My Whole Life
by Faith Accompli

Truth behind the story: Title nicked from Bif Naked song which was on repeat loop. Utterly depressing song, of course. Fj, this was for you. This was always for you.

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Madam Pomfrey had given her a mug of hot chocolate, a drink she'd never been particularly fond of. Her mother and father had left her after ten minutes more scolding, raging at her for her stupidity in not coming to them immediately. The hospital wing was now deserted, she alone remained. The basilisk's victims--her victims had been cleared out before she arrived; Colin, her brother's girlfriend Penny, Hermione, a few others she'd paid little heed to. She was supposed to be a good girl, she was supposed to rest like the frail child she looked after her ordeal.

But the voice stayed with her. It hadn't gone, he hadn't gone. Hadn't let go. She was his last link to life. His screams had echoed in her mind as she woke, she had felt his touch upon her brow one last time - as he had touched her when she gave over her life to him for his attempt at finishing what he had started eleven years before and she felt his lips upon her own, a farewell kiss. With that at the forefront of her thoughts, she struggled out of bed, untangling herself from sheets that held her like Devil's Snare. She was so tired, she was bruised and grimy and had the general appeal of a street-urchin dragged through a midden, but she had to finish it. Her honour demanded this much of her.

Short steps, one hand against the wall as she made her way silently, stealth of her home-life sneaky habits only honed by long nights roaming the school and grounds on errands that she didn't know the meaning of, that she didn't need to know the meaning of. She reached the stairs without discovery or disturbance and walked down slowly, thankful that they remained blissfully still beneath her bare feet.

'This I must do.' She crossed the open space at the base of the stairs, not glancing to either side, not interested in the great hall, not interested in any of the other closed doors. Her wait was not long.

She knew he possessed it as she saw him descend the stair angrily, as she'd hoped, as she'd had the vaguest feeling of, an intuition ill-defined that nonetheless needed listening to. She knew what was required, and she stepped back into sight from the shadows by the main doors, blocking his exit.

He stopped three paces from her and regarded her with scorn, evidently uncaring for what little threat a rail-thin waif child of twelve could pose when she trembled with exhaustion, ready to fall on her face ungracefully. "Well? What do you have to say?" he asked when she stood tongue-tied, her palms flat against her thighs and her nails digging into the thin material of the gown Madam Pomfrey had forced her into.

'This, I must do.' With effort she extended a hand to him expectantly, her face devoid of any expression but weariness and her voice eerily clear in the nigh-empty chamber, if higher than she would have preferred. "You have something of mine."

He knew what she spoke of. Lucius Malfoy was no fool, Tom had made that crystal clear when he had made his revelation, that she had been chosen for this purpose, for reasons of capability, apparent innocence--and of revenge. But Lucius did not admit anything, and she hadn't expected it of him. "What are you talking about?"

"You know." She wasn't to be dissuaded, not here and not now. It was a matter out of her hands, predetermined by fate and the promises she had made.

"It's over." The blond man's voice was bitter now, now that he had ascertained no one was within hearing distance. He probably planned to Obliviate her if he thought for a second that anyone would listen to the ravings of the young Weasley girl. "He's dead. You should be with your little friends and your family, celebrating Lord Voldemort's second fall and Potter's triumph."

"I do not rejoice," she said in an undertone that didn't quite hold in her feelings, misery seeping through against her will, lowering her gaze a moment before she looked up to him, one hand curling into a fist unconsciously as she swayed on her toes. "I promised..."

She had promised. Promised her life, and vowed to care for Tom's in return, had vowed deep in her mind to do what was necessary if by some chance the ending wasn't in his favour. He hadn't wanted--a half-life again, this game was all or nothing. He had kept her from trouble, she knew that much from what Potter had said--a fragment of memory whipped into place, not her own, his, 'She struggled and cried and became very boring. But...'

He had lied for her as she had lied for him. She had tried to lure Potter into his trap, but her resolve had failed at the last moment when Percy had interrupted. It was for Potter that the trap was laid, and while she had discounted Ron as a necessary casualty, she could not do that to Percy. Her failure, her weakness had contributed to Tom's own, and she owed him doubly for that. "I promised an end, if all else..." she trailed off, seeing the spark of understanding in his grey eyes, and biting her lip to avoid betraying her hope too obviously. Subtlety was the key, it always was, subtlety until one had power.

"Take it." Lucius avoided her eyes, pulled a handkerchief-wrapped inksoaked square from a robe pocket and held it out by one edge. She snatched it before he could change his mind, her fingers freezing as they closed around it, feeling it warm slightly--just slightly under her touch. She wanted to bolt then, wanted to run away--back into the Chamber, or any of the other secret rooms and passageways she had learned of in her first year. She wanted to run back to him, wanted to hide from the world behind the Timid And Talkative Ginny facade and let her mind run free with him, and she couldn't. He was only an echo, nothing more, a shadow that was fading in the sunlight brought by Harry Bloody Potter. That shone from his arse if she was to listen to her mother or Dumbledore.

"Thank you," she answered softly, and pulled one door open with the last reserve of her strength, slipping out into the night before Lucius Malfoy. He didn't wait to see what she did, and strode away toward the gates quickly, wanting nothing more than to be gone. Away from the scene, away from the failure of all their plans. If only it were so easy--but her work wasn't finished.

The ground was cold and the night breezes weren't pleasant for her either, dressed as she was, but she staggered on with less and less grace over ground made more treacherous in stark moonlight than it had been when the clouds hid the sky, as she reached her destination, the strip of sand before the lake on the castle-side, half hidden by rocks and overgrown grass.

He wasn't quite dead. She had known immediately when her fingertips had brushed over the cover, there was a spark left. Just a spark, a flicker of life that would never come back to her, would never be alive again. If he didn't live, she didn't. He would never write to her again. He would never be with her, never fill her with the precious pain that only he could give, when she loved him so much it ached, it burned inside her chest and the feeling spread through her every nerve, when she couldn't speak, couldn't think, could only curl around the diary and read his every word with longing and desires that she should be too young to feel, too young to understand.

He could only live on through her. She would keep his ghost alive, she knew as she fell to her knees, hugging his mortal remains to her chest and sobbing heavily, dashing tears away with a swipe of her shoulder. She was empty without him, she had been such a stupid girl, unworthy and unknowing of what she could have had, if she had only tried harder, if she had been better, she could have done something. Tom had decided to kill Potter and let her live, he had told her, taking Potter's strength and life instead of her own as had been his original plan, before he had known her. He had cared...he had wanted her, and it was her failure that had led them to this place. It couldn't have been his, it could never have been his, she hadn't given enough, hadn't had enough to give, and that had been his downfall.

Her hands unwound the handkerchief with care, and she saw that her first glance in Dumbledore's office had been true. A mortal wound, and she had turned her head away, they hadn't understood her tears of pain. If she had taken him from Harry in the chamber, it might not have been so...it might not have been too late. But all there was now was ink and paper, ink and paper and the dying spark. She wept then, truly. It was the end, she hadn't been good enough, hadn't been loyal enough and hadn't... all she could do was say goodbye and finish it. She clung, though, closed her eyes tight and thought of him, of those things that had attracted her to him. His words, the hidden emotion beneath them, the moment of pure joy she had felt when he first praised her.

And as she knelt there in the sand, wind whipping at her hair and stealing her tears, the feeling rose in her once more. A mingled agony and ecstasy that would have felled her if she was standing, making her whimper softly before she remembered to breathe. One last touch...

-

"Ginny, you're going to miss the train if you don't come back. Madam Pomfrey's been looking for you the last two hours."

The familiar and not unpleasant voice startled her out of her daze into bright sunshine, waking her to the real world once more--she had dreaded it with a vengeance, longed to be left alone and caught in the corner of her mind that he had inhabited. She got to her feet slowly, brushing the sand from her knees, shuddered. Alone. There was nothing left of Tom, nothing at all. The diary was gone save for dust on her hospital gown, Mr. Malfoy's handkerchief wound around one hand, and she stood alone. There would never again be the cool, calculating presence of Tom in her mind, the presence that thought she had promise, potential. The presence that had wanted to make her something more than she was. She would have to live on alone, and she would. For him, she would. His goals would become her own, as they should have been from the moment she wrote to him. She would burn the world in his honour...

Percy was waiting for her beyond the rocks, he hadn't wanted to interrupt until it was absolutely necessary. He had known she would be here, and he hadn't told on her. He didn't blame her for her actions, had understood when she whispered the night before that Penny wasn't meant to be a victim, that it was Granger the Basilisk had wanted, that she had intervened in time to stop the basilisk from feasting. He had understood her last need despite herself, had left her to finish what she had to do. If anyone else had found her, she wouldn't have had what little time she had with Tom as he faded, as the last fragments of his spirit spun away into darkness.

"Coming, Percy." She crossed her arms over her chest as she picked her way back to him, noticing absently in peripheral vision that her nails were a dark blue-black that they hadn't been the night before. Nowhere else was there a stain, not on her gown or on her skin. All she had left of him was inkstained nails, as though she had tried to absorb him if that wasn't too absurd a thought, and the shadows in her mind that didn't fade with the coming of the light, growing stronger instead. She had had hours with Tom, to say goodbye in the night as he left her, but it wasn't enough. Forever wouldn't have been long enough.

But a serpentine voice leeched from those shadows, and she almost missed her footing in shock, hope and delight sending her soaring higher than the stars. 'Really, Virginia, forever?'