A/N: Depression + anxiety = writer's block. I'm working on it, I swear. I think I found a new motivation: If I don't update when I mean to, my friend gets to slap me. Seems to work, as I got all this written in a day!

I apologize for any screw ups with canon. I tried to check everything, but if I check every single thing I ever mention I'd never have time to update. So. Sorry, again. And thank you for all your lovely reviews, I swear I appreciate them all even though I'm awful and never respond.

Thanks to nerdprincess73 and addiecat13 of Tumblr for the word prompts. If any of my lovely readers (that's you guys) want to prompt me, I just need one beautiful word and one ugly word. Could be meaning, could be the way it sounds. I'll see if I can work them in.

Without further delay, please enjoy the new chapter!

Ginny had suspected the reason Tom had brought her to Paris was because Paris was the so-called 'City of Love'. This assumption had been incorrect. It wasn't until a few days after Christmas that Ginny discovered Tom's true purpose in bringing her to Paris.

This day begun like most days did. Ginny woke, dressed, and went to breakfast, knowing she wouldn't eat but a few bites before giving the rest to Shikoba. Tom usually greeted her briefly just before leaving for the majority of the day, just after she finished eating. But this day, Tom was waiting for her at the breakfast table, an empty plate before him and a cup of coffee in his hands.

When he spotted her, he took out his wand, and across from him appeared a croissant, a Reine Claude plum and a cup of hot tea appeared, and the chair was pulled away from the table for her.

Repressing a sigh, Ginny took a seat. She tore at the croissant, and put the tiniest bit of food in her mouth. She let it soften instead of taking the energy to chew it.

"Feel like an outing, Ginevra?" Tom asked.

Ginny blinked, and then looked up at him. "What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said. Are you up to an outing?"

"This is some sort of trick," Ginny breathed, setting the bread down. "You would never let me outside."

"I didn't say outside," correctly Tom sharply. "I said outing."

Shikoba pecked at her foot, and she dropped the croissant whole on the floor for him. "Where?"

"You'll see," said Tom, taking a sip of coffee.

Ginny picked up her own cup, and gulped down the scalding tea, and felt the heat spread through her extremities. As the warmth faded away and the cold filled her body again, she felt a little like crying. "What do you want me to do?" asked Ginny. Her desire to fight him had faded away long ago. If he wanted to go somewhere, she'd go. At least she could see different walls this way.

"Go get dressed," said Tom, leaning back in his chair. "I put some robes in your room."

Once she was dressed, she met Tom in the living room. He was also dressed in proper Wizarding robes, well-fitted and made of fine fabric, and a shade of blue just off of black. Hers were lighter than his in both weight and color, a rich aubergine of silky and diaphanous fabric.

"Where are we going?" she asked again, her voice soft, whispery, weak.

Tom shook his head, and then offered a hand. "You'll see," he repeated.

She took his hand, and the flat disappeared, quickly replaced by dark brick walls lined with cherrywood bookcases filled with old leather-bound books, worn furniture in faded jewel shades, copper lamps lit with real flames. The room was smaller than she expected, and as she turned to look, a lump of panic formed in her throat. The room was dim, but it was obvious. There was no door.

"Tom," she said, her voice edged with dread, "Where is the door?"

Tom collapsed into an old green leather chair, folded his legs and began tapping his wand on his knee. "There's no need for one."

Ginny's chest clenched in a way she wasn't sure it could anymore. Apparently, there was still enough life in her to create fear. She could even recognize that she should feel much worse, that adrenalin was meant to be filling her system, but there wasn't enough energy for her body to create that sort of response. She hadn't been sure she could recognize that sort of thing anymore, she'd thought she had reached the point where nothing mattered.

But of course, some things still did. "What do you mean there's no need for one?" Ginny demanded, spinning around again, fingers searching the wall-to-wall bookcases for some sort of switch. "Why are we in a room with no doors, Tom?"

"Think of it metaphorically," said Tom slowly, savoring each syllable. "Why do you think you are in a room with no doors?"

Ginny screamed internally, tired of his constant riddles. "I don't want to think about it metaphorically," she hissed, her throat dry. "I want to know literally. Why have you brought us here?"

Tom, apparently, declined to answer. She turned to face him, and found him reading from a book that had previously been resting on the cherrywood side table, one that also held a copper lamp and a glass bowl of heart-shaped chocolates wrapped with red foil.

Ginny sighed, and turned back to the bookshelves. Her fingers traced the titles now, and she read them off in her head: Othello, The Four Loves, Saint Valentine, Pride and Prejudice, Why We Love, The Five Love Languages. On another shelf was a collection of spell books, some so complicated she couldn't grasp the titles, and others surprisingly simple. The Standard Book of Spells sat beside Advanced Magical Theory and Eros and Agape and the Magical Mind and even Magick Moste Evile.

"Whose books are these?" she found herself asking.

"Ah," she heard Tom make a satisfied noise behind her, and then the snap of the book shutting. "Now you're asking the right questions."

Ginny turned in time to see Tom getting to his feet. "Why? Whose are they?"

"His name is Prem Láska."

"Who is he?"

Tom reached into his robes and pulled out his wand. He began twirling it in his hands while he spoke. "He is a member of an ancient, secret order put in place by Merlin himself," Tom began to explain. "In order to become a member, you must be hand-picked by the head of it when you are a child. You must show much promise; you have to be intelligent, inquisitive, and fascinated by your fellow man. Once you are of age, you are initiated, and your work begins."

Ginny frowned, lines forming on her white forehead. "Why do you have to be fascinated by people?"

"Because," sighed Tom, "This order is in place to study the so-called 'magic' of emotion. If not for them, no one would know of the Sacrificial protection spell that saved Harry Potter from Voldemort when he was one years old. It was to study this effect that Merlin created the order, and since then they have dedicated their lives to the study of emotion and magic."

Ginny bit her lip softly and glanced around the room as she processed this information. "But…why are we here?"

"A better question would be 'why are the books here'," suggested Tom.

"Alright," sighed Ginny, placed her hands on her narrow, fragile hips. "Why are the books here, then?"

"Because this is a waiting room."

He was right; of course he was right. The books, the seats, the little chocolates. It was a waiting room. "What are we waiting for?"

"The owner of the books," said Tom, taking a seat again. "He should be with us any minute now."

"Prem Láska?" Ginny moved and took the blue plush chair beside Tom. "But why are we seeing him?"

"He is the reigning expert on love and magic," said Tom. "And it's your turn to see him."

"My-"

Suddenly, a man apparated in. He was old, his small body twisted with age, his dark skin filled with lines and age spots, his hair long and dark grey. He wore deep scarlet robes, even finer than the ones Tom wore, and a dark bowler hat on his head. A warped wood cane was held loosely in his grasp, though she could see his fingers were bent with age. But his eyes were vibrant gold and full of fire, passion and life.

"Riddle," he greeted the man tersely, his voice brittle.

"Láska," Tom returned, his voice false-friendly. "I believe you've heard of Ginevra Weasley."

Láska bent his head to her, removing his hat. "Mademoiselle," he said with a heavy accent that was not French. Ginny couldn't place it.

"Sir," she greeted, standing.

"Shall we begin?" asked Láska, offering his hand. Ginny hesitated and looked to Tom, who nodded, his eyes dark and full of unspoken threats if she refused.

"Okay," she said, and she took his hand.

Then they were in another room, this one full of winter light coming in from a wall of glass. Otherwise, this room looked and smelled like a musty old study. There were books out-of-order and laid across the top of each other on a walnut bookcase, a small table with scrolls and magnifying tools were in one corner and a dark cherry desk dominated the room covered with papers and tea cups and potion bottles and a vase of dying cherry blossoms. There were two large chairs, one on one side of the desk with the back facing the windows, and one on the other. Láska sat with his back to the light, and motioned for Ginny to sit across from him, facing it.

This room also had no door, but she noticed a fireplace and a bag of what she assumed to be Floo powder on the mantle. The fire wasn't lit.

"Can you save me?" she asked, the words falling from her lips without effort.

The old wizard shook his head slowly, his eyes expressing sincere regret. "I cannot. Riddle is far too powerful for me. Even if I hid you somewhere, he would eventually find you, and possibly kill us both in his rage."

"Why does your waiting room have no doors?"

Láska leaned forward and pushed an empty teacup towards her. It was fine china, with a teal background with a gold flower pattern. Láska waved his wand, and it filled with a tea that smelled of roses and cinnamon.

He filled his own cup, and picked it up. She watched as the cup shook in his grip, and realized when she picked up her own that her cup shook, as well. "I did not want the wrong sort of company finding me. The address for my waiting room is easy to find, if you know what you are looking for. My office – this office – is better hidden. My clients are only able to find me through the waiting room, and this way no one can overhear my sessions," said Láska, and then he added with a small, sad smile that revealed whiter teeth than Ginny had ever seen before, "But before you ask, no, I cannot keep you safe here. He would find us eventually. He has no need to find the office now, but he is capable of it."

"Why am I here?" asked Ginny, and then she took a sip of her tea. "Why does he want me to see you?"

"He wants me to fix you, to make you love him," Láska hesitated, and then set his cup down. "That waiting room…the room with no door…must have felt very familiar to you, eh?"

Ginny frowned, confused, the cup still shaking in her hands. "What do you mean?"

Láska pushed the cup and saucer aside, and leaned back in his chair, leaving the walking stick to stand on it's own as he folded his large hands across his chest. "You are always in a room with no doors, aren't you?"

The dust around his head danced in the light as Ginny sat still and tried to think of what he could mean, but eventually all she could do was shake her head, not sure what he was talking about.

He cleared his throat, and then spoke. "Riddle will only let you go once you love him. You are trapped until that happens, yes?"

"Yes."

"But you can't love an atrocious, soulless monster like that, can you?"

Ginny hesitated a moment, a little afraid that Tom could somehow hear them. But what did it matter? She'd told Tom as much before, and much more. "No, I can't."

"So you are trapped with him if you don't love him, which you can't do. But if you could love him, you wouldn't want to leave him," he said softly. "But you're also a survivor, so you can't bring yourself to kill yourself in order to escape. A room with no doors."

Ginny felt tears building in her eyes, and her throat ached. She thought she'd finished crying long ago, but here she was again. The tears ran down her white cheeks, and she nodded. For her, there really was no way out. No escape. No door.

Láska offered a red handkerchief, and Ginny leaned forward to take it. As the tips of her fingers reached it, her other hand lost it's strength. The teacup fell from her hands and the sound of a shatter filled the room. She took the handkerchief, and looked down at the broken pieces of porcelain, and the caramel-colored liquid spreading across the Persian carpet.

"Don't worry about it," said Láska, waving his wand and muttering a spell. The teacup reappeared on his desk, filled again.

Ginny used the handkerchief to wipe her tears. "Thanks."

"But you are dying, aren't you?" Láska commented, after observing her weak grip. "Riddle can't see it, can't believe it, because all he knows of death is sudden violence. A slow weakening and wasting away doesn't mean death to him. But you are dying."

Ginny sniffed, examining the gold 'P.L.' stitched in the corner of the handkerchief, incapable of looking the kind old wizard in the eye. But she nodded. "Yes," she choked. "Yes, I think so. I'm always cold, I can't eat or sleep but I'm always so exhausted. I don't have any strength left, not to fight Tom, not to try to escape, not to fight for my life. I've given up. I think…I think my breaths are counted, numbered, and disappearing."

Again Láska cleared his throat, and she looked to see his eyes glistening, and she heard him muttering in some warm language she didn't understand. He shook his head slowly, and then spoke again in English. "You survived too much to die because of love."

"Is there anything else that can be done? I don't know how else I can get out of this, anyway, but by dying."

Láska swallowed hard, and then leaned forward, resting his arms on top of the desk. "Tell me this. How do you feel about Riddle? Be honest, now."

Ginny took in a breath to speak, then paused, and let the breath go. What could she possibly say that wasn't only half-true? "I hate him," she said, "Yet I don't have the energy to actually hate him. I feel sorry for him, and then I know he is fully responsible for his own actions and that it is his own choices that led him to this life instead of using his power and intelligence to become a great wizard, a force for the good of all. Sometimes I think I can tolerate him, sometimes I want to rip his skin off. When he speaks gently to me, I can never tell if he means it or if he is manipulating me, treating me like his puppet. Sometimes he's attractive; sometimes he is kind, sometimes he tries to be selfless. But it's never real. Everything he has done for me, he has also done for himself. He only wants to possess my love because he wants the power he think he'll gain from it. He doesn't care about me, even though it sometimes feels he does."

Ginny paused a moment, gasping for breath. She'd spent too much on those words. When she had enough air in her lungs, she continued, "Sometimes I want to give in. I know I couldn't love him, but sometimes I want to just accept his false comforts, to drown in the lies of his artificial affection. Sometimes I am too exhausted to do anything else. But others, I feel sick just thinking about the lies he's told me in his words and in his looks, the manipulation, and all the ways he has broken and mended me only to break me again in the name of power. In the end, I don't know how I feel, and in the end I suppose it doesn't matter. I hate him, I like him…whatever I feel, he's killed me. Why should I examine my feelings when I'm only a few breaths away from basically being Inferi?"

Láska nodded. "That's what I thought," he said, slowly standing, he walked around the desk, and offered his hand again. "I need to speak to Riddle now. And when you are back at the flat, I suggest you ask him what we talked about."

Tom and Ginny returned to the flat at about mid-afternoon, Tom's appointment running much longer than Ginny's. Ginny felt tired – she always felt tired – but relieved to have at least solved the mystery of where Tom went each day. He went to study love and magic, to try to find some other way to force her to fall in love with him.

Yawning, Ginny collapsed on the couch, and rested her head on the armrest. She closed her eyes and settled in to sleep when she felt a weight on her body. She opened her eyes to see that Tom had covered her with the white throw blanket before taking a seat in one of the chairs, leaning his head in his hands and closing his eyes.

This act of kindness (false or not) and the passive look of the way he held himself now gave Ginny a small bit of courage.

"What did you and Láska talk about?" she mumbled into the fabric of the couch. She wasn't sure Tom would hear or understand her, and when he didn't look at her in surprise she decided he hadn't and resolved not to try again.

But a moment later his voice came, tired, frustrated. "I have all the pieces of my soul, but they are not united to form one piece. That is why the love potion only partially worked. It should have created a false love, but since I didn't have a whole soul, it stitched the pieces together just enough that I could feel…other things. Fondness. Empathy, a little. But not even false love," Tom sighed, running his fingers through his hair as he leaned back into the chair. "It's my mother's fault, really. I was conceived under a love potion, which makes me incapable of love. If my soul were united in one piece, if I had that sort of a fresh start, a reset to my soul…then I'd have a chance. Not a certainty, but a chance."

There was a long pause, and Tom regarded her with his usual emotionless gaze, examined her face, her slim form, her thinning hair. He sighed. "But it isn't possible. I can't do it. I can't fix it, and I can't ever love. All my great plans…"

Another moment of silence, and then Ginny softly whispered, "Why are you telling me this?" Normally his secrets were his own, and it seemed he could kill her before tell her the straight truth. Why was he bothering to speak now?

"What does it matter anymore?" Tom lamented. "What does any of it matter? I can't love you, and without loving you, how can I make you love me? I'm in a loop, stuck in a trap of my own making."

A heavy silence filled the room, and then Ginny took a quick breath.

"A room with no doors," she proclaimed.

Tom looked her in the eyes, his defeated ones and her weakening ones. "A room with no doors."

Artificial: I hope that wasn't too sappy for you! Please leave a review, they really make my day and fuel my writing. And I have an awful lot of writing to do. Note, I sort of consider this to be the 'Valentine's Day' themed chapter, but I may update before then too. If not, Happy Valentine's/Single's Awareness Day, and please review!