River-Star: Yes, this is my first Ginny fic. Give me a break. I've written some other fics but never attempted a Harry Potter type. I hope you guys like it. Review.

Disclaimer: If I owned this do you think I would even be writing on of these??? Come on!

Chapter One

Sometimes I want to die. I want to feel a sword go through my heart and crush it into two pieces. I want to press a knife to my throat and feel the steady trickle of red liquid down my chest. I want to put a gun to my forehead and feel something stronger than a headache burrowing into my brain. I want to dive under water and forget to come up and feel the closing of the world around me. Why?

Oh, it's so simple. Because I did something I'm not supposed to. And though it may seem harmless, it was a death warrant in my view.

Because I simply did something that I wasn't supposed to: I fell in love.

Love, such an intoxicating feeling, isn't it. When you feel that adrenaline rush over your body and the heat spread from your heart to everywhere else. When someone asks you something and you wish it were something else, like, "I love you, do you love me?" and you want to scream yes because it's the only thing that will save you. But then you listen, fall out of your daydreams and hear, "Did you finish your homework?"

I would tell you that I was normal once. That everything had been easy. That I had not always been a girl with wild red hair and crazy fantasies. But that would be a lie, wouldn't it? And nobody likes a liar. So I'll tell you the truth.

My name is not one people repeat often though it's not hard to say. Virginia Weasley. Not hard, was it? No, I didn't think so. My name from birth has changed but only slightly. People know me only as Ginny Weasley or that girl that betrayed us all.

Like I said, my name is Virginia Weasley, the only daughter of a poor pureblood family with six sons. I am a witch or a witch-in-training at Hogwarts, the ever-brilliant school of witchcraft and wizardry. I am fifteen years old, soon to be sixteen as of two days from now.

And, as I have said, my life is not boring. Not by any stretch. In my first year, I found a black leather bound diary that had entrapped.. No, more like had place a memory of a dark angel inside of it. That angel's name was Tom Marvalo Riddle.

He was sixteen while I was only eleven and he tortured me. Ah, yes, the question of how can a boy torture a girl without touching her has come up several times in my mind. Always the answer is: make her do things she doesn't want to do. And that's exactly what he did. Tom Riddle took over my mind, possessed me and forced me to kill chickens, play with their blood to form sentences on walls, and nearly lead me to my death. Did I know this was happening? Of course, but only after I had figured out that I had only started doing these things after I had under my control a certain black leather bound diary. So I threw it away in a toilet and ran off, thinking everything would be okay.

I was wrong. And I paid for it dearly. The next day I blacked out. Or I thought I had. Instead, Tom Riddle had taken over my mind again, forcing me to open the Chamber of Secrets again and again to flex its gaze on more muggleborns. And the whole time this ordeal was going on, Harry Potter, my crush of that year, had gripped the diary, written in it, and sustained Tom.

But this story is not about Harry Potter; he's not to come in yet. Therefore I will continue and not dwindle along my story.

Soon after Harry Potter had obtained the diary, I was taken over again and I pushed myself down into the dark slimy depths of the horrid Chamber of Secrets. I saw Tom. He tortured me again, forced my to slice my upper arm and go back up and to draw upon the stonewall of Hogwarts my death warrant. Then I returned so that Tom Riddle could draw power from me and knock me into a near death.

After a whole day stuck with Tom Riddle, I have no idea what he did to me. I just know that soon after he was defeated by Harry Potter and I woke up from my 'death-sleep.' We got out of the Chamber, with my older brother, Ron, and I told Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts, everything.

Needless to say my parents were a bit angry and sad at the same time. Virginia Weasley was in trouble again. So my mother kept a good eye on me for four years, waiting patiently for me to snap out of a depression that I had dragged myself into. No one seemed to be able to cure me. I was always thinking of how I could possibly lift the shame of having a poor pureblood family off of me, thinking of ways to escape.

No, I didn't turn to Tom Riddle, despite what others may think. I wanted to stay as far away as possible from that bastard. He wouldn't be an escape. Only another torture for my fifteen-year-old mind.

So, here I was, sitting in my room, thinking of ways to escape. Two days from now I would turn sixteen, I would go back to Hogwarts in a week, I would leave home and go back to the school. Back to the place that held me captive.

My room, small and too cozy for the terrors it held in it, had only my bed, a dresser full of clothes and a small closet and bathroom. My closet was only halfway full of clothes, mostly muggle kinds because I disliked wizard types with their long robes and long sleeves that tended to drape over my hands. The other half of my closet was filled with schoolbooks and school items and two trunks. Needless to say, like my bro Ron's room, I had some posters on my wall, often-leftover ones of Quidditch or some famous witch. The wallpaper was a dull pink color, reflecting on tainted innocence long forgotten. My door was nothing more than a piece of brown wood over an opening for privacy.

As anyone could tell, over the years my father had not received a raise or promotion and we just got poorer due to the fact that no one could possibly have at least five children in a school without denting their finances. Unless, of course, they were the Malfoys, a pureblood wizarding family with more money than anyone that I knew. But then again, the Malfoys were extremely stuck up and thinking themselves the most glorious thing ever to walk this planet. Ha! Is all I want to say to them. I doubt it would pierce their fluffed up pride though.

As I thought of ways to escape, my mind crossed over many things. A time turner, I thought. But what if I went to Tom Riddle's time? I would be paralyzed from fear, unable to move if I went there and it would only be a certain level of difficulty to drain everything out of me. But if I did it right . . . My thoughts zoomed down that track, always resting on the probability that I might just run into a younger version of the Dark Lord.

My gaze stopped staring at my peeling ceiling with its pink paint and I focused it on my dresser. On it sat a time turner, the gold reflecting in the moonlight. How tempting. I thought steadily, my gaze piercing it like a cat observing its prey. Then I made up my mind.

I got up, grabbed the time turner in my hand tightly, and twisted it upside down and then right side up a couple of times. My body felt a tug as I flew down to the ground. The skin and bones that I was crept ever closer to the place that I turned to (if I even knew where that was) and I screamed. The last thing I noticed before I blacked out was that the Burrow was no longer there and instead there was only an open field of long grass. Ginny, I thought before the darkness enclosed me, I don't think we're in the Burrow anymore.