The world was black, and she was falling. She didn't know where, exactly, but she had a sensation as though she were running along the edge of a cliff, perilous, and intoxicating, and she was always managing to stay solid, and she was always falling, and the world was safe, but the danger of it was entrancing, oh yes, and there was a voice calling for her to come back, why did they want her to come back? It was so nice here.
She opened her eyes, and saw a pair of vivid teal ones directly above her. The fear came rushing back, only now she was too tired to care.
"Ginny," he reached out a hand to stroke her cheek, and she closed her eyes, savoring his touch. His hands were cold, how could they be so cold? They were so light that they almost weren't there. "You will die down here, little Ginny, and so will your Harry Potter."
She moaned softly. There was a part of her that was shrieking in terror, but it was small, very insignificant, and there was nothing she wanted more than to talk to him; her best friend, her confidant, her killer, before she died.
"Tom?"
"Yes, Ginny?" He looked vaguely amused that she was using what petty strength she had to speak to him.
"Talk to me."
"About what?"
"Anything." It came out heavily, like a sigh.
He smiled, with the air of a cat that has its mouse securely trapped. "Well then, I'm sure you've been wondering why I am the way that I am. How I can be sweet, kind Tom, always the shoulder to cry on, the ear to listen in one minute, and the next---" he smiled again, and gestured with two of his elongated fingers. "This."
"Yes," she croaked out. Oh, she had kept the diary, why had she kept the diary? Why hadn't she left it alone? Was she thankful or regretful? Why hadn't she left it alone? But she had kept it, kept writing in it, all her dreams and memories poured out into him. She hadn't known and had just let him talk. She lamented at the lies he deceived her with…He had said all of it over and over again, his words chiming at her.
It'll all be all right, just listen, listen for now.
"Well, I suppose we ought to start at the beginning. Do you believe in God, little Ginny?"
She nodded slowly. "Mum raised us all Christian," she managed to get out.
"Ah, Christianity," he said. "The unofficial religion of Gryffindor House, appropriate for such a group of hypocrites. Most Slytherins are Pagan. I personally am an Atheist." He smiled benevolently down at her, and she felt a chill go up her spine.
"What's an Atheist?" she asked.
He scowled, and then smirked, "Ah, Ginny. I had forgotten you were only eleven. An Atheist does not believe in God."
"But that's horrible!" she exclaimed, and then collapsed back, against the foot of the statue behind her.
"Why?" he asked. "Do you think that if there really was a God, all these horrible things would happen? War? Famine? Rape? Child abuse?" He grimaced, "God is a myth, little Ginny, and the sooner you learn it, the better. Although I doubt you'll ever get the chance to." He grinned lightly, "I suppose you think everyone has goodness in them, too."
"Yes," she said softly. He glowered.
"Everyone has goodness," he muttered, beginning to pace, "Does a murderer have morality? Is a wife-beater kind? What about that Muggle that killed so many Jews, Hitler?" He whirled on her, "What about me?"
Slowly, agonizingly, she raised her head. Her brown eyes looked into his turquoise green, "Even Lucifer was an angel once," she whispered.
There was silence. Tom's gaze never left Ginny, and she thought she saw something flicker there, but she must have been mistaken, because she was tired, so tired, and that blue-green was mesmerizing, and now she knew how Alice felt in the rabbit hole, because she was falling too, plummeting, and if there was a way to get back up, Ginny didn't know what it was, and didn't care, because that turquoise was endless---
He started to laugh. "Ah, Ginny," he said, mirth bubbling in his voice. "You're a lovely speaker. You do know what to say, don't you? But I don't need you for philosophizing. Really, there's only one thing I need." He stepped forward, and Ginny's view of his stomach changed to his face as he kneeled before her. She felt a misty coolness, not quite solid, touch her skin, and she instinctively raised her head. Tom smiled sadistically, "Thanks, Ginny," he murmured, and he kissed her.
Ginny's mind was blaze of color. She didn't notice, as the ghostly lips on hers grew even more solid. One by one, the colors in her head faded, like fireworks dying. Ginny knew no more.
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and
situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various
publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being
made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author notes: This is actually the first T/G fic I ever wrote, and, so far, the last to be posted. Lotsa thanks to ethereal corpse, who looked it over and did the whole beta-reader thing, plus she came up with the title, which I just love. Also, I mean no disrespect to Christians, Pagans, or Atheists. Christians especially, I did kind of bash on you all in here. Sorry. It's just how I think Tom would see the whole matter.