EDITED: July 10th, 2020

15 — Spindelnät

Dark, dark, dark – it was so dark, and it hurt like hell –

"It's the right thing," the girl told me.

"Shut up!" I barked, running past her. A few portraits glanced down, but immediately looked away; some frowned in confusion while others shrugged it off.

The spell worked then. It was Tom's, though, so –

I squashed the thought.

I would so miss –

I stumbled and fell to my knees, clutching the diary tightly to my chest.

I sobbed. "I can't do it. I can't, I can't, I can't –"

A hand seized my arm, dragging me to my feet. The girl. Always her.

"Yes, you can," she hissed. "You can and you will."

"I can and I will," I repeated. I broke into a run again.

The bloody stairs finally came to an end. I cautiously continued down the hallway that led to Myrtle's bathroom, keeping an eye out for Filch.

This had to work. There was no other way. He would always know; he would always find me.

It had to stop. It would stop.

I finally reached the old door. To my chagrin, it was open. Was Myrtle there?

No, she wasn't. I stepped inside, freezing at the threshold.

I was a coward. I was a coward. But I was a coward with a mission.

"I can and I will," I said to the room. "You'll throw it into the toilet, pull the chain, and run."

"And you will tell your friends." Dark robes swirled as the girl stepped forward next to me.

"You're more foolish than I thought, Anya." Tom stepped out from one of the open cubicles. "Nothing is easy in this life. Getting rid of the diary won't erase what we have done."

I gave the girl a sideways glance. Catching my drift, she said, "He can't see me. He never wanted to. Throw it. Now!"

A groan came from the pipes. Moaning Myrtle's voice echoed from the sinks.

"Who's there? If it's you four again –"

I saw the shape of her head popping from the porcelain sink at the end. Thinking quickly, I threw the diary at her and ran out of the girls' bathroom.

•••◘◘◘•••

The next time I saw Ginny, I told her what I did. The girl had been rightfully mad and went to look for it, claiming no one else needed to have that burden. But when she returned, it was with a worried frown.

"It's gone. Someone took it."

For the next weeks, we waited for results. At first, there was no obvious change except for the growing anxiety of not having Tom by my side. Later, when the nosebleeds stopped altogether, I told Ginny what the diary did.

The words came out willingly. I talked and talked until my throat was hoarse and I couldn't breathe.

Ginny took it badly. Her eyes had been shiny since I'd started, but by the end of my tale, she was sobbing uncontrollably.

"Anya – oh – Anya, it's my fault! How could I – if it hadn't been for me, none of this would have happened!"

I placed my hand on her shoulder. She flinched, but I squeezed gently. For the first time this year, I didn't want to hurt her.

"It would have happened." I slumped. "To you, to me – it would've happened to anyone who had T – the diary with them. He – it makes them do things. It made me do things. But now it's gone – Ginny." I smiled at her. "It's gone. We will be fine."

She began to grin. It took one look at us to spiral into laughter. We kept laughing as we hugged each other. I kept laughing in her shoulder as hollowness settled in my chest. Ginny held me when I began to sob.

It would be fine. It had to be.

•••◘◘◘•••

Life moved on. At least for Ginny and I. While the rest of the school worried there might be another attack, the two of us kept seeing each other to keep appearances. It would raise suspicions.

But now that there was no diary between us, there was nothing else that drove our friendship. Nothing, except Quidditch and the Charms club. Both I used as an excuse to avoiding my friends – specifically, their relentless investigation of the Heir.

It would be futile. There never had been an heir of Slytherin. Just me. And Tom.

I couldn't forget him; I couldn't let Tom go. I couldn't stop thinking of his words, of his promises – my parents –

I couldn't, for the life of me, help but think he would return when I least expected it.

I was right.

•••◘◘◘•••

Lockhart's idea to boost the student body's morale was to throw a huge celebration for the fourteenth of February. Hogwarts never made a huge thing of Valentine's Day but this year, the Great Hall had been decorated with big pink flowers on the walls, red and pink balloons floated in the ceiling, and from the same, pink heart-shaped confetti fell in our food.

None of the teachers were happy. In fact, Snape – whose black robes stood out in the pink storm – looked like he'd throw up any moment.

Ron tried to run for it, but I'd grasped the end of his robes and hauled him to our usual seats.

"Nice try! You're not leaving me here with future Mrs. Lockhart!"

"But everything is so pink!" Ron moaned.

I swallowed when I saw that the tables were covered by pink tablecloths.

"I know. But it could be worse. So, sit."

Just then, Harry arrived. He was wearing his Quidditch red robes and looking thoroughly confused.

"What's going on?"

We pointed at the teachers' table, where Gilderoy Lockhart was waving his hands for silence. To match the decorations, he had chosen to wear lurid pink robes.

"Happy Valentine's Day!" he shouted. "And may I thank the forty-six people who have so far sent me cards! Yes, I have taken the liberty of arranging this little surprise for you all – and it doesn't end here!"

Lockhart clapped two times, and the doors of the Great Hall opened; twelve dwarfs marched inside, all wearing golden wings and carrying harps. None of them looked happy.

"My friendly, card-carrying cupids!" beamed Lockhart. "They will be roving around the school today delivering your valentines!"

I paled. Normally, it was personal owls (or for those who didn't have were designated one) who brought your valentines in the middle of the day. But if these dwarfs were going to be delivering each time a valentine was sent...

"And the fun doesn't stop here! I'm sure my colleagues will want to enter into the spirit of the occasion! Why not ask Professor Snape to show you how to whip up a Love Potion! And while you're at it, Professor Flitwick knows more about Entrancing Enchantments than any wizard I've ever met, the sly old dog!"

Professor Flitwick buried his face in his hands. Snape was looking as though the first person to ask him for a Love Potion would be force-fed poison.

"Please, Hermione, tell me you weren't one of the forty-six," Ron said as we left the Great Hall for our first lesson. Hermione suddenly became very interested in searching her bag for her schedule and didn't answer.

"Look, what does it matter if she sent that idiot one?" I asked irritably. I began tugging at Hermione's arm. "Come on, let's go!"

"What's got your knickers in a twist?" Ron asked.

"It's nothing."

"It's not nothing if you are –"

He stopped short. I felt the hairs at my nape stand straight. I spun, and saw, to my chagrin, one of Lockhart's dwarfs. It was young-looking, smaller, and when he saw my glare, he cowered.

"Is – is one of you Anya Barton?" he asked in a timid voice. He twisted his hands on the harp nervously.

While Hermione giggled, I said tightly, "Yeah, that's me."

Last year, I'd received a healthy stack of letters, all of them which professed their 'undying love and devotion' to me. At first, I'd believed it was some sort of prank pulled by the Weasley twins or from the Slytherins, but a boy – Terrence Campbell, a second-year from Hufflepuff – just about had an anxiety attack when I demanded to know his intentions. It was then that I discovered that somehow, I'd acquired my own fan club. Whether they were serious about it or not, I wasn't sure.

The dwarf took a deep breath but before he could sing, I interrupted.

"Would you like to just give me the card? It would be less embarrassing for both of us."

The dwarf looked so relieved I knew Lockhart had to have blackmailed someone to get him and his companions to ridicule themselves.

"Anya, read it!" Hermione squealed.

"Yes, Anne, read it," Ron sniggered. I shoved him. Clearing my throat, I began.

"I love it when you smile
It seems to brighten up the room,
I love it when you laugh
It seems to chase away the gloom

I love your sunny disposition
It warms my heart to the core,
Your strong will and determination
Makes me like you even more"

I faltered. I keep reading.

"Cause no matter what situation you're in
You do your best, you give it your all,
Inspiring those around you
To do their best, to give it their all

I'll never forget the first time we met
because those hazel eyes made me feel all right,
have a happy Valentine's day
and this is all."

"Oh, Anya!" Hermione giggled. "It's beautiful! Who send it?"

"Who knows how to write poetry here?" Harry asked, looking stunned. I ignored them, opting to analyze the card. The handwriting was unrecognizable and the yellow tulips on the cover didn't rise any lights.

"Must be a prank," Ron said, barely containing his snickers, only to end laughing with Harry.

"Stop it, you two!" Hermione snapped, slapping their arms. Both groaned.

I had to endure the shame of hearing four more poems, none as sweet and witty like as the first, and the laughter of the boys each time a dwarf interrupted classes. Retaliation came when we headed for Charms.

A grim-looking dwarf marched toward us, elbowing people on his path.

"Oi, you! 'Arry Potter!" Harry tried to make a run for it – he really did, but I was quicker, grasping the back of his collar shirt and hauling him back.

"Not so funny now, is it?" I told him sarcastically.

"Anya, let go!" Harry snarled. I shrugged.

"As you wish." I let go, only because the dwarf had finally caught up to us.

"I've got a musical message to deliver to 'Arry Potter in person," he said, twanging his harp in a threatening sort of way.

"Not here," Harry hissed, trying to escape.

"Stay still!" grunted the dwarf, grabbing hold of Harry's bag and pulling him back.

"Let me go!" Harry snarled, tugging.

With a loud ripping noise, his bag split in two. His books, wand, parchment, and quill spilled onto the floor and his ink bottle smashed over everything.

"What's going on here?" drawled Draco Malfoy as he neared. I rolled my eyes and knelt to help Harry gather his things. I ignored the pointed glare that clearly stated I was to blame.

"What's all this commotion?" said Percy Weasley arriving at the scene, but nobody answered as the dwarf began to sing in a sort of ugly melody.

"His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad,
His hair is as dark as a blackboard.
I wish he was mine, he's really divine,
The hero who conquered the Dark Lord."

I wanted to laugh, but I didn't. Because right there on the floor, a familiar, tattered black book taunted me.

Oh lord, oh lord, oh merde –

"Off you go, off you go, the bell rang five minutes ago, off to class, now," said Percy loudly, shooing some of the younger students away. "And you, Malfoy —"

A pale hand appeared over the diary and raised it in the air.

"Give that back," said Harry, glaring.

Malfoy smirked, waving Tom's diary in the air. "Wonder what Potter's written in this?"

"Hand it over, Malfoy," said Percy sternly.

"When I've had a look."

Harry retaliated. Still dazed, I watched him and Malfoy fight over it; when it flew, I instinctively raised my hand. When my fingers curled around the leather, everything came back at once.

The blood. The nightmares. The anxiety.

And his voice. It was just as seducing as the first time. And like that time, I was caught in his web.

When I handed the diary back to Harry, I gave up on my hope as well.

•••◘◘◘•••

After days of walking on eggshells, of all things I'd expected to hear, Hagrid coming up as the main suspect for the Chamber of Secrets was not one of them.

"You're joking!"

"Shhhh!" Harry put a hand on my mouth. "Don't shout; we don't need anyone listening!"

"You must be joking," I hissed after he removed his hand. "Hagrid? Our Hagrid was the one who opened the Chamber of Secrets fifty years ago? That's rubbish!"

It obviously was. Tom was toying with Harry – with me. While I was surprised to discover Tom could now create long-duration visions, I was more irritated he'd shown Harry a memory of Hagrid looking after a deadly creature. How old could Hagrid have been back then? A teenager? A child? Despite the fact Hagrid purposely ignored his pastime of raising illegal creatures as an adult, he couldn't have known the difference all those years ago.

"Riddle might have got the wrong person," Hermione agreed. "Maybe it was some other monster that was attacking people..."

"How many monsters d'you think this place can hold?" Ron asked.

"More than we know of, it seems," I muttered.

"We always knew Hagrid had been expelled," said Harry. "And the attacks must've stopped after Hagrid was kicked out. Otherwise, Riddle wouldn't have got his award."

"But this is Hagrid we are talking about!" I exclaimed. "He couldn't have done it."

"I'm with Anne on this one. Riddle does sound like Percy – who asked him to squeal on Hagrid, anyway?"

"But the monster had killed someone, Ron," Hermione said.

"The spider couldn't have petrified the girl, Hermione!" I said exasperatedly. "Acromantulas are venomous and giant, but they can't kill with a look. If that were the case, I'd imagine the population would've dropped dramatically – eight eyes would've certainly done it."

"Riddle was obviously desperate to not go back to his Muggle orphanage," said Harry patiently. "If Hogwarts closed... I don't blame him for wanting to stay here..."

Playing the cards close to your chest? Brilliant move, Tom. Harry could never resist those who he had a kinship with.

"Well, I come from an orphanage too, but you don't see me complaining, do you?" I snapped. "You can't trust a stranger, Harry, let alone one that places blame rather than acting logically."

We fell silent. After a long pause, Hermione voiced the knottiest question of all in a hesitant voice.

"Do you think we should go and ask Hagrid about it all?"

"That'd be a cheerful visit," said Ron. "'Hello, Hagrid. Tell us, have you been setting anything mad and hairy loose in the castle lately?'"

•••◘◘◘•••

"What do you mean Harry has the diary?" Ginny exclaimed. I avoided the quaffle she threw on my way, barely catching it.

"Exactly what you heard!" I threw it back at her. I was annoyed when she caught it swiftly and without a wince. "Harry's got the diary. I don't know how or when he acquired it, but Tom has been lying to him. Can you believe he made Harry think Hagrid had something to do with the Chamber?"

"No!" said Ginny. She threw back the quaffle. "Hagrid? Why Hagrid?"

I caught it. "I looked it up. Rubeus Hagrid was expelled the 16th of June of 1943 under the suspicion of raising the creature that murdered Myrtle Warren, a fifteen-year-old Ravenclaw."

Ginny almost lost the quaffle. Almost. Such was her surprise.

"Myrtle? Moaning Myrtle? You mean to say –"

I caught the quaffle. "Yes. Myrtle was killed by Tom Riddle."

"You mean the beast."

"What's the difference?"

For the first time, she lost the quaffle.

•••◘◘◘•••

March rolled by, and so did Ron's birthday. During the Easter Holidays, we were informed that we had to choose our new classes for the next year. It was unbelievable the year was close to ending. Most of the time, I'd gone through the classes in a daze, and it wasn't after the holidays that I realized Tom hadn't let me memorize them at all. In short, I had to study everything again; with the pressure I felt, I'd forgotten I had to eventually take a decision.

"It could affect our whole future," said Hermione, who took very seriously this task. I grabbed another brochure.

"I just want to give up Potions," Harry announced tiredly, looking down at the Care of Magical Creatures title.

"We can't," Ron said gloomily. "We keep all our old subjects, or I'd've ditched Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"But that's very important!" Hermione said, shocked.

"Not the way Lockhart teaches it," Ron said. "I haven't learned anything from him except not to set pixies loose."

"Or what shampoos are less likely to make your hair's ends split," I said. "Then again, that one was remarkably helpful."

In the end, I ended choosing the same classes as the boys: Divination and Care of Magical Creatures.

Hermione and I were in the common room reading when Harry came from Quidditch practice and went to change. But then, moments later, he and Ron came down barrelling, looking pale.

I was the first to see them, and therefore asked, "What's wrong?"

"My things – they were ransacked!" hissed Harry.

My lips parted.

"That's not all," he continued. "Tom Riddle's diary is gone."

Wide-eyed, I stammered. "But – but –"

"It means a Gryffindor could have only stolen it!" said Hermione. "No one else would know our passwords!"

"Exactly," said Harry.

I felt numb, but I still added some ideas to whom it could have been, and my bewilderment was so real I never attracted attention toward me.

I didn't do it, I didn't; I was here all along!

Then, a hand clamped down on my shoulder. It was Ginny Weasley, who looked in pain and was trying to hide it.

The others fell quiet. "Ginny, go away," snapped Ron.

"Ron!" Hermione scolded harshly.

"I need your help," said Ginny to me.

I looked back at the others. "I'll come back later."

I followed Ginny out of the common room, down the secret passage, and into the open. The grounds were empty which wasn't odd, considering the sun was going down.

Ginny led us close to the edge of the Black Lake. I turned to her, grasping her shoulders.

"Ginny, the diary – it's gone. Someone took it. I don't know who, but Hermione was right – it must be someone from Gryffindor!"

"Anya."

I finally paid attention. She was shaking badly. Her face was pale. She looked like she wanted to puke.

"Ginny? Are you okay?"

"Okay?" she repeated, tilting her head. She then stretched her neck from one side and swiftly turned her head, repeating the movement. My breath hitched; I felt like fainting.

I released her. Very slowly, Ginny's head tilted in my way; her face had gone blank, and a single trail of blood was dripping from her nose.

I shook my head. "No. No no no no no no no..."

She searched inside her robes. Next, I watched her pull out a little black book, looking half-good and stained with blood.

"Hello, Anya," she said, and I knew it wasn't Ginny who was talking.

"Let her go. She has nothing to do with this."

Tom smiled at me. "Anya, did you truly think this would end between us? The more you resisted, the more you endangered others – Harry Potter, for example."

I pulled that string. "That was rotten of you, trying to turn him against Hagrid! And what you did! It was you, wasn't it? You made them expel him!"

"So what if I did? It was bound to happen, what with him brining those filthy creatures to the castle."

"He was thirteen years old and he was kind! But you wouldn't understand that, would you? You're cruel and a coward!"

He snatched my wrist. "The only coward here is you! You, who allowed others to suffer for your weaknesses; you, who did not trust your so-called friends! I am not cruel, Anya – if I were, I wouldn't have offered to help you. Instead, it was you turned your back on me when I needed you the most, but no matter – I received what I wanted. Struggle all you like, beg for this girl's life – nothing will work."

Before I could run, I felt the pull from the darkness. And so, without any warning, I succumbed.

•••◘◘◘•••

(No, please, no –)

"You must learn what your place is, Anya Barton."

My fault, my fault, my bloody fault –

Yes, Anya. It is your fault. Everything is your fault. And when Harry Potter dies, it will also be your fault.

You wouldn't dare.

Do not push me.

You wouldn't dare.

I'd rather die than let it happen.

... Not yet. But soon.

Soon.

•••◘◘◘•••

I woke up with a gasp. Coughing, I looked around me.

I was inside a cubicle, sitting down on the toilet. The walls around me were old and graffitied with carvings. Names of boys and girls, sometimes inside hearts, sometimes as part of an equation. But the wood around me smelt terrible and looked too much splintered.

Myrtle's bathroom, then. No surprise there.

I pushed the door open. Alone.

What time it was? What date it was? Was I even in the same month?

"Ginny," I muttered, searching.

But she wasn't there. No one was here.

It would be perfect to get rid of me right now.

Was that what Tom was planning?

I finally walked out of the room, trying not to wince at the sunlight that kept filtering through the windows. Different shadows of light danced over the floor.

At that very moment, a group of students appeared around the corner. I couldn't see the colour of their hoods – but they couldn't see me standing right in front of them either.

I stuck close to the wall, waiting for the teacher – Professor Sinistra – to pass by me first. Then it was a Prefect – Ravenclaw's (Percy's girlfriend) – and the students, and I jumped behind line.

The Great Hall was stocked with yellow/black and red flags. Painted faces chatted amiably with their tablemates. Oliver Wood was, predictably, barking orders, face alight with excitement. Just as predictably, his team tried their best to ignore him and the fork he waved dangerously close to their faces.

Hours. It had only been hours. Everything could happen in minutes, though.

And yet, no one looked worried. They were too high-strung by today's match.

Holding my stomach in, I forced myself to relax.

"Perfect Quidditch conditions!" Wood was saying when I approached my friends. Next, he pointed his fork at Harry, startling him. "Harry, buck up there, you need a decent breakfast!"

"How can I?" he muttered to us. "Someone here stole Riddle's diary. Who knows what they did to it."

My stomach ached with hunger, but my throat closed-up when the smell of bacon hit me. It was going to be one of those days.

"You know, I've been thinking," said Ron. He looked uncomfortable. "About Slytherin's Heir, I mean. What if it wasn't a Slytherin?"

Hermione's eyes were wide. "You mean – no. It couldn't be." She looked at us. "Could it?"

Emboldened by her hesitance, Ron continued. "Why not? I mean, Sirius Black was a Gryffindor, wasn't he?"

I blinked. "Who's Sirius Black?"

Ron waved his hand. "You are missing the point, guys! What if the Heir has been right under our noses all this time?" He leaned forward, lowering his tone. "What if it's... Neville?"

I outright laughed at that. My whole body shook as I wiped my eyes.

"Neville? Really?"

Hermione was also grinning. "I'm with Anya on this one, Ronald. It can't be Neville." We glanced at the lonely boy. "He's just too sweet."

"And cowardly," said Ron promptly. "That's the thing – no one would suspect him!"

"Okay, Sherlock. Whatever you say."

I was more than awed of Ron's deduction. He had hit a very important point: none of us had considered the culprit couldn't have been a Slytherin. I mean, it was but at the same time, it wasn't.

We left the Great Hall to accompany Harry to the common room when I heard it.

"Kill this time... let me rip... tear..."

"The voice!" Harry shouted, startling me. "I just heard it again – didn't you?"

I did. I did, and I had just come out of Myrtle's bathroom. I wasn't the one controlling the beast this time, but I was the one who set it loose in the castle.

Oh god.

Hermione clapped a hand on her forehead.

"Harry – I think I've just understood something! I've got to go to the library!"

And she sprinted away, up the stairs.

I didn't think about it. I followed.

"What, are you going too?" Ron called. I ignored him.

Running after Hermione proved to be a task. I'd never known she was a good runner, but she was. I lost her in the way, but I spotted her busy hair over some bookshelves at the library. Surprisingly, the room was empty.

"Hermione!" I called, not caring if my voice carried over. But then the other voice grew closer. And closer.

"Rip... tear... let me taste your bones..."

I called for Hermione desperately.

"Here!"

I found her in the Magizoology section. She had an old copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them and was leafing through it quickly.

"Yes!" she cried triumphantly. She looked at me. "Anya – the beast. I know what the beast is!"

"It's a Basilisk," I said, seizing her wrist and pulling her out of the library. "That's why Harry's been able to hear it all this time, cause he's a Parseltongue. Doesn't matter it is more powerful, its nature will remain the same."

I was abruptly pulled back. Hermione had planted her feet firmly to stop me.

"Anya... how do you know that? How do you know the beast is a Basilisk? How do you know it's near?" Her eyes were growing bigger; she looked afraid. I turned my hand so that our palms were facing each other.

She frowned.

Behind her, Tom stood, smirking. He opened his mouth –

"Isn't it obvious?" we both said. "So much for the brightest witch of her age. I should've known rumours were greatly exaggerated – Hogwarts' student body has hardly changed in all these years."

God, this was sick.

Hermione shoved me away, backing into Tom.

"Who are you?" she snapped. "What have you done to Anya?"

He leaned down to whisper in her ear.

"Well, well, well. Not completely wrong." He glanced at me. "I apologize for underestimating your friend, Anya. It won't happen again."

Hermione's eyes widened as realization hit her.

"It's you," she breathed. "It's been you all along." Distaste clouded her eyes. "Ron was right!"

"Yes," Tom and I said. "Harry Potter's staunchest supporter... who would have thought?"

"Alec Barton's daughter," said Hermione, her eyes narrowing. Even in face of danger, she couldn't help but think.

I didn't care about that. Whatever conclusion she came to, it didn't hold a candle to the fact that she needed to touch her skirt's fabric right now.

For this term's Christmas, I had asked her and Ginny if there was something in particular they'd want. "Pockets," Hermione had scoffed. "My quills keep breaking in my satchel." She hadn't meant it at the time, but on Christmas day, all her skirts (and Ginny's) sported a pocket hiding inside the skirt. The gap was somewhere near the waist and it was truly inconspicuous. It was a habit ingrained from St. Louise's, so I didn't have trouble sharing the secret with them.

It was from this secret pocket that she pulled out a small hand mirror. One of many from Lavender Brown's collection.

"Harry and Ron will stop you," said Hermione. Then she turned and fled.

I felt his anger. It rushed all over me like a shower.

"You foolish girl," Tom muttered. "Did you really think this... small act of insubordination will wash away your sins?"

There was a clacking of shoes. I met Ginny halfway, grimacing at the blood in her hands and clothes. It was probably warm.

The diary was nowhere in sight. Tom had finally stopped trusting me.

"What took you so long?" he snapped. "The Granger girl knows – she must be silenced. Do it – or your youngest brother will be my first successful victim."

•••◘◘◘•••

My eyes snapped open. A wave of nausea hit me, and I staggered into one of the stalls. When I finished throwing up, I sagged against the toilet.

Everything was so dizzy... where was I?

Graffitied walls. Hearts and names. Old wood.

Myrtle's bathroom. But there was no Myrtle.

I stepped out. Waiting next to the door was Myrtle, looking annoyed.

"You're alive," she said jealously. "How? That's so not fair! Why didn't you die? I did!"

I leaned on the wall. I was really tired.

"You knew. All this time, you knew. Why didn't you tell on me? All those opportunities..."

Myrtle shrugged. "I thought I wouldn't be alone anymore." She went right through the brickwall, leaving me alone.

I checked my clothes. No blood. No smell of the bathroom.

No Ginny. No diary.

Truly alone.

•••◘◘◘•••

The sun was up. It burned my skin as I jogged down the corridor and went to the courtyard.

I was shoved aside. Then, another shove came. I stuck to the wall, watching as the tumultuous crowd returned to the castle, grumbling and talking. Most of them carried little flags with the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff crests.

The game. I'd completely missed the game. It had been more than ten hours since Tom had possessed Ginny.

"How could McGonagall do this to us?" I heard Oliver Wood exclaim. The captain looked genuinely heart-broken.

Okay, I hadn't missed the game.

A voice thundered from the Quidditch Pitch, crackling between words:

"All students are to make their way back to the House common rooms, where their Heads of Houses will give them further information. As quickly as you can, please!"

When the crowd thinned, I saw the unmistakable figure of Professor McGonagall. Harry and Ron lagged behind her, the former carrying his broom over his shoulder. There was no sign of Hermione.

With a sense of foreboding, I waited until they came close.

"Anya! Where were you?" exclaimed Ron. "Where's Hermione?"

"I don't know."I shook my head. "I was with Ginny. Why, what happened? Why didn't the game start?"

Professor McGonagall vanished her megaphone, her expression grim.

"Miss Barton, you should come with us."

I grew alarmed. "What about Hermione?"

"Please, Miss Barton," said McGonagall. "Everything will be explained shortly."

Dread spread through me as I silently followed them. I fell easily into the path that led to the hospital wing, meeting the boys' puzzled gazes with my own.

It was there where we ended. I hadn't expected it, actually, but another glance at McGonagall's face had me freezing on spot.

No. No. It wasn't true. It had to be a joke.

Not her. Anyone but her.

"This will be a bit of a shock," said Professor McGonagall gently, her hand stopping from opening the door. "There has been another attack... another double attack."

She pushed one door open. Madam Pomfrey was bending over a sixth-year girl with long, curly hair. I recognized her as Penelope Clearwater; I'd caught a glimpse of her photograph in Percy Weasley's room last summer.

Unwillingly, my eyes slid to the bed next to her. I bit my hand to stop a scream.

"Hermione!" Ron groaned.

Once, when I was younger, I did something horrible to stop a man. Days after that, I walked in a haze, barely being able to see anything around me, except my shoes and sunlight.

I could see the sunlight now, but not my shoes. All I saw was the light and Hermione, who lay utterly still on one of the beds. Despite that, only her face was clear. The expression of frozen surprise squeezed my heart painfully.

I touched her skin. Cold and hard as marble.

"They were found near the library," said Professor McGonagall. "I don't suppose any of you can explain this? It was on the floor next to them..."

She held up a familiar mirror. It was compact and cheap, and on the back, there was a design of pink and yellow flowers. It was the mirror I had stolen from Lavender Brown.

That mirror should've been at the bottom of my trunk.

Then I remembered. Tom had possessed Ginny and he'd knocked me out somehow. No, not knocked out; he had numbed me to the world. But not completely. I'd had enough wits to get that mirror.

And today it had been in Hermione's possession.

"I will escort you back to Gryffindor Tower," said McGonagall heavily. "I need to address the students in any case."

I stared at Hermione, my grip so hard inside her hand that my knuckles turned a ghostly white. I almost didn't feel the scrunched up piece of paper inside her fist. Almost.

But I squashed the thought away, and considered it to be part of her skin. Cold as marble. Eyes glassy and unseeing. Would she dream? I hoped she did. I hoped all the petrified, when they were given the cure, would not remember the basilisk or me. I hoped they would think it a nightmare and move on.

I hoped. I hoped.

•••◘◘◘•••

"All students will return to their House common rooms by six o'clock in the evening. No student is to leave the dormitories after that time. You will be escorted to each lesson by a teacher. No student is to use the bathroom unaccompanied by a teacher. All further Quidditch training and matches are to be postponed. There will be no more evening activities."

The Gryffindors packed inside the common room listened to Professor McGonagall in silence. She rolled up the parchment from which she had been reading and said in a somewhat choked voice, "I need hardly add that I have rarely been so distressed. It is likely that the school will be closed unless the culprit behind these attacks is caught. I would urge anyone who thinks they might know anything about them to come forward."

I sat in the farthest corner of the common room, watching as my Housemates began to shout their outrage once McGonagall left. Above the noise, Lee Jordan's exclaims stood out.

"That's two Gryffindors down, not counting a Gryffindor ghost, one Ravenclaw, and one Hufflepuff! Haven't any of the teachers noticed that the Slytherins are all safe? Isn't it obvious all this stuff's coming from Slytherin? The Heir of Slytherin, the monster of Slytherin – why don't they just chuck all the Slytherins out?"

There was some scattered applause.

Meanwhile, my eyes fixed on a lone figure. Ginny Weasley – and I was sure it was Ginny, for her eyes were puffy and her lips kept trembling – was staring at me with something akin to horror. With that stare alone, I knew she would tell if she could.

If she could.

(She won't.)

NOTES:

In Swedish, Spindelnät means "spider's web".

Yellow tulips represent "unrequited love"; giving a yellow tulip to someone means that you love them but are aware your feelings are one-sided.