The small redhead in front of her, shaking with anger, seemed so out of place to her. Ginny was sixteen now, still just a girl, and yet here she was threatening to torture a Dark Wizard. She should be thinking about school and quidditch and boys, and yet here she was, thinking of death and torture. Hermione thought beleagueredly that it should have been Ginny and Lavender drinking and gossiping, not her. That one single night of normality had brought things into sharp perspective for her, made her realise all she could lose. 