Battles in the Dark

There were about four and a half blocks of shone visible in the space framed by the opening of her four poster. Her eyes were closed at the moment, but that didn't matter. She was awake, of course. Her eyelids fluttered back open, revealing haunted brown eyes. Eyes that squinted in the sunlight now, where they used to smile. Eyes that mechanically traced the dips and lines of the ceiling with unfailing dedication, sliding up, across, down, over, up, across, down, over. Eyes that caressed stone in cyclic rituals that were the only thing keeping her from sinking..

Ginny pulled her blankets tighter around her shoulders and shivered. It was safe now, he was gone. He was gone. Harry had saved her. It was safe now.

Up, down, across, over.

Outside, the light of the midnight moon lapped against the castle walls, sending a dim glow under the edges of Ginny's bed curtains. It was probably fairly late by now. She would be tired tomorrow, that was for sure.

Up, down, across, over.

Last night she'd accidentally fallen asleep. It had been terrifying. One moment she was safe, tracing stone with her eyes, and then it was morning and she had lost more time. Hours had gone by, and she hadn't known. And she woke up and saw the sun and screamed, and the first thing she wanted to do was tell Tom.

NO! Up, down, across, over, up, down, across . . .

Ginny was shivering harder now. It wouldn't be so bad once she got home, surely. The memories were only from here. The memories that weren't there. And the ones that were. Ginny's eyelids slipped down, and her mind drifted back to an earlier time.

It was between classes. She knew that because the hallway was empty. Her feet were taking her somewhere, spurning her pleas to stop. Her body served a different master now. Her legs stopped her before a stretch of blank wall. One hand held up a knife, and slashed across the other hand. Ginny wanted to cry out, but her mouth would not obey. That was when it happened; her one victory over him. As her fingers moved and smeared a death message across the wall in crimson, as another's will forced her bloody fingers into her mouth and hissed "Taste the blood, Ginny. Isn't it Pure? Isn't it Beautiful?" as her body walked casually to its death, one single, defiant tear escaped. And Tom had noticed.

Her eyes snapped open again, bulging as her hands spasmed and she clutched the sheets. Her breath was coming faster, hurtling in and out in irregular gasps.

"Ginny?"

She jumped. Someone must have woken and heard her.

"Ginny?" the voice was closer now. "You all right?"

"I'm f-fine," she forced herself to mutter back through the curtains. "Um . . . nightmare."

"Ok. Goodnight."

Light footsteps, a bed creaking, and then the whisper of curtains sliding back into place.

Ginny returned her attention to the patterns in the ceiling, concentrating on staying awake.

Up, down, across, over.

She had her body back. She was in control. And she would not do anything that could possibly endanger that.

Up, down, across over.

She felt exhaustion dragging at her, weighting down her eyelids. But she resisted.

Up, down, across, over!

It was her body. Hers. And she would not surrender.