I always have trouble sleeping, the last night of the holidays. Normally it comes from excitement about going back to school, and getting up every five minutes to check I haven’t forgotten anything. Tonight, I know I have everything, so I managed to drop off fairly quickly. But once again, I am not sleeping. This time, it’s nightmares.

I’m not especially prone to nightmares, and I don’t tend to remember them all that well – this one was at Hogwarts, and that’s about all I know – so after I’ve woken up and then calmed myself down, I tend to just turn over and go back to sleep. Tonight, that left me facing Ginny, who was tossing and turning and crying out in her sleep. I’ve never had to deal with nightmares in someone else, and I didn’t have a clue what to do, so I went to fetch Ron. That was a good idea…

I just peeked in the door, and he was holding Harry down to stop him thrashing. I don’t think he’d been to sleep at all; he’d just lain awake waiting for this to happen. I suppose it must have happened before.

Deciding the best thing was just to leave them to it, I went back to Ginny’s room in time to see her bolt upright. I hugged her. She started babbling about Tom and killing Harry. I must confess, I’d almost forgotten about all of that – it seems so long ago, and so much has happened since then. Yes, indeed, I forgot about the time one of my best friends and the other’s little sister were put in mortal danger by an enchanted diary containing a copy of the young Voldemort. It’s just not that strange a thing to happen in my life. My excuse is that at the time I was Petrified in the hospital wing, and I didn’t hear about it till later. It’s easier to forget a thing like that when it’s simply a story you once heard while panicking about catching up on work. To Ginny, it’s still food for nightmares. The things that happened to her while under that influence still haunt her nights and dog her daytime thoughts. I assume.

If I listen carefully, I can hear voices from the next room. Harry must have woken up. I feel like I should be in there with them, but I don’t want to leave Ginny on her own right now – she’s too vulnerable. She seems so small, still. And the things that happened two years ago were an awful trial for such a little girl. Of course, at her age Ron sacrificed himself in a chess game and Harry faced Voldemort-in-Quirrell. And, of course, the three of us took on a troll. But there’s the key phrase. The three of us. She’s alone, more or less. She has friends, sure, but do you see any of them here now? She doesn’t have best friends, and that’s what makes the difference. That’s what’s saved our lives in the past.

I could do with a female best friend, and Ginny might fit the bill. It would cause problems if she was to join our group, but I think it could help all of us. Of course, it could drive a wedge between me and the boys, and I don’t want that to happen, for the sake of all our mental health. And because… Because if the worst should happen, to either of them, I don’t want to be sitting in a dorm at the time, painting my nails saying, “I wonder what the boys are up to. I used to be with them all the time. Ah well.” I want to be there if it happens.

There’s no use thinking about it just now.

Oh my God. That’s why he looked even worse than he normally does after the summer. He’s been having nightmares – bad ones. I’m so stupid!

I don’t think any of us are going to get much sleep tonight. Maybe I should go downstairs and forage for some hot chocolate. It always helps me. And it’ll give Ginny something to do, and it’s an excuse for us to go and check on the boys. Of course, they’ll probably start expecting me to be their little house-elf.

I would, if it would help.

The gasping started about an hour after we finally went to bed. The screaming didn’t come for another ten minutes. By that time I’d been sitting on his bed for five minutes with my hands on his shoulders, alternately trying to shake him awake and holding him down so he wouldn’t fall out of the bed. Though I probably should have let him, because that would have woken him. This has happened every night he’s been here, and probably most nights over the summer, and every night between the end of the Tournament and the end of term. But this is the worst. Before the summer, the names were “Cedric”, “Mum” and “Dad” in anguish, then “Wormtail” and “Voldemort” in rage. He’s still angry at the same people, but he seems to have added to the list of people he’s apparently seeing killed – and something weird happened at the end that I think I really don’t want to know about. But I’m in there now, along with Hermione, Ginny, Sirius… But the screaming. That’s new.

He woke up pretty quickly after that, so I don’t think anyone was disturbed. But I was kind of preoccupied at the time.

I tried to get him to talk about it but he just flat out refused. I can’t blame him, really, but talking’s supposed to help. Mind, our big “It wasn’t your fault, it really truly wasn’t, so stop blaming yourself” talk did no good whatsoever, as far as I can see. The hair thing was quite spectacular, and worked more or less, but I think he went on a guilt trip for laughing when Cedric will never laugh again. And Fred and George didn’t even swear revenge.

So anyway. Currently sitting talking quietly about nothing in particular, attempting to avoid the many things that will upset him. Quidditch seems safe enough, and Merlin knows I’ve got enough to say about it – I’m now involved in a highly detailed description of the game I went to last month. “And then one of their Beaters sent a Bludger straight at their own Seeker, and man did he get bawled out for that one!” Is that my voice still babbling away? I can hardly tell. I should just shut up, it would be better; but if he at least pretends to be listening to me then that’s another piece of his brain that isn’t brooding and worrying about everything.

Is the rest of the house asleep, I wonder? Is he the only one to have nightmares? Am I the only one to stay awake waiting for them? Is this going to keep on happening?

I don’t think he’ll last, if this is how much sleep he gets. And of course, I won’t get any either, being the conscientious friend in the next bed. He’s going to have to do something about them if he doesn’t want to collapse. He really is. Maybe a potion from Madam Pomfrey. It would be better if he could just work past them, but I doubt that’ll happen till YKW’s gone, and maybe not even then.

Someone was trying to kill him. I was right at the First Task. I was such a prat to him before that, though. I don’t know why he’s still my friend. Maybe he thinks he’d lose his welcome here if he stopped being my friend – but more likely I’d get chucked out for not being good for and to the poor dear hero Harry Potter. Not his fault, I know – but it’s easier to idolise the boy if you don’t spend ten months of the year in his shadow.

I’ve seen him sleeping, waking, eating, drinking, working, playing, laughing, crying, happy, sad, and everything in between. I know him. I know who he is as a person, not as the Boy Who Lived. I should probably tell him that. Tell him I don’t care about all that stuff, and I don’t care that he thinks I’m in danger because of him; that I know him through and through and I think he’s worth knowing and I want him for my friend, no matter what. I should tell him that. Before it’s too late.

This time, it started with the memories – Cedric and my parents. Then my friends started appearing, trying to save me. And he killed them, one by one, and I stood by completely helpless. And then, when I was surrounded by a heap of corpses, we duelled. But Priori Incantatem happened on my wand. All these piddling little spells started pouring out. And then he used Crucio. And while I was writhing in pain, I saw him. And that was the worst bit. Because I think that was real.

He was casually torturing a Death-Eater. I couldn’t see who. I didn’t want to see who. But as I watched, he turned away from the man, and he looked at me. I swear he saw me. I was so damn scared.

Then I finally woke up, with my scar hurting – more than usual, that is. I hid it, though. Hid it from my best friend in the world.

He told me I screamed.

There must be some kind of spell I can do to stop anyone hearing me. It wouldn’t be fair on the others, losing sleep because they have to share the room with me and my nightmares. Ron’s looking tired after just a few nights of it – what would he be like after a whole school year? I may have to suffer it, but he doesn’t deserve to.

He’s trying to distract me by telling me what he’s been up to over the summer, but it’s a futile task. The only reason I let him keep going is that it makes him feel better. Maybe in a little while I’ll pretend he’s managed to lull me off to sleep, and then he’ll get a semi-decent night’s sleep. I might get another couple of hours, if I’m lucky – but that means another nightmare.

Why couldn’t I have been normal? With parents who lived, and maybe brothers and sisters, and a godfather who was never falsely accused of murder, and someone else who actually killed Voldemort? What did I do to deserve all this?

Ron’s stopped talking now. But he’s been replaced by Hermione pressing a mug of hot chocolate into my hand and then perching on his bed to retrieve her own. Ginny’s over by the window with yet another mug, leaning on the windowsill and looking at the stars. I guess I woke them too. I try to apologise, but Hermione shakes her head at me and murmurs something about me not being the only one to have nightmares.

None of us really have anything to say. We could discuss our respective bad dreams, I suppose. But none of us want to reflect on them, so we sit in silence and try to draw comfort from being in the presence of friends. It doesn’t really work.

Ginny sinks to the floor, pulling up her knees and still staring out of the window. Does she have nightmares? Does she dream of Tom Riddle and what he did to her? Or was it Hermione that woke up calling for her parents?

Hermione’s a Muggle-born. She’s probably in the most danger of being victimised, now that Voldemort’s returned – the way she was in second year, but worse. I wonder if she’s realised? I wonder if her parents realise that they too are in danger? Muggles were killed for sport, along with intermarriages, Muggle-borns, Squibs – anything that tainted the purity of the wizarding lines… The Muggle parents of one of the best friends of Harry Potter. What a target. They’re probably worried about their little girl, not realising that she can take care of herself far better than they can. It’s my fault they’re in danger. It’s all my fault.

She looks like she’s falling asleep right there. And Ron drifted off almost as soon as he gave up responsibility for keeping me occupied. They should sleep while they still can.

I’ll keep watch tonight.