Craving It is hard sometimes, watching them; they seem so… so young and innocent compared to me. They are untainted, untarnished by all that has happened, though occasionally I feel waves of the darkness rolling off Harry. It is strange how insignificant I have become since coming here to Hogwarts. At home, as the only girl, I was protected and insulated, doted on as the only female child born to the Weasley line in, almost a century. Yet, within Hogwarts, I am nothing more than the ending line of a succession of Weasleys, the seventh wheel. I can well imagine the relieved breaths each professor will make as I graduate, signifying the end of our rambunctious ways running through the halls of Hogwarts; at least until one of us breeds, though if it is me, I hardly think I will be a Weasley any longer. I suppose, had it not been for Tom and his dastardly memory, my first year would have been as unmemorable as the rest have been. No one truly sees me; I am an extension of my family, an