Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter and I own no other reference to anything else.
Prologue
My room is a shivering breathy cold, but not as wintry as it is outside. We're having unusually strange weather here in St. Catchpole. I'm not really all that surprised, to tell you the truth. The day of the attack was the last day the sun really shined its warm golden rays anywhere over England. Now gray blankets of clouds are the only things that are seen in the distance, rolling over the hills and treetops of the shady forest behind the Burrow.
The glass of my window fogs as I breathe out a warm breath. That's the only thing that's warm about me anymore. Gooseflesh trails up and down my spine while small beads of water condensate on my window.
Shivering, I gaze sullenly out through the gloomy day and see Ron, Hermione, and Harry sitting on the dewy grass just below my window. Yes, you heard me right, Harry. Dumbledore finally let him come to stay here, at the Burrow. He let Hermione come, too, stating that times were far too dangerous and the muggleborns were at an even higher risk; now that Voldemort was back in power.
Some might call me foolish for saying his name without fear or remorse, but there are two things that I hate in this world: Tom Riddle and Harry Potter. I can hear your gasps. But it's true, I, Ginny Weasley, hate Harry Potter.
