Really, the nightmares weren't the worst part.
Sure, waking up in a cold sweat with my sheets tangled around my legs and my heart going so fast I'm sure it's going to explode - not anyone's idea of fun. But they were just dreams. I could handle that.
The worst part was the knowing. The feeling like something was waiting for me; the knowledge of it scuttling about in the far edges of my mind, grating my brain. That was what made the screaming nightmares seem like a glass of pumpkin juice in comparison. The bone-chilling knowledge that it wasn't over.
Sometimes I had a hard time seperating what was and what is now. The nightmares from reality. So at night, when the dreams had left me shaken and clammy, I would tell myself things that were true. So I could hold onto myself.
Harry had saved me. That was true.
Tom Riddle - Lord Voldemort - had taken me over, used me, sucked me dry. That was also true. And I had let him. I had opened myself up and let this foul, dirty thing use me. Because I was young, because I felt lonely and misunderstood. Because I was stupid.
He came to me everynight in my dreams. Mocked me. Thanked me for giving him Harry.
Harry almost died because of me. For me. That's another truth.
But I could feel his - Tom's - Voldemort's - presence on me. Like spiders scratching at my spine, burrowing into my flesh. Harry, Ron, my parents, even Dumbledore - everyone thought that Harry had finished Tom. Had vanquished him, like a knight-errant on a white horse.
I knew it wasn't true.
My dirty little secret - that's what he called himself. No, that's not true. That was the nightmares.
When Voldemort - Tom Riddle - visited me every night, he smiled. The monster smiled at me, petted my hair, called me My Ginny. He twisted my soul, shredded my hopes in front of me. He chained me in dispair and my wrists grew red and blood-soaked from the weight.
And when he finally left me, screaming and sobbing and begging for it all to stop, he promised me something.
That he would return.
Not just in my nightmares. Because the nightmares weren't the worst of it.
The worst was knowing - knowing - that everything I dream would come true.
Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns all characters and situations. I just play with her toys.
A/N: A thought. Let me know what you think.