Title: His Words

Summary: She wakes up at night, crawls to the fire in the Common Room to make her nightmares go away. To make him go away.

Ginevra… Ginevra… Ginevra…

Whispers of the voice so familiar. That soothing, gentle voice was like food to the hungry. Those who are hungry can't eat a little, because they are starving. They can't eat too much, because food can kill them. But the hungry don't know about the existence of the middle. They've never heard of eating just the right amount. Ginny Weasley is one of the hungry. And she's hungry for the sins she remembers and for those she doesn't.

She wakes up trembling but not with fear. She trembles with rage. And not her. She remembers her loved one and his fear, his wrath. Those overwhelming emotions of his last seconds. She'll never forget.

She walks in the day and sees him. She is asleep at night and still she sees him. She prefers to sleep, even if in her dreams he's cruel and frightening, because here he's complete, here he is him. She only sees bits of him when walking in the halls of Hogwarts – lips, nose, cheeks, hair, but never the whole picture. And Ginny knows, she knows, that those faceless clones aren't him. They will never be him. There are no eyes like his – kind and hateful, green and red, caring and cold. No one's like him.

She starts a new diary. She writes. She writes and writes. Days turn into weeks. And weeks turn into months. She's still writing. But it feels so wrong, wrong, wrong. She feels like she has betrayed him.

She screams and knocks everything from the table and falls down. The ink covers her sloppy writing.

"Dear Tom,"

"Tom,"

"Hello, Tom,"

"Dear Tom,"

The ink seeps into the pages, but doesn't disappear. She abandons the quill. She's never going to write anything else. Coward.

She starts going from boy to boy. From one face to another. She doesn't love them. She can't. One day she realizes he's not coming back. She goes from boy to boy. From face to face. She stops at the emerald eyes, quite close to the Avada Kedavra ones. It's as close as she'll get.

She wakes up screaming from pain that is not her. Usually it happens around midnight and every time she feels as if her soul is being slowly sucked away. She feels despair and quietly wonders if there are Dementors lurking on the opposite side of the walls.

She crawls to the fireplace in the Common Room and realizes that she still holds the ghost of the feeling inside of her cracked up heart.

The feeling of words being written on the parchment, the feeling of words being carved on her skin, on her heart, till blood will creep its way from her finger tips into the yellow old pages. Till all her secrets will bleed out to Tom, only for his eyes. Only for his words.

She carefully takes out pages, yellow from age, from her drawer, carefully places them on her desk and sits down.

She writes a few words and holds her breath.

"Welcome back, Ginevra," whispers someone in her ear and kisses her bloody fingers.

Words on the page disappear.