Disclaimer: It's only mine because I love it so. Legally, the HP realm belongs to JKR.

A/N: I wrote this having given myself 4 prompts; the first 4 things to pop into my head: pillows, knife, 4-leaf clover, and a song. Amazingly, though I came up with them myself, I had to cheat on one. In any case, I hope you enjoy the product of my melodramatic mind!

Trust Your Sub-Conscious Self

"Lavender's blue, dilly-dilly,

Rosemary's green.

When you are king, dilly-dilly,

I shall be queen."

Ginny sat in front of her vanity mirror, an array of beauty products in attractive, colored glass bottles scattered on the table in front of her. As she sang in a high, lilting voice she gazed contentedly at her own reflection—a soft, barely-freckled complexion, brown eyes at their widest, lips at their fullest, cleavage peeking tauntingly from the neckline of her white lace nightgown. Pleased, Ginny braided her thick red hair as she sang, and coiled it around the back of her head, in order to show off her slim, milky neck. Her lover would certainly approve, whenever he came home and saw her.

Just then another form entered the mirror, blocking the reflection of the large, canopied bed on the other side of the room; the bed that was covered with silk sheet and a heap of pillows. Ginny glanced up in the mirror and saw a deep pair of eyes, darker than her own, meet her mirror self's gaze.

It was Tom.

"Yes, that's right, Ginny," he said, his alto voice as familiar to her as the old song she'd been singing. He placed his hands heavily on her shoulders, and she noticed something thin and green dangling from between his fingers. "Ginny, my queen. Our day will come."

"What's that?" she asked in response, gesturing at the green stem. He lifted his left hand and held it out before her face; it was a four-leaf clover.

"I picked it for you from the garden." Even as Ginny delightedly took the clover from him, she laughed.

"You did not! You conjured it, didn't you?" She could not imagine him doing anything so real as picking clovers from a garden. His hands slid from her shoulders and wrapped around her neck, covering it completely and warming her through her pulse. Ginny glanced up to see he was smiling.

"Yes, I conjured it. You and I, we create our own luck."

"I love it. Thank you—ow!" As she examined the clover, her finger had brushed the edge of one of the leaves—it was as sharp as a knife, and Ginny felt it slice through her skin. "Tom…" she said unsurely, not knowing what was happening. She watched as blood rushed to the surface of the cut and began to pool out. "Please help," she begged her lover helplessly. He laughed and reached around her to grab her hand in his, and applied pressure to the finger. Only he did it in such a way that the tide of blood wasn't stemmed, but in fact grew heavier, and Ginny could only look on as her life force spilled from her body. The bright red blood slid over her hand and splashed onto the bodice of her nightgown, staining the white cloth irreparably.

"That's right, Ginny, give yourself to me," Tom said from behind her, and then he was leaning over her, sucking the bleeding finger into his mouth—

"No!" Ginny sat up with a start in her bed, the heavy bed coverings sliding off of her. She peered through the darkness and realized she was in her own bed, her own Hogwarts bed with the curtains pulled closed. The sounds of her roommates' heavy breathing and snores filled the air; with a deep breath, Ginny waited, silent, to see if she had woken anyone up with her cry.

Not a sound. Marginally relieved but mostly still shaken from the memory of her dream, Ginny grabbed her diary, quill and wand from the bedside table where she kept them. With a soft "Lumos" she illuminated her bed space, and opened the diary in her lap.

'Tom?'

'Yes, Ginny.' She felt a wave of calm wash over her, just from the sight of his reassuring black handwriting. Writing to him was always relaxing—perhaps it was the relief of sharing her feelings with someone, but her worries and confused thoughts or tangled emotions tended to melt away when she had Tom to confess them to.

'It's late at night. I just had such an odd dream. You were in it.'

'Do you want to tell me about it?'

'Yes, but it's frightening.'

'Did it wake you up?'

'Yes.'

'Well, why don't you tell me about it, and then maybe you'll be able to sleep again.'

'Alright. Well, I was older, you and I were both older, and—oh, you'll laugh. You won't laugh, will you?'

'Of course not, Ginny. Don't you know me by now? Aren't I a better friend than that?'

'Yes, you are, I'm sorry. Only—I think you were my boyfriend. There, now you can laugh.'

'Why should I? I'm flattered. And besides, a dream is just a dream. It doesn't mean anything.'

'That's right. Well, so you were my boyfriend and we lived together. And oh, it was so pretty, and I was so pretty. And I had the nicest clothes and bedroom and you gave me a flower, I think.' But Ginny could practically feel the memory draining from her mind, and could go on no further. There was only one thing she knew for sure, and that was—'There was something wrong about it, Tom, something really bad. Only now I forget what.'

'Don't worry anymore about it, Ginny. It doesn't sound so bad. I think that it was actually a very pretty dream after all, wasn't it?'

'No—yes. Maybe it was.'

'Of course it was. I was there with you, how could it be bad?" Ginny smiled drowsily at that.

'It couldn't be. After all, I think it was a bit nice.'

'You were your beautiful self, we were rich and happy together—it sounds perfect, Ginny, doesn't it?'

'Yes, it does. It was perfect.'

'I thought so. Now be my good girl and go to sleep, Ginny, will you?'

'Yes, Tom. Good night.'

'Sweet dreams, Ginny.'

In case you're wondering, yes, Tom was taking the memory of the dream from her head as she wrote.

Please review! I'm especially interested in knowing: a) if anyone read it, b) whether you thought the imagery was way overdone, c) if you enjoyed it, hated it, were bored by it, etc., and d) if you knew the song from the beginning.

Thanks! And remember, teacher says: every time you review a fic, an angel gets a...yeah, never mind.