Disclaimer: All characters are property of J.K. Rowling. I own only my own vivid imagination.

Author's notes: Here's a piece that I discovered at the bottom of my dA account. The last remnants of what was to be part of ambitious Ginny/Tom fic through his diary. My hard disk has since been shredded and I myself have been swallowed whole by uni and real life.

This is really the last of it. I hope you had a great time reading these stories :)

He stood looking for a while; a great multitude of flowers lay in the field before him, the sky above a seemingly endless expanse of blue. But despite the warm summer breeze that ruffled his dark hair, he felt so very cold.

As he walked through the field barefoot, he felt the ground beneath him turn cold. He reached a hand out to touch a passing butterfly, but as his fingers grazed the tips of its wings, it sagged a little and almost immediately began its downward spiral towards the ground.

In confusion, his gaze followed the butterfly as it fell slowly to the ground behind him. Mouth agape, he stared at the drastically changed landscape behind him. The once blue skies were now grey and overcast, the dusty ground below it, parched and dry. The beautiful flowers, in its vivid array of colours, now lay withered on the ground.

Eyes wide, he took a few steps backwards, and in horror, noticed the flowers nearest him changing, at first wilting, then quickly passing into various stages of decay.

His face slick with tears, and dark hair plastered to his head, the young boy awoke screaming. Muuuum! The world is dying! The flowers why are they dying? Muuuum .

Shut up Riddle, you don t have a mother. A gruff and somewhat irritated voice spoke out from the murky darkness.

Sitting up in bed, clammy hands clutching the sheets he peered into the darkness, slightly disorientated. In a softer voice he inquired once more. Muuum? Where are you?

God damn it, Riddle, go back to sleep!

Sniffling slightly, he wiped his face with a worn sleeve, now dimly making out the rows of beds scattered across the room. As his breathing slowed, he became acutely aware of the soft sounds that echoed throughout the room. The soft snores, and creaking of old beds, as the many occupants of the room tossed and turned, trying to fall asleep in the frigid cold of the orphanage dormitory.

-fin-