Acute Awareness

There was a meaty thud as Ginny hit the ground hard, the metallic taste of her own blood quickly filling her mouth. She had not landed in the extravagant Slytherin common room, as she had expected. Rather, all around her was blackness, an empty oblivion that caused her heart to stop completely before beating wildly at her ribcage. There was no horizon. There was scarcely even any ground. The once painfully solid floor began to melt into her body, to the point that she knew not where her own limbs ended and the darkness began. Her head began to slip into its icy waters and she called out, only to find that she had no voice. There was no sound in this place, nor was there atmosphere. All about her pulsed a stunning vortex, a terrifying sort of absence that chilled her to the very soul.

Then, suddenly, there came a sharp flash of light, and marble tiling shot out at her from its depths, lining itself a narrow bridge that ran all the way up to her chin. As the brightness faded slightly, a figure emerged. At first Ginny thought it was a Dementor, for that was how it moved, and how it affected her as it neared. But upon closer examination, squinting through the abrupt illumination, she realized it was only a boy.

A boy with a thin build and glaring violet eyes.

His footsteps were light and staccato, his expression carefully blank. Robes like gently rolling waves of obsidian billowed behind him in an antique design, and this against his pale skin made him look alarmingly sinister. Weakly, she raised her hand to him, hoping that he would pull her from the vortex and lift her to the glistening, shiny bridge.

But this he did not do.

A smirk alighted his features as he kneeled before her, stroking her cheek with the back of his long, articulate hand. His gaze seemed to pierce her mind from their settlement in a soft, almost childish face. Despite turmoil and the passing of three years, his features were unaltered. His appearance was handsome in a boyish fashion, and his smile had not lost its snakelike charm. "Dearest Ginny," he murmured, though his expression was dark and far from sincere. "Did you really think it that easy?" The question was quite obviously rhetorical, as she was slowly choking on the freezing emptiness as it entered her lungs and spread through her veins like wildfire. "Such trusting I have never seen in even the most desperate of children. I am quite fortunate to have found you." Lifting her chin silently, he raised her from the whirlpool; holding solely onto her long, thin neck. She dared not to move and held her body utterly still, hanging limply by his hand as though a puppet on a string. At last he set her feet gently onto the brilliant marble and stepped away.

Ginny´s breath came in strangled gasps as she swayed and spluttered, her lips numb and nearly useless. Her lungs burned passionately but no matter how she tried it was as if she couldn´t get enough oxygen, like the brief deprivation had handicapped her forever. "Why did you do this?" she slurred helplessly. "Why did you bring me here?"

Tom appeared disgusted, scowling at her from underneath his fringe of silky raven bangs. "Do not be a fool," he spat, crossing his arms. He cocked the corner of his mouth in a vicious sort of smile and shed his graceful beauty like a second skin. "I need you, Ginny," he snarled, frowning in a very repulsed manner. "You think that just because my book was destroyed you could regain your lifestyle... Running about, living as though everything had returned to normal. But you´re wrong. What I took from you," he laughed, "that, my dear, was very irreplaceable. It was your very soul."

"It wasn´t," Ginny muttered half in horror, the other in a subtle plea. "You´re lying. You have to be..." she whispered.

"I do not lie," said Tom firmly, reacquiring his smooth mannerisms. "I state merely those truths which I believe will cause the greatest reaction, and as you see, I am quite good at it." He stepped close to her, slipping an icy hand around her waist and pulling her so close that it seemed to her every inch of their bodies touched; she could feel his breath tingling on her face.

"Stay away," she implored, too weak to struggle. "Please, get away from me..." Her head began to pound like a bass drum and it spread until her whole being throbbed in alarm. "Get-" She was stopped suddenly as he sealed her mouth with his.

When she first gained possession of the diary, she had spent numerous nights lying awake, wondering what Tom looked like... what color hair and eyes he had, if he was handsome or gawky. She pondered this until she had an exact image in her mind, and ironically but unsurprisingly, she was nearly dead on. Now, she admitted, this could have had something to do with her infatuation with Harry Potter, but so alike was the real Tom to her dream Tom it was almost too uncanny. In her mind, she pictured taking walks with him, holding hands and watching beautiful sunsets on the shore of the vast lake on the edge of the grounds. She imagined his kiss, light and sweet like a cool summer breeze, his body smelling of cut grass and fresh lemonade.

But his real kiss was nothing of the sort.

It was rough and forced, and the instant his lips grazed hers, it was as if she had stepped into a hurricane. Her mind went blank and her senses burned with a heightened awareness the likes of which she had never experienced. A ringing with the volume level of a minor explosion roared in her ears. Boiled spaghetti would have made stronger limbs than hers, as at the moment they were limply strung around Tom´s shoulders, though how they got there she didn´t know. Just then, his body gave a shudder, and a powerful beam of light shot from his chest and into hers, stealing her breath like a grappling hook through the heart. She cried out and pried open her eyes, but all she could see was a blurred cleanliness, all darkness swept away. Tom was nowhere to be seen.

The marble degraded from beneath her feet and she began to fall, her mind going blank long before she ever hit the bottom.

"I´m family, you can´t not let me in!"

"Mister Weasley, I will thank you kindly to sit down or return to class! Your sister is fine, she merely slipped and bumped her head."

"She´s unconscious!"

"Do not raise your voice to me, Mister Weasley, I am quite aware! Now get out!"

"But-"

"NOW."

There was a noisy sort of scuffling and the loud click of a door being shut. All sound seemed amplified as Ginny fought to raise her eyelids, which were unbelievably heavy. Her head pounded as viciously as though she´d been run over by the Knight Bus. With a slight groan, she forced herself above the surface of sleep and emerged into the conscious world.

She was in the infirmary, closed off by curtains and buried under a mound of white sheets. The edges of her vision were blurred, but slowly her strength seemed to build and she sat up, settling herself amongst the fluffy blue striped pillows. It was morning; she could tell by the cheerful sunlight and fresh breeze that trickled through her open window. The warm sunshine pulsed pleasantly on her face and neck. Through the crisp white divider she could hear Madame Pomfrey bustling about, tending to students and brewing her infamous potions, all the time clacking her tongue and being generally irritable, as always.

Ginny called out a bit weakly, her voice crackling and raw. "Madame Pomfrey?"

There was a movement behind her and to the left, and a purring voice responded. "At last, you awake."

Startled, she whipped around and instantly was dizzied by the motion. Her eyes fell onto a boy in the corner, with messy, soot colored hair and a thin build. "Harry?" she asked timidly, flushing at the prospect of having Harry waiting by her bedside. He turned slowly to face her, wearing a wicked grin, and Ginny screamed.

It was Tom.

The curtains were thrown open and Madame Pomfrey came bounding in, her face flushed. "What? What is it dear?" she asked, her eyes darting around the small cubicle frenziedly.

"It´s him!" Ginny yelled, tumbling off the bed in a mad scramble to put distance between her and the future Dark Lord. "It´s Tom, he´s here!" She whirled around and thrust an accusing finger at the corner, her breathing harsh and ragged as though she´d run a race. Her head was suddenly light and the world seemed to be spinning.

Riddle was... gone.

"There´s no one there, dear," Madame Pomfrey huffed, her hands on her hips. "You must have had a nightmare; you´ve been unconscious for nearly two days." She took Ginny´s shoulders and led her back to the bed, tucking the covers tightly around her arms. "It was a rather nasty fall, I´m not at all surprised that you had a few bad dreams," she murmured soothingly in her faint lilt.

Ginny´s mouth felt as though it was stuffed with cotton, and her tongue was swollen. She could feel the blood freezing in her veins as she gazed into the empty corner. "But, he was just there... It wasn´t a dream," she insisted shakily, nearly gagging as the medi-witch tipped an unpleasant liquid down her throat. "Stop that!" Frustrated, she shooed away Madame Pomfrey´s fluttering fingers. "You have to listen to me! Tom Riddle has returned!"

"Well, I never!" the nurse cried indignantly as Ginny swatted at her attempts to medicate the student. "It was only a dream! A side affect, most likely, of the healing spells I used earlier on your wounds! And it would do you good to show some respect for the people who save your life!"

Angry, Ginny turned her head to resist further prodding and poking. "I thought I only slipped and bumped my head," she spat, scowling. Was it really her imagination? That would mean she made quite a spectacle of herself. But, where was the diary? Madame Pomfrey had resorted to the silent treatment, apparently, as she began snatching up various bottles and hitting them with vigorous cleaning spells, her back turned. "Where are my things?" Ginny demanded, shocked by her own voice. She sounded haughty, expectant... like... a Slytherin.

The witch turned to glare at her, her eyes blazing like tiny infernos. "Your books are on the bed-side table," she said curtly, sweeping up one last bottle before turning to leave. But, almost as an afterthought, she cast a glance over her shoulder. "There´s a boy here to see you. I´ll send him in, as you are obviously well enough."

Ginny just nodded, acknowledging that the visitor was most likely Ron, before heaving the heavy stack of books from her table and tossing them at the foot of the bed. They spilled out in a colorful array, some paperback, others textbooks, instantly she began searching through them in despair.

Nothing! Could she have imagined it all? Surely, she would not... But where was it, then? Where was the lovely little book, with its familiar, worn pages, and its cool leather? Where was the tormenting little confidant with its beaten edges and snakelike words? A cry escaped her lips and in a moment of fury, she swept the books from her bed in a single swing, heat swelling in her chest. It was impossible! Where could it be? Damn Riddle and his mind games! Damn him for ensnaring her and turning her own free will against her! How blinded she was, and yet, how she longed for that book. She would sell her soul just for one last moment of bliss, one last minute with him.

"But I already have..." she whispered aloud, laughing bitterly. Tears brimmed her eyes. "I already have..."

Suddenly, a blur caught her eye. Prepared for anything this time, she rose her gaze, looking wearily to the presence.

But, indeed, for the second time that day, she was left alarmed and surprised. It was Draco, and in his hands...

"My diary!" she cried, her fingers itching to snatch it away.

"Your diary?" asked Draco. He scowled. "I warned you, Weasley..." His face looked troubled and warn, but his cool eyes observed her with their usual vindictiveness, both disturbing and angelic at the same time. His silvery hair served as a breathtaking halo, glossing over the fact that he wore the signs sleepless nights.

"Please," Ginny said in a small voice. "Just give it to me. You don´t understand; I need it." Merely looking at the journal in his possession made her sick; it made her insides churn and her head spin.

"You do not," he shot back. "You just think you do... He´s already got you wound around his pinky." There was something fierce about his expression that disturbed her.

"You don´t understand!" cried Ginny again. "You couldn´t possibly..." she broke off. "Just... please... give it back to me. You have no idea what kind of trouble you´ll be causing if you don´t. I need it, really."

"Yes, thanks for that," Draco snapped. "You´ve stated that twice now. There are thing you can´t even begin to comprehend at work here, Weasley. The kind of things that would make someone like you wet your pants."

"I do not wet my pants!" Ginny said indignantly, quite distracted by this remark and his blunt arrogance. How dare he? "And you are not as high and mighty as you think! You´ve got some nerve, coming in here, flashing that diary and acting like some evil, tormented soul that just wanted to help someone for once. Screw you, Malfoy!" Her cheeks flushed and she did her best to look strong, despite the fact that every molecule in her body ached at the sight of her precious book. Her heart screamed for it; it was so close. If only she could touch it...

Draco merely smirked at her outburst, folding his arms and leaning idly against one of the hideous velvet chairs near her bedside. "You´ve some nerve, yourself," he drawled amusedly. "Because I can see it in your eyes, you´d do anything to get this journal from me."

"Just hand it to me," she said through clenched teeth. "We had a deal. Hand it to me, or I reveal your little secret."

"Ah, yes," he murmured. His head lowered, a twisted smile playing on his features. "My little... `secret´." A laugh escaped his throat and he shook his head. "Funny thing, that. Blaise broke up with me yesterday, you see. I suppose I just can´t compare to the Minister´s son... Anyway... I had this thought. And I realized I had two options." He raised two fingers to demonstrate. "I could protect her, and keep her little habits to myself. Or, I could risk ruining her reputation, (very beneficial, in itself) and prevent the rising of another Dark Lord in the meantime. Kill two birds with one stone, you know, it could prove interesting."

"You bastard," Ginny whispered, horrified by the prospect that he might not return the book to her. "What would it matter?" she questioned in a moment of despair. "Why would you care if there were two Tom Riddles?" Her heart pounded furiously at her ribcage. This was insane. Surely, it couldn´t be happening... After all this waiting, it was impossible to think she would receive the diary only to have it taken away, and by Draco Malfoy!

His eyes narrowed and he turned his icy stare to her, sending chills down her spine. "I have my reasons," he said quietly. "They shouldn´t matter to you. But, I´ll give you this much. You need to understand, Ginny... That book was created for your downfall, and yours alone. I know things about you that would give you nightmares, turn you paranoid. You have to listen to me. This diary will destroy you."