A/N: It's been a long time, I know, but here's another at long last. It's time that Ginny got some proper attention from me, especially given she had her birthday a few weeks ago.
October 31st 1997.
Her entire body was aching. Muscles screaming for relief. They wouldn't have been if she'd simply been given the detention that Snape had prescribed, but no, the Carrows had to liven things up a bit, in the way that only they knew how to.
Yawning, Ginny Weasley reached for her bag and flung it over her shoulder, hissing slightly as the strap caught a particularly painful spot. The previous night, Snape had caught her, Neville and Seamus scribbling DA graffiti on the Second Floor Corridor. It had been her choice of location, for reasons that were personal as well as strategic- ensuring it would be seen by the maximum possible number of students. After being spotted by Alecto Carrow (and subjected to a brief 'tastes' of Crucio) they'd been sent to Snape's office. He'd ensured that each would endure separate punishments; she had been sent to clean away the Great Hall after dinner without magic- a truly mind-numbing, mundane task, Seamus had been ordered to transfer fifty Bowtruckles to the Greenhouses without protection, while Neville was no doubt still enduring snide taunts from Filch in the dungeons as the malevolent old caretaker did as he pleased with him.
She looked at her watch. 2.15 in the morning. Time for a quick wash, a change of clothes, and at least a modicum of sleep before early morning Transfiguration- although she had no doubt that sooner or later, Ginger Newts would be on offer. Professor McGonagall's lips had, after all, twitched very slightly when she'd been summoned to Snape's office the previous night….
"Same time, same place next week, knowing you?" Amycus jeered. "Off to bed, you good for nothing blood traitor filth." Without warning, Ginny was blown head over heels out into the Entrance Hall. Pausing only to give the hunched, squinty-eyed Death Eater a filthy look, she picked herself up, ignoring the additional aches and bruises she'd sustained in the fall, and took the stairs two at a time, putting as much distance between herself and that vile wheezy giggle. The route back to Gryffindor Tower was one Ginny had familiarized herself with ever since she'd arrived, in fact she'd wager she could do it in her sleep, if need be…
Her mind plotting the next DA rebellion, Ginny took a left instead of a right, turning into a cold, dark corridor and finally slowed to a walking place. Isolated, dim torch brackets dotted the stone walls, casting longer shadows as they burned ever-lower. With a hiss, one of them was extinguished. Pulled from her thoughts, Ginny looked up and down the corridor. No-one there. So why was she feeling like there was an intruder around?
A darkened, barely detectable mark on the floor by her left foot caught her eye. Her breath caught in her throat. It wasn't a smudge of mud, or mold. It was a scorch mark. Which could only mean one thing…..
Barely daring to look up, Ginny tremulously turned to the wall on her right. There it was, in fading red paint, but still notable.
THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HIER, BEWARE.
Her eyes scanned the wall, finally focusing on a spot twenty yards to the left, the same spot she'd decided on last night's operation. Shining brightly was a second message, one that she'd wanted to symbolically leave at this spot.
Dumbledore's Army. Still recruiting.
She'd managed to return to the source of so much misery and fear last night without a single jitter- in fact, she'd walked down this corridor repeatedly on her way to Defence Against the Dark Arts over the years. But why was it different?
Because you've never returned alone, at night, Ginny. Just like it was so many of those times.
Ginny was no stranger to hearing voices in her head, but thankfully, this one didn't sound like Tom Riddle's. It sounded more like Dumbledore's, enlightening and comforting, just like it was after she'd been rescued from her murky deathbed in the Chamber of Secrets. A sudden, rash, almost overwhelming desire to open the nondescript door ahead of her suddenly possessed her brain. She slowly took a step forwards.
That's it Ginny. Just confront your past once, and then you'll never need to face it again.
Another step forward, followed by her emitting the tiniest of squeaks as a rat ran past her in the dark, over the scorch marks that marked the spot where she'd- no, the Basilisk-, had Petrified its first victim that year. She reached out a pale, tumbling hand, and grabbed the knob, as perhaps the most horrifying memory of them all from that year hit her. On that occasion, Tom had shown no mercy and had made her fully conscious of what she was doing.
She could feel the trembling of the stone wall beside her hand, and could hear the rumble as something massive shifted behind the stone. Spotting the bushy-haired figure turning the corner ahead of her, willing her mouth to stay shut, she finally lost the battle as an inhuman hiss escaped her mouth. "Kill." The rumbling began to shift along the wall, slowly accelerating away towards its target. It finally turned the corner, but not before Ginny heard a frightfully bloodthirsty hiss.
"I CAN SMELL THE BLOOD, SOOOO CLOSE…RIP, TEAR…."
Then the rumbling grew louder again. Following Tom's instructions, Ginny lay down, and turned her back to the growing cacophony, almost drowning out the sounds of two pairs of footsteps to her left. There was a final, hungry hiss, followed by the now-familiar sound of something heavy hitting the stone floor. It was promptly followed by another, almost identical sound. Even as Tom continued to hold her still, Ginny began to weep silently, knowing that one of the people she could trust with the truth was now lying motionless outside the Library entrance, unknowing and uncaring….
She jolted herself back to reality. It had been five years to the day since Mrs. Norris had been attacked, and well over four since Hermione and Penelope had been attacked. She could do this. Taking a deep breath, and trying to push all thoughts of Tom Riddle, the diary, or the Basilisk out of her head, she nearly kicked open the door, to find…nothing there. No reincarnated teenage Riddle grinning evilly, no giant snake and no bulbous yellow eyes of death staring at her from the far wall. Just the rows of cubicles, the guttered candles and beyond that, the row of sinks. She felt emboldened. She had nothing to fear from this bathroom, logic was telling her that. But she needed to prove it to herself. Almost gliding forwards, like in one of her dreams- no, stop that-, Ginny approached the row of sinks, and the accompanying mirrors. Reaching the appropriate bowl, she looked down at the snake engraving on the tap. Feeling very foolish of a sudden, but her heart pounding with anticipation, Ginny cleared her throat. In the flickering gloom of the bathroom, it was easy to imagine that the snake on the tap was alive.
"Open up."
The quietly spoken command echoed around the deserted bathroom. Instead of glowing, the tap remained as nondescript as ever. Ginny looked up at her reflection. The little girl, with all her innocence, that had previously dreaded her dreams about this bathroom was long dead. When Tom had taken her down here for a job, Ginny knew what she'd see in this mirror- herself, complete with an evil smirk, grey, pallid cheeks, and red-rimmed eyes with bloodied pupils. Instead, her light brown eyes stared back at her, quizzically asking her why she had felt so afraid to return. Was she and that frightened, isolated and brutalized little girl really the same person? Ginny's brain promptly began running through what had changed.
She no longer felt insecure in her own body, for a start. That was one thing that she could thank puberty for, all right. While humour had initially been a method for her to hide the trauma of her first year, she'd eventually embraced it as part of who she was. And as she'd already noted, any innocence had long vanished. In addition, if any of her brothers tried from then on to trick her, she'd give as good as she got – never again letting it get to her. However, thinking about skirmishes with Ron simply made her ache with concern for him, Harry and Hermione, out alone in the countryside somewhere, no doubt, doing goodness only knew what to finish off what remained of Tom. Would the danger the three of them faced finally spark something definitive between her dimwitted sibling and Hermione? She was honestly sick and tired of waiting all these years; she'd be damned if it took them another year- it had been far too long with her and Harry after all. However, those few wonderful weeks the previously school year had been more than worth it, not to mention those fifteen glorious seconds in her bedroom before her moronic hypocrite of a brother had butted in. How dare he, after what happened with him and Lavender?
Ah yes, she'd definitely, like it or not, acquired her mother's fire. Her middle name wasn't Molly for nothing, after all.
Then of course, there was perhaps the most definitive change. The Ginny Weasley of old had had a meaningless, hollow celebrity crush on Harry. Then of course, he'd rescued her, treated her like a normal person, and gradually begun treating her as a friend and equal in the DA. As surely as the Chudley Cannons were going to end up at the bottom of the League, she now knew she loved him. And if, heaven forbid, he failed to bring Tom down once and for all, Ginny would do it herself, for she owed Harry at least that much. Not to mention she had some unfinished business with Tom herself. Those memories no longer held her prisoner.
The memory of when she woke down in the Chamber; an injured Harry with the ruined diary, the Sword of Gryffindor and Fawkes, was playing in her head like a film. Harry had told her that it was all over then. Why had it taken her so long to come to that conclusion too?
"Take that Tom," she muttered. "You're just a memory." She began to chuckle, gradually building in volume so that the bathroom, which held no fears of hers any longer, rang with it. Then an idea came into her head- how about disposing of a bit of garbage from Muggle Studies? Ginny reached into her bag and pulled out the sickening Ministry leaflet they'd been ordered to recite. The pink cover, and the accompanying picture, reeked of Umbridge- another evil force she'd faced down in her short life.
A faint gurgling could now be heard from the toilets- undoubtedly Myrtle. Now smirking, Ginny approached the gurgling cubicle, and unlocked it. "Here's to tradition," she whispered, and pitched Mudbloods and the Dangers They Pose to a Peaceful Pure-Blood Society directly into the toilet bowl. Ignoring Myrtle's sharp cry of indignation, she ran, sprinting out into the corridor and past the DA's graffiti, up towards the Common Room.
After giving the Fat Lady the password (who acknowledged her presence with a conspiratorial wink), Ginny stepped inside to find the Gryffindor Common Room entirely deserted, except for a sleeping figure by the fire.
"Hi Neville," she called out, and Neville Longbottom woke from his stupor, sighing heavily.
"Oh, hey Ginny. Just waited for everyone to get back, sort of my responsibility after all."
Ginny waved her arm, sitting down beside him on the sofa. "Fair point. Let me guess, he did the usual?" Neville grimaced in pain.
"Totally. Three hours of hanging by your thumbs isn't my cup of tea. And all that for some graffiti. Where have you been?"
"It doesn't really matter," Ginny sighed. "Not anymore. I was just….remembering what happened in the past." Noting Neville's look of concern, she smiled at him. "It's fine Neville, just reflecting on what happened, and what might have been if Harry didn't save me down there."
"That's our Harry," Neville said with a hollow laugh. "Always prone to theatrics."
"Indeed," Ginny whispered, staring at the glowing embers of the fire. She then lowered her voice as her tone became conspiratorial. "Speaking of theatrics, you up for getting Luna involved in another round of mischief in a few days? It's highly appropriate to what I've been thinking about, really, and….it might help Harry."
"Sure. I know you're planning something big Ginny, judging from that grin on your face. Care to spill the beans?"
"How about stealing the Sword of Gryffindor?"