The Given

It was a bright night; the stars cast their shadows of light from behind the blue curtain of sky down onto the dirt road ahead of her. The half moon above her was to be consumed by a group of iridescent silver clouds at any moment now but as she noticed this, a lone bird flew across the sky and vanished on the other side of the moon.

The roofs of the shops and homes were covered with frost that had only just begun to cast its spell from the heavens a few hours ago. The gentle wind that was floating around them subdued the voices of couples as they walked leisurely passed. The small, quaint town was dimly lit by lanterns that hung over creaking wooden shop signs that were swaying in the light wind. Cats could be seen now, lacing through alleys and through the feet of couples walking slowly to their destination in this homey town.

She walked the path of dirt through the crooked streets that were otherwise covered with light snow. Her hand was inside another's, her fingers were knotted with his and the warmth from his hands seemed to creep inside her and spread despite the cold and bitterness that was nipping her nose and ears.

She fleetingly looked up to the old sign, moderately covered with ice that read "The Three Broomsticks" as her stride bore to the left of the road she was walking along and entered as the boy whom was holding her hand opened the door ahead of her.

The rather small pub was bustling with people as it was about dinnertime and large pine trees stood unquestionably on either side of the large fireplace and the doorway she had subsequently stepped through. She spotted an empty table from the corner of her eye and playfully pulled the boy along behind her.

Their hands separated and they took either side of the table and simply gave feeble, nervous smiles at one another. Her hands were resting on the table; one was clutching her knitted gloves and the other lay on the table without a thing to do.

Again the boy across from her wrung his hand in hers and began to speak. For some odd reason, she couldn't hear a word he was saying, in fact; she couldn't hear anything at all. Even though she did not perceive any sound, she knew exactly what the boy was telling her. She could feel her cheeks and ears grow red and hot.

Then her mouth opened to speak to him. At first, nothing came out. Then after a few moments of looking like a fish out of water she began to talk to him. But the thing was, it wasn't her voice. The words that were coming out of her mouth weren't anything along the lines of what was in her head and the voice was deep and masculine. What was wrong with her voice?

The boy that sat in front of her suddenly drew his hand back from her as fast as lighting struck in a storm and everyone within earshot of her including the boy were staring at her like bloody murder.

She tried to stop talking but the ominous voice that was coming from her mouth wouldn't stop. She clutched her throat but this did nothing. The boy stumbled out of his chair and moved as far away from her as possible, no matter how much she tried to say that she had no control over what she was saying. She reached for him. This wasn't her at all and now he though she was crazy.

Tears poured from her eyes as she sobbed into her gloves that were still clasped in her hand. She had stopped talking, her mouth stopped moving, but the threatening voice continued to speak in her head. It wouldn't go away, it just wouldn't...

Ginny Weasley sat bolt upright in bed; sweat dripping on the fringe of her red hair. Her legs were extremely warm under the green quilt that they were entangled in. Ginny was panting and her heart was beating like mad in her chest.

She'd had the same dream before, but always different. Everything was the same except for the voice. It always said something different, a different haunting memory that Ginny had lived long ago and forever longed to forget. She always thought about the time when that was the only voice she listened to, the voice she obeyed, the voice she had once so naively fell in love with.

Ginny grasped one end of the quilt and unwrapped it to free her legs. She swung them over the side of the bed so only her ankles were visible from the other side of her bed hangings. She swept her hair out of her face that was wet with perspiration and pulled the curtains apart.

Ginny hoisted herself off of the bed and onto the floor upon which the cold stone met her feet and gave her a bit of relief from feeling so disgusting. She stretched her arms to either side of her and then began to walk down to the common room.

The cold stone steps didn't bother her, but the absolute silence of Gryffindor Tower had seemed to make her feel petrified, almost sickened at the thought that through the silence his voice would reach her unwilling ears to hear one more painful time.

When she finally reached the bottom, she noticed the fire was still burning, though it was in its final breaths of flames before it finally died out in the hearth. Ginny didn't bother sitting down, but stood there staring at those flames, thinking about how both she and the fire harmonized. She couldn't endure another dream or else she'd go mad. And now she felt as if she were about to fall apart any day now, and there was no one to confer with her either. Ginny was alone and there was no one to save her this time from the voices in her head, and no one at the moment could save the fire that was going to perish.

Ginny didn't exactly know what good staring into almost nothing but burning wood and ash would do to soothe her fear of falling back asleep, but at the moment it was the best she could suffice from the dire notion of returning to memories that were alleged to be forgotten.