A/N: This chapter's kind of short… and very sad… oh well. Listen to a sad song or something. Um… I cried. That's a warning. If you're an emotional sap like me, have some tissues handy. Or something. Anyway. Thank you so much for the reviews! NEARLY THOUSAND! Yayy! WAAAA. It makes me so sad. It's a sort of… omg-gasp chapter. You'll see. –sob-
I recommend Stay Just A Little by Kina Grannis.
IMPORTANT NOTE!! I'm thinking of changing the title. Because the sequel's title has to match, and nothing match-y fits with The Letter P. And don't suggest 'The Letter (blank)'. Any suggestions?
Disclaimer: Get the idea into your head. I don't own it. Now move on.
The Letter P
Chapter Sixty-Five: P is for Pain
Deciding that her safest option was to not say anything, the seventeen-year-old red-haired Prefect moved closer to her beau, curling her arms around him comfortably. She was surprised but pleased when he plucked up the courage to shyly hold her around the waist, the majority of his arm resting softly on her stomach, his chin leaning against the top of her fluffy-haired head.
"Goodnight," she said gently, closing her eyes and floating towards that inner peace that was slumber.
"Goodnight," whispered Tom in reply. And he didn't cut off the word 'good'.
xxx
PAIN.
Ginny sat bolt upright. Gasps wrenched from her mouth like puffs of smoke from a steam-train. Agony was coursing through her chest, like something was ripping her heart in half. She looked around at the dormitory. Silent. Sleeping. She looked across at the clock. Ticking, it quietly spoke of five minutes past two in the morning.
She squeezed her hazel eyes closed. It was actually excruciating. And she knew exactly what it was, somehow, without the slightest edge of doubt to any thoughts. The hole in time was big enough now. She was going to leave. She was going…
Home?
No, she realised. Because this was her home. 1959 Hogwarts. With her friends – goofy Grace, and studious Alden, and cheeky Eleanor, and gossipy but sweet Flora. With her enemies – Claude, Malfoy, Scott, Vegrandis. She probably had more enemies than friends. And then… Tom. Tom Marvolo Riddle. The insensitive arsehole who made her heart swell twice its normal size and beat three times faster.
Home. Home was definitely not the twenty-first century, not the old, war-torn Hogwarts where she had seen her life collapse around her. Not where Harry had fallen, and where Hermione had been mutilated, and where Ron had been tortured before disappearing forever, and finding his body in the words, mangled and bearing signs of werewolf attack. Not where Luna had been cursed to the point of haemorrhaging.
Fiercely telling herself that if she cried, she'd get a good slap around the face, Ginny untangled herself from her blankets and padded near-silently across to her trunk, where she burrowed about for her things.
She returned to her bed, and sat cross-legged. There she dipped her quill into the black ink and began to scrawl her handwriting across it, as tidily as possible, though her hand was shaking.
Dear Tom,
She paused. She told herself again that if she cried, she'd get-
She cried anyway. Without being able to help herself, tears welled up in her eyes and fell almost in slow-motion, blotting the parchment and smearing the 'de' of the word 'dear'. Still she continued, and then, as the clock ticked on and her companions snored amiably, not knowing that one of their room-mates was preparing to disappear from their midst.
The last letter of her name was curved onto the paper, and she neatly folded it, before slipping it into a cream-coloured envelope. On the front of the envelope she wrote Tom again, and then tucked it closed.
"Oh," she cried, and then grabbed her pillow, burying her face in it so that she couldn't be seen, and trying hopelessly to restrain great, hiccoughing sobs.
Quilts crinkled. Someone in the bed next to Ginny sat up. "Ginny?" Grace whispered. "Ginny, is that you?"
The Prefect didn't answer.
Grace clambered out of bed and sleepily stumbled across to her friend. Her messy brown curls were sticking up in all directions, and she'd clearly forgotten to wipe off her eyeliner the night before, as she was making a stunning impression of a panda just by standing still. She sat on Ginny's bed and wound her arms around the skinny redhead.
"What's wrong?" she whispered.
"I…" Ginny choked out, lifting her face from the pillow. "I… today." She swallowed hard. "Today. I'm going today. I know it."
Grace's bleary eyes widened and focused. "What?" she seemed to struggle for words. "How do you know?"
"It hurts…" sobbed Ginny, curling into Grace's arms. "Don't tell Alden. Don't tell Flora. Don't tell anyone. Please."
"Ginny, you're going to never see any of these people again! You could just…" Grace tried, but trailed off.
"Please," Ginny whispered, tears glistening on her pale, freckled cheeks.
Reluctantly, the brunette Slytherin agreed. "Okay," she said. "Okay. I won't." She awkwardly patted Ginny on the back, trying to make her feel better, and decrease the volume of hiccoughs. "You just cry, 'kay, Ginny? I can be brave enough for the both of us this once."
Ginny felt a rush of affection for Grace, and cried even harder.
The girl had a big smile. Her light brown hair was in untidy waves, as if the tresses could not decide whether to be curly or straight, and from under a fringe sparkled blue eyes. "I'm Grace Hartwin," she replied. "Where did you transfer from?"
Immediately, there, standing right in front of her, was a boy. With a Head Boy badge gleaming on his chest. That meant that he was Head Boy. And that meant that he was Tom Riddle. And that meant that he was Voldemort. Her breath stopped in her chest, and her heart skipped several beats as she stared up at him in fear. He was the one who'd haunted her childhood nightmares, though he had always, in dreams, had crimson eyes and vampire-like teeth. Now he was before her, living and breathing and very real.
"I don't!" chirped Grace, flinging her arms out and twirling in a circle. "I hope it gets colder and colder and colder until it snows, and then we'll have snowball fights and make snow angels, and then it'll be Christmas, and they'll be mistletoe, so Gin can get snogged by Scott Reeve and-"
Unsure what was coming over her, and probably influenced by her emotional, tearful state, Ginny tilted her face up to Scott's, fluttered her eyes closed, and before she could kiss him, he kissed her.
"Oops!" said Grace, looking up at who she had bumped into. A blonde boy gave them a haughty look of disgust, and then brushed past them. As he left, the brunette's cheeks flushed bright red. "Ohmigod," she hissed, "he was really hot, as well!"
"Okay. This year's Slytherin Quidditch team. Keeper – Celem Magnus. Beaters – Jack Swithin and William Nomens. Seeker – Palmer Vegrandis. Chasers – Abraxas Malfoy, Rupert Flax, and…" he grumbled audibly, before reluctantly muttering, "Ginevra Peregrine." Ginny moved away, and was swept into a bear-hug by Alden, Grace, and – Ginny was pleasantly surprised – Flora. "You got in, you got in, you got in," they chanted. Ginny grinned.
"Hi, Myr," said Ginny, grinning. "You don't mind if I call you 'Myr', do you? I mean, Myrtle is just kind of long, dontcha think?" she twirled a strand of hair around her finger, trying to seem as stupid and shallow as possible. "My name is, like, so long! It's Ginevra Aiobheann Peregrine! I mean, seriously! Like, what were my parents thinking?"
The world exploded in purple light. A few metres away, near the door to the Great Hall, was Tom Marvolo Riddle. He looked angrier than Ginny had ever seen him. The swift transition from 'aloof, cold, but still harmless Head Boy' to what could only be described as Lord Voldemort was petrifying. And it had happened… for her.
She leaned over to replace her wand upon the table when she saw something hiding behind the box of Cauldron Cakes. She plucked it between finger and thumb and brought it close to her face. It was a small, perfect flower. A yellow primrose, almost in full bloom, but with a few buds still curling out from their winter beds.
All that existed was the poignant, smooth, tuneful ballad that rang like fairy bells; their soft, shallow breathing; that one dark wave of hair that had come separate from the rest and was curling into his eyes; the slightly dark, but comforting smell of sandalwood and ink; the rustling of Ginny's wide merlot skirt against the snow-
Ginny yelled out, frightened; whirled around so fast that she forgot she was on stairs, stumbled, fell. With the world blurring around her, she crashed down several steps and then finished in a heap on the stair just above where the speaker was. She stared, dizzy, at a pair of extremely long shins. "You're supposed to be in your room," she said crossly to the shins.
"I'd say… Honeydukes!" Ginny declared. Then, seeing Tom's frown, and remembering what happened last time, she hopped in front of him. "Halt, Sir Riddle," she said in a deep, ridiculously macho voice. "We form a treaty here today – I, Ginevra Aiobheann Peregrine, sweareth that under no circumstances doest I re-attempt poisoning thee. Shouldst this accord beeth brokest, then I shalt cutteth mine own head from mine own shoulders." Tom stared incredulously at her. She extended a hand. "Now shake my hand," she commanded.
"I am not the childish one here," Ginny said crossly, whirling back to face him, and abruptly finding herself in far closer proximity to Tom than she had expected. Regardless of her surprise, she continued to rant at him. "I'm not the one singing their words. I'm not the one making up huge portions of text just to annoy me! I'm not the one being absolutely horrible! In fact, you're being so nasty that I think I'm going to-" She had no idea what happened next, except that the circumstances changed, and suddenly Tom had stooped his head and kissed her.
Then it was over and they were left standing together in the center of the common room, their foreheads almost touching (Tom bent noticeably so as to reach her), Ginny's hands still twisted into his wavy tresses, so close that she could feel his throbbing heartbeat as well as her own, looking up, hazel eyes into dark eyes, her breathing shallow and her knees wobbly.
Ginny needed to sit down. It was too much to contemplate. Opening up to someone she really cared for again – probably getting hurt. It was what she sometimes, cruelly, called the Heartbreak of Harry, all over again. But that wasn't even what she was worried about: She was being offered the opportunity to date Lord Voldemort. Looking up into his dark eyes, which were trained nervously on her face, she said softly, "Yes." And didn't regret it at all.
Snatched kisses in empty corridors. Entwined hands in vacant classrooms. Dancing in secret tunnels to no music. Hugs behind the library bookcases.
He was starting to shake again – so hard that the wooden posts of the four-poster bed were trembling against the floor. His eyes were open, more red-rimmed than ever, and the whites of his eyes were totally black, though red-tinged. It was something out of a Muggle horror movie. It was every child's nightmare. The seventeen-year-old redhead did the only thing that she could think of doing. She sat beside him on the bed, grabbed one of his claw-formed hands and held it as tightly as she could, whispering endlessly to him, "It's okay… it's okay…"
Tom didn't answer. She looked up to see if he was okay, and saw that he was fine… he was just watching her, almost sadly, yet the happiest sadness that she'd ever seen. It was weird and complicated and yet so simple. But, with a serious look in his eyes, and pink on his cheeks, he said quickly, "You're not pretty, you're more than even beautiful."
Ginny had no tears left. Her sobs were more of funny, dry choking noises.
"Grace," she said shakily. "When… when I'm…" she tried again. "When I'm… gone… can you give this to T-Tom?" she held out the envelope, the parchment trembling in her hands.
The brunette nodded in agreement. "Now go to sleep," she whispered. "I'll see you in the morning. Trust me – you'll still be here."
Ginny nodded; she tried to go to sleep, but couldn't. Not when she knew, clear as daylight, that within twenty-four hours she would leave. Leave them all.
xxx
"Come on, then, up to breakfast," said Grace brightly, beaming at Alden and Ginny. "Toast and scrambled eggs today, eh? Yum."
Ginny was surprised at how calm and normal Grace was being. She truly was an amazing person. Able to be strong and incredible no matter what was happening. Unlike Ginny, who broke down in explosions of emotion.
"I do love scrambled egg," Alden agreed.
"Same," said Ginny. "I love pepper on scrambled eggs. But I hate when they put salt on them. Bleurgh."
"Ms. Anti-Salt," commented Alden wryly.
"Mrs. Anti-Salt," corrected Grace gleefully. "She's married!"
Ginny was reminded briefly of pretending to be Tom's fiancée in order to get into St. Mungoes'-
Don't think about that!
"I'm not married," she argued. "I'm only sixteen."
"My cousin's sixteen, and she has a baby," pointed out Grace unhelpfully.
Ginny rolled her eyeliner-outlined hazel eyes. "Yeah, well, that's because-" She was cut off as she sucked in a deep breath of pain, her hands winding around her stomach as ache pounded through it.
"Are you okay?" asked Alden. Grace was staring at her with wide eyes.
Grinning, Ginny straightened up despite the agony. "I'm fine," she said cheerfully. "I just forgot my Potions books."
Alden didn't believe her for a second, but didn't question her; Grace, however, flashed her glance instantly to Ginny's bag, and then back up to her face, horror-stricken understanding echoing in her blue eyes.
"It's now, isn't it?" she said softly.
Ginny nodded shortly, keeping her head held high to disguise how scared she was.
"Is what now?" demanded Alden, glancing from side to side. "What's happening?"
"Nothing," said Ginny and Grace simultaneously.
"I'm just going to get my Potions books," said Ginny, trying to talk normally past the pain as time tried to rip her away from the fifties'. "I'll see you later, okay?" she hugged Grace tightly, and then Alden. "You're both brilliant, you know that, don't you?"
"Yeah, I know," said Grace jokingly, her voice clear and strong. She was always so brave.
"Okay…" said Alden, bewildered. "Just get your Potions books. It's not like you're going to die."
Oh, but I think I might…
She nodded, and then hurried away down into the dungeons. Her heart was drumming a mile-a-minute in her ribcage as she thundered down the steps.
No! I can't do this! I need-
She pushed thoughts of him from her head.
I don't need him. I want him, but I don't need him. I want-
Tears were forming in her eyes. Oh Merlin, she needed him. She needed to see his happy smile, his sarcastic smirk, his unhappy fallen-face. She needed to wrap her arms around his thin frame and bury her face in his jumper one last time. But she couldn't. If she saw him, then this pain in her heart would take a step up to absolute agony that she wouldn't be able to withstand.
PAIN-
She slammed through the door to the Potions classroom-
No-one was there-
But something was there-
A bright blue light-
An oval shape through which she could see nothing-
PAIN-
TOM-
FORGET HIM-
I CAN'T-
WHY NOT-
BECAUSE I THINK I'M IN LOVE WITH HIM-
She gasped; her arm went slack and her schoolbag hit the ground. It was true. She hadn't been able to see it before. She loved him. She did. And-
PAIN-
Tears were streaming freely down her face now. She reached under her shirt and pulled out the Time-Turner around her neck, clinging to it so tightly that it was cutting into her palm. Blood was trickling down her wrist…
Ginevra Aiobheann Peregrine stepped into the light.
AGONY-
And then she was gone.
And then everything was dark.
She wondered if something had gone wrong.
Then she was spat out.
There was a thud – her knees gave out –
She looked up, tears still swimming in her eyes.
She saw the exterior of Hogwarts castle.
And she saw the new banners on the Quidditch stadium that hadn't been built until 1973.
She was back.
And she saw the rubble. And the smoke. And the flames.
She was back.
But absolutely nothing had changed.
xxx
A/N: OMG!! REVIEW!! AND I'LL TELL YOU WHAT HAPPENED. Though you can probably guess.
Next Time:
Tom opened his eyes. Something felt wrong.
XXX
Q: Why did the chicken cross the road?
A: SCREEEEECH – thump. Now we shall never know.