Ginny had practically stopped sleeping because of all the nightmares. After the Chamber of Secrets in her second year she had started getting more and more nightmares, about Tom, snakes, blood and pale whispers in the night that carried with her into the waking hours. Now, at two-thirty in the morning, she was sitting bolt upright in bed, breathing in rasping gasps, her throat snared tight by her terror. She was watching the bedroom curtains billow softly, and was sure his ghost was behind them, lurking, awaiting his chance to pounce at her -- unprotected in bed.

When she was a child, she used to hide under her covers, certain they would keep her safe and sound all night through. And even when the oxygen became scant, and the heat from her own laboured breath almost too much to bear, she would only pull the covers tighter, as if they were a magical armour, fit for any kind of seething claws and razor teeth.

Ginny wasn't a child anymore. She knew mushy bedcovers couldn't stop any monsters; they certainly didn't keep her safe from the monsters inside. Still she clung to them, only her head sticking out, her nails digging into the cloth. She wondered if the house-elves puzzled over her ripped and torn covers, but if they did, they didn't say anything about it. They were always fixed the next night. And she always tore them again, waking up with a scream lingering in her throat, her nails digging into the mattress, the pillows, the covers, herself ...

Tears were streaking down her hollowed cheeks, burning along their descent. She'd had a particularly nasty nightmare, in which Tom had come at her with a dagger shaped like a quill, chanting her own words at her, and she ... she had been tied up, naked, snakes writhing at her feet, ripping her milky white skin with their steel-like fangs. Tom's eyes had been red and bleeding, beckoning her to join him, join them, join their ranks. And for all her might, she had not been able to say no ... she couldn't displease her master ...

Ginny heaved a raking sob, thankful for the silencing charm she'd stumbled across during her long hours in the library, which she put around her bed every night to keep from awakening her roommates. She knew she wouldn't get any more sleep this night, so she flung the covers away, ignoring the shrill feeling in her stomach that told her they were her only protection.

"Who's going to protect me from my own head?" she mumbled into the dark room, sniffling as she pulled on some clothes, grabbed a book and shuffled down into the common room. Noting that the fire was blazing, even if they had left it only faintly glowing last night, she dropped into one of the plushy chairs and opened her Transfiguration textbook. She should have known reading would be a sore task to accomplish, as the letters kept floating together, and she couldn't even remember what she read when they did stay separate. She felt like crying again. She was much too tired to do anything at all, yet much too afraid to sleep. She flung the book away with an angry hiss, and curled up in the chair, not realising that the colours of the common room was floating together. Next thing she knew, Hermione was shaking her and looking frightened.

" - up! Ginny! Ginny!"

"Wha-" Her sore throat promptly informed her that she must've been screaming at the top of her lungs, and now half the Gryffindors were staring bewildered down at her.

"Ginny! What's wrong!" Hermione was sounding frantic, her bushy hair even more chaotic than ever.

Ginny only croaked something that resembled 'nothing', and tried to get up. Hermione pushed her back down into her chair, looking sternly at her. "You were screaming as if Death Eaters were at you."

Not Death Eaters, Ginny thought. The Death Eater.

"Nightmare," she said hoarsely, and finally got up, pushing Hermione away. The other girl looked slightly taken aback at the shove she had gotten, but said nothing.

"You all right Gin?" said Ron, laying a hand on Hermione's shoulder, as if she was the one who'd been screaming. Ginny scowled at him. All right brother? Yeah, all right, and you care ...

"Yeah," was all she said before running up the stairs to her dorm again. When up there, she went straight to the showers, more to ensure no one would come after her than for the sake of getting clean. She did feel filthy, but she'd felt filthy since her second year, so it didn't matter much any longer. She had hoped the warm water would ease the tension in her shoulders and thaw the cold lump in her stomach, but no such luck. She knew it wouldn't anyway, it never helped, nothing helped. She just stood there, too tired to even start soaping herself, hoping the common room would be empty and everyone at breakfast by the time she was done. Someone banged at the bathroom door.

"Ginny!" cried a shrill voice. "Hurry up, there are others that want to shower too you know!"

With a sigh she turned off the water and wrapped herself in her bathrobe. Opening the door she was pushed away by a sour faced girl in her year.

"What do you use the showers for so long for?" she sniffed at her. "Not as if it helps is it?"

Ginny glowered at the girl. "I wasn't that long Vera."

"Whatever, just get out," she huffed and pointed her finger demandingly at the door. Ginny stomped out, feeling as if she was about to cry, scream or just pass out all at once. Her legs buckled under her, and she slid down the wall into an exhausted lump at the floor.

"Ginny?" Ginny was starting to hate hearing her name this morning. "Erm, is there something wrong?" Ginny looked up at Hannah, the only person in her year she even remotely liked. All the rest were either giggling twits or just plain ignorant. The world did, apparently, revolve entirely around them. Ginny sighed, wishing Hannah would go away, because even if the girl was kind and not always giggling, she wasn't a friend whom Ginny could confide in.

"No," she said, and got up. "Just a little tired."

"Okay ... you do seem very tired. Sure nothing's wrong? Wanna talk about it?"

"Just haven't slept a lot."

She tried smiling at the worried girl, so she'd just go away, but even her mouth seemed to fail her. She looked at Hannah, trying to will her away, but the girl stood steadily.

"I'm fine, really, I am."

"I don't believe you." Ginny's head jerked up from looking at the floor. Hannah had never spoken so defiantly before, she had always melted away into the shadows, or gone on her way when Ginny wanted her too -- she had a feeling the girl sensed her need for solitude. But now ...

"I don't believe you."

"What?"

"You're not just tired when you're waking up screaming. When you feel you need to put silencing charms around your bed, when your robes are hanging around you because of weightloss--"

The girl paused, pressing her lips together in a thin line and fisting her hands.

"You're not fine when you look like a ghost, your eyes haunted, your skin almost grey."

Ginny could do nothing but gape at the girl, tears welling up in her face.

"I am--"

"No you're not."

"I ..."

Hannah placed a hand on Ginny's arm. "You don't have to talk about it," she said, looking earnestly up at Ginny. "Let's go to breakfast."

And too shocked to protest, she followed Hannah into their dorms, where they changed in silence, and then down to the Great Hall. Hannah wasn't looking at Ginny with frightened or skeptical eyes, she wasn't scrunching up her nose at her, she wasn't whispering behind her back. At breakfast she merely chatted cheerily along, not expecting Ginny to say much, but still trying to keep her thoughts with her. Breakfast was tedious matters with Ginny, she never managed to eat much because of the lump of ice in her stomach, but Hannah's chatter help somewhat, and by the end of breakfast she was smiling tiredly at a joke Hannah made which had the nearby students in howls of laughter. Hannah saw Ginny's smile and fought the urge to grin wildly.

At the Slytherin table, Draco Malfoy was watching the downtrodden Weaslette take her place alongside a mousy-haired, overly happy girl he didn't know. Taking a bite out of a toast he pondered what had made the littlest Weasel look like all the evils of the world were onto her. The dark circles under her blank eyes and her constant downcast gaze clashed horribly with the vibrancy of her red hair which seemed like it should crackle. Draco sneered at her.

"Pathetic little girl," he mumbled into his pumpkin-juice before turning away from the sorry sight. His curiosity was flaring up, but he stomped it back down, thinking that a lousy Weasel wasn't worth any of his precious time.

"Did you say something, Draco dear?" said Parkinson at his right. Draco glared.

"No."

"Oh! Oh, I thought ..." Draco tuned out the droning of her high pitched voice with an exasperated sigh. She talked more than was good for her, and in particular, more than was good for him. His father was keeping him up with his constant owls that demanded every little thing of him, from better grades to allegiance with the Dark Lord. He hadn't slept a wink last night, writing back a letter of apology for losing the last Quidditch match against Gryffindor and elaborating exactly how much he hated Potter and his bloody accomplices, and then doing his Arithmancy essay. He highly doubted the Weaslette could be worse off than him, so why did she look so positively devastated? At least he took his lack of sleep and peace with grace and dignity, but of course, such things were unknown to the crude Weasleys, he thought looking in disgust over at Ron who was shoving eggs into his mouth and at the same time guffawing at something the mousy-haired girl had said. Even the Weaslette smiled at it -- must've been amusing ... Draco finished his breakfast and pushed off, going to his first class, ignoring the yelps from Parkinson and the grunts from Crabbe and Goyle. He wasn't in the mood for company, and sneered at them when they caught up with him.

Walking along the corridors to his Charms lesson, he was brooding over the little red headed muggle lover. He wouldn't even have noticed her, had it not been for the fact that she seemed to be accompanied by a cloud over her head, to which her chattering friend was a stark contrast. Then her blasted brother had yelled for her to join him, asking her something, then turning to Potty and the Mudblood. He had probably asked what was the matter with her, and being a thick headed twit, was happy when she shook her head.

Clearly something was wrong, everyone could see that! Draco thought, then shook his head, wondering why the gloomy vision of the Weasel wouldn't leave his head.

Not everyone did see that something was wrong though, apart from Hannah, most people just shrugged it off as ordinary insomnia. But Draco, being raised to ignore and scoff at every happy emotion, was highly attuned to unhappy emotions, immediately noticing if someone in his vicinity was in a bad mood. And while Draco only gloated when Potter and his fans was brooding, the littlest Weasel had caught his attention, her anxiety coming off in stronger waves than he could ignore.

Draco kicked an armour as he walked passed it, and entered the Charms classroom, putting all thoughts of Ginny out of his head.