Magdalena woke up with a jolt. Her heart was beating at an alarmingly quick pace as if she might go into cardiac arrest at any given moment and her body was slick with more than one layer of sweat. She had just had the most unbelievable dream, the kind of dream that you would never dare verbalize to someone else, the kind of dream you kept secret unless you were unfortunate enough to participate in a drunk game of truth or dare. A dream about him.
Tom Riddle was in her room, an unwelcome visitor with a thirst for reviving past emotions. He had kissed her so passionately in her sleep and she had woken up without inhibitions, only desires. She had made love to him not thinking about consequence or about what had happened in his dorm five years ago. It had just been a night without a future and a night with only the positive parts of the past present in her mind.
She just couldn't wrap her mind around how real it had been. She could feel the exact way his moistened lips felt on hers as they traced a pattern down her neck to her collarbone and her breasts. She could feel his cold hands touch her skin, causing her to shiver violently with pleasure. She felt what it was like for him to be inside of her, painful at first and then ecstasy beyond anything she had ever felt.
But it was just a dream.
Magdalena would be lying if she said she didn't think about him a lot. He crossed her mind frequently and she always had a hard time getting rid of him, always thinking about what could have been. She knew it was bad to live among the 'what ifs' and 'almosts' but it was such a comforting world, the world in her head, one where he was not mentally aligned with his ancestor's beliefs. But it's better that he told me about his plans before we got too serious, she had concluded, even though what happened between them was emotionally very serious. If it hadn't had been, she wouldn't still be thinking about how she could have loved him.
She crawled out of bed, finding her body to be quite tired and sore as if she had been sleeping on a hardwood floor without a pillow all night. Her nightgown was a bit wrinkled, but that was nothing out of the ordinary after she has a restless sleep. With a dream like that, I must have been tossing and turning in my bed, she thought almost comically as she smoothed out her nightgown. She chuckled to herself out loud but the laughter was laced with bits of nervousness.
On her blue, satin sheets, she saw traces of blood. Damn, I got my period, she thought, making a mental note to clean her sheets. That must be why I had such a sexual dream.
Just to be certain, she carefully scrutinized the various pieces of furniture, candles, and other little objects around her room. Everything seemed to be in perfect order. Nothing had been moved even a millimeter from where it had been after she had laid down to sleep. He couldn't have possibly entered the room, and especially couldn't have had sex with her, without there being some minor change, right?
She picked up her moon earrings off her nightstand and inspected the tiny stars and changing moon carefully. They looked normal also, no fingerprints from him. As she blindly searched for the holes in her ears, her eyes fell to the dried out rose he had given her. She touched the delicate, lifeless petals and, for a fleeting second, she began to wonder. She shook her head back and forth. There's no way it was real she thought, trying desperately to push the possibility out of her mind.
She ran her fingers through her long, raven-black hair and walked into the bathroom to wash her face. Once she caught her reflection in the mirror, her already pale skin grew to a hue of even more pallor. Conspicuous on her neck and collarbone were red oval-shaped marks. They didn't look like scabs or any sort of bruise she had ever seen. Even the chance that they were rashes was unlikely because of how scattered they were and because they appeared to have little indents. The last time she had seen marks like that had been after the night in the Astronomy Tower. What could have caused them but his lips? Mosquito bites, she thought. I must have bugs in my room. They need refuge in the winter after all.
She traced her finger over her full lips which were swollen and chapped. The weather, she thought. It must be the weather. There's no way he was really here. If he was, I would have woken up. I would have known and been sure of what was going on. I wouldn't have let him...or at least I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have.
Magdalena shook her head again, silently commanding herself to stop trying to analyzing the situation. Nothing happened and that's all there is to it, she concluded, although she knew in the back of her head that just because she tells herself to believe something, that doesn't make it true.