Hi! For anyone choosing to read this, thank you. I hope you enjoy it. I've always been curious about Ginny's experiences in first year and how they shaped her. Here's my take on it, taking place the summer after Ginny's first year. Feel free to comment. I would love to hear what you think of it, or what you think I could've done better.
The moon cast a soft glow over the stone path where a young girl could be seen.
Ginny Weasley had taken to walking along a path, a little ways away from the burrow, on nights when she could not find solace in sleep.
It had been two weeks since the end of her first year at Hogwarts and she had been having difficulty falling into unconsciousness.
During the day she was busy, too busy to think of him much, often getting lost in the haze of homework and chores that came with each summer at the burrow, but at night. . .
At night she could hear his silvery soft voice, whispering warm, deceptive words that promised a comfort she couldn't have now, -could never have again- .
She had been terrified, in the cold damp chamber, as she lay dying, but it wasn't the memories of that night that she was terrified of.
Nor the fear filled months that she had experienced, waking in frightening places with no recollection of how she had gotten there -crimson blood covered her hands as she stared in horror- , certain that she was losing her mind.
What plagued her sleeping hours more so than any memory of the wrongs Tom had done to
her, was the urge she still felt to return to him and tell him of her troubles.
No matter what he did she still longed for the confidant he had been to her. She wanted someone to listen to her, to give her advice, and comfort, and- she shook herself out of her thoughts.
It wasn't as if her family hadn't been there for her in the wake of her ordeal. Indeed, they had been rather overbearing in their attempts to make sure she was alright.
But none of them seemed to understand that it wasn't him that she feared, not really.
It was herself.
It was how much she still missed him.
It was wrong to still love him after everything he had done to her, she knew that well enough. But knowing and feeling something were very different things, and she wasn't sure she could ever stop feeling him.
Her mind remained clouded with thought as she walked up to the burrow and entered her home -cold, it was far too cold, she could feel his warm breath along her neck- and climbed up the stairs.
Her room seemed so childish after everything. A few worn toys dotted around the room, some colourful posters lined the walls. The bright sheets on her bed seemed out of place in the darkness of the night.
She took a book from the dresser by her bed. It was a soft blue colour -wrong- and as she opened it to the very first page she wrote.
Her words dotted the pure white of the paper and she smiled ruefully as the ink stained the page, unfaded.
She was fine.