She loved him. She loved the way he touched her, kissed her, made her
forget she was just a school girl. The world around her seemed to have
taken a break. She couldn't stop replaying the last night in her head. Her
innocence was gone. She liked it. It was the only thing she thought about.
She daydreamed about it constantly, so much so that Colin broke their
silence to ask her just when and where she saw Harry, and if she had gotten
his autograph, obviously noticing how much she was daydreaming.
When replaying it became tedious, she began to unhealthily anticipate her talking to him again. She was hooked. He was perfect. When they were together, Ginny felt as if it was fate for his diary to end up in her old school book.
The day seemed to go slower than any other day in her life. She wanted him, oh did she want him, she wanted to see him once more. She missed him sorely. She missed him like a fish would miss water.
But, like all do, the day came to an end. And before she could even breathe inside the dorms, she rushed to the diary, and wrote in it, with a feeling like she was an infant and she had just seen her mother after being stranded. She felt so wonderfully at home. With Tom, it was more of a feeling of home than the Burrow was.
Ginny felt like an outcast in the Burrow. She was the only girl, the youngest, the most teased, the overlooked. Her mum was too protective of her, taking advantage of having another female in the house. Her dad didn't know how to treat her. He wasn't used to girls. Homes aren't like that. No. Homes are places you go to after a long, hard day and feel a positive familiarity after walking inside and seeing everyone who lives with you. She didn't get that in the Burrow. She wasn't abused, no, just. . . she felt like she was just another person in the Burrow. Just another mouth to feed. But when Ginny saw Tom, it was home.
Hello Ginny. You slept well, I assume?
I went to bed at two.
Yes, well, you slept well in the four hours you could, then?
If it makes you happy, I did.
Ah, but maybe it doesn't. Maybe I want you to have a lack of sleep.
And why would you want that?
Create something in your mind.
I'm afraid to.
You're scared easily, aren't you?
A bit, yeah. Why?
Well, your brothers must love that.
Beyond words. Especially Fred and George.
What scares you?
You.
Do I?
No.
Excuse the old geezer. I don't recognize jokes in writing.
You're not old.
I'm not? You're lucky I was stored as a 16-year-old memory, Ginny, because otherwise I'd be 66.
Ugh, don't remind me. Yuck.
Are you insulting me?
No.
Right.
. . .
You know, Ginny, you're avoiding talking about last night. Why is that? Did you not like it?
No! I loved it!
Oh?
Yeah. . .
I'm flattered.
And I'm blushing.
That just tells me I'm doing my job.
**************************************************************************
Tom was sleek, he was appealing, charming, kind, sympathetic, easy to talk to, gave great advice. . . he was too good to be true. But he was true. He was a living person. Well, not really, but. . . he was fifty years ago, anyway. He was perfect. There was not a single word that described him better. He pushed Harry completely out of her mind.
Harry. Did Ginny still have feelings for him, or was she over him? She never had time to concentrate on it. Her mind was forever set, it seemed, on Tom. There was no other explanation for the one bad thing in her current life: her grade drop. But she had more important things. Tom.
Tom was her guilty pleasure. Her only pleasure. She allowed nothing more in her life, it was her life. She loved him. The same thoughts went through her head, about how he was wonderful, and how he was perfect, and there must be some kind of flaw to him. Little did Ginny know there was. But she wouldn't find that out until it was too late.
When replaying it became tedious, she began to unhealthily anticipate her talking to him again. She was hooked. He was perfect. When they were together, Ginny felt as if it was fate for his diary to end up in her old school book.
The day seemed to go slower than any other day in her life. She wanted him, oh did she want him, she wanted to see him once more. She missed him sorely. She missed him like a fish would miss water.
But, like all do, the day came to an end. And before she could even breathe inside the dorms, she rushed to the diary, and wrote in it, with a feeling like she was an infant and she had just seen her mother after being stranded. She felt so wonderfully at home. With Tom, it was more of a feeling of home than the Burrow was.
Ginny felt like an outcast in the Burrow. She was the only girl, the youngest, the most teased, the overlooked. Her mum was too protective of her, taking advantage of having another female in the house. Her dad didn't know how to treat her. He wasn't used to girls. Homes aren't like that. No. Homes are places you go to after a long, hard day and feel a positive familiarity after walking inside and seeing everyone who lives with you. She didn't get that in the Burrow. She wasn't abused, no, just. . . she felt like she was just another person in the Burrow. Just another mouth to feed. But when Ginny saw Tom, it was home.
Hello Ginny. You slept well, I assume?
I went to bed at two.
Yes, well, you slept well in the four hours you could, then?
If it makes you happy, I did.
Ah, but maybe it doesn't. Maybe I want you to have a lack of sleep.
And why would you want that?
Create something in your mind.
I'm afraid to.
You're scared easily, aren't you?
A bit, yeah. Why?
Well, your brothers must love that.
Beyond words. Especially Fred and George.
What scares you?
You.
Do I?
No.
Excuse the old geezer. I don't recognize jokes in writing.
You're not old.
I'm not? You're lucky I was stored as a 16-year-old memory, Ginny, because otherwise I'd be 66.
Ugh, don't remind me. Yuck.
Are you insulting me?
No.
Right.
. . .
You know, Ginny, you're avoiding talking about last night. Why is that? Did you not like it?
No! I loved it!
Oh?
Yeah. . .
I'm flattered.
And I'm blushing.
That just tells me I'm doing my job.
**************************************************************************
Tom was sleek, he was appealing, charming, kind, sympathetic, easy to talk to, gave great advice. . . he was too good to be true. But he was true. He was a living person. Well, not really, but. . . he was fifty years ago, anyway. He was perfect. There was not a single word that described him better. He pushed Harry completely out of her mind.
Harry. Did Ginny still have feelings for him, or was she over him? She never had time to concentrate on it. Her mind was forever set, it seemed, on Tom. There was no other explanation for the one bad thing in her current life: her grade drop. But she had more important things. Tom.
Tom was her guilty pleasure. Her only pleasure. She allowed nothing more in her life, it was her life. She loved him. The same thoughts went through her head, about how he was wonderful, and how he was perfect, and there must be some kind of flaw to him. Little did Ginny know there was. But she wouldn't find that out until it was too late.