Author's Note: I just had this idea and wanted to put it up. It's a pretty dark fic for me. Usually when I try to write something dark, it ends up being moderately sad with a sort of happy ending. But, not this one. I usually don't really write anything in Ginny's point of view—I prefer Luna or Hermione—so this is new for me. I've also never written this pairing before. If it seems a bit confusing, it's because it's in Ginny's POV and she's not exactly in her right mind at the moment. So tell me what you think.

Warnings: Character death. A lot of it. Suicide as well. If you don't like that kind of thing... Meh. At least give it a chance.

"Parseltongue." Okay, actually, the only talking is in parseltongue. It's the same word, too.

Disclaimer: I don't own.

The Imitation

She felt empty. So many of her friends had died; why was she still alive? Why couldn't she have died with them? At least then she wouldn't have to be alone here.

"Open."

She missed them so much. She missed Ron, the overprotective goofball. She missed Luna, her best friend. She missed Hermione, her shoulder to cry on. She missed her family, Dumbledore's Army, her professors, the Order, Hogwarts—she missed everything.

She missed Harry, her savior.

But, most of all, as much as she would deny it, she still missed him. Even after six long years, she still missed that boy she met in the most unlikely of places. She missed the handsome young man who made her feel so strong—confident. She missed the boy who quickly became her first friend with sweet words that easily hid the darkness within him in her time of need. She missed the intelligent prefect trapped in the seemingly harmless diary. The man who possessed her, made her do awful things, and attempted to kill both Harry and her.

"Open."

She missed Tom Riddle. Lord Voldemort.

She felt awful, like some vile creature from the foulest pits of Hell, for even thinking that such a horrible, heartless man—if she could even call him that—deserved anything other than hatred. She didn't understand how she could possibly feel anything for him. She should be angry. Angry that monster had destroyed everything she knew and loved for his own idiotic dream, only to be killed himself by the thing he hated most.

He was a fool. He was the King of Fools—the only type of ruler he could ever be, now that he was dead.

But she was even worse than him. To actually care about that thing was like dancing with the devil himself.

"Open."

She hated herself. Oh, one would be amazed at how much hatred they could hold for themselves. She had just lost her whole life—her whole being—yet here she was, still grieving the death of a man who lost his humanity a long time ago. He had sold his soul long before she was even born.

But she couldn't help it. He had helped to shape her into the person she was today with his less than admirable methods. He never left her thoughts, always lingering—lurking in the back of her mind. It was almost as if, though he was long gone from her person, he somehow continued to drain her life ever so slowly. And there was nothing she could do to stop it. She would compare him to everyone that got close to her.

"Open."

Her family never seemed to care for her the way Tom had. Luna would never understand her the way Tom had. Hermione wasn't always there to listen to her when she needed like Tom was. No one saved her the way Tom had. He was the one that pulled her out of her own self-made misery. Even if he was the one to put her right back.

Even Harry, the man who saved her in another way, who loved her for her and protected her until the very end, couldn't compare. He was so much like Tom, and yet so very different. His hair, though the same color, wasn't as neat as Tom's. His eyes, while always caring, not quite as soft as Tom's had always been. His words, filled with purpose, not as confident as Tom's were. His voice, so expressive, was not as melodic as Tom's.

Harry was so close, but he wasn't him. Harry wasn't Tom. He wasn't the Tom Riddle that she had come to know—or thought she knew—when she was but a lonely first year all those years ago. No, no matter how close he was, Harry could never be Tom. He was—he was a copy. A clone. An imitation.

And that's all he ever could be. Not even if he was still there.

But he wasn't. Harry and the others... They were all gone.

"Open."

She wishes she could change it all. No—she wishes none of it had ever happened. She wishes she didn't have to feel this pain. She wishes she had never met—she couldn't even bring herself to think his name anymore—him.

Everything would have been so much better, easier, had she never written in that damned diary. Everyone, or almost everyone, would still be alive if that hadn't happened. After all, it was because of her they were all dead now. It was because, when the time came, she couldn't find it within herself to fight against him.

Had she fought, had they all lived, she'd have graduated by now. Right now, she'd be buoyantly eating brunch with her family and Harry. She'd be laughing hysterically as the twins teased Ron mercilessly. She'd be snorting into her pumpkin juice as her mother admonished them both, her voice loud and piercing. She'd be huddled tight into Harry's side, holding in the rest of her amusement before she herself could get scolded by her mother. She'd be happy.

She wouldn't be as she was now.

"Open!"

Now, all she could think of was the 'what ifs'. She could only dream of what could have but obviously didn't happen. She was stuck with only her hopes and vain wishes, forever lost and without purpose. She just wanted it all to end now.

That was why she was there, after all.

"OPEN!"

Her eyes were steeled with determination as, finally, that familiar white light of the tap glowed and spun. Slower than she remembered, the sink literally sank into the ground, disappearing. Her heart beat erratically at the sight of the large pipe, just big enough for a grown man to slide down. Looking through the pipe, all she could see was darkness. But she knew exactly what she would find down there.

The ruins of a once grand Chamber of Secrets.

She smiled bitterly. She would finally be able to her friends again. Ron, Luna, Hermione, Harry. They wouldn't be happy with her decision, but they would soon understand. She knew they would.

She needed to let go of him, and this was the only way. This way, she would be happy. Happy with her friends—her real friends. She'd be happy with Harry—no longer an imitation. No more comparisons. Just Harry. The way he always wanted to be. She closed her eyes with that resolution, her smile now blissful, and—

Ginny Weasley fell.

AN: So? Bad? Good? Anything that needs improvement?