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Split-Half Reliability: Ch 3 [HP]
Title: Split-Half Reliability
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing/Characters: Ginny & Tom, Harry/Ginny, Tomarry
Rating: M
Chapter Word Count: 1,186
Chapter Count: 3 / 7 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 |
Summary: Prequel to Liminality. Ginny navigates life after her humiliating first year in Hogwarts. Along the way, she discovers that she’s much less alone than she thought she was, and she has to learn how to make peace with the teenaged, wannabe Dark Lord who's taken up a permanent residence in her head. -or- When Tom’s diary is destroyed, he’s already almost completely left it. With no place else to go, Tom Marvolo Riddle is thrown back into the only other container he has a link to: Ginny Weasley.
Notes: This thing.
---
Umbridge is awful, but Ginny feels incredible. There are constant opportunities to show off her skills—in front of Harry, even. She finally feels as though she’s coming into her own.
You’re holding your wand wrong.
Ginny manages not to scowl, but it’s a close call. She’s been arguing with herself a lot lately. Well, not just lately. Ginny has always struggled with internal conflict. The difference is, recently it seems as though her conflict has been split into two sides: her—or who she thinks of as her, anyway—and an enemy, who pops up with frequent doubts about herself, cruel asides about the people around her, and, worst of all, unwarranted criticisms of her class performance.
Ginny stubbornly ignores the internal nagging and keeps her wand grip the same. The mouse at her work station twists into a beautiful, elegant teacup of the sort that Ginny has only ever seen in the windows of shops that she can’t even afford to step inside.
“Excellent work, Miss Weasley. Ten points to Gryffindor,” says Professor McGonagall.
Ginny smiles, neither modest nor preening, though battling parts of her want to be both.
---
Ginny watches from the corner as Harry storms into the common room, Hermione and even Ron struggling to keep up.
‘Storms’ is the correct word, certainly.
The air feels electric as Harry makes a bee-line for his dorm, not looking at anyone. It feels as though lightning could strike at any moment.
And then Harry is gone, and it’s as though a window has been opened, or a smothering blanket that had lain over the whole room has been lifted.
Ginny shivers and returns to her book.
Harry has been… wild this year.
Ginny loves it.
I love it.
It’s been rare that both halves of her internal conflict agree on anything. Everything has become an argument, down to how to wear her robes and what she wants to eat.
For example: Ginny doesn’t like cockroach clusters. She knows she doesn’t like cockroach clusters. She has never liked cockroach clusters. But after weeks of nagging, she finally acquiesced to the irritating voice in her head and bought a small pack in Hogsmeade. She took one bite and had to spit the rest out. She ended up giving the rest of the pack to one of her dormmates, and she still feels incandescent at the victory—I know what I like—and sulky at the defeat.
I know what I like, too.
And so those blue moons when all of her is in agreement over something feel important, even when it’s something as small and obvious as the observation that Harry’s manic energy and furious temper—
—And in particular, the way he pushes his temper down, though he vibrates with it, though it seeps out of him—
—Yes, exactly, his control—
—And his loss of it—
—Is all tremendously, deliciously attractive. That was her point. Harry Potter, always but especially now, is just very attractive, and the tension with which he holds himself now makes her want to stroke her fingers along his neck soothingly, hold him down until he calms beneath her hands. And when he does, she’ll flutter kisses across his lovely face and tell him how wonderful he is, how good he is.
She thinks that’s something he needs to hear.
His useless friends and that useless Ravenclaw. Don’t they know how to take care of him?
Ginny wants to defend Ron and Hermione—Cho is quite obviously a lost cause—but she has to admit that they do seem to be rather useless, at least at this. Harry needs special care; care that they don’t seem to know how to give him. Ginny knows how to care for him. Ginny does.
I do.
---
That battle at the ministry is world shattering.
It had been so fun to saunter around with her charmed galleon, blinking innocently up at that toad Umbridge while she trained in Defense right under her unbearable nose. She had felt so smug as her spells in the DA landed, her skills as Seeker and Chaser giving her some of the fastest reflexes in their whole illegal study group.
But fighting in the ministry, fighting against those dark robed, masked monsters who laughed about torturing and murdering teenagers… That wasn’t what she’d been expecting. If anything, she would have thought it would be easier to fight against people like that than against her friends. There’s no need to be concerned that her curse had packed too strong a sting, no need to make sure her opponent is ready for her barrage of hexes. But even now that she’s home and safe with her family, she still feels that hollowing, numbing fear leaking through her.
And even though she’d heard Harry’s stories, seeing You Know—seeing Voldemort, standing there in the flesh, looking like a twisted caricature of a human...
That’s wrong. He’s wrong.
The voice, her internal enemy, has been quiet since Harry’s false dream took them to the Department of Mysteries to save his godfather, to damn him. The quiet hadn’t been the peace of agreement or a shared common goal or anything like that. It was simply as though the part of her that was so constantly at odds with the rest had taken a step back to observe in silence.
It had been a little lonely.
She scoffs at herself—for missing the irritation, for being confused enough that a part of her needs to state, questioningly and tentatively, that perhaps the world-destroying maniac might be wrong.
Of course he’s wrong. He’s You Know Who. Infamously evil Dark Lord? Kills and tortures people for fun? Ringing any bells?
He’s not supposed to be like that.
No one is supposed to be like that.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
Ginny wants to scream. At herself, at this fear, at the world. What? What wasn’t? Sirius wasn’t supposed to die. Voldemort wasn’t supposed to be able to attack the ministry. Voldemort wasn’t supposed to be able to come back from the dead. Voldemort wasn’t supposed to be able to lock a piece of himself into a diary and then let it go around possessing innocent little girls. None of this is supposed to happen, none of this is supposed to be the way it is. Are we just noticing this now?
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
Ginny locks herself into her room and finally gives into the urge and screams into her pillow. She doesn’t cry. She doesn’t want to, really. What she wants to do is reach into the heart of their world and reshape it until it isn’t all twisted and wrong like this, until the things that are supposed to happen happen and the things that aren’t don’t.
She’s drifting off to sleep when she hears the voice again. Maybe it’s her semi-conscious state, or maybe it’s something else, but the voice seems stronger, now. Louder.
Stronger. Louder. Closer. And very recognisable.
I wasn’t supposed to be like this, says Tom Marvolo Riddle.
Ginny doesn’t sleep that night after all.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing/Characters: Ginny & Tom, Harry/Ginny, Tomarry
Rating: M
Chapter Word Count: 1,186
Chapter Count: 3 / 7 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 |
Summary: Prequel to Liminality. Ginny navigates life after her humiliating first year in Hogwarts. Along the way, she discovers that she’s much less alone than she thought she was, and she has to learn how to make peace with the teenaged, wannabe Dark Lord who's taken up a permanent residence in her head. -or- When Tom’s diary is destroyed, he’s already almost completely left it. With no place else to go, Tom Marvolo Riddle is thrown back into the only other container he has a link to: Ginny Weasley.
Notes: This thing.
Umbridge is awful, but Ginny feels incredible. There are constant opportunities to show off her skills—in front of Harry, even. She finally feels as though she’s coming into her own.
You’re holding your wand wrong.
Ginny manages not to scowl, but it’s a close call. She’s been arguing with herself a lot lately. Well, not just lately. Ginny has always struggled with internal conflict. The difference is, recently it seems as though her conflict has been split into two sides: her—or who she thinks of as her, anyway—and an enemy, who pops up with frequent doubts about herself, cruel asides about the people around her, and, worst of all, unwarranted criticisms of her class performance.
Ginny stubbornly ignores the internal nagging and keeps her wand grip the same. The mouse at her work station twists into a beautiful, elegant teacup of the sort that Ginny has only ever seen in the windows of shops that she can’t even afford to step inside.
“Excellent work, Miss Weasley. Ten points to Gryffindor,” says Professor McGonagall.
Ginny smiles, neither modest nor preening, though battling parts of her want to be both.
Ginny watches from the corner as Harry storms into the common room, Hermione and even Ron struggling to keep up.
‘Storms’ is the correct word, certainly.
The air feels electric as Harry makes a bee-line for his dorm, not looking at anyone. It feels as though lightning could strike at any moment.
And then Harry is gone, and it’s as though a window has been opened, or a smothering blanket that had lain over the whole room has been lifted.
Ginny shivers and returns to her book.
Harry has been… wild this year.
Ginny loves it.
I love it.
It’s been rare that both halves of her internal conflict agree on anything. Everything has become an argument, down to how to wear her robes and what she wants to eat.
For example: Ginny doesn’t like cockroach clusters. She knows she doesn’t like cockroach clusters. She has never liked cockroach clusters. But after weeks of nagging, she finally acquiesced to the irritating voice in her head and bought a small pack in Hogsmeade. She took one bite and had to spit the rest out. She ended up giving the rest of the pack to one of her dormmates, and she still feels incandescent at the victory—I know what I like—and sulky at the defeat.
I know what I like, too.
And so those blue moons when all of her is in agreement over something feel important, even when it’s something as small and obvious as the observation that Harry’s manic energy and furious temper—
—And in particular, the way he pushes his temper down, though he vibrates with it, though it seeps out of him—
—Yes, exactly, his control—
—And his loss of it—
—Is all tremendously, deliciously attractive. That was her point. Harry Potter, always but especially now, is just very attractive, and the tension with which he holds himself now makes her want to stroke her fingers along his neck soothingly, hold him down until he calms beneath her hands. And when he does, she’ll flutter kisses across his lovely face and tell him how wonderful he is, how good he is.
She thinks that’s something he needs to hear.
His useless friends and that useless Ravenclaw. Don’t they know how to take care of him?
Ginny wants to defend Ron and Hermione—Cho is quite obviously a lost cause—but she has to admit that they do seem to be rather useless, at least at this. Harry needs special care; care that they don’t seem to know how to give him. Ginny knows how to care for him. Ginny does.
I do.
That battle at the ministry is world shattering.
It had been so fun to saunter around with her charmed galleon, blinking innocently up at that toad Umbridge while she trained in Defense right under her unbearable nose. She had felt so smug as her spells in the DA landed, her skills as Seeker and Chaser giving her some of the fastest reflexes in their whole illegal study group.
But fighting in the ministry, fighting against those dark robed, masked monsters who laughed about torturing and murdering teenagers… That wasn’t what she’d been expecting. If anything, she would have thought it would be easier to fight against people like that than against her friends. There’s no need to be concerned that her curse had packed too strong a sting, no need to make sure her opponent is ready for her barrage of hexes. But even now that she’s home and safe with her family, she still feels that hollowing, numbing fear leaking through her.
And even though she’d heard Harry’s stories, seeing You Know—seeing Voldemort, standing there in the flesh, looking like a twisted caricature of a human...
That’s wrong. He’s wrong.
The voice, her internal enemy, has been quiet since Harry’s false dream took them to the Department of Mysteries to save his godfather, to damn him. The quiet hadn’t been the peace of agreement or a shared common goal or anything like that. It was simply as though the part of her that was so constantly at odds with the rest had taken a step back to observe in silence.
It had been a little lonely.
She scoffs at herself—for missing the irritation, for being confused enough that a part of her needs to state, questioningly and tentatively, that perhaps the world-destroying maniac might be wrong.
Of course he’s wrong. He’s You Know Who. Infamously evil Dark Lord? Kills and tortures people for fun? Ringing any bells?
He’s not supposed to be like that.
No one is supposed to be like that.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
Ginny wants to scream. At herself, at this fear, at the world. What? What wasn’t? Sirius wasn’t supposed to die. Voldemort wasn’t supposed to be able to attack the ministry. Voldemort wasn’t supposed to be able to come back from the dead. Voldemort wasn’t supposed to be able to lock a piece of himself into a diary and then let it go around possessing innocent little girls. None of this is supposed to happen, none of this is supposed to be the way it is. Are we just noticing this now?
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
Ginny locks herself into her room and finally gives into the urge and screams into her pillow. She doesn’t cry. She doesn’t want to, really. What she wants to do is reach into the heart of their world and reshape it until it isn’t all twisted and wrong like this, until the things that are supposed to happen happen and the things that aren’t don’t.
She’s drifting off to sleep when she hears the voice again. Maybe it’s her semi-conscious state, or maybe it’s something else, but the voice seems stronger, now. Louder.
Stronger. Louder. Closer. And very recognisable.
I wasn’t supposed to be like this, says Tom Marvolo Riddle.
Ginny doesn’t sleep that night after all.