Ginny had been up all night. Sleep was out of the question; her mind was teaming with recollections of Crumper's dead body, her own pathetic strength, and the touch of Tom Riddle.
After hours of mulling those three things over and over, she still could not understand how or why Riddle thought he was doing Ginny some kind of favour by cursing, injuring and ultimately killing one of those boys. She wondered whether Riddle believed he could now use this event as a form of leverage. Now he had 'saved' her, she would eventually have to do the same for him.
But that still didn't fully explain why he had helped her. Whether his deeds were commendable or not, his actions saved her from being physically hurt.
"Why he should care about that?" she said aloud.
At that moment she sat up again, her face stony. Voldemort, or Tom Riddle, had horcruxes scattered across the country, or possibly even the world. If one of those were to be destroyed, then surely part of him would be destroyed.
And what was it that Riddle told Ginny, that first night she met him again? "You created a magical connection between yourself and I," he had said.
"If he and I are …" she gulped at the prospect, "connected, then what happens to one of us will affect the other."
She leaned into her pillow. "If we are connected then he could control me like last time. Only this time he won't be possessing me … I'll be aware of it." She shut her eyes, her sense of helplessness multiplying. "This must be what happened with him and Harry. They had a … connection."
Ginny had to admit; if someone had come along and told her they had a connection with Lord Voldemort, she would have demanded they take a one-way trip to St. Mungo's. But this was different. This was real. This was sick, twisted and, mostly horrifyingly, inescapable.
"Inescapable …" she sighed, feeling the serpent's head sit peacefully in her hand.
This was not supposed to happen.
Ginny Weasley should not still be at full strength; that blast should have completely destroyed her soul, or killed her at least.
And as I dwell here, in this sickening limbo, she lives. Awake, wanting and wondering.
Whereas I … I am resigned to this squalid existence, the remaining 'life' pouring away like sand.
Her touch … her touch scorched me.
That heat - searing through me, burning me.
This was not part of the plan.
And if she senses this weakness, she will surely take advantage.
I cannot let this happen.
My fate cannot lie in the hands of Ginny Weasley.
