It was New Year’s Eve, and a thin blanket of snow had settled over Hogwarts School like a ragged cloud which had drifted to Earth. More flakes occasionally drifted past the window of Gryffindor common room, where only a few students remained to welcome 1998. It was a pathetic snow, a poor effort on the part of Mother Nature, but no one seemed to notice.

No one except Ginny Weasley.

“What time is it, Ginny?” squealed Hannah White, grabbing her friend’s arm. At sixteen, she shouldn’t have been so worked up about the New Year, but Firewhiskey had made her more festive. Her cheeks were pink from a combination of excitement and alcohol.

“I don’t know,” replied Ginny dully, wriggling out of Hannah’s grasp. A normally pretty girl, her fiery red hair was unkempt and there were dark circles under her eyes. She hadn’t been to bothered about her appearance since Harry had left.

“Thinkin’ about Potter again?” Hannah chuckled. “Have a Firewhiskey, it’ll help.”

Disgusted, Ginny pushed both the drink and the drunken girl aside. “You know what? I’m going to go for a walk. I’ll be back soon.”

“But- it’s almost midnight,” protested Hannah feebly. “You’ll miss the new year.”

“I won’t be gone for a year, Hannah,” said Ginny, then she stood and marched resolutely out if the portrait hole.

“Happy New Year!” called the Fat Lady after her, slopping wine down the front of her dress and looking quite as intoxicated as Hannah.

Ginny’s reply was an exasperated snort.

She wandered down the hall, without much of an idea where she was going. She just needed to be alone, to think. Ever since the funeral, depression could crash against her without a warning, and she didn’t seem able to shake it off. She thought she had loved Harry. Now she was beginning to resent him for what he had done to her. Harry had seen Ginny stick her elbow in a dish of butter, be possessed by Tom Riddle, go to the Yule Ball with, of all people, Neville Longbottom, and snog Dean Thomas when she thought they were alone. Yet he’d still fallen for her. After Ginny and Dean broke up, she’d started going out with Harry. Those few months had been close to perfect. Harry had been perfect. Handsome and heroic, he was every girl’s dream. But Ginny was the one whose dream had come true.

And then- she woke up.

At Albus Dumbledore’s funeral, Harry had broken up with her, saying that Voldemort was after him and it was too dangerous for them to be together. Ginny remembered feeling like she had been split into two people; one was sitting there and mechanically replying to Harry, but the second was watching the whole thing and crying for this Ginny Weasley, who was her and was not her…

Since then, the second person had taken over, and Ginny was hovering on the edge of depression, always torn between waiting for Harry and simply letting go. Sometimes she told herself she loved him, other times she couldn’t remember what she’d liked about him in the first place. She was on autopilot- she could breath, eat, talk to Hannah, and other essentials, but thinking was apparently impossible. She was failing several classes.

As if to illustrate her newfound thoughtlessness, Ginny turned a corner and walked straight into a small, dark-haired person who fell to the floor with a cry. She recognized Romilda Vane, a gossipy fifth-year with a crush on Harry. Ginny didn’t particularly like her, but she smiled weakly and extended a hand and an apology.

Romilda stared at Ginny’s hand as though it were a dead, slimy thing, then roughly pushed herself to her feet.

“Well, fine,” muttered Ginny, vaguely insulted. “Be that way.” Where was her famous temper, she wondered. A year ago, Romilda’s rudeness would have made her furious.

Ginny turned to leave, but hadn’t gone more than five paces before she heard soft crying behind her. Romilda, head in hands, was sobbing.

Go, Ginny thought. Romilda Vane is not your problem. But against her better judgment, she walked toward the younger girl and asked, “What’s wrong?”

Why should I tell you?” Romilda sniffed. “If it hadn’t been for you, Harry would have asked me out.”

“Harry? Ask you out?” Ginny had to laugh. “What, do you think he fancied you?”

Romilda whirled to face her, fuming. Her black eyes were bloodshot. “Maybe he did, before you stole him. But I had a love potion from that joke shop in Diagon Alley! It was going to work! I had everything planned out.”

“Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes?” said Ginny in surprise. Romilda nodded. “Oh, I am going to kill Fred and George!”

“I forgot they’re related to you,” Romilda snapped. “I’m not shopping there anymore.”

“Fine, boycott the twins’ store because Harry fancies me,” said Ginny under her breath. “Great plan.”

They stared angrily at each other for a long moment. Then Romilda sighed and looked away. “I guess Harry will never like me,” she said, more to herself than to Ginny. “I guess I’ve known that ever since I saw him kissing you. And he’s not even here this year. I don’t know why that bothers me. I- I think I’m in love with him.”

Ginny didn’t shout. Ginny didn’t cry. Ginny didn’t get angry. Instead, she abruptly sat down and patted the floor next to her. “Love is a strong word,” she said. She sounded like Hermione, even to herself.

Romilda sat down too. “But I do love him,” she insisted. “I love his hair, and his gorgeous green eyes, and his lips…”

“Okay, stop! See, that’s not love. Maybe you and Harry don’t have anything in common. Anything real.” Maybe Harry and I don’t either, Ginny thought suddenly. No, wait! Where did that come from? I love Harry-

Don’t I?

“But he’s Harry Potter,” Romilda was saying. “He’s a hero! He’s going to save everyone from You-Know-Who someday. He’s perfect,” she sighed dreamily.

Ginny looked at the fifth year and realized with some shock that the expression of hopeless, girlish adoration was the same one that she, Ginny had worn so often. Ginny saw herself in Romilda’s dark eyes, and she didn’t like the view. “Listen,” she said desperately, “Harry’s not perfect, okay? He’s not! And- and it’s not good for you to spend all your time waiting for someone who might never come, and might just leave again if they do! You’d be completely wasting your time! Isn’t there anything that’s important to you, besides Harry?”

“My friends, of course,” said Romilda timidly. “And- well, don’t tell anyone, but I really like Potions.”

“Potions!” cried Ginny enthusiastically. “You like Potions!” That’s great!” She tried to think of her own favorite subject, but came up blank. How could she not know what her favorite subject was? “Anything else?” she finally asked Romilda.

She just looked puzzled, then slowly shook her head.

“Well then!” Ginny exclaimed. “You need to get over Harry then! You need to go- what was that thing Hermione said again? Find yourself!”

“Find myself,” Romilda repeated slowly, tasting the words. “Get over Harry. Find myself.” Then she suddenly looked suspiciously at Ginny. “Hang on- you’re only telling me this because you’re Harry’s girlfriend, aren’t you?”

“I’m not Harry’s girlfriend anymore,” admitted Ginny, and admitted it without the usual twinge of regret.

“But you still want to be. That’s why you look like such a wreck.”

Ginny would have resented this last, but it was true. “Yeah, I’m expecting my hair to turn mousy brown any day now,” she said with a bitter laugh.

Romilda looked at her blankly, which made Ginny laugh harder. “It’s okay, inside joke- tell you later…”

Then she realized with a jolt that she was talking to Romilda Vane as though they would speak again, as though they were friends.

The fifth year seemed to realize the same thing, because she looked away quickly and said, “But you still like Harry.”

“The thing is, I’m not so sure I do.”

Ginny was surprised to hear the words come from her own mouth, and surprised by how true they were. In her first year, she had liked Harry because he was handsome, and after that because he had saved her life. Is that why I like him? Because he’s a handsome hero? I’m no better than Romilda! she thought miserably. Though she had been laughing moments earlier, she now felt like crying.

“Well, if you don’t like him…” Romilda’s face cleared and she absentmindedly tucked a strand of dark brown hair behind her ear. “You’re right. I’m going to try and… find myself. Yeah. It’s a new year. Thanks… Ginny.”

Before Ginny could respond, all the clocks in the castle began to chime the hour, twelve o’clock midnight. The new year had begun.

And Ginny made a resolution.

I, Ginevra Molly Weasley, resolve to get over Harry Potter. I will not think or talk about him in a romantic fashion. I will concentrate on finding myself. By the end of this year, I will know what my favorite class is. I will get a hobby. I will make real friends. I will not date anyone until this time next year, least of all the Boy-Who-No-Longer-Runs-My-Life.

I can do it. I am resolute.