Ginny let the Prophet fall to the floor with a groan. No, no, no, no, no. Mum was going to freak. She buried her face in her hands. And Dad would go all quiet and not look at her in the eye and Bill and Charlie and oh merciful God, the twins and Ron were going to go ballistic. And Fred and George and Ron would all say, 'we told you so', and then Ron would have an aneurysm because people might think that he and Harry were an item. Well, the twins would be flattered over the part where Harry should choose them over Ron, but that was besides the point. The point was… she couldn't think what the point had been, but there'd been one, and it had been important.

"Oh bloody hell, Hermione, why didn't you crush that wretched bitch beneath your shoe when you had the chance?"

Ginny's heart was still pounding in her chest as she hastily straightened her clothes yet again. Her hand shook as she grabbed a handful of Floo powder. She'd told Fred she'd be there around 3 o'clock; she was a good bit late.

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The door to the infirmary closed softly, the click of the tumbler loud in the deserted hall.

Ginny awoke abruptly. Her room was bright with early morning sunlight, familiar. The screams still echoed in her head.

Nightmares.