A/N: Thanks for the reviews again! Sorry that the previous chapter was a bit boring. This is interesting though. Trust me. But it's sort of sad. Anyway. I'm going camping tomorrow, so this is posting quickly without review replies. I'll reply soon.
Disclaimer: Get the idea into your head. I don't own it. Now move on.
The Letter P
Chapter Forty-Eight: P is for Pathetic And Pride
"Hell yeah!" Ginny snorted. "One big old misunderstanding – understatement! This is the worst misunderstanding ever! Because the fact is that people have to understand that I don't feel anything for Tom."
And, unbeknownst to the world outside, a tall, dark silhouette stood frozen behind a tapestry of a little beribboned girl patting a sheep, having heard the entire conversation. Then, with only a flair of cloak that ruffled the left corner of the tapestry to give him away, the shadow stalked back down the corridor, his sharp footsteps hiding the sharp pain that no-one could ever learn of.
xxx
"Hey, Peregrine! Declared love for anyone yet?"
Ginny glared at the passing Gryffindor, her cheeks heating up. He found this only more amusing, and he began to laugh harder. Walking off with his stupid friends, Ginny found herself fixed by the urge to direct her legendary Bat-Bogey Hex at the boy's head.
Resist. Resist. It's bad to maim people, remember?
Her leaf-coloured eyes narrowed dangerously, but she forced herself to keep walking.
As she had suspected, within two hours, the entire school was aware of what had happened under the effect of the Imperius Curse. Professor Devin had been formally addressed by the rest of the staff, telling him off about how dangerous it could have turned out, and luckily the only thing that was wounded was 'poor Miss Peregrine's and Mr. Riddle's pride'.
Mr. Riddle was another story entirely. He'd disappeared, seemingly, from the face of the planet. Ginny knew from her own personal experience that Hogwarts was more than big enough for someone to hide in and never be found. It was quite easy to never see someone in seven years of schooling with them, and if the person happened to be evading society, then it was probably possible to forget they even existed.
Ginny, on the other hand, knew full well than Tom existed, and also was fully aware that he was avoiding her. For the sake of her own embarrassment at having publicly kissed him in front of a teacher, she was glad that she hadn't seen him. However, more than two weeks had passed, bringing late January in with the melting snow, and she was getting rather worried about if he was even still alive.
Contemplating back on these thoughts, Ginny told herself it was pointless, and, with a sigh, pushed her stupid anxieties to the back of her mind.
Rain spattered the windows – good old Scotland, Ginny thought crossly – cleaning the glass, and revealing a gray sky outdoors. Grimacing at the less-than-pleasant weather conditions, Ginny decided against visiting her favourite willow tree, and seeing the state of the unfortunate, petrified Moaning Myrtle in the water.
What else can I do?
Homework, she reminded herself. She had a twelve-inch essay on Golpagott's Third Law due in tomorrow for Potions, and she had to practice Transfiguring tables into quilts for Professor Dumbledore, at which she had failed dismally during yesterday's lesson.
However, as enticing as doing her homework sounded, Ginny simply couldn't bring herself to do something educational.
Maybe look for Tom…
As soon as this thought left her brain half-formed, as though Merlin had heard her, she looked up and caught a glimpse of a snatch of dark, hand-me-down robes disappearing around the corner, and an abnormally long leg.
What were the odds?
Sensing that Tom knew she had seen him and would probably run before she could catch up, Ginny broke into a sprint, shoving through a group of third-years and dashing forwards. The flapping sole of her broken flats threatened to trip her every step of the way, but she overcame it and wheeled about the corner.
Hell, he moved fast.
Still, seemingly, walking at the same brisk but casual pace, Tom had astonishingly made it the entire length of the hallway and was nearing the stairs, where Ginny was certain she'd lose him.
"Tom!" she called after him.
He continued a few more steps before slowing, almost reluctantly, and then came to a halt.
Ginny breathed a sigh of relief, and hurried after him. "Tom," she said again, less loudly now that she wasn't forcing her voice to span fifteen metres.
As she neared him, she clearly saw the dark look cutting a scar on his pale, strong features.
Okay… someone's not happy to see me…
The redhead ceased her running; Tom immediately began to walk again. Cross with his antisocial-ness, Ginny hastened to fall into step with him. "Hey," she said brightly, peering up into his shadowed face.
"'Evening," said Tom curtly. The cutting of the word 'good' was obvious, and, Ginny thought privately, very childish.
Ginny mock-frowned. "'Evening'?" she echoed. "Silly boy, it's only-"
"Five o'clock," he threw out impassively, casting a meaningful look sideways at a clock they passed. Ginny looked at the clock. It was indeed five o'clock.
Well, damn.
As they began to descend the grand staircase, Ginny attempted again to spark up conversation. "So," she tried, "how about that Quidditch match tomorrow? Gryffindor-Ravenclaw? Should be interesting."
"Not really," said Tom icily. "A hoard of arrogant idiots versus a hoard of know-it-all idiots, each trying to kill each other."
"Exactly!" Ginny said proudly. "Now you're starting to understand the whole point of Quidditch. It's just basically two Houses trying to kill each other, and then two other Houses watching, cheering, and hoping that somebody gets into a fight."
Ginny had expected for Tom to find the mention of dying Gryffindors amusing. However, his jaw was set steadfastly, and he didn't even satisfy the joke with an answer.
Cheer up, moron, Ginny mentally screeched at him. She imagined a series of images in which she hit him over the head with a Beaters' bat. Then she put the images to the back of her mind before she seriously considered Summoning one. Maybe even a Beater, to help.
The two Slytherins walked down the next flight of stairs in total silence. Ginny could easily have remained quiet, but Tom's unexplained stubborn disposition was grinding on her nerves greatly.
"Okay, stop it," she snapped frustratedly, stopping stock-still halfway down the stairs. She folded her arms across her chest and stared at him. "What did I do?"
Tom, who had previously not stopped when she did, now came to a halt, a few steps below her. He didn't turn and look at her, but Ginny saw his shoulders tense. She waited for a reply. She didn't get one.
"What have I done wrong now?" Ginny said angrily. "As far as I'm concerned, all that I did was accidentally kiss you. And if you're avoiding me because of that, then I mean you every offence when I say that that's just really pathetic."
Not many people would have noticed it, save for Ginny, and that was because she was carefully watching every inch of Tom's anatomy for the slightest give-away of what was going on inside that big skull of his – but at these words, he quickly clenched his fingers into fists before releasing them.
Then, after a pause during which tension built up like a gathering storm, he ground out: "It's not."
"Not what?" Ginny said.
"It's not that." For the first time since their little meeting had begun, his dark eyes flashed left to meet hers.
Ginny realised with some abashment that she was now the same height as Tom – standing two steps higher than him. She tilted her chin defiantly up at him and held his gaze. After another long silence, the Head Boy exhaled heavily, turned away, and carried on down the stairs.
As he slowly faded into the distance, she asked, "What is it, then?"
She didn't raise her voice, nor did she lower it. Yet it carried clearly, softly, down the steps, to the ears of the Heir of Slytherin.
Tom stopped again, on the steps. For one heart-hammering moment, Ginny thought he was actually going to tell her. Then, with the tiniest twitch of his head, indicating what, for a normal human being, would have been a shake of no, he resumed his walk, and vanished.
The bewildered redhead stared at the space where he had just been. Then, thinking furiously, she tried to think of what she could have said – or done – or even thought about doing – to upset Tom so.
She drew a complete blank.
Now feeling awful for calling him pathetic when something must be really troubling him, Ginny sank down and sat dejectedly on the stairs, staring sadly ahead. What a mystery that boy was. And what she'd give to find out why.
xxx
A/N: Aw. Poor Tommykins. Ginny's kind of stupid. But then again, she'd never guess in a million years that he was upset because the Dark Lord fancied her. Anywho. Please review.
XXX
Next Time:
"Please answer the door!" Ginny said to the wood of the door marked Head Boy – Tom Riddle in swirling letters. "I even have a big speech prepared, but it's not going to work if I have to say it to a door."
XXX