Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling. Not mine – I freely admit this – so don't sue me.
Fake
Chapter 2
Weeks passed, and she became more and more familiar with "Tom", who she by now trusted wholeheartedly and to whom she confided the dark secrets she had once imagined writing only for her own eyes to see.
It's so frustrating, she had complained at one point. I do everything I can to get him to notice me. I do really well in school; I go to every Quidditch game and cheer as loudly as I can. I congratulate him after the games, too! What am I doing wrong?
Don't worry, Tom had said patiently, although by now he had heard about Ginny's pining for Harry so much she was surprised he hadn't told her to shut up about it. He'll come around in time. You're very special, Ginny. More special than you know. And he'll see it soon.
Reassured by his words, she had smiled from behind the shield of her hangings, pleased and flattered by the compliments Tom continually bestowed upon her. He was dear to her – no one was like him. No one.
I'm so lucky to have you to talk to, Tom, she had said, sighing aloud in gratitude as she wrote it. You're the only one who understands. I couldn't tell anyone else about these things, but you always know exactly what to say.
Thank you, Ginny, he had responded, and she imagined she could hear the warmth that must be in his voice. You're very insightful for so young. It's lucky for me that it was you who found my book – I could be talking to some dimwit instead of you.
She giggled and closed her eyes, secure in this secret friendship. She was especially proud of herself for not telling anyone about her secret friend. She was sure that if her family found out they'd want to see, and maybe even take the book away from her. She didn't want that to happen, not ever. She was appalled at herself for ever thinking of getting rid of the book. Tom understood her like no one else, she felt as though they had a sort of mental connection. He always knew how she was feeling, was always able to make her feel better and more confident. No one could be as lucky as her.
After saying goodbye to him she had slid the book under her pillow and gone to the window by her bed, where she could see part of the Quidditch field. She could see the dark shapes flying about, but couldn't pick out individual shapes or faces – they were much too far away. But she supposed the one flying high up and weaving around must be Harry, the boy she had set her sights on and who she thought about more often than Tom. If someone like Tom was confident in her, then she must be more special than she thought. No doubt Harry would notice her soon. Happiness swelled inside her like a bright balloon.
It didn't last long.
-
I have a bit of a headache /i , she wrote later. I feel really dreamy, and my thoughts keep running into each other. I don't like it, Tom.
Just take deep breaths – you're probably more tired than you think.
For once his response didn't soothe her. She fought the feeling, but it threatened to overwhelm her. She had never felt anything quite like this before: loss of control. Her thoughts slid around like melting butter in a hot, swaying pan. She couldn't even write. She was so torn between increasing pain and drowsiness she didn't know what to do. Tears sprung unbidden to her eyes, and she whispered, "Are you doing this, Tom? What's going on?"
Odd pictures swam into view: a bathroom with a row of sinks, with a curvy line scratched into the tap of one of them. Someone was hissing in a strange, terrible tongue. A girl was lying on her back, glassy eyes turned towards the ceiling, but Ginny knew they weren't seeing anything. The girl wasn't breathing…a shrill laugh made her head feel like it was going to explode with pain…she felt herself dropping down, and a sudden pressure on her mind…
When she jerked awake again she fell over. She was standing in front of a stone wall, staring at blood-red letters that covered a good portion of the stone.
The Chamber of Secrets has been opened, she read with mounting bewilderment and an unexplained fear. Enemies of the heir, beware.
Who had done this? How did she even get here in the first place? She may have been sleepwalking, she reasoned. Even though she had never done it before, she hadn't been feeling well at all. Maybe if she was sick, she would…
She reached up to brush her hair off her sweaty brow, and her fingers touched something damp. She looked down at her robes and gasped, the air squeezing its way out of her lungs until she couldn't breathe.
Red paint…all over her robes…she looked up at the wall and back down at herself again. Before she could even fully put the two together, she was sprinting down the corridor, blindly weaving her way back to the common room. It was mercifully empty – everyone was at dinner, and she ripped the robes off her body as soon as she closed the dormitory door behind her. She shoved them deep in her trunk and put on a clean pair, checking in the mirror for any paint on her hands or neck or arms. She washed thoroughly even when she didn't find anything.
She was crying, crying so hard she could barely breathe. She collapsed on her bed and yanked the black book out from under her pillow, ripping it open and scrawling, i Tom, what just happened? Was I sleepwalking/i
She waited a full three minutes, but there was no response.
Did you do this to me? Did you make me paint the wall? I swear I could sense you.
Still the page remained stubbornly blank.
Tom! Say something!
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a/n: Okay, so that chapter was even shorter. Lovely, right? Hope it was good enough to make up for the lack of content…
