Chapter 1
When professor Lupin announced they would be learning about boggarts Ginevra Weasley was not surprised.
She'd stifled a snort when Ron had talked about how brave he'd been standing up to a spider and a big one too. 'Lucky bastard,' she'd thought. She hadn't talked to him for a week after that, not that he'd noticed, he'd been glad to be rid of his baby sister for a while. But if anything good had come from his little speech, it was that she'd had time to prepare. That didn't make her any less terrified, though.
She balled her hands into fists instinctively and bit her tongue. She tugged at the elastic wrapped around her wrist, the pain distracting her from the quill she so desperately wanted to grab.
No!
The dairy was gone. It didn't matter how much she wrote anymore, he wouldn't be there to answer either way.
She didn't take the quill or the parchment in front of her and, while she was too scared to smile, she did feel a small bubble of pride well up inside of her. She was doing well, it'd been at least a week since she'd written her feelings down, a week since she'd cried over an answer that would never come.
She clenched her teeth together, remembering her failure only made her bow her head in shame, forced her to blink tears away and later made her want to grab her quill again.
She looked down at the red, angry skin surrounding the elastic and hoped it wouldn't start to bleed, her other wrist wasn't healed yet and if she started to bleed too often people would begin to notice. Well, Percy would notice at least. Two fussing parents and six siblings, but he was the only one she couldn't fool.
Percy was the one who noticed during her first year that she hadn't been eating, that she'd been quivering half of the time, that she'd clung to her quill almost obsessively. Even during the summer, when he was long gone, he'd been the one who'd found her crying over her parchment, hugging a quill to her chest.
"Now repeat after me: RID-DIK-UL-US!"
Ginny mumbled the words along with the rest of the class. Her pronunciation was perfect. As were her wand movements for that matter. But in the end that didn't matter. Of course it wouldn't. The wand movements, the pronunciation of the incantation weren't even difficult. What truly fueled the spell, what truly chased the boggart away was laughter.
"You have to look your biggest fear in the eye and laugh at it. You need to force it into a shape that you find amusing. For example, imagining your fear in your grandmothers clothes was a favorite in one of my other classes."
If you were scared of spiders or snakes, fine. You could make those roller-skate or dance. That would be nothing. Him, though, how could you laugh at him? How could you do anything to him, turn him into anything other than he was? She'd broken her head trying to find an image of him she could laugh at, but she couldn't for the life of her find anything.
She should've informed professor Lupin, told him she couldn't do it. If he knew her fear, if he knew what kept her awake at night, he would understand. No sane person would put another through that. But she didn't want to. She was a Gryffindor and she was going to act like one. She was going to be brave, brave like Harry. She was going to look him in the eye and laugh. How she didn't know yet, but she would.
The sound of students shooting out of their seats, shook her out of her musings. She hurried after them, into the row. At first, she was standing reasonably at the back of the row, but during the lesson many people chickened out and left their places for the end of the line. As a result she got to the front rather quickly. But, nevertheless, the lesson was nearing its end and she still hadn't gotten to go yet. That was a good thing, right?
Professor Lupin looked at his watch and then clapped his hands saying: "Alright, only one more! Ah, Miss Weasley, come forth, come forth."
She nervously looked around her, wondering when she became the first in line. She could've sworn there were at least several backs before her only a second ago. She wiped her sweating hands off on her robes and took out her wand. Her hands were still clammy though, so she gripped her wand tightly. She was clinging onto it for dear life.
"Miss Weasley, are you alright?"
She imagined his eyes must've been filled with concern, but she didn't look up. It might've made her back out. In retrospect, perhaps that would've been the smart thing to do, but at the time she was determined to face him. So she just jerked her head up and down, nodding.
"Alright, just remember, the incantation is RID-DIK-UL-US," he didn't seem to expect an answer as he quickly took a few steps back.
She walked forward pretending to be more confident than she actually was, but after a few steps she began to falter. Approaching the boggart as it was still in his previous form, a tap dancing professor Snape courtesy to the mind of Connor Creevey, was fairly easy. But then it began to change. That meant he was coming. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply.
Be brave, be brave, brave like Harry, you're a Griffindor, be brave, just like Harry.
Gasps echoed through the room and Ginny stiffened more than she already had. He was there. She realized she was quivering, but, nevertheless, she opened her eyes.
Perfection.
He took her breath away, just like he'd always done. Physically he was completely perfect with his crystal clear, blue eyes and a mop of perfectly styled, pitch black hair. His cheekbones were impossibly high and his skin had a soft pale color. He was at least a foot taller than her. It only made him that much more impressive.
Cocking his head to the side, he smirked as he asked: "Did you miss me, my dear?"
She watched, mesmerized, as his hair fell in front of his beautiful eyes. He was in short angelic. She'd, after all, always thought of him as one of the muggle's angels her dad once told her about. When she was still young and naïve, she used to believe he was her guardian angel, sent down from the sky especially for her.
Now she knew better, of course. Now she knew he was the devil. Lucifer, the most beautiful, most talented of all, yes; but corrupt, arrogant and oh so selfish. That knowledge didn't stop her from answering him truthfully, though.
"Always," she whispered.
This pleased him. Of course, it pleased him. The thought that she completely belonged to him body, mind and soul, and she means that quite literally, must've stroked his ego immensely. His smirk widened making him look absolutely sinful.
"Miss Weasley, concentrate!" a voice snapped from somewhere behind her and she raised her wand, pointing it right at his face. He merely quirked an eyebrow, unimpressed. She felt a pang of disappointment; he wasn't even a little bit scared. Of course she could never threaten him, the real him, but this was a boggart, a copycat and she could vanish him. He ought to at least feel uncomfortable.
"Riddikulus!" she cried, imagining him on roll skates falling flat on his butt. He'd probably be good at that, though. He tended to be graceful whatever he did.
Nothing happened and he continued on as if she hadn't even opened her mouth. He smiled at her and in her mind she remembered the way he used to whisper to her all through the day. We'll be best friends forever, won't we? They don't understand you like I do, they never will. You love me, don't you, Ginevra? Forever?
A single tear slipped out of the corner of her eye. She hadn't even noticed she was holding them back, but after one had escaped it became nearly impossible to hold the others back.
"Then why didn't you come for me? All I wanted was to live again, so why didn't you let me? We could've been together. Forever," he looked so earnest, he always did, and for a moment she honestly believed him. No! Brave, brave like Harry!
"Riddikulus!"
She couldn't hold them back anymore. Tears streamed down her face, but she refused to make a sound. She let her hair fall over her face like a curtain so no one could see it, see her.
"Am I not good enough for you anymore? You're my best friend, Ginevra. Please don't leave me!"
His voice was soft, velvety and exactly as she remembered it. He sounded so broken. She wanted nothing more than to bury her head in his chest and forget about that last night. Would he be as soft as he seemed? As cold as she knew he was inside? No, he'd be warm, he wouldn't show his heart to anyone, frozen as it was. She was quite sure of that but, nevertheless, she wanted to experience it firsthand. Be brave, Ginny, you're a Gryffindor.
"Riddikulus!"
She vaguely remembered she was supposed to say that, but she couldn't remember why. He was pulling all her attention to him. Nothing mattered, nothing except him, and he was reaching out to her. She leaned into his hand instinctively as he stroked her wet, tearstained, cheek. She was right: his pale hand was as warm as her own. When he spoke, though, her heart broke.
"Don't you love me anymore?"
"Riddikulus!"
She had to swallow before forcing the word out of her throat and even then it was nothing more than a quiet murmur. She didn't care in the slightest. She was preoccupied watching his expression change. The broken, pleading look was quickly replaced by wicked smirk.
"You still do, don't you? I could ask anything from you."
"Riddikulus!" she whispered for some reason as she shrunk back into herself. She let out a strangled sob as she heard that terribly vicious laugh, the one she always heard right before she woke from a particularly horrifying nightmare, the one she'd known only that last night. It made her blood run cold.
"Yes, I could and I will, trust me, I will. But first I want to give you a little gift."
By the end of the sentence his tone was sugar sweet again. She would never know how he could change masks as easily as he did. He reached into his robes. Her breath hitched as she saw what he'd taken out.
The only way she could ever describe the emotion that coursed through her was hunger. She felt as if she had been starved for years and was now presented a plate of her mums pot roast. The craving was overwhelming and stronger than anything she'd ever felt before. In his hands lay a worn out, black dairy. Her dairy.
She immediately made a grab for it. She dived at it, snarling like a vicious animal, desperate to once again feel the paper beneath her fingers. She had a quill on her desk if she was fast she could get it and scribble something down in less than a minute. Better yet, she could make a run for it, hide somewhere and spend the rest of her days writing, watching the ink be sucked into the dairy so they could form a response, the response of her very own prince charming.
Then she could finally feel her emotions, her worries and her fears stream out of her again until she was left with nothing more than a content feeling. But that would take time, it'd take an amount of self-restrained she wasn't sure she had.
She'd never know though; she never got to touch it. Instead she felt a hand grasping her shoulder right before she was thrown on the floor, away from her precious diary, away from him. She scrambled to her knees ready to try again and remove whatever was stupid enough to get between them. But he was already gone and he'd taken her dairy with him. In his place stood a large, glowing ball mostly blocked from her by the large figure standing in front of her.
"RIDDIKULUS!" the form yelled and the glowing ball turned into a balloon flyingin a straight line into the closet.
The figure turned around, then, revealing himself to be a middle-aged man. 'Professor Lupin' her mind supplied numbly. "Class dismissed." He spoke so softly it almost seemed no one had hear him, but after a minute the class started to grab their bags and leave the classroom.
She stayed on the floor though. She didn't move while the professor ushered the other students out of the room, payed no attention to the looks they shot at her. What was the point? He was gone again. He'd been dangled in front of her only to be ripped away right before she could grab onto him. Once again the world had fallen away and she spent the time it took to get the others out looking numbly at the place he'd stood only seconds ago.
She flinched as the door slammed shut. It wouldn't take long anymore. He'd seen her, the true, broken her, in fact everyone had, but the others were students, children; her damaged soul had been slammed into their faces, yes, but she doubted they recognized it for what it was. The professor wasn't a child, though. He was much worse: mature and intelligent enough to recognize the problem, but still idiotic enough to think he could fix it. So she wasn't surprised when he crouched in front of her, offering her the chocolate he always seemed to be carrying around.
"Here, it'll help."
No, it wouldn't, but she took it anyway and nibbled at it to make him feel better.
She still wasn't looking at him, her gaze was still fixated on the place in front of the closet. Nevertheless, she wondered: would he be like her parents, blaming her for her naivety, or like Percy, unable to do anything but trying nonetheless? He hadn't shouted, ranted or taken her in a bone-crushing hug yet, so she supposed her he was more like Percy. She hadn't decided yet whether that was a good thing or not, though.
"Miss Weasley," he paused and she felt the inquiry hanging in the air. 'Look at me' the silence said, but that would mean tearing her eyes away from that spot on the floor. If she looked away she might not find that spot again and she'd be left with nothing. She wasn't ready for that so instead she nodded. "Who was that?"
What a good question. It was so simple in itself and yet its answer was impossible to put into words. Because how do you describe him? She'd always called him angelic, to put his mesmerizing beauty and unlimited talent in words, but that would require him to be kind and pure and loving and she couldn't ever pretend he was any of those things again.
She would compared him to the muggle's devil, Lucifer, more beautiful and talented than anyone else but arrogant, cruel and selfish; that would mean there was someone like him, though, and she refused to accept that he was anything but unique.
That didn't leave her with much option, did it? Of course she could write essay after essay detailing his kind words and cruel laugh, but each would be incomplete, would only offer a glimpse at his true nature. She supposed you had to meet him, to truly grasp it. And while she couldn't make the professor understand, there was one word that said it all, to her at least.
She hadn't said it in months, had never been able to get it over her tongue. But what else could she tell the kind man, crouching in front of her, waiting so patiently for her answer? So she dragged her unblinking eyes to his and for the first time since she'd held her dairy in her hands she spoke his name.
"Tom."