A/N: This is my version of what could have happened to Ginny after coming out of the Chamber of Secrets. Please review if you can :)
How could he? Why did he? How dare he?
These were the thoughts that raced around Ginny Weasley's head on a fine Sunday morning at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It was 6 months after that dreaded incident, but no matter how much time tried to put a distance between Ginny and that distant memory, there was no difference. The same thoughts bounced round her mind, the same feelings took control of her body, and the same guilt and shame locked her in their embrace. These things were as much a part of Ginny now as her flaming red hair, hand-me-down robes and pale complexion.
How could he? Why did he? How dare he?
She rose from her four-poster bed, ready to greet the day the same way she had been for six months – with contempt, regret, humiliation, and a slowly building hatred for a certain boy. Rubbing the sleep away from her eyes, she saw that she was the only one left in the room again: the nightmare from the night before had worn her out and made her sleep well past breakfast. She was grateful that there were no classes today, as she would have lost points for Gryffindor and probably received detention from whichever teacher took fancy in her punishment.
She got up and got dressed, planning to spend the day wandering around the library, borrowing books which would be helpful in her studies this term. Ginny had (in a surprisingly clever and organised manner which one did not usually attribute to her personality) drawn up a list of books that teacher's had mentioned during class, somewhat offhandedly, as what would be good to study and provide background knowledge on some of the topics discussed. She needed as much help as she could get, not because she was a bad student, but because she feared that her confidence could be misplaced. She didn't want to end up the worst of the family, she had a lot to live up to, and she certainly didn't want anyone thinking that she was the helpless little sister of her brothers. She had a lot to prove, and not just to herself. So she planned to be focused and concentrate hard, no distractions.
But those irksome thoughts, those stupid recurring memories, seemed determined to stop Ginny from achieving her aim. They almost had a life of their own, popping up at times most unfortunate for a young witch, and they consumed her until they were all she could think about.
Not only that, but every day she was faced with reminders of what she had done. Those faces in the corridors could have died had not she been stopped, those smiles could have been forever wiped off their faces as a result of the terror she might have unleashed, those minds could have been forever silenced. All because of her. Never mind the fact that she had not entirely been in control of herself, but she had stupidly poured her heart out into that little book, that annoying good-for-nothing book, and in doing so she allowed herself to be taken over. She had helped people, people she knew and saw frequently, be petrified. She could have killed someone.
And that boy had stopped it. And let her live with this awful guilt, the awful feelings of what she could have done, the awful reminders of how she was powerless to resist. She was weak, she was a coward, and he had let her live with that. Once she realised what she had done, Ginny wanted to die in that chamber – at least she would have been released from the feelings that she felt, at least she would have been free. But as it stood, she wasn't, she was stuck in this world, in this plane, and it was because of that boy.
The boy with the lightning bolt scar on his forehead, the boy with the glasses in front of the bright green eyes, the boy with the courage, the boy with the bravery, the boy with the heart. The boy that had her trapped bouncing back and forth between guilt and hate, a need for revenge and a need for release.
Ginny Weasley, the girl who had helped Voldemort (or known then as Tom Riddle), had been saved by Harry Potter, the boy who lived. And she hated him for it.