A/N: OMG! NINTEY-NINE REVIEWS! Give me ONE more! Just one! I'll have 100 and I'll be so so happy that I might – I MIGHT – post the next chapter really quickly. Thank you! Some SR-GAP and some TMR-GAP. Should be fun.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Though I wish it was.
The Letter P
Chapter Sixteen: P is for Pillow
Tom wasn't sure why, but he kept walking. As he began to walk the long, final corridor to the Hospital Wing, Peregrine stirred again – and shuffled sideways, tilting her head down and sideways. Into his chest.
Oh, hell no. No, you don't. Get the hell off me. Just because I have been forced to carry you doesn't create a neon sign above my head saying: I am a pillow. Cuddle me. So you can just-
However, rather unluckily, his train of thought was broken, because then Peregrine stirred for a third time – and opened her eyes.
…
Head. Hurting.
A lot of darkness.
What happened?
Warmth. Something warm and nice.
What's that?
Oh no… I must have had another attack. Did I pass out? Brilliant. Now Riddle's going to never give up on the idea of me being a spastic. And the entire school will know by lunchtime, because of stupid Rosalind Keefe.
Hmm. Warm. Did someone take me back to my room? Mmm… pillow…
Ginny opened her eyes.
Riddle was staring down at her, dark eyes wide, mouth slightly open, lip curled in horror. Her pillow had been moving – Riddle was carrying her – but now it had stopped.
Wait. Pillow?
Oh, please no…
Ginny turned her head and looked at her 'pillow'. She was met by the sight of Riddle's school jumper.
I JUST SNUGGLED THE FREAKIN' DARK LORD
"ARH!" yelled Ginny, and she leapt out of Riddle's arms, landing with a crash, in an untidy heap, on the marble floor.
That was smart. Ow.
Angry at hurting herself, and angry at having unconsciously cuddled Riddle, and disgusted with herself, she did the angriest, most disgusted thing she could think of doing. "What the hell was that for?" she shouted at Riddle. "That HURT!"
Now Riddle just looked bewildered. "What- Peregrine, I didn't do anything!" he snapped.
"You dropped me!" she yelled.
"No, I didn't!" Riddle retorted. "You flung yourself onto the floor!"
A furious and embarrassed flush fired up on Ginny's cheeks. "Well, it's your fault," she snapped, even though it wasn't.
"Oh, of course," said Riddle icily. "You pass out off a stage, I carry you all the way to the Hospital Wing, you wake up, throw yourself out of my arms, and it's my fault."
"Hello? You didn't take me to the Hospital Wing! You missed! The door to the Hospital Wing is ten metres that way!" Ginny shouted angrily, pointing towards it. "And it's your fault!"
"It is not," said Riddle coldly. "I refuse to partake in this childish argument. It is not my fault, and if you want to get to the door of the ever-elusive Hospital Wing, then you can go yourself. I don't care if you pass out, or if your legs won't support you. I don't care if you're having a baby, I am not taking you any further." His dark eyes were flashing dangerously in that way that made Ginny's knees feel weak and heart pound faster. "You can take yourself."
"Fine," snapped Ginny. "I will."
"Do you know something? I was actually fool enough to think that you might say thank you, that you might actually be grateful," said Riddle, eyes narrowed to black slits.
"Why should I thank you for dropping me on the floor?" Ginny sneered, her blood boiling.
"I didn't drop you on the floor!" Riddle snarled. He was close to shouting – which would be a feat. Mr. Laid-back And Unfazed By Anything didn't shout. It would be a record. "That. Was Not. My Fault."
"It was," said Ginny, lips pursed.
"Look, Peregrine, it's not my fault that you're such a spastic, but I have a life to live, and I'd prefer if you'd let me go and live it," Riddle spat, malice and poison dripping from every syllable, pure hatred in his words.
Pain ripped through Ginny's chest as if she'd been hit by the Cruciatus Curse.
Spastic? Spastic? If you had seen a quarter of the things I've seen, you'd scream sometimes too, you sick, twisted man.
"You bastard," she whispered.
Riddle looked at her, eyes still narrowed, but there was something new in those dark pits… as if there was a bottom to a pit that had once been bottomless. Something sincere. Ginny didn't understand it and didn't want to.
"I thought you knew that," Riddle replied coldly, his voice soft. The strange, sincere, sort of strained tone in his voice didn't seem to fit his tall, I-don't-give-a-damn stance.
"You're right," Ginny said. "At first, I did think that. But first-impressions are mostly wrong. I started to think that there might be more to you than what meets the eye – meaning the cold-hearted, arrogant arsehole. This is a special case, though. Because my first-impression was spot-on."
Surprise flickered in Riddle's eyes, as well as something else that hurt to look at, but it was shut down immediately from the seventeen-year-old's face. "I'm shocked," sneered Riddle. "Most people understand within the first ten seconds of meeting you. There's never before been a girl that took a month to get the message."
"There's also never before been a girl who has seizures and spontaneously passes out screaming," replied Ginny quietly. "You learn something new every day."
"Why does that happen?" demanded Riddle. "Why?"
Ginny stared defiantly up at him. "D'you really think I'm going to tell you after how… how pleasant you've been to me?" she said coldly.
"I already have a vague notion," continued Riddle, ignoring her completely. "You said that you couldn't help it. You said that it wasn't Madam Royce could fix. I know that you do it every night. I know that random things spark it – random words, random actions, random nicknames. And I also know that you refuse to talk about your old school or what happened to it. It's traumatic memories."
Oh, what do you want me to say?
Congratulations?
"Yeah." Ginny looked up at him, allowing the tears to well up in her eyes unimpeded. "You're right, Riddle. Well done. Because, after all, you must feel so triumphant and proud of yourself, knowing that something so bad has happened in my past so that I've barely slept in a year and have screaming seizures. Congrats."
With that for him to contemplate, Ginny turned and headed on towards the Hospital Wing. Her head still hurt, and she didn't want to pass out again.
"…Peregrine-"
"Riddle, I thought we agreed that you weren't going to take me to Hospital Wing," snarled Ginny, turning around to face him, so fast that her scarlet hair flew like molten fire, and that it made her head swim.
He was staring at her. His eyes were totally unreadable, which frustrated Ginny. She'd wanted to see shame – guilt – anything. His face was always smooth and emotionless, and his body language sold nothing; his dark eyes were the gateway towards seeing any feelings that showed he might actually have a heart. However, most of the time, Riddle's eyes were devoid of anything, and this was one of those times.
"Get lost," she bit out at him, and swirled away, disappearing through the Hospital Wing doors.
…
Her sobs, fading to snuffled breathing.
Her tears, dried on her cheeks…
Someone's eyes upon her…
A sigh…
"I'm sorry…"
Gone.
…
"Morning, darling," said an elderly voice.
With a lot of effort, Ginny opened her eyes. "Mm?" she mumbled, yawning.
Damn those Sleeping Draughts.
So very, very tired…
Wake up!
"How lon' I been out?" Ginny murmured, kneading her eyes with her knuckles and sitting up.
"Half a day, give or take a few hours. I believe, if you hurry, you'll be in time for breakfast in the Great Hall," said Madam Royce.
That's my cue to leave. Ginny started to get out of bed, but was stopped by a hand from the matron.
"Sit, Ms. Peregrine," she commanded. "I need to assess your health. Now, when did you say this attack occurring, and what happened?"
"I was in Muggle Studies, last period of school, and suddenly my head felt weak. I couldn't see very well, and I was stumbling a bit. Then I passed out, shouting. I woke up and came here," Ginny said, skipping the bit with Riddle.
"I see," said Madam Royce, writing on a clipboard. "And do you have any ideas as to what might have prompted this attack?"
"No." Ginny didn't hesitate. She'd learnt to lie from the best – from Fred and George, when she was seven, and they were ten, already mischief-makers. She had eight years of practicing on her mother with who stole the cookies from the cookie jar, and then, when she was fifteen, she had the War, where she had to sneak around behind-the-scenes, telling lies, getting involved, and pretending to be on the side of everyone she met to learn information.
"Has this ever happened before?"
"Never." Again, effortless.
Madam Royce frowned. "Very well," she said. "I suppose I can let you go, if you are telling the truth…" she set down her clipboard. "You're quite popular, considering that you're new. You're a lucky girl."
Er. Thanks?
"You had three visitors in the night, you know," continued Madam Royce.
"Really?" asked Ginny, sitting straighter in interest, though she already suspected who they would be. "Who?"
"A Mr. Philips and a Ms. Hartwin, I believe," said Madam Royce.
"And?" Ginny frowned. "You said that there were three."
"The third asked specifically to keep their identity anonymous, though I can't for the life of me understand why," said Madam Royce, shaking her head and patting her grey curls.
What? Why would Scott… "Was it Scott Reeve? An Italian-looking Ravenclaw?" asked Ginny, puzzled.
"Ah - no," said Madam Royce. "Now, I suggest you hurry along, then, Ms. Peregrine, if you intend to catch breakfast."
"Thanks, Miss," said Ginny, hopping out of her bed. She hurried away down the hall, hoping that she would never have to wind up in there again.
Why does it happen to me? Sometimes it does, and sometimes it doesn't. I know that it has something to do with Riddle, but I'm around him loads of the time, and I don't have attacks all the time…
Deciding to make it a personal project to find out, Ginny hurried away to the Slytherin dungeons to get some clean clothes before breakfast.
…
As Ginny came up from the dungeons, ravenous and ready for many helpings of bacon and eggs, she saw a familiar, curly-haired, Ravenclaw head.
"Scott!" she cried, running towards him.
The Italian-English boy, searching for whoever had called his name, turned. Before he could see Ginny, she flung her arms around his neck and hugged him tight.
"Ginny," he said warmly. "How are you?"
Remembering what Madam Royce said, Ginny pulled away. "How am I?" she echoed. "Terrible, Scott! Why didn't you visit me in the Hospital Wing?"
"You were in the Hospital Wing?" said Scott incredulously. "I didn't know! What happened – what did you do?"
He… he didn't even realize. Let alone miss me.
"…you… you didn't even notice?" she whispered.
Scott's brown eyes met her hazel eyes. Ginny searched his… found the confusion, the not-understanding… those emotions were shallow like a pool, and at the riverbank at the bottom was the guilt.
Lie.
With a cry of frustration, Ginny slapped him.
"Ow!" yelped Scott. "What was that for?"
"You did know!" Ginny cried, her voice wavering. Scott was her anchor, her angel. He held her to safety, in his arms. He was someone who knew everything about her, about what had happened at Hogwarts, and who would always be a shoulder to cry on. And in her gravest time of need, he had ignored her and turned away. "Why didn't you come – Scott, I needed you!"
The Ravenclaw sighed. "Ginny, I'm sorry. I really am. Okay, I did know that you were in the Hospital Wing," he explained. "I just… I didn't think that me visiting would be important to you, Gin."
"Not important? Not – freakin' – important?" she shrieked. "After all that I told you, after I told you about how I sometimes burst out screaming because of the things I remember, after I told you how I could never sleep because of it? And I had a seizure – a freakin' seizure, Scott! – and I was lying there in that stupid Wing, lonely and frightened and crying myself to sleep… and you didn't think it would be important?"
"Gin-"
"Stop calling me Gin!" Ginny yelled. "I am not alcohol, and you are not… not… Harr- you didn't think it would be important?"
"Ginny, please, calm down!" Scott pleaded, glancing around. People were starting to stare. "It was just one night, cat. I didn't see any other girls."
The upset redhead turned narrowed, suspicious hazel eyes on him. "I never said you did…" she said slowly.
A nervous, high-pitched laugh escaped from Scott's lips – it was very uncharacteristic of him and made Ginny more suspicious. "Well, I didn't!" he laughed, scratching the back of his neck and staring quite fixedly at the floor.
He's lying. He saw a girl. Girls, maybe.
He can't lie to save his life. If there was a War in 1958, Scott would be screwed.
How could he?
"Okay," said Ginny. "I believe you." She threw her lie back into his.
Smiling, Scott lowered his head down to hers, lips slightly puckered for a kiss. Also smiling, Ginny turned away and walked into the Great Hall, leaving Scott stranded in the centre of the Entrance Hall, lips pouting outwards and generally looking stupid.
…
A/N: Awww. Poor Ginny. She has an idiot for a boyfriend. And a meanie making fun of her traumatic experiences. She needs a hug. Thanks to my beta SilvanXan. Enjoy the rest of the fic! REVIEW! DO IT! NOW!
WARNING: Approaching plot-twists to make your head spin. Closer – closer – closer -
o00bubbles00o: Aw, thanks. And how do you know? Have you ever been to 1958? They could say that, for all you know. –pout- Well, in my twisted, weird little mind, they say "hell no". HAH!
SilvanXan: Okay. Email me, and I'll send you the goods. –shifty eyes-
SwirlyL: Yeah, well, in real life, I'm actually hugely – as in abnormally – tall, like Tom, so I call everyone midgets as well. I know how his mind works. Glad you liked that, I loved it too! Poor kitty! Thanks!
Lady Amberlia of Goldenlake: Thank you! I love your pen-name.
creative-writing-girl13: Thanks!
chimis: Thank you so much. Yeah, I just can't imagine the popular, cool Riddle that so many picture.
storm-brain: Thank you! It was fun to write. Um, I don't know. Well, I suppose it's because being around Riddle alone sort of… triggers the memories? I don't actually know. I'll fit it into the plot somewhere. Lol. I think that also, deep down, Riddle doesn't want to invade her privacy. So he doesn't Leglimens her. Or whatever verb I'm supposed to use.
Saene: Yay! Another pacifist! –high five- I'm a pacifist, too, but I like slapping my friend, and I like writing about dead people/torture/fights/wars/death. I'm a cheerful kind of person, you see. Awkward, indeed. Thank you!
XxRandomHeartxX: Wow, how weird. The Little Mermaid is my favourite Disney movie, but my favourite fairytale is the one that Ginny says in the part two chapters ago: East of the Sun, West of the Moon. It's really cool. Thanks so much! I love your reviews.
vlucia: Thanks.
KayRose: HAHAHAHAH! I officially LOVE YOU! "always reminded me of some evil demented teddy bear waiting to chop your head off when you tried to cuddle with him". LMAO HAHAHHHAA. "He just seems to pop up all of a sudden it's like lalalala(Prancing through a meadow) then pop rain"! HAHAHHAHA. I love you… thank you so much for your review, I needed a laugh.