A/N: This chapter is longer. I also warn you – this is not a happy fic. Everyone Ginny loves has died, and she's not getting off that easily. Beware of extreme angst.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Though I wish I did.

The Letter P

Chapter Five: P is for Pathetic Fights

"They are Eleanor Fionn, Head Girl, in Gryffindor – I think you'll find her more accommodating – and then the Head Boy, in Slytherin. But you needn't worry about him."

"Well, what's his name? If he's in Slytherin, he might be easier to find in a time of trouble," Ginny pointed out.

"I suppose… though he is generally very difficult to find, even in an empty room," Dippet sighed. "Tricky lad. Very well, then. His name is Tom Riddle."

…

The dreams returned.

Blood, pooling around her feet. Ron's screams echoed and echoed, of absolute agony, his face draining of all colour as his body rapidly emptied of blood onto the floor around her... her, screaming, screaming, screaming –

Charlie screamed out. "Ginny… go…" he ground out, before it twisted into another scream. His hands twisted in horrific, demonic shapes as he battled his own mind. "GO!" he howled, and then a blood vessel burst in his temple and it was on Ginny and she was screaming, screaming, screaming –

The green light flashed brighter than anything, and a single tortured scream rose up from everyone present as their only saviour fell. Ginny was screaming louder than anyone. The green eyes of her first love widened, bulged, and then his glasses fell. And Harry tumbled forwards lifeless; Ginny ran to him, screaming, screaming, screaming –

"Hit her!"

"Shut her up!"

"God, she's a freak."

"Ginny? Ginny!"

She launched herself forwards so abruptly, gasping for breath as she sat up, that the person straddling her was thrown sideways and onto the floor.

Blinking past a film of sleep on her hazel eyes, Ginny saw a group of sixteen-year-old girl staring at her. On the floor was a sprawled-out Grace, who was untangling her limbs; Claude was at the foot of her bed, lips pursed in disdain, with by two other girls; a few others clustered around, clinging to each other.

The redhead was terribly hot. She felt her face, and her fingers met a greasy combination of sweat and tears mingled together. She closed her eyes slowly in dread. I knew this would happen.

The nightmares had been plaguing Ginny ceaselessly for exactly now one year and a day. Or… rather, minus forty-eight years and a day.

"Are you alright?" Grace asked, scrambling back to her feet and straightening her nightdress. "You were screaming like mad." Her blue eyes were wide as marbles.

"Of course she's fine," snapped Claude. "She's just an attention-seeker."

"Like you, you mean?" Ginny muttered under her breath, wiping her face on her quilt – I can't believe they have quilts – before looking up again. "Honestly, Grace, I'm fine. Thanks, though."

Grace didn't look certain, but she didn't push it, and said, "Come on, get dressed. It's time for breakfast. Time to show off your shiny badge."

Ignoring her queasy stomach, Ginny grinned, and bustled over to her trunk, sorting through it. Last night, she had put on what she was told, and, at bedtime, ignored the neatly-folded clothes and grabbed her yellow twenty-first century T-shirt (at which Claude and her friends had winced and gossiped) and tugged it on. Now, however, she could have fun.

Oh. My. God. I love the fifties' Hogwarts uniform.

Lying there neatly was a plaid-skirt with a fashionable flare, in black, and a white blouse with kimono sleeves and a soft collar, with tidy, almost invisible buttons. Also there were flats – neat, plain black shoes similar to the ballet pumps that Ginny loved back in the twenty-first century – and little white socks that did, admittedly, make her cringe.

"Can't you wear tights?" she asked.

Grace stared. She had a look on her face that made it seem almost comical. It was as if Ginny had suggested they wear rainbow Wellingtons and a moose-head hat.

Obviously a no, then.

They both dressed, and Ginny tweaked the ends of her straight red hair. People had been looking at her and giggling. Straight, long hair was clearly not cool. Well, screw them. I'll eat my own head before I willingly apply a Claude-look to my hair. Watching in amusement as Grace despaired of her messy hair (bushy today), Ginny slipped her golden pendant under her blouse, and hid the Time-turner at the bottom of her trunk.

"Let's roll," said Ginny, and Grace gave her an odd look.

Alden wasn't in the common room, so Ginny and Grace continued to breakfast with another girl in their dormitory, Flora Roosevelt, a girl with soft blonde curls and latte eyes, and a habit of always having a flower or plant of some sort in her hair.

"How's your darling, Gulistan?" asked Grace interestedly as they ascended the cold steps from the dungeons.

"Sshh!" hissed Flora frantically, looking around. She remembered that Ginny was there, and panicked. "Does Ginny know who he is?"

"Yes, I do," lied Ginny, pokerfaced. "And I'm going to tell him."

Flora's mouth fell open in horror, and Grace burst into laughter. "Ginny, that's horrible," she reprimanded, slapping the redhead on the arm before turning to the brunette and saying, "Don't worry, Flo, she doesn't know him, and she won't tell him you like him even if she did."

A feeble laugh escaped Flora's cherry-coloured lips, but she shot Ginny a suspicious look as they entered the Entrance Hall; the redhead gave the blonde a friendly, and hopefully reassuring, smile.

"Oh, look what the cat dragged in," sneered an irritatingly familiar voice.

Ginny raised an eyebrow. "Look what the toad coughed up," she replied, hands on hips in a posture that made her look uncannily like her late mother. She then noticed the boy beside Claude. "Oh, and here's the toad himself."

The boy stepped forwards angrily.

"Jack," said Claude sharply, and he retreated. It was obvious who was the boss of their relationship, though Jack, in appearance, was not one to be bossed about.

He was broad-shouldered, as if he played many sports, and tall. He was also quite handsome, with straight, strawberry-blonde hair combed into a ducktail-cut, spiking out at the back of his head, and sporting a moustache to make any World War One soldier proud.

Claude stepped forwards. "This is my boyfriend, Jack Swithin. Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team, the best Beater there ever was, one-hundred pureblood, school Prefect, and the most sought-after guy in school. Jack, this is the transfer bitch I was telling you about."

"Nice to meet you, Jack. When's try-outs? I happen to be quite a good shot at Chaser," Ginny said, smiling. She knew that there was nothing that would annoy Claude more than if she made friends with her boyfriend.

The big Slytherin frowned. "But you're a girl," he said.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious," Grace drawled from the sidelines, smirking.

"I may be a girl, but I can probably play better than most people," Ginny said, stifling giggles at her friend's wry comment.

"What percentage blood status are you?" Claude suddenly butted in.

Ohh no. I knew this was coming.

Ginny pursed her lips together, knowing the response that her reply would get.

"Well?"

"I'm Muggleborn."

There was a silence. "No way," said Grace. "There hasn't been a Muggleborn in Slytherin since… like, ever."

"There's only one half-blood," cut in Flora, staring, wide-eyed at Ginny. "Everyone – everyone here is pureblood. Some have Muggleborn blood somewhere in their ancestry, some have half-blood somewhere. Few people are one-hundred percent pureblood-"

Claude and Jack smirked triumphantly.

"- but there's never been a… a zero percent in Slytherin before… there are barely any Muggle-borns in all of Hogwarts," Flora concluded, her lips slightly parted in awe and bewilderment.

Another awkward hush.

"So, now that's we've finalized that the transfer bitch is a Mudblood transfer bitch, can we move on?" Jack asked, looking longingly towards the Great Hall, from where scents of fabulous food was wafting out.

"Don't call her that!" snarled Grace, stepping forwards, teeth clenched.

"D.D.T," snapped Jack.

"What, and look like you?" Grace retorted. "Ew, no thanks." She shot Claude and Jack a filthy look, before marching away, indicating for Ginny and Flora to follow.

"I hate her," Flora grumbled, sitting down and plucking some grapes off a bunch. "She's so annoying."

"What does 'D.D.T' mean?" Ginny inquired, still confused about what was clearly an insult, selecting the crispiest pieces of bacon and sliding them onto her plate.

"Don't you know?" asked Grace in surprise. "It stands for 'Drop Dead Twice'."

"No – I'm Irish, and we don't have that saying there. And in London, I didn't really get out much," Ginny lied, twisting a part of her worked-out story into it, to sound convincing.

It's a bit like saying 'get a life'. Drop Dead Twice. I might use that on someone back home.

If I ever get home.

Banishing such gloomy thoughts, Ginny happily forked a big piece of bacon into her mouth and munched on it happily.

The owls started to fly in, flapping their beautiful wings, speckling the Great Hall with shadows as they blocked out light from the windows and from the enchanted ceiling, dropping post, or landing delicately on the tables.

Thump.

"Astor!" Grace complained, fishing a small barn-owl out of her cereal. "Stop doing that every day!" She flicked some cornflakes off his wings, and then uncoiled the letter from his leg. Turning to Ginny, she said worriedly, "Did he get you wet? I'm really sorry if he did! He's just as clumsy as me, he always targets my cereal and splatters milk everywhere. I'm sorry."

Ginny laughed. "It's alright," she said, and buttered some toast.

"Where's your post, then, Peregrine?" taunted Claude, a few spaces down.

"Nasty little Mudblood parents can't afford an owl?" sneered Jack.

People were staring at her, after the word 'Mudblood'. Ginny could hear whispers of 'Muggle-born? Surely not' but she cast it aside. The watcher was back. And more piercing than ever.

"Or maybe they're scared of owls," cackled one of Claude's friends – it was clearly very un-wizardly to be frightened of owls.

"So where is your owl, Peregrine?" Claude simpered.

"Pigwidgeon! Good boy – what's wrong?" Ginny asked. The tiny owl was flapping around in circles very fast, shrieking and screeching in obvious distress. Just as the redhead reached up to pluck it from the air, it abruptly stopped. Ginny wondered why… until she saw the short, red-soaked point of a knife sticking out of the fluffy owl's chest –

"I don't have an owl," said Ginny calmly, taking another bite out of her slice of buttered toast.

Blood-

"Be realistic, now. Even if she did have an owl, who the hell would she write to? No-one likes her. No-one loves her. No-one-"

Pain-

"Okay, shut up!" shouted Ginny. She suddenly found that she was on her feet, glaring down the table at Claude, her piece of toast on the floor, forgotten and fallen from her fingers. "Shut. Up. You do not know what the hell you're talking about."

Screaming-

"Oooh," the entire Slytherin table chorused, looking on eagerly for a cat-fight.

They won't be disappointed.

"You have no idea what you're on about, Bastet. My best friends are a million miles away, where I can never see them, or contact them again," Ginny snapped. "And if they're not unreachable, then they're dead. My entire family – everyone in my family – my friends – everyone I have ever cared about – is dead. If you'll excuse me, I think that right now, not having an owl is not exactly on the top of my priority list."

The sixteen-year-old girl didn't know what she was expecting in reply, but it wasn't this: Claude rolled her eyes, and said loudly, "Oh, pur-lease. It's not like the lack of your family is going to matter. No-one gives a damn about them. They're Muggles. Spilling their blood… it's like spilling mud. It doesn't matter. They don't matter. And you don't matter either."

Ginny's blood was boiling. She knew that her face was turning red, but she didn't care. All of her bodily strength was going towards not flying across the table and beating Claude to a pulp – she did not notice nor care when she reached down, picked up her plate, hefted it in one hand…

And threw it.

The smash resounded through the hall. Anyone who was not already watching was now, their attention drawn by the shouting and the noise.

Claude had thrown her hands up in front of her face just in time, so instead of cutting her pretty little features to pieces, her robes were torn and the back of her hand was scratched. "You…" she gasped. "You ripped my robes, you little bitch!"

"You have no idea," Ginny said, her voice quiet and dangerously low, "how it feels to lose everything."

She felt Grace grab at her arm but she tugged away, snatched her schoolbag up, and stalked out of the Great Hall. Cheering and applause followed her, as well as the same mysterious stare, but Ginny didn't care. She ran up to the nearest bathroom, threw open the door, slammed the door shut and screamed. Screamed long and loud and high-pitched until it echoed all around the small room and threatened to drown her.

Then she picked up her bag and hurled it at the mirror. Glass flew everywhere and so did the contents of Ginny's schoolbag, but she soundlessly collapsed to the floor, not caring about her bag, and sobbed into her hands.

What would my friends and family think if they saw that?

Fred and George would high-five me and ask me to record it next time. Percy and mum would lecture me. Dad would say he was disappointed in me. Charlie and Bill would tell me to apologize. And Ron would say whatever I wanted to hear so that I would cheer up and feel better… Seamus and Harry would cheer. Hermione would sigh and tell me not to do things like that. Luna would make a strange comment. Neville would quietly say that he loved it, but would pretend that he hadn't if anyone else asked him. Dumbledore would-

God, I miss them all so much.

Ginny cried harder, feeling a year of pain wash out of her, out through her eyes and into her hands. She cried for her family, she cried for her friends, she cried for her brother's friends, she cried for her boyfriend, she cried for Dumbledore, abandoned, she cried for being trapped in 1958, she cried for hating Claude, and, most of all, she cried for herself.

I hate… hate Voldemort for what he's done. I have to stop him. I have to help. I have to…

…meet him in the Head dorms after breakfast! I'm late!

She jumped to her feet, and stepped on her bag, along with a lot of shattered glass. Seven years' bad luck.

I have enough bad luck for twenty.

"Scourgify," Ginny muttered, cleaning up the ink from her smashed ink-pots. "Evanesco." She Vanished the broken glass, and then, with a sweep of her wand, her books flew untidily back into the bag. She peered into what was left of the mirror, fixed a bit of smudged green eyeliner, and then hurried away, hoping that her blotchy eyes weren't noticeable.

Up the stairs… around the corner… down the stairs… through the tapestry-hidden corridor that Hermione had shown her… and there it was! The painting of Robin the Rich.

"Er," said Ginny. "Can I go in? I'm a Prefect."

Robin dismounted his strong, white horse, and sauntered towards Ginny. "Do you have the password?" he inquired in a deep, high-and-mighty voice.

"But I'm a Prefect. And I'm already late."

"Does it look as if I care? I want the password."

"I won't be able to find it, it's in my pockets somewhere. It'll take me years."

"I suggest you start looking, then."

With a groan, Ginny started to dig in her pockets. Robin the Rich gave a dignified humph as she emptied her robes, and then Ginny found the slip of paper. "Er… conda… no, condel…? Condolesam, that's it," Ginny said triumphantly, beaming.

"Yes," said Robin, and his got back onto his steed before saying, "you may enter."

Ginny wiped at the skin under her eyelashes, just checking for any stray eyeliner, and raked a hand backwards through her red hair, pulling it nervously over her left shoulder as she waited impatiently for the Head dormitories' door to open.

The painting swung forwards. And Ginny stepped inside.

…

A/N: OMG! NO, GINNY, DON'T! RIDDLE'S IN THERE! Hehe. Review, please! Thank you to my beta SilverXan, and enjoy the rest of the fic!