(A/N: Alright. Ginny's 18. Nothing illegal anymore. Let's pretend that in the last story, she was nearing the end of the school year.)
"Ginny? Ginny! Wake up!" a voice cajoled.
Slowly, her eyes fluttered open as they landed on an unfamiliar face. Her brown eyes blinked questioningly at the girl.
"Yes?"
"Let's go! It's finally our last Potions class!" the girl squealed.
"What are you talking about?"
The girl stared at her in consternation.
"Are you okay, Gin?"
"Who are you?"
"It's me..." she replied warily. "Veronica. Your housemates for, oh, let's say, seven years. What's wrong with you, Gin?"
"Stop calling me that!" she snapped.
Ginny pushed her covers back and pulled on a shirt and jeans. She opened the door and ran down the stairs, out of the room. She strolled down the deserted corridor and frowned. Where was she?
"Ginny! You're okay!" a deep voice called out.
She spun around to see a man with silvery blonde hair and captivating gray eyes. He wore a black robe and black trousers. Quite depressing. She cleared her throat.
"Who are you?" she questioned.
He raised a perfectly sculpted brow.
"Excuse me?"
"Who. Are. You," she said, purposely prolonging each word.
"You're having me on, right?"
"Do I look like I'm joking?"
He studied her facial features. She wasn't kidding.
"Who the bloody hell are you and what have you done to my Gin?"
"Your Gin? You sound like a bloody misogynistic pig. No wonder she left you," she sneered.
A second later, she was floating, floating, mind you, down the dreary halls until they reached a small room filled with beds and various remedies of some sort. The man began to talk rapidly to a stout little woman and he dropped her into one of the unoccupied beds. The woman walked over to her.
"How are you feeling Miss Weasley?"
"Who?"
The woman's eyes widened a bit, however, not from surprise.
"Oh, dear," she clucked.
She waved a little stick and began to chant some inane words while tutting obnoxiously.
"The poor girl's suffering a mild case of amnesia, I'm afraid."
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