Demons

When she was young, she would always be talking.

Her mother, Molly Weasley, watched in amusement as her little redheaded daughter toddled around the kitchen, speaking to someone that nobody else could see.

Ginny smiled and laughed and joked with her invisible friend, and it was absolutely adorable.

That was when Ginny Weasley was three years old.

(That was when it was still okay to believe in invisible friends).

When she was still a child, she kept on talking.

Molly watched with a frown through the kitchen window. Ginny lay outside in the grass, basking in the warmth of the summer and enjoying the afternoon sun's last rays of light.

Through the glass of the window, Molly could see Ginny's lips moving, and she pointed up at the sky, describing the clouds to her imaginary friend.

Humming thoughtfully, Molly pulled her attention away from Ginny and continued to wash the dishes.

It meant nothing, after all. Ginny was still young. Imaginary friends were perfectly normal for kids her age.

(Ginny Weasley was six years old).

Ginny grew into a girl, yearning for Hogwarts and magic and adventure, with long, flame-red hair and eyes that shone with mischief.

Bored and restless, Ginny would wreak havoc in the kitchen, idly toying around with any device she could get her hands on.

"Out!" Molly would shriek, shooing her outside with a dish towel.

"But I'm bored," Ginny would complain, pouting. "Everyone else is at school, and I'm stuck here, alone."

Then she would stomp outside and sit in the backyard and remember that she wasn't alone.

(Molly caught Ginny lazing about in the garden, chatting contentedly with thin air. Ten-year-old girls were not supposed to believe in imaginary friends.)

Molly wanted to take Ginny to St. Mungo's, much to Ginny's offense.

"I'm fine, Mum!" Ginny shrieked, outraged. "I don't need to see a doctor, for Merlin's sake!"

But Molly had insisted, because Ginny was too old now for imaginary friends.

"Look," Ginny had said with a sigh. "I don't actually believe there's somebody there, I'm just talking to myself for the fun of it."

Molly had glanced at her doubtfully, but after a bit of reassurance, she was happy; her daughter was not insane, and that was all that mattered.

(Ginny was a very good liar.)

Late at night, Ginny was alone in the darkness of her bedroom, pretending to sleep.

"Tom?" she whispered into the blackness. "Tom Riddle, are you there?"

"Of course I'm here," Tom said calmly, his voice echoing in her mind from everywhere and from nowhere all at once. "I'm always here, remember?"

Ginny breathed a sigh in relief. For a moment, she just lay on her bed beneath her blankets, listening to her own breathing.

Finally, she spoke up once more. "Mum thought I needed to see a doctor."

"You don't need a doctor," Tom scoffed. "You're special, Ginny, you're unique. You can hear things others can't, because your mind isn't clouded with ignorance. Don't let anybody take that specialness away from you."

Ginny smiled. "Don't worry, Tom. I won't."

(Ginny didn't want to lose the only person who truly understood her.)

Over the Christmas holidays, Ginny approached Percy, her older brother. She wasn't sure why she chose to speak to Percy; he was definitely the most annoying out of all of her siblings, and he was just too practical- too cold and calculating, without even a smidge of imagination.

But she chose to speak to him anyway, and she cornered him when he was alone in the living room, nose buried in a thick book.

"Percy," Ginny said, taking a seat beside him.

He glanced up from his reading, half annoyed that he was being disturbed and half surprised that one of his younger siblings was willingly speaking to him. "What is it?"

"Do you believe in invisible people?" Ginny asked.

Percy's eyes widened a fraction of an inch. "Why do you ask?"

Ginny shrugged. "No reason."

"Well," Percy said, "not really. But, I suppose, it theoretically could be possible. If someone managed a spell-"

"That's not what I meant," Ginny interrupted. "Not… not with a spell."

Percy looked at her quizzically. "Then, no. I do not believe in invisible people."

Ginny's shoulders slumped slightly. "Thanks, Perce. And don't tell Mum about this, please."

Percy just nodded numbly as his younger sister hopped off the couch and walked away.

(For the first time in his life, Percy didn't tattle; he liked that his younger sister talked to him out of everybody else she could have chosen).

The night before Ginny's first day at Hogwarts, she slipped out of her bed and padded to her bedroom window.

She slid it open, trying to be as quiet as possible, and closed her eyes against the cool night air that swept in against her flushed face.

"Tom," Ginny murmured under her breath.

"Yes?" his voice said, surrounding her, enveloping her, protecting her.

Ginny took a deep breath. "Goodbye."

And then he was gone, the outdoor breeze tearing him out of the Weasley house and sending him spiraling into the moonlit sky.

Ginny ignored the sense of loss that gnawed at her soul. This was what was best; after all, Mum had been right. She was too old to be believing in imaginary things.

Ginny closed the bedroom window and went back to bed.

(She dreamt of loneliness and pain).

Ginny found a diary during her first year at Hogwarts.

She was thrilled. After all, every girl needed a proper diary, she decided, and this one was perfectly well-worn. All the pages were even blank and clean, just for her to use, and her alone- nothing like all those textbook hand-me-downs she had been receiving from her brothers.

She curled up on her bed in the girls' Gryffindor dormitory and closed the curtains surrounding her, making sure none of the other girls could spy over her shoulder.

She picked up her quill, dipped it in her ink pot, and began to write.

She was shocked when the diary wrote back.

You can't escape me that easily.

Ginny blinked in shock as the spindly handwriting appeared across the page. And it was Tom, of course it was, because he was always there, wasn't he?

Friends don't abandon each other, Ginny, Tom's writing flowed across the book. Friends always stick together.

For some reason, tears welled up in Ginny's eyes as she wrote back. I'm sorry, Tom. I'll be a good friend from now on, I promise.

(Ginny was glad to have him back. School was scary without a friend by her side).

Harry Potter "saved" her from the book, and it was only because Ginny fancied him so much that she didn't scream at him for murdering her precious journal.

That night, she cried herself to sleep.

Her family thought it was because of all the trauma she had experienced.

It wasn't.

She sobbed over the loss of her truest and oldest friend. Tom wasn't evil, no matter what everyone else believed- he wasn't. He was good, and he was her friend, and he was gone.

It was well past midnight when Ginny managed to croak out his name into the darkness. "T- Tom?"

There was no response.

A fresh bout of tears burned hot at the corners of her eyes, but then she heard it- so miniscule, so soft, that if she hadn't truly been listening she would have missed it.

"I'm here, Ginny," Tom whispered. "Don't worry. I would never abandon you like that."

Ginny started to weep again, but this time with pure relief. "I thought they killed you."

Tom laughed dryly, a humorless sound that made goosebumps prickle up her arms. "I'm not that easy to get rid of."

Ginny smiled to herself and finally fell asleep.

(When she awoke in the morning, she recalled having nightmares, but she couldn't remember what they were about).

Tom stayed true to his word; he never left her side.

Through the fights with her friends, the stress of school, the crush on Harry Potter, and the calm before the storm- the eye of the hurricane, right before the war. He was always there and Ginny felt safe, protected.

But there was always a nagging at the back of her brain, a little inkling that whispered to her not to trust him, not to confide in him, because everything about him screamed suspicious impossibility and dark magic.

Ginny ignored her instinct. After all, Tom would never hurt her.

She trusted him.

And when he told her one night, voice broken and afraid, that her family was in danger, she believed him.

Of course she did.

"How can I save them?" Ginny whispered, eyes wide with terror. "How can I protect them from Lord Voldemort?"

"I have a way," Tom admitted in the darkness of the girls' dormitory. "You'll need to go to the library and find a book. But it's in the Restricted Section. Are you okay with breaking a few rules?"

Ginny snorted. "I'm okay with doing anything as long as it keeps my family safe."

(Ginny began to practice the Dark Arts).

The Battle for Hogwarts.

It was only when Ginny somehow ended up aiming a wand at her own brother that she realized Tom had been leading her on all along.

She stood, the wind whipping through her hair, her wand pointed straight at Ron's chest.

Ron's eyes were wide with fear and betrayal. His own wand was out, but his hand was trembling; she knew he wouldn't be able to cast a single spell.

"Gin?" Ron rasped. "What- What are you doing?"

What am I doing?

Ginny froze, staring into Ron's face. He was her brother, one of her own- someone she would have once died for, and yet here she was, ready to blast him with a Killing Curse.

What am I doing?

Ginny clenched her teeth so tightly she thought her jaw would break. Tom. All this time, he had led her on. He made her believe that the Dark Arts could make her stronger, could make her a hero…

And she had been played. She had acted like his perfect little puppet, and all because she was too stupid to think for herself.

No. Not too stupid.

Too afraid.

Too afraid she'd lose the only person she'd ever considered a friend.

Ginny's head fell back and she screamed at the sky, gray and churning with clouds.

Whirling around, she stomped away from Ron, the sounds of carnage and battle raging in her ears.

She would find Tom Riddle.

And she would kill him.

(And on that fateful day, when the battlefields had quieted with the lonely silence of destruction after a hurricane, Ginevra Weasley laughed).