Sleep

The Burrow had always been Ginny's favorite place. The smells of her family, her mother in particular, the grandfather clock, the ways things were arranged. It was all very soothing and peaceful to Ginny.

But sometimes, even a girl's favorite place, her personal space, can be taken away, manipulated and torn from her.

The diary of Tom Marvolo Riddle had long been destroyed, yet it plagued Ginny's every thought, every moment of every day, and worse, in her sleep.

Coming home from her 4^th year at Hogwarts had been strange. So many things had happened and Voldemort was once again roaming free, terrorizing Ginny while she slept. It was common for people to cringe when Harry, the only one brave enough, spoke his name, but it was heartbreaking for Ginny.

She knew, deep beneath the hardened, murderous surface, the boy she knew, and loved, was there. Tom Riddle. The name haunted her; she obsessed endlessly about him.

Tom only came to Ginny in her sleep, when it was safe from him. A tall, pale 16-year old boy, with dark hair and greedy eyes: Tom Riddle. Ginny had convinced herself that Tom loved her.

The dreams while she was at school had been harsh, terrifying. It wasn't the same Tom that Ginny knew, she could tell Voldemort was more prevalent when she was near to Harry. Tom said he would love her more if she would just go to him, smother him in his sleep. He said he'd hate her if she didn't do as he asked.

She knew he was lying.

She measured the minutes by a night table clock that blinked eight's. In the darkness, the familiar sounds kept her awake. Her own thoughts plagued her, keeping her from Tom.

Soon without warning, sleep came to Ginny.

She rolled onto her side, opening her eyes. There was her Tom, watching her intently. His eyes bore into hers; his lips spread into a smirk rather than a smile.

His long, pale fingers reached up, brushing her wild hair out of her face. She shivered slightly under his touch. She had missed him and she was certain he had missed her too.

He leaned closer, his lips nearing hers. Ginny's breath caught in her throat as his rough lips brushed hers. She shivered again, this time more violently.

The room was suddenly cold, like an ice chest. Violent, horrid images flowed Ginny's head. Her mind reeling, like a movie, playing back the events of recent happenings. Different this time: she could see her friends, herself, her family dying. She saw Tom, standing watching and laughing, as he vanished and was replaced by the horrific image of Lord Voldemort.

Ginny jerked away quickly, trying to catch her breath. Wrenching her eyes open she looked at Tom, he was fading slowly in the darkness. She tried calling out, but her voice was gone and quickly Tom was as well.

Sitting up in her bed, chest heaving, Ginny looked around her room wildly, still feeling his lips on hers. The cold lingered, her breath coming out in little clouds like it did in the dead of a frozen winter.

Her eyes adjusted and she remembered she was home, the Burrow. She lay back down, her mind slowing down, recovering from the nightmare.

She closed her eyes again, not looking at the clock, nor attempting to think at all. There would be no peaceful sleep at home this summer.