ALL YOUR BULLETS RICOCHET {OPEN}

[ɢɪɴɴʏ ᴡᴇᴀsʟᴇʏ ϟ]

titanium
ya shoot me down but i won't fall i am

The start of term usually meant happiness and joy, but for Ginny that year was a bit different. She was still recovering from the Department of Mysteries incident where she and the D.A. took on Death Eaters. Her ankle, now healed, was still a bit sore, and she often thought subconsciously the twing of pain she felt was all from her mind and not physically there. It made her feel a bit round the bend, really, but Ginny pushed on. She knew that the battle with the Death Eaters, and eventual saving by Aurors, was only the first of what was to come. Voldemort wasn't going to slither back into his hole; he was only just beginning his reign of terror.

All that aside, Ginny was happy to be at Hogwarts. As quaint as her home was, it was small and creaky and old. The summer spent with her brothers was grand, and Harry was there so it wasn't too bad, but Hogwarts meant she could be closer to Dean. She and Dean had been dating for a few months, but she sometimes felt like it had been longer because they tended to fight occasionally. She figured it was normal, but he could say some pretty mean things when heated up. For the most part, though, Ginny enjoyed Dean's company and being in the same house meant they could spend even more time together. She had heeded Hermione's advice in getting over Harry, sure that she could do it, and Dean was aiding her in that for sure. His cute smile made her blush, and overall they got along well.

After the welcoming feast, Ginny ventured up to the common room along with all of the other Gryffindors. She helped a few first years steer clear of a man in a portrait on the wall who seemed awfully pestered that the students had returned for the term. After a swift venture to the common room, Ginny found her bunk and changed into pajamas. She quickly got into bed, as did most of the other students, and drifted off to sleep, trying to think of anything other than what happened at the end of last year.

A few hours later, the late eve welcomed her back to consciousness. Ginny sighed, getting out of bed and retreating to the main common room area. She sleepily lit the fire and curled up on the couch, her eyes watching the flames dance. She yawned and leaned her head over on the armrest of the couch, pulling up a spare blanket left on the couch for people who, like herself, found themselves unable to fully sleep. She sat quietly and continued to watch the flames, wondering if she would be the only non-sleeper to find their way before the fireplace that evening.