Note: Sorry. Internet went on holiday for a while.

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Chapter Three: Shadow

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December 17th, 1992

Ginny woke to the filtered sunlight of winter morning. She rolled over, checking her calendar to see what day it truly was… Saturday. There had been more attacks, hadn't there… How long since Halloween?

Would Tom lie?

In an instant – as if at the mention of the name – Ginny felt the swimming cloudiness return. Her headache had grown to a constant, dull pounding, and everyone who caught a glimpse of her either stared, or voiced the obvious – as if she hadn't realized already.

She stumbled up to the mirror by the window, touching her pale face.

Nearly the whole school had gotten sick back in October… how was it even after recovering, she still felt so awful?

And these dreams - these awful dreams kept screaming. She always woke to find the whole school whispering about it.

Perhaps Tom was right – she did need the nurse. And the fact that he knew before anyone else noticed… he truly cared, didn't he?

'Tom.'

Yes.

'I need someone to talk to.'

Of course.

'I can't remember where I was last night.'

There was no reply.

'Who's attacking everyone, Tom? I keep hearing people say that it's Harry Potter, but I know it couldn't be. He wouldn't do that, would he?'

He might.

'You don't know him!'

Apparently, no one does.

'Am I the only one who knows it isn't him?'

Seems odd, doesn't it? Having nobody on your side…

'Who is it, then?'

I don't know. Why does it matter?

'Someone might die!'

Nobody has yet. Why would killings start now?

'I know they will…' Ginny trailed off, wondering how she knew so surely, feeling something swim beneath the surface.

There's really nothing to worry about. As long as we can trust each other, we'll be fine.

'I trust you.'

Can I trust you back?

Ginny stared past the page, scribbling her vow.

...

December 25th, 1992

'Merry Christmas, Tom.'

Already?

'Yes,' Ginny wrote - bored. She felt a certain strain as she continued to watch Tom's words flourish and die redundantly… never ceasing to leave existence as if nothing had happened.

Perhaps that was the point? Or was she becoming madly skeptical and overly speculative again? Tom never liked that…

'I miss my family, Tom.'

It was your choice to stay.

'No…' she began, trailing the ink to where she continued her slight protest. 'Fred and George decided, too. And Percy.'

But you never told them what you thought. Don't blame this on them… you're angry, aren't you?

'No, why would I be?' Ginny always knew it best to consider Tom's words… however…

The little attention they give you, the poor quality of things they buy you. Don't they care?

'Of course they do.' Yet, she felt the vague flare of indignation.

It isn't fair, is it?

'No.'

I understand it more than you know, Ginny. It's neglect.

Ginny took in a great, shuddering breath. He was right. Oh, he was always right about these things. But why hadn't she felt it before? Were these really her feelings… or his… through her?

She shook her head. 'I'm sure you're right, but –'

His script interposed again – inflicting upon her that demanding question that seemed to only further intensify the pounding in the empty chambers of her mind.

You trust me, don't you Ginny?

The secrets… echoing back in those chambers…

'I trust you to tell me the truth,' her quill blurted – the ink smearing as she wrote it.

What truth? It's all there in your mind, Ginny. You know the truth.

But Ginny couldn't trust her mind anymore. The bloody mess it was.

...

January 21st, 1992

I need you.

The words were passing, as was Ginny's broken smile of loyalty. She screamed behind it, dreading his request.

A favor –

It was sick.

- from a friend.

Ginny felt the morbid allegiance bubbling in the pit of her stomach, but she forced it down, calmed it to a mere response of fidelity - swallowing her innocence.

'Yes,' she managed to contrive from her shaking hand.

My true friend. Thank you.

Ginny uttered a small gasp of fear, but bit it back, waiting for him to continue.

Please, as I haven't the body – you remember the place, don't you?

"Second Floor," Ginny muttered to herself – monotonous and trained.

Walking through the school halls had suddenly become a strange experience. The stone – once cold and dark – now seemed familiar. The torches glowed a different way – instead of bright, merry beacons, they had become weakened cries that plagued the air with an evanescent glow – so much, Ginny couldn't help but feel the obvious and self-explanatory notion that she was looking through another's eyes.

She closed her own, but her legs kept walking – led by foreign memories of a fifty-year-old routine.

It wasn't until she reached the bathroom that she started to lose all consciousness. Her legs began to numb, she felt her body sway, and the last thing she saw before the cold room blacked were Tom's freshly spoken words on the page…

I'll take it from here, Ginny.

Slowly – and with the ease of oblivious comfort – she felt herself slipping. Gradually, she felt an increasing rush as her body grew more distant. Yet, at the same time, a voice that hovered right above her ear began to whisper something.

She understood the words when they entered her mind, but the sound itself was so strange… and she couldn't even believe how wonderful the whole thing really was.

She felt nothing.

There was nothing until something tangible broke through. Real words, Ginny thought. I can feel them, I can see them, I can hear them clearly.

"Is someone there?"

The room was clear again. She heard a slight hissing, and she clamped her mouth shut in panic. She could feel her hands again – they belonged to her. She saw her fingers lightly caressing the insignia of a snake, and she snatched them back. The other hand held something coursing with heat, and she glanced at it.

"Who's there?" the whiny voice demanded harshly.

In shock, Ginny dropped the diary.

'Open it.'

That voice. She'd never heard it before, but she loved it so much. She felt her mind melt with confusion, but her body was screaming at the gravity of what it felt.

"Open it," she felt her mouth say.

Her trembling hands met the ground, and gingerly lifted the tattered book. She set the spine onto her palm – still coursing with a strange sort of warmth – and it opened to the page where Tom's words were shining again – confined again into a bleary world of ink.

What happened?

Ginny froze, her eyes growing round and fearful. She didn't have a quill, but she continued to voice her thoughts.

"Someone saw me," she muttered – more to herself than anyone

Forget them. Close your eyes.

"Can you hear me?" she whispered, choking on the instinct to run.

It's almost done, Ginny. Please.

"What is?" She felt herself breathing heavily as if she'd run the length of the castle, though she kept her voice as low as possible. "What am I doing here?"

Tom's script grew harsh – no longer beautiful.

Be quiet, Ginny. Just forget everything.

Everything. What was it?

"Who are you?" the person demanded – sounding closer now. Ginny didn't bother to turn around. She wouldn't want whoever it was to see her face anyway.

Put the diary down, Ginny. Forget what you saw.

"What's going on?" the high girly voice asked.

"I don't know," Ginny whispered to herself – panicked. She held the diary close to her, tears of fear and confusion rolling down her cheeks. She turned around to see who was there, but saw nothing.

Crying freely now, she felt her hands begin to shake madly.

"Can you keep a secret, Ginny?"

She spun around, looking for Tom. Nowhere. But his voice was everywhere. She clutched her head, rubbing her wet face.

'Avenge me.'

She hated him. Hated his voice – that subtle, charming voice she felt she'd known forever. But it was Tom…. oh, how she loved him. How she needed his words, his thoughts, his mind. She loved him like herself – but was willing to give her whole existence for the cause of keeping him happy... keeping him away...

She wasn't complete here – now – with the diary closed. But opening it… opening it meant she'd lose even more.

With a final cry of defeat, she hurled it without looking, feeling almost as if she'd won.

It was fear that drove her to fight back, pure instinct of innocence that kept her running from the chamber, and love for a stranger that kept her locked within the secrets they shared.

...

Note: Creepy's real fun to write. I would finish with the entire year… but I strongly feel it would become undeniably lame and redundant. So, I figured I'd leave it at a nice drop-off point. I'm sure you all know the ending anyway.

Review notes:

Miss Piratess: That's real strange to hear. But it's a compliment still. Thank you.

Tru Lys: Three words: bwa ha ha.

Jenevieve: It is, in fact, Ginevra - confirmed by Rowling. What a dork I am, eh?