It's been a while since Harry told Hermione and me about what he did and what happened
but I still think about it a lot. When I Saw
what I did back near the end of November, I didn't think that it could mean something like what really happened. Rubbish was what I thought it was (although it did still bother me a lot, even after I told Harry about it
and all), but I turned out to be right.
I hate being right. I wish these stupid things wouldn't happen to me.
Fat lot of good I can do about it, though.
Thinking about what that must have been like for Harry is dead scary. What if he hadn't
wanted to come back? It isn't like I'd know about it, yeah, but still it's one of those daft 'what ifs' that run through your brain picking away at you until you can't take it anymore. And I nearly can't take it.
Between 'what ifs' and my head hurting
and Quidditch scouts
and Hermione nearly going spare getting ready for wizard and Muggle exams
, I'm about barmy.
And to top it all off, I don't have my essay done for Curse Breaking today. Bill's going to kill me. Or send Ginny to Bat Bogey hex me. Maybe both.
But somehow essays don't seem so big when you have to think about what you'll do for a good job if you don't make Auror cos you need to make money so you can find a place that's good enough for your bird and you. Or when you have to think about whether or not you or one of your best friends or maybe your only sister or one of your brothers will be dead before the year's over.
I'm really fucking tired of Voldemort being over our heads.