Sleepless

~

Ginny fretted in bed, kicking off the sheets only to draw them up to her chin again. She closed her eyes, huddling under the bedcover, feeling so hopeless, so helpless. A small moan escaped her lips as she buried her head under the pillow, trying vainly to fall into unconsciousness.

All she could do was listen to the terror reigning outside. Screams, shouts, explosions, and fear filtered in from the now red sky, past her window to play upon her ears, dancing la danse de la mort.

Tears leaked out from her unwilling eyes, falling down her pale smooth cheek before falling unchecked upon the sheets, soaking it. Even through her pillow Ginny could smell the smoke, the blood, the fear in the air. The stench, so putrid, filled her nostrils until it was all she could take.

Ginny was so scared. So alone. The bed was cold and barren, the covers doing nothing to warm her trembling body. The black terror gripped her in a vice, squeezing air and life out of her. She couldn't breathe, couldn't see. She curled up in a ball, her arms wrapping around herself, hugging herself. She was scared.

But even when she was scared, she was angry. Told to stay inside. Told never to go outside. Told by Harry Potter, himself as he had left to go fight. Fight Voldemort for the last and final time. Told to stay in her bed while Hogsmeade was bleeding dark red blood.

Again, the trio had gone off, as Death Eaters everywhere killed, tortured, raped woman, men and children alike.

Ginny clamped her teeth, lest she scream out loud.

How could these people do this? How could some one be so evil?

An explosion nearby quacked the ground underneath her, shaking her apartment and the lone figure in the vast bed. With another cry, the pillow was pressed harder against her ears.

She couldn't stand it anymore. All the suffering, all the pain, anger, betrayal, hate. . . When did it ever end?

She needed someone. She needed someone to comfort her. She needed Harry. She needed Ron. She needed Hermione. . . She needed. . . needed someone to listen to her, to hold her. . . She needed. . . Tom, she thought desperately, not quite realising what she was thinking.

In this time, in her time, of need and fear, she needed the one person who had understood her so. He had listened to her. He had talked to her; he had calmed her when she had freaked out about her stupid adolescent problems. How silly she had been then. To trust someone-no something, so blindly. So faithfully. So fully.

But he had understood her loneliness, her complete and utter desire to confide in someone-to share herself with him-all of herself.

She needed that again.

A voice whispered across the dark room, so quietly, so faintly. It was as if someone had actually said it, as if they were there, in the room, right next to Ginny.

Another explosion rocked the building and flames were heard distantly down the street, along with the shrieks of pain and terror.

The small line of red, only visible by the slight part in the curtains, turned redder if possible. Suddenly, black soot began raining against the window pain, hitting them with sickening thuds.

The sky became blacker, as clouds, dark, angry clouds rolled in, the red slowly receding as the black spread the poison over the night sky. The red receded to the horizon; hot, burning fires giving off the colour and suffering heat.

Shouts began up again; some rough, demanding, others rushed and hysterical.

The heat began to get to Ginny. Her thin night-gown stuck to her body as she perspired, the sweltering haze surrounding her, making her mind thick and foggy.

The voice came again, this time a small whimper came from the petite red head. The pillow was taken off; thrown across the room as the hot air intensified.

The fire must be coming. . .

Cold fingers pushed at her hair, touching her burning forehead as they did, cooling it as they caressed the skin. Ginny's breathing became faster as the hand left her face. Rolling over and kicking off the sheets in the process, Ginny opened her eyes, deliriously.

"Harry?" her weak voice whispered, peering up. The face swam in front of her. All she could make out was dark hair.

"No, love. . . " The voice said, leaning down further so his icy breath was upon her red face, "It's Tom. . . ."

"Tom. . .?" Ginny slurred, her mind so hazy and confused. "What're you doing here?" she managed, closing her eyes. Against the heat and rolling on her side, a hand resting on the curve of her hip.

"You brought me back, Ginny," he whispered, "I was always inside of you, waiting. . . waiting. . . ."

Ginny made no reply, her face glistening in the sudden soft light of the room, as though a candle had been lit.

Another explosion quite possibly across the street sounded, violently and Ginny cried out. Again screams pushed their way into Ginny's mind. . . . Past all the fog, the crackling of wood, as though on fire sounded. Suddenly a cold hand was placed upon Ginny's flat, hot stomach, turning the skin to ice. Then another hand and Ginny realised her night-gown was now up by her chest.

"Tom. . . " she whispered, knowing he was there. He would take care of her. He would listen and understand her. He would protect her. Save her. From hell.

Cold lips were placed on her neck, bringing relief to the burning skin.

"You were just a child when I saw you last. . . " the voice whispered, "You've grown." The hands moved from her stomach, cooling the skin as they reached her breasts, sweeping over them, eliciting a groan from Ginny.

She panted as his hands fondled her gently, as her body reacted to his phantoms touch.

"Tom," she said again, "I've missed you so much."

"I know," he told her, before his cold, dead lips fastened over her and she surrendered to him. She felt his coldness sweep into her mouth and to her very core when she opened her mouth to him, giving him full access. And through the heat she was feeling, she thought the coldness she felt traveling down her throat smoothly, like liquid ice, felt so good.

She could now feel the heat around Tom and her intensify. The fire was approaching them, but for the life of her, she didn't want to move, couldn't move.

The heat engulfed her as Tom was there, caressing her, making her moan. His talented mouth and hands made her feel things she had never felt with anyone before. Never dreamt with anyone before.

Outside, the sounds grew louder, as if with the beats of Ginny's heart. People now ran backwards and forth, the desperate sounds of their footsteps echoing and the magic could almost be felt in the air. Dark magic. Good magic.

Light battling Darkness.

"Tom. . . I can't think anymore," Ginny panted.

"Hold onto me Ginny," came the voice. Ginny closed her eyes.

"It's so hot. . . " she moaned, knowing that the fire was so close.

"Ginny. . . " Tom whispered, "I can protect you. Do you trust me?" he asked. Ginny didn't answer. Her shallow breathing was the only sound for the moment; the world had gone eerily quiet outside. "Do you trust me?" he demanded again, more forcefully.

"Yes," she whispered.

"Good. I'm right here. Don't let go, you understand?"

"Yes," she repeated. Ginny's breathing became slower and slower as flames licked at the door. "Tom. . . I need you. . . " she said, drowsily, the smoke making her cough and sleepy.

"I love you, Ginny," he said, placing a kiss on her cheek. "It's time for you to sleep."

"But I'm not tired," Ginny protested, weakly.

Silence. No answer.

Though the smoke and haze of her mind, Ginny managed to open her eyes. Tom was nowhere. Coughing, Ginny sat up. There was no one in the room.

"Tom. . .?" she managed to call, despite the smoke filling her lungs.

The door suddenly burned down and flames and much more smoke entered the room. Coughing, Ginny crawled to the edge of the bed. . . Where a single black rose lay. Ginny picked it up, but dropped it to the ground when one of the thorns pricked her, drawing blood. A drop fell to the floor, next to where the rose had fallen. She called out weakly, "Tom!"

The heat was excruciating and Ginny watched in horror as the flames licked up the rose, eating it whole, until there was nothing left.

A huge and suddenly violent sonic boom sounded, and the light from outside glowed a bright green for a minute, as the brightness poured into the room, filling it up with an evil glow. Voldemort had won. Harry Potter was dead.

The place began to fall now, due from the small earthquake and the fire burning at the walls and roof.

"Tom. . . " Ginny tried weekly, blinded and suffocating from the smoke and heat. She couldn't call out to him anymore.