A/N: well, this is the third instalment of my "Unrequited love" series... I know it's been ages since I updated last, but I've been really busy with exams, papers and other fics. sorry about that! Also, I must refuse once again to the thought of doing a Draco/Ron story; I frankly don't like the pairing... I mean, having Ron angsting after Draco is all right, but Draco and Ron, *together*??? No, thanks.(my apologies to all the D/R shippers out there).

This is my longest piece yet, because I love this pairing so much, and think it has so much potential... I don't know who is going to be next here, although I have some ideas for a sad Cho/Cedric. Have *you* got any suggestions (not D/R, thank you very much)?

Disclaimer: you know, as well as I do, that I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters and that I'm not making any profit out of this at all (unless you count as a profit the tingly feeling I get when I read your reviews!!!), so don't sue me...

Warning: well, once again, I'll warn you for adult issues, angst and some child-molestation (I don't now if it can be called that when it's consented, but anyway...)

Chapter 3: Ginny

Here I am, writing on my diary again. This black, leather-bound book that, no matter what I do, will never be able to replace the one I owned during my first year of school, the one that taught me all I know about life.

I can never thank Lucius Malfoy enough. My father would probably have a heart attack if he ever read this, and not only my father, but possibly every single person that has ever had the opportunity of talking to Ginny Weasley. But it's true; even if Malfoy only did it in as a part of a highly unsettling scheme to gain power and recognition, and sink our family into disgrace, all in one clean blow, the moment he slipped that diary into my battered schoolbooks he gained my unwavering gratitude, for life.

Because the few months I spent writing in my diary, and having it write back, those were the days that made me who I am. All that happened before, and all that has happened afterwards, is just a pale shadow in my memory, compared to the vibrant colours that *his* words gave to my dreary life. Mommy's little helper, my brothers' teasing practice, my father's doll in his free week-ends, Hermione's tag-along and Harry's admirer once in Hogwarts... that was what I was before meeting Tom. And afterwards? I am just an empty shell, a walking corpse, an automaton who tells everybody she's all right, while she's dying inside.

But when he spoke to me, when he listened to my worries and soothed my pains, when he reassured me and dissipated my fears, when he was there for me, like no one else has... I was alive then, I was full of life and love and joy.

At first he was a friend. He was the one I talked to about Harry, and how he never paid me any mind, about how Forge and Percy and Ron teased me, about how Mother asked too much of me, about how Hermione annoyed me and Neville insisted on walking me to class. He was the one who convinced me that there were no monsters under my bed, he was the one that told me that red-hair was pretty, he was the one who dried my tears when Harry ignored me and the one who shared my excitement when Harry talked to me. He was the one who supported me through the first days of school, through the fear of getting sorted into Hufflepuff, through the Hell of Snape's lessons and through the endless boredom of History of Magic.

And then, the feelings started growing. I felt anxious when I was away from him, when I couldn't hold the leather-bound book to my heart, when I couldn't read his tidy scribble telling me everything was fine. At first I didn't want to tell him, because I feared he would react like Harry, with his green eyes full of pity and embarrassment when he looked at me, but I was too used at confiding in him to hold anything back. I decided to tell him. And then, that night, while I wrote under my blankets, he told me he loved me.

He told me he loved me, before I had the chance to say anything. He told me that he had noticed that I didn't talk about Harry so often and that he wanted to take that as a sign that my infatuation with The Boy Who Lived was over. He wanted that? I asked, and he wrote that he did want it, that he hoped for it, because he had always thought that my infatuation with Harry was doing me more harm than good, and because... Because what? I asked, and he took a long time to answer, but when he finally did, it was with a drawing of my face as I slept, surrounded by a heart.

No one has any idea of what that meant to me, no one ever will. It was the first time that someone loved me for who I was, for being Ginny, and not because it was expected... it took me a long time before I could answer him, and I won't repeat what I told him, but from that day, and forever afterwards, I gave him my heart.

At first we were content with writing to each other, talking about our feelings, about our happiness, but discontent began to grow. 'I want to hold you close, my little one, I want to play with your hair and hold you hand' he wrote to me quickly, making little sketches of us together, and I wanted it too, more than anything. Finally he told me there was a way he could recover his body, and be with me forever. Do you think I hesitated even for a moment? I killed roosters, I painted signals on the walls, I descended to the Chamber of Secrets and unleashed the basilisk without the shadow of a doubt. I was born to be his, and I would do anything it took to make it a reality.

I followed his orders faithfully, even when it meant having to go without him for a few weeks, leaving him with Harry until Tom could do his part. That was when he began to fill my dreams, talking to me while I was asleep, making me *feel* all I would feel for real when he was back to life. I stole the diary back as soon as Harry had seen what he had to see, I couldn't go without it any longer, it had become an addiction I had no intention of resisting. They took Hagrid away, and I couldn't spare a tear; he was dispensable, Tom told me so, and it was part of the plan. The same applied when Hermione and Penelope had been petrified; they had been kind to me, in their own mean way, but if they stood between me and Tom, they didn't have a chance.

The plan was reaching completion, and I prepared myself for what was to come. He had asked me to decide between Harry and him, and I had answered him before he finished his question; Harry had to die, then so be it, the boy who had never spared me a glance, who seemed embarrassed by my childish admiration, the boy who made Tom so jealous he had chosen him to be the sacrificial victim needed to raise him back. I painted my own good-bye, and descended into the Chamber as I had done so many times, fearless, proud and hopeful.

And then Harry had to go and spoil it all, like he always did. It was lucky that Tom had me under a Bonding Spell at the time, or I would have thrown myself at Harry when he plucked that fang and stabbed my heart with it.

The thing that hurts me the most is the way that, even as he was being defeated, Tom remembered me, and put my safety before his. How he lied about my involvement in everything, how he blamed a spell for what had been my conscious decision, how, as he was fading, he crawled inside my head and begged me to stick with his story, to save myself now that he was lost. I did, for his sake, because mine didn't matter anymore.

I have stuck with his story until now. I have lied to my mother, to my father, to my so-called-friends. I lied to Dumbledore and I lied to Harry. I lied to the counsellor and I lied to doctors. But I can't lie to myself, I can't hide from the fact that I'm still waiting to see if he comes back, to see if he brings back my heart, that he took away with him that night.

I will wait. I will continue to live my false life, my make-believe, my pretty play-pretend, and I'll be waiting, because I know that one day he will come back for me. He promised. He is Slytherin's Heir, after all, and snakes always keep their word.

-------------- A/N: I liked it, I don't know about you. If you think that the last sentence was a bit weird (since when have Slytherins been considered trustworthy?), I took it from Antoine de Saint-Exupery's "Little Prince" and how his snake did keep its word.

Now, review!!!