Difficulties of Avoidance

by dead2self

A/N: Thanks to anyone who reviewed recently, it reminded me to keep going! I'm a bit stalled out with figuring out some plot things, but since I had a buffer of a few chapters written I thought I'd post at least one since it's been awhile. Hope you enjoy, I had fun with this one!

Ginny was in the midst of a strange battle with herself. An unwelcome bit of hope was struggling up for air, and she was wrestling it down with everything she had. It was nearly impossible not to think of new arguments to influence Tom, not to imagine a fantastical turnabout in which he took the leap past merely usurping his place at the top to joining forces with them against the Death Eaters. She kept having to beat back fancy with common sense, though to be fair another miracle had occurred.

Clearly anticipating attempts to sway him, Riddle was suddenly willing to latch onto any topic of conversation to avoid it. She was seeing how far she could push him, and it was not helping contain her flights of fancy.

"Fine," she conceded. "If it were safe, I could admit that flying without a broomstick would be exhilarating."

"If one really must consider Quidditch, the range of movement you'd have—"

"Yes, you could use both hands to play—but any self-respecting Chaser can fly with their knees when they need to. And eliminating the broom also nearly eliminates the role of the Beater. How would defense work?"

"The Bludger is already covered in enchantments. What's one more? It could easily be made more interesting, allow more fouls or cause it to explode on impact."

"Merlin, no, you're dangerously close to reinventing Quadpot. No one needs that."

Riddle rolled his eyes. "Look, you are speaking as though this is theoretical, and it is not. A sufficiently powerful wizard could fly without a broomstick."

"I know," Ginny scowled, hating to admit it. "Half the Order saw you do it when they moved Harry for his 17th birthday."

Riddle's face lit up with hunger, but it was not a happy memory for Ginny. She had been at the Burrow, heart in her throat as she watched nearly every hand on her mother's clock turn to mortal peril. They had been lucky the Death Eaters bought the false leads. If Voldemort had shown up any earlier it would have been a disaster.

"Have you tried?" she asked, avoiding elaborating on that night.

"I made a good attempt."

"That makes it sound like it went badly. What happened?"

He shrugged. "I broke an ankle."

"Why don't you try now? Go for a whole leg this time, it would cheer me up loads."

"What do you need cheering up for? We're having a halfway intelligent conversation about Quidditch."

"We're having a halfway intelligent conversation about flying," she corrected. "The Quidditch element leaves something to be desired."

Riddle was on his bed, a book forgotten beside him. After the close call with the unfinished Restorative Draught, Ginny had begun requesting the painting to appear on different walls when it brought their food, and it worked. Tom was still brewing potions with the remaining ingredients, but he could no longer predict where the portrait would appear. His current concoction needed to boil overnight. Ginny knew this because she had watched over his shoulder with the potions manual in hand.

But he was not in bed merely because he had nothing to do. It was because he had just vomited up his breakfast.

Ginny had gotten her hands on some Ashwinder eggshells and crushed them into his eggs along with the mold from her cheese under the armchair. Aberforth tended to be heavy-handed with the pepper, and so it blended right in. Tom had eaten a few heaping bites before sniffing suspiciously at his plate. Going wide-eyed, he turned her wand on himself to bring it back up.

Ginny was exultant. She was not even sure that Ashwinder eggs were poisonous, but she had made him think it might be poisoned. Ginny had taken care to shovel her meal down before he could steal any off her plate, and now Tom was going hungry until lunch.

After downing one of the Invigoration Draughts that was supposed to be a part of her health regime, he had curled up on the bed to recuperate. But it quickly occurred to him not to trust Ginny to her own devices for too long, and so he had engaged her in almost constant conversation. And was quickly running out of topics that did not touch on his plans to replace the Dark Lord.

Ginny leveled a knowing smile at him as the conversation stalled. Tom scowled back for a moment, and then said, "Very well. Tell me, how would it affect strategy? For example, would it change whether you'd fly a Horntail Formation or a Groski's Pentagon when you're playing against a strong Beater pair?"

That stalled the conversation further because Ginny nearly fell out of the hammock laughing. She could not believe the words had come from Riddle's mouth. It was nothing more than a variation on the best question to get a Quidditch player talking for hours on end. The fact that Riddle knew to ask it was both ridiculous and made perfect sense.

"Oh Merlin," she breathed once she had regained her senses. "Be careful what you ask for. Hermione once timed us out of spite – Ron and Harry and I argued about that for four hours straight. It nearly came to blows."

"Only four hours? Alphard Black wouldn't shut up about it for a whole term."

"As much as I'd love to make you parrot back Black's dated opinions on the Horntail-Groski Debate, I'll spare us both the embarrassment." Blimey, her sides hurt she had laughed so hard. For a few shining seconds she had forgotten all about their terrible predicament. Tom was quick to pull her back.

"The Order members who spotted me, what did they say? Did I appear weightless or as though I was being held aloft?"

Ginny crossed her arms and spared him a smirk. "That seems like valuable information. Not the sort of thing to be given away freely."

His retaliation was swift. He took the whole night in torn-out pieces, beating aside her attempts at Occlumency. Dumbledore and Harry arriving first, Dumbledore Apparating immediately away. Her brothers and her father and the others trickling in with disturbing slowness. Kingsley's stunned face as he breathed ,"He can fly," but George coming in behind him and seizing him around the shoulders. "He sure flew for the hills when Dumbledore came back."

Grasping at the remainder of the evening only brought him to a moment alone with Harry that Ginny would die before letting him see. "It's not information that I know," she snapped once she repelled him. Her mood had soured at the assault. "No one was discussing your flight pattern."

"Useless," he snarled back, and Ginny could not help but notice what was under the surface. Intel on Voldemort, anything to do with Voldemort, was valuable to Tom in a different way than before. Pure spite pushed her into baiting him.

"I'm not useless. If it's information on You-Know-Who that you want, I have more ways than your Mark to contact the outside world. Perhaps you'd like my help? For a price."

"I don't need your help, Weasley."

Maybe it was the scorn in his voice, but her beaten back thoughts spilled out through her teeth. "No, you don't want my help, which is stupid. Even You-Know-Who isn't alone. He has more resources, more experience, more followers, and the might of the Ministry behind him. You're planning to take him on with a stolen wand and Polyjuice Potion. You are an idiot."

Tom stiffened for the space of a breath, and then he scoffed. "Clever, clever, Ginevra, but I will not speak of my plans to you. I've learned my lesson. You are more lucky than you have any right being."

Ginny bristled. He was still going on about luck? As though he did not watch her like a hawk, had not suffered talk of Quidditch merely because he feared her resourcefulness and her silence. She surged out of the hammock and stalked towards his bed. "You'll need luck against him."

Riddle growled and slashed her wand at her. She stumbled back two paces and then curled over herself, gagging and heaving out a fat, grey slug. It was the first real curse he had turned on her since their starvation, but she only vomited out five of them before he reversed the spell.

On her knees in front of his bed, she spat on the floor. "You're a marvelous liar, even to yourself."

"Incarcerous," he snapped, and bound her in cords. Ginny fell to her side as he pulled a book from his bedside table. "Silencio."

She went through five different knives working to free herself. Tom glanced down occasionally and Vanished them. Each time, she needed to ask the Room for a new one, maneuver it into position, and awkwardly saw at her bonds. Her hands cramped as she listened to Tom turn the pages of his book.

As she worked, she put herself in check. A common enemy did not mean a common cause, and banter about Quidditch was not a change of heart. What did she care if Riddle wanted to lie to himself about her capabilities? It had done her nothing but favors in the past.

When she finally worked an arm free, she was able to make quicker work of the cords, but she slowed on purpose. From her vantage point on the floor she could see her prize waiting under his bed. Powdered roots of Asphodel.

Tom's reactive potion had given her the inspiration for her next escape attempt. In one of Luna's truly disastrous potions mishaps, she had melted a hole through the bottom of her cauldron, her desk, and about ten inches deep into the floor. While the class stood marveling over the wreckage, Snape had berated Luna for adding undiluted Gurdyroot juice to her powdered roots of Asphodel. Evidently the two created quite the corrosive reaction.

Riddle maintained the strange, jelly barrier under his bed, but Ginny had discovered that although her hand could not push through with ease, she could throw small objects through. It must be keyed to her. Tom would have noticed if Ginny had started poking under his bed with a long pole, but with a handful of gobstones and good aim, Ginny could collect ingredients while he slept by knocking them out from under the bed.

It wouldn't do to take the whole jar of powdered roots – Riddle would notice and it was too large to hide – but given its position not far from the foot of the bed, she had another idea.

Ginny returned to sawing at her bonds with vigor. She was nearly free when Tom Vanished her knife once more. Groaning, she struggled and writhed to get the last loose coils of cord up and over her head. Finally sitting so that she could glare properly at him, she was shocked to see what book had commanded his undivided attention. It was The Tales of Beetle the Bard, the copy that Luna had left him.

"Are you serious?" she said. It was as ridiculous as talking to her about Quidditch, but he merely raised one brow from behind the cover.

She licked her lips, her mouth cotton dry after the Silencing Charm. "Which one are you reading?" she asked as she reached out her hand for the canteen on his bedside table. He had stuck it there so that she could not drink without him seeing it. "

He regarded her for a moment, and then said, "Babbitty Rabbitty."

Raising a brow to match him, she asked, "Your favorite?"

"They're all drivel," he answered, handing her the canteen. "This one, however, seems more in line with real magical laws. I am wondering if it was inspired by some historic events."

Ginny drank and then gave him the water. She laid back on the floor as he drank his fill. The ceiling still stretched high from when she attempted to recreate the Harpies championship match. She must have nearly hit the cauldron of Polyjuice Potion backing into the corner; it was amazing she had not singed her broom. Small wonder Riddle had exploded.

"Read it out loud," she said. When he did not answer, likely already returned to reading, she groaned. "Come on, Riddle, being forced to read Babbitty Rabbitty to your whiny cousin is basically a Wizarding rite of passage."

There was another pause, and then shockingly she heard the turning of pages. She propped herself up on her elbows so she could see him. He started from the beginning.

"A long time ago, in a far-off land, there lived a foolish king…"

As he read, Ginny could not keep her humor from her face. He was patently awful at reading children's tales aloud. His voice was one-note and dry, treating every line of the story with the same apathy. He did no voices, emphasized no twists in the story, and, Merlin, did he read fast.

When he finished, without flourish, he looked up and caught her smiling. "What now?" he snarled, throwing the book down.

"Nothing, Riddle, you just read it like a textbook is all. But it was good, I haven't heard it in ages." She laid back again. "If you want, I'll read one later. My mum did voices for everyone, Babbitty was her best, but I could do the Warlock so well that I gave Ron nightmares."

The book landed with a thud next to her. "Do it now." She eyed him and he looked down at her, straight-faced. "Turnabout is fair play."

Now suspicious, she opened the book and froze. A crudely rendered warlock danced along the margin, rendered in red crayon. Ginny traced it with one finger, entranced. Flipping back to the beginning, she saw a name written on the inside cover in blotched ink, large block letters and the L drawn backwards. This was not a copy from the library. It was Luna's childhood storybook.

Tears sprang to her eyes. This was wasted on Riddle, a precious childhood memento left in the hands of a beast. Only Luna would do such a thing, and Ginny missed her so fiercely in that moment that it hurt. She wondered if she still had her coin, had seen Riddle's attempts to fool her family, and put the pieces together. She would be worried as sick as Ginny was now.

"You are such an arse," she breathed, and hugged the book to her chest. Had he kept it hidden in his bedside table until now to ambush her like this? She turned red eyes on him and was surprised not to see smugness, but exasperation.

"How could you ignore her?" she snapped, before he could say anything. "You're alive because of her. She's the only one who could stand you."

Riddle's mouth twisted down. "How could I not? For all her lunacy, I've never met someone more perceptive. If I talked with her, she would have figured it out."

That silenced her. She averted her eyes, and focused instead on the book in her lap. There were even teeth marks and a radish doodled on the back cover.

"It's not an attack, Weasley, it's a peace offering." One side of his mouth turned up, sardonic, when she glared at him. "Not that I want peace with you, but there is something we both want."

"We do not want the same things," she said, brittle as she had not been in days.

"Luna freed."

Her heart seared again and she narrowly managed not to hurl the book at him – only, and only, because it was Luna's and it was precious.

"If you could do something about Luna, you already would have," she said, accusatory. The fact that he had so far honored his earlier deal was the only reason she answered him at all, but he was on precarious ground.

"True… I considered the possibility of pushing the limits of the Protean Charm to encompass the creation of a Portkey, but there are too many coins connected to isolate hers. I'd probably end up facing your entire band of misfits at once for my trouble."

"The Protean Charm can't copy complex charms. Otherwise the ministry would make all their Portkeys that way."

"Just because something has not been done yet does not mean it is impossible." His lips twisted then. "But in truth, I would probably need the original master coin."

Merlin, he was insufferable. "I do not care what theoretical magic you can invent. If you're saying there's a way I can help Luna, get to the point."

"Nothing so esoteric. You can convince your friends to communicate with the coin once more. The more I know about his movements, where he attacks and where he doesn't, the easier I would be able to surmise where she is being kept. That is how you can help Lovegood."

Ginny narrowed her eyes on him and the frayed spine of Luna's book dented under her fingers as her anger swelled. No one could fight back publicly, and even if they knew where Luna was, rescuing her would be next to impossible. Beyond that, she would send her friends to hell itself before dispatching them on a rescue mission on the basis of Riddle's word.

No. No, she would not let him get away with avoiding this any longer. She had been far too kind already.

"No one can rescue Luna," she said. "Don't pretend this is about her." She held up the book, her insides curling. "This blatant manipulation is pointless. You are too proud to ask for my help even when you need it, but if you rub my nose in my fear for my best friend's life again, then I will make you beg for it."

Riddle's knuckles went white around her wand and she thought he would curse her again, but he merely clenched his teeth. "You are being ridiculous. Not thirty minutes ago you said you could contact the outside world for a price. I gave you your friend's book. I offered my assistance in freeing her. Is this price unpleasing to you?"

"That price is a fantasy. If you want something, then ask. I will name my price."

"Fine. I want them to talk freely on the coin once more. I wish to know the movements of my older self. Convince them you are no longer in danger."

Ginny smiled then, but spiteful. "Why don't you pretend to be me? I thought you had a way with words."

"Do not act clever. I have been frank; now you do the same."

She dropped her smile and met his gaze with every ounce of obstinance in her. And waited. He bristled, fell silent, and then took a deep breath.

"It will be more expedient for you to convince them of your wellbeing. You excel in feeding me false information and trying again would mean mining your mind for the most far-flung details of your life. I truly cannot abide more jaunts into your childhood. I'll write word for word what you want, if you can get them talking again."

"Was that so hard? It turns out we do have something in common. I want news of my friends too." She flipped him the coin and he snatched it out of the air. "Word for word, like you said. And I want another story read aloud. With voices this time. You grew up in London; you must be able to put on a cockney accent."

"I will not."

"You bloody well will. I can't believe you had Luna's book all this time."

"It was leant to me. I could hardly keep it on the bookshelf, not with you hurling books and using it in battlefield strategy."

Ginny scoffed, not believing him for a second, and this seemed to needle at him.

"Why is it that whenever you drive me to capitulate to your whims, you respond like a despondent child?" he snapped.

"When have you ever given up anything?" she shot back.

"You are perhaps the only witness," he scowled. A ghost of a smile threatened before she choked it down and matched his scowl.

"Whatever, tell me exactly what you said to them. Everything."

It took the rest of the morning to get even one response on the coin. Ginny stayed lying on the floor near his bed, hoping for an opportunity to strike, but it took most of her attention telling Tom what to write on the coin. Luckily, he had not dug them into a truly impossible hole. He had merely insisted that she was unwell and in hiding. In the end she achieved what Tom could not by frantically asking after every Muggle-born student whose name she could remember.

When the reply came, it was brief and bordering on cold. "We agreed to limit the use of the coins. Codenames only."

Ginny was perplexed. They had never used codenames in the D.A. For a terrifying moment she worried that she had just handed the Death Eaters a comprehensive list of Muggle-born students, but then she remembered Potterwatch.

Tom watched her expectantly, for she had gone silent for some minutes. "Write this," she instructed him once she had figured it out. "Fine, River, just tell me if it worked. Are they safe?"

The reply was so long coming that Tom dealt himself a hand of solitaire Exploding Snap. She could have tried for the powdered roots of Asphodel, but she waited. In truth she wanted the D.A. writing on the coins again as much as Tom. Not knowing if they had gotten the Portkeys in time was slowly killing her.

"Some safe, some in danger," Tom read suddenly, and Ginny sat straight up, a strangled cry of joy escaping from her mouth. "We love you, Ginny."

It was the oddest thing, Tom reading those words, but it did nothing to dampen them. Ginny's eyes brimmed with tears and she scrubbed the sleeve of her jumper over her eyes before they could fall. It had to be Fred and George.

"Can we help you?" Tom continued to read, and then raised his brow at her.

"Too dangerous," she instructed him to write. "Aberforth needs it more." It was not a codename, but it was the only way she could think to get a message to the Order. If they talked with him they would know that he was providing food to the Room of Requirement. She did not think Ariana could speak, and thus he would not know she was held prisoner, but the some of the Order knew she had needed a place to hold someone. They ought to be able to put two and two together. If Tom managed to escape through the portrait, hopefully the Order would be ready.

"Will you not ask them about anything of worth?" sighed Tom.

Ginny cast him a scowl. Her heart was overflowing, and she did not care for having him share in the moment. "It would be strange to ask anything else before asking after my friends. But fine, you can write: Is Hogwarts safe after summer break? News of You-Know-Who?"

She waited while Tom enchanted this message into the coin, one phrase after the other, eying the bottle of powdered roots. She had more or less lined up the shot, but she needed Tom distracted for more than a few seconds.

"If you're really Ginny, then tickle the dials," Riddle read, brow arched. "What in Merlin's name does that mean?"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake. Write back immediately: I'll blow your ear off to match George."

Riddle obeyed, but looked askance at her nonetheless.

"I'm not telling you," she answered. "You haven't even read your story with voices yet from this deal."

"I will not read the story with voices," he answered, then looked down at the coin. "Who's with you?"

Ginny stilled, glancing up at Tom. "Can't say. Harry knows him."

"Are you safe?"

"For now." Measuring Tom, and whether or not this was playing directly into his hands, she said, "My coin isn't compromised. Let me know if Hogwarts will be safe."

After some time, when no one wrote any further, Tom passed her the coin and picked up the book. "I'll do the Three Brothers. Death will not have a cockney accent."

Now was her moment. "He better have some accent," she answered, laying back and palming the wooden ball that appeared at her side. It was perfect, about the size of a Snitch. She waited as he began to read, just in case another miracle occurred, and was not disappointed.

This time he performed.

Death did not have a cockney accent, as Death did not actually speak, but each of the brothers had their own voice. The first was brash and slobbering. Riddle noted her over the cover for her reaction, and Ginny was a touch offended when she realized this was his impression of a Gryffindor. As though the first brother was not Slytherin through and through. The second was whining and foppish. The third he read in something close his own voice, which was enough to break the spell.

The fact that he was trying almost made her feel bad. Had she not just spoken to the D.A. and her brothers, she might have waited, perhaps even done her rendition of the Warlock's Hairy Heart. But her friends needed her help, and Tom was beyond her reach. She needed to make her move.

As Riddle read of the first brother's death, Ginny took aim and whipped the wooden ball under the bed. She hit the bottle of powdered roots and the vial behind it, shattering them and sending glass and ingredients flying out from under the bed.

"Shit!" she exclaimed, scrambling to her knees. She dove for the dried bloodroot that had been in the other vial, but Tom vaulted off the bed and stopped her with an Impediment Jinx.

"Looking to spice up my lunch?" he snarled, hauling her to her feet as the book fell forgotten to the floor.

Ginny set her jaw, but held the thrill of victory inside her like a jewel. She had dragged the tether through the spilled powdered Asphodel roots, translucent and fine, nearly invisible and now coating the cord that kept her moored to the floor. If she squeezed some Gurdyroot over it, it would provoke a reaction that would melt her bonds, she was sure of it.

"Only the best for you," she demurred and then hit the floor, seeing stars. Bloody hell, but he had hit her with a Stinging Hex to the face! She hissed in pain, holding her face, and saw his muted fury through her fingers as he stooped next to her. Then, his attention shifted.

"Wait," said Riddle, picking up one of the stoppers and slinging it into the barrier under his bed. It ricocheted off the wall and Riddle pulled his hands through his hair, groaning. "You have got to be kidding me. This is how you've been stealing ingredients?"

"My aim was a little too good this time," she said ruefully. Her teeth felt numb, which was an odd effect of the spell, but it was already fading. That was good, because she needed to be on her feet. This was the most dangerous part of her plan.

She was halfway to standing when Tom hauled her up and dug into her pockets, finding some Ashwinder eggs. "Hey!" she protested, but he proceeded to pull her school robes over her head to check the pockets of her trousers as well, which lost her some dittany and a handful of newt tails. He eyed her jumper, and Ginny went white.

"You better bloody use Legilimency. I am not stripping down for you."

"Don't hide anything, and you'll spare us both the horror," he snarled, and cut into her mind. There was indeed a bit of Knotgrass tucked down the front of her shirt, and precious slices of Gurdyroot woven into the base of her braid, but more importantly he found her cache on the bookshelf.

"Bloody hell," he growled, taking the Knotgrass that she hurried to give to him. He reached to the nape of her neck and tore the Gurdyroot from her braid with some vehemence, and then turned to stalk for the bookshelf.

As Riddle began ripping books from the shelf, Ginny stood trembling next to his bed. Waiting was torture, but she needed him to feel certain. He used magic to search the books, of course, and so it did not take as long as it could have. When he finished, all her efforts were spread on the floor around him, and his anger had cooled enough for him to look impressed.

"You nearly had a Bloodroot Potion," he said, "but I wasn't likely to let you use the cauldron."

"I thought if I crushed the newt eyes instead of juicing them, I might make a reasonably similar tincture," she said.

He sat back on his heels. "That's not half bad, Weasley. You may have killed yourself with fumes in the process, but not bad."

Ginny grimaced as he confirmed her fears. Good thing she had not tried. He rocked to his feet, sending the ingredients soaring in neat rows back under the bed, and met her there. His gaze was appraising, enough to make her traitorous heart proud.

Then he hooked her chin and pulled her stumbling towards him. His eyes drilled into hers. "Did I miss anything?"

She set her teeth. "No."

"Liar," he snarled, and dug his fingers in enough to hurt.

"Under your wooden chair," she gritted. He released her to find that she had filled the empty vial from her Enduras Potion with bubotuber pus and stuck it to the underside of the chair with the remainder of the grey sludge he had smeared over her ankle.

"Is this the last of it?" he asked, though the ire had gone out of him.

"That's it. Everything that's left is over there," she said, waving vaguely at his bed.

That led him to search every inch of his bed and bedside table, but she had only managed to stash a single bat spleen there, stuck to the underside of the drawer. While he searched, her stomach gurgled, and she started needing their lunch. The portrait appeared near the fireplace and Tom moved to make a thorough inspection of the armchair, even though Ginny told him there was nothing there

Silence stretched between them until the plates clattered to the floor and Ginny crossed to get them. Lunch was simple fare, two tuna sandwiches as requested. Ginny tore into her hers, and turned to relish the moment. He was examining the seams of the cushions for holes, which she really ought to have thought of herself.

"Let me refill the canteen," she said, half a sandwich hanging out her mouth. She hastened to swallow, so she could shove in the rest.

Distracted, he levitated the canteen to her. She caught it and crouched to refill it with the carafes that had come with the lunch. But first, she peeled the paper-thin Gurdyroot slices from where she had stuck them to the bottom of the canteen, and tucked them into her braid.

Gurdyroot and powdered roots of Asphodel. She could escape that very night, once Tom was asleep.

"The voices were good, Tom," she said after she had swallowed the rest of the sandwich with a gulp of water. "I can do mine after lunch."

Then, she tipped his plate into the fire.

His sandwich was burning before he saw what she had done, and his Summoning Charm did nothing but pull a mass of flame towards him. Cursing, he dodged and then extinguished the remains. She stood, triumphant and wrathful, and Tom looked so loathsomely at her that her heart sang.

But then he flicked her wand and sent Luna's book hurtling toward the fire. Ginny cried out and dove for it, but Tom shot another spitfire spell at her. Her fingers only tipped the cover before her vision went dark and her limbs slack. Vaguely, she felt that she hit the floor like a sack of potatoes.

Ginny groaned as she blinked awake. She was lying on floor, and as she tried to push herself to sitting, something felt off. She felt ungainly, heavy. And then she saw her hands. They were not her own.

Yelping, Ginny shot straight up, and then clutched at her throat. The voice that had come from it was deep and very, very familiar. She spun and found Riddle – or rather, herself – smirking at her from her hammock.

"Feeling peckish?" he asked, and she could do nothing but stare. It was uncanny, hearing Tom's arrogant drawl in her own voice. She had never seen someone take Polyjuice Potion to look like her, but she did not like it. It was as though a photograph of her had stepped out of its frame, but wrong.

"Blimey," she breathed, and could see in an instant that Tom disliked seeing her in his body too. His skin practically writhed, which made her want to flaunt it. She scrambled gracelessly to her feet – Merlin, but his legs were long – and began swinging her arms in the warm-up they did before Quidditch practice.

"Dunno, I'm no longer a mere mortal. Food no longer interests me."

With visible effort, Riddle ignored her. "You've been asleep for quite some time. In roughly twenty minutes it will have been twenty-four hours since you last offered me any food. We had a deal."

Ginny stilled, and then looked to the mantel as a clock appeared there at her sudden need. It was indeed the following morning.

It was clever, she had to admit. The tether was still around her ankle, and Tom had her wand. He could simply try to convince Ariana that Ginny had bested him and taken him prisoner once more. Best of luck to him, she thought, for surely Dumbledore had prepared his sister—

"Oh, Merlin's beard," she breathed as the realization hit her. "This is why you wanted me to write through the coin?"

The unsettling smirk on her face was answer enough. "Let's have breakfast, shall we?"