. I stand alone in a cold dark room, waiting for the Prince of Darkness to
take me under.
It's been five years since the heir of Slytherin opened the Chamber of Secrets. Five years since he took me by the hand. Five years since I've felt power.
Since then, my brother and his friends have treated me like a porcelain doll. They never let me out of their sight; it's as if I could break if I'm alone.
At one point Perfect Potter decided he had feelings for me. He cornered my inside the common room and said, "Ginny, would you like to come with me to Hogsmeade this weekend?" He looked so happy, so confident. How could anyone refuse the Boy-Who-Lived.?
Quite easily.
"Sorry, Potter" I said. "I've got better things to do." Then I walked away.
You'd think after that the boy would take a hint. But, no. He just continued to ask. Over, and over, and over, and over..
To escape the incessant pleading of Potter, I pursued Draco Malfoy. He's not as difficult to obtain as you would expect. All it took was a visit to the Slytherin common room and a five minute game of seduction. he was as good as mine.
In a way, I liked Draco. He was everything I was looking for. That grace, that smirk, that. performance. Yes, he was everything I wanted. but he wasn't Tom.
No one will ever be Tom.
God I need him. I long for his touch. I miss the feeling of power I received when we were close. I need him to use me the way he once did. I must surrender to his will..
There are nights when I can feel his breath on my neck as I lay in bed. The curtains around my four poster are always drawn with a silence charm placed around me. Sometimes, when I can't sleep, I cut my skin in the same discrete places Tom did, trying to feel the bliss of torture and love as he made me feel. No one can hear my cries of pain as I run the jagged knife along my thighs. No one can see the darkness of desire which I hold within my eyes as the blade cuts away at my pale skin. The blood stains the bedding, but I pay it no attention. All I keep are my memories of the diary that once was my life.
When the pleasure of pain is gone, and the feeling of past trepidations has faded, I wipe away the remaining blood from my thighs, chest, and stomach. The memory of a memory is lost among others until the night. At night is when I dream of him. At night is when I cry for him.
Some day I will find him. Some day..
. I stand alone in a cold dark room, waiting for the Prince of Darkness to take me under.
It's been five years since the heir of Slytherin opened the Chamber of Secrets. Five years since he took me by the hand. Five years since I've felt power.
Since then, my brother and his friends have treated me like a porcelain doll. They never let me out of their sight; it's as if I could break if I'm alone.
At one point Perfect Potter decided he had feelings for me. He cornered my inside the common room and said, "Ginny, would you like to come with me to Hogsmeade this weekend?" He looked so happy, so confident. How could anyone refuse the Boy-Who-Lived.?
Quite easily.
"Sorry, Potter" I said. "I've got better things to do." Then I walked away.
You'd think after that the boy would take a hint. But, no. He just continued to ask. Over, and over, and over, and over..
To escape the incessant pleading of Potter, I pursued Draco Malfoy. He's not as difficult to obtain as you would expect. All it took was a visit to the Slytherin common room and a five minute game of seduction. he was as good as mine.
In a way, I liked Draco. He was everything I was looking for. That grace, that smirk, that. performance. Yes, he was everything I wanted. but he wasn't Tom.
No one will ever be Tom.
God I need him. I long for his touch. I miss the feeling of power I received when we were close. I need him to use me the way he once did. I must surrender to his will..
There are nights when I can feel his breath on my neck as I lay in bed. The curtains around my four poster are always drawn with a silence charm placed around me. Sometimes, when I can't sleep, I cut my skin in the same discrete places Tom did, trying to feel the bliss of torture and love as he made me feel. No one can hear my cries of pain as I run the jagged knife along my thighs. No one can see the darkness of desire which I hold within my eyes as the blade cuts away at my pale skin. The blood stains the bedding, but I pay it no attention. All I keep are my memories of the diary that once was my life.
When the pleasure of pain is gone, and the feeling of past trepidations has faded, I wipe away the remaining blood from my thighs, chest, and stomach. The memory of a memory is lost among others until the night. At night is when I dream of him. At night is when I cry for him.
Some day I will find him. Some day..
. I stand alone in a cold dark room, waiting for the Prince of Darkness to take me under.