A prologue: wherein Ginny laments…
It was a particularly cold autumn during the fall of my fifth year. Cold in more than just the literal sense… My heart was frozen, Harry was rarely around, and I felt as though time crystallized, encapsulating my love and binding me to the lonely state of that present. I'd beat my pale fists against the wintery cage of my quiet suffering, that is, until I felt as though I could take no more. In the resolute visage of a certain Hermione Granger, I saw echoed the same torments that plagued me so and rent my soul asunder. Our fingers touched through our shared abandon and the icy wastes of our lonely world. As though we were clad in irons, we moved through the castle of Hogwarts in our repressive robes, like Saudi women heavy with the weight of their loathsome lot. Needless to say, it sucked.
