Current mood:

crushed

Italics visible to trio's.
Classes are duller than usual. Quidditch practice is rough. Getting better at it, I am.

Colin's being an arse about Prefecting.

Things are awkward. Bloody potion.

I've given in.

I owled Percy for a mild sleeping drought. I've been fighting this since summertime and I expected that when my sleep schedule finally returned to normal just last week that I'd be all right.

I, as usual, was quite wrong.

All I ever see anymore are those sodding green eyes and that sodding black hair and the blood and how sticky it was on my fingers and how I felt like I could cry for days and how naive I was telling Tom everything about me. Everything about other people.

I saw myself in the mirror in the Prefects bath yesterday. The circles under my eyes were so dark it looked like magic had put them there. My hair is stringy and my skin is pale. Fred's old robes are baggier than ever.

He's killing me. From the inside out. I just can't figure out how to get this sodding ghost of a student out of my brain.

I'm so ashamed. I'm the Weasley that sold her soul to a diary that told her things were all right. No matter that I was young. So was Harry, when he saved me. So was Ron when he sacrificed himself on the giant chess pieces. So was Herm when she was petrified by the bloody basilisk that I set out on the school.

I'm afraid of what I'll do in my sleep sometimes. "It's okay, Ginny." he said. "It's okay. I care about you. It's okay to hurt those people, they don't like you. They're just going to hurt you anyway. But not me, Ginny. I love you, Ginny."