Note: Name changed from Aquiriis to Intricacy

To my amazing readers that I really do not deserve:

Thanks for sticking around. Sorry if this chapter isn’t up to your expectations, but school is huge right now, and I hardy even have time for a life outside of homework and studying and such.

And I’m horribly sorry it’s so short, compared to all the other chapters. The writing isn’t very well done, either.

Better than nothing, eh? Eh…

Anyways, just wanted to let you know that I am determined to complete this story through all its rewrites, updates, rewrites, procrastination, and rewrites. Even if I don’t seem like it, because I won’t have time to write much anymore. Sorry bout that.

But this is an action-packed chapter. I hope it’s not too rushed.

Anyways, hope you enjoy this chapter! Review! (Or not. If I were you, I’d be mad at me for not updating.)

Eight o’clock.

Eight o’clock, and she was already so bloody tired.

Eight o’clock, and Ginny was already on her bed, rubbing her sore eyes as she lifted another heavy book into her lap, forcing herself to stay awake for another book.

At eight o’clock.

At bloody eight o’clock.

It seemed to be that fate wanted Ginny to play the character of heroine in every possible story it could manage in life’s drama, as if playing heroine of her own time was not quite enough. Stiffing a yawn, she flipped through the pages of the tome, determined to find something that would be of aid.

Natharia’s mother is deathly ill. Clint’s father died and is growing more depressed by the day, and she fears he will start taking drugs. Alaina’s rebel of a sister is facing Muggle court and Alaina has no idea what to feel.

She ran her fingers across the page of the book, her eyes barely open to read the sentences. The pages were smooth beneath her hand and the soft scent of the papyrus was lulling Ginny to sleep. “The… centaurs of the Middle East… have claimed…” She muttered aloud the lines of the book underneath her breath. “…but such is now known… not… not to be true.”

Lori’s grades are slipping, and she fears she will not be able to pass the NEWTs this year. She wants Ginny to help tutor her.

Her eyelids grew heavy as they drifted further and further down. Struggling to keep reading, she spoke in a louder voice which quickly disintegrated into nothingness. “A Seer from the North has stated that... that… that…” She sniffed slightly, forcing herself to keep reading. “…that magic is the root of both… cure and… and poison…” She read to the extent that she no longer understood the words that jumbled themselves together.

Pat himself is sick and may drop out of Hogwarts if his condition doesn’t improve.

Slowly, her eyes drifted closed shut and they opened no more as she fell asleep atop the tome, her lips still moving in the pattern of words.

Quidditch tryouts are coming up, but Ginny's out of shape.

Thoughts of everything were pushed away.

Tom waited by the lake. Why he had gone so far out as to prepare this meal, he did not know; after all, it was not declared as a date would have been. It was simply a meeting. Simply a meeting. She would likely arrive and feel exceptionally awkward…

What time was it? Perhaps he will be able to remove the candles and drapery before she arrives. With a flick of his wand, the two items vanished.

The sun had spilled its colors across the sky, bleeding a beautiful combination of gold and red. He never thought he’d appreciate those two colors combined; they reminded him too much of the haughtily good-willed people of Gryffindor. But now it was gone, and all that was left was a dark blue and black hue.

He had come down an hour before dinner had started, simply to prepare an elaborate meal just for her. Perhaps it was too elaborate. The candles and the drapery were already gone, items that had taken a good half hour to put up. Maybe he should whisk away the champagne, too. He vanished it with his wand.

Were the fireflies too much? He had set up the glowing bugs around the scenery. Yes, they probably were. It was October, anyways; Ginny would be suspicious of it. She would be aware of his… Quickly, Riddle flicked his wand, and the fireflies were gone.

Now, an almost normal meal. The only thing he had to get rid of was the music, and he did so hurriedly. She could never know that he had prepared such a romantic meal for her. She would come, not suspecting anything, and have a normal dinner. All that he had conjured, he had also banished; he had his fantasy, and now he was to face reality.

He wondered the time. From within the castle, a chime declared it nine o’clock. Nine. She should have been here an hour ago.

Perhaps she was running late on homework. She was a diligent student, working hard to accommodate her high goals she’d set for herself. No doubt she was finishing up, and maybe helping a student as well. No, she wouldn’t help anybody. She knew of the appointment they shared tonight. She was probably on her way down right now.

Damn. He’d forgotten about the fairies. He shooed them away with a bolt of light sent from his wand. The picnic now hung in a horrid darkness. Perhaps he should resurrect the candles? No, he shouldn’t. Wasn’t there some other form of light he could use?

The food was cold now, though Tom hardly noticed. He was consumed with anxious thoughts of Ginny’s interpretation of the meal. Everything had to have the perfect balance. Perfect. Perhaps he shouldn’t have gotten rid of the fairies. They could have conveyed what Tom would have been like as a –

No, the fairies were gone, and they will stay gone.

He was better off with her not knowing. If she ever knew… if she ever suspected… he didn’t know what he’d do.

Never before had he ever –

The clock chimed ten. Two hours. Two entire hours. From above, two birds in the sky parted. It was then that the truth settled within Tom’s mind and the small smile on his face turned into an angry grimace.

Ginny had stood him up. She wasn’t going to come. She’d forgotten about him; she didn’t care about him. At least she didn’t suspect, or did she suspect? Was that the reason why she had not come? His eyes darkened significantly as he vanished the entire meal away. The meal he’d spent two hours preparing.

She didn’t like him. She hated him. This much was obvious.

And if that were the case, he didn’t care. He didn’t. He could hate her too with just as much anger, just as much fury.

It would work best for the both of them.

It was midnight when Ginny awoke, her chest growing hot. Her eyes flickered open, her neck sore from sleeping in an awkward position. Yawning widely, she saw the blue glow coming from beneath her uniform.

She pulled out the charm and opened the tube, letting a small piece of parchment fall out. A message from the Order. Her heart rate quickened significantly as she enlarged the parchment to a size fit to read.

A blunder, Miss Weasley?

Your good work has seemed to fail today. We’re slipping back into a depression.

She gasped. Though it was not signed, she knew it was from Moody. No one else would have been so blunt.

But what had she done? What had she forgotten?

Her mind raced, and she couldn’t remember. Why did Tom change? They were getting along nicely only this morning…

This morning. Didn’t he ask her of something? Something or the other… what did he want? She recalled some sort of excitement…

Creativity. That was it. He wanted her to think creatively, for… some occasion? Halloween! And he wanted to meet her by the lake that night.

In the midst of helping everyone else solve their problems, Ginny Weasley had forgotten to solve her own desperate one.

And Ginny Weasley had stood up Lord Voldemort.

Merlin, Merlin. A maelstrom of confusion and horror, mixed feelings swimming in Ginny’s head. She pushed away all other thoughts and concentrated on the quagmire of Tom Riddle. She couldn’t go back to sleep, her head heavy with fright. She grabbed her cloak from the bedpost and slipped outside, slipping it on top of her now wrinkled uniform. Barefoot, she left the Ravenclaw common room and climbed through the portrait hole.

Outside, the stone floor pierced her feet with cold and the air had a chill not found during day. The moon shone vibrantly outside the window as Ginny navigated downward into the dungeons, following the path that she knew her brothers Fred and George had often taken at night after a Quidditch game against the Slytherins.

Her feet had soon grown numb as she made her way down, gathering the robe closer around her. The temperature dropped here as she advanced to the Slytherin common room. Standing before a useless column pressed against the wall, she realized that she didn’t know the password. The only passwords she knew would not be used for fifty years.

Slowly, however, the column slipped aside, leaving a narrow passageway open. Hurriedly, Ginny stepped aside, but her red hair was noticeable even in the dark. The exiting Slytherin caught her by her wrist and spun her around to face him.

He was quite tall, she noticed, with dirty blond hair that hung in his light brown eyes that darted to her house badge. His skin was a slight tan and his features were not so sharp as Riddle’s, but he had a pleasing appearance to him.

“A Ravenclaw. Now, what do you think a Ravenclaw would be doing in the dungeons so late at night in this particular area?” he asked her quietly she had to strain to hear him, even in the silence.

His eyes were fixed on hers, unmoving. It frightened Ginny a little, but she was determined to stand her ground. “I don’t know. Maybe she was a Slytherin in disguise,” Ginny said lightly.

“Maybe, but I doubt it,” he responded evenly, his eyes still studying her avidly. She could only wonder what he was thinking. “And say a Slytherin was to cross her path while she was lurking around suspiciously. What should he do?”

“Hypothetically speaking?” Ginny said. “I would say that the Slytherin should say hello and leave her alone.”

His eyes changed slightly, not in color, but perhaps in expression. She could not quite read what it meant, for the rest of his face was left emotionless. “But only hypothetically speaking. Say, what is your name?”

“Ginny.”

“Ginny,” he repeated slowly. “Sixth year?”

She shook her head lightly, tilting her head to the side. “Seventh,” she corrected.

“Seventh?” His eyebrows arched slightly in surprise. “I have not seen you before.”

Ginny smiled slightly. “I’m a transfer.”

The corners of his lips tilted upward slightly, his eyes musing quiet laughter. “So you’re her,” he said. Standing up slightly straighter, he let go of her wrist and said, “It was an honor meeting you, Ginny. Perhaps next time we will meet again in less awkward setting, but for now, we shall part with your easy hello.”

He turned to leave, and Ginny was nothing short of bewilderment. “What is your name?” she inquired.

He paused only shortly and turned around to say, “Call me whatever you like.”

“Then hello, Sir Daffodil,” Ginny said as he turned the corner, a hint of a smile on his face. But Ginny was none less obfuscated by his strange demeanor. What had he meant? Why had he let her go so easily? Why was he up so late? Their departure was perhaps what confused Ginny most as she awkwardly hung by the corridor with nothing to do.

She placed her hand against the stone column. She didn’t know how to get past, and she couldn’t rectify her mistake until tomorrow morning. Would he speak to her? Would he understand?

Would it be too late?

Slowly, with her wand, she drew letters in the air, spelling them to be visible only to Tom. Such spells were useful during times of war, and Ginny had long since been skilled and excelled at it. Stepping back, she looked at the flaming orange letters that stood out against the dark of the corridor.

I’m sorry.

The words seemed so out of place that she slashed at it and they disappeared into the air. She needed to apologize to him, face to face.

“I apologize for my late arrival. I encountered the transfer girl on my way here.”

Shuffle of feet, low mutters.

“Really? And how did you find her?”

A single person laughing slightly in the background.

“She had not half the wit I expected her to, though she had a pretty face.”

“And a pretty face is all that matters, isn’t it?”

Murmur of chuckles.

“Regardless, I am here. May we commence?”

Clearing of the throat.

“That is true. Gentlemen, may we now begin our plot.”