"You were a horrible man! You were filth!"

"What? That weird boy? Nothing good would come out of that one for sure…"

Tom tried desperately to silence those voices that tormented him. He sat in his castle on the floor, next to his favorite window. He could hear their voices.

"You always get that horrible feeling when he looks at you…"

He put his head in his hands.

"What good will he ever be?"

He didn't want to die without being remembered. He wanted his message listened to; he wanted to be taken seriously. He wanted so much, yet why did he get so little?

He was a memory, yet all he held were memories. It was so ironic. Fate played such horrible games on us. His skin was pale and sometimes, he really doubted his existence.

"Ginny, are you all right?" Luna asked worriedly, poking her best friend. Ginny had stared off into the distance during the middle of a lecture in Charms, and the professor was not impressed.

"Huh? Oh." Ginny looked around. "Thanks," She whispered back, and looked down at her notes. She pretended to scribble something that had to do with the class.

But honestly, she hated writing. She hated watched words flow from ink that flowed from her pen.

After class ended, she ran along the corridors until she got back to her common room. "Pensieve." She called to the portrait of the Fat Lady, and climbed in.

"Ginny?" Harry called from the table near the fireplace. Him and Ron had been in the middle of a game of wizard's chess. Ron frowned at her, obviously thinking that she would just drool over his best friend the whole time and be a bore.

"Yeah?"

"Hogsmeade this weekend. Want to come?" Harry grinned.

Ginny smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry, but I have a transfiguration essay to write. Next time, eh?" She said softly.

Harry agreed, and that was that.

She walked back to her room and placed her books down next to her bed.

She felt so lonely. It was a suffocating loneliness. And the worst part of it was, it wasn't her loneliness she felt.

It was his.

He paced around the black marble floors, his hands clenched in fists. His black hair was disheveled and his eyes danced in fury mixed with pain. His flesh shined here and there, and he was certain of it.

He was disappearing. His older counterpart was at large, and here he was—fading. He frowned.

But memories never die. They always live as long as one remembers, as long as even one believes. He wasn't the rain that came and went; he was the air that was breathed without being seen.

He felt pulled to her. His theories should be correct.

He didn't want to be the forgotten one.

A/N: Sorry! This was super short, but I have to get my thoughts rearranged on this story that I started so many years ago. Judging by the reviews, I can tell that this story is very much liked, so I will continue it. Much thanks to you guys for reviewing and Betsy, you've given me so much encouragement. I have plans for this story, but I have to get it sketched out more clearly.

So until this, here's this chapter as kind of a notice that "Yes I Will Continue This". Review on what you think! Despite being short, a lot of important information was revealed.