Note: This is seriously jumbled.

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Chapter Two: Confide

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October 20th, 1992

Ginny sat alone in her dormitory, speechless and obligated to reply at the same time.

'I'm so sorry, Tom. I never knew.'

It's alright.

'No. I've been complaining all this time about my brothers, and my parents, and my stupid robes, I never stopped to think.' Ginny let her quill stop there, her mind drifting on.

Tom's words parted her thoughts again – leaving her mind like a cloudless sky – clear, open, but easily corrupted.

You understand, now, don't you?

'What?' Cloudless again.

We grew up the same way – but in different worlds.

Ginny said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

I grew up without a family, while you have probably too much family to deal with. Despite that, we're both alone. Nobody knows what it's like, except us.

Ginny frowned at the thought, but felt its truth as if the fact had been written in her soul. She smiled innocently, giving more.

'No one's ever understood me like you, Tom.'

And no one ever will.

...

October 31st, 1992

'Dinner's soon. Goodbye, Tom'

Ginny practically threw the quill into the inkbottle, her mind whirling for whatever reason…

No, she was hungry. That was it – she needed food. Yet, she stopped in her tracks, turning back toward the diary – almost expectantly. There, the letters were quickly fading. She loyally ran back to them, grasping the book before the message was gone.

Wait.

She obediently sat down, all thoughts of the Great Hall forgotten.

'Tom?' she wrote.

You're my only friend, Ginny.

'I know.'

You're all I have.

Ginny nodded her head, feeling an uplifting rush of attachment. 'I know.'

She waited in silence, expecting something – unsure of what she felt was coming. A promise? A vow? Something more…

I would die for you, Ginny.

She stared blankly at the parchment for a moment, her thoughts only beginning to stir once the letters died, and the page had faded to a blank invitation. Slowly, despite her better knowledge, Ginny believed it. With all her innocent heart she believed it to be true.

A small, fond smile crept at the corners of her lips. 'I know,' she scrawled.

Would you die for me?

She stopped, the words striking her like an arrow, spreading the poison of charm, deceit, and beautiful, tempting lies. She attempted to consider the option logically, only finding the answer burning at her mind, pounding a dull rhythm of persistence and oblivion.

She didn't have to think it out. The answer was obvious. Too much to hold back. Waiting, waiting, waiting…

She burst.

'Yes. I would.'

The answer was immediate.

I need someone to trust.

'You can trust me, Tom.'

A deep secret.

'I can keep it.'

Swear it to me. Promise you wouldn't tell a soul.

'I promise.'

Too many people have betrayed me. You wouldn't do that, would you?

'Never, Tom.'

The ink flourished again, showing life before Ginny's waiting eyes.

I need a favor.

...

November 1st, 1992

'I think I'm losing my memory,' Ginny managed to write in her cloudy state of mind. 'I think I remember sleeping… but I'm so tired.'

You're fine, Ginny. You're just hungry.

'And everyone's telling me I didn't show to dinner.'

You did. You told me you were going. Remember?

'I think…'

Before the ink had faded, a familiar message in her own handwriting shone clear and fresh on the page once again. 'Dinner's soon. Goodbye, Tom.'

Remember? Tom repeated.

'Yes. I do.' She did. Clearly, she did. Then how did that explain…

There's nothing to explain Ginny. You're tired. You need some rest.

'No, that's alright, I think –'

I insist.

'I have classes, Tom.'

It's Saturday.

Ginny reeled, her mind spinning in a dizzy circle of memory and fog. 'But yesterday was –'

Friday. The word formed under her quill. She wondered if he'd said it, or if she'd written it herself. Her mind spun in protest once again.

But yesterday was Monday, wasn't it?

'Where is everyone, then?'

Outside.

'This early?'

It's almost noon, Ginny. You really need some rest.

'Tom, I –'

No, Ginny.

'I heard that last night there were –'

They're lying.

'I don't know where I was!'

With me. I was always here.

That much was true… the blood, the whispering… Tom was there.

The nurse, Ginny. You need the nurse.

'Why?'

You're so dizzy.

'I –' Ginny clutched her head. "I am…"

Sleep.

'Why?'

To forget.

'Forget what?'

There was no reply. Ginny stood, clutching her head now with both hands as her question faded. Had he said anything? She couldn't tell – the ink never stayed.

Memory. It was burning… confusing… "Forget what?" Ginny murmured aloud.

See the nurse.

'Why, Tom?'

You know why.

"What?" she whispered, her brow furrowing. She felt her forehead - cold, clammy, with ginger hair plastered across it.

'Why?' she wrote, wondering why the word sounded so familiar.

You haven't slept in days.

"I haven't slept –" she murmured. "Days…" That, of all things, must have been truth. The simplicity of it… explanation… had she deprived herself? She felt within her a certain consciousness of dizzying circles slow down and begin rocking back and forth – like the slow ticking of some distant clock. The feeling overwhelmed her until all she could think of was how tired she was, and how dark the room was getting…

and how soft the carpet was under her fallen cheek…

...

Review Notes:

Duskrider Q: True. That little flaw worried me, but I hoped people wouldn't notice it. I originally had her mother storm up afterwards and scold her, but I liked the climax drop-off better. I figured you'd assume the scene continued behind the pages, so to speak.

Ebony Moonlight: Thank you, thank you, thank you! hugs

Miss Piratess: I think it truly is torture to see both sides while one is obscured. Yet, somehow we humans seem to think it makes entertaining literature...