Countermand by Charli J

She goes through a period of trying to find normal diaries, scribbling in splotchy black ink and cracking on the inside when it doesn't seep into the parchment.

Another day, another book; she flings the plain book across the room and pelts Ron in the stomach. He coils forward and coughs at the floor.

"Ginny!" He spits. He slides a forearm across his stomach. "Give it up."

"--When you give up being the wounded best friend."

Ron's eyelids spread saucer-wide. Ginny kicks the diary under a couch on her way out.



He doesn't appreciate you, Tom would write back to her. I care, Ginny. I can help you. I can show you things...

She never questioned his motives. She told him every secret she had ever kept; right down to the time she stole chocolate frogs from the candy shop near home. Tom didn't judge her, didn't scold. He listened. No one in her family sat still long enough to genuinely listen.

Ginny had faith in Tom because he knew everything about her and continued to care.

Will Harry notice me? Her letters weren't as neat as Tom's, slanting across the page. What do I have to do?

Moments passed. Trust me.

Ginny dipped the pads of her fingers in ink and held them to the page. She smiled into the spectacular light.



No one understands that it was full year. She had a personal best friend, something secret and entirely unique. Tom's spirit grew like a thorny rose inside of her and nearly stabbed its way out. He fed off her existence, her innocence, and she glimpsed ugly worlds--the darkest places that sinister souls loitered, waiting for a chance to claw back into living.

Those types of experiences don't just disappear.

Harry Potter might know glory for facing evil beings, but he has never seen Torment first hand. Ginny clings to Harry because he represents everything she needs. He is the fumbling hero, and if she believes, he will probably save her. Eventually.

Harry doesn't know the things she knows; won't know to be afraid. He's almost had his life stolen from him more than once, but Harry has never offered it up willingly.



Ginny had dreams. Their skin was splashed red and Tom's eyes were deceptively black, jet circles in the center of pink. She blinked rapidly as he came into focus, and he might have been speaking to her but she couldn't hear him. Waves of sound rippled in the air, and vibrated in her ears as they swung past her head.

An endless buzz in her brain could have been only that or maybe it was Tom telling her, "Follow me." He led her off, tiny hand secure in his long fingers. The ground was always on fire.

Solid sky loomed above her head, though she didn't really know if they were inside or amongst burning nature. She looked everywhere excitedly and saw nothing—things there but nothing she was able to name or associate with anything familiar.

Cautiously opening her mouth, she asked, "Where--?"

Tom turned around suddenly, and the question died half-stuck to her tongue. He grinned and the light shown through his teeth, sharp and stinging when looked at directly. He bent closer and slowly sealed the space from her mouth and his. Up close he seemed almost like a completely harmless sixteen-year-old boy. She thought that and then thick green light spilled into her lungs, clingy like melting metals as he kissed her.

"Do you trust me with your life?" he whispered into her mouth.

Ginny nodded, feeling hot energy course through her veins. She breathed in and felt suffocating liquids consume every inch of her. Her lungs burned.

Tom smiled.



Sometimes, when she scratches her calf on the edges of old wooden beds or runs too fast and trips on her hands and knees, she examines the wounds and anticipates black blood.