NOT MINE. I just occasionally bring them out to play. Unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine and the typo fairy's... the bastard.
I exit the dormitory quietly, knowing that if I am caught within the halls past curfew, the Carrows will see to my punishment personally. I smirk; it would seem that the Death Eaters were as ignorant of their Master's will as they were of the quiet rebellion the students and staff were holding. I clutch the journal to my chest, possessively; I had found it within the traitor Snape's office, formally occupied by the idiot Dumbledore. Neville had stumbled upon it while hiding from the illustrious Potions Master in the closet. We wouldn't have been caught, had he not decided to throw it away, leaving me to double back and retrieve it. I was barely able to perform the vanishing charm in time; In a desperate effort to explain my presence, I dove for the Sword of Gryffindor right when Snape entered.
The Carrows were happy to believe that I was after the Sword on behalf of the student rebellion; I doubt, somehow, that Snape ever truly bought my lies. It doesn't matter now, however. I caress the shredded journal lovingly, close to my chest. Dumbledore's insistence that the dairy's remains had been disposed of never truly sounded right to me, and after trying to subtly ask about it countless times, he told mother that I hadn't taken the withdrawal well, and recommended weekly visits to Madam Pomfrey.
The journal feels warm against my chest, almost as if it can sense my intentions, and it seems as if it has a heartbeat that matches my own. Entering the Room of Requirement, I retrieve the ritual materials, and begin to spread them throughout the floor. Retrieving Forces of Magick from the cupboard, I smirk. This ancient text was the most intensive that I had ever seen; beyond NEWT level, certainly, and hardly accepted by the Hogwarts staff. Finding the page I had marked, I cringe inwardly, thinking that Hermione would likely have no problem with an incantation such as this, despite being Muggleborn. I clench the journal again in my apprehension. Simply touching it helped to relieve some of my nervousness, and I continue setting up the materials for the soul-binding ritual.
Neville, nor especially, Harry, could ever know the significance of finding this journal. Harry had torn Tom away from me over five years ago, and the pain still felt as fresh as if it had happened yesterday. My eleven-year-old self could have never understood the significance of what he was trying to do; I had been afraid, I hadn't wanted to die, and I had especially feared the power that the journal contained. It was enough to leave me absolutely breathless, and I had been unable to comprehend the sheer vastness of it. A part of me died that day, with the journal's destruction. I have matured greatly since that day, and even today, knowing full well that this ritual could take my life, I am excited about having him back.
I begin the incantations, moving the journal to the center of the circle and cutting my palm. Words come from my throat, with a hoarse certainty that I was unaware that I possessed, and the stones lining the ground begin to light up. Removing my shirt, I reflect idly about how he would like my seventeen-year-old appearance. While I did not manage to acquire my mother's breasts, I had obtained my father's tall stature, giving me a lean, slender silhouette. I remembered him telling me that he liked my hair long; as such, I had thrown an absolute fit whenever my mother would suggest we cut it.
The energy within the circle had reached an unholy peak; the book's pages were fluttering helplessly within the torrent, and my hair lashed about my face, bringing my attention back to the present. I touched the silver dagger that I had used to originally cut my palm, and stationed myself above the journal. With one quick, decisive move, I plunged the knife into my chest. The energy within the circle exploded outward, and I collapsed onto the diary. My blood poured into the gaping hole in its center, as if restoring all of the liquid lost when that cursed basilisk fang had punctured it, and I lost consciousness.
.................
I sat up, abruptly finding myself within the confines of the Gryffindor common room. My shock was only slightly alleviated by the fact that I was no longer naked (Merlin! What would my mother say if I had been found like that?) and the fact that I was alone. I had just begun to wonder if it had simply been a dream, that I had been so caught up in planning for Tom's return that I had lost control of my senses, when I heard a soft voice speak behind me.
"Did you miss me, Ginevra?" he asked, my name pouring like sugar from his mouth.
I am stunned; I reach up and touch my chest, half expecting the knife to still be there. He crossed the room, and took my hand in his.
"You...saved me..." I say quietly, not understanding how my sacrifice could have worked, and yet I could still be alive.
"You are a part of me, Ginevra, as much as I am a part of you. Had that idiot Potter not interfered, we would have been together then, as well." I gasp, and then an unaccustomed fury overtook me.
"They...kept me from you..." I choke. Reaching out, he caressed my face, and his breath was warm against my ear.
"They did...but not anymore." I smile as he envelopes me into his arms, and kisses me softly.
"You are mine, Ginevra; mind, body, and soul. No one will ever keep us apart ever again."