She wasn't sure how long she spent in the shower. Too long she guessed. By the time she turned the water off, the small bathroom was filled with steam and her skin was tinted red. The hot water still hadn't managed to soothe her anger.

She stepped out of the shower, roughly towel dried her hair, not caring that it was going to be a frizzy mess the next day. She pulled on her favourite pyjamas, light blue pants and last year's Christmas sweater. The pillow was soft under her head, and the closed curtains made it feel as though she was the only person in the castle. The dorm was silent, her breathing was quiet, and her racing heart had slowed to a normal rate. Finally, the tension in her chest eased.

Of course she'd have to deal with the repercussions of skipping almost a whole day of classes and her outburst in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Detention with Umbridge was going to be a cruel and unusual form of torture, but she did deserve it. She deserved it just as much as Umbridge deserved to be yelled at.

Ginny couldn't stay still for long. A short five minutes passed before the buzzing started in her head again. She rummaged through her book bag, looking for the little leather book. Only she didn't feel it. She bolted upright, tipping the contents of her bag over her bed. Still no diary.

"Oh no, no, no," she muttered the words like a mantra, feeling the colour fall out of her face. Frantically, she tossed textbooks and scrolls of parchment onto the floor, her blood freezing colder every time she moved. Frustrated tears stung in her eyes as she jumped out of the bed, shaking the blankets in a vain hope that it had gotten stuck in the covers. There was no telltale thump to indicate its presence. A disdained noise escaped her lips, something halfway between a scream and a sob. Head in her hands, Ginny sat on the edge of her bed, her heart hammering against her ribcage. How could I lose it? She tried to think of where it could've fallen out. Outside maybe? No, she had seen it when she had gotten her parchment out in DADA.

She must've dropped it in her hurry to get back to the dorm. That was likely, she had been moving quickly, it's possible that she swung her bag around too much and it slipped out. Ginny jumped up again, prepared to run out of the dorm as fast as she could. She got to the door, stopping only because of the flash of colour she saw out of the corner of her eye.

The diary was on her bedside table, a quill sitting perfectly straight next to it.

Her mouth fell open. Compared to the mess in front of the piece of furniture, the neatness was mocking, as though Tom was laughing behind his hand at Ginny's failure to notice him.

She hadn't left it there. She was absolutely sure of it. It had stayed in her bag when she entered the dorm, and she hadn't taken it into the bathroom with her. The only possible way it had gotten out of her bag is if someone moved it, which was impossible because everyone was in class, and no one even knew that she had the diary. That left an even more chilling possibility. The diary had moved itself there. The concept was insane, but then again there was a disembodied soul inhabiting it. One that teased her and made her laugh. Was it really crazy for it to levitate out of her bag and land on the bedside table?

Of course it was. Everything surrounded the diary was insane. She should never have fished it out of her old books. She should never have written back to it when the ink sunk into the pages. She should've turned it in to someone. She should have returned it to the bookstore, insisting that there was some mistake and there was no way that the diary should be in her possession.

She shouldn't be walking towards it.

Ginny moved on instinct, not entirely aware of her actions. She picked up her scattered books and quills and placed them back into her bag. She picked up her blankets, shaking the dust off them before making her bed. Finally she grabbed the diary, clutching it to her chest, feeling the world spin around her and trying vainly to ignore the waves of relief that washed over her.

"I thought I'd lost you, Tom." The words were so quiet, she wasn't sure if she actually said them aloud. She could've sworn that there was a buzz in her head that sounded suspiciously like a hiss, but she didn't acknowledge it. The whole morning had felt like a messed up dream, like she was listening to everything happen with her head underwater.

Fingers still clutching the diary to her chest, Ginny fell back onto the bed, her hair splaying out around her like a flame. In half a second her eyes were closed and she was unconscious

Ginny hadn't dreamt about Tom since she was eleven. She remembered it vividly, better than any other dream her subconscious managed to conjure. So when she opened her eyes to a stone ceiling and breathed in the smell of dampness, she was hit with a haunting sense of familiarity.

Her breaths came in as sharp intakes, the oxygen barely reaching her lungs. Logically, she knew that she will still asleep in her dorm, her body hanging strangely half on and half off the bed. But she felt so present. She was barefoot, still dressed in her pyjamas. The stone was cold under feet, but she couldn't feel the chill anywhere else. The ceiling was leaking, tiny droplets of water fell in front of her, commanding her to stand still.

"Where am I?" She wasn't sure who she was calling out to. She knew this was the place where she would see Tom where she was younger, but normally he was hovering over her, waiting for her to wake up. The place felt oddly empty without him. "Tom? Are you there?"

She stepped forward again, ignoring the signals in her brain telling her to stop. Her attention was captured by a large statue of a bearded man, his mouth agape and his eyes wide and staring. If she squinted, the tendrils of hair looked enough like serpents to make her skin crawl. Ignoring the butterflies in her stomach, she turned around.

"Tom, where am I?"

Something icy brushed against her back, making her spin around.

In front of her was a mostly translucent figure, one that she recognised instantly. The long oval face, the narrow eyes, the smirking expression, and wavy black hair. He was dressed in his Hogwarts uniform, a crisp white shirt, green and silver striped tie, and topped off with a tiny pin that indicated he was a Prefect. Ginny blinked at him, sure that he was going to be gone when she opened her eyes again. He wasn't entirely there. That was the only way to describe it. He resembled a ghost, the colours of his uniform dulled, his outline blurry around the edges.

He moved his mouth like he was speaking, but no words came out. The only noise that left his lips was a soft hiss, like the blowing of wind. His face screwed up, his eyebrows knitting together and his lips turning down in a frown. Upon realising that he couldn't speak, his expression turned back to neutral, and he reached out an arm, moving to touch Ginny's shoulder.

Only his hand went straight through her, sending goosebumps up her arm and chilling her skin. She tried to think back to the last time she had seen him in a dream. Had he been corporal then? Nothing came to mind.

Tom pulled his wand out of his pocket, causing letters to appear in front of him. His handwriting was the same as it was in the diary, and Ginny found herself wondering if this was how he replied to her. Did he even have his wand inside the book? Could he even use magic in there? No, of course not. He would've tried getting out.

DON'T HAVE ENOUGH STRENGTH

Ginny read the words, slightly admiring the perfectly curved scarlet letters.

Tom looked at her expectantly, raising one of his dark eyebrows raised the tiniest bit.

"How do I give you more strength?" The question came out slowly, hesitantly. She couldn't remember him asking her to help him gain strength before, but then again he had been in the diary for a shorter time then? Had he been losing life all this time?

YOU WON'T LIKE IT...

She chewed the inside of her cheek as her mind raced with possible answers to her question. How was she supposed to give a soul strength? Her mind instantly went to the worst possible solution. She liked Tom, but there was only so much she was willing to do for him. Her attention drifted to the floor as her mind willed her to wake up. She inhaled sharply, squeezing her eyes shut. You're a Gryffindor, Ginny. Act like it.

She met his gaze again, finally exhaling. "What is it Tom? Just tell me." She didn't sound convincing, but it was better than saying nothing at all.

His face broke out into a smile and his entire face softened. He flicked his wrist, a thin red stream coming out of the tip of his wand.

I NEED BLOOD GINNY.

Her breath hitched in her throat. Blood. He wanted her to give up some of her blood. In another situation she'd think the answer was ridiculous. How was her blood supposed to strengthen a soul trapped in a diary, but the situation was in was already ridiculous. Of course he needed blood for strength. Dark Magic had trapped him, and it was probably draining his life force too. He was fading, and he'd disappear eventually.

Ginny's stomach flipped, her organs twisting in unnatural and painful ways. Her fingers shook at her sides as she considered the options. Blood magic was something she knew next to nothing about. What little she did know was about how powerful it was. Rumours dictating that blood magic combined with sacrifice was enough to save someone from the killing curse. Of course her blood would be enough to give Tom more life.

But at what cost?

All magic had a side effect. Basic spells took barely anything from a person, but casting enough of them would be draining. Advanced spells could lead to exhaustion. Blood magic would have a side effect, but what kind?

The expression he was wearing gave her the eerie impression that he knew exactly what she was thinking. She spoke before he had the chance to write out a response.

"I'll think about it, Tom."

He smiled at her once more, and the room faded into nothingness.

Ginny jerked awake, her neck and back aching from the strange position she had fallen asleep on. Her heart beat erratically, her forehead covered in sweat, her breathing irregular. She glanced at the clock, she had only been asleep for an hour. It was only 11am. If she really wanted to, she could sneak to the library, find some books on blood magic, claim it was for charms or curiosity, and try to figure out how terrible the idea would be.

She breathed in deeply, trying to clear her head of the tormenting buzzing. She stood up, stretching her arms above her head, and twisting left first and then right, trying to ease the aching in her muscles. The situation had gotten worse, just as she thought it would, which was completely expected. One of the first lessons they teach you as a magical child is not to mess with the Dark Arts. Ginny had broken that rule more times than she cared to count, and now she was considering digging deeper.

The sound of footsteps approaching made her breath catch. Part of her worried that it was Mcgonagall and she childishly had the impulse to hide under her bed to avoid the consequences that were going to catch up to her.

Relief spread through her body when she realised it was only Carla. The other Gryffindor stood in the doorway, her hands on her hips in a pose that reminded Ginny of Hermione around Harry and Ron. The red head smiled crookedly, trying to act as though she hadn't broken half of the Hogwarts rules in a matter of hours.

"Bloody hell, Ginny. Don't disappear like that, especially when everyone's going on about You-Know-Who being back, and all." Carla's expression softened, the concern falling off her face.

Ginny couldn't her mind off the dairy, completely out in the open. In her mind, it might as well be flashing bright lights that read out 'look at me.' The book itself was nothing suspicious, if anyone asked she could just say it was her diary or planner. No one would ask anymore questions. But why did she feel so paranoid? It took almost all of her willpower not to turn around just to check if it was still there.

"Why you'd leave anyway? Umbridge is terrible, but she's not worth getting screamed at by Mcgonagall for missing all your classes."

Carla had a point. Ginny could admit she had overreacted, but the immediate satisfaction was worth the repercussions. At least that was what she was going to tell herself. Her flight or fight reflex had gone completely out of whack since the school year started. She wouldn't have ran away last year. She would've spurted exactly what was on her mind and moved on as if nothing had happened.

The silence became awkward just as Ginny remembered Carla had asked her something. Her face was so inviting, and she'd always been nice to her. Telling her about her change in demenour wasn't going to be a bad thing. Shutting herself off was only going to make things worse.

I sound like my mother...

"I haven't been feeling too great," Ginny confessed, avoiding eye contact. "i don't know how to explain it."

Carla smiled sympathetically, moving across the room to pull Ginny into a hug. The embrace was welcome and warm, and Ginny found herself leaning into it. She'd never been good at being alone, why was she trying to force herself into it.

"It's okay, Ginny. A lot's happened, it'd be more weird if you weren't affected." She let go, sitting on the edge of Ginny's bed. She took the cue, sitting beside her roommate.

"So you believe it then?" She hadn't spoken to anyone about You-Know-Who's return, expect for over the holidays where she would constantly overhear conversations between Harry, Ron, and Herminone. It wasn't exactly something you just brought up in the middle of lunch. Arguments were already occurring between the older Gryiffindors, Harry right in the middle of course.

"About You-Know-Who?" Her voice trailed off, and Ginny watched her face twist in thought. "I'm not sure honestly." She looked down at her hands. "I mean, I don't want to believe it, but it just sounds likely, you know?"

Ginny nodded. She hadn't even made up her own mind on everything. She believed Harry of course, he had no reason to lie, and if anyone would know, it would be him. But why now? Where did he go? What happened to him? There were just so many questions that were left unanswered. No one could come back from the dead. But no one was supposed to survive the killing curse either. She sighed.

"It's so messed up," Ginny whispered. "How could someone be that evil?" She understood that there wasn't really such things as good and bad. Everything was on a scale made out of blurry grey spots. But how could someone who senselessly murdered have anything good left in them?

Carla shivered. "Ugh, let's stop talking about this, it's giving me the creeps."

"Okay."

Speaking about the Dark Arts and wizards had long since lost its creepy factor for Ginny. The diary and being friends with Harry Potter has made sure of that.

Thank you to everyone's that read, followed, and favourited this story, it means the world!

Not sure how often I'll be uploading as my end of year exams are getting closer :'(. Won't be leaving this story any time soon though, so even if uploads are slow they won't be stopping.

A big thank you to everyone who left reviews!

(Also out of curiousity if I made an Instagram for updates and original work would anyone be interested in following it?)