The red haired girl sat cross legged on the cold concrete of the courtyard, string up at a black sky. She didn't have her cloak on but she didn't really notice the cold, or she simply didn't care. It could be either of the two, really. Either way, she wasn't worried about the cold. It was late Fall, but the snow hadn't fallen yet. She wouldn't die of exposure. Would anyone care if she did anyway? No. No, that was nonsense. Her parents would care, of course. Just because Harry... Ron... even Hermione had left her didn't mean that no one cared whether she lived or not. Possibly. They were all so concerned with the war... what did it matter of one little girl died? Not that she'd kill herself. That would be too easy. And she wouldn't allow Him that victory.
Her pale, almost skeletally thin fingers tapped against the cold ground absently, her face blank as she stared up at the night sky. She wasn't out in the cold of a Autumn night for fun, or to do anything particular. Simply put, Ginny Weasley had run out of Sleeping Potion and it had been a long long time since she could sleep without that. At least, without paralyzing nightmares. Or worse, the nightmares that didn't feel like nightmares. The ones that made her feel like she had when she had had... it. The Diary. The thing that had started this all. Why wouldn't the nightmares just go away? Why did she have to fear putting her head on the pillow if she didn't have a potion beforehand? It shouldn't have been like this. She should have loved Harry, really loved him, instead of feeling affectionate toward him. She shouldn't have thought that he should have thought a bit more about the fact that she knew what He was like, too. She should have been normal.
"Weaslette. I don't recall the message that students were allowed out of bed." A familiar drawl echoed through the courtyard, breaking through Ginny's musings and causing her head to turn towards the platinum haired boy-man who had just walked out into it. He was the picture of arrogance, leaning against a stone pillar leading into the courtyard, not a single strand of that platinum hair out of place. Of course not, after all purebloods had to be the picture of decorum, didn't they?
Uncrossing her legs, she got up slowly, dreamily, not really caring that Malfoy would most likely turn he in for being out. And that meant detention with the Carrows these days. Not that she could bring herself to care in her present state. Even when it meant the Cruciatas Curse, Ginerva Weasley rarely cared about anything anymore. She hadn't for a long time, though, it wasn't new. Yet, it was always Harry, wasn't it? He was the one who soldiered on, wasn't he? It was never her, was it? No, no she was ever so good at putting on the mask. Who would ever think little Ginny had troubles? Certainly not the arrogant asshole standing across from her. "I'm sure that you fail to recall many things, Malfoy." She said, a sneer worthy of him crossing her face.
Malfoy looked vaguely amused, possibly at the prospect of the detention she was sure to get, and slightly surprised, not many besides Neville stood up to the Slytherins now. He looked less amused a moment later, looking over her shoulder. She turned around, settling her rather disturbed brown eyed gaze on to the now Headmaster of Hogwarts. She blinked slowly, then tucked a piece of disheveled copper hair behind her ear absently. "Miss Weasley. The school courtyard is not open for students at the middle of the night." He said shortly, not playing with words as Malfoy had. Yes, that was his way, wasn't it, very direct man. The dark haired man frowned and moved forward to steady her as she swayed slightly.
A scowl of her own appeared on her face as she shrugged him off, backing away. Ginny was in no mood to be helped by this traitor of a man, not even if he was someone who might be able to make her more potion. "How long has it been since you've slept?" He said professionally, his gaze flicking to Malfoy for a moment before focusing back on the girl. She shrugged, her brown eyes closing wistfully for a moment. "Days. More?" Ginny told him, not knowing why Snape would even care. Why he would want to see what was happening to the youngest Weasley. Snape of all people. Not even her family had cared or noticed. "Little Weasley have nightmares?" Malfoy asked sarcastically, platinum blond brow arching.
Then, for the first time in the conversation, Ginny's eyes focused and held to Malfoy's eyes. "Like you've never imagined." She said raggedly, her jaw clenched. "Or maybe you have." She whispered mockingly, eyes flicking down to his left wrist before turning her back to both of them. "What do you dream of?" Snape asked distantly, or maybe it was only distant to her ears. Her shoulders slumped, brown eyes haunted as she turned back to face him. "Tom. It's always Tom."