The week before Halloween was colder than expected, a chill slipping through the castle walls that Ginny could feel right down to her bones. She shivered in her bed, pulling her blanket tighter around herself, though it did nothing to stop the cold prickling at her skin. It wasn't just the weather. She glanced over at her diary on her nightstand, the one she'd come to rely on so much she almost felt incomplete without it.
She flipped it open and read Tom's last note:
'I must gather some strength, Ginny, dear. My presence may be faint for the next few days, but do not worry. I am still with you.'
It was strange, this sudden silence. She'd grown so used to his constant replies and little bits of advice - answers to questions in class, the encouragement she needed to speak up, even entire essays, which she only had to copy from his writing in the diary. When he was with her, things made sense. Everything in her life seemed to have an anchor. Without him, her thoughts felt untethered, scattered. She tried to be brave about it, though a growing unease twisted in her stomach every time she looked at the diary.
She needed him. She had come to rely on him, perhaps more than she wanted to admit.
It was a dreary Monday morning in the Great Hall and Ginny was pushing her porridge around with her spoon, her appetite dulled by the strange, unsettling quietness in her mind. The absence of his familiar voice was jarring, as if a layer of her thoughts had gone completely blank. She felt an odd, disconcerting loneliness in his silence, and even more unsettling was how her mind suddenly felt sharper, clearer - almost disturbingly so.
Across the table, Ron was shovelling food into his mouth with alarming gusto, bits of egg and bacon scattered on his chin. He ate with his mouth open, crumbs falling everywhere and Ginny wrinkled her nose in distaste.
"Can you not eat like that?" she snapped, her irritation bubbling to the surface.
Ron shrugged, barely glancing at her as he took another bite. "Not my fault you're squeamish, Ginny," he mumbled around a mouthful of toast. "Besides, it's breakfast. Shouldn't you be doing something other than bothering me?"
She felt her fingers clench around her spoon. Perhaps it was time to sit with her roommates instead - they wouldn't talk to her like she was an annoying little sister. She wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of leaving, though, not today. So, she stayed, enduring his grumbling until breakfast ended.
As she left the Great Hall, a prickling anxiety settled low in her stomach. Her first class was Transfiguration, and without Tom's help, she already knew it wouldn't go well. Tom had always guided her through these lessons, slipping knowledge into her mind with practiced ease, allowing her to answer difficult questions as if she understood the material perfectly. Today, though, there was only silence - a glaring reminder of how much she'd relied on him.
Professor McGonagall began the class with a lecture on Transfiguration Formulas, her voice clear and deliberate as she scribbled complex symbols on the blackboard. Ginny's stomach sank further. The formulas totally confused her. Tom had once explained their logic to her, turning what had seemed like meaningless symbols into sensible sequences. But now, without his steady guidance, each formula felt like a unsolvable riddle.
"Miss Weasley," McGonagall's voice suddenly cut through her thoughts, sharp enough to make her flinch. "Can you explain the function of the Multiplication Principle in relation to this formula?"
Ginny's mind blanked, her pulse racing. She had heard Tom explain the principle to her before - it was essential in determining how much power to apply to an object being transfigured - but the exact words eluded her. She opened her mouth, trying to piece together the answer, but each thought felt fragile, slipping away the moment she tried to form a sentence.
"Um… I think it… adjusts the… um…" she stammered, cheeks reddening as she glanced around the room. Several students were watching, some smirking, others exchanging glances. She had been able to answer any question in previous lessons.
McGonagall's expression softened slightly, though her tone remained firm. "Perhaps it would help if you reviewed the function of this principle more closely. Are you feeling unwell, Miss Weasley?"
Ginny shook her head, her embarrassment settling into a deep pit in her stomach. She glanced back at her notes, but the scribbles looked messier than ever, scattered fragments of knowledge that no longer fit together.
Ginny walked with her roommates toward Charms, her mind still heavy with the sting of her earlier mistakes in class. She could feel her roommates casting glances her way, as if trying to assess her mood. Mira finally broke the silence.
"You alright, Ginny?" Mira asked softly, a hint of worry in her voice.
For a fleeting moment, Ginny wanted to lean on them, to share her feelings of frustration and exhaustion, but the memory of overhearing their whispered conversations about her in the common room held her back. She remembered the dismissive tone in Mira's voice, the way Emily had failed to defend her and how Daisy had said nothing to stop it. Now, their expressions of worry felt shallow, like a show they put on when they thought she was listening.
"I'm fine," Ginny replied quickly, forcing her tone to stay even. She shrugged, not meeting their eyes. "Just tired. Don't worry about it."
Mira gave her a sceptical look, but Ginny brushed past it, determined not to let them see any hint of vulnerability. Her fingers tightened on her bag. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing her struggle. She didn't owe them that. If they didn't care enough to see the real her, then she wouldn't give them the chance.
"Alright," Mira said, sounding unconvinced. "But you know we're here if you need anything."
Ginny managed a small, tight smile, knowing it wouldn't reach her eyes. "Yeah… Thanks."
Inside, her resolve hardened. She didn't need their pity or their fake concern.
As they took their seats, Ginny's nerves returned. They were practicing the Levitation Charm, making objects float and follow them around the room. Professor Flitwick demonstrated the wand movement with his usual precision, a feather rising effortlessly and trailing behind him. Ginny watched intently, her anxiety creeping up as she prepared to try it herself.
Without Tom's guidance, even basic spells felt daunting. He had often steadied her hand, showing her how to shape her intent, his voice a reassuring presence as he guided her magic. Now, standing on her own, her wand felt heavier, her grip awkward, her confidence splintering.
Taking a breath, she pointed her wand at the feather in front of her and murmured, "Wingardium Leviosa." She swished her wand as instructed, but the feather only twitched. Determined, she tried again, this time putting a bit more force behind the movement. The feather wobbled, rising a few inches before dropping flat.
Professor Flitwick glanced her way, his kind eyes softening with concern. "Having a little trouble today, Miss Weasley?" he asked gently. "Perhaps just a touch more focus on the swish?"
Ginny forced a smile, nodding, though her stomach twisted with embarrassment. She could feel the stares of her classmates again and all of it was a bitter reminder of how much she'd relied on Tom's help. The spells she'd thought she knew were slipping out of reach and she couldn't shake the feeling that she was failing without him.
As the day wore on, a dark anxiety coiled in her stomach, growing heavier with each passing class. The thought of her homework waiting for her made her feel faint. She'd always copied Tom's answers, letting him dictate her essays word by word, feeding her the phrases and ideas that made her look smart. Without him, she'd be lost. How would she even begin to write her essays or complete her assignments?
By the time classes ended, Ginny's head throbbed with the weight of her insecurities and a creeping fear took hold - a fear that perhaps she wasn't the clever, capable student she'd thought she was, but someone weak, someone who'd depended on Tom more than she'd ever realized. And worse, a more terrifying thought lingered, surfacing from the strange clarity of her mind now that he was silent.
She was starting to recall odd gaps in her memory, times when things didn't add up, when she'd acted without recollection or found herself somewhere she didn't remember going. The realization was like ice down her spine.
Ginny's heart pounded as she made her way through the corridors, her steps uncertain. With Tom gone, these memories - these lapses she had dismissed so easily before - now stood out as bizarre and disturbing. Before, whenever she'd noticed something strange, Tom had soothed her fears, his calm explanations brushing away her doubts. But now, with the silence stretching on, there was no one to dismiss the frightening thoughts piling up in her mind.
That night, Ginny barely touched her food at dinner in the Great Hall. Her mind wandered until she was jolted back to the present by Lockhart's booming voice from the staff table.
"A word to all students," he announced, standing and giving a dramatic, sweeping gesture that silenced the room. "I've just come from the Forbidden Forest, where I uncovered a hidden colony of Acromantula!" He paused for effect, his eyes gleaming. "For those of you who may not know, Acromantula are giant, venomous spiders. And when I say giant, I mean big enough to take on a Hippogriff!"
The words struck a ripple of shock through the hall and Ginny noticed Hagrid, seated at the teachers' table, go pale. He stared at Lockhart in horror, clearly anxious at this reveal.
Ginny's gaze shifted to her brothers. Ron looked horrified, his face going green as he leaned toward Harry and Hermione. "Please tell me he's making this up," he muttered, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else.
Hermione looked far too pleased to set him straight. "No, they're real, Ron," she said, a little smugly. "Acromantula colonies have been documented for ages. They're highly intelligent and highly dangerous."
Ron's face twisted in distaste. "Brilliant," he said, with a shiver. "Just brilliant. Can't wait to meet a bunch of massive spiders. I'll bring the biscuits." He shrunk down in his seat, clearly hoping the subject would change.
Lockhart, however, seemed thrilled by the response he'd gotten. "But not to worry!" he proclaimed, his voice carrying to the far reaches of the hall. "As long as I'm here, you'll all be safe." He gave the hall a dazzling smile, looking as pleased with himself as if he'd single-handedly defeated a dragon.
Harry, who looked unimpressed, leaned over to Ginny and whispered, "Is he serious? This is the same guy who could barely handle a handful of Cornish pixies!"
Ginny tried to laugh, though her stomach was twisted in knots. The absence of Tom's reassuring voice left her unsettled, her mind raw and uncertain. The thought of spiders barely registered - she was only thinking about the diary. She'd relied on Tom to help her sound knowledgeable, smart and capable. But now, she was beginning to wonder how much of it had been her and how much was him.
After dinner Ginny sank into an armchair in the common room, trying to focus on her Charms essay. Without Tom's steady hand guiding her, the words on the page seemed distant and impossible to grasp. Frustration pricked at her, especially when she realized that Tom, with his sharp mind and eloquent explanations, wasn't there to take over and make everything fall into place.
With a sigh, she scanned the room, spotting Percy hunched over his own work by the fire. She hesitated, but after another painful attempt at understanding her assignment, she walked over to him.
"Percy?" she asked, keeping her voice quiet so as not to interrupt him too abruptly. "Could you maybe… help me with my Charms homework?"
Percy glanced up, his expression almost immediately turning stern and mildly exasperated. "Ginny, you know the importance of learning this on your own," he replied, his tone laced with big-brotherly impatience. "I can't be there to hold your hand through every assignment. You've got to learn these things yourself."
Ginny's cheeks burned with embarrassment as he looked back down, his dismissal hitting her harder than she expected. She stood there for a moment, uncertain whether to argue or retreat.
Suddenly, she felt a light tap on her shoulder. Turning, she saw Fred and George grinning at her, their expressions a mix of concern and mischief.
"Looks like Percy gave you the cold shoulder, eh?" Fred said, nudging her.
"Poor little Gin-Gin, left out in the Charms wilderness," George added, putting on a dramatically sad face. "Whatever shall we do?"
Ginny managed a small smile despite herself. The twins always had a knack for finding humour in any situation and their energy was infectious. "It's not like I don't want to do it myself," she muttered, "it's just… complicated."
"Well, complicated is our specialty!" Fred said, plopping down beside her and picking up her Charms textbook. "Let's have a look, then."
For the next hour, Fred and George kept up a steady stream of jokes and commentary, helping Ginny get through her assignment in their own chaotic, half-helpful, half-distracting way. Between their antics, her frustration faded and she found herself laughing, letting the twins' light-heartedness lift her mood. In those moments, she felt like herself again - like a normal little sister with annoying but well-meaning brothers.
But as the night wore on, the common room began to empty. Fred and George went off to bed, leaving her alone with the fire crackling in the hearth and her thoughts crowding back in. Her earlier distress crept back in as she stared down at her parchment, her mind wandering.
What if these memory lapses weren't just her own forgetfulness? What if they were tied to something more sinister?
Her gaze drifted to her schoolbag where her diary was hidden. Tom had gone silent, saying he needed to 'collect magic' for a few days. She wondered why his absence had cleared her mind, letting her thoughts settle in a way they hadn't for weeks. It was like he'd left a fog over her that only now was beginning to lift.
But what if that fog had been intentional?
A chill ran down her spine. She hated thinking that Tom could have been a part of something dangerous - that he could have something to do with her memory lapses. He'd been such a good friend, always listening, always understanding. But what if…?
With a shiver, she shook the thought away, unwilling to believe it. She climbed the stairs to bed, but her mind was plagued by the same dark questions. Finally, she closed her eyes, drifting into an uneasy sleep, her thoughts twisting between trust and dread.
The next day, Ginny trudged through her classes with a heavy heart. Potions went better than expected - she completed her draught without Tom's help, her concoction turning the almost perfect shade of turquoise that Snape had requested. For a brief moment, she felt a flicker of pride. But underneath it all, there was a persistent gnawing worry that her memory lapses weren't just from stress.
After her last class, she found herself wandering toward the library, clutching her bag tightly. Her eyes roamed the shelves almost without focus until she reached a section she rarely visited. Heart racing, she began pulling out volumes about enchanted objects, possession and mind magic.
One book, titled 'Cursed and Sentient Artifacts: Warnings and Dangers', immediately caught her attention. Flipping through its pages, she read about sentient magical objects that could establish a bond with their owner's mind. Such objects, it warned, were often linked to dark magic. The descriptions made her skin crawl as she thought of the strange connection she shared with Tom, the way he seemed to read her thoughts, answer her questions without her even needing to write. She'd always assumed it was simply a unique quirk of the diary - but this book implied something much darker.
As she skimmed the chapter, another passage caught her eye. 'Sentient artifacts that forged mental connections often demanded a piece of the user - either magic, life force or even a small offering of blood.' Her stomach twisted as she remembered that Tom had encouraged her to let a drop of blood fall onto his pages. He'd promised it was a way of strengthening their connection. At the time, it had seemed innocent. Now it felt sinister, as though she'd unknowingly offered him something precious.
She swallowed hard and forced herself to put the book back on the shelf, but her curiosity, mixed with dread, drove her to continue searching. Another book, focused on mind magic, described the effects of possession and mind control. According to the text, people who had been controlled by outside forces often experienced blank spots in their memories and a sense of clarity returning only when the possession ceased. They'd sometimes describe it as if a fog had lifted from their mind. Ginny's heart pounded as she recalled her own moments of fogginess, the memory lapses that she'd dismissed for so long. Could it be possible that Tom had taken control of her, even if just for brief moments?
Her hands shook as she closed the book, but she couldn't shake the image of her own mind filled with holes, places where she had simply ceased to be herself. Ginny had trusted Tom. He'd been her friend when she'd felt most alone. But now, every memory of him felt like it had a dark undercurrent, as if her friendship had only been an illusion he'd woven to draw her in.
Footsteps approaching brought her out of her thoughts. She looked up to see Hermione Granger, her arms full of books, looking as if she'd been hunting down half the library.
"Oh, Ginny! What are you reading?" Hermione asked brightly, her eyes flicking to the books Ginny had stacked around her.
Ginny's cheeks flushed and she hurriedly closed the book in her hands. "Oh… just something for… research," she stammered, feeling strangely vulnerable.
Hermione didn't seem to notice her discomfort and sat down across from her, laying out her own books with a grin. "I've been reading about Acromantulas," she said enthusiastically. "After Lockhart's speech last night, I just had to know more! Did you know they're actually quite intelligent? They even have their own sort of society!"
Ginny tried to keep up with Hermione's words, nodding occasionally, but her thoughts were far away. Her mind kept replaying the warnings from the books, and no matter how she tried, she couldn't shake the gnawing suspicion that her memory gaps were part of something much more sinister.
The days that followed were a blur of dread and secrecy for Ginny. Each afternoon after classes, she hurried to the library, a familiar weight pressing on her chest as she scanned the shelves, searching for answers. Hermione, always eager to help, seemed to think Ginny was simply interested in magical artifacts and had taken to researching alongside her. Ginny rarely explained her true reasons, but Hermione's presence was oddly comforting, even as Ginny's worst fears solidified into certainty.
Every book Ginny read seemed to confirm her suspicions. The diary was a dark artifact and Tom wasn't the friend she'd once thought. Possession and memory manipulation were terms she now recognized as describing the very things she'd experienced. She found passages on cursed items that could control and influence their owners, drawing magic from them, gaining strength through their emotions. One especially chilling book described artifacts that could even 'take over a person's will entirely'.
Each new piece of information sank into her like a stone, and every time she looked at the diary, her stomach twisted in horror. How could she have let this happen? How had she been so blind?
One evening, after a particularly alarming passage on cursed artifacts that left her feeling almost numb with fear, Ginny decided she couldn't keep the diary any longer. She slipped it into her bag and headed for an empty corridor. Her heart pounded as she fumbled to remove it, looking around to make sure no one was watching. She was going to throw it away - hide it somewhere it couldn't hurt her or anyone else. Her hands shook as she held the diary over a dusty ledge in a secluded nook, ready to drop it.
But her fingers wouldn't release it. An invisible pull tightened her grip, making her body freeze as she tried to force herself to let go. She couldn't breathe, her pulse hammering as she strained against the compulsion that bound her fingers around the diary. Panic surged and despite every ounce of her will, she couldn't make herself throw it away.
"No… please… I don't want this anymore!" she whispered, her voice choked with desperation. She clenched her eyes shut, hoping that somehow, some strength would come to her.
She struggled with the diary until her hands ached, but it was as if it were glued to her, as if it had become a part of her. Hot tears began streaming down her cheeks and her knees buckled as she slid down against the wall, clutching the diary helplessly to her chest.
"I… I can't…" she whispered and a broken sob escaped her. She felt trapped, helpless against the dark pull that kept her tethered to this cursed object. Her mind raced with terror, her body trembling as she fought the horrible realization that she was, in some twisted way, connected to Tom.
Lost in her despair, she didn't hear Hermione approaching until she felt a hand on her shoulder. Startled, Ginny looked up, her tear-streaked face meeting Hermione's worried gaze.
"Ginny? Are you alright?" Hermione asked gently, her face filled with concern as she knelt beside her friend.
Ginny tried to pull herself together, but a fresh wave of sobs escaped her. She wanted to tell Hermione everything, but fear and shame tangled her words.
"Ginny, what's wrong?" Hermione persisted, her hand still on Ginny's shoulder. "You can tell me."
"I… I think…" Ginny stammered, her voice barely a whisper. "I think I've… I've been possessed. I think Tom… he's been using me."
Hermione's face went pale, but she didn't pull away. "Tom? You mean… the diary?"
Ginny nodded, her tears streaming freely now. She poured out her fears, her suspicions, all the memories she'd dismissed as nothing, all the times she'd blacked out and woken up somewhere strange. And now, the horrid realization that she'd been carrying a dark artifact all along and that somehow, it wouldn't let her go.
Hermione listened, her face grim and serious as she processed everything. After a moment, she took a deep breath and said, "Ginny, you don't have to face this alone. We should go to Professor McGonagall - she'll know what to do."
Ginny's heart skipped a beat at the thought of telling a teacher, but the fear of facing this nightmare alone was even worse. She nodded hesitantly, wiping her eyes as she tried to compose herself.
As they walked through the corridor, nearing the staircase that led to the Gryffindor tower, Ginny's eyes were inexplicably drawn to the slightly ajar door of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. The sight of it stirred an unsettling feeling deep within her, as though she had been here many times before - even though she knew she hadn't.
A strange sense of déjà vu washed over her, a sense that she'd visited this broken bathroom countless times, but why would she? She couldn't remember. Her mind felt hazy, fogged over by an odd cloud that seemed to blur the edges of her thoughts, making it hard to grasp the reason behind the nagging sensation. The feeling was cold, distant, but it lingered, like an unwelcome presence in the back of her mind, a foreboding she couldn't shake.
"Ginny..."
Her heart skipped a beat and her head spun. It was Tom. His voice, deep and luring, echoed in her mind, cold and familiar, like a pull she couldn't resist.
She raised her wand instinctively, her thoughts clouding. A single, quick movement. Her vision darkened, her body betraying her as the world around her spun out of focus. She didn't even fully realize what she had done until it was too late.
"Stupefy!"
Hermione collapsed to the floor, her body limp and unresponsive. Ginny's heart hammered in her chest as she looked down at her friend, horrified.
"No," Ginny gasped, her voice cracking. She tried to breathe, but it was as if the air had been sucked out of the corridor. She couldn't think straight. Her mind was foggy, clouded by something darker. Something stronger.
The last thing she saw before everything went black was Hermione's still form, lying on the cold stone floor and the familiar, taunting whisper in her ear.
"You did well, Ginny..."
Alexander's voice echoed in her mind - how did she come up with that name?
And she drifted into nothing.