like a snake, a foreign presence slithered up through my muscles. I was conscious. I saw everything he did, and I fought, but my pleading only made him laugh. He whispered words of condemnation, and gave me a steady dose of shame that night so that I kept quiet, and when I tried to tell, tried to seek help, the snake would uncoil and he'd take control again. I spent the entire year with his snake-like presence in me, ready to strike, and he enjoyed every moment of my torment. One night I remember how he told me how he wanted to rape me. He showed me images of him driving himself into me while I screamed out in pain. When my roommates were asleep he forced his presence into me, and took my body to the bathroom, locked the door, and made me watch him masturbate in my own body. At the age of twelve, I was no longer technically a virgin, and he didn't lose a moment reminding me what a whore I was. When he came out of the diary, he completed his rape of me when pressed his lips to mine, and forced his seventeen years of hatred, pain, and lust into me. The thoughts, memories, and emotions burned through my skin, and I remember wanting to die before I blacked out. When I awoke he was gone. The Basalisk fang purged me of his presence, but this does not stop the memories and nightmares, and it cannot erase the innocence he took from me! I still feel the echo of him three years after he ripped into me. And the name he used gave no indication of the evil in his soul.
Names are just empty symbols. They can tell you a bit about the person they identify, but do not contain the whole person. If names could summarize a person, maybe I wouldn't have written in that diary. Maybe I would be a different Ginevra, still sweet and innocent. But I'm not. And I refuse to let him control me any longer. His name (and his distorted alias, Voldemort) hold no power over me.