Chapter Text
Ginny Weasley could barely take in the room before her without feeling ill. The Slytherin common room had none of the cozy charm that her family had described when telling her about Gryffindor Tower. It was dark, with an eerie green light radiating from underwater windows. There were no squashy armchairs in sight, only uncomfortable-looking, sleek leather sofas. A fire was lit in a large hearth, but it didn’t seem to impart any warmth to the room, only a menacing grandeur. It certainly didn’t match up to any idea of home that Ginny had ever had. It certainly was nothing like the Burrow, with its hodgepodge architecture and welcoming array of mismatched furniture. But it was home, now, she thought, whether she wanted it to be or not.
She wasn’t given longer to look around, as first year girls were hurried out by their female prefect, and ushered into their dormitory, leaving the older students behind. Their dormitory was the first room off to the right, and was lined by enormous four poster beds with heavy green curtains, and was cast in the same green light from the underwater windows as the common room. Several large, ornate mirrors hung from the walls, giving the illusion that the room was bigger than it was—no room for high ceilings in a dungeon. Ginny’s trunk was at the foot of one of the beds, tiny and shabby looking compared to the other girls’ things, with her initials painted proudly onto the lid in red and gold. She winced.
Ginny hadn’t even bothered to notice who her housemates were yet; she hadn’t spoken to anyone at the feast, and she had been so shocked by the sorting that she couldn’t even remember their names, though they had all been sorted before her. None of them seemed particularly upset to be in Slytherin.
Slytherin. She repeated the name over and over in her head as she tried to make it seem real. Her family wouldn’t want her anymore, they would see her as a traitor—a blood traitor, even. It was a horrible thought, and Ginny tried to hold back her tears. The other Slytherins, she thought, probably hated her as much as her brothers would, if the altercation between the Malfoy’s and her family in Diagon Alley a few days before was anything to go on.
“It’s a bit spooky in here, don’t you think?” said one of the girls, and Ginny jumped, drawn out of her thoughts. The girl who spoke was wide eyed behind thick framed glasses, her dark hair braided neatly down back.
“If you’re scared of the dark, Mildred, maybe they’ll let you sleep in the Hufflepuff dormitories. I’m sure they’d let you have a night light in there,” said a haughty looking girl with dark hair and very finely cut features.
“I’m not scared of the dark, Hestia” said Mildred, crossing her arms defensively.
“Of course you’re not,” came a reply from across the room, from a girl who was identical to the Hestia, down to her cold tone of voice.
“Oh please, let’s not start arguing already,” another girl said, looking bored as she let down her curly blonde hair from its ponytail, and tossed her outer robes on the floor, “I’m exhausted and you’re going to give me a migraine.”
“Alright then, Amy,” said Hestia, her voice tinged with condescension, “Let’s all be friends.”
“Yes, friends. Well, we all met at the feast, so no need for introductions,” said her twin, a nasty smile on her face as she rounded on Ginny, “Except for you, Weasley. I know who you are, of course, but we’ve never had the…pleasure…of being introduced. I’m Flora Carrow. This is my sister, Hestia. Our parents are strictly against us fraternizing with blood traitors.”
Ginny felt her cheeks flare in embarrassment and rage. Carrow, that name was familiar. Yes, her father had mentioned it before in passing, talking about the war.
“Yes, well my family has a strict ‘no fraternizing with Death Eaters’ policy,” Ginny replied coolly, and the room went completely silent.
“Brave, aren’t you Weasley?” said Hestia, her eyes filled with rage, “It’s a wonder they didn’t stick you in Gryffindor with the rest of your lot. It would certainly smell far better in here if you were there.”
Clenching her wand tightly, Ginny tried to calm herself down—it would be bad for her to hex someone on her first night at school. What if they kicked her out? Would that shame her parents more than her being in Slytherin? Or would it be a blessing for them?
“Now Hestia,” squeaked Mildred, “Let’s not fight on the first night. Everyone’s tired. We can all be civil tomorrow.”
“Quite right,” concurred Amy, who turned to Ginny, “I’m Amy Frome. And that’s Mildred Peebles,” she gestured at the glasses-wearing girl, “We live quite near each other, so we’ve met before tonight. And now that we all know each other, I think it’s time I turn in.”
With that, Amy flopped onto her bed and pulled the curtains shut around her.
Hestia and Flora were still glaring at Ginny, and Mildred was trying to busy herself unpacking her trunk, avoiding eye contact with all three of them. Ginny flashed a smile that was more like a grimace at the twins, who did not return it, and began to unpack her things as well, trying to keep her head from spinning.
—
Several hours later, Ginny was still awake. She was filled with a pulsating anxiety that threatened to spill over into a full blown panic at any moment. Unable to stay in bed any longer, she quietly pulled back the curtains, grabbed her diary and quill, and tiptoed back to the common room. She sat down on a couch that was such a dark shade of green it was nearly black, and found that it was more comfortable than it had looked on the way in. Tucking her knees underneath her, she opened the diary. It was, like nearly everything she owned, second hand, belonging once to a T.M. Riddle, but this Riddle had never seen the need to write in it, so she figured that for all intents and purposes, it might as well be new. It was funny, she hadn’t remembered anyone picking the diary out in Flourish and Blotts, but maybe she had just forgotten about it, preoccupied with all the mayhem between her family and the Malfoy’s. Her mother had often told her that she should keep a record of her memories at Hogwarts, that she would one day be nostalgic enough about her school days to want to look back through pages of daily notes and confessions. She doubted that she would ever want to relive this night, though. But there was no one to talk to, and she had to get it all out. Ginny began to write.
Where to begin? This is possibly the worst day I’ve ever had. I was sorted into Slytherin. Slytherin! Can you believe it? I’ll be disowned by Mum and Dad, if Ron doesn't murder me first. I hid from Fred and George after the feast, but who knows how long I can avoid them. I can’t believe I’m here, in the dungeon, surrounded by the children of Death Eaters . The hat said I had a desire to prove myself, to be known. That my pride and ambition would make me a good Slytherin. But I just want to make make my family happy.
She stopped writing, noticing that something strange was happening to the ink in the diary. The words were slowly sinking into the paper. Maybe it was enchanted to be a secret diary, one that you had to perform some sort of charm or something in order to read its contents. Ginny returned her pen to the paper and was about to continue writing when words began to appear on the page, and they weren’t the ones she had written.
Don’t be upset. Being in Slytherin is not the end of the world.
Ginny sat there, stunned for a moment. She was immediately suspicious; after all, her father had always warned her never to trust something that thinks if you can’t see where its brain is kept. And yet, a curious, warm feeling was creeping into the back of her mind, gentling urging her to keep writing.
Who are you?
The writing disappeared faster this time.
My name is Tom. Tom Marvolo Riddle. I was at Hogwarts many years ago. This was my diary. And who, might I ask, are you?
Ginny was much less hesitant this time, her suspicions dwindling faster and faster, though she couldn’t say why. She felt warm, full.
I’m Ginny Weasley. And Weasley’s are not Slytherins.
I was a Slytherin, Tom wrote, I found a home there when I had never truly known one before. A home, a new identity for myself. Maybe you will do the same.
Maybe…
“What are you doing out of bed Weasley?” came a drawling voice from the doorway.
Ginny looked up, snapping her diary shut. It was Draco Malfoy.
“None of your business, Malfoy.”
“Writing your suicide note there?” he sneered, “Better to get it done yourself than wait for your family to get ahold of you.”
Ginny glared at him.
“Why are you out of bed, Malfoy?”
“None of your business,” he parroted back to her in a high pitched voice that she supposed was meant to mimic her own.
He crossed the room towards her, surveying her curled up in her old Holyhead Harpies pajamas and snorted.
“You know, just because for some reason the Sorting Hat deemed you fit to be in Slytherin, it doesn’t mean you truly belong here,” he said, “You might as well be a mudblood, for all the blood traitors in your family.”
Ginny recoiled at his use of the slur. She knew from Ron that Malfoy was foul, but to use that word…that was something else. Malfoy noticed her shock and laughed.
“Get used to it, Weasley. Things are different here in Slytherin than they are in your family’s precious Gryffindor.”
“Just go away, Malfoy,” she said lamely, “As you can see I’m miserable enough without your help.”
He laughed again.
“I expected more fight from you. It’s not even your first day of class and you’re already broken. Pathetic little weasel.”
Ginny could feel the tears welling up in her eyes, but she would not let Malfoy make her cry. She had six older brothers. She could handle teasing, even if usually it was not this mean-spirited. She had six older brothers and she knew how to fight.
She raised her wand to hex Malfoy.
“Miss Weasley, unless you wish to see Slytherin in negative house points before you’ve even attended a single class, it would be wise for you to lower your wand and spare Mr. Malfoy whatever hex you had planned for him,” came the low voice of Professor Snape, emerging from the darkness to separate the two students.
Slowly, she lowered her wand, still glaring. Malfoy grinned triumphantly.
“And Mr. Malfoy, I would remind you that second year Slytherins begin their week bright and early with potions, so if you do not wish to oversleep it would be prudent for you to return to your bed.”
It was Ginny’s turn to smirk. She had not expected Snape to tell Malfoy off as well—according to Ron, he was Snape’s favorite pupil.
Glaring once more at Ginny, Malfoy sulked off back to the boys’ dormitories, leaving Ginny alone with Snape.
“Miss Weasley, your entry into Slytherin house is as unexpected to me as it is to everyone else. While I am sure that your brothers have spun you many tales about this house, its students, and perhaps even myself, I urge you to begin your time here with an open mind. Now, I must insist that you return to your dormitory as well,” Snape said, and Ginny could only nod.
She left the common room, feeling confused, angry, and at last, tired enough to go to bed. She crawled into her four poster bed, closing the curtains around her and fell asleep, though it was not a restful night. Her dreams were full of snakes.
—
When Ginny woke the next morning, she was unsure of where she was. As her head cleared and the events of the previous night came back to her, she felt the dreadful knot in her stomach return. Pulling back the green curtains, she found the dormitory empty. It seemed all the other girls had already headed to breakfast, without a thought to wake her.
She dressed quickly, and made her way to the Great Hall. As she entered, she heard, to her shock and horror, the voice of her mother, booming out for everyone to hear.
“YOUR FATHER’S FACING AN INQUIRY AT WORK, IT’S ENTIRELY YOUR FAULT, AND IF YOU PUT ANOTHER TOE OUT OF LINE WE’LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT BACK HOME.”
An inquiry at work? Surely not, Ginny thought. Why would he be facing an inquiry at work?
“Sounds like the rumor that Weasley and Potter flew a car up from London last night is true,” a passing Ravenclaw said to her friend.
Relief flooded Ginny’s body, only to be momentarily replaced by more confusion, and fear, since if that Howler had been directed at Ron, that meant he must be in the hall somewhere. She hurried to the Slytherin table, trying to avoid the sightline of any of her brothers. Snape was passing out schedules, so she hid amongst the crowd of students gathered around him until she had hers, and then made a B-line for the exit before she could be intercepted by anyone.
“Ginny!” shouted Ron, chasing after her, “Oi! Stop running away!”
He caught up to her and, to her mortification, she saw that half the hall was watching them from afar, while Harry and Hermione hung back a few paces to give the siblings some semblance of privacy. Ginny could feel her face turning bright red, and tried to use whatever nonverbal sibling communication existed between the two of them to will Ron not to make a scene.
“Ginny, what happened?” he asked, his face incredulous at her Slytherin garb, “Fred said that you’d been sorted into…that you’re not in Gryffindor! Why aren’t you in Gryffindor?”
“I don’t know, Ron. The hat put me in Slytherin, I tried to stop it but I couldn’t,” Ginny replied quietly, remembering the night before, how the panic had risen in her chest as it became clear to her what the hat was going to do.
“The hat let Harry choose,” Ron said accusatorially, “And he chose not to be in Slytherin.”
“Well, good for Harry then,” she muttered, her eyes flashing to where he stood with Hermione behind Ron, both of them pointedly trying not to look at the arguing Weasley’s. She had thought about Harry last night, when she was trying to fall asleep; all those fantasias she had concocted over the summer, of how he would get to know her while they spent time in the Gryffindor common room together, how he would fall in love with her, they were gone now. He probably thought that something was wrong with her too, now.
“Do you think I wanted to be put in Slytherin, Ron?” Ginny continued hotly, her voice beginning to rise, “That I wanted to go somewhere that I knew would make you and the rest of our family angry? Somewhere full of people who hate us? Why would I ask to be put in Slytherin?”
“We’ll go to Dumbledore and sort it out, you can’t be in Slytherin, surrounded by all those…those Slytherins!,” he said fervently.
“We can’t go to Dumbledore,” she said, “The sorting hat sorts you once. It doesn’t change it’s mind.”
“Well I don’t care! My little sister is not going to be a Slytherin!” Ron shouted, his cheeks flaring full of color.
“It’s too late, Weasley,” came Draco Malfoy’s drawling voice, and both siblings looked at him, their faces flushed with anger, “She’s already a Slytherin, whether we wanted her or not. Though I have to say, it’s not very becoming of a tolerant, muggle-loving Gryffindor to disown their own sister for simply being sorted into a better house than them.”
Ginny did a double take, then registered the insult hidden within the defense, and the filled with a deep suspicion about why Malfoy would defend her against her brother.
“Sod off, Malfoy,” Ron snarled, and took a step towards him, his hands balling into fists.
“Language, Mr. Weasley!” snapped Professor McGonagall, who was exiting the hall, “Now, don’t you have a lesson with Professor Sprout you need to be getting to? She has some brand new Mandrakes that need repotting, so you best be on your way.”
Ron glowered at Malfoy and looked at Ginny with a pained, angry expression before storming off, followed by Harry and Hermione, who both gave Ginny concerned and uneasy smiles.
Ginny rounded on Malfoy.
“I don’t need your help, thanks,” she said, “And if you were trying to help me, there’s no need to insult my family while you do it.”
“Your family insults itself,” Malfoy replied nonchalantly, “And if they’re going to reject you for this, then you might want to start looking for some friends in Slytherin.”
He walked off, leaving Ginny to move awkwardly out of the way of all the gawking students leaving the Great Hall for their first day of classes.
—
All in all, Ginny’s first week at Hogwarts was pretty miserable. The Slytherins wouldn’t talk to her, and although Mildred and Amy seemed alright, Flora and Hestia were so horrible that Ginny avoided their dormitory as much as possible. She was also avoiding her brothers, after her confrontation with Ron, hoping to avoid another embarrassing scene in front of the school. Fairly adept at avoiding Percy (she had perfected this after Percy received the news that he would be a prefect the year before), Fred and George were harder to dodge, as they had the most uncanny knack for finding her unexpectedly in random corridors.
Hermione had tried to speak to her once as well, with Harry standing awkwardly to the side, and Ginny had gone as red as her hair before bolting from the library, leaving the two of them standing open-mouthed at their desks.
Occasionally she would have to interact with Malfoy, who seemed intent on tormenting her about everything from her parents and clothes, to her apparently obvious crush on Harry Potter and her choice of quidditch team to support. Still, at least there were no more instances of public humiliation that he had to intervene in, or that she had to endure.
All of this she wrote in her diary, and to her elation, Tom wrote back, soothing her and assuring her that this miserable period would pass. How pathetic was that, she thought, that her only friend in the entire school wasn’t even a real person? Still, she felt better when she was writing to Tom, and even though she knew it was silly, it felt like he was taking care of her, somehow. It was as if the world didn’t exist when she was writing to him. All that mattered were the words on the page. Ginny must have spent hours on end writing to him, though when she tried to remember what exactly it was that she had written, or when she had written it, she couldn’t.
Things only got worse after the Slytherin and Gryffindor quidditch teams clashed over their practice times. She hadn’t been there, but she knew Malfoy had called Hermione a mudblood, and she knew her brothers had all tried to attack him, and she knew that Ron’s spell had backfired and that he had made himself vomit slugs. After that incident, Malfoy had ribbed her about her “imbecilic, slug-eating oaf of a brother”, and she received her first letter from her parents.
Ginny dear,
We’re so sorry we didn’t write sooner, but as you can imagine, your father and I were quite shocked to hear that you were sorted into Slytherin. We’re not angry (although we gather that Ron has told you we would be) but we are worried. Percy owled us to say that Ron attempted to hex Lucius Malfoy’s son, after he called Hermione that awful word. I know that he was not successful, but please be careful of Malfoy—his father is a governor at Hogwarts, and is very influential at the Ministry and if you get on his wrong side it might make life very difficult. We want you to make friends, and maybe it’s changed since our day (although we highly doubt it) but Slytherin is not the place to look. Please try talking to your brothers, we are sure that once you explain everything, they will come round to understand. We love and miss you very much, and hope that all your classes are going well.
Love,
Mum & Dad
Well, at least they won’t have to worry about me making the wrong sort of friends in Slytherin, since no one here will even talk to me, Ginny thought bitterly. She tore the letter up and tossed it into the Slytherin common room fire, instantly regretting how malicious the act felt.
She wrote about it to Tom, who was very sympathetic. At some point while she was writing, she lost track of what she was doing, and wandered back out into the castle, probably to ease her worried mind. She didn’t feel at ease, however, when she realized that she was outside the girls’ toilets on the second floor, with no memory of how she had arrived there. An unnatural coldness filled her body, and when Ginny reached to pull her robes more tightly around her, she realized that she still had the diary in her hand. This wasn’t the first time she had found herself somewhere without being able to remember getting there.
The knot of worry reformed in her stomach, and she began to walk as quickly as she could back to the Slytherin common room, praying that Filch was not on the prowl, since she had no idea what time it was and whether she was out of bed after hours or not. Her walk turned into a slow run, and as she was rounding the final corner to the entrance to the dungeons, Ginny ran straight into someone and went tumbling to the floor, the diary falling out of her hands.
“Watch where you’re going, Weasley,” grumbled Malfoy, who was getting up from the floor, “What are you doing out so late anyways?”
“Mind your own business, Malfoy,” she spat, “What are you doing out so late without your lackeys?”
“I’m perfectly capable of walking around the castle by myself, Weasley,” he replied.
His eyes widened with glee as he spotted Ginny’s diary on the ground, and he lunged forward, grabbing it before she could move.
“Oh what do we have here? What’re your secrets, Weasley? Mooning over Potter? Although I guess that one’s not really all that secret…”
Ginny’s face reddened and she moved to snatch the book back from him, but he held it out of her reach, and opened it. Malfoy’s mouth formed a confused little ‘o’, as he flicked through the pages, clearly hoping to find an embarrassing passage about all the beautiful little babies she hoped to have with Harry one day, or lamenting her rejection by her poor, impoverished family.
“What’s this, Weasley? I’ve seen you writing in this thing!”
“Maybe you were imagining things, Malfoy, as there clearly isn’t anything written there,” Ginny replied, a grim satisfaction in her voice.
Even though there wasn’t anything in the book for Malfoy to see, she still felt desperately that she needed the book back. Having it gone from her filled her with a peculiar dread and emptiness that threatened to overwhelm her.
Flipping through the pages once more, Malfoy tossed the diary back on the floor, and Ginny seized it.
“I know that you’re hiding something, Weasley,” he said, taking a step towards her, “And I’m going to find out what.”
Glaring at Malfoy, who she was nearly toe to toe with, Ginny raised her wand, preparing to hex him.
“Miss Weasley!”
She spun around to see Snape striding down the corridor towards them, his black robes billowing as he walked. He was not smiling.
“Miss Weasley! This is the second time I have had to stop you from hexing Mr. Malfoy here. While I know that there is…animosity…between your families, I would ask that as you are both members of Slytherin house, that you remain civil to one another while you are at Hogwarts.”
“Yes, sir,” Ginny muttered.
“And though I am loathe to take points from my own house, as this is the second time I have caught you attempting to hex Mr. Malfoy, I will have to take…five points from Slytherin,” he said, “And another five four being out after hours. Which means five from you as well, Mr. Malfoy.”
“But sir! I lost track of time and was just heading back to the common room!” Malfoy whined.
“That’s enough,” he said, his tone final, “Both of you, to bed.”
Snape waited until they had re-entered the common room before abandoning them.
“I’ll get you back for this, Weasley,” growled Malfoy.
“For what?” she asked incredulously, “I was the one who lost more points there and you were out of bed after hours!”
“Well, I wouldn’t have been caught if it weren’t for you.”
“Whatever, Malfoy,” she said, and stomped out of the common room, leaving Malfoy there to rage over lost points and ponder her blank diary.
—
Miserable as Ginny was, time seemed to pass, if not quickly, then simply without her noticing. September transformed seamlessly into October, and before Ginny realized, it was nearly November. The days were blurry in her memory, as she wandered through the castle, finding herself in new places, unsure of how she had arrived there. Her brothers had tried to talk to her a few times, but she would pretend not to see or hear them, the glassy expression that covered her face only half an act. She felt absent, tired after dreaming of snakes night upon night.
Malfoy had mostly left her alone as well, aside from the occasional snide remark about her family, her clothes, or Harry. She tried to avoid Harry as well, since Ron was usually not far behind, and anyways, she was still too nervous to speak around him. Hermione’s sympathetic smiles were not unwelcome, but they didn’t really make her feel any better either. It was still only Tom who could comfort her, who could make her feel like she wasn’t some sort of abomination, a freak, or pariah. When she wasn’t writing in the diary, she was thinking about it—so often in fact that she could almost hear Tom in her head throughout the day. She dreamed about him sometimes; he always looked the same, though Ginny wasn’t sure how she could know what he looked like, and for some reason, in her sleep she didn’t find him as calming or reassuring as she did when she was writing to him.
It was after one particularly fitful night of sleep, in which Ginny had dreamed of an enormous serpent coiling around her in the dark, that she headed down to breakfast, again, later than the rest of her dormitory. When she arrived, it looked different than usual in the Great Hall, with large pumpkins levitating above the tables, the first of the Halloween decorations to go up before the feast that night. The rest of the Slytherin table was chatting excitedly about the feast, which was apparently always good fun. The chat continued into their lessons, where it seemed that hardly anyone was concentrating on what they were doing.
Ginny couldn’t concentrate either, though it was not Halloween that was on her mind. She was thinking about Tom, who’s words were now extending beyond the confines of her diary regularly. He was in her head, speaking soothing words to her, urging her to relax.
Get out of the castle, he was telling her, the fresh air will do you some good.
And so, rather than going to her two o’clock charms lesson, Ginny headed outdoors into the grounds. She passed Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle, on the way out, but didn’t stop to respond to their jeering questions. Malfoy’s confusion, just ever so slightly evident behind his sneer, was the last thing she could remember seeing.
—
Ginny was sitting on her bed, curtains drawn around her. She had no idea how she had come to be there. Looking down at her hands, she noticed blood caked under her fingernails, and blanched. Was she hurt? Her head was foggy, but Ginny tried to take stock of her body, and when she surmised that she wasn’t injured, and that it therefore wasn’t her blood, she felt sick. Whose blood was it? Unsteadily, she rose, and slunk out towards the girls’ toilets. When she had finished washing the mysterious blood from her hands, she walked into the common room, which was beginning to fill with people. Glancing at the clock, she noticed that it was dinner time, and that they should all be in the hall for the feast. It seemed the whole of Slytherin house was now in the very crowded common room.
“If everyone will please calm down,” a prefect was saying, his voice rising over the chattering crowd, “The feast will arrive soon.”
Ginny wondered what had happened.
“Oh Draco, why did you say that?” Pansy Parkinson whimpered, “They’re going to suspect you!”
“I was only saying what the rest of you lot were thinking,” he replied, “Besides, it’s true. Mudbloods will be next.”
Ginny looked towards him with curiosity, but figured that he was not her safest bet for a good answer. Scanning the crowd, she found Mildred Peebles.
“Mildred!” she said, approaching the other first year, “What’s happened? I fell asleep by mistake and missed the feast.”
Mildred looked surprised that Ginny was speaking to her, which Ginny figured was probably fair, considering that was probably the longest sentence she’d ever spoken to any of her dormitory mates since their first night at Hogwarts.
“Well, you haven’t missed the feast, at least. There’s been some sort of attack,” she replied, fiddling nervously with her braid, “Filch’s awful cat, Mrs. Norris. Something’s happened to her, I don’t know what, but she looked dead. And she was found next to a message on the wall, ‘the Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the heir, beware.’ It was written in blood.”
Ginny looked down at her fingers, where she had just washed the blood from underneath her nails. Whose blood?