A/N: Thanks for the reviews! So sorry. FF seems to hate me, it keeps closing for no reason. Anyway. It's getting verrrry fluffy now. WOOP!
Disclaimer: Get the idea into your head. I don't own it. Now move on.
The Letter P
Chapter Fifty-Seven: P is for Perfect
"Archaic is the language, that, in theory, was spoken during the time period of none other than Jesus Christ. Then we have Base Archaic. It was too complicated for everyone to learn, so they simplified it into Simple Archaic, which is what dear old Jesus spoke. Base Archaic is the oldest language is the world – very difficult, and very dark. It set the standard for creating every other language globally spoken."
Seeming to be satisfied with something that he'd seen in her facial features, Tom lessened the intensity of his famous microscan gaze. He turned fully towards her. "Base Archaic is the oldest, darkest language known to man," he began smoothly. "Simplified Archaic was – as intended to be noticeable in the name – simpler. However, it was still far too complicated to be retained as a language. It instead became a rare and dark skill. Someone who speaks it is these days almost like an endangered species," Tom said, and there was a hint of irony lacing his slightly-accented words. "The speaker goes by many names these days. Disciple of the Dark… Serpentstriker… Archan…" Tom's dark eyes snapped to Ginny's. "…and, most commonly – Parselmouth."
She had a lot to think about.
xxx
Scanning the pages, Ginny tried for what seemed the hundredth hour to translate the endless lines of Base Archaic.
She could make nothing of it when read in English; even Parseltongue translated little. Using the foreign language of serpents pulled a phrase here and a phrase there from the odd chapter. Writing down a list of words she understood, she found at the end of three hours that she had understood five different words out of a whole volume.
The words were as such: death, darkness, endless despair, and soul-destroying.
"Lovely," she muttered to herself.
"What's lovely?" Grace asked, coming in. "Oh, Ginny!" she cried exasperatedly. "You're not still working on that stupid book, are you?"
Ginny scowled. "It's not stupid," she said defensively.
"Okay, either it's stupid, or you're stupid," Grace said firmly. "Open your eyes! It is in another language! And not one that you speak!"
"I'm getting closer," Ginny said, protective of her own intelligence and the book's usefulness.
"Really?" Grace laughed. "How many words have you got now?"
The redhead pursed her lips, knowing that the answer would not impress her friend. "Five," she muttered dejectedly.
"Precisément, mon amie, precisément," Grace chastised.
Ginny raised her eyebrows. "You speak French?"
"Hell no." Grace guffawed. "I copied that from this Belgian fourth-year upstairs complaining into the fireplace to her friend in Beauxbatons." She tugged on the Prefect's arm. "Come on! Lighten up."
"I do not need to lighten up," Ginny retorted. "If I were any lighter, I'd float away."
"Lighter!" Grace yelled. "Look at me! I'm flying!"
"No, Grace," Ginny corrected. "You're not flying. You're insane."
The brunette huffed, and flopped onto her bed. "So…" she drawled. "Valentine's Day tomorrow."
Ginny gave her friend a sharp look. "I am aware. What point are you trying to make?"
"Have you got a date with Riddle?" Grace prompted.
"No." Ginny frowned. "It isn't a Hogsmeade day."
"So?" Grace threw her hands in the air. "Who needs Hogsmeade? Me and Alden just find a cupboard somewhere and-"
"NO!" Ginny yelled. "Stop right there!" She sighed with annoyance. "Grace, you and Alden are my best friends here – and I would prefer to keep our friendship intact by avoiding scarring mental images!"
"Geez, okay." Grace shrugged.
Ginny puffed out her breath. "Screw this," she muttered. "I'm going to the library to see if I can find a translation."
"For what?" Grace said sarcastically. "A language that the world's forgotten about? Good luck with that!"
"Thank you again for the support, Hartwin," Ginny called irritably over her shoulder as she vanished up the stairs.
xxx
Ginny pushed open the broad, wooden library doors. Most people were concocting love potions today, as it was the day before the one and only holiday of love, or with their friends worrying about their love lives or lack thereof. Therefore the library was mostly empty, and the ink-stained, slightly dusty air didn't hold the chatter of loud students trying – and failing – to be quiet.
"Hm." Ginny scanned the shelves. Where could she start?
In the Dark Arts section or the Ancient Languages?
Deciding that Ancient Languages would be the most probable place for locating a translation (if it existed at all), the redhead headed towards that area of the library. Starting at the further end and working her way up, Ginny looked at the title of every book, and skimmed through likely-looking volumes, but to no avail.
GAH, damnit.
She then searched the Dark Arts area. Followed by the Foreign Languages area. Followed by the History area.
All for naught.
"Madam Crofton?" she enquired, coming up to the stern librarian's desk. "I'm interested in learning a second language in my own free time, but I haven't decided which language I should choose."
"AND YOU'RE TELLING THIS TO ME, BECAUSE…?" said Madam Crofton, who had maintained a burning dislike for Ginny after the 'scary midget lady' comment.
"Well, I was wondering if you could tell me what language translation books are in the library, and I could decide for myself amongst what's available," said Ginny innocently, with a smile.
Madam Crofton eyed the seventeen-year-old with suspicion. Then, finding nothing to complain about, the librarian flipped open her records (which Ginny had returned after 'borrowing' it) and scanned the rows of neat text. "WE HAVE FRENCH, GERMAN, GREEK, RUSSIAN, DUTCH, MANDARIN CHINESE, CANTONESE, RUSSIAN, SWEDISH, GOBLIN, TROLL, MERMISH AND LATIN," she read out after a moment.
"Oh." Ginny tried to hide her sinking heart and disappointment, because that would be a give-away. "I think I'll try Latin, then. What's the best book on translating Latin to English that the library has?"
Her reasoning was that if all languages rooted back to Base Archaic, then surely the older the dialect was, the easier it would be. It hadn't worked with her Parseltongue idea, but it was worth a shot.
She was lead to the right book and then she checked it out. Seeing no point to stay any longer, she thanked Madam Crofton and departed the room of books.
She walked in long, easy strides back towards the stairs, her brain in full gear for trying to work out the mystery behind Svengali. If only she hadn't lost the first Svengali book. If only this new one was in English. If only-
Her thoughts were cut off by her own scream as a hand grabbed her and pulled her through a tapestry.
HELP! I'M BEING ATTACKED AGAIN! HELP!
And then, as abruptly as she had been snatched, she was let go, and through the gloom of the secret passageway, her breath shallow and her heart a-mile-a-minute, she peered up into the face of her attacker.
As she'd suspected.
"God, Tom, you scared me!" she snapped at him, whacking him on the elbow, hoping that her anger would cover her heart-pounding fear.
"Why?" Tom asked.
"Er, maybe because it's not really normal to drag people into alcoves! How anti-social are you?" Ginny said crossly. Unsure why, she admitted her fear: "And… that's what happened last time."
He understood her softly spoken words without asking for a repeat; a nod from the silhouette before her indicated everything.
Scowling up at his shadow, she smacked his arm again. "That hurt," she complained.
"I apologize," said Tom, and then he swept into a spontaneous and startling bow.
"What the-?"
Still bowed, the Head Boy took her thin wrist and pressed his lips to her hand. Then, straightening, he said smoothly, "May I have this dance?" and extended his arm formally to her.
"A – what? – dance?" Ginny spluttered. What in the name of Merlin was going on?
"Indeed." She could see his eyes glittering in the darkness. "A dance."
She stared at him incredulously. "There's no music, you dolt."
"Isn't there?" Tom tilted his head slightly. And then, in a whisper: "Or perhaps you're not listening hard enough."
Ginny listened intently to the sounds around her…
Nothingness. Absolute silence.
And it was beautiful.
Tom extended his arm again; Ginny took it; and together they waltzed in perfect peace through the darkness.
xxx
"Yum-yum-yum!" Ginny teased as she, Grace and Alden mounted the stairs from the dungeons. "Lots of cakes for me – none for you!"
"Not fair," Grace groaned, holding her stomach. "You're cruel, Ginny, cruel, I tell you." She looked to Alden for support. "Isn't she cruel?"
"Very cruel," Alden agreed as the redhead began a charade of eating lots of iced buns.
Then they passed through the stone door and were in the Entrance Hall. The two non-Prefect Slytherins waved goodbye and went off to breakfast, while Ginny headed off to help make the stand at the side of the Hall, where she could see Scott, Mia and Gareth struggling with a very large table; she could also see Olive Hornby sulking in a corner and refusing to cooperate, though her help would have been much needed.
"Hey," Ginny called. "Is everything alright? D'you need some help?" At the grunts of approval from her fellow Prefects, she lifted her wand and added her efforts of wingardium leviosa to the moving of the table.
"Thanks," said Scott with a warm smile; Ginny fired him a look of haughty disdain in return.
A moment later, Eleanor came click-clacking down the stairs, looking, Ginny had to admit, extremely attractive, in the fleecy pink jumper, the dark pink poodle skirt, and the bronze stiletto-heels that she wore. Ginny scowled to see that Scott was staring at the Head Girl with his mouth slightly open.
"Ooh, looks great," Eleanor said enthusiastically, seeing Mia spread the pink, heart-adorned table-cloth over the table. "Gareth, have you got the cakes? Lovely. Scott, be a darling and help me to Conjure some plates."
Students began to pile eagerly out of breakfast as the last item was set up; most wearing pink. Ginny remembered that the fifties was the time of the famous Think Pink trend, and looked down with a grin at her own fluorescent magenta attire.
"Wow, what's that?"
"Can I have one of those?"
"Ooh, that looks good."
"Henry, that was the last one!" –pout- "No fair!"
Money began to flow from the hands of students into Eleanor's pockets, and Ginny mused that if the cakes were so popular, then they must be more than half-decent.
"Can I take a break?" Ginny asked Eleanor. "Have a cupcake or two?"
The Head Girl nodded, not really listening, following the conversation of two of her friends, before bellowing at them, "Not true! That was a dare, I didn't do that on purpose!"
Happily, Ginny picked up a heart-shaped cupcake and bit into it, savouring the soft pink fondant-icing and the tiny silver crystals on top.
Yum.
Cramming the last few crumbs into her mouth, the redhead swallowed hard, and returned to her post behind the bake-sale table.
"And which one d'you want?" she asked a very small, timid-looking first-year.
"Um – um, that one, please," the first-year stammered, pulling nervously on her dark pigtails.
"Okay," Ginny replied kindly, and handed a pink cookie to the eleven-year-old, who stuttered out a thank-you and then fled as fast as possible, evidently having heard rumours about the terrifying Ginevra Peregrine, O Mighty Wielder of Bat-Bogey Hexes.
Then, inexplicably, she felt someone's presence hovering nearby.
She didn't immediately turn around, nor did she do it deliberately, but when picking up a stray fork from the stone flooring, she allowed hazel eyes to flicker across the Entrance Hall, and there, behind a pillar, a few feet away, was the far-flung shadow of someone tall and thin.
Straightening up, Ginny placed the fork back onto the table and moved her face close to Antonia's ear surreptitiously, before hissing, "Cover me?"
The dark-skinned Prefect agreed, and then Ginny slid out from behind the table, making her way towards the pillar that hid someone very bad at hiding.
"Aren't you supposed to be helping with the bake-sale?" Ginny chastised lightly, setting her thin hands on her hips.
"Firstly," said Tom nonchalantly, as though he hadn't just been discovered lurking in the shadows, "I was assigned the task of sorting out mine and Fionn's patrol rotas – which I have just finished, upon the completion of which, I decided why not see how much of a disaster this idea had turned out to be-"
Ginny raised her eyebrows.
"-and, secondly, I dislike the holiday with quite an unexplained passion."
"Doesn't everyone?" Ginny rolled her. "Except for the dippy third-years who think you're exceedingly handsome, of course," she teased, with a jaunty wink.
Tom gave her a withering look, but then enquired, "You don't like Valentine's Day, am I right?"
She nodded, wondering why he wanted to know.
He gave a short sigh of relief. "Okay, that's easier for me, then," he admitted. "I was concerned that you might demand roses or something of the like."
"Urgh, no." Ginny made a face. "Hopeless romantic, yes, but I'm not big on flowers. I'm allergic to rose petals, anyway." She gave an exaggerated shiver. "My face swells up twice its normal size and I go red and blotchy. Not flattering." She fluttered her eyelashes at him. "However, I wouldn't say no to a box of chocolates… hint hint… wink wink, nudge nudge."
Tom would usually have arched an eyebrow, but he seemed anxious. "Well, I haven't got chocolate for you, but I have something else – I suppose that compared to roses and chocolate, it's hardly decent, but you could always have nothing if you preferred, so you can take it or leave it or-"
"Tom!" Ginny said sharply. "Rambling again."
The seventeen-year-old Head Boy swallowed. He pulled a piece of folded paper from within his robes, handed it to her, and then stuck his hands into his pockets. His dark eyes were averted from hers, and he lowered his head, causing a miniature tidal wave of near-black hair to fall over his brow.
Huh?
Frowning slightly, Ginny unfolded the parchment and saw line after line of small, neat, black handwriting that was unmistakably the script of Tom Marvolo Riddle.
Distantly, she recalled: "I'm not supposed to be that person! The one with guitars and stupid poems and – and a giant beaver, for God's sake!"
…Stupid poems?
"Is this… Is this a poem?" she echoed softly.
"… of sorts."
Ginny could see the smudge of pink on his cheeks.
"AH!" she shrieked. "I have suddenly and spontaneously gone blind. I can't see…" she put on a sad face. "I can't read the poem. Someone will have to read it to me…"
"No," said Tom flatly, as if there was a line that was not to be crossed, and Ginny had just crossed it. He did not read out poetry.
"Pleeease?" Ginny cooed, fluttering her eyelashes up at him.
"Ginevra, no." Tom sighed. "I have to go now, anyway. I think that Dippet wanted to see me about something; and, I may add, you're the only sensible person in the Prefect circle, and if you don't return to your bake-sale then the others will probably set something on fire or explode a cake."
Ginny pouted. "Fine."
"Read it later. Not now; not here." Tom looked down at her, meeting her gaze again. "Okay?"
She nodded, and then on tiptoe to press her lips softly against his, placing a small hand on his shoulder. "See you," she chirped to him when they drew apart, and then, with a last smile, she skipped back to her table. Her heart was swelling inside her chest with the sweetness – and the weirdness – of it all.
Tom had written her a Valentine's Day poem.
Lord Voldemort had written her a Valentine's Day poem.
Weird.
"I'm back!" she told the others enthusiastically, and began to sell the remaining cupcakes at a cheaper price to get them all sold before classes started.
xxx
"Honestly, I can not believe that Claude had the nerve to say that in front of everyone," said Flora angrily as she got into her pyjamas, who Ginny had become closer to than she would have thought.
At dinner, Claude had marched over to Ginny with a song she'd written. She then loudly began to serenade the redhead with her song – a ballad about two Mudblood rejects falling in love, being hated by society, and then dying painful deaths. She'd been given a detention by Professor Gladwyn, but the damage had been done.
Ginny sorely wished that Grace and Flora had let her slap the stupid bimbo.
"I hate her," she said bitterly. She crammed her hands into the pockets of her bomber jacket – it didn't exactly complete the pink, fluffy Valentine's Day outfit, but hey! Who gave a damn? It was comfortable – and there felt the crinkle of folded paper.
Her hazel eyes widened as she remembered what Tom had given her, and quickly slipped it under her pillow which she could look at it at length in the privacy of her own bed.
"Well, I'm going to hit the sack," Grace yawned, clambering underneath her blankets. "If Claude comes in and I eat her, don't restrain me. I've been waiting seven years for this opportunity."
"Yeah…" Flora agreed sleepily, jumping onto her mattress.
"You ready for light's out, Ginny?" Grace asked, leaning over to the lamp, to extinguish the warm glow on the okay from her red-haired companion.
"Er, you can turn off yours," Ginny said. "I'm just going to be a minute."
"Suit yourself."
There was a unanimous click of lamps being turned off, and then the dormitory was plunged into darkness, save for the flickering light of Ginny's own bedside-lamp.
Glancing at the two other Slytherin females, Ginny retrieved the parchment, opened it, and investigated what words lay inside. Her breath caught.
In small, serif-adorned, neat letters lining the page:
Ginevra
Set alight to water
Flowing through the air
Falling around a face
Fit for angels
The smallest of blushes
And the smallest of smiles
Carves a heart
Out of freckles
Russet butterflies
Flutter for eyes
Of tea
And of gold
And of jade
Dance through the flames
Faster, faster
A whirlwind of colour
A whirlwind of…
Heart
Ginevra
Ginny didn't know what to say; even what to do. It was so lovely that it made the corners of her eyes sting. She gave an exhalation of an emotion she couldn't put into words, and then flopped down onto her pillow. She clicked her lamp off and slid the letter back under the plump cushion that her head rested on. And then she smiled into her blankets and fell asleep.
xxx
A/N: Awwww. How cute. Please review!
'Ginevra', by Tom Riddle, is copyright. I wrote it; don't steal it. If you really suck at poetry, you can borrow it if you ask me first. But then you have to mention that I wrote it. :P
Next Time:
And it was at this, not at all of the crude insults thrown at her, that Grace sucked in a gasp of shock. Her blue eyes blurred with tears, and she slapped a hand to her mouth to stop herself from exclaiming in shock – a tiny cry leaked out.
Ginny alone could see the pain hidden in Alden's eyes before he turned away. Then Grace turned on her heels, pushed through the crowd of watching and jeering students who had gathered, and fled towards the main doors, her sobs resounding behind her.
XXX