A/N: So, I've finally done it. I've started my first long Tom/Ginny story.

And in starting it, I have realized that I DESPERATELY need to reread the series. Like, now.

Alright, so about the story. There's no plot. At least for now. See, I kept telling myself that I ought to write a full-length T/G fic, but I wanted to have it all planned out. But since I hated all my plans, I never came up with a story.

Finally I gave up, said 'screw it', and wrote this with no plan at all. Some of my stories have worked well without any solid plans. So I hope this will come out alright.

Actually, after reading this I've noticed that it has a lot of the same themes as Willow Song and Cinderella and Persephone, and I think in the future it'll have a touch of Fatal. So I guess I'm plagiarizing myself?

Oh, and I'm looking for a better title. So if you have a suggestion, please don't hesitate to tell me! I'd be most grateful.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling. The Lady of Shalott is owned by Tennyson.

Dedication: Lacarnum Inflamarae. Thank you for reviewing my Tom/Ginny one-shots so thoroughly, and for saying that it was a shame that I didn't finish any novel length fics. It was that comment that got stuck in my head chanting 'Just write a long one already!' again and again and again. I hope this is at least moderately amazing.

Enjoy. I hope.

"So Ginny poured her soul out to me, and her soul happened to be exactly what I wanted…I grew stronger on a diet of her deepest fears, her darkest secrets. I grew powerful, far more powerful than little Miss Weasely. Powerful enough to start feeding Miss Weasely a few of my secrets, to start pouring a little of my soul back into her…"

Tom Riddle, Chamber of Secrets

AFTER THE FINAL BATTLE

Nothing.

Silence.

Emptiness.

It was not dark or light.

There was no hot, there was no cold.

There was no life, there was no death.

There was no joy, there was no suffering.

There was no being, there was no thinking, there was no feeling, and there was no speaking.

Purely nothing.

But, slowly, something formed.

He.

He could not feel a physical body. There was no heart beating, no breath drawn. He was mist.

But he could think.

This was familiar.

He'd died, and he'd returned. This had happened before.

But before, he did not feel so much.

Before he'd felt anger and hatred and the longing for life and revenge.

But now…

He still longed for life. He still felt hatred and anger. He still wanted revenge.

But what was this other, warm and painful thing?

Before he had a chance to explore it, he heard. This, also, was unfamiliar in this state. Last time it had taken ages to use senses.

But now he heard a soft sighing. A girl crying. A familiar girl.

And now, thinking of her, he saw her. Not with eyes, but with his thoughts.

The soft skin. The red hair. Her eyes were closed, and she lay across something. A corpse.

Not his.

A sharp pain, though he had no body to feel with.

None of this was familiar.

What is this? His thoughts hissed.

The girl looked up suddenly, pale, looking about herself in a panic.

She had heard him.

None of this was familiar.

But – perhaps – he could use it to his advantage.

"I am half sick of shadows," said

The Lady of Shalott.

- Tennyson

A YEAR LATER

"'I am half sick of shadows'," Ginny quoted as she watched smoke curl in the moonlight. The candle below the silver air had almost burnt out, though it still gave out the faint scent of wine and roses. She loved the romantic scent. It almost replaced the lack of romance in her life.

It wasn't that she was unhappy with Harry – quite the opposite. She loved him. He loved her. They made each other happy. They had talked of marriage often, though they were both still young. They dreamed of a small house in the country, with a white fence and a small garden, and two or three children running about, playing happily as they watched on.

But reality was always in the way of their dreams.

After the final battle, everyone wanted time with Harry Potter. The Daily Prophet, the Ministry, the aurors. He had spent the year in a whirlwind of advice, pleas, offers and interviews. She barely saw him at all, which made becoming engaged difficult. She waited patiently, though. She knew that things would settle down in the near future, and that future would be worth the difficulty of the present.

Things were, indeed, difficult for her. Fred's death and shaken her family. Their close ties threatened to break apart, even with the return of the prodigal son. George wouldn't speak to Percy at all, which wounded Percy's pride. He also wasn't getting along with Bill or Charlie, since they still blamed him for making their family miserable for so long. The oldest siblings both led separate lives far away, anyway, and didn't spend any time at home. Percy threatened often to leave again, and to only ever write to their parents and to Ginny.

Other then problems of the heart and her family, Ginny was having…mental problems, as well.

Often, out of the corner of her eye, she would see a shadow of Tom Riddle. Not of the reptilian Lord Voldemort, but the young, charming and handsome man she'd written to in a diary so many years ago. Sometimes she could even swear that she heard his voice.

At first, she'd blamed it on grief. Fred was gone, and Lord Voldemort dead. Though she hadn't cared for the Dark wizard, really, she had cared for the illusion she once had of him. She thought that perhaps that was why her mind would create his voice in her head, speaking words that rarely made sense to her.

But it had been a year now, and still sometimes she would hear a whisper.

"'She has heard a whisper say: a curse is on her if she stay to look down to Camelot'," she quoted again, and then leaned forward to blow the candle out. That's what she heard whispered to her often. Not about Camelot, but about her hopes for a life with Harry, and about her dreams that one day she would wake and her family would be healed from the wounds caused by the war. The whisper would tell her that she would only be miserable with Harry, that it was impossible that her family would ever be the same again. That she was cursed to always live in misery if she stayed there, waiting for things that might not ever be. It told her how like the Lady of Shalott she was, meant only to see such hopes as reflections…never as reality.

Ginny had never told anyone about this voice. Not Harry or her family or even her best friends Hermione and Luna. She knew they wouldn't understand. Well, Luna might. But it didn't matter, because she honestly believed there was nothing that could be done. She had tried what she could, spells and potions she thought would be safe for her to try…but nothing had worked. Nothing ever stopped the whispers or the shadows. Maybe it was something she would have to learn to live with for the rest of her life. That thought terrified her.

Standing from her place beside the window, she slowly walked to her bed and pulled back the sheets. She was very tired; reflecting on her grief, fear and misery always made her tired.

She slipped her small feet under the warm blankets and made sure her wand was on the table beside the bed. Reassured, she rested her head against her soft pillows. As she drifted to sleep, she heard a whisper say:

I have always pictured Persephone with red hair.

The mirror crack'd from side to side;

"The curse has come upon me," cried

The Lady of Shalott.

- Tennyson

In the morning, she woke to see her mirror cracked from side to side.

"I can't be the Lady of Shalott," she murmured to herself. "She was cursed to remain in her room, weaving, and it was only if she looked at reality – if she looked away from her mirror to see the real world instead of it's reflection – that she died…" What of that was not her? Was she not cursed to wait in her room, seeing mere reflections of the reality she longed for? "If I see my dreams come true, become real…I will not die."

Death is not the loss of a body, but the loss of the ability to live.

Ginny shook her head, slipping out of bed and getting to her feet. She picked up her wand, and looked into the broken mirror.

"I am not the Lady of Shalott," she told her cracked reflection, ignoring the shadow behind her. "I am Ginny Weasely."

And she was insane.

Artificial: Well, I hope you liked the first part. I kept debating whether or not I should separate the two bits – Tom and Ginny – but finally I decided to just leave it be. If you have any comments, suggestions, complaints…please leave a review. Actually, leave a review anyway. Thanks.