A/N: This is my favourite chapter in the whole fic. I FINALLY FINISHED IT! Not posting it, but I finished writing it. And I'm thinking of doing a sequel… Anyway. I LOVE this chapter. The start is funny, and then we have this AMAZING thing that's all like DUN-DUN-DUNNNN and then its SO FLUFFY AND EHHHHH!
HOLD ONTO YOUR HATS, PEOPLE!
Disclaimer: Get the idea into your head. I don't own it. Now move on.
The Letter P
Chapter Fifty-Nine: P is for Parasite
Ginny sighed. She hated being the owl, delivering messages – but much more that she had to constantly break up violent arguments. She missed her fifties' best friends, and they just weren't themselves since they'd broken up. Grace had stopped acting hyper and mental; Alden had retreated into his hermit-habitation known as the library and buried himself in books. She was seeing less and less of Tom as his time was now almost completely occupied – NEWTs revision, careers advice Head work, patrols… Snatched kisses in empty corridors. Entwined hands in vacant classrooms. Dancing in secret tunnels to no music. Hugs behind the library bookcases. Such was what their relationship had steadily declined to.
Her job done, she proudly left the library, smiling broadly. She knew now where the books on Archaic were. Now… to get them.
xxx
Happiness. Sheer bliss.
It was the only thing going through Ginny Peregrine's head as she wound her arms tighter around Tom Marvolo Riddle's neck, on tiptoe, eyes closed, her mouth sinking into his. As they drew apart after what seemed like several bright and sunny summer days, she recalled her plan to get the books on Archaic, and waited briefly until the timing was just right, before cooing, "Tommy dearest…"
"Oh God." Tom folded his arms, looking down at her with irritation and bemused curiosity. "What do you want?"
"Why, nothing, my sweetheart," she wheedled.
"Fine," said Tom, arching an eyebrow.
"Well, there is one thing," Ginny said thoughtfully. "I dunno… maybe… you could get me a pass to the Restricted Section?"
"And how did I know?" Tom dropped into his armchair. "No can do. Firstly, it would be rather obvious that I'd given you a pass for no reason, and secondly," he stretched nonchalantly, "I see no reason to."
"Oh, but please!" Ginny pleaded, falling to her knees and putting on her best puppy-dog face. Hey, it usually worked.
"I am not going to fall for the doe eyes, Ginevra," Tom told her firmly.
We'll see about that.
She didn't answer, but sat back on her heels, looking at the ground. A few seconds passed. Then, slowly, she lifted wide, round hazel eyes that were glistening with tears, and looked through her fringe at him, staring sadly straight into his dark eyes.
"Stop it," said Tom, annoyed. He looked away. "Stop it."
No reply. She kept staring at him miserably, tears threading her russet eyelashes.
He glanced back to her.
She blinked at him, and her lower lip began to tremble.
"Oh, alright! If you'll stop doing the doe eyes," the Head Boy grumbled, cross at having been defeated. He folded his long arms and glared at the arm of the chair, taking his anger at being powerless to her puppy-face out on the piece of defenceless furniture.
"Yay!" Ginny leapt up and hugged him tight. "You know that you're wonderful, don't you?"
"I still can't get the pass for you. It's far too suspicious. I can get the books for you, though," Tom said, his lilting voice muffled by her hugging him.
Oh. Ginny grimaced into his shoulder. For that, she'd have to tell him the book. And then he'd want to know why she wanted the book. Oh dear. This could end up awkward. Hmm. It was as good as it was going to get. "Okay." She hopped off him and stood in front of where he sat.
"May I inquire as to which book it is that you require from the Restricted Section?" Tom asked coolly, leaning into the back of his armchair and watching her quietly with observant eyes.
"Um." Here we go. "The Art Of Archaic or Base Archaic And Other Tongues Most Evile."
Tom frowned. "Archaic? Why do you want books on archaic?" he asked, his tone polite, as always, though not casual enough to hide the wary tone of suspicion. He could have left his inquiries at that, but they kept flowing out, each question becoming tighter and sharper. "What book needs an archaic translation?" he narrowed his eyes at her. "That language is thousands of years old. What on earth do you need to translate?" He shook by one sleeve and absent-mindedly scratched at the top of his wrist.
Her heart pounded.
She could tell him. She trusted him; almost more than anyone else. And, as Head Boy, he would have access to areas that she couldn't go to. He could help her understand what was going on…
"Svengali," she blurted out.
Instantly she realised that it was a bad idea. The first sign was that he immediately stopped itching his arm. The second was how he kept his head low, but, through his fringe, his eyes snapped up to hers at the speed of a runaway train, so suddenly that had his gaze been a pushing force, she didn't doubt that she would have fallen over. Even so, she took a step backwards, before continuing.
"A book on Svengali," she clarified bravely. Seeing that his dark stare wasn't lightening, she hurried ahead to explain. "Someone – something – is going around and attacking people. Myrtle Tristanebury, Professor Vander, you, me… and I think it's under the influence of Svengali. And if I knew more about it, then maybe I could understand what the thing or person was, and then… and then who it was, if it was a person, and…" she faltered. "And then, I dunno. Save the day?"
Even around her, Tom had an impassive mask to some degree. He wasn't Mr-No-Emotions when he was alone with her, but by no means did he open up and allow anyone to see that he could be terrified or distraught or troubled. However now, for just a split-second, his strong façade crumbled, revealing an upset, vulnerable face, almost like a child. Then, as abruptly as it had appeared, he set his features again to invincibility. He gave a loud sigh, dropped his face into his hands; jerked himself to his feet violently, and crossed the room, raking one large hand backwards through his wavy hair. She thought she heard: "I knew this was going to happen", muttered.
The Head Boy dropped onto the edge of his bed, resting his elbows on his knees and hanging his arms between them. Then he said, his voice muted and tired, "Come here."
Ginny crossed the room and sat beside him.
"Can you keep a secret?" Tom wasn't looking at her.
Ginny nodded, and was left wondering what he was going to say, wondering what she expected him to say-
"It's me."
Not that.
She stared at him. The word on the tip of her tongue was 'huh?' but she kept it to herself. She didn't think that she could talk anyway.
"Just… just give me a minute, okay?" Tom asked quietly, his voice almost pleading. "A minute of your time, maybe two. And then, sure, run off and tell the world I'm a psychopath if you want to."
Ginny nodded again.
Another sigh. "You know Salazar Slytherin, I'm presuming?" he didn't look to her for confirmation, "He… he had children. And… a hereditary set of cursed genes was passed down through the ages. Two children. Any Slytherin descendant would have two children – most commonly, twins. And something that became increasingly common was the attitudes of the children." He swallowed. "Exact opposites – one sarcastic, one friendly. One sweet, one sour. One good, one… not so much."
She saw where this was going. But it sounded like something in a fairytale… it was just ridiculous.
"Here's a story for you," Tom said, not meeting her gaze. "Two of these descendant siblings… their names were Merope and Morfin. A girl and a boy. The female, Merope, was the pure-hearted of the two… well. As pure-hearted as a Slytherin can get," he commented dryly. Again he gulped, his anxiety showing plainly. "Except that Merope did the worst thing possible for the Slytherin family. She… she fell in love with a Muggle. The Muggle was… Tom Riddle."
Following the plot, Ginny frowned. She was bursting with questions, but didn't want to interrupt.
"She gave the Muggle love-potions, and they got married. When she was pregnant, she… she decided that Riddle would love her even if she was a witch, because she was carrying his child. Or rather, due to genetic tradition, children. Well, she was wrong."
Ginny was watching his face carefully. He still wasn't looking at her, but his jaw tightened and his eyes flashed.
"He wanted nothing to do her… he snatched her up on his horse, rode away, and then threw her off. He was probably hoping that she'd either be killed by the fall, or would at least hit her head and lose her memory. He couldn't bear the shame of having anyone know that he'd…" Tom trailed off. Ginny wondered how he knew all of this. A deep breath, and he plundered on. "Merope was hurt, but she stumbled into the nearby town. She was bruised and battered, but otherwise fine. However, the unborn children weren't…"
Ginny's eyes widened.
"Twins. As always. But one of them was crushed and dying. The dominant child – the, shall we say, immoral one – was weaker now, and did the only thing it could to stay alive." Tom's voice was getting quieter and now sounded strained. "It… became a parasite."
Her heart froze.
"A few…"
Tom's voice cracked. He stopped, swallowed hard, and started again.
"A few months later… she had her child. Dying. She never saw her…" another stop, "her son. She never knew that she hadn't had twins. She never knew that… that her …her child wasn't normal. Parasitic. No-one knew. The baby looked normal. He hadn't absorbed extra limbs… or anything like that. The only difference was that… was that the baby had two minds."
Tom's voice was barely audible.
"She told the woman who had delivered her baby… to call the 'children'… Tom and Marvolo." He swallowed. "The immoral, Marvolo, after her cruel father. The… the good, Tom, after the person she loved. … The midwife was confused, because there was only one child. And thus," he finished bleakly, "Tom Marvolo Riddle."
Ginny suddenly found that she couldn't breathe. "My arm…" she said. "Myrtle… Vander…"
Tom stood very suddenly. "You know, I think that my two minutes is up," he muttered, his eyes on the floor, which was unusual, as he usually held his head high and looked at the ceiling. "You can… you can go now."
And then… Ginny realised something that wrenched her heart into pieces. His smooth, lilting voice was choked. And his head was down. And his hands were clenched. His jaw was set rigid. That was something Ginny had seen a thousand times on everyone around her in the War – furiously refusing to show pain and fighting back… tears.
She had finally accepted that Tom – this Tom – wasn't evil. And now… so many attacks. So many… deaths. All at his hand.
But, she realised with a start, were they all at his hand? Someone was controlling him… he had no choice. He didn't even know.
And she remembered her first-year. Forced to attack, attempt murder, injure… without any choice in the matter. She remembered how, after the diary was destroyed, everyone accused her. They didn't understand. People who barely knew her loathed her because of what evil she'd unknowingly fostered inside her.
For the first time in her whole life, Ginny saw that Lord Voldemort, too, had once been a child, and she saw that child in the Heir of Slytherin trying hopelessly to reject her as if he didn't care.
Tears in his eyes – though he was much too macho and impassive to let her know. A problem that he could never solve. Barely holding it together.
And a memory: a girl, sitting on her bed. Tears in her eyes. Barely holding it together. A diary clenched in her hands.
She ran forwards, making the decision in an instant, and wrapped her arms as tightly as possible around the thin frame of the Head Boy; burying a messy, red-haired head into the worn material of his jumper. Her heart was drumming wildly, and screaming three words, eight letters, that somehow she couldn't grasp and couldn't understand.
"Er…" said an awkward voice from just above her. "You… can go."
"And what," said Ginny fiercely, lifting her face towards his, "if I don't give a damn for leaving?"
Tom looked confused. "I… I don't…" he frowned, looking again like a clueless ten-year-old in an oversized body. "You don't mind… that I'm a descendant of Slytherin?"
A wry smile made itself present on Ginny's lips. "If I was a Gryffindor or Hufflepuff, I'd probably run away screaming, but… I'm not, am I?"
He didn't look any less puzzled at this. "And… and you don't mind that… that I'm a Parselmouth?" he enquired worriedly.
She didn't think that this would be a good time to tell him that she was, too. "Am I supposed to?" she replied, raising her eyebrows to push her point.
Now the final hurdle – the biggest. Tom looked extremely uncomfortable. "And… and you're not bothered… by…" he trailed off, and gestured ambiguously at himself.
"What – you mean, am I bothered by the fact that you have a second soul living inside you that sometimes turns demonic and tries to kill the people around you?" Ginny asked coolly.
His eyes snapped to hers. Dark eyes were suddenly bottomless again, glowing like coals from the burning fire. His expression was close to murderous.
She took hold of one elbow and looked up into his chiselled face. "Not in the slightest," she said softly. And then, fathoms below, Ginny saw the bottom to the bottomless pit, glittering with obsidian.
He swallowed, hard. "Do you mean that, or are you just trying to make me feel better when you're actually terrified of me?"
"If I was that scared of you, d'you think I'd do this?" she asked teasingly, her voice soft; she bobbed up onto her tiptoes and kissed the corner of his mouth, the touch lingering there, before ducking down again and smiling up at him.
Tom's face had cracked into a smirk, his thin lips curving upwards, and he was watching her with a kind of calm happiness in his strong features, his dark eyes sparkling with something that she'd never seen before.
It lifted her heart and sent her soaring into the clouds; when suddenly his face fell again, looking slightly troubled. In the past five minutes, he'd been more open, more defenceless, than he'd probably ever been in his life. He looked straight into her heart-shaped face. "Ginevra…"
"Yeah?" she enquired, curious. The Head Boy seemed nervous, and he was breathing hard, as if summoning courage. "You know you can tell me anything."
Then, blurting the words out as if he was scared that they were going to bite him, he said quickly, "I think I lo-"
DONG. DONG. DONG.
She saw his lips move, but couldn't read them. "Damn. Sorry," she apologized. "I forgot about time passing. I have to be back to the common room, I'll get in trouble." She said sorry again, and then kissed him again. "You'll tell me later, okay?"
"…Yes," he agreed, but there was a look in his eyes that made Ginny feel rather sad.
"Tell me later," she repeated, smiling; but as she scurried down the stairs, little did she know that she'd never hear him say it again.
xxx
A/N: ARGH! WOW! REVIEW! TELL ME WHAT YOU THOUGHT! I know, it's sort of weird and unrealistic and bit like a cliché fairytale, but whatever.
Next Time:
Ginny laughed; turning to her brown-haired friend. "Don't worry, dearest, but I'm sure that-"
"Kill…"
The voice rang clear, and Ginny froze. Her blood ran cold. She knew now what the voice entailed. She'd thought it was over. Seemingly not. But what now? That was the real question – what now?
XXX