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Tuesday morning, September 1, 1992

Ginevra….. Ginevra Weasley…..

The whisper tugged at the back of her brain, making her stop in her tracks. By now, she knew no one else would have heard the voice that beckoned to her. She frantically dug through her bag, searching desperately for the one book that seemed to be missing.

“Wait!” Ginny cried, tugging on her mother’s hand.

“What is it dear? We need to be going if we are going to make the train on time.” She knew her mother was trying to stay calm, but her firm grip on her control was starting to slip, fraying around the edges. You didn’t grow up the youngest of seven children without noticing when your mother was reaching her limit.

“I’ve forgotten my…” She didn’t want to say the word diary out loud. Privacy was a foreign concept in such a large family, and if her brothers knew she was writing in a diary of all things, it would only be a matter of time before its secrets became common knowledge. “We have to go back!”

A round of groans emerged behind her. It was always a zoo trying to get to King’s Cross on time, and it seemed everyone was off their game this morning. This would be the third trip back into the house, and they were cutting it close as it was. If they lingered much longer, they would miss the train completely.

“ Please mum.” She knew she was playing it up slightly, but she needed that diary. The elder witch eyed her youngest child for a moment through narrowed eyes before scanning the faces of the rest of their group. Ginny knew she had won when her mother let out an exasperated sigh.

“Alright, but be quick about it.”

Another wave of groans commenced, but were quickly silenced by the quelling look Molly Weasley threw at them. They had learned at a young age not to cross her once she had employed that look.

Percy came forward grabbing Ginny’s hand, taking her back to the house to look for whatever it was she had left behind. Fred and George instantly took up mocking Percy’s puffed up and important demeanor while Ron just stood awkwardly to the side, mouth agaped, trying to figure out what could have possibly made his mother give ‘ that’ look. Harry stood with uncertainty to the side and scratched the back of his head. He watched uncomfortably, torn between the fear of the Weasley matriarch and trying desperately not to laugh at the twins antics.

Ginny pounded up the stairs as quick as she could. She didn't want Percy, or anyone else for that matter, to see what it was she had made such a fuss about. She knew they would never understand. It was just a diary after all. They would tell her to start a new one, but no other diary could possibly compare to this one. This one wrote back .

She could open herself up easily to its pages, allowing her soul to pour through the quill that etched her heart’s desires, her secrets, and her fears onto the faded, worn folio. She admitted how being the only girl meant she was left out of everything, and how she was never taken seriously due to being the youngest of them all.

She desperately needed someone to talk to, and while she loved her mother, she was not the ideal confidante. The woman always found something to keep her busy, which wasn't difficult with seven children, even with only five currently residing at home. Her mother wasn't known for being the most sympathetic person either, her advice hardening, becoming more and more practical, after so many boys over the years.

Her brothers were completely out of the question. None of them cared to listen to the inner thoughts of an eleven-year-old witch. Sometimes she was sure they forgot she was even a girl . Bill and Charlie were never around, she didn't even understand what Percy was talking about half the time, the twins blew things up, and Ron only wanted to talk about Quidditch. While Ginny loved Quidditch, there were other things that made her mind race and heart pound that didn't involve a broom.

Her eyes widened as she snatched up the diary where it lay under her pillow.  Relief filled her as the familiar leather pressed against her chest, a calming sensation washing away the tense feeling of isolation. No, there was no one she could talk to, no one who would understand, quite like Tom Riddle .

x*X*x

Tuesday early afternoon, September 1, 1992

Having been to the station before, Ginny knew what to expect, but somehow it seemed far busier than she ever remembered. Now that she was going to be joining their number, she couldn’t help but notice how many more students there suddenly seemed to be. It was possible her nerves were a factor, making her feel smaller than she was, and she found herself gripping the shoulder strap of her bag tightly as she followed her family through the crowd. Everyone seemed to tower over her, talking loudly and shouting at their friends. Students of all ages pushed and shoved one another as they made their way to the scarlet steamer in an unorderly fashion.

Ginny was unaware she had halted in her steps until she was roughly knocked from behind by one of the twins, nearly shoving her to the ground. Though her shoulder screamed from the contact, the unexpected jolt knocked her from her wandering stupor. Chin raised, she shook herself off, refusing to be intimidated. If she had managed to survive life at the Burrow, surely the students in a new school couldn't be worse. She could do this.

After watching her older siblings disappear into the crowd, Ginny turned to say goodbye to her mother and was instantly pulled into a warm hug. Molly Weasley may not have been the most sympathetic of listeners, but she always had the best hugs in Ginny’s opinion. She took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of her mum, the aroma of home , and found herself hesitating. This would be the last time she could feel that comfort until the Christmas holidays.

Ginny forced herself to pull away before the tears had a chance to fall. She could already feel her eyes starting to sting.

“Bye Mum, I love you.”

Her mum patted down her hair with a wistful smile on her face.

“You have everything you need? All of your books? If you’ve forgotten anything let me know and I’ll send it along.”

She knew her mother fussed when she worried, so Ginny just smiled reassuringly. “Of course, Mum. I have all my stuff, and I promise to write you after dinner to let you know about the sorting. I’ll see you in a few months.” With that said, Ginny disentangled herself from her mother and walked as bravely as she could to board the train.

Ginny wandered down the narrow hall of the train, peering in each compartment as she passed.  A part of her had hoped one of her brothers would have stayed behind with her, but the thought quickly left her mind when she passed the compartment containing Fred and George, their faces lit in foolish glee as the students trustingly popped their newest concoctions into their mouths.

Ginny rolled her eyes, continuing down the hall until she came upon an empty room.  Tugging her bag awkwardly, she threw it up to the top shelf, pulling her diary from the side pocket before tying the bag down.  Plopping hard on the seat, she stared mindlessly out the window, her reflection frowning back at her as her breath clouded the glass.  Unknowingly, she stroked the cover of the diary in her lap when her eyes fluttered.

Ginevra…..

A hand gripped her hard on the shoulder, jerking her focus to that of Percy looming over her, his forehead scrunched unflatteringly as she blinked up at him.

“Ginevra!  Have you seen Ron or Harry?  I can’t seem to find them anywhere on this blasted train.”

“How should I know?” She snapped, not fully awake, “I’m not their keeper!” Percy flinched at his little sister’s tone, but released her shoulder abruptly, his face relaxing.

“Well, keep an eye out, will you?  We can’t start the year off with those two running a muck. Merlin forbid they manage to start losing points before the Feast has even started.”

Ginny shrugged.  She had overheard her brothers talk about the events of their previous year in Hogwarts.  It was all she could do to look Percy in the eyes, unable to hide the boredom in her features.  Percy was lost in his own head, reciting the cons of losing his youngest brother and the boy they called The Chosen One .  When he finally made his exit, she was relieved to be alone in the compartment once more.  

Staring down at the diary in her lap, she opened to the marked page, picking up the quill she used to hold her place as she began writing down her worries of the journey to her new second home.

Well, I’m off to Hogwarts now, Tom.  Any advice?

Her messy words soaked into the pages, disappearing into the very diary she held in her hands.  A faint smile pulled at her lips when the words of her friend, Tom, materialized onto the page she had just written on.

Hogwarts is a place of many awaiting opportunities, Ginevra.  I know your first year will be most intriguing.

x*X*x

Saturday Morning, September 19, 1992

Even with all the stories Ginny had heard from her brothers, and later Tom, she still felt  she had been woefully unprepared. School was more structured than she was used to, having been taught at home by her mother like all wizarding children up until they enter Hogwarts. It was strange being surrounded by people her own age. Always moving together from class to class as a herd, too terrified of getting lost to move independently.

She had never spent much time with children but found she quite enjoyed the experience. Nobody turned their noses up when she didn't know an answer right away, or coddled her like a newborn babe. She didn't have things thrown at her without warning, expecting her to catch whatever was plummeted towards her face. Nobody lashed out at her lack of experience or skill, or for tagging along on their way to and from the common room. She felt perfectly in place with the rest of the inexperienced first years.

Sharing a dorm with other girls took some getting used to. She wasn’t used to female company in general, not to mention in her private living space. The other girls would squeal and giggle together about something in a magazine spread before them, playing with each others hair, fantasizing about the future. Ginny wasn’t sure how she was supposed to behave during these interactions. Instead she would sit on her bed, writing in her diary, only partaking in the conversation when directly addressed. She didn’t want to make a fool of herself, but she had no objections to listening. It was quite fascinating to watch sometimes.

The castle itself seemed to enjoy making little first years scramble. Doors suddenly became locked, staircases shifting when only half the group was on them, hidden passageways sealing themselves off. Ginny was sure there was a pattern, she just hadn’t figured it out yet. None of the older students seemed terribly bothered by the supposedly random hindrances around the castle, and she had the next seven years to figure it out.

Classes were even better than she had hoped they would be. Magic really was amazing. She had always been in awe watching her parents and older siblings, but nothing could have prepared her to feel the magic flowing through herself, being channeled through her wand, obeying her will. It almost made her giddy just thinking about all the possibilities. It was heady feeling, all that power, completely at her disposal.

Ginny was sure she would never stop being amazed by the Great Hall. The enchanted ceiling was always something she looked forward to every morning. It was a fun experience feeling like you were outside while being tucked away safely eating your meal inside. The mass of owls that came swooping in every morning always took her breath away. Owls of every color, size and breed would come pouring in through the high windows to deliver letters and packages from loved ones. Having only ever really seen the family owl, Errol, who was old and rather dodgy when it came to deliveries, she was captivated by the grace and skill the other owls portrayed. It was one of Ginny’s personal favorite moments while at Hogwarts.

Sitting at the breakfast table she watched a familiar snowy owl circle around the Gryffindor table. It was no surprise when the beautiful bird landed beside Harry Potter. What did surprise her was that it wasn’t Harry who retrieved the package attached to Hedwig’s leg, but Hermione. Ginny watched with curiosity from her spot three seats away, as Hermione opened the small package. She couldn’t see what it was from where she sat, but whatever it was, Hermione seemed to really love it as she threw her arms around Harry’s neck, giving him a tight hug.

Noticing the two other owls in front of the brunette witch, Ginny supposed it must be Hermione’s birthday. Even that knowledge couldn’t completely squash the burn of jealousy in Ginny’s chest. The older girl seemed so confident in everything she did, including talking to one Harry Potter. Hermione could sit next to him at every meal, share classes, and give him a hug without so much as batting an eye. Ginny couldn’t understand it. Every time Harry so much as looked in her direction she would get all tongue tied and freeze up, all brain function ceasing completely. She knew they were just good friends, but Ginny couldn’t help the envy in the pit of her stomach she felt for even that level of relationship they shared.

With a heavy sigh, Ginny reached into her bag that was settled between her feet, pulling out the well worn diary. Normally she prefered to only write when she had a modicum of privacy in her dorm, but everyone was too engrossed in the mail delivery to pay any attention to what she was doing. Carefully, she placed the bottle of ink beside her plate, gently removed the cork, hoping an active housemate would avoid knocking it over as she dipped her quill delicately into the jet black ink, and etched her words onto the page.

Tom, why is it so hard to for me to be normal around Harry? Every time his attention focuses on me, I make a fool of myself. Why is this so hard?

You’ve mentioned this Harry before. What is it that makes this boy so special?

Well, there’s the fact he defeated the greatest dark wizard of our time. And he was only a baby when it happened. He’s also very nice. He doesn’t treat me the same way all my brothers do. He seems genuinely interested when I’m saying something. Until I realize he’s listening and clam up like an idiot.

He defeated a dark wizard as a baby? Who was the wizard?

That’s what everyone says anyway. We don’t say his name and I’m really not sure how to spell it.

Could you try for me, please?

I suppose writing it out couldn’t hurt anyone, I’m not saying it out loud so it should be fine. Val-da-mert…

...Lord Voldemort?...

Yes! That’s the one. Sorry, I really had no idea how to spell that.

How did a baby defeat the Dark Lord?

I have no idea. I’ve never heard the specifics. Just that one night he went to their house to kill him and his parents. He succeeded in killing them, but when he tried to kill Harry it backfired and he was gone and Harry lived. That’s why he’s called The Boy Who Lived.

That shouldn’t be possible.

I know. That’s why it’s so amazing, and everyone wants to know him.

Is that why you want to know him, Ginevra?

No. Well, yes, partly, but not completely. He’s really a very nice person. Probably from growing up with his muggle family away from the wizarding world. He had absolutely no idea about how his parents really died until he got his Hogwarts letter. Can you imagine?

Harry’s a muggleborn?

Halfblood. His mum was muggleborn, his dad was a pureblood.

How is it possible a halfblood defeated the greatest wizard of all time?

I’ve already told you I don’t know, Tom. What I’ve said is what I’ve been told. Even if there were more to the story, I doubt anyone would share it with me. Why do you care so much, anyway?

It’s an intriguing story. No one should be able to survive the killing curse like that. I find it rather fascinating. Don’t you wish you knew more?

Well, yes, obviously. But I doubt I’ll ever hear more about it. It’s probably some big fancy secret to help keep Harry safe. Listen Tom, Luna is waiting for me. I have to go. We can talk more later.

Indeed we shall, Ginevra.

Stuffing the diary, resealed inkwell, and quill back in her bag, Ginny hopped off the bench and headed towards the dreamy blonde waiting for her in the doorway. Ginny pushed all other thoughts of Harry and Tom from her mind as Luna linked their arms and towed her along outside to enjoy a stroll by the lake.

x*X*x

Saturday Evening, October 31, 1992

It was rather pathetic really; how trusting the girl was. She had poured all her innermost thoughts and feelings into him and she isn’t the least bit suspicious. Oh, the perfect innocence of childhood. It was quite fortuitous for his diary to land in the hands of such a trusting and eager little witch. He was pleasantly surprised she hadn’t been taught to be more cautious with objects that thought for themselves. Being the Slytherin he was, he would take every advantage he could, and this certainly was one advantage he wouldn’t pass up.

It hadn’t taken very long for little Ginevra to share enough of herself for him to gain a foothold in her mind. It wasn’t too difficult to begin nudging her subconscious, subtly directing her thoughts and actions. Now, now he had full control. Poor, little Ginevera wouldn’t even remember what she was about to do. He tried to keep the pleasure he felt off her face. It would be too disconcerting for his smirk to show on her features. Someone would ask questions if they saw such an unnatural expression on her small, sweet face.

He guided her steps down the familiar path towards the girl’s lavatory on the first floor. Thankfully, the halls lay empty due to pointless festivities in the Great Hall as she quietly advanced without notice. It would look too suspicious if she was caught in the corridors instead of attending the Hallowe’en feast. Especially considering she was carrying a bucket of chicken blood. Not even those big brown eyes would be able to get her out of answering questions under these circumstances.

He raised her hand and pushed the door open, taking in the all too familiar scene. It continued to amaze him how very little had changed in the last fifty years; the bathroom looked exactly as it always had with its stone features. Propelling Ginevra forward, her controlled steps splashed beneath her feet as his focus flicked to water covered tiles on the floor. Horrid clanking and gurgling emerged from one of the stalls, and was unsuccessful in identifying the source. Not exactly the same after all it would seem. No matter. It wasn't important enough to stray him from his plans.

Pushing Ginevra, he ushered her towards the line of taps, coming to a stop in front of the one he knew bore the symbol of the small serpent. He made her set the bucket down, as it would surely spill if she continued to carry it, and leant forward.

It was strange to form the familiar sounds and feel them roll off her tongue, her small voice echoing around the room. It was rather pathetic in comparison to his deep, smooth voice. Instead of sounding imposing and forceful, it sounded weak and awkward, but in the long term it was merely an inconsequential detail.

The echoing hisses died, and was replaced with the sound of stone sliding against stone, the sink began its descent, and allowed him to see the large slide beyond. The excitement of the moment was intoxicating. He would never admit it, but he had been slightly worried about the possibility of it being discovered in the last fifty years. But this was proof his fears were unfounded, his secrets safe, his legacy intact.

The slide seemed much larger than he remembered, most likely due to the difference in size between his own body and sweet Ginevra’s. She really was a tiny thing. He shook the thoughts from his mind. It didn’t matter as long as she served her purpose, and he had more important things on his mind.

Stepping forward, her footsteps crunched unpleasantly. He lit her wand with some small difficulty, that could prove problematic later, and peered down. Under her feet were the bones of small beasts, littering the entire passageway. Her nose wrinkled at his disgust. At least it proved she was still down here. Not that he had really doubted it. She had stayed hidden for centuries before. Fifty years would be nothing in comparison.

He managed to land the girl elegantly at the base of the slide. Even in a foreign physical state did he display such sophistication in his movements as he continued his way, glancing only briefly at the empty skin to the side. She has grown. His eyes flicked back to his task, and he paused his movements before the large entwined serpents. Their jeweled eyes glinting under the wand light, he once again formed the words to command the door open. The serpents slithered apart as the wall behind them cracked open. This time, he couldn't resist allowing the smirk to show. There was no one here to question. Not here in his sanctuary. This was his domain.

He nudged her forward confidently, filling her lungs with the familiar smell. Though somewhat musty, the smell of decay and mildew was strong, memories rushing to the front of his mind. Fond memories. The time of his first arrival;, learning to unleash Slytherin’s monster, controlling it. Knowing secrets no one else ever deemed plausible. By the rights of the blood that would soon pump through his own veins once again, he belonged here.

Once again he forced the sounds through Ginevra’s clumsy lips. He would never get used to that feeling: her mouth was not meant to form this language. It was disconcerting how harsh and unnatural it sounded with her small voice. He thanked Merlin it didn’t make a difference. As long as he was obeyed, that is all that mattered.

The sound of her small voice echoed around the cavernous room, fading to silence that was all consuming. Slytherin certainly was a rather dramatic man, building such a large, imposing room, but he could indisputably appreciate the effect. It made him feel powerful.

Another wave of stone sliding on stone interrupted his musings, the mouth of the giant statue before him opening, giving way to a giant black hole. He could just make out the giant form moving within its depths. He watched as she uncurled her long body and glide towards the opening. The sound of her heavy movements smacking against the stone floor reverberated around the room. She knew better than to look him in the eye, he wasn’t afraid of her. If anything, he felt what he supposed must be affection at the sight of the giant serpent before him.

He brought Ginevra’s small hand up to stroke along her side. Her scales were smooth, warm and dry under her touch.

“Hello darling, did you miss me? What do you say we have ourselves some fun?”

x*X*x

Sunday Night, November 9, 1992

The scarlet armchairs and couches positioned  about the Gryffindor common room had been a pleasant surprise to Ginny. Though well worn, they were the most comfortable chairs she had even used. The most sought after were those arrayed around the large fireplace. She counted herself lucky whenever she got to sit there, as most first years didn’t dare approach the older students who tended to claim the area whenever they were present. But having so many older siblings afforded her the chance to sit amongst them on a semi-regular basis. Her brothers were so used to her company they never bothered trying to shoo her away, excluding her from their conversations.

She clutched her precious diary, knees drawn up to her chest as she listened unnoticed to yet another dramatic retelling of what had happened to poor Colin. The twins had never been considered the most sensitive of souls. The callous way they talked about the attack was proof enough of that. Ron leaned forward in his seat listening with rapt attention, elbows resting on his knees. He was completely drawn in as Fred waved his arms around in a theatrical reenactment while George chased after him portraying the monster.

“Poor Colin, didn’t even stand a chance. You know they found him heading to the hospital wing?”

“That they did Georgie. Off for an interview with The Golden Boy himself I’d wager.”

“Probably wanting a few more pictures with the Saviour of the wizarding world, Freddie. Can’t have darling Harry thinking he’s being forgotten now can we?”

“You realize Harry isn’t like that, right? He doesn’t enjoy all the attention.” Ginny was surprised it had taken Ron this long to speak up in his friend’s defense. It was Fred and George though, and he had always had difficulty fighting back against them. He was unequivocally afraid of what their retaliation would be, and didn’t want to chance having a two against one battle. You didn’t survive the Weasley household without a healthy dose of fear and caution regarding the twins.

“Aw ickle Ronnikins. Did we offend your delicate sensibilities?”

“Only jokin’ dearest brother o’ mine.”

Ron visibly gulped. It was always best to make a quick exit when they started sounding sickeningly sweet. Who knew what was formulating in those twisted brains of theirs? “Right, yeah, only joking.”

The twins quickly shifted their conversation back to the attack on Colin and theories about what the monster could possibly be.

“I bet you anything it’s a bicorn.”

“Where in the bloody hell would a bicorn be hiding? Don’t you think someone would have seen a great ruddy beast like that stomping around the halls?”

“What about a chimaera then?”

“The poor sods were petrified not ripped apart! We would have only found pieces of them if it were a chimaera.”

“Do you suppose it could be an erkling? It is a school full of children after all, and he just probably kept getting interrupted before it could finish them off.”

“Why would an erkling go after Mrs. Norris then?”

“It was probably just a fluke. That’s why she was hanging from a bracket instead of lying on the floor. It was being petty it got the wrong target.”

“No, no! I’ve got it. It’s clearly a hidebehind.”

Ginny listened as the theories became more and more outrageous as she unconsciously stroked the spine of the diary pulled against her chest. She hadn't realized she allowed her mind to wander, or how long she had sat there until she felt the weight of a hand on her shoulder. She jumped, losing her grip on the diary as it clattered to the floor.

She blinked owlishly, peering up to find Percy standing behind her, eyes narrowing behind his glasses.

“Do you really think this is an appropriate conversation topic? A member of our house is lying in the hospital wing petrified. We have no idea what caused it and you want to make jokes about it? I think that’s enough for tonight.”

“Aw come on now Perc, we were only having a laugh. We didn’t mean anything by it, did we Forge?”

“We certainly didn’t Gred. Merely joking.”

Percy puffed his chest, his eyes narrowing in suspicion until they were nothing but slits.. He was in full prefect mode now.

“Listen here you lot. You will cease this ridiculousness immediately. This is a serious situation and shouldn’t be taken lightly so if you can’t be mature about what’s happening, I’ll write to Mother telling her you can’t handle the pressure of being here, and need to return home.”

The color quickly drained from both twins’ faces, making the freckles stand out even more.

“Come on now, there’s no need for that, dear brother. We can take a hint, right twin o’ mine?”

“We most certainly can. Moving on already.”

Making a hasty retreat from the sitting area, the twins disappear toward the dormitories with Ron on their heels, lest he be included in their brother's threat. Percy's gaze shifted from his brothers to Ginny sitting in the chair. He scanned her face, taking in the fact she was paler than usual and appeared weak from exhaustion. His expression softened as he peered down at her fondly.

“Why don’t you head on up to bed, Gin? We still have classes in the morning and I’m sure you could use a good night’s sleep. Are you handling everything alright?  You’ve been rather withdrawn as of late, and you’re looking pretty pale.”

Percy’s rarely showed his softer side, leaving Ginny with uncertainty on how to respond.. Settling for a nod of her head to acknowledge she was fine, she agreed with his assessment as she bent down to retrieve the diary from the floor, offering her brother a reassuring smile and a wave, she headed off to bed.

As she readied herself for bed, she contemplated asking Tom what his thoughts were concerning what was going on. She had only briefly mentioned the incident with Mrs. Norris to him before, and had been quite distraught as she seemed to be missing pieces of her memory for most of that evening. Drawing the curtains around her four poster bed, she propped herself on her elbows as she began writing to Tom, deciding it couldn't hurt to at least get his opinion on the matter.

Tom, remember when I told you someone attacked the caretaker's cat on Hallowe’en?

Yes, I remember. What of it?

It’s just… There was another attack tonight, only it was a boy this time. He was a first year Gryffindor, just like me. I sit next to him in Charms…

Well, how very fortunate it wasn’t you.

He was out after hours anyway. But still… Tom, do you know if anything like this has ever happened before?

There was an incident some fifty years ago, but nothing really to concern yourself about.

What do you mean? What happened?

A student was caught with a rather dangerous pet under his bed. The student was expelled and the creature was taken care of.

Oh, so what’s happening now couldn’t be the same then…

I very much doubt it’s the same Ginevra. Fifty years is a long time. Things change.

That’s true I suppose. It just makes me jumpy thinking that it could have been me. The professors still have no idea what’s happening.

I wouldn’t worry about it too much. They will find whatever it is, it will be dealt with, and you will be perfectly safe. Besides, there was a lengthy gap in between the boy and the cat, was there not? It was probably just a coincidence. You did say he was out of bed after hours.

You’re right, I’m just being silly. It’s probably nothing to worry about.

No, nothing for you to worry about, Ginevra, after all, Hogwarts is considered one of the safest places in Britain.  

x*X*x

Sunday Morning, January 3, 1993

Ginny slammed the diary closed. Leaning forward, she hid her face in the crook of her arms as she crossed them over the desk.  It took all her strength to fight back the pressure forming in her eyes, trying desperately to keep the tears from falling.  It proved to be difficult, her usual fiery vigor was wearing down like the diary in front of her, and she couldn’t quite understand why.  Her memories were fading from her, evading her mind, disappearing into the dark holes that appeared.

She forced herself to stand, scooping up the diary and fleeing, running aimlessly for what felt like eternity. Her heart felt as though it would burst through her ribs at any moment, but she kept running.  She hoped the movement and change of scenery would jog her memory, trying desperately to remember..  But she couldn’t.  She couldn’t recall the events over the course of the past few months that had caused her to wake covered in blood, or feathers in her hair.  And the attacks…

Exhausted, her body slowed, and she leaned breathlessly against the masonry.  Her chest heaved, and the tears she had been fighting escaped freely from her eyes.  Blurred from crying, she took in the scene around her.  Subconsciously, she had run straight to the first floor bathroom, and the air grew heavy as this realization sunk in. Of all the places, this was not the destination she had in mind.   She hovered over the sink, resenting the reflection of the pale, hollowed girl staring back at her, gripping each side of the porcelain, her knuckles turning white from strain.  Percy had been right.  She looked awful; aged and frail.

Taking in a deep breath, she reached for the tap, turning on the water and splashing her face to allow the cool liquid to rejuvenate her senses.  It didn’t help.  Nothing seemed to help.  She had written Tom that morning for his advice - he always had the best advice - but today. he was as cold as the water she splashed over her flesh.

Ginevra, you’re just overreacting…

Overreacting.  It was the first time he talked to her as though she was a child.  He was supposed to be on her side, and she had never questioned his advice. He was her best friend, her confidant.  She often took him as an apocryphal figment of her imagination, a fictitious ally she could confide in without feeling the weight of their superiority.  But today, he proved to be just like everyone else after all.

His words flashed across her vision time and again since that morning, and she released an exasperated scream, her howling voice echoing off the lavatory walls.  She pulled away from the stranger in the mirror, tugging the diary from her robes and smacked it against the sink.

“How’s this for overreacting, Tom?” she spat through clenched teeth, pivoting on her heels. She threw the diary hard, wanting to get rid of that dirty feeling she got from touching it. Everyone would be returning to school the next day and she wanted that thing as far away from her as possible. She didn’t want it’s tainted presence weighing her down any longer. Instead, she longed to greet her brothers in heartfelt hugs, and laugh carelessly with her friends like a normal eleven-year-old should.

Too late, as the leather left her hands, did she see the sheer face of Myrtle, hovering a safe distance from where Ginny stood.

The ghostly girl winced as the diary flew through her, and she made a sound not dissimilar to a pained yelp as it slammed hard onto the floor with a loud, reverberating smack!  

“That was tactless!  You think you can throw books at the dead girl who can’t feel ?” The pitch of Myrtle’s voice was higher than usual, and rang in Ginny’s ears.  Doing her best to ignore the girl, she dove forward to retrieve the diary again, searching frantically for a place to discard it once and for all.

Behind her, Myrtle was still wailing, her voice cracking in an unnatural fashion.  Ginny peered up over her shoulder, taking in Myrtle as the ghost flickered in and out of view.

“Myrtle?  Are you alright?” Ginny was surprised to discover she was genuinely concerned about the annoying dead girl, and was relieved when Myrtle stopped crying.

“I-I’m not sure.  This has never happened before.  I feel so strange,” the spectral figure sunk down, barely visible as she faded upon her descent.  “You need to leave,” Ginny could hear the strain in Myrtle’s voice, her temper fraying, ready to break again.

“I will. I promise.  I just need to-” Ginny paused, dragging her eyes to the diary held loosely in her fingers at her side.  She could feel the cold gaze of Myrtle on her.

“If you want to lose something, why not just flush it down the toilet?”  Myrtle floated towards the top of one of the stalls, “Sometimes students flush me down the toilet, and I end up in the lake .” Myrtle’s tone was the perfect balance of sadness and anger.

Ginny’s eyes widened, the faintest of smiles brushing her lips, as she tossed the diary into the toilet of the closest tall and flushed.  Sighing in relief, she turned to leave, a weight slowly lifting from her shoulders.  She paused in the doorframe and peered up at Myrtle.

“Thank’s Myrtle.”

x*X*x

Saturday Evening, May 29, 1993

Ginny’s eyes fluttered, the pounding in her head left her mind in fragments as she lifted her gaze from the cold stone floor.  She was back in the chamber.   His chamber, and her thoughts abandoned her as she tried in desperation to remember how she had returned.  The attempt to raise her head was futile, her muscles aching as she strained, with no results.

“Ah, Ginevra.  You’re awake,” came the cool, collected voice from her head.  Only this time, he didn’t echo off the barriers of her mind, but bounced against the walls of the chamber itself.  She laid there, unable to move.  “Such a strong will you have.  Even now when your body has given up, you fight.”

The sound of expensive shoes clacked elegantly against the stone of the ground, the resonance growing louder as he approached her.  Her eyes flickered, trying to focus on the sight of them in front of her, taking in the immaculate state of the shiny material.  Then, the fabric of his trousers pulled taut as he bent at the knee, and she felt the faintest of touches on her cheek.

“Such a pity though,” his voice was directly above her now, his words dripping like the very poison of his basilisk, “but I thank you for that will you wielded. It won’t be long now.”

She screamed, but it never escaped her lips.  Her body was cold, and her eyes were weakening, the sight of the chamber floor phasing in and out of focus as she felt a tear roll down her cheek.  She was stiffening, like all the poor souls she had helped petrify, the fire in her countenance had long since burned out.  She was going to die in this chamber. Alone.  Alone with him .

The parts of her mind, the pieces untouched by her loathsome companion, struggled to remain in tact as she fought with everything left inside her, desperately clinging to those moments.  She wished she had gone home at Christmas, to be with her family one last time: her brothers’ bantering, her father’s ramblings, and her mother’s hugs.  How she longed for those hugs now - loving and warm .  She was so cold.

“You can let go, Ginevra.  If you don’t, you’ll only drag this out, and it will be harder on you.”

He almost sounded sincere, but his tone cursed the very air he breathed, and she suddenly realized he was watching her die. Wa iting . Her eyes fluttered closed, the frigid floor beneath her sapped what little warmth she had left,   remembering. Remember . Love, family. Two things Tom knew nothing about, and she held onto that.  Held on to everything she cherished before falling under his control and she flinched.  Her body jolted with a shallow wave of heat that was over as quickly as it began.

Tom’s brow arched.  “How sweet,” his eyes flashed with something unfamiliar to her and she quailed under his scrutiny. “You truly are a gem, aren’t you?”  He rose, tucking one hand into the pocket of his perfectly pressed trousers, his other brushing his chin in deep contemplation. “A gem you may be, but tell me, Ginevra.  How does one shine when there is no light to cast a glimmer?  No, here in the darkness you are simply just another stone.”  

His tongue cut like a blade, his words slicing through her remaining will.  Ginny’s memories of her family escaped her in that moment, replaced with the reality of her current state.  She tried to whimper, tried to do anything to remain above the waters of death washing over her, but the undertow of finality was too strong.   He was too strong.  Her eyes wavered again, but they didn’t close, didn’t allow her to imagine a better ending in her mind.  The cold pressure on her eyes grew to become a thin layer of frost; an icy glaze that coated her once lively gaze.  The very gaze that allowed his innocent possession to take hold.  Without blinking, the chamber somehow grew darker than it was before.  Fading into nothing.

Tom couldn’t suppress the malicious smirk from gracing his handsome face.  He turned his focus to the diary, his soul, and bent to pick it up in one fluid motion.  Dusting off the leather bound piece of himself, he tucked it into his robe before scanning his eyes over the chamber one last time.  As he swiveled towards the exit, a newfound surge of strength coursing through him, he was met with a familiar pair of green eyes.

“Tom?  Tom Riddle! What happened?”  The young boy appeared nervous and weak , and Tom snarled inwardly at the notion of him being defeated by this unremarkable child.

“I’m afraid she won’t wake.” He placed a trained mask over his features as he strode up to the boy.  “She’s gone.”

“No!” Harry shoved Tom out of the way, collapsing to Ginny’s side as tears formed in his eyes.  Appalled at the sight, he strode towards the exit once more.  “We have to do something, Tom.  There’s a basilisk!” Harry called to Tom’s back, halting him in his steps.  He turned on his heel to face the sobbing minor.

“She won’t come unless she’s called,” his reply was quiet, his words pouring out coolly as he bent to grab Harry’s discarded wand from the ground.  He watched as Harry stiffly rose to his feet, eyes locked on his, and Tom arched a brow in response.

“Tom, give me my wand.”

“You won’t be needing it, Harry.” His countenance belied his confidence.

“Y-you’re the heir of Slytherin. You opened the chamber!” The color drained from the boy’s face, much to Tom’s amusement, but he kept his features blank.

“Actually, it was Ginevra here who opened the chamber.  I simply nudged her in the right direction. You will find I can be quite persuasive.” Harry was taken back, visually struggling to take in Tom’s words.

Tom glanced around the chamber, bored with this interaction already, ignoring Harry’s strife.  He could only faintly hear his basilisk's movements, but he knew she could hear him perfectly, which was all the reassurance he needed.

“Yes, Harry.  Ginevra was under my control.  Until, of course, she grew scared of the diary’s power, but I was most pleased to discover it was you who found it.  For you see, I was most anxious for an introduction.”

Harry stood perfectly still, watching Tom’s every move as the older boy circled him, feeling distinctly like vulnerable prey .  He felt powerless without his wand; his wand that was now in the hands of the very predator that stalked him where he stood.

“Why did you want to meet me?”

Tom’s lips slowly curled, exposing his straight white teeth.  He could practically feel the fear radiating off the young boy.

“Tell me, how does a baby walk away with a mere scar while Voldemort’s powers were destroyed?” Tom could actively feel the blood pumping angrily in his veins, but he had prepared himself for this encounter. He had fortified his will so he wouldn’t give in to the temptation of curiosity.  Eagerness was a lion’s trait, and the descendant of the most powerful snake to ever live would not stoop to displaying such weakness.

“You’re Voldemort!”  Tom almost sneered at the boy’s lack of intelligence. The length of time it had taken for the boy to unravel the truth was laughable..  Rolling his eyes, Tom slid his tongue through his lips to create the familiar hiss he had previously made using dear Ginevra.  This time, the echo of the slithering sound articulated in a way that could only be described as terrifying.

He turned from Harry, bored with nothing left to add to the conversation, and made his exit.  He could hear Harry behind him, breathing through clenched teeth.  No matter, soon she would take care of the boy, The Chosen One.  Before exiting through the parted wall, he slowly turned to gaze back at Harry over his shoulder, one hand resting against the opening .  Harry balled his fists against his sides, taking a step forward.  Tom flashed him a satisfied smirk as his basilisk emerged fiercely into the chamber, separating them, filling the space with her large, scaly body.  He watched as Harry’s eyes grew wide, but he wouldn’t allow his pride get the best of him.  He would let the beast kill her prey in peace.  

Leaving the chamber, he stumbled across a new obstacle: the girl’s brother and that ridiculous excuse of a professor were lying amongst the rubble and bones.  The red headed boy rose, unsure of how to react.  With a simple flick of Harry’s wand, he cast an easy stunner, knocking Ron to the ground beside Lockheart, who mindlessly sat staring into nothing with a glazed expression.  Tom snarled.  The sight was rather pathetic as he continued towards the exit, ignoring the fates of those he left behind him.  There was only one destination he had in mind.

x*X*x

Saturday Night, May 29, 1993

The moonlight’s glow casted a violent haze over the fogged, thick air of the Forbidden Forest.  His frail form lingered, barely on the brink of survival as he weakly sat in waiting. Eventually the part of the forest surrounding him fell silent, no animal daring to venture forth where such darkness dwelled.

The distant centaurs could be heard, their heavy bodies moving amongst the trees, taunting the very form he was as they chanted gibberish of the stars and nonsense of the moon. While stalking weakly through the shadows, it was a constant reminder of how Quirrell had failed him, and he was forced to wait in the brush for another plan to calculate. Another year .  New memories formed in his head, memories that all centered around one Ginevra Weasley.  

The sound of underbrush snapping beneath heavy treads brought his attention to the distance of the castle.  A silhouette framed by darkness and trees glared back at his hidden face, the eery lighting of the moon shone over the tall and lithe figure before him, and he could feel the power surrounding it.

“Look at you,” the voice was strong and articulate, “Look at what you’ve become !  Pathetic.”

He flinched where he stood, eyeing the black framed man in the shadows and hissed in retaliation for the indignation this dark silhouette infused.  His hollow eyes widened in sagging sockets as the mystery to the figure was revealed, taking confident strides up towards him and exposing his face under the moon.

He had almost forgotten the face of his youth.  The face of his disgusting father .  The diary surged when it came into proximity, and his boney fingers itched to feel the leather on his thin flesh.

“Yes.  I am here to correct the wrongs you have made in trusting stuttering imbeciles to do a real wizard’s task.  A second chance.”  The form of Tom Riddle held out the journal in front of him, egging his weaker, clothed self to take it. To once again feel the power of the first torn fragment of his soul.  Without hesitation, the connection was made.

In an agonizingly slow pace, the battered fabric of his cloak began to feel less like thick wool, and more like the thin material it truly was as the numbing, tingling sensation formed in his joints.  As he trudged over the fallen leaves, his once silent and feather light footsteps caused the vegetation to crumble beneath his now weighted treads.

The hollow structures of his face began to fill; blood red and distant eyes morphed to that of a piercing blue, now supported by perfectly placed cheekbones where nothing but pale flesh had been stretched taut..  His neck creaked to the side in a fashion that made his freshly formed joints pop against his movements, and a wicked smile tugged at a set of handsome, full, pink lips, revealing for the first time in years his perfectly white teeth.

The sound he let escape him was ominous, the laughter echoing off the vacant branches and disappearing into the heavy fog.  The chortle was that of pure malice, dripping with the vengeance he’d ached for all these years.  The journal held loosely in his arms, he was once again alone in his barren part of the forest, expanding his now firm, fully formed arms, breathing triumphantly through his strikingly Roman nose.

He no longer heard the centaurs in the distance as he made his way out of the forest, tossing the hood back over his head.  One final glance back towards the direction of Hogwarts, his lips curled into a smirk as his thoughts skimmed the place he knew the remnants of the vessel lay.

“Ah, it is done.”