Author's Note: I'm not sure why the writing quality here is terrible. This chapter was just difficult to write, I suppose. I promise better writing in the future! Er…probably.

Not much else to add. Hopefully the next chapter will be out within the week (let's hope I didn't just jinx myself!).

Enjoy!

"No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear."
- C.S. Lewis,A Grief Observed

Ginny's dreams were mocking. She dreamed of Harry Potter, sitting beside her as she lay out in the sun. The fields around them were lush and green and full of white flowers she felt no great need to identify. Symbolism didn't matter; everything was simple. The sun and the grass and the flowers and her love for the green-eyed boy in front of her, it was all simple and pure and lovely. Nothing else mattered.

Harry leaned forward, smiling as he kissed her once, twice, three times. She grinned and laughed when his hair tickled her nose as he moved to kiss her full cheeks. A brilliant blue butterfly landed on his shoulder, and she wanted to tell him, but she didn't want to scare it away with the sound of her voice, so she kept silent.

He kissed her cheeks, her forehead, her soft red hair. She opened her mouth to tell him she loved him, but choked on the smell of the smoke coming from his clothes. The scent was strong, but it didn't smell like tobacco. What was it?

"Harry?" she mumbled and pushed him back, looking into his face. But as she watched his handsome, pale features quickly twisted and blackened into some horrible monster's visage. She screamed and tried to push him away, but he clung to her, shouting her name.

"Ginny, Ginny, Ginny!" it yelled, holding her tight. He became engulfed with flames, and suddenly it was dark and the flames and the shadows moved together. "Help me, Ginny! Please don't let me burn!"

She woke, her mouth forming the words 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry' over and over again until she realized she was awake. The sheets of her bed were haphazardly wrapped around her legs and torso, and the blanket and nearly completely fallen off the bed. She'd been turning in her sleep, and if the state of the blankets wasn't enough to tell her, then her hands which formed into claws and dug into the mattress below her was.

She rolled out of bed and winced at the cold in the floor. The chill worked its way up her body and she shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. The red nightgown was still on her body, but it wasn't enough to keep her warm. She was sick to death of the color red.

Red. A memory flashed in her mind, of red flames consuming her bedroom and black smoke choking her. If she closed her eyes, she could see the flames and the shadows dancing as clearly as if it was happening right in front of her again. Red hot flames and cold, black shadows…red and black consuming the flesh of the person she loved most…

As much as Ginny wanted to fall apart, she knew she couldn't. She'd broken apart enough the night before, and now she needed to focus. There was a golden opportunity before her, and wasting it would be a disaster. She needed to pull herself together, continue functioning, and find a way to manipulate the situation in her favor.

So she went to the bathroom and took a shower. As the cold water fell in a cascade over her red skin, her head began to clear. Grief still clung to her heart, anguished tears were on the verge of erupting and she let out a coarse, dry sob, but she felt as though she could move and speak and think clearly again. And there was much to think about.

Once she was clean, Ginny got out of the shower and went into her bedroom. She searched the wardrobe and dresser and found that Tom had provided her with more than a few options for black clothing. It was probably his favorite color.

She chose a simple black jumper and a knee-length black pleated skirt, and official-looking Muggle shoes she thought were named after a city or a school. They laced up simply and fit well enough, and her feet were much warmer in them.

Now clean and dressed, she took a moment to meditate. Closing her eyes, she took a few deep breaths, and tried to focus on her goal and not on the charred body in the other room.

Tom Riddle had held her last night. He had wrapped her in his arms, stroked her hair, and comforted her the best he was able. He tried to soothe her grief over Harry Potter, the man he hated more than anyone. He felt no sadness over the loss of Harry himself, which meant he was beginning to be capable of empathy.

A man capable of empathy was a man capable of being manipulated.

The truth was, Tom had been kind to her. Though he'd tried to play it off as attempting to beguile her into loving him, she felt that he'd really been hiding the fact that her pain was causing him pain. As disgusting a thought as that was – Tom Riddle! Having honest feelings for her! Though it was caused by a potion…what was so terrible about her as to attract a monster?– it could work to her advantage.

Maybe, just maybe, he felt sorry enough for her that he would now let her go. Maybe he would understand that in this terrible time, she needed to be with her family. She needed to see her mother's face and hear her father's voice, to feel the arms of her brothers around her. There was also her other family she needed to speak to, Luna and Hermione. She desperately needed them now, just as she needed air to breathe.

If Tom could understand that, maybe she could go free.

Cautiously, she opened the door to her bedroom. Without looking at that room, she slowly made her way down the stairs and into the sitting room.

Tom Riddle sat there, dozens of papers in front of him. He sighed as he flipped through them, apparently not satisfied with anything they said. As she approached, she tried to catch a peek at one to see what he was doing, but they were all in French. After Fleur married into the family, Ginny had tried to learn, but she only knew a few words here and there.

"Tom?" she spoke meekly, her hands folded in front of her.

He glanced up at her and, appearing uninterested, brought his attention back to two pieces of paper he was comparing. She felt her throat close up at this treatment. If he didn't even care to look at her, how was she going to convince him to release her?

But a moment later he seemed to process what he'd seen, and he looked up at her again, quickly. He dropped the papers on the table and stood, then moved around the coffee table and motioned for Ginny to take his place. She did so hesitantly, wondering why he'd so willingly stood for her. It wasn't until she was settled that she realized she was shaking hard enough that she had difficulty controlling it.

"Good afternoon, Ginevra," Tom greeted her coolly, despite his gentlemanly actions. "I trust you slept well? Good dreams?"

Clearly, she'd been shouting in her sleep. She glared up at him with fire in her eyes, but took a deep breath and tried to replace that anger with the grief she felt aching in her limbs. "I slept fine, thank you," she lied, her throat tight.

"Liar," Tom accused, smirking, though something sad touched his eyes briefly. "Could I get you some tea? Something to eat?"

Ginny knew that food would be a wise decision. Grief and fear had filled her stomach so she hadn't felt hungry since…well, since well before she could remember. Her cheeks were hollow now, the opposite of the fullness in her dream. Her limbs were thin and frail, and it was likely she looked half-dead herself. But she couldn't bring herself to want to eat. "Just tea, thank you."

Tom nodded, and headed into the kitchen. She looked down at the papers, and noticed that along with paragraphs of text there were outlines. Blueprints, maybe. She tried to decipher them, but though her mind was clear enough to think, she couldn't comprehend the shapes. Her mind was clouded with grief and weak from malnutrition.

When Tom returned from the kitchen, he used his wand to pile the papers on the nearby chair, and he set down a mug of spicy-smelling tea, as well as a plate containing a fruit scone and a small bowl of orange marmalade with a knife sitting atop it. She picked up the mug and took a scorching sip, then reached for the scone, breaking off a bit and chewing it mindlessly.

Meanwhile, Tom picked up the papers and sat near her, flipping through them while keeping an eye on her. He seemed satisfied when she began to eat.

Ginny looked at him, her eyes grave. Once she'd chewed and swallowed her third piece of scone and her stomach began to ache with want for more food, she decided it was time to make an attempt.

"Tom," she spoke, her voice not much louder than a whisper.

Tom's eyes didn't move from his paper. "Yes?"

"I want to go home."

Tom paused, and then looked at her with a cruel amusement. "You don't have a home anymore, darling. The Burrow is nothing more than ashes now."

"My home is where my family is."

"Ah," said Tom, now setting the papers down on his lap, and then folding his hands, entwining his long fingers together. "You mean that you want me to let you leave me?"

Ginny hesitated, and then nodded ever so slightly. "I need them, Tom. I can't breathe here anymore, I need to be with my family now that…now that…" she took a deep breath and forced the words out, and it felt like pulling a knife out of a wound. "Now that Harry is gone…dead. We need to grieve together. You can understand that, can't you, Tom? I'll go mad without them."

She noticed Tom's lips go white as he pressed them together, and then he moved the papers from his lap and stood. He dropped them in his chair and looked down at her. "I can understand that perfectly," he said slowly. "That doesn't mean it's going to happen."

Ginny swallowed as her hands began to shake again. "Please, Tom. I need them. I need them like I need air, or water or food in order to function."

"Then perhaps you needn't function at all," snapped Tom. "You are of little use to me functioning, anyway."

Ginny felt tears building in her eyes. "If that's true, then why not let me go? What's the point of keeping me here?" she didn't give him time to respond. Instead, she took a quick breath and continued, "I can't be here anymore! Not here, not in this cabin where he lived, not in this cabin where his parents died, I can't share this place with his body or his memories. Please!"

Tom chuckled darkly, and smirked. "Well, you won't have to worry about that for much longer…"

Ginny frowned, confused. "What do you mean?"

Tom shook his head, and headed towards the entryway. "It doesn't matter…yet," he said, walking out of the room. Ginny stood to follow him, and watched as he picked up his coat. "I have a quick errand to run. I suggest you find a coat, Ginevra. You'll be going out with me this evening."

"What?" Ginny repeated, her eyes widening in surprise. "What do you mean…I'll be going with you?"

She heard Tom's soft sigh before he turned around. The cruelty had left his face, and left only the look of someone who felt thoroughly exhausted in every way. "Clearly, I have no need to mourn…but just as clearly, you do," he said, his voice soft and holding the slightest hint of something akin to regret. "I know his wishes would be important to you, and that he would want to be buried here. So I purchased a plot for Harry Potter as nearby his parents as I could get. We will not be burying him ourselves – I can't be bothered – but it will do for a place to mourn, however briefly."

Ginny wanted to say something, but she couldn't form words. It didn't matter. Tom was gone a moment later.

Ginny sat on the floor, clinging to her back coat as she stared at the door, waiting anxiously. She couldn't go upstairs…she couldn't be that close to Harry's body, not alone. That wasn't something her mind could withstand. Staring at the door that she would soon be allowed to walk through seemed like a much better option. Instead of despairing, she was hoping.

Of course, it was a fruitless hope. Nothing would come of leaving the little shack. She would go to the graveyard, cry, and return. Unless, of course…

She knew. She knew that as soon as Harry's death became known, mourners would flood the area. There was a possibility, though a slight one, that Harry had been assumed dead in the fire and mourners had already arrived. If they had, and Tom hadn't noticed him, and she had…

There were a lot of 'ifs' there. But if that were possible, maybe someone could recognize her. Approach her. Save her.

Part of her hoped for this, while the other part felt sure that anyone who approached them would meet death at Tom's hand. Though he seemed to feel she was useless to him, he appeared determined to keep her with him always. If someone got in the way of that, they would be in grave danger.

Ginny jumped when the door opened. In walked Tom, and with him came a cold breeze. Winter was coming. How long had she been here?

In Tom's hand he carried something…unusual.

"What is that?" she asked him, motioning to the bouquet of flowers in his hand.

Tom smirked, and then crouched down to Ginny's level, his long legs bent so he could look in the eye. "Every good mourner must bring flowers, Ginevra." Then he threw the flowers into her lap. "I thought white poppies would be appropriate. I won't bore you with the mythological ties, but they could easily represent mourning…and they belong to the mother of the Goddess Persephone, who I am sure you will recall…"

"You think of me as Persephone," she murmured, staring down at the flowers in her lap.

"Yes," Tom said, pleased she had remembered. "Then those blue ones are harebells which represent grief, and white daises for common love," he spat out the word 'common' like Malfoy had long ago spat 'mudblood', back in their childhood years. "I thought you would find this arrangement satisfying."

Ginny nodded, though she really had no thoughts on it. They were vaguely pretty, tied up with white string, but nothing magnificent. Maybe that was best…Harry always hated standing out. "Can we go now?"

Tom nodded, moving back to his full height, and then offering her a hand. Ginny took it hesitantly, and allowed him to pull her to her feet. She noted in her head that his hands felt like ice.

He took her coat from her arms and moved around behind her, holding it up as she slid one arm and then the other into it, moving the bouquet from one hand to the other. He slid it up on her shoulders, and then headed to the door. With a whispered spell some charm disappeared, and he opened it and stepped aside so that she could walk out first.

The world was, indeed, preparing for winter. Though leaves still clung to the trees in hues that reminded Ginny of the fire, the air was crisp and she could see her breath as a soft cloud blown away by the wind. The wind was strong and the sky was dark, both with the fast setting sun and by heavy grey clouds. She wasn't surprised when Tom brought two black umbrellas and handed one to her.

It was only then that Ginny noticed that Tom was also wearing black.

"Shall we?" he asked, motioning down the lane. Ginny nodded and began walking away from the little shack, one hand clinging to the bouquet, the other attempting to figure out how to open the umbrella. Of course the Wizarding world used them, though most opened with magic. Her father had shown her how to open them the Muggle way, but she couldn't remember how to do it.

She struggled with it as loud thunder roared overhead, until Tom paused, wordlessly took the umbrella from her and opened it for her. He handed it back, and they continued walking down the lane.

The night was quiet. Most everyone was hidden away in their houses, keeping safe from the oncoming storm. They didn't pass a soul until they reached the church, where another group of mourners was tearfully leaving the little graveyard.

Ginny stood before the rows and rows of graves, trying to comprehend how it was that one of those bits of stone would now represent Harry Potter.

Tom led her around graves with unfamiliar names and over dried, dead flowers that the wind had scattered everywhere. She felt a distant sadness, as well as a newfound connection to each and every gravestone. Each one represented a devastated family, the living left behind to attempt to figure out how to fill the hole that the death caused. It was a ripple effect, death. One person died, and the pain is felt by the family, the friends, the coworkers, the neighbors, the acquaintances. Harry's death would hurt the whole of the Wizarding world.

It was much easier to think of her grief in those deep, philosophical terms than in actual terms. It was nearly unbearable to actually feel the real, sharp pain in her chest that extended through her body and mind. She couldn't deal with the reality that Harry was just gone, that if she managed to escape Tom, if there was an 'after', she would have to return to her every day life with the realization that he wouldn't be a part of it anymore. She would never see his face again, or hear him laugh, or sit beside him at a Quidditch match, or see the embarrassment in his face when someone pointed him out. All that was gone, and the whole future she'd had planned was taken from her.

Harry wasn't the only thing that had died. So had all of her wonderful plans for their life together.

Ahead, she saw a large headstone that appeared to be glowing faintly in the darkness. It was made of something brilliantly white that nearly blinded her when lightning flashed. As the rain began to pour – of course it would be raining – Ginny felt she knew who that grave belonged to.

They walked past it, and Ginny caught a glimpse at the names. Her suspicions were confirmed; etched in the stone were the names James Potter and Lily Potter. Harry's parents.

Harry had visited the grave often, but Ginny had always felt it best to let him go alone and have time to talk to his parents without her getting in his way. She regretted that dreadfully now. She should have gone with him, held his hand, greeted his parents as though they were alive and could hear her as she stood beside him. She would never have that chance now. It was taken from her.

As they approached a plot of earth with no marker, Ginny's throat tightened. Yes, she should have gone with Harry Potter to this graveyard. She felt she could barely stand, and being here to mourn alone…the grief was beginning to suffocate her. She couldn't imagine what it had done to him.

Tom didn't exactly count as a friend she could lean on in her grief.

"Here we are," Tom said casually, as though he were giving her a tour. He motioned to the ground, and took a few steps back. "Say what you need to."

"He isn't here," she argued, staring down at the ground. She wasn't sure if her vision was blurry due to the rain or the tears.

"If his corpse were buried, he wouldn't be any more here than he is now," argued Tom cruelly, taking another step back. "Now, be quick about it. We have quite a lot to do this evening."

Ginny turned to him, a confused expression on her face. "What do you mean?"

"You'll see," said Tom, and then he motioned to the ground. "Go on."

Ginny turned back to the muddy earth, and then knelt down, the wetness of the ground sinking in through her clothes. It was cold, but she felt a coldness deep inside anyway.

Closing her eyes tight, she fought against the sobs that suddenly threatened her. Her shoulders shook, and she shook her head as though denying the reality that Harry was gone. She felt was though she were on the edge of some great cliff. Behind her lay the sometimes simple, sometimes complicated but always beautiful garden that was her life with Harry. And now before her everything was bleak and dead and if she moved too far forward she would plummet to her doom.

"I don't want to live in a world without Harry Potter," she whispered to the ground. "I don't want to live in a world without you, Harry. You're gone now…you're gone and you've left me behind and I don't know what to do without you."

She felt weak, so weak for admitting that, but she had lost her strength so long ago. She'd been clinging to the hope of returning to her life with Harry, of one day having a life with him, a home and a family, and now that was all gone and she had nothing left to hold on to. There was nothing left for her at all.

"I need you…please come ba- please come back…" she sobbed, bending over to press her forehead to the muddy ground. She dropped the umbrella to the ground and clutched the flowers to her chest with one hand as the other clawed into the earth as though she meant to dig down and join him. "Everything is empty and cold without you, please…"

Her chest burned in agony due to the lack of air and the lack of Harry. As she sobbed into the ground, for a brief, blissful moment she felt as though she would actually die. The cold was sinking into her skin and she couldn't breathe and she felt so much pain she must actually be dying. But a few moments later her sobs came fewer, and she managed to draw the cold air into her lungs, despite wishing that she couldn't.

"I love you, Harry…I'm sorry…I am so sorry…" she cried out, caressing the dirt and water beneath her fingertips. "I'm so afraid to be here without you, and I am so afraid of what happened, and I am so afraid and so sorry."

Her cries echoed in the graveyard until the sun had disappeared and the torrents of rain had begun to fall. Finally, Tom forced her to her feet, tore the flowers from her hand and set them on the ground, and took her by the arm and dragged her from the graveyard.

When they arrived back to the shack, Tom pushed her towards the stairs.

"Go and take a hot bath before you catch your death," he spat, looking at her mud-covered and rain-soaked form in disgust.

Ginny looked at him in despair and rebellion. "I don't care if I-"

"I said go, you ridiculous child. You behave as if – as if…" the sentence drifted as his eyes narrowed, looking across the entryway and into the sitting room. "What is that?"

As he walked into the sitting room, Ginny followed him with her eyes. She glanced at the door – he hadn't put the spell up yet, she could run out, but surely he'd grab her before she could go anywhere – and then turned back to follow him into the sitting room.

Sitting outside the glass door that led to the back garden sat something…familiar. Something that pecked at the glass, and let out a deep, mournful song.

"Shikoba!" Ginny cried in response. She rushed forward to the door and tried the handle, but it shocked her and threw her back. She braced herself for impact with the floor, but it never came. She opened her eyes to see Tom aiming his wand at her. Gently, he set her down.

Ginny again rushed for the door, but this time she didn't touch the handle. She stared down at the little bird she'd adopted so long ago, the one being that had felt like her friend for a short time. Guilt entered her heart as she realized she hadn't given Shikoba a second thought since the fire. She had been so consumed with fear for Harry and for herself that she hadn't had time to grieve Shikoba's death.

But here he was. He hadn't died, he was still alive!

She turned to Tom. "Please, please – please let him in!" she pleaded. She wanted to make some sort of argument, some reason why it would be in Tom's favor to rescue the poor bird, but all she felt was intense desperation. She needed Shikoba back!

With a heavy-burdened sigh, Tom waved his wand without so much as a whispered spell, and then he cast alohomora and the door unlocked. Fervently, Ginny opened the door, swung it open and seized the wet bird in her arms.

"Shikoba!" she cried, and pressed her face into the diver's feathers. It greeted her with a small squeak.

She sat there with the bird in her embrace until Tom grew impatient. "Go upstairs and take that bath," said Tom. After a moment of consideration, he quickly cast a spell that dried her clothes. She still felt cold, but the wetness was gone. It was also gone from Shikoba's feathers. "Put the bird by the fire so it can warm, too."

Ginny nodded, and moved to the fireplace and reluctantly released Shikoba. He seemed content by the fire as Ginny began to leave the room.

"Oh," Tom called out suddenly, and Ginny turned to look at his emotionless face. "And once you're out, you'll find a suitcase. I suggest you pack immediately…we'll be leaving in two hours, after I've posted a letter to that girl…that…Granger girl, about where to find Potter's corpse."

Ginny blinked. "Leaving?"

Tom moved to the kitchen, and began filling a kettle with water. "Yes. You and I both know that as soon as the Wizarding world hears of Potter's passing, mourners will flood this place. I'm not about to allow common wizards and witches discover us. And even if that was not about to occur…I have a little trip to make myself. And it will be best if you come with me."

"Where are we going?"

Tom looked up for a moment, the ghost of a smile on his lips. "It's a surprise."

Ginny closed the little black suitcase. There wasn't much inside. There wasn't much of her left in this place, after all. She packed things from the attic, for the most part. A book, an old snitch signed by Harry's second-favorite Quidditch player (he'd always said that she was his favorite) and a pillowcase that still smelled like him. She was unable to find any photographs, which made her cry all over again. She also put in a few items of clothing in suitcase, black ones. She felt as though she would mourn her whole life.

And that was all. It was all she had. She would have taken everything in the attic if she could, but she doubted Tom would have allowed that.

Ginny glanced around the lush, exotically decorated room one last time, and felt nothing bittersweet at leaving this place. It wasn't Harry's shack anymore. It was Tom's.

There came a sharp rapping at the door. Tom Riddle walked in without waiting for Ginny's response.

"Are you ready?" he asked, sounding unusually tired. In his arms he held Shikoba.

Ginny nodded, but didn't speak. She clung tightly to the handle of the suitcase, lifting it off of the bed.

Tom stepped up and, without a word, took Ginny by the elbow. He glanced around the room quickly, and in a moment the room disappeared, only to be replaced by another.

This room was as simple as the last had been complex. Nearly everything was white. The walls, the area rugs, the curtains, the glass cupboards that surrounded a fireplace made with white brick. Above the fireplace was a white-framed mirror, and on a glass coffee table sat white-covered books with black print and a vase of white poppies. There were only dark details. The floor beneath the rug was made of dark wood, as were the edges of the two loveseats. The handle to a nearby door was dark copper.

After glancing around what appeared to be a small flat, Ginny remembered the curtains, pulled away from Tom and looked outside.

The view of a sprawling city met her eyes. It was an old city, with very few tall, modern buildings. The roads were narrow and made of cobblestone, and not far in the distance sat a beautiful white building lit up on a hill.

She heard Tom moving behind her. "The Basilique du Sacré-Coeur de Montmartre," he mumbled softly. "Welcome to Paris….the City of Love."

Artificial: I hope you liked it! Please leave a review, I really appreciate them. Nothing brightens my day more!