A/N:

Written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition S10, R2

Team: Falmouth Falcons
Position: Beater 1
Prompt: Christine
Additional Prompts:
(character) Ginny Weasley
(plot point) a character descending into madness
Word count: 1309
Warnings: Major character death, anxiety, hectic behavior, addiction, possession/madness

-x-x-x-

She was losing her mind. That was the only explanation. She was blanking out more and more often, and it always coincided with the terrible incidents, which have been taking place at Hogwarts recently.

It began with feathers on her robes following the nights when chickens had been strangled. Then there was paint on her robes in the morning after Halloween, when Mr. Filch's cat had been attacked. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't remember for the life of her what she was doing that night.

And now students were getting attacked, and she had no memory of those periods of times. It's been dawning on her for weeks now – she was the attacker. But why? She didn't want to hurt anyone. Why was this happening to her?

"Ginny! Are you listening to me?"

Her brother's voice reached her, as if from a distance, pulling her out of her gloomy thoughts. She found it incredibly hard to focus on the reality around her lately.

"Yes…" she said in a thin voice, "of course."

She smiled weakly. Percy scrutinized her with narrowed eyes, and Ginny's heart started beating faster. He knows, a voice screamed in her head. He knows what I've done.

"Are you all right?" He asked in a tone, which suggested he knew she wasn't, and just wanted her to admit it.

"I'm fine!" She spat viciously through gritted teeth.

An awkward silence fell between them, broken only by the chattering of the few people in the common room. Ginny dropped her gaze. She never talked back to anyone like this. It must be the stress.

"Ginny," Percy said softly, "you're not yourself lately… You look so pale and tired all the time. I'm worried about you."

"I – " she hesitated. She knew Percy meant well. He may treat her like a child, but at least he didn't tease her, like the rest of her brothers. There was no need to be rude to him. "I've just had trouble sleeping lately, that's all."

Percy nodded.

"Is it because of the attacks?"

The question caught her completely off guard. He knows it's me! There was that voice in her head again. She was suddenly hot, and her heart was pounding.

"We're all upset by what's going on, but – "

"How can you possibly know anything about what upsets me?" She cut him off, in a tone laced with malice.

Percy blinked in surprise, staring at her. She shot up, and picked up her books from the table, raw anger seeping from her. She couldn't stand being there for another minute.

"Ginny," he said somewhat indignantly. "This isn't you!"

"Just leave me alone!" She pushed past him, and ran up the stairs to her bedroom.

She needed to talk to Tom. He was the only one who could understand her. She needed to feel the rough pages under her fingertips, read the soothing words forming there, sense his comforting presence… She went on too long without it today already. It's probably why she was so snappy. She took Tom Riddle's diary out of her pocket, and flipped it open, already feeling better.

Dear Tom, she wrote frantically, I think Percy suspects me. And I think he's right. I think I'm the one behind the attacks. Oh, Tom, what am I going to do?

Tom answered immediately, soothing her, as always. She could feel his calmness flowing into her. She closed her eyes, enjoying it. Tom was the only one, who could make her feel better ever since all those terrible things started happening.

Somewhere at the back of her mind, it occurred to her she was addicted to Tom's diary. She could no longer go through one day without it.

She froze. She tried to think back to when the gaps in her memory started, and how they progressed. Could it be that the more she wrote in the diary, the more memory she was losing?

All this time, she clung to the diary, considering it to be the only way to feel better. What if it was the very thing that was making her worse?

On an impulse, she slammed it shut and rushed out of the dormitory. She strayed about the castle, with no clue where to go. She had to get rid of the diary, right now.

In a frenzy, she stormed into the nearest girls bathroom she could find and tried to flush it down the toilet. When the water became rising and spilling onto the floor, she backed away and ran off.

She went back to the dormitory and threw herself onto the bed, trembling. It's better this way, she told herself, even as she felt the loss of her only friend clawing at her painfully. The need to be close to the diary was becoming more demanding, and soon she was overwhelmed by it, panting, fighting to catch her breath. It was like a burning itch deep beneath her skin, which she was unable to scratch. Her head was ringing.

She didn't know how long she tossed and turned, until she couldn't take it anymore. She had to go back for it. She jumped out of bed like a scalded cat, barely registering a high-pitched shriek from her dormmate, who she might have shouldered on her way out.

She ran back to the bathroom, her feet splashing about in the flood on the floor, as she looked for the diary. But it was nowhere to be found. Somebody had already taken it.

The following weeks were difficult, but she was gradually getting better. She slept more. She stopped losing her memory. The painful longing for Tom's diary was slowly subsiding.

Until she saw it again among Harry's books. A ringing panic rose in her. What if Harry figured out how to use it? What if Tom told him all her secrets? She had to get it back. Not to use it, she resolved. Just to get it out of Harry's hands.

So she waited until it was clear, slunk into Harry's bedroom and rummaged through his things. He hid the diary well, which could only mean he had discovered how to work it. With a racing heart, she turned the whole room upside down, and then she finally found it. Her eyes shone with possessive glee when she held it. Not to use it, she reminded herself.

But she didn't even last one hour, before she had a quill in her hand. Dear Tom, she wrote. I missed you.

-x-x-x-

She was writing something on a wall. Was it blood? Her blood?

"I don't want to do this," she cried. Hot tears streamed down her face. Then everything went black.

She was walking through an empty corridor. Why was she there? Going to the Chamber of Secrets, her brain supplied. She tried to stop, but her legs didn't obey her. She swayed, leaning against a wall for support. The whole world was whirling. Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks, as she sobbed hopelessly. She tried to turn around and go back, but all she achieved was that she tripped over her own feet.

A high-pitched, cruel laugh tore from her chest. Why was she laughing?

"I don't want to go," she wailed, but her legs were already carrying her forward.

The last thing she remembered was entering a girls bathroom.

-x-x-x-

With Ginny's last, faint heartbeats, Tom felt the process slowly come to an end. And then, with her final breath, it was complete. He flexed his fingers, and a smile bloomed on his face. He had solid flesh, he could feel blood being pumped through his veins. He took a deep breath and held the air in his lungs, savoring the need for oxygen, which he didn't have until now. At last, he was no longer a memory. He was alive.