Author's Note: I'm back! I'm a year older, a year wiser, and a year's length more boredom. I forgot about this place til now and I've got a sudden writing inspirations. Apply all usual disclaimers to this piece of writing, and enjoy the show!
There's No Way
I don't know where I am. I don't know what I'm doing here. I'm trying to recognise this place, but it's impossible. The walls are carved with images of snakes, and the floor is flooded in dark water. It's when I try to sit up that I feel the cold. Very cold, very tired, very weak. I look over at my diary. Its gone. That's when I feel it. His arms around me. Cold, dead arms. They sting at the touch and I turn to see who's holding me. A man, no older than 16. Black hair and red eyes. I open my mouth to scream, but its blocked by his kiss. The kiss of a thousand painful daggers, sucking out my life, beating at my soul. Powerful and rough. Sharp and frozen. I can't breath. He stops. It's over. His hands are gripping my arms so tightly. My head flops to the side, and I take one last look at my prison. Everything is so horrible. But someone is here. He's here to save me, he has to be. But it is too late. I can barely make out the look of terror upon his face as he runs toward me, as I hang limp in my murderer's arms. Harry yells as the room turnns black. As I close my eyes my mind spins. Harry Potter is the last person I will see before I di-
11 year old Ginny Weasley awakes in a cold sweat. Gasping for air, she walks over to the window. Third time she's had that dream. With a glance to the calendar she checks her homemade countdown- 2 days until she will go to Hogwarts for the first time. All these dreams are probably just from nerves. She looks out into the starry sky, watching the owls soar past the moon. Calming down, she heads back to bed. Before shutting off the light she grabs her diary.
Dear diary, Had that dream again, Tom. Third time this week!
Really? Very odd.
I know! It's probably very silly of me. There's no way that Hogwarts could be that bad.
And Ginny closed her diary for the night, before it had a chance to write back. On the yellowed pages of the close book, one message sank back into the parchment...
It isn't Virginia dear. Not yet, but it will be. It will be...