A/N: This chapter is even shorter… another sad makes-you-cry one… sorry… but I had to show you the aftermath.
I recommend Stay Just A Little by Kina Grannis again.
Apologize by OneRepublic works too.
So does Fall To Pieces by Avril Lavigne.
And Firefly by Breaking Benjamin.
Is that all? I think so. Anyway. Enjoy it!
IMPORTANT NOTE!! I like Intricacy's idea of Chasing History – for off the top of your head, that was pretty good! :D – but I'm still open for suggestions from everyone.
Disclaimer: Get the idea into your head. I don't own it. Now move on.
The Letter P
Chapter Sixty-Six: P is for Pears, Butterbeer, And Her
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.
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. And she saw the rubble. And the smoke. And the flames. She was back. But absolutely nothing had changed.
xxx
Tom opened his eyes. Something felt wrong.
It must have been his imagination, as he couldn't see anything that was wrong. He was intact, and therefore everything was fine. Nothing could possibly be wrong. He'd had another of those bad dreams, but that was nothing abnormal. Yawning cavernously, he sat up and stretched slightly. It was another day. Another morning. Another NEWT mock-exam.
Hooray.
He made his bed and dressed quickly; packed his books for the day, and combed his hair neatly to the left, as always. He washed his face, brushed his teeth, and shaved (to avoid the beaver look again, he thought with some amusement). Then he made sure that his tie was neat, and headed downstairs.
"Hello, Tom!" chirped Eleanor from the sofas in the common room, surrounded by her giggly friends.
Tom eyed them suspiciously. Had they done something? It would explain why he'd woken up feeling as though something had gone horribly wrong. Nothing seemed out of place, and he nodded at them. "Hello," he said coolly, and then continued through the common room towards the portrait-hole.
The Head Boy moved swiftly down the stairs, his footsteps muted but sharp. The Entrance Hall doors were open and a warm summer breeze was drifting in. He glanced about the Hall with a keen gaze. Ginevra was nowhere to be seen. That was odd. He usually met her at the bottom of the stairs and then ate with her, much to fright of that Roosevelt sixth-year girl who always had flowers in her hair.
Then he remembered that today, scrambled eggs were served. On such days, she usually ate with Hartwin and Philips, as she wanted, so quote, "to relish in the joy of scrambled eggs with other egg-appreciators". Apparently he didn't love eggs enough to join in.
I don't love anything, though, so it's hardly fair. Except Butterbeer. And pears. And her.
Tom Riddle made his way into the Great Hall and ate breakfast alone. There seemed to be something wrong with Philips and Hartwin, as they were at the end of the table, looking rather teary-eyed, and didn't come to say hello. He wasn't quite sure if the absence of their daily 'good morning' was a good thing or not.
Once finished, he looked around once more. Still no Ginevra. How odd. Perhaps she wasn't feeling well.
I'll go and visit her after Transfiguration, he decided, if that was the case.
As he made his way out of the Great Hall, he caught the eye of Hartwin. She looked a complete mess. He wondered if she was alright, but didn't stop to ask. After all, he was Tom Riddle. He cared for no-one.
Except her.
He tore his dark eyes from her weeping face, and walked on as though he didn't really give a damn what was wrong. After all, he thought with an inward dry chuckle, I don't.
Eight-forty-five, Tom discovered the time was, looking at his pocket-watch. He could always be early for Transfiguration and look over his homework essay one more time. You can never check your essays too many times.
Agreeing mentally with himself, he headed back up the stairs. The young Heir of Slytherin was halfway down the corridor to the next flight of stairs when he heard footsteps running behind him.
"Hey – Riddle – Tom-"
Tom turned, a cool expression on his face despite his curiosity. "Yes?" he said coldly, looking at the crying figure of Hartwin. She was trying not to sob, which, he had to say, wasn't working very well.
She swallowed hard, and wiped her eyes. Then she dug inside her robes and produced an envelope. "This is for you," she said softly.
He took it in his long fingers, his curiosity growing. Turning it over, he saw the slightly untidy scrawl of Ginevra Peregrine, producing the messy name: Tom.
"It's from Ginny," said Hartwin, though he already knew. He suppressed a shudder at the use of her infantile nickname. "Well… I'll leave you to it…" she mumbled, and stumbled away.
Leave me to what? he thought with a slight smirk. It's just a letter. Get over it.
However, he was feeling rather nervous; Tom neatly opened the envelope and plucked out a yellowed piece of parchment, covered in Ginny's writing.
His anxiety mounted.
Dear Tom,
I don't know how to write this. Believe me when I say that this is probably the hardest thing I've ever had to do – harder, even, than Arithmancy, and that's saying something... Tom, I'm leaving. Not leaving you, but… but it would probably be easier if I did, now that I think about it. Easier for both of us. I can't say where I'm going, because I don't know. And I can't say why, either. And I also know that you'd tell me off for starting a sentence with the word 'and', because that's not proper grammar and la-dee-da. I'm sorry that I didn't get to say goodbye to you… you would have told me to stay, and I can't. Seeing you would have made going such much more painful that it already is. I'm so sorry. Count that night under the stars as my farewell. My snuffly 'bye' would probably be less romantic than that night could ever be, anyway… I've told Grace to give this to you once I've gone. I'm sorry.
Stay safe, and I wish you all the best of luck. Not that you need it.
Ginevra Aiobheann Peregrine xxxx
His smile was frozen in place as he read it. He finished the letter fairly quickly, as he could read very fast.
Nothing sank in.
Still smiling, he read it again, and this time understood. His smirk slipped off his face. He read it a third time. And then a fourth.
And then a fifth.
And then one more time, very slowly.
Classes were beginning, and he was blocking the corridor as he stood stock-still in the centre of the passageway, hundreds of students trying to get to their studies. He didn't move.
He read it the seventh time. His favourite number.
She was leaving.
No.
'I told Grace to give this to you once I've left'
She'd left.
You… you can't.
Tom tried to breathe, but found that he couldn't. Why was that? His windpipe was completely blocked. Where were his lungs? Where was his stomach? He thought he'd left them in his bedroom, as he certainly didn't have them now.
He needed to breathe.
He couldn't.
He couldn't.
He couldn't breathe!
His chest was constricting as he found the need for oxygen beginning to burn, but nothing was functioning.
She was gone.
She was gone.
His fingers went limp as realisation hit him full on in the face, and he dropped the envelope.
Someone stepped on it.
"No!" he cried, not caring about how many people were around to see him break down, and he swooped down to snatch it up – he needed it – he had to read it one more time – the words!
THE WORDS!
Where are they?
He frantically searched the text.
Three words. Eight letters. One meaning.
WHERE ARE THEY?
Tom's heart hurt. No, it didn't. He didn't have one. It was so painful that it had been removed. There was a massive, rough-edged hole where something had been torn out and taken from him. He couldn't breathe.
WHERE ARE THEY?
They weren't there.
I love you.
They weren't there.
I love you.
He'd never told her.
I love you.
She hadn't said it.
I love you.
He gave a groan as his breath suddenly came back and was replaced by absolute agony. He turned and ran away.
I love you.
xxx
A/N: -SOBSOBSOB- Yeah, had me crying like a baby. Ah well. I hope that this is to your satisfaction… nearly finished! Oh well. I'm contemplating writing two alternate endings. I already have one ending sketched out, but I can think of two other endings that would work. Hm. Please review!
Next Time:
"Well done. I see that Professor Dippet has indeed been over this with you," Dumbledore praised. "What I didn't see before, Miss Weasley, is that those words are not, in fact, literal. Death, destruction and dismay are not required. All that is needed is for his heart – the heart he had previously held – meaning a cold, aloof persona – to be destroyed." Dumbledore observed her over the top of his half-moon glasses. "He was supposed to fall in love."
Her heart stopped.
He loved me.
"So… if Tom, in theory," she said, her mouth very dry, "loved me… then that made me come back… so why has nothing changed?"
XXX
Q: What's brown and sticky?
A: A stick!