pulse that beat at the base of his throat, lips that twitched nervously, spots of burning color on his cheekbones. Never real.
'You're a ghost,' Tom said, speaking less to her than to himself. 'You must be.'
Oh God, does he know me? Ginny thought, her heart almost crystallizing inside her chest — but no, in his eyes there was no recognition at all. Eyes so blue they were nearly black: eyes the color of the flames that might dance along the edge of a live coal. How could she have forgotten the color of his eyes?
'How else could you get past the wards?' he said, and now there was the beginning of an edge to his voice. A clear, fine edge, the edge of a glass knife. 'The spells on them are perfect. I invented them myself.' His eyes narrowed. 'Oh, but you're no ghost after all,' he murmured, eyes dropping to her throat. 'You're breathing.' He paused, eyes narrowing.
'For the moment.'
That unlocked Ginny's frozen limbs. Her hand flew up of its own accord, scrabbling for the Time-Turner around her throat.
Tom was too quick for her. His white hand flashed out, and she felt the chain jerked from her neck, lifted over her head. The Time-Turner sailed through the air and he caught it as handily as Harry might catch the Snitch. Helpless now, she stared up at him as he opened his hand and gazed at the small gold hourglass lying on his palm.
'What magic is this?' he demanded. His voice was a low hiss. 'Is this how you got past the wards? You're no student here. I've not seen you before, and I never forget a face. And you went for this the moment you saw me.
But it's not a Portkey…so what is it?'
She was silent.
His mouth curved into a smile, curling up at the corners like burning paper. 'Then I suppose I'll just have to experiment with it a bit myself,' he said. 'See what it does, this little talisman.'
'No — oh no.' Her protest burst out of her. She could not prevent it. 'Tom
— '
'I don't recall saying you could call me that.' His arrogant boy's voice cut across hers, silencing her. In that moment he had something of Draco about him — something to the tilt of his chin, the angle of his smiling-yet-not- smiling mouth was like Draco's. The shape of their eyes, too…but then, in other respects, he was just like Harry. If Draco and Harry could have been somehow combined, all their worst qualities married together into one person, perhaps the end result would have looked a bit like Tom Riddle. 'So you know me,' he said. 'You know my name. Who are you?
Not a student. Some Gryffindor's sister, sent to spy — '
'I'm not a spy.'
'Then what are you doing here? No one at this school has the power to break my wards — perhaps that fool Dumbledore — '
Ginny flinched away from the cold fury in his voice. With the speed of a striking snake, he flung out a hand and caught at her arm, jerking her to her feet. His touch lanced through her with a terrible sort of ecstatic pain that was like the pleasure of biting on a broken tooth. He yanked her towards him by the wrist, his other arm snaking around her waist.
He held her pressed against him, as close as a lover might, but his hands on her body were like ten sticks of ice. A sick faintness closed over her as he whispered against her neck, 'How much did you see? How long have you been inside these wards, watching? How much of your mind needs erasing, little brat, little spying Gryffindor brat — '
Pain shot through her arm as his grip tightened on her wrist until she was sure she could feel the bones inside grinding together. A little wail of agony escaped her throat.
A look of smug satisfaction flashed across his face. He bent his head to whisper in her ear, his mouth near her throat as if he meant to drink from it. 'Did that hurt?' he murmured; his breath was cold against her skin.
'Crucio of course has a certain…traditional elegance, but sometimes the simplest methods are the best ones. Don't you find?' he added conversationally, then, tightening his grip, slammed her hand hard into the side of the table.
Pain like a spearpoint of agony shot through her and she heard as well as felt a bone in her hand splinter.
'Tell me,' he hissed at her, and she knew he meant tell me how you got past my wards but what she heard was his old voice, the soft, caressing voice of her child's dreams, tell me Ginny tell me what you're thinking hoping dreaming nobody understands you but me nobody will ever love you like I do you'll never belong to anyone else never I promise you never
-- and the pain of that old betrayal was worse than the pain in her hand, and it gave her strength. Without even stopping to think what she was doing, she leaned back and spat in his face.
She could have done nothing that would have astonished him more. He jerked away, his grip on her loosening momentarily. 'You — ' he began, but she had torn herself free of his grasp, had spun away — he reached for her — and she swung her fist at him, hard, a high arcing swing that caught him square in the solar plexus and doubled him up. She heard him shout something at her but she didn't care — she was running, running as fast as she could towards the library door. Something parted around her like invisible wet curtains drawing back and she knew she'd broken through the wards and was outside them. She heard Tom shout behind her and then she was at the library door and had thrown it open and she hurled herself through it and — Directly into someone standing on the other side. She shrieked aloud and cringed back, terrified it was another of Tom's Slytherin minions — then her mouth fell open as a familiar voice spoke to her out of the dimness.
'Please,' said Dumbledore. 'There is no need for banshee imitations. You are quite safe.'
She gaped up at him. It was most certainly Dumbledore, though the hair she knew as snow-white was auburn now, and there were fewer wrinkles around the pale blue eyes. Despite his light words, there was a look of grave and stern concern on his face. He laid a hand on Ginny's shoulder and spoke again, looking past her:
'Master Riddle,' he said. 'There are regulations against running in the library, you know.'
Tom drew in a little gasping breath, audible even at this distance. Ginny turned slowly and looked back at him. Even now it was like looking at the sun: he burned her eyes. He stood where he was, suddenly less terrifying than he had been a moment ago. He seemed an ordinary boy now, school tie askew, sweaty and disheveled. He had been correct about his wards, she saw without much surprise: behind him, the library looked empty and undisturbed. 'I'm sorry, sir,' he said, his voice even. 'But this girl — she's not a student — '
'Yes, I know that,' Dumbledore said. 'And now, Master Riddle, if you please. Give young Miss Weasley back her necklace and we will trouble you no longer.'
'Grimoire,' Draco said.
Nothing happened. The door to the Slytherin common room remained tightly closed.
Draco seethed inwardly. Was it his fault he hadn't been paying attention lately when the new password was assigned? He had things on his mind.
Saving the world type things. And Pansy made them change the password every two weeks these days, usually to something deeply inane. Cursing Pansy, Draco restrained himself from kicking the dungeon door.
'Pureblood,' he muttered through his teeth. That was a popular one, and usually got hauled out of retirement every few months or so. No dice this time, of course. 'Um. Muggle-bait. No. Okay. Wormwood. Basilisk.
Slytherin Pride. Um. I suppose 'Die Mudblood die!' is too long. Oh, fuck.
Pansy, you useless bint.'
'Doppleganger,' said a voice behind him.
The door swung open.
