Vertigo

"Well, that was a bit stupid of you," said Ginny angrily, "seeing as you don't know anyone but me who's been possessed by You-Know-Who, and I can tell you how it feels."

-OotP, Chapter Twenty-three

She hated him. She honestly hated the bastard. Ginny stormed back to her room at Twelve Grimmauld Place, slammed the door and threw herself onto the bed. Tears were welling in her eyes.

It wasn't fair. He'd left her without even saying goodbye. Not that he had the chance though, she told herself. She hated him for it. How stupid of her to fall for a mere memory of a boy....

She pounded the mattress, allowing the tears to flow. It wasn't fair. She had loved him. She still did. Ginny let out a shaky breath and turned over to stare up at the ceiling. It was cracked and dusty. Just like everything else in this godforsaken house, she thought.

She drew in another shuddering breath and closed her eyes. She could remember his dark hair and eyes and his pale skin after he pulled her into the diary. His fluid movements, that suave voice, the way he seemed to radiate fierce determination. She moaned, thinking of what his longs hands could do to her.

Damn. Ginny sat up, feeling dirty suddenly. She wanted him so bad, but knew he'd escaped her. She sneered, thinking of what Percy had told her when she'd confessed her feelings for Tom the summer after her first year.

"Ginny, it's perfectly normal for you to be feeling this way. In the Muggle world, it's not uncommon for kidnapping victims to fall in love with their abductors."

The redhead had glared at her brother. "And what makes you such a goddamn shrink?"

She'd regretted the words as soon as they'd left her mouth. Percy had stormed out of the house, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

After awhile she had gone back up to her room, wishing she still had the diary and Tom's elegant understanding words.

Back in the present, Ginny sighed and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She couldn't help but think of how much Harry looked like him.... Maybe if she came on to him--no. She knew Harry didn't like her, not after her hero-worship and his own torrid affair with Malfoy.

She shuddered, remembering walking in on them in the Quidditch locker room. Ginny felt a thrill shot through her, but ignored it. Instead, she grabbed a towel and headed into the bathroom. She turned the shower on and watched the stream rise over its glass door, fogging it and the cracked mirror up. She got a towel from the small, cobwebbed linen closet and laid it on the toilet seat before slowly stripping. Leaving her clothes in an untidy pile by the door, she climbed into the shower. She sighed as the hot water pounded against her skin.

The shampoo stung her eyes as she washed her hair; she swore and rubbed them furiously. She grabbed the soap and drank in the lavender scent as it filled the small bathroom. Feeling herself relax, Ginny wrapped her arms around herself and laid her head on the shower wall, letting the water's calming heat envelope her.

Suddenly, Tom was there, his hands running slowly down her sides, sweet nothings being whispered into her ear between passionate, possessive kisses he was trailing down her neck. She moaned and leaned into his wet body. The way his lips felt against her wet skin, the way his hands left trails of fire as they travelled slowly, teasingly downwards, the way his body felt so right against hers was absolutely...intoxicating.

It was almost too much. She turned around and pulled his lips to hers, taking one of his hands and putting it where she wanted, letting him work his magic. She moaned, close to the edge, but found herself back in the shower, alone, when she opened her eyes.

Ginny sobbed and beat her fist against the shower wall. She stood there for a moment, feeling sorry for herself. Ginny ran a hand through her wet hair and got out the shower, despising herself and him. She wrapped the towel around herself and wiped fog off the mirror.

She stood staring at herself for a moment, eyes dark, hands on either side of the sink. Ginny could almost picture Tom there behind her, smirking seductively. She swiped across the mirror where she had saw him and stormed out of the bathroom, knocking the toothbrush holder into the sink.

She ran back into the bedroom and flopped down onto the creaky old mattress, tears welling in her eyes.

"It's not fair," she whispered. It reverberated against the grey walls, sounding desperate even to her. She fell into a fitful sleep, dreaming of diaries, monstrous snakes, and a handsome black haired boy.