Chapter Fourteen

Riddle

Monday morning soon rolled around for those at Hogwarts School. It was a cold and harsh day, the frost biting at everybody's hands and icy winds giving the firsties red cheeks on their way down to the greenhouses first thing. Ginny wore her warmest cloak to her first class, as well as thick tights and a woollen jumper (which wasn't as warm as her old Weasley jumper). Her lips were chapped and eyes weary after staying up late finishing an essay for Slughorn, whose lesson she had next.

The dungeons were often the coolest place to linger during the winter months at Hogwarts, and the classes often caught a shiver if Slughorn took too long to turn up from his morning tea and ended up being fifteen minutes late to class. Damp clung to the walls of the corridors from the lake above, moss growing in between the cracks in the stone and puddles forming in the corners and where people had trampled in dirt from the grounds. As much as the caretaker tried, he could never quite keep on top of it in winter months.

But right now, the caretaker was cleaning up Greenhouse Three, and Ginny waited outside the first lesson, a good ten minutes before anyone else was likely to turn up. She'd woken up unusually early, so had gotten breakfast in the kitchens and roamed the castle halls a little, letting her thoughts wander too. Upon hearing footsteps from around the corner, she snapped out of it, smiling slightly when she saw it was Tom.

"Hello, Conwy," he said curtly.

"Riddle," she nodded in acknowledgement, eyes meeting his.

"You're here early," Tom observed. "And you seem fatigued. You could have had a few extra minutes asleep."

His dark eyes appeared worried, although he did nothing to show it. Admittedly, he looked rather gaunt himself, skin paler than usual and hands twisting together in anxiety. Ginny asked herself what could be wrong with him but couldn't think of much, and did not want to ask for fear of agitating him.

"Concerned?" crowed Ginny. She softened, "There's no need to be, Tom; I'm perfectly alright."

But I don't know whether you are, she inwardly added.

"I'm sure you are. I'm afraid I must be going; I have an important meeting to attend to," he told her. "Good morning to you." As he walked away, Ginny sighed. Her eyes followed him until he turned a corner.

"Good morning to you, too."

Tom did not hear her.

For a few moments, Ginny waited outside potions alone, considering the reasons why Riddle could have looked so concerned when he himself clearly had other things on his mind. And what could he be up to that requires a meeting in the middle of the first class of the day? Upon hearing voices in the distance, however, she dismissed it, grinning broadly at Hannah as she approached.

She wasn't accompanied by Abraxas, today, and she wondered why.

As if reading her mind, Hannah said, "Brax is ill today, I think."

That'll be it.

But things are never as they seem.

Don't be so suspicious, Tom.

The voice soon shut up.

Potions seemed to go by rather quickly, and so did Charms after that, but Ginny was surprised to see Abraxas in the common room at break before their third lesson began, sitting by the fire with Tom, Lestrange and Avery, seemingly in a deep discussion that took place in hushed tones. Walking into the room, she'd heard the murmurs of their low, calculated voices, but they ceased as Avery stared at her when she entered. Unable to help herself, Ginny stopped in her tracks, meeting Abraxas' eyes as he turned to see who was there.

The youngest Weasley crossed her arms indignantly, glowering at him. "I see you've soon recovered from your illness, Abraxas," she drawled. "I presume we'll see you at Quidditch practise this afternoon?"

He certainly doesn't look very ill, the liar.

"I still feel a little ill, actually. I'm feeling rather dizzy," he retorted.

She tried hard not the clench her fists as she replied, "Perhaps if you feel that under-the-weather, you should go and visit the Hospital Wing."

With that, she headed to her dorm, where she was meeting Hannah after second lesson. Searching for the vial wrapped up in all of her things, Ginny caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her hair was loose, long and lifeless compared to the curls and styled locks of the other girls in her year. She'd never gotten round to styling it appropriate to the time, so had left it like she'd always worn it. She was pale, paler than ever, pink lips slightly dry from the cold of winter. And although she appeared slim and gaunt in her reflection, her eyes held a fire, that burned like crisp autumn leaves, a raging flame of hope: she was going to save them all.

Eventually.

The door creaked as it opened, revealing Hannah, who's cheeks were red and hair messy.

"I'll tell you what, Gin, it's cold as anything out there!" she exclaimed, jumping onto her bed. "I just had Care of Magical Creatures and- are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost."

I am the ghost, Ginevra thought.

"Can we just get rid of the potion? Please?" she whispered, holding the vial up as she finally pulled it out of the bundle of clothes she'd left it in.

"Of course," Hannah smiled sadly, taking the vial and heading to the bathroom. "Do I just tip it down the sink?" she called across the dorm.

"That should be okay."

So the blonde carefully let the draught empty down the drain, running the tap and making sure every last droplet of the potion was washed away into the sewage, underground and far, far away from anyone who could pin point the blame to Ginny. As she saw the dark liquid disappear, she thought about everything that Ginny had gone through, everything she'd need to do that, Merlin's beard, Hannah had suggested. How could she have given the idea that Ginny live her life with Riddle? But of course, Hannah was a Slytherin, and had never belonged to the House of Lions, where bravery and sacrifice were second nature. She didn't have a hero complex. At times, she was glad. Other times, she envied Ginny's bravery, wondering how on Earth the redhead was not in Gryffindor.

War did funny things to a person.

Lunch came and went, and so did last lesson, leaving just dinner and the remainder of the evening to complete homework and get a bit of fresh air before curfew. Seeing as she had received no assignments (and had finished the ones due soon) Ginny decided her time would be well spent in the library, as Riddle frequented there, skulking around in corners with forbidden books containing what she presumed to be dark magic.

Although Ginny didn't personally see the appeal of the overflowing bookshelves and scent of old parchment and ink, the aroma of ancient knowledge, she could appreciate how Hermione loved it so, which brought a pang of homesickness to her stomach. Hermione would be proud of that small revelation, she knew, and she would be even more proud of Ginny's sacrifice. Her brother would call her mad, of course, like Ron always did, but he'd accept – try to, anyway – that she was grown up and could make her own choices now. Harry… Well, she didn't fancy thinking about him all too much. It was, after all, his death that brought her here. Despite that, he'd be all arsy about it if he was alive to even know, Ginny thought.

She had loved him, once.

But not anymore.

She had been young, foolish almost, and as she walked down the aisles of books, trailing her fingertips along the spines of age old hardbacks, she felt the innocence she'd had before the diary. Realising, Ginny flinched, pulling her hand back in horror and holding it with the other.

Why was she doing this? What if it didn't achieve anything at all? She'd be trapped here, left to marry a man who'd cause nothing but pain, and she'd watch it all, too! What if there was no point? If the war would have sorted itself out and she was just meddling in things she didn't understand?

"Ginevra?" Tom stood before her, grasping a small book in one hand. "You look as though somebody has died."

Apparently Ginny looked like a lot of things today.

Snapping out of it, she huffed, "I'm perfectly fine, thank you very much," and barged passed him.

What a stupid thing to say, how rude!

It was unanticipated when Riddle grabbed her wrist, stopping her from continuing. Too late to stop herself from wrenching her hand away, she turned, eyes wide with bewilderment.

They stared at each other, for a moment. Neither knew where they were going from here, having no one-ups on the other or chess moves planned ahead.

"W-would…" he stammered a little, Ginny cocking her head to one side, confused. Tom composed himself before continuing, "Would you like to talk about it?"

She almost refused, but instead replied, "Yes, please. That would be lovely," and followed him to a table in the back of the library, where they could talk without being disturbed.

So Ginny told him of her homesickness, and tales of her brothers, occasionally listening to tales of his time at Wool's, though he was vague and didn't like to talk about exact details. She couldn't help but feel guilty; he had begun to open up, whereas she had lied to keep her cover. And although some of her stories' details were true, she was not being open, and felt the least like a Gryffindor as she'd ever felt in her whole life.

AN: I'M SORRY. AGAIN. I feel like I'm only ever apologising to you guys, but I've finally conquered the writer's block and have written another chapter after quite literally five months. Almost half a year. Whoops. Please don't hate me.

It'd be lovely to hear your thoughts! (It was only after some recent comments/reviews that I realised I was just being lazy. Thank you :3 )

Rhi x