Second Year, part one.

"Ginny? Could you come downstairs please?"

She turned over slowly in her bed, her mother's call spurring her into movement.

"Ginny?"

"Coming," she yelled, hating the flash of loathing that had run through her body at the sound of her mother's voice.

It had been three weeks since Harry had brought her out of the Chamber of Secrets.

Three painful, empty, Tomless weeks.

She'd spent much of that time in her bed, keeping a book next to her so that she could pretend to have been reading when her parents walked in.

Most of her waking hours, however, were spent thinking of Tom.

Thinking of Voldemort.

She hadn't been able to push herself to call him Voldemort, not really. Not in her head. He was Tom. She couldn't reconcile the brilliant, wonderful, loving, 'monstrous,' kind, caring, 'evil,' special boy she had come to know with the image of the monster her older brothers had always scared her with.

She had somehow managed to keep it a secret from them, managed to not let them know that she'd agreed to sacrifice herself for Tom.

She couldn't bear to tell them, couldn't push herself to see the pain twist her mother's face.

And she knew that even if she did somehow tell them, none of them would possibly understand.

They couldn't understand how incredible Tom had been. How much he'd shown, again and again and again, that he'd truly loved her, far more than everyone else.

Far more than everyone who just pretended to care.

Tom, she'd decided, was like a fallen angel. 'Yes, like Lucifer.' A mysterious being, one that you had to actually meet to understand.

But they said that Tom was Voldemort.

They said that Tom was the memory of the man who would become a nightmare, a man who would terrorize Britain, a man whose name most people still feared to speak.

'Stupid little girl, you knew he was terrible!'

She had known that Tom was terrible. She hadn't accepted it, because terrible though he was, he was wonderful too.

That was the problem. He was wonderful, and she couldn't stop thinking about him.

She'd lain awake at night, writing his name over and over onto parchment that she'd then torn up into thousands of little confetti pieces.

She'd stared at the ceiling for hours, just remembering how he'd spoken, how he'd listened, how he'd cared.

She'd stared into the bathroom mirror for hours on end, hoping and wishing that the glass would fog over and that he'd be there.

She wished that he'd appear and fill the terrible gaping hole within her.

'Why can't I stop loving him?' She wondered, tears welling up in her eyes, 'after everything, why can't I stop thinking about him?'

Terrible as Tom was, terrible as Voldemort was, she needed him.

She felt it in every cell of her body, his absence pressing in on her and threatening to suffocate her.

She needed him in a way that she couldn't even explain, that she couldn't understand even in the privacy of her mind.

She needed him, and he was gone.

He was gone, because Harry had killed him.

Over the last three weeks, she'd come to a terrifying realization, one which had shaken her to the very core.

Harry had rescued her, but he'd been too late.

She hoped that she was wrong. She hoped with every fibre of her being that as time passed her need for Tom would vanish.

She hoped that with time her love for Tom would disappear.

She hoped, but a part of her was sure that it was nothing more than a hope.

"Ginny? What's keeping you?"

She shook herself out of her reverie, blinking furiously and turning away from the wall.

"Sorry, mum. I'm on the way."

She walked down the stairs carefully, forcing her mind away from the thoughts of Tom that always lurked under the surface.

"Come on, Ginny," her mother hissed as she reached the landing, "We've got a visitor! Professor Dumbledore's come to see you!"

She stopped, dread and rage filling her as her mother walked back into the kitchen.

Dumbledore. Tom had detested Dumbledore. He'd told Ginny a little bit about why, told her how Dumbledore had always hated him in school, had always singled him out and had tried to turn the then headmaster against him.

'Dumbledore was the only one Voldemort ever feared,' frantically shouted the rebellious voice within her, 'of course Tom hated him! Dumbledore's good! He's good!'

She walked into the kitchen, heart pounding.

Dumbledore made an incongruous sight, sitting with his flamboyant purple robes at their kitchen table, sipping from a teacup with her father next to him. "Ah, Miss Weasley," He said, smiling at her, "I was hoping that I could steal a few minutes of your time?"

"Of course, Headmaster," she said, somehow managing to keep from stuttering.

She sat down in the empty chair facing Dumbledore, her mother reaching over and giving her arm a comforting squeeze.

"You look to be doing well, Miss Weasley," Dumbledore said, "I'm very pleased to see that."

"Thank you," she said, "it's been...relaxing, being home."

"I'm sure it is. I wanted to ask, how have you been recovering?"

Ginny clenched her fist under the table, hiding her trembling fingers from view.

"It's going well," she said quickly, "I think."

"Excellent," Dumbledore said, "the company of family is a wonderful healing tool. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions about the diary's effects?"

Her pounding heart sped up, its thumping becoming so loud she half expected her mother to comment on it.

'He knows,' she thought desperately, 'he knows I'm still thinking about Tom, he wants to catch me out, he wants to lock me away.'

"Of course." She said, trying to make her smile seem natural.

Dumbledore beamed, his eyes full of joy.

"Now, I could not examine the diary to my full satisfaction. Mr Potter's destruction of it was, thankfully, total, but it does mean that the enchantments of it were ruined beyond my ability to explore. Miss Weasley, would you say that the diary induced feelings of obsession?"

Her mother's hand moved down her arm, curling around her fingers.

A part of her wanted to wrench her hand away, to tear herself from the woman who'd never shown as much love for her as she deserved.

"Definitely," she said, staring Dumbledore in the eye, "it was like...whenever I wasn't writing in it, I was thinking about it."

Her mother's hand squeezed around hers, shaking as she gripped Ginny tightly.

'It's not you who should be upset! I should be upset, it was me, not you! You didn't notice!'

"You don't feel this obsession anymore, do you?" Her father asked, his face paling, "It's gone, right?"

"I don't," she hurriedly said, shaking her head, "I don't."

She heard her mother muttering something, some words of thanks.

Dumbledore just continued to look at her with that small smile on his face.

"I believe that whatever connection had been made," he said, "when Harry destroyed the diary, the connection was eradicated."

'It wasn't! It wasn't! Please, I can't stop thinking about him, please-'

'If he finds out, he won't just ignore it,' she thought, shutting down the terrified internal cry, 'he wouldn't let me go back to Hogwarts, not if I could still be dangerous. It's gone, it'll just take time for it to totally be gone. It'll just take time.'

"Voldemort," Dumbledore said, making Ginny and her parents wince, "wanted it so that whoever his diary was possessing would feel unable to simply abandon the diary."

Ginny shivered, remembering Tom's reaction when she'd done just that.

'He was right to be angry,' a small voice whispered at the back of her mind, 'you deserved it.'

"He's really still alive," her father asked with a tremor in his voice, "You-Know-Who?"

"Unfortunately so. Thankfully, Harry prevented the diary from gaining physical form. If it had, it undoubtedly would have gone in search of Voldemort and restored him to power."

Dumbledore focused on Ginny again, his piercing eyes all but making her flinch.

"Has there been any further lapses in your memory, since the diary was destroyed?"

She shook her head mutely.

"And have you been suffering from nightmares?"

"She has," her mother said immediately, "Not so bad this last week, but she was having them every night in the beginning."

"Only to be expected," Dumbledore said, "after going through such a traumatic and horrifying experience. I must say, Miss Weasley, you've comported yourself as a true Gryffindor."

A memory of Tom's voice flashed through her mind at that.

'You're the bravest girl in the entire world, Ginny.'

Something comfortingly warm filled her belly, a natural smile forming on her lips.

"Thank you, Headmaster," she said.

"If I may, I would like to check you. To ensure that none of the enchantments on the diary are still affecting you."

Her heart stopped, anxious terror filling her.

"It won't hurt," Dumbledore continued, "in fact, I very much doubt that you will feel anything. Perhaps a slight tickling sensation."

'I can't say no. I can't.'

"Of-of course," she said.

"What are you checking for, exactly?" her father asked.

"As I said, the diary's destruction left me unable to closely examine the spells on it. I'm simply going to check for any mind altering charms, or the remnants of such."

"Do you really think there still might be?" Her mother asked, tightening her fingers around Ginny's.

'Stop acting like you care! You didn't even notice that I barely wrote you any letters, you-'

'She did! She asked Percy and the twins to check up on me, she noticed! Tom was full of lies, she cares, she loves me!'

"Any of these types of magic leave a mark," Dumbledore said, "I doubt that any of the enchantments are still actually present, but it would be most foolish not to check."

"That's for sure," her father said, smiling weakly.

Dumbledore raised his wand and began twirling it, the tip glowing brightly.

Something strange flashed in Ginny's mind, a sensation as though her thoughts were twisting around each other.

It felt, in fact, like her mind was a deep pool of water, and something had dived deep into her thoughts.

Something enormous and almost unknowable, feeling somehow cold and slimy as it disappeared into the recesses of her mind.

The glow vanished from the end of Dumbledore's wand as he lowered it, smiling widely.

"No enchantments still present," he announced, "I believe the best thing now is for Ginevra to be with her family and friends. An outpouring of love has always been the most powerful of magic, especially when dealing with something like this. Voldemort never understood love, and he certainly never understood the extent to which love could undo his evil spells."

'He understands love. He loved me. He loves me!'

"If possible," Dumbledore continued, "you should talk about it, Miss Weasley. Expressing your feelings can work wonders to deal with trauma. Speak to your family and friends, people you trust and love."

"We will," her mother said, releasing Ginny's hand and putting her arm around her instead.

"Of that I am certain. Now, Miss Weasley, you have, of course, been accepted into your second year at Hogwarts. If you find that you're having any difficulties with the curriculum due to your troubles last year, please speak to Professor McGonagall. She will arrange remedial lessons for you if necessary."

'Tom would never have thought I'd need something like that. Tom said I was smart, and-'

'He was just saying that to make you like him!'

"I will," she said, "I've been reading over last year's textbooks though, I think I'll be ok.""I hope you shall. Any issues you find, whether it be with schoolwork or with the other students, please raise them with Professor McGonagall or me."

She nodded.

Dumbledore rose, shaking her parents' hands and brushing off their thanks.

"I will see you on September first, Miss Weasley. I hope that the rest of your vacation is restful and healing."

'Me too.'

"I'm sure once your brothers return for their vacation you'll be kept busy," Dumbledore said, "so I would advise that any studying you plan on doing should be completed before then. Until September first, Miss Weasley. Molly, Arthur."

With a final nod, Dumbledore walked out of the Burrow.

"Thank goodness," her mother said, falling back into a chair, "I was so worried."

"Nothing to worry about," her father said, smiling at her and her mother, "it's over."

'I hope it actually is.'

In the back of her mind, however, it felt like something was bursting free in her thoughts.

She stared at the piece of parchment before her, the sounds of the wireless filtering in from downstairs as her mother did some housework.

She began to cry softly, covering her mouth with her hand to stop the sound escaping.

'Why isn't it getting better?' She thought, 'it's meant to be getting better, Dumbledore said that it would get better!'

She and her parents had followed the Headmaster's advice. They'd spoken about her year for hours, talked about the Diary. About Tom.

Try as she might, she hadn't been able to tell them everything. She hadn't managed to explain how wonderful Tom had been, how caring and thoughtful and brilliant and loving and kind he'd been.

She'd tried, but they just couldn't understand.

She hadn't been able to tell them how it had been at first, when she felt alone in her room and nobody seemed interested in her except Tom.

She hadn't been able to make herself tell them about Lockhart.

She certainly hadn't managed to tell them about how she was currently feeling.

She could imagine what they'd look like if she did tell them, the shocked and horrified looks they'd exchange if she told them that even after everything, she just couldn't stop loving and needing Tom.

She looked at the parchment again, her tears making the words blur before her eyes.

She'd covered the empty paper with the scrawl of her untidy handwriting.

Half of the writing was simply Tom's name, repeated over and over again, the ink somehow shouting forth her desperation and despair.

The other half was messages to him, as if she thought he could still read them and respond.

'It's not getting better,' she thought as she began to shred the parchment with her fingers, tearing it into tiny strips and then ripping those again, 'it's only getting worse. Why can't I stop thinking about him?'

It was less than an hour after her brothers had been picked up from King's Cross when there was a series of resounding knocks on her bedroom door.

She'd already greeted her brothers, hugged them and made a little small talk before retreating to her room.

She quickly sat up, picking up her book and making it look like she'd been reading.

"Come in," she called.

The door opened, letting Fred and George walk through it, uncharacteristically solemn expressions adorning their faces.

"Um, hi," she said.

"We let you down," Fred said without preamble, "we should have realized something was up."

"It's ok," she said.

"It's not," George said, "it really isn't. We should have done better."

"You can't blame yourselves," she said, "It's not your fault."

Fred rolled his eyes. "We didn't say it was our fault. This is just us apologizing for not giving you the attention we should have."

"Yeah. It's Malfoy's fault for giving you that thing in the first place. But we should have seen it before it got too far."

"You don't-"

"Please, Gin," Fred said, "it's hard enough for us to be all serious like this. Just-we're sorry. And we want to make sure that you know that you're not alone at Hogwarts. That even though we don't always show it, we can take things seriously. And that we really do care about you."

"What he said," George said, nodding.

"Anything we can help you with," Fred said, moving close and squeezing her in a tight hug, followed by George, "you just let us know."

"Thanks," she said, a thick lump in her throat all but blocking her words, "thanks, guys."

The hot desert sun beat down on her, the damp cloth around the back of her neck beginning to dry up again.

The rest of the family was still inside the pyramid with Bill's co-worker.

They'd been inside for maybe a half hour before the close confines and gloom got to her, sending her heart racing and filling her mind with her last memories of Tom.

Bill had guided her out, once she shakily asked to get back to the sunlight. "How are you feeling now?"

She lowered the water bottle, smiling at the almost paternal concern in Bill's voice, ruthlessly crushing the voice that shouted how he hadn't cared last year.

"Better. Sorry, it was just-so-so-"

"Don't worry about it," Bill said, "It takes people like that all the time. And that's people who haven't been through what you have."

Bill took the water bottle from her hand, tapping it with his wand and refilling it. He looked at her, his eyes softening. "How are you feeling about all that? Honestly."

'Tell him the truth! Tell him you can't stop thinking about Tom, you can't stop loving him! Tell him!'

'He'll hate me. He knows Tom is Voldemort, he'll hate me if I tell him.'

"It's getting better," she said, hoping against hope that he wouldn't see through her, that he wouldn't notice the slightly higher pitch that had taken her voice, "It's tough, to think that I was-that I was hurting people. That I couldn't stop myself. But it's getting better."

He nodded, his eyes not leaving hers for a second.

"You know that you can talk to me whenever you want, right? About anything."

'Yeah, right. It only takes an owl how long to reach you?'

She nodded, her smile growing fixed.

"I mean it. I know that-that we've never been as close as we should have, what with my being out of the house most of your life. But you're my sister."

He hugged her, his sudden movement shocking her into stillness.

"I love you, Ginny," He said, "I mean it, anything I can help with, anything I can do, you just let me know. And if you want, I can Fire-Call the Gryffindor common room. You just let me know when."

The earnest care in his voice tugged at her heartstrings, making tears well up in her eyes.

For a moment, she thought about telling him everything. Telling him how she still thought about Tom almost as much as when she had the diary, how she was terrified that Dumbledore was wrong and that there were still enchantments on her from the diary.

She thought about telling him how she felt Tom's absence as strongly as she had ever felt his presence, how she almost felt like she was a limb short. She wanted to talk about the desperate need that filled her, the need to see Tom's writing, to hear his voice.

And then she heard the sounds of the rest of her family approaching the pyramid's exit, and the moment passed.

"Ginny? Mind if I have a word?"

She finished placing the last of the clothes she'd need into her trunk before straightening up and turning to face Percy.

She hated having to pack two days early, hated the terrible reminder that she'd be leaving the safety of her home, her retreat from the world, and returning to Hogwarts.

Without Tom.

Her parents had made it sound like they'd be going to stay at the Leaky Cauldron simply for an added bit of holiday before going back to school, but she knew better.

She'd overheard them, heard them talking about how Harry Potter was staying at the Leaky Cauldron, how it would be best if they could be around there, if they could keep an eye on him.

Of course, everything in the world had to revolve around Harry Potter. Merlin forbid she actually got to relax at home a little longer before facing the crowds of people she almost certainly knew.

She couldn't have that extra time, not when the great Harry Potter might be in danger.

'Serves him right,' she thought uncharitably, 'bastard. He should have-'

'Are you out of your mind? He saved your life!'

"Ginny?"

She blinked, snapping out of that train of thought.

"Sorry," she said, "just spacing out."

Percy nodded, idly fingering the Head Boy badge pinned to his robes.

"I'm sorry," he said, sounding uncomfortable at the admittance, "I wasn't as attentive as I should have been last year. I became too caught up in my schoolwork, and prefect duties, and..." he trailed off, the tips of his ears going pink, "other things." He muttered.

He coughed into a fist before shaking his head slightly and continuing.

"I should have been more present," he said, "maybe I'd have noticed something. I'm sorry, Ginny."

"You don't need to be," she said, her own cheeks reddening, "it's not your fault."

"It is," he insisted, "not in full, but I could have seen something if only I'd been paying attention. I should have been paying attention. Family always comes first."

She felt it building, the torrent of tears that threatened to explode from her.

"I-I just want you to know," he said, "that if there's anything I can do, anything I can help with, you only need to let me know. And even if I'm busy with something, you tell me and I'll interrupt it. You're more important than anything else I have going on, Ginny."

'I miss him,' she wanted to shout, 'I miss him, I need him, I don't want to go back without him. He's Voldemort, and he was going to kill me, but I still love him. I can't even tell you because I know you'll hate me for it! Help me!'

"And if you're finding anything difficult," he continued, blissfully unaware of her thoughts, "with schoolwork or the like, I'd be more than glad to assist."

"Thanks, Percy," she whispered, looking down and rubbing at her eyes.

He hugged her tight, pulling her thin frame against his wiry body.

"It'll be alright," he said, "you'll see, it'll all be ok."

'It won't, Dumbledore was wrong, it's not going away, it's only getting worse! It's getting worse!'

Over the course of the entire holiday, each of her brothers had taken her aside and had some variation of the same conversation with her. They all told her how much they loved and cared for her, how they'd help her out with anything she needed, how brave and strong she was.

Even Ron had stumbled his way through an emotional conversation with her.

It was only on the last day of her holiday that she found out why they'd all done it.

Her family had moved to the Leaky Cauldron for the end of the break, and she was standing outside her parents' room, about to knock, when she heard her name mentioned.

"I think Ginny's doing better," her father said, "not like she was beforehand, but I think she's getting there."

"I don't know, Arthur," her mother said slowly, "she's certainly having fewer nightmares, but she's still spending so much time alone. I don't like it."

She inhaled sharply, pulling away from the door and shaking her head.

So her mother thought she wasn't having as many nightmares?

She was. She still woke up every night with her heart racing, half-formed thoughts and images of Tom filling her mind.

She was still having the nightmares. She'd just learned not to wake up with a cry.

Ignoring the growing feeling of unease, she pressed her ear to the door.

"I know, dear. But it's only to be expected. Professor Dumbledore said that You-Know-Who was playing with her emotions. It's only natural that it should take her some time to get past that."

"But how long? She's spoken to us about it, but I always get the feeling that she's holding something back. She's sitting in her room half the day with her nose buried in a book, and that's just not like her. It's not moving on as quickly as it should."

"What do you want me to do, Molly? What should I do about it? We can't keep forcing her to talk, not if she doesn't feel ready and willing to. She knows that we're here for her, we made sure that all of the boys spoke to her, and-"

A rushing sound filled her ears as she snatched her head away, disappointment sitting heavy in her chest as her father's words hit her.

'So that's why they all did it. Not because they actually care, but because mum and dad badgered them into it. That's why. That's all.'

'They just wanted to make sure they all showed their support! It's not-'

She shook her head, brushing away that voice and putting her ear against the door again.

"All we can do," her father continued, "is make sure that she knows we're all here for her. She needs to move on, and going back to school should help with that. The boys will keep an eye on her, and Professor Dumbledore and McGonagall will keep us in the loop. There's nothing else we can do, Molly."

Ginny heard what sounded like a sob, followed by her mother's teary voice.

"I just want to help her, my little girl. I just want her to-to forget about it-"

"You can't make that happen," her father said firmly, "none of us can. It takes time for the effects of this sort of thing to fade. We just need to give her space."

"He was in her head," her mother cried, "I can't stop thinking about that, what that monster did."

She jerked her head away as if the door had suddenly burned red-hot.

Tears formed in her eyes, her hand rushing automatically to wipe at them as she silently crept away.

She could only imagine the pain in her mother's voice if she were to explain how much Tom still consumed her thoughts.

That night, as she finished packing her bags and lay down on her bed, the anxious fear began to gnaw at her as her mind turned toward the journey she would take the following day.

She scratched at her arm restlessly, bloody beads appearing where her nails tore the skin, as she thought of returning to Hogwarts.

Returning to Hogwarts without Tom.