In the early dawn hours, the seventh year Gryffindors lay sleeping peacefully, save one.


A girl with long crimson hair and dark eyes thrashed and whimpered in her sleep, beads of sweat gathering on her pale forehead.


Seventeen-year-old Ginny Weasley shot up in her bed with a gasp, clutching her chest.

The numbing cold began to dissipate, and she frantically filled her lungs with large gulps of air.

Her nightly routine of casting silencing charms around her bed ensured she hadn’t awakened any other Gryffindors.


Another nightmare...



Once she had calmed herself, she rinsed her face with the water jug from the bedside table. As she held a wet cloth to her face, she tried to remember the fleeting images that had jolted her awake.


Her cloak falling to the floor.


His irresistible voice.


His cold hands on her skin.


Ink. Black ink.


The thoughts and memories faded and she rubbed her eyes. Just another nightmare. It meant nothing. Not even worth trying to remember. Another nightmare. Another…


“Princess…”


She pushed the voice out of her head and began getting ready for the day. She removed her hair from the long thick plait she had slept in and allowed it to cascade down her back in waves. She absentmindedly put on her robes, nearly putting her white oxford on inside-out.


She refused to let her thoughts drift to her nightmare, and instead focused on her mantra. Her fathers gentle deep voice.


“You are not dark…”


You are not dark.


She stared sadly at her reflection in the mirror. What she wouldn’t give to hear his voice right now.


She slung her bag over her shoulder and exited the portrait hole. Enthralled in her own deep thoughts. In a zombie-like state, her feet carried her to her destination.