"So what precisely is happening at Hogwarts, Black?" Sirius glanced over his shoulder at Crouch. Other than an abrupt greeting, or an occasional glance, the observation that Crouch was looking peaky of late, and the conclusion that he didn't much care, Sirius ignored the other man, and he did the same. His stare was unnerving. "There've been rumours-"

"Very informative and reliable, rumours are," Sirius said, looking out over the ocean as their boat skipped over a wave. Wellington, who was sitting up the front, shook; Sirius could smell his suppressed laugh.

"Funny." Crouch didn't sound amused. "I know you know, Black, your godson's there-"

"You're assuming the kids know what's going on," Sirius said.

"Does yours? I heard a rumour through the Board that the Heir of Slytherin's come back, and just last week you were talking to that other Auror about the Chamber of Secrets-"

"Then why are you asking me?" Sirius asked, glancing over his shoulder again. He'd never known Crouch to be so chatty. Sirius didn't like it. He wanted to put his ears back, and lift his hackles. "Clearly you're quite well informed already."

"I wanted the Aurors' take on it," Crouch said. "It's obviously Dark Magic, which has me wondering what, or who-"

"The Aurors aren't involved, Mr Crouch," Wellington piped up.

"I know you know," Crouch said, jabbing a finger at Sirius.

"Frankly," Sirius said, "and I don't mean any disrespect, but I don't know why it's your business; your Department certainly isn't involved."

"I'm concerned for the students, as we all are, is all." Sirius' eyes narrowed.

"I'm sure if you approached Dumbledore, then, he'd be happy to give you more information."

"Can't go to Dumbledore," Crouch muttered. Sirius frowned at him. The boat – finally – bumped against the small jetty on the coast, and Sirius leapt to his feet. Wellington cast a charm to hold the boat steady, and they disembarked. He and Wellington were just heading to the Apparition point, when a hand caught the sleeve of Sirius' robe. "Is it Him, Black? Is it the Dark Lord?"

"Why don't you ask the Board," Sirius said, prising him off. "I'm sure they know better than me." Crouch, thankfully, didn't try to follow them. Sirius pulled Wellington into Apparition, and they arrived on the street by the phonebox entry to the Ministry.

"He's not normally like that, is he?" Wellington asked. He looked grim, and punched in the numbers without seeming to think about it; his eyes held Sirius' the whole time.

"He's always been a bit of a piece of work," Sirius said, leaning against the side of the telephone box, as it began to sink. "I wouldn't think anything of it-"

"But that- Just at the end, when he grabbed you-"

"His son was a Death Eater," Sirius said. "That's why he's always visiting Azkaban; to see his grave." It had never made sense to Sirius; Crouch had only visited his son in prison once while he was alive, and there had been no love lost between the pair of them. "I reckon the rumours and the Dementors might have got him today, and of course he'd love to fix it; might get himself back into his role as Senior Undersecretary, feel like he's back in the loop." Even as he said it, though, something niggled at Sirius. He pushed it aside, as the telephone box settled in the Atrium. "I wasn't going to indulge him, though."

"He was the one that didn't-"

"Yes, he was." Sirius stepped out into the Atrium, Sidekick in hand, to flash at Eric, the security wizard. Wellington followed close behind, silent.

Tom slithered into Ginny's mind, and at once, it seemed to light up.

Tom.

Ginny, he replied warily; she wasn't calling him, or checking to see if he was there; she knew. It was very, very basic Occlumency, being able to detect another presence in one's mind – in fact, most people knew instinctively – but Ginny had never noticed before, and so she'd clearly set this up, perhaps even subconsciously. He probed the top layers of her thoughts, and found pain, and guilt and stubbornness. It was very interesting. Tom didn't like it. What's wrong? he asked. He tried to take a look through her eyes, but couldn't; not without being forceful, anyway; bits of Ginny's mind were restricting his access.

I'm sick and tired and dizzy, she said, sounding petulant. Tom instantly regretted his timing; Ginny was more annoying than usual when she was like this. You left so quickly the other day, it's like something tore. My head hurts, so much. That explained the mental defences; he probably had torn something in his haste to get back to the diary to plan, and Ginny's head was busy patching itself up. She probably didn't even know.

Ginny, I had no idea! And he hadn't. I'm so, so, sorry. He wasn't. How long have you been like this?

I told you, she said, sounding annoyed. Since you left. Percy took me to the Hospital Wing, but I could hardly walk, and Madam Pomfrey said she couldn't do anything to help- Of course she hadn't been able to; she wasn't a mind healer. Tom didn't say this, though; he didn't think Ginny would react well. –so I've just had to stay in bed, and it is starting to get better, but it's taken days.

You poor thing, Tom said, in his kindest tone, and then tried to sound sad. I really had no idea such a thing would happen-

I know you didn't. The angry edge had come out of her tone, but her mind was still tense. I've been thinking, though.

About what?

About you being in my head. I don't think I want you to do it anymore. More than anything, now, Tom could feel her guilt. I know you didn't meant to hurt me, but you did, and I couldn't get out of the head-common-room you made. What if I got stuck in my head-

Like I'm stuck in the diary? Tom asked smoothly.

I know you hate being trapped in the diary, but I'll find you another way, I just- it hurt so much-

We'll work on it, then. I'll learn how to stop hurting you-

You just said you had no idea you'd done it, so you can't control it, she pointed out, and Tom just hated it when she did things like this, and tied him up – unknowingly – with things he'd said.

What about your classes? Tom asked. Him staying out of her head was not about to happen. He hadn't yet worked out how to make his Potter-idea work, and so watching him through Ginny was the best he could manage at the moment. And she was right; he did hate being trapped inside the diary. I've been giving you memories, and you've been doing as well as Luna. Without me here, you'll-

Have to manage on my own, Ginny said. I don't think that's a bad thing, really. I do appreciate your help, but- well, I know my first year classes bore you-

No, Tom said, but he had made flippant remarks about that, so the denial had no weight behind it. I like them. I like spending time with you, I really do-

And you can, Ginny said. Just- my head is my head. Please, Tom. There isn't room for both of us in here-

We're doing well enough at the moment, Tom said. And I've come and gone before, just not so suddenly. I think that must be where I went wrong-

Tom, please, no; I don't want you to experiment, it hurt. I don't-

I think you need to rest, Tom said, soothingly. We'll talk about this later, when I've had more of a chance to think about things, and worked out how to make the common room without hurting you too much.

Tom, no, she said, and he detected tears in her tone. Please, I-

I didn't mean to upset you, Ginny, he said sincerely; keeping her happy for the time being, while he grew stronger again, really was the best way to get things done. Rest up, and I'll visit you again later.

No, Tom-

And he left ever so carefully, to make sure she didn't feel a thing. That ought to prove his point.

Tom, Ginny said crossly, as soon as she felt him, I told you, you can't be in my head-

You- you don't want me? he asked, sounding hurt. I thought- I didn't think you'd meant it-

Well I do, Ginny said. I've only been able to get back to classes today, and even now my head's still throbbing-

But I've missed you so much-

I tried to write to you yesterday and you ignored me, she retorted.

I was tired, he said, and she could feel him getting angry. That worried her a little, but Ginny had always been one to say what was on her mind.

But you're well enough to come into my head a day later? she asked.

Yes, apparently, Tom snapped. Have I done something, Ginny, because I really don't feel like I deserve this attack. I wanted to see you, and make you feel better, and all you're doing is throwing accusations at me.

You only want to see me when it suits you, Ginny said. She was aware of people staring at her - probably because she looked so angry – and so she muttered an excuse to Astoria and ducked into the girl's toilet. Myrtle immediately started to shriek and splash water at her, and Ginny snapped a spell at her without thinking, and as Myrtle was sucked down the sink, Ginny locked herself in a cubicle, so that she'd be able to talk to Tom privately. I know you want to get out of the diary, Tom-

What gave you that idea? he asked waspishly. The fact that I've been trapped there, for years and years, all alone, or-

You're ignoring me because of it, though! Ginny said. You never want to talk to me, anymore, you just want to sit in my head, and pretend you're free.

I- no, that isn't-

It is! Ginny said. And I want to help you, I do, but I can't- you built your common room in my head and I couldn't get out of it until you let me! And then, you hurt me, and you've come back, even when I asked you not to do it again-

Tom was silent for a long time. She didn't have any way of tracking time, but she guessed it was for a good few minutes. Ginny almost feared she'd upset him so much that he'd left, and that he'd never talk to her again, except she could feel him in her head.

You're right, he said, and his tone was off, but Ginny was so relieved to hear the words that she didn't care about that. I have been so- intent on finding a way out, that I've been neglecting you in the process. Ginny, I'm so sorry.

It's all right, Tom, she said quietly. Or- well, it's not, but now that you know, you can try-

I'll make it up to you, he said, sounding pained. I don't know how, but I'll work something out. He was silent, for nowhere near as long as before. You should get to your next lesson; I'd hate to have you miss any more of your classes because of me.

Tom-

Will you talk to me tonight, in the diary?

After dinner, she said, surprised and relieved that he'd taken it so well. She'd expected anger, or him to be defensive. I promise.

Enjoy the rest of your day then, he said softly, and she felt him fade.

Bye, Tom, she whispered.

Ginny Weasley was a stupid, stupid little brat, and if she thought she had any sort of power over this situation at all, she was sorely mistaken. Tom kicked the armchair she usually sat in, and wished he could kick her instead.

What rankled most about it all, though, was that she was- she wasn't wrong; he had been too obvious about spending time in her head, and he'd shown her too effortlessly just how much power he could have over her, if he so chose. Yes, the worst thing about all of this was that it was partially his fault. He kicked the armchair again.

He refused to play the role of Ginny's friend much longer, though; her fear and her anger and her guilt all made perfect sustenance for him; he'd never felt stronger, though the excitement she'd felt on the day he'd 'confessed' to fancying her came close. He was strong enough to take her over now, he was sure of it, the timing just wasn't right; Dumbledore was still around, and Harry Potter was still very much on the lookout for the Heir.

They needed to be out of the way, or at least distracted before he could really get started. He knew exactly how, thanks to the conversation he'd overheard, but he didn't know how to get to Potter. Tom sat down in his own armchair, and thought.

As it turned out, Tom didn't have to do anything at all; later that night, Tom had just finished writing a question to Ginny – who'd said she was in the common room – like they'd agreed, and was resting in his common room in the diary, when Ginny's writing cut off with a smudge. Tom toyed with the idea of slipping into her head to see what had happened, but resisted. The last thing he needed was her causing a scene in the common room, where Potter or one of Potter's friends might see.

Then, the common room expanded, or rather, a tunnel opened up, and Tom felt- Tom felt himself at the other end. He threw his Occlumency up, to block the other out, while he prepared his Legillimency for an attack. Tom had no intentions of joining up with his other self, the weak one, who'd lost to Potter too many times, and who had no supporters that weren't in Azkaban, nor did he have any intentions of joining up with any of the other bits of his soul; he'd split it for a reason.

But, the other him made no attempt to push through, and no attempt to drag him out. The link vanished, and Tom, shakily, looked around to see Ginny's writing on the diary beside him.

Sorry, Fred knocked me, she'd written. And George stole my diary, but then Harry took from him and gave it back.

Harry Potter was holding the diary just now? Tom wrote, sure now, that that somehow explained what he'd felt.

Yes, he's so nice, not like my stupid brothers-

Ginny, I have to go, Tom said. He saw her begin to write something back, but he ignored it, and climbed out of the diary. Ginny's head was bright and familiar, and so close and easy to get to, but Tom was interested in another, one that was only across the common room and more open to him than he'd possibly imagined.

"George, you nearly hit him!" Angelina bellowed, as the bludger flew so close by Harry that it ruffled his hair.

"He's supposed to move," George called back, putting his hands up. "Not just sit there."

"You all right, Potter?" Wood shouted from the goals. Harry gave him a thumbs up. It was just a headache; nothing he couldn't handle. "Good. Play on!"

Snitch, Harry told himself, looking around. It was a foggy, February night, and Harry – with his poor eyesight – was not having much luck at all. His headache didn't help. Where are you? he thought. He did a slow, low lap of the pitch, searching, while the Chasers ran drills and the twins knocked bludgers at them all to keep them on their toes. There.

Harry urged his broom forward, toward the end of the pitch, where the snitch was weaving around the goalposts.

I've never really liked Quidditch, a smooth voice said. Harry didn't recognise it, and he looked around. There was no one near him, though and the voice had sounded so close. Stupid game, if you ask me.

And who are you? Harry wondered.

You don't remember? the voice replied. Harry thought it – he - sounded amused. You can call me Tom, if you'd like.

Hi everyone!

So writing is back on track, and I'm sorry to have to do this so soon after my long (unintentional) break, but there won't be an update this coming Tuesday (9th). I have an early exam next week, and will really need the time to study between now and then. I plan to update by the 16th at the latest (two Tuesdays time) though, and then should be back to weekly updates again. :)

Hope you enjoy this chapter,

MarauderLover7.