A/N: I have so many reviews now! –squee- Hm. A bit angsty. A little fluffy. A bit funny at some points. Mostly suspense-y, though. If that's a word. Anywhoooo. Enjoy the chapter… and remember to review! –wink-
Only ONE person got it! Ginny's book? The Rock Talks? OmG!! Oo. It was a stupid reference to my other fic, Montol, which was previously named The Stone Speaks. Get it right.
Disclaimer: Get the idea into your head. I don't own it. Now move on.
The Letter P
Chapter Forty-Three: P is for Panic
"Riddle – Tom – are you… are you alright?" Ginny asked uncertainly. Cautiously, Ginny stepped closer. She peered up through her fringe at him. As a joke, she teased softly, "D'you want a hug?"
However, to her immense surprise, the tall young man half-leaning against a desk didn't snap at her a sarcastic no. He didn't say anything, but four months with Riddle had brought her a lot closer than anyone else could claim for their entire lives. And so, she moved closer still and put her arms gently around him. Resting the side of her face on his arm, they stood together for Merlin knows how long, and there, for the second time in a week, Ginny found an inner peace that for so long had been missing from her young, eventful life.
xxx
"Aaaaand auuuld laaaang syyyne!" shrieked a very tipsy Grace.
"Grace, shut up," said Alden bemusedly. "The count-down hasn't even started yet."
"Oh."
The brunette downed the rest of her Firewhiskey, gasped, and proceeded to bunny-hop about the common room, many other drunken Slytherins following suit and jumping in an ungainly line through the chamber. It was the Slytherin New Year's Eve party. A sign of the weather warning was the rain battering the cold windows near the ceiling (as high as possible, to catch a glimpse of the ground outside) – the snow had melted to give way to liquid precipitation. Champagne had been smuggled up from the kitchens, and everyone with no sense at all was totally wasted.
Basically, everyone but a few older students, a few younger students, Alden, and Ginny.
Alden drank, but not to an extent; Ginny, however, had stayed safe by drinking Butterbeer – she still had no recollection whatsoever of what had happened in the Hog's Head, and she didn't want a repeat.
"Well, someone's having fun," Ginny commented dryly to the short, dark boy beside her.
"Yeah," replied Alden, sipping his champagne. "I dread to think of what she'll be like in the morning."
"Perfectly cheerful, actually." Ginny grimaced. "Grace doesn't get hangovers. It's really annoying."
"What?" Alden frowned. "That's not fair. I get hangovers, and I don't even drink!"
Ginny gave a non-committal twitch of her shoulders, and took another gulp of her warm, frothy Butterbeer.
"Do the conga, hey, do the conga, hey!" the Slytherins cheered raucously, attempting a clumsy hokey-pokey.
Wrong dance, genius.
The hokey-conga only ceased when a third-year tripped over the turned-up edge of the carpet, landing with a disastrous and sickening crunch.
"Ooooh."
Everyone 'ooh'ed and 'ah'ed like immature six-years-olds at the sight of an injury.
"I can see the bone!"
"Ewww!"
Two girls who had screeched these comments ran away, giggling hysterically; they both squished into an armchair, downed a glass each of Butterbeer, and continued to chuckle hyperactively.
"HERE IT COMES!" someone shouted.
Ginny tore her gaze away from the bleeding third-year and looked over at the grandfather clock in the corner of the green common room.
It was indeed one minute to twelve o'clock. One minute to midnight. One minute… to 1959.
"Fifty-nine! Fifty-eight! Fifty-seven! Fifty-six! Fifty-five!" the Slytherins began to yell. Thunder crashed outside, as though the weather was getting angry, because it wanted to stay in 1958 forever.
Grace sauntered over. "Get ready, darlin'," she slurred, slopping champagne over the edges of her glass. "At midnight, you kiss the nearest member of the opposite gender and I'm making sure I'm positioned next to you, buddy old pal!"
Alden shot a panicked look at Ginny, and mouthed help me.
Ginny laughed. "Hah, have fun."
The short sixteen-year-old scowled. "Hey, you have to do it, too," he pointed out.
"So?" Ginny shrugged. "The difference is that I'm not bothered about it."
Alden grumbled.
"Forty-one! Forty! Thirty-nine! Thirty-eight! Thirty-seven!"
The chanting was getting louder as the anticipation mounted. Even Claude and her friends had joined in (Claude had spent most of the evening flirting with the seventh-years, much to misery of an emotional-looking Jack Swithin, moping by himself in the corner with a large bottle of Odgen's Finest Firewhiskey).
"Can't wait!" Ginny shivered with excitement.
"Thirty-three! Thirty-two! Thirty-one! Thirty!"
"Half a minute until 1959," said Alden. "I'm getting more champagne."
"I thought you didn't drink!" Ginny called teasingly after him.
Alden fired a haha-very-funny look over his shoulder at her.
"Twenty-five! Twenty-four! Twenty-three! Twenty-two! Twenty-one!"
"Get ready!" Ginny shouted to her two closest friends in her year as Alden reappeared with the bottle of champagne.
"READY!" shrieked Grace.
Their champagne-flutes were refilled (Ginny was given a new glass, as she had previously been drinking Butterbeer). Grace immediately emptied the contents of her glass all down her front and giggled like a toddler on ecstasy.
Ginny wound one arm around Alden's broad shoulders, hugging him one-handedly, her free hand holding tightly to her champagne. Grace followed suit on the other side, stumbling against her boyfriend so that she accidentally pushed her nose into his ear.
"Ugh, Grace. Not romantic," Alden complained jokingly.
"Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven! Six!"
"HERE WE GO!"
"-our! Three! Two! ONE!"
Small fireworks from Zonko's Joke Shop (in the current time, a fairly new addition to the Hogsmeade village) exploded noisily in the air. More champagne bottles were opened, with loud pops. And everyone, drunk or not, cheered. Simultaneously, Ginny and Grace pressed their lips to each of Alden's cheeks. Then the dark, dank chamber filled with tuneless, inebriated music as everyone began to sing.
"Shouuuld auuuuld acquaintance beeee forgot,
And never brought to miiiiind?"
Hysterically happy, Ginny couldn't help but laugh with the sweet, untroubled ease that filled her with this one silly sing-song on New Year's Eve.
It was too good to be true.
"Kill…"
Her blood ran cold.
For a moment, she didn't react. She'd had quite a lot of Butterbeer, and, now, a glass of champagne. She was probably just imagi-
"Kill… rip… KILL…"
The voice was clear as day to her, in its low, gravelly tones. She knew that she wasn't hallucinating it, and her hands started to tremble, dangerously shaking the champagne left in her glass, so that it sloshes over the sides.
"Are you okay?" Alden said, nudging her arm worriedly, speaking louder than normal so as to be heard over the boisterous chorus of Auld Lang Syne. "You don't look so hot."
Ginny bent close to him and said into his ear, "I'll be right back. Don't tell Grace – she'll blurt it out while she's in this state. Cover for me?"
Alden nodded.
"Shouuuuld auuuuld acquaintance beeee forgot,
And auuuuld laaaang syyyyne?"
Without further ado, Ginny slipped silently out of the common room. The redhead had to be careful – New Year's Eve or not, it was more than two hours over curfew, and if she claimed to be hearing voices again, then she'd be reported to Slughorn, and he would not be happy.
"Kill…KILL… tear…"
It was moving away, faster than it had progressed through the school last time.
Ginny broke into a run, lighting her wand and using it to shed light on the agonizingly dark corridors. Her bare feet created resounding slaps with each step that she took, and a fear of being caught (surely, she was being too noisy to go unnoticed), in addition to the pure, unadulterated terror that spawned from the chilling voice, surged through her veins, giving her an extreme rush that enabled her to sprint through the dungeons bravely.
She knew without any doubt whatsoever of where the voice – the thing – was going, and the seventeen-year-old was furiously determined to outrun it.
"I… will… KILL…"
Pounding up the stairs to the ground floor, the first floor, the second floor, the third floor, and then she was running flat-out to a very sleepy Robin the Rich.
"Condolesam!" she barked at him; he swung open instantly, looked highly affronted by the rude greeting, and also rather frightened by the wild-faced young woman sprinting at him.
The redhead burst in on a rather tipsy, and very surprised, cluster of Eleanor Fionn's friends, having a New Year's Eve party. "Oh, hello," said Eleanor brightly. "What are you doing her-"
"Where's Tom?" Ginny demanded, her heart hammering in her ribcage, interrupting the Head Girl's cheery welcome.
"Dunno." Eleanor shrugged. "I don't think he was feeling well enough to do his patrol. I haven't seen him – I hardly ever do… hehe," she giggled, and then hiccoughed loudly. "He's probably just in his-"
Ginny didn't grace the drunken seventh-years with a thank you. That could come later. She bolted up the worn, age-old stairs, her breath shallow and her heart wild; she didn't bother with knocking, just slammed the door open with her left shoulder, so hard that it nearly shattered for the second time in a week.
His bedroom was a horrific state. Well, to be honest, it looked like Ginny's did on a bad day – but Riddle – Tom – whoever he was – didn't work like that.
Riddle simply didn't break his pillow so that feathers scattered everywhere. Riddle didn't scatter torn parchment everywhere. Riddle didn't tear clothes out of the cupboard and rip them to shreds. Riddle didn't… break his guitar.
And Riddle certainly didn't leave splashes of blood on what little of the floor was visible.
The room was empty of the tall, dark Head Boy.
"Kill…" the voice cackled insanely.
Riddle was gone. The voice was moving away. It had won.
Hadn't it?
Seized by the same determination that had fixed her previously, Ginny rushed down the stairs and tore out of the Head common room, followed by drunken giggles as she bashed her way out of the portrait hole.
Thundering back down the stairs from the third floor, she was certain that she was sharply on the heels of the seemingly disembodied speaker. It was leading her past the Transfiguration classroom… down the stairs…
She cut sideways and slid down a long tube, hidden in the wall, that she had discovered in her second year. Emerging with a soft thump on the first floor, she raced after the voice again. It was taking her down the sweeping Entrance Hall stairs…
To the dungeons?
No.
Outside.
Ginny ran faster; smashed through the Entrance Hall doors. She sprinted out, and skidded to halt at the top of the stone steps that lead down onto the grounds.
Tears of terror for again losing someone she cared about blurred her vision and mixed with the icy rainwater that was falling heavily, creating a thick night-time haze, through which nothing was visible. She practically blind in this aspect; deaf, too, due to the incessant crash of thunder and the roaring of water rumbling down from the dark clouds.
And then the voice chose to disappear.
She was cold, she was wet, and she absolutely no idea where Riddle was.
"Tom?" she called. "Tom – TOM!" Her hair plastering to the sides of her face, and her fringe sticking to her eyes, she began to scream desperately into the wind. "TOM!"
"KILL…"
"DON'T YOU DARE!" she screamed frantically to the crashing outdoors. "DON'T YOU – TOM!"
A hand grabbed her shoulder. "Miss Pere-"
She screamed and whipped around.
But behind her was not the disembodied voice, nor was it the person who'd attacked her, nor was it Tom Riddle. It was a very alarmed-looking Albus Dumbledore.
"Miss Peregrine, it's very late for you to be out… what's wrong?" he inquired, peering at her concernedly.
"I – I-" Ginny stammered, trying to get her breath back. She could trust Dumbledore. She could tell him. He'd believe her. "I – I heard a voice."
Dumbledore frowned. "Let's step inside, shall we, out of the rain…" once through the doors, he said severely, "What voice was this you claim to have heard?"
"It was … it was loud – and it moves really fast, and – and -" she couldn't help but start to panic again. "-and – Tom – it has Tom – Riddle – sir – Tom Riddle – it has Tom Riddle!"
The Transfiguration Professor grabbed her shoulders and held her tightly. "Miss Peregrine. Please. Breathe."
Ginny sucked in a long breath, and tried to calm herself down.
"Now. Please, explain."
"It – it was low, and gravely, and I heard it before, just after Professor Vander was attacked – and I followed it, and it lead to Riddle's bed, where he was staying in the Hospital Wing – but he was gone. I thought I'd imagined it. Then, during Auld Lang Syne, just now, I heard it! And I followed it again, and it lead to Riddle! To his bedroom – but his bedroom was vandalised, it was really messy – and there was blood – there was blood! – and – and – the voice was moving again, and it lead me outside, but then it was gone – it's got Tom – it's got Tom!"
Nothing like this is supposed to happen! I wasn't told about this! I wasn't told that there would a psycho slashing people's arms and stealing away the Head Boy! I wasn't told about murder and – and – kidnappings! THIS ISN'T SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN!
"Calm down, Miss Peregrine. I guarantee you that the chance of Mr. Riddle being snatched away is very small," Dumbledore said comfortingly. "Now. Is there any place that he might be, where you could check?"
"I don't think so-"
The Chamber of Secrets!
"Yeah!" she gasped. "Yeah, there is!"
"There we go. Would you like me to accompany you?" the auburn-haired Professor inquired kindly.
"No – I mean, sorry. But… but if I tell you where it is, then it'll stop existing," she lied quickly. She filled her eyes with faux tears. "Then he'll be gone forever!" she whispered in horror.
"I see." Dumbledore sighed. "Very well. If you are seen, assure the person that you were sent by me, and that they could ask me for proof."
"Thank you, sir," Ginny gabbled, and then she ran away, up the stairs. Smirking at the young Dumbledore's naivety, she hurried up to the library.
She slipped through the grand doors, and then made her way silently across to the Restricted Section gate. The rain was still snapping at the windows, and she prayed that this noise would cover – at least partially – the loud creeeak with which the gate swung open. The Prefect hurried through the many bookcases, shining her wand-light and anxiously feeling the wood of the third-shelf…
The glowing yellow of her 'lumos' landed on an intricately carved serpent. Ginny ducked down closer to it, and hissed softly, "Open."
And absolutely nothing happened.
"Open," Ginny ordered, glaring at the snake. "Open, damnit."
Still nothing.
"What is your freakin' problem?" Ginny snapped. Riddle could be dying in there, and this stupid snake wouldn't let her in! "Listen to me, you little bugger – open."
No response. No doorway appeared behind the bookcase.
"Okay, snake, I'm giving you a choice," she hissed angrily. "You open up right now or I'm gonna set the freakin' Heir of Slytherin on you! "
As if she had said the magic words, the wooden serpent twisted viciously. It spat furiously at her before allowing the bookcase to slide sideways, revealing the hidden door that, Ginny reckoned, hadn't seen this much use in hundreds of years.
The rubbed smooth, slightly green stairs came into vision under the glow of Ginny's wand-tip, and she hurried down the steps. To her bare feet, it was like walking on ice; the chill crept through her jumper and skirt as well as she slowly descended beneath the castle, silent as the grave save for the patter of her toes on stone. The frostiness grew stronger and the air grew danker as Ginny went further down. Her clothing stuck to her skin as she hastened down the steps, two at a time.
Finally, after what seemed to be at least half an hour of jogging down endless stairs, Ginny emerged into the main corridor of none other than the Chamber of Secrets. A glance to her left informed her that the basilisk was sleeping; to her right, the snake-carved door into the actual Chamber… open.
Panic – fear – worry – agonizing anxiety.
Ginny looked through the door, but she didn't even need to focus on the right area, because she could tell, without looking, that he was in there.
"Oh God," she whispered. "Oh God – Tom!"
Without any further hesitation, the redhead was sprinting across the wet onyx floor to the sprawled-out body at the end of the long, dimly-lit underground room.
"TOM!" she yelled again, splashing through puddles and skidding through patches of what looked like silvery-green blood. Stumbling the last few feet, Ginny stopped before him and dropped inelegantly to her knees. "Tom – Riddle – Tom, can you hear me?" she called worriedly.
He wasn't the best he'd ever looked, what with the messy hair, the dirt smeared across one of his cheeks, and the vast amount of blood pooling under his lean figure.
Oh hell….
"Er. Wake up. Wake up… now!" she told him firmly. "Listen to me, Tom Riddle. You are going to wake up and you are going to like it!"
"What in the name of Merlin are you going on about now…" Riddle – Tom – whoever he was to her now – mumbled blearily.
Ginny heaved a sigh of relief. "Well, you're being sarcastic, that's good," she said.
"That was hardly sarcasm…" he rasped. He let out a harsh cough, screwing up his ashen face, and then pulled his upper torso into a sitting position. His dark eyes flashed left and right, and then honed in on the grubby, barefoot, and rain-saturated Prefect in front of him. "How did you get in?" he demanded. "And," he frowned, "why are you wet?"
Damnit!
"You left the door open," Ginny lied easily, raising her eyebrows.
For the barest of seconds, alarm fired up in his eyes. Then it disappeared, and he said nonchalantly, "Did anyone notice?"
Ginny smirked. "It's midnight. Did you expect anyone to?" Then she furrowed her brow at him. "You know, for someone who was just knocked out and had their arm slashed open, you seem rather casual."
"The surprises this life holds," Tom Riddle muttered darkly.
"Come on, then," the redhead said cheerily, bobbing up onto her toes and standing. "Up you get." She offered a hand to the seventeen-year-old on the floor.
After a moment of suspiciously eyeing her extended hand, Riddle – Tom – he – it? – oh, screw it - Tom took it. Ginny tugged her hand rigid, and pulled him to his feet (she felt embarrassed when she had to take a few steps back to get him to his full height).
"D'you need help walking?" inquired Ginny.
"No," Tom said obstinately, and, clutching his crimson-stained forearm, began to walk stiffly forwards. Within a few seconds, he stumbled.
"Let me try again – d'you need help walking?" Ginny said bemusedly, walking beside him.
Tom set his jaw. "No."
At that precise moment was when he fell over.
Panicking, Ginny swept forwards and wedged her shoulder in the path of his fall; quite painfully, he grabbed hold of her, stopping his fall, before leaning lightly on her, and, eventually, straightening up.
"Merlin, you're stubborn!" Ginny exclaimed. "Look, you're going to hurt yourself. Just let me help you." She wrapped an arm around his waist – she would have supported him under his arms, but for the fact that she couldn't really reach his arms – and he immediately tensed as though he'd had an electric shock. "What's wrong?"
Tom didn't answer.
"Is your side hurt? What? Tom – what's wrong?" Ginny said concernedly.
Then she saw – high on his cheeks, pink. He paused for a moment before reluctantly muttering, "I'm not dressed."
Ginny stared. And then she laughed. And then she laughed some more. "You're not serious?" she said incredulously. She glanced over his attire – school shirt, school trousers, and faintly greying socks. "Tom, all that you're missing is your outer robes and your shoes!" she pointed out. "You're hardly naked. Now, come on. We should go."
Unwillingly, Tom allowed the younger Hogwarts student to support him as they slowly walked back up from the Chamber of Secrets. As they neared the top of the steps to the library, the seventeen-year-old Head Boy began to straighten up and lean less on Ginny.
"The door is closed," he noted as they approached it.
"Well done," said Ginny sardonically as she shoved it open using an intricately-carved door-handle embedded on the inside. "I closed it behind me when I came down. You know, people finding a blood-soaked Head Boy and a Prefect known to argue with you a lot, in a place that isn't supposed to exist… because, of course, that wouldn't cause a scandal."
Ginny couldn't see Tom's face, but she knew of the smirk present.
"We have to hurry now," she told him. "Are you okay for hurrying?" she raised her eyebrows.
"I don't need to hurry," Tom informed her coolly. "I, after all, am the Head Boy – I'm allowed to be out at these hours."
"Again, let me remind you – half-dressed, muddy, and covered in blood." Ginny smirked. "You were saying?"
She was right, and he knew it; he didn't reply.
Ginny didn't let out the waiting breath of relief until she and the wounded Heir of Slytherin arrived outside the portrait of Robin the Rich. There, finally, she sighed, and then looked up at Tom. "Well, our interesting little journey ends here," she said dryly. "I'll see you tomorrow. Or, more accurately, today…" she pointed at the clock down the hallway, revealing the serif-adorned numerals of half an hour past one in the morning.
Tom smirked again. "True." He lifted his eyes briefly to the ceiling, before flickering them back to Ginny. "Thank you, Peregrine."
It was out of the blue, but Ginny knew what he was referring to.
"Any time," Ginny teased. "That's my job – hauling bloody Head Boys up from underground rooms that aren't supposed to exist? Oh yeah."
An expression clearly saying I-expected-no-less-from-you appeared in Tom's eyes. "Very well, then," he said smoothly. "Goodnight." He turned, and address Robin the Rich, "Condolesam."
"Took you long enough," the portly man in the painting grumbled.
"Oh, and Tom?" Ginny called after him as he stepped through the portrait hole.
He tilted his head slightly towards her, to show that he was listening.
"Happy 1959," she grinned, and skipped away, back to her Slytherin common room.
xxx
A/N: WOOO! IT'S THE NEW YEAR! –dancedance- Well. Not for me. But for them. Lol. Thanks to my beta SilvanXan. REVIEW OR DIE!
xxx
somerdaye: Wow, thank you! By the way, I love your pen-name. BOOM CHA BOOM CHA! Le happeh indeed! At least, until you stole my quote, you quote-stealer! Stealer of quotes!! MEHHHRHGH. (Sorry. Blame it on the sugar high.)
SiRiUsLyInLuV71: Sorry. But being friends with a Dark Lord isn't easy, ya know. Yeah, that was the sort of response you were supposed to get for the poetry thing, lol. And as for your question, I'm not going to answer that. Ginny doesn't understand, so neither do you. HAH!
X-XsiobhanX-X: Don't worry… soon, my friend, soon… And, sadly, it will at some point end. I wish it wouldn't, because I actually do adore Tom so much. Screw Ginny. I love this Tom… but it'll be really long, so there's a while to go yet. Lmao. Especially considering that they haven't even kissed yet.
Annabel-lurvs-purple: Thanks!
Pixar: Well, Jack's okay. But you have to remember that he is a Slytherin, and also, he just got dumped by his girlfriend. Er, no, I haven't heard it… I'll look for it though. But if it's about clowns, maybe I don't want to hear it. Lol. There's a really good song about a stalker though, called Sick by Son of Dork. It's good.
Peacegirl: Thanks! Er, I can't answer either of those questions. Sorry. That'd ruin the plot. I have to keep you guessing… mwahha.
Kriz: Sorry, but that hug is MINE! Thank you! Kissy time? Er, soon enough. I promise.
Art: Thanks!
BDSanta2001: Wow. I feel honoured. Um… actually, there is something a little like that. But don't worry. It doesn't have the same crappy ending: "Omg I'm in the present day! There's Voldie! HIIII Voldie! I love you!" Voldie: "Hey, sexy, I love you too!" –smooooooch-…. Because that's just stupid.
MadeNew: HAHAHAHA! Eviiill. Mwaha. Thank you!
XxRandomHeartxX: YAY! Sleep-deprived-ness! YAY! Mysterious-and-broody-and-just-so-Tom-ness! Haha. Sorry. Sugar high. Or.. maybe it's a FLUFF HIGH! Mahahhaha.
Saene: You're the ONLY ONE who got that Montol reference! I mean, GEEZ! Oh, I know a game like that. Except it's called Mafia. Anyway, thank you! Aw. You should rebel against the system and dress up as Ginny Peregrine again!
KyraThePoop: Aw. –hug- -gets Tom to give you a hug- That'd cheer up anyone! Rocky Road is lovely. It's vanilla, and then it has lumps of marshmallows, chocolate, and cookie dough in it. Ahhhh…
Creative-writing-girl13: It's okay. Did you have a good time? Thanks!
DeadlyCreative: Haha.
Courtney P: Thanks! I'm trying to make it as realistic as possible, so they don't fall in love in a day, but that means that it's going to be a really long fic. At least seventy chapters. –cringe- I can't answer your questions, again, but it's nice to know that you're confused! Hehe. Thanks again!
chimis: Come on! We can drool over hot fictional characters together! LOL.
XevenOf9: -in sing song voice- Can't tell yooooouu.
Jip91: Thanks!
Exohexohex: Lmao! Yes, The Rock Talks is a real book. It's one of my other fics! But my fic is a DracoxGinny called Montol. Lol, it was a joke. Nagini's hot. Er, Year Nine. You? I can't get my author bio to work! Whenever I type something, it doesn't save. Meh. Thanks!
XXX
NEXT TIME:
"Oh, come on! You have to have worked it out. At New Year's Eve, everyone gets drunk, dances around, and bitches about everyone behind their backs," said Grace simply. "All that I had to do was pretend to be wasted and hang around with people who were too drunk to remember that I hate them. I found out quite a lot. Oh, and by the way, popular opinion is that you and Riddle are having an affair."
Ginny abruptly inhaled at least sixty percent of her toothpaste and choked on it.
"I'm just curious as to how it suddenly changed from 'arrogant idiot', 'arsehole', 'Riddle', or 'Spawn of Satan'… to Tom," said Grace innocently.
"I was wondering, sir, if you could tell me… about a certain topic of what I'm pretty certain are the Dark Arts," said Ginny falteringly. "I heard it... just after Professor – P-Professor…" she ducked her head, and willed her eyes to stream. Then, looking back up, with hazel eyes glistening, but a look of determined I WILL NOT CRY blazing in her gaze, she continued bravely, "Professor… V-Vander… was attacked. I was in the Hospital Wing, and everyone thought I was asleep – I wasn't supposed to eavesdrop, I know, and I feel really bad about it… but someone, I'm not sure, said… said it looked like the work of Svengali."
XXX
I had another weird dream! I'm way too obsessed with Tom Riddle now. Lol, I was an OC character with dark hair, and I went back to TMR's time, and he fell in love with me instantly, and he had really crooked teeth. And as a token of his never-ending love, he pulled out one of his twisted yellow-y teeth and gave it to me. It was sort of gross. And then I went back to the present-day where I was a ninja and I had to restore a blue-haired princess to her Chinese throne…
WTF?