Shadow of Sunlight

“Damn.” In aggravation Ginny punched an old teddy bear of her roommate Lissette Turpin's that happened to be lying around.

The teddy bear let out a long, miserable whimper.

“Bugger!” Ginny jumped, realized that considering her current position, it was not a good idea to jump, and just as this occurred to her she fell off the bed in a tumble of black robes and red hair.

"Oowww,” she winced, clutching her right elbow. She glared fiercely at the teddy bear, apparently a wizarding one. “Sometimes,” she said aloud, “I wish I was a Muggle.” Ginny frowned as the teddy bear emitted a sort of horrified gasping noise, “Oh, don't look at me like that.”

“Ginny!” Lissette Turpin came flying into the dormitory, looking irritated. Spotting the teddy bear on the floor, she looked even more so. “Ginny!” she said again as Ginny climbed back on to her bed, “what did you do to Tinky-Winky?”

Ginny fell off her bed again.

"Ouch!" After a couple more harsh words, Ginny met her friend with an expression torn between horror and amusement. "Tinky-Winky?"

Lissette went a shade of red, that incidentally, went quite well with the Gryffindor Quidditch team pennant hanging above Kaitlinn Suller's bed.

“Never mind that,” she said with a dignity unusual to one in possession of a stuffed animal bearing the name of a Muggle television character, and a gay one at that. “Breakfast is over, Gin -- we're going to be late for Binns' class. Come on.” She tugged at the sleeve of Ginny's robes.

“Not yet, Lisse,” Ginny waved her off dismissively, “I haven't found my History of Magic essay yet.”

Lissette tsked. “You know Binns doesn't care if you actually do it or not,” she pointed out. “For Merlin's sake, Ginny, he's dead. He's a ghost. He can't even unroll the parchment.”

“That's not true,” Ginny called over her shoulder absent-mindedly, searching under Kaitlinn's bed, “how can he read from the textbooks, then?”

“He's got the whole thing memorized -- come on, honestly, Ginny, hurry up. I said, Binns doesn't care if you've gotten the homework done or not.”

“Too right,” said Ginny agreeably as she retreated from under Kaitlinn's bed. She shook dust out of her hair. “I imagine that he also doesn't care if we show up or not as well.”

“He does so,” Lissette sighed impatiently. “It's the homework he doesn't care about.”

“How do you know?” returned Ginny defiantly.

“Argh,” said Lissette, and grabbing Ginny by the arm, dragged her out of the dormitory and out of the common room. Turning the corner about the Transfiguration corridor, they ran smack into Kaitlinn Suller.

“Oh!” Kaitlinn jumped back, and looked relieved when she saw it was Lissette and Ginny. “Merlin, you two, I've been looking for you -- Binns was asking where you were. He was taking roll, and neither of you were there. He sent me out to look for you.” She paused, “Well actually, he sent Miss O'Sullivan to look for Miss Wessel and Miss Turnip, but don't mind that.”

Lissette threw Ginny a smug look, “Told you,” she said pointedly.

“Don't act like a three-year-old,” returned Ginny, “Miss Turnip.”

Lissette glared at Ginny. “Kait,” she said without turning, “did he specifically say Miss Turnip?”

“Er,” stalled Kaitlinn, “actually, yes.”

“Hmph,” went Lissette, and she started down to the History of Magic classroom.

“Don't mind Lisse,” Ginny said brightly to Kaitlinn, “she's a bit iffy about her Tinky-Winky.”

Kaitlinn blinked.

“That was my little sister's,” yelled Lissette from ahead of them. “She's four -- she thought it'd be a nice gift!”

“And she takes Muggle Studies as well, I expect?” grinned Ginny as she and Kaitlinn caught up with Lissette. “That's where you got the name from, right, the Muggle Entertainment & Arts unit? You're from a purely wizard family; your little sister has no idea who Tinky-Winky is—”

“Hmmm,” responded Lissette noncommittally as they entered the classroom.

“Ah, Miss Wellson, Miss Suttell, Miss Tummyfish,” said Binns as they took their seats. He peered unblinkingly at them, “you have your essays, I hope?”

“Here's mine,” Lissette handed Binns a roll of parchment.

“Oh, Professor,” said Ginny, opening her eyes very wide, “I'm very sorry, but ER....” She paused, and inspiration suddenly struck upon Ginny. She said emphatically, with a good deal of distress in her tone, “Someone stole my essay!” She flung out an arm dramatically.

Someone in the back yawned and fell asleep.

“Very well, Miss Webster,” said Binns in his familiar droning monotone. “Please sit down.”

Ginny blinked.

“Erm...okay,” she said, and took a seat next to Kaitlinn.

Lissette, sitting behind them, leaned forward. “Honestly, Gin,” she whispered. “Stolen? Even I'd've not thought of that. You're mad.”

“Wasn't that bad,” said Kait. “I've given Vector worse. But still, Ginny...you are mad.”

“Don't start,” groaned Ginny, covering a yawn with her hand. “Now that we're in History of Magic, I can finally have a bit of rest. Didn't get any sleep last night -- I was working on my Astronomy chart.”

“You don't expect us to believe that.” Kaitlinn raised an eyebrow and looked levelly at Ginny.

“Believe what you want,” yawned Ginny, “I'm going to sleep.” And she made her words reality by propping her head on her arms and promptly falling asleep.

“Rhianna. Shut. Up.” A pale, tall boy of perhaps sixteen slammed a hand down on a long table, a silver prefect's badge glinting on the breast of his black robes. “And Mei,” he glared at a thin girl down the table, “You too. Can't you realize when I'm trying to study?”

“Well, really,” a haughty-looking girl, apparently Mei, flipped her long hair over one shoulder in a condescending manner. “Aren't we just too impossible to have around. We were having quite an important discussion—”

“Over Francis Grubbs's state of sexuality?” The boy raised an eyebrow.

Another girl, seemingly Rhianna, gave a lopsided smile -- or more of a smirk perhaps. “You know, if only he wasn't gay...”

A chorus of laughter rang out. The boy rolled his eyes, and stood. “I'll be going,” he said, “I've got to see Riverburn before class.”

“See you,” one of the other boys said absent-mindedly, giving a little wave.

Without acknowledging the good-bye, the boy abruptly retreated and started out of the Great Hall—

“Just a moment.”

The boy paused and looked at the newcomer. “Oh,” he said dully, “good morning, Professor Dumbledore. What is it?”

Dumbledore stared hard at the boy for a few moments, his blue eyes deep and penetrating. Finally he said calmly, “I would like to see you in my office for a moment, please. If you'd not mind.”

“Oh,” said the boy. “Of course, Professor.”

Dumbledore smiled gently. “Thank you, Mr. R—”

Ginny woke up.

*****

“Ugh!”

Kaitlinn glared at the Everlasting Elm that she, Lissette and Ginny were working on in Herbology. “Professor Sprout's gone barking mad if she thinks these bloody things are good for anything.”

Lissette smirked. “They're supposed to do something for nightmares. Gin would know, her mum makes it -- Everlasting Elm tea.” She poked Ginny in the shoulder, “Right, Gin?”

“Hmm?” said Ginny absent-mindedly. “Sorry? Didn't hear.”

“I said,” Lissette repeated patiently, “doesn't your mum make Everlasting Elm tea all the time?”

“Oh yeah,” Ginny answered, nodding, “it's good for bad drea—” She stopped. Her face turned an alarmingly pale shade as her pinking shears fell from her hand to the ground. She seemed to not even notice when they barely missed crushing her foot.

“Ginny?” Doubtfully Kaitlinn tapped her on the shoulder. “Ah,” she shared a worried look with Lissette, “are you okay?”

“What?” Ginny blinked and suddenly seemed to snap to. “Oh, right—yes, I'm fine, thanks.”

“Are you sure? You looked a bit odd a few seconds ago.”

“Hm? Oh, no. I'm fine, really,” said Ginny, shaking her head. “Just, um, a dream I had in History of Magic.”

Lissette frowned. “Er -- a nightmare?”

“No,” she sighed. “Forget about it, it's only....” She bit her lip. “Ever had one of those dreams that kind of just get stuck in your head? No, I mean, like, you feel like it's really happening, and it's just so real?”

“Is that all?” said Lissette. “Yeah, all the time. Especially when Oliver Wood used to be at Hogw—” She stopped. “ER You didn't hear that.”

“Yeah, well, that's all it was,” Ginny said briskly. She paused. “But, you know, it seemed kind of familiar. Not like it happened to me or anything, just sort of like something or something was familiar. Like I knew them, or it, or whatever.” She made a face, “I'm making no sense, am I?”

“No more than you usually do,” replied Kait. “But go on, would you. Maybe one of us knows something about it...?”

Lissette waved a hand impatiently. “No, Gin, I think this might be related to Divination or something, dreams and all that. I think maybe,” she perked up, “you could be having prophetic dreams!” She turned to her friends, her face bright.

Kaitlinn coughed for reasons that were not due to the greenhouse's dust.

Ginny snorted. “Lisse, thanks for the thought and everything. But frankly, a peanut is more likely to have prophetic dreams than I am.”

“Hmm,” said Lissette, not to be deterred. “All right then. Erm...have you got a crush on anyone?”

“What kind of a question is that?” demanded Ginny, amusement flickering over her face.

“Well,” Lisse elaborated helpfully, “ 'Cause when I was having those sort of dreams I was in second year, when Oliv...” She trailed off, her face turning scarlet.

“For God's sake, Lisse,” said Kait impatiently, “we know you had a crush on Oliver Wood the size of Britain. Merlin, all of Hogwarts knew.”

Lissette looked to Ginny.

“Sorry, Lisse,” Ginny said apologetically. “But, well, it was kind of hard not to notice the Quidditch robes of his that you stole and hung over your bed.”

Lissette's jaw dropped. “Oh -- well, really -- I never!” she spluttered, and let out a small squeaking shriek of indignation.

“Well, you might have thought about keeping your Oliver Wood Sightings Log a secret,” Kaitlinn pointed out reasonably. She put on a high-pitched air, “ 'Tuesday. Saw him on the Quidditch pitch, testing out some new strategies. Oh, I do wish that...' “

Lissette squeaked. “Kait,” she said, very slowly, “that log was a secret.”

Kaitlinn, Ginny and Lissette all went red.

“And,” Lisse hurried on, “that was four years ago. I can't believe you remember something that you read four years ago.”

“Four years is nothing,” Kait answered indifferently. “I still remember things that happened in my first year.” She turned to Ginny. “Don't you, Gin?”

“What?” Ginny blinked. “Oh -- right.” She nodded, and said again, “Yes. Yes, I do.”

*****

“GO GRYFFINDOR!”

Ginny was nearly blinded by all the flashes of gold and scarlet shining from all over the Gryffindor bleachers. And if she wasn't blinded, then she was all but deafened by all the indignant cries and thrilled cheers ringing out about her. Indeed, right beside Ginny Kaitlinn was jumping up and down madly, screaming “LET'S GO GRYFFINDOR!” at the top of her lungs while waving a long crimson banner.

The game had begun just ten minutes ago. Gryffindor's team lineup consisted of Harry as Seeker, of course, Natalie McDonald and Dennis Creevey as Beaters (to the surprise of many), Parvati Patil as Keeper (to the surprise of more) and Noelle Boot, April Finnigan and Daniel Fremantle as Chasers.

The Slytherin team, of course, was based less on talent and more on money: there wasn't a green-clad player on that field who failed to have a Gringott's bank account of at least 1000 Galleons. The Slytherin team was made up of Draco Malfoy, Seeker; Derek and Jonathon Avery, Beaters; Austin MacDermott, Aradia Parkinson and Adrian Baddock, Chasers and Vincent Grubbs, Keeper.

Down on the field, the game was in full swing. Daniel Fremantle had just scored for Gryffindor, which totaled the score to 60-10, Gryffindor. Everything reeked of pure Quidditch: balls were spinning, brooms were zooming, goals were glinting and girls named Kaitlinn were deafening girls named Ginny by screaming in their ears.

But then just as Dennis gave a Slytherin-aimed Bludger a good whack away from Noelle Boot, a red-faced Vincent Grubbs snatched a Bludger bat from Jonathon Avery and slammed it down on the end of Gryffindor Chaser April Finnigan's broomstick.

“WHAT?” Kaitlinn was on her feet and screaming practically before the bat made contact with April's broom. She slammed her fist into her palm viciously, “THAT BLOODY LOW-DOWN—”

And not a second after Kait, Seamus Finnigan on the commentator's podium was screaming as well, perhaps even more so considering that April was his sister. “THOSE—THOSE—” he spluttered and went on to elaborate with a long, admirably creative sequence of curses and obscenities in which Avery was politely informed of a few things he could do with a broomstick, a Quaffle and an automatic blender.

“Penalty!” cried Madam Hooch down on the pitch. “Penalty to Gryffindor!”

Noelle took the penalty, and kicked up the Gryffindor score up another 10 points to 70.

“Damn Slytherins,” Kaitlinn muttered darkly, flopping back down next to Ginny and Lissette.

“Forget it, Kait,” Lissette said comfortingly, patting her on the shoulder. “Gryffindor'll win, like always -- you know our team's been unbeatable all year.

“Hmph,” said Kait, very petulantly, and remained looking unconvinced.

On the field, Gryffindor Chaser Daniel Wingman had the Quaffle tucked neatly under his arm, on his way to the Slytherin goals. As Slytherin Beater Adrian Baddock swerved into his way, Daniel maneuvered under him and passed the Quaffle to April. She deftly caught it and, one hand on her Lightflasher 202 to balance herself, zoomed to the Slytherin goals and scored, making it point to just barely miss knocking Vincent Grubbs off his broom while she was at it.

“And she scores!” yelled Seamus, hopping on one foot in triumph. “Nearly shot Grubbs to the ground like he deserved, too—I didn't say that, Professor McGonagall, no, not me! That's my sister! She was a Quidditch player from the time when she was three, you know -- she'd charge round in her nappy, throwing her vegetables to the family dog—”

April threw the Quaffle at her brother.

“There, you see? She's got aim!”

Kait snickered. “Knew that was going to happen.”

“I didn't know you knew April,” said Lissette, turning to look at Kaitlinn.

“I don't, really,” she shrugged offhandedly.“But she's an incredible Quidditch player. I interviewed her once, along with the rest of the team, when I got the spot as the junior Prophet reporter and I did that article on Hogwarts Quidditch.”

“Right,” Lisse said, nodding wisely. “Well, April could be an all but horrible Chaser and we'd still win, Gryffindor's always got the best team—”

At that precise moment, Slytherin scored.

“Damn!” Again Kait immediately leaped to her feet, shaking her fist madly at the players down on the pitch. Her gold Gryffindor badge gleamed brightly in the sunlight as she shouted out quite derogatory remarks to the Slytherin team. “AND YOU!” Kaitlinn swiveled around, still standing, to glare at Lissette. “Lisse, you complete IDIOT,” she stomped her foot for emphasis. “YOU JINXED US! I could KILL you, I could!” She waved a hand threateningly.

“ER,” said Lisse, looking quite terrified. “Help.”

“Forget it, Lisse,” Ginny intervened hastily, “When it comes to Quidditch, Kait's a bit...over-enthusiastic.”

“You mean she's mad,” Lisse said.

“Pretty much,” agreed Ginny.

“Bugger it all,” sulked Kaitlinn as she slumped back down next to Lissette and Ginny. “Slytherins... those,” and she finished her sentence with an analogy of broomsticks and other things that would make Rita Skeeter blush.

“Really, Kait,” Ginny began tiredly, “it's only Quiddi—”

“Merlin, Ginny, shut up! THAT'S THE SNITCH!” and for perhaps the eleventh time Kaitlinn shot to her feet, stomping and screaming and looking for all the world as though she should have a potbelly, a bowl of spilled popcorn and be in her mid-forties. “COME ON, HARRY -- oh, no, there's Malfoy -- GO, HARRY!”

Ginny, too, stood for a better view of the Quidditch field. And indeed, both Harry and Malfoy were zooming towards some tiny object Ginny couldn't see down to the right side of the field. “Kait,” ventured Ginny, leaning over so Kaitlinn would hear her, “exactly where is the Sni—”

“HE CAUGHT IT!” shrieked Kaitlinn suddenly, right into Ginny's ear. “YES! 220-20 -- beat that, Slytherin! GO, GRYFFINDOR!”

And Ginny jumped and cheered along with her fellow Gryffindors. They had won the match, after all: scarlet flags and gold banners were being waved emphatically from everywhere she could see, and the cheer of “GRYFF-IN-DOR! GRYFFINDOR!” was being screamed from all directions save the Slytherin stands.

But as she sat back down in her seat, one tiny thought couldn't help but sneak into her mind:

I wish Slytherin had a chance at winning.

*****

“Anamari, please.”

“I told you. No.”

“What if I paid you?”

“What, in dust bunnies? No.”

Ginny looked indignant. “That's not very nice.”

“No, it wasn't. But nor were you, were you, when you and that Kaitlinn and Lissette pinched my knickers and hung them in the common room last year.” Anamari went on reading her trashy romance novel without looking up.

“I'll have you know, Kait disapproved of that entire ordeal,” said Ginny, straightening up pompously.

“But you didn't, did you? Merlin, the things you can do with a Bludger bat.... Oh, and go away.”

“Anamari...”

Anamari turned a page. “Don't 'Anamari' me.”

“All right,” Ginny finally relented, “I am very, very sorry. I never should have done that to you, even if you are an insufferable snot --”

“Ahem,” coughed Anamari.

“—oh, all right, I'm just really sorry. I'll never do it again. Okay?”

Anamari looked pleased. She folded the corner of her page down and set the paperback aside, then folded her hands in her lap and sat up. “That's better. All right then, what do you want?”

Ginny took a deep breath. “Right, well, you know how you're,” she winced, “...so good at...” Ginny nearly gagged, “Divination? Erm, well, I had sort of a bad dream today in History of Magic, and I wanted to know if you could—ER Help. You know. Me. That is, help me.”

Anamari smirked, appearing all too amused for Ginny's taste. “So,” she said, “you're asking me for me? Me? Me, Anamari McKell who 'constantly has her bloody designer label knickers in a knot so we should nick one of them and hang them up in the Gryffindor common room, absolutely humiliating her and' -- ”

“I said sorry about that,” Ginny grit out, the thought that perhaps this wasn't such a good idea after all occurring to her. “Fine, if you don't want to hear it, then I'll just go.” She stood to leave.

“No, don't!” Anamari waved a hand at Ginny, beckoning her to stay. “Tell me about it -- this is too good a moment to pass up.”

The bed springs creaked as Ginny's weight put further pressure on them. “Well, I've been having these dreams. I mean, I only had one dream, just a few hours ago actually, and it was a bit weird. I—”

“Oneiromancy,” Anamari interrupted suddenly.

Ginny furrowed her brow in confusion. “ER-- what?”

“Oneiromancy,” Anamari repeated impatiently. She rose to her feet and began pacing the dormitory, her eyes bright. “It's the art of dream interpretation, see, and -- ”

“I thought,” interjected Ginny, eyeing Anamari with an air of suspicion, “that oneiromancy was one of the branches of Seduction Spells.”

Anamari actually went red. “No, that's the Orchardaniremancy field of, um, clothes-removing charms,” she corrected, stopping to sit back down. “Oneiromancy is—”

“And how would you know that?” challenged Ginny, sitting up more straightly, an amused sparkle in her eye.

Anamari made an impatient noise in the back of her throat. “That,” she said firmly, “is not the point. She glared at Ginny and added threateningly, “Look, do you want my help or not?”

“Oh!” said Ginny quickly. “Right, yes, go on then.”

“Hmm,” said Anamari. She shrugged. “Okay. Right, hang on a second, I've got an entire book on this,” she leaned over to her bureau table and retracted a thick maroon tome from amongst a pile of tarot cards, textbooks, hair potions and other such things. As she pulled the book from the table, her hand accidentally knocked a crystal ball, which fell to the floor where it shattered into hundreds of glass shards. “Oh, bugger!” Anamari pointed an accusing finger at Ginny, “Clean that up, would you?”

“Fine,” Ginny agreed impatiently. She flung out her wand and muttered a quick, “Reparo!” under her breath. She turned back to Anamari. “Get on with it, would you?”

Still looking petulant, Anamari sat back and flipped open the huge old book. “All right,” she said, leafing through pages aimlessly, “what'd you say your dream was about?”

Ginny sighed. “Well,” she began, “there was this boy—”

“Oh, is that all?” Anamari looked condescending. She snapped the book shut with a great slam. “Well, that's easy enough to interpret. You fancy him. Whoever he is.”

Ginny stared at Anamari incredulously. “What?” she asked skeptically. “Anamari, I didn't even recognize him—”

“Then,” Anamari cut her off briskly, talking over Ginny, “he must be the visual manifestation of what you wish your perfect date was.”

Ginny blinked.

Anamari smugly tapped the cover of her book with a perfectly manicured fingernail. “It's all in here.”

“Let me see that.” Ginny snatched the tome from Anamari and turned to the index section. She tracked down the subject she was after and flipped to the appropriate pages. Clearing her throat, she began to read. “ 'Your dream is a) telling you of your unrealized romantic feelings for someone you may not think you hold in that regard, b) providing visual images you crave for of someone you are aware that you are deeply infatuated with, or c) responding to your subconscious's envisionment of a perfect man/woman for you.' ”

Anamari tweaked a strand of hair experimentally. “Told you.”

“What on earth is this codswallop?” demanded Ginny in disbelief. She shut the book and turned it over to reveal its title: Dreaming of You. By Lavinia Lovehern.

“I found about it from Gilderoy Lockhart's 'Recommended' list in the backs of his books,” put in Anamari brightly. “Got it at Flourish and Blott's for quite a good price really.”

Ginny's eyes widened. “Well -- honestly! What other so-called 'interpretations' has this bloody thing got?” She flipped it open again and turned to a random page. “ 'If you are dreaming of Quidditch balls, your dream is a) expressing your guilt over you and your boyfriend's actions last night by way of an innocent cover like Quidditch, b) your subconscious's way of releasing frustration over the fact that you do not have an intimate partner.' ” Ginny's jaw dropped. “What the hell is this?”

“You don't have to curse,” sniffed Anamari indignantly. “I've personally found this book to be very useful.”

“You dressed up as a cupcake for the Fawcetts' costume ball last year,” Ginny snapped back tiredly. “I do not trust your opinion. Or value it, for that matter.”

“Hmph,” Anamari harrumphed. “Well, if that's how you feel, then go away. I was in a perfectly good mood before you came in.”

“No -- really, Anamari, isn't there anything you can do?” blurted Ginny in a wave of desperateness. “Anything, well, valid? Something I could trust?”

“Well...” Anamari bit her lip. “How do you feel about a tarot reading?”

Ginny gave her a disbelieving look.

“Palmistry?” Suddenly Anamari snapped her fingers. ”Oh, I know, tasseomancy. Tea-leaf reading,” she translated at Ginny's blank expression. “I think you'd be most suited to that branch of Divination; you seem the type.”

“What?” Ginny shook her head. “I don't even drink tea, except for the medicinal sort.”

“Doesn't matter,” shrugged Anamari. “Tea leaves are as good a reading as any, and like I said, you do seem suited to tasseomancy. Come on, let's.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Anamari, how exactly is this going to help me figure out my dream?”

“It probably won't,” Anamari admitted. “But now, you can't say it's not fun.”

“Actually, I can,” said Ginny, jumping to her feet. “I'm sorry, Anamari, but I'm friends with Hermione Granger herself. I'm quite against Divination as a Hogwarts class, let alone Divination as a hobby. Forget it.”

“You mean you interrupted me for entirely nothing?” Anamari looked incredulous. “Absolutely not. Sit down. Since you don't seem to want to hang round too long for a tea-leaf reading, I'll just do a quick palm-reading,” and she scooted over to sit by Ginny. “Hold out your palm -- like this, yes, good.” As Anamari peered at Ginny's palm, her eyes darkened. “Oh, I see...yes, I know what's going on...”

“What?” demanded Ginny, perking up the slightest bit.

Anamari set Ginny's hand aside, assuming a pompous air. “You've been having odd dreams.”

Ginny's jaw dropped.

“Dreams about a boy,” continued Anamari, “and -- where are you going?”

“Away,” Ginny said firmly, heading for the door. “For God's sake, Anamari, what's wrong with you? Of course I'm having dreams about a boy. What d'you think I've been bloody well telling you? You're just about as useful as a cheat sheet in the Ravenclaw common room, really.”

“I could try tarot cards,” suggested Anamari helpfully.

“Forget it,” said Ginny, and she left the dormitory, slamming the door as she went.

*****

When she returned an hour later, Anamari was, unfortunately, still there. “Ginny!” Anamari exclaimed brightly. “I've been thinking, and I figured perhaps you might want to do a crystal ball reading? I mean, or,” she amended hastily at Ginny's expression, “I could give you, say, a makeover.”

“Give it up, Anamari,” Ginny said dismissively. “Why don't you go down to the party in the common room? I've just been, and it's really loads of fun. McGonagall's gone out to Hogsmeade as well, so it can go on for quite a while.”

“Parties!” sniffed Anamari contemptuously. “I wouldn't dare -- I don't understand why you insist on holding them. They just create a colossal noise and great messes as far as I can see it.”

“It's because of the Quidditch game,” Ginny said patiently. “You know? Slyther—I mean, Gryffindor won?” She bit her lip down.

“It's just a sport,” Anamari pointed out, not without a touch of scorn. “No, I think I'll stay here and read my book.”

“Whatever,” Ginny shrugged. “No concern to me,” and then, seeing as butterbeer drinking games were not the best thing for a sixteen-year-old girl, she flopped down and fell asleep.

Pages raced wildly, their speed creating a flutter of air. And as they turned so quickly, ink appeared and disappeared and reappeared again, staining the pages. They soon yellowed and faded as they flipped.

And all the while, voices resounded from the atmosphere, from the pages, from everywhere and nowhere all at once. “June 14^th. 1983. Hallo. I am Angelica Stone...”

“2/3/87. Dear Diary...”

“Today in school Professor Candleson talked about...

“...my big brother is such a prat...”

“May 1^st, 1989. Hi. I'm sorry I haven't written lately...”

“...I had a fight with my best friend today...”

And then, finally,

“June 29^th, 1992. Dear Diary, my name is Ginny Weasley. I am eleven years old and...”

The pages stopped.

And Ginny woke up then, tired and confused and sleepy. “Anamari?” she murmured vaguely. She looked around...

But Anamari was gone.

And Ginny, in the weary state that she was in, went right back to sleep.