Author's Note: I jinxed myself! Sorry! And yes, this chapter is very short. NaNoWriMo is coming, and I didn't realize I was running out of time until I was already out of it. I wrote this very quickly when I was supposed to be asleep instead. Sadly, this means no more updates until after November. Happily, it's usually just after NaNoWriMo that I write quickest. So maybe there will be a few more chapters this year. Maybe even an ending?

We'll see!

I'm very sorry for the wait and the shortness, anyway. I wanted it to be better, but I have…focus problems. Eh. Anyway.

Thank you so much for the reviews! To all my lovely guests….I strongly suggest you give yourselves nicknames! I'd love to be able to keep track of who has what opinion. Or just get/use an account? I'd love that, actually, because I don't get review alerts from guests, and I was so disappointed the last chapter didn't have any reviews (until Lady Rana. Thank you!).

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or Phantom of the Opera.

For this chapter, I separated the first quarter of my outline for chapter 25 and just embellished it a bit, and here it is. It didn't quite come out the way I imagined, but I hope it worked out, and that you enjoy it.

Abandon thought and let the dream descend

- The Phantom of the Opera, Charles Hart

Ginny sat cross-legged on her new bed, the skirt of her black dress spread over the white faux mink blanket she'd found on her bed that morning. The weather had taken a cold turn, and the white comforter and white combed cotton sheets had stopped keeping her warm. She had woken with the luxuriously soft and warm blanket draped over her, a pleasant surprise. These pleasant surprises had been common over the last month.

She'd received the first surprise when she'd walked into her room. The wardrobe had been full of black clothing, including the dress and long sweater she wore now. There were also boxes of tissues stashed at the top of the wardrobe. Tom intended to let her continue her mourning here, seemingly for as long as she needed to. It felt as if she would always need to mourn Harry Potter.

Her bedroom had also been a nice surprise. It was small and white, with just the bed, a small nightstand and a cherry wardrobe, but it had a spiral staircase that went to a much larger secret room above, which Tom had turned into a library for her. She knew it was Tom's doing, because it contained both books from her world and Muggle literature, such as Arthurian legends, Greek mythology and books on Christian theology which – after exploring – taught her who Delilah was.

Other surprises had been small. The tea kettle kept warm for her in the early mornings when she gave up on sleep, or bouquets of white poppies being set on the dining table when she went to eat dinner, and best of all, he gave her time alone.

For the most part, all she saw of Tom was when he checked on her around seven AM and said goodbye for the day, and then again at night when he returned around ten PM. His mood changed drastically through the day; he would leave hopeful, smirking as he did when he knew he held all the answers, and returned slamming doors, sighing heavily and snapping at Shikoba when the bird got in his way.

It had been a full month, and this had become their regular schedule. She would sleep fitfully a couple hours and then get up for breakfast, he would leave a couple hours later, she'd spend her time reading, playing with Shikoba or crying in the large, round bathtub, he'd return and stomp about like an angry adolescent, he would ask how her day was and not listen to the answer (whenever she was inclined to give one), and then he would go to bed.

She wasn't sure what it was he did all that time he was away. Sometimes he would leave with piles of paper and come back without them, others he would leave without them and come back with them. Sometimes he brought new books for himself back, sometimes he left new books for her outside her door. At times, the few minutes they spent together he would look at her oddly as though he were trying to memorize her and was attempting to understand what sort of creature she was, other times he wouldn't look at her at all. It was all very confusing.

To add to her confusion, there were times when he wouldn't go to his bedroom immediately after greeting her. He would make himself some tea and sit across from her if she were in the sitting room or at the dining table. If she were in her bedroom, he would open the door and stand in the doorway, just watching her as she sat on the bed, reading or holding Shikoba. He would do this wordlessly for a few minutes, before walking away silently.

Ginny could admit to herself that this was creepy, edging on frightening behavior. But there was nothing she could do about it; she had long ago lost her will to fight. She felt like an empty, broken thing, and she could see no reason to resist Tom. Oh, she still would never give in to his absurd plan of falling in love with him, but she wouldn't scream or hit or try to escape. There was no reason to anymore. She no longer felt alive.

There were times though, that she enjoyed his strange glances and short greetings. She hated knowing this, but after all, it had been a month since they left the shack, and her only companion was her bird. She'd barely spoken a few sentences in all the days and long winter nights that she'd been in Paris. Tom was the only person she could see or speak to, and as much as she detested it, she needed his company. She was human, after all, and humans needed contact with other humans.

Tom could sense her loneliness, she knew. Over the last couple weeks, Tom had begun saying things, much the same as he had when he'd lived in her head. 'Belle eventually fell for the prince in disguise,' he would say, or 'Psyche loved a man she could not see', and at times he would softly whisper the all-to-familiar stanzas of The Lady of Shalott.

Ginny felt something else coming on, like feeling the start of a bad cold. His gaze lingered too long, his words were too gentle, and she could practically see the wheels turning in his head.

As though her thoughts could summon him, Ginny heard three soft knocks on her door. It opened before she said anything, which was just as well. She was too busy staring at the opposite wall to speak.

"Good morning, Ginevra," she heard Tom's silky smooth voice greet her. "I've brought you some breakfast."

This was something new. Ginny blinked, and then turned to face Tom. She had a sudden flashback to the shack as she recognized the image of Tom with a tray of food in his hands. On this tray rested a mug of earl grey tea, a slice of baguette with butter and passionfruit jam spread generously over it, and a small glass bowl of plain yoghurt with cubes of pear and granola sprinkled across it. He set the tray down on the small beside table, and then took a seat on the bed beside her. Ginny made no movement.

"How are you this morning? Slept well as usual, I imagine?" It was odd, how Tom's cruel sarcasm always sounded so sincere.

When Ginny didn't respond, Tom moved a hand to her hollow cheek, and with a fingertip he moved face towards him. He ducked down a little, so his face was inches from hers, and then in a soft whisper, he spoke. "What is it you plan to do now, Ginevra?"

"What are you talking about?" she murmured in reply. When was it ever her that was allowed to have a plan?

"Harry Potter is gone, and there is no bringing him back," he said, but there was no cruelty, bitterness or sharp edges to his voice. "You still refuse to love me. But what is it you plan to do instead?"

"I have no plans," confessed Ginny, "But if I did they would involve going back to my family."

Tom made a derisive sort of sound, and dropped his hand from her face. He leaned across her to snatch a bit of pear from atop her yoghurt, and slowly pushed it past his pale lips and into his mouth. As he slowly chewed, he locked Ginny's gaze. She noted that his was heated, though tempered by some cool emotion. She wasn't sure if the heat was anger or something else.

"What about love?" he asked, finally.

Ginny blinked. "I'll never love again."

A slow, easy smirk appeared on Tom's face. "You? Never love again? Now, you know that's not true. You are made to love, and to love fiercely. You will love again…the only question is, who?"

"Not you."

"Ah, but see? You don't argue that you will love again."

Ginny didn't respond. She didn't see the need to argue with Tom. She knew that Harry was her one, true love, and that there would never be anyone else, least of all Tom Riddle. She had expressed this to him once, and there was no point in trying to do it again.

Tom seemed a little disturbed by Ginny's lack of response. The slight narrowing of his eyes suggested that he took this as his cue to get to the point. "With Potter gone, I am easily the most powerful wizard in the world," he said, and Ginny couldn't help but wonder when he'd started considering Harry his rival in power. Previously, he'd claimed to be clearly the more powerful of the two, and only lacking the power love granted Harry. "Soon, I will begin my rise to power, to my rightful place in this world as the ruler of all. But what is a King without a Queen? And what better match for a fiery, powerful, beautiful witch like you than the most powerful wizard of the ages?"

It had been a very long since she had been 'fiery', but she lacked the motivation to point that out.

Tom seemed to notice that his speech had no affect on her. He licked his lips, and stared deep into her empty eyes. "I am your best option now, Ginevra."

Ginny slowly shook her head. "You are my kidnapper. You are a Dark wizard who has done everything in his power to force me to love him. You are the worst option I have, if I even have options."

Tom leaned in even closer, and she felt his warm, sweet breath on her cold lips, and it made her shiver. His hand reached up and rested on her shoulder, and slowly he slid his fingers down her arm, taking the sleeve of her sweater with it, exposing her skin to the cold air of the room. Little goosebumps appeared on her pale skin, and her stomach twisted when Tom lowered his head to her sensitive, bare skin. His warm lips brushed the skin around the sleeve of her dress like a series of soft whispers, and moved slowly down her arm. He applied more pressure as he moved across her skin, and when he nearly reached her elbow, he lifted her arm and held her hand as he kissed further downward, until finally he reached her hand, and there he pressed one firm, warm, long kiss.

He looked Ginny in the eye, and though she felt as though her eyes remained as dead as ever, he seemed to see something in them he liked.

"Your heart is racing, Ginevra…I can feel it," he whispered. He rose her hand to his cheek, and pressed it there, and closed his eyes as if savoring the chill of her touch. "And I would bet my wand that your stomach is in knots."

That was true. She felt her stomach twisting and turning, and her heart thudded in her chest quickly and unsteadily. But it was out of disgust.

"Your cheeks hold a blush to them, as well," said Tom, opening his eyes and dropping her hand. It fell to the soft fabric of the mink blanket. "You feel an attraction to me, Ginevra. I know that you do. I felt it that night in the shack when I kissed you, and I feel it now. And so do you. If you want, I could kiss you again."

Ginny pursed her lips, and forced memories of that soft, gentle, lying kiss out of her head. "The only thing I want from you, Tom, is my freedom. I want to go home."

Tom clearly found it difficult not to laugh. "What home? The Burrow is in ashes, my darling."

"My home is where my family is."

"What nonsense," Tom sighed, now sounding disappointed with her. "Your home is here, with me. You'll see that one day."

Ginny merely shook her head.

After a moment, Tom took her by the shoulders and encouraged her to turn her whole body to face him. She allowed it. After all, there was no point in fighting him. He would have forced her to do it, otherwise. "Ginevra…" he spoke, his voice a warm whisper again. He leaned forward, and slid his hands across her shoulders and down her arms, sliding the sweater entirely off. Ginny shivered in the cold room, but Tom's gaze was warm and he refused to look away from her bloodshot eyes. "No matter what you say, dearest, no matter what you tell yourself, I know that there is a part of you that wants me. There is a part of you that delights in my touch, longs for another kiss, desires my power and protection. You know I can keep you safe. And is that not what you want above all, now that Harry Potter is gone? You have seen enough war, misery, danger and death in your young life. Isn't a safe haven what you want?"

"I want a safe haven away from you."

"No, I don't think so," Tom disagreed. "I think that is what your mind is telling you. Your mind is logical, and thinks a little too clearly. It's not your mind you must follow, nor even your heart. Trust your instincts. They will tell you what you need most, and I'm certain what that is is my protection and care. With me you'd never have to fear anything again. I could even protect your little family, if you wish. You could see them every day, and you would all be safe from every harm, and you would be by my side as I rule the whole Wizarding world. All you must do is love me."

Ginny hesitated a moment. "You're insane."

Tom slowly shook his head, and then leaned forward even further. His forehead pressed against hers, and his breath was hot in her face. "Not in the way you think that I am, dear girl. But my point remains…I am your best option. You'd have my protection, my power, your family, and with time and effort, my love. You are attracted to me. You ought to just give in, Ginevra. Let go of your thoughts, your logic, your grudges and just give in to what I know you feel. If you let go of all this anger and stubbornness, you could live a dream life. Forget your logic and your fears, and give in to the magnificent future that waits for you. Why do you keep fighting it?"

"You are…" her voice began as a whisper, but she cleared her throat, and for the first time in many weeks she spoke forcefully, "my abductor and jailer. The only times I've been outside in the last few months, or however long it has been since you kidnapped me, was when I ran away from you and when I went to the grave that belonged to the man I love."

"It doesn't matter. That doesn't have to be the case anymore, if-"

Ginny used what little strength she had to shove Tom away. "That girl, that fiery, powerful witch you keep talking about – she's dead. She died a long time ago. And it wasn't Harry's death that took her away, it was you. Since I first heard your whispers and saw your shadow you've slowly broken me down, took me apart and now I'm…well…look at me!"

Tom stood, and took a step back. His eyes explored her image, and Ginny was surprised that he obeyed her command. As he examined her, she continued. "I've become as thin as a rail. My cheeks are hollow. My skin is so pale it's almost translucent. I barely eat or sleep anymore, and I've become weak and cold because my body is starved of energy. My lips are almost blue because I am always so cold. I have no energy, no fight left in me at all. I spend most of my time staring at walls and talking to birds," it was only when she drew a ragged breath that she realized she was crying now. "I'm a pathetic shadow of what I once was. You've destroyed me, Tom. I couldn't love you, even if by some insane reason – such as your reason – I wanted to. I don't exist anymore!"

Tom seemed stunned, and this reaction in turn stunned Ginny. She never imagined he would actually respond to her words, rather than brush them off as he usually did. But now he blinked at her, and tilted his head as though seeing her, really seeing her for the first time, yet his eyes held no recognition.

"Do you see, Tom? Do you see what I am now, thanks to you? This is the result of all your tortures, all the cruel little games you've played; separating me from my family and making me feel insane. This is what happened. Did you think there wouldn't be any consequences? What did you think would happen to me?"

"I…" Tom began, his voice cracking unusually. He looked at her eyes, at the tears on her white cheeks, and then glanced at her bedroom door. He looked back at her, and Ginny could see his hands were shaking. He clasped them in front of him, and looked back at her bedroom door, almost longingly. "I have an appointment I musn't be late for."

And with that, he was gone.

Artificial: Aw. I'm going to miss writing this for the next month! And I'll miss you guys! Please feel free to leave me reviews. Reading them will make me smile, which will make me write my NaNo novel quicker. Which may lead to early completion and the ability to start working on this again earlier? We'll only know if you leave a review! Thanks, and I hope you liked it! Oh - and Happy Halloween!