Ginny had always been good at keeping secrets and finding places to put them. She hadn't been walking for long the first time she created a secret place to hide something. That magical combination of secret keeping, transformation, and disillusionment charms had been her first incidence of 'accidental' magic, which really was a stupid name for it. Calling it a lucky attempt at purposeful magic was a better description. Of course, no one ever knew about it except for Ginny which may have been the luckiest part of all.
Ginny grew up knowing that she was a Pure-blood Witch. Knowing that her family were Pure-bloods also meant the word didn't mean anything. She grew up knowing her family had too many children by half. She grew wondering about her parents. Who in their right minds would bring the twins into the world and then decide they needed two more? She grew up knowing that her family was poor. As a result, Ginny Weasley spent much of her childhood trying not to want.
When the challenge of not wanting overwhelmed her, she could not help herself from flipping through her mother's old issues of Witch Weekly (saved from way back in the day when subscribing to Witch Weekly was still in the family budget.) She did not want the things that she saw in those pages- the robes and boots that looked ridiculous and were years out of date before she was born. She did not want magical cosmetics made by companies no longer in business. She did not want the elegant houses, art, and decor most of which (with the notable exceptions of what was owned by suspected Death Eaters) had long ago been destroyed by war. What she could not help wanting was the mode of living that leapt out at her from those dusty yellowed pages. That was the elegant, wealthy lifestyle which never fell out of favor or flew out of fashion.
She thought that her brothers were lucky in ways that she wasn't. Ron never seemed to see it that way. He thought of her as the lucky one, because she was the only girl and baby of the family. When she got things, her parents usually bought them especially for her. Even if those things were often second hand, they were handed directly to her, rather than to the eldest boy still living at home to get passed down to Ron eventually. The truth was that Ron received more things that way than Ginny ever got. Even if Ron's things were old or broken, even if the magic in them was all but gone, he had more of them. To Ginny, that meant something.
Ginny grew up knowing that she was every bit as selfish, jealous, and ungrateful as Ron. Ginny always knew how and where to hide that fact from her parents and her brothers. She never wanted her selfishness to hurt any of them. She never wanted her father's face to fall should she ask for something he'd have to deny her. She never wanted to hear Fred and George take her to task the way they did Ron when he was being a total git about a new Chudley Cannons poster or something else Ron didn't need but wanted, wanted, wanted all the same. Ginny knew Ron's attitude was why at times really good things skipped over Ron altogether and came to her secretly and directly from Fred and George. They somehow knew that Ginny would keep those secrets too.
For as long as she could remember she had wondered what it might be like to be someone other than Ginny Weasley, to be another person from a different family, one born to luxury who could afford to take the material things for granted. Wanting such an extravagant thing made her feel terribly disloyal and selfish. She could not help those fantasies any more than she could bring herself to part with those ancient magazines. She kept them in her secret places of which she now had many and made more of all the time.
It was a long time before Ginny met one of those girls she had always longed to be. The first time Ginny talked to her was in Ginny's first year at Hogwarts. The term had barely started in fact.
In those early days Ginny could not get used to the fact that her mother was not standing right behind her to screech about being safe, or staying clean, or eating more of this or less of that. Ginny could hear her all the same. Ginny loved walking the grounds of Hogwarts by herself, because she could, because space, freedom and being alone in nature were so new, thrilling, and utterly delicious for her. Ginny found herself down by the lake in the late afternoon. She was still wearing her uniform. She liked wearing it because it made her feel grown up and was nicer and far newer than most of her own clothes. In the pocket of her student robes was her new magical journal that her father had surprised her with, hiding it in among her school supplies, probably so Ron wouldn't see it and get jealous. She knew the journal wasn't strictly new by the cover and the age of the pages. It was blank with no pages missing. Therefore in Ginny's mind, it was as good as new. That alone made it extremely special.
Ron always seemed right next to her when ever she thought to thank her father for buying it for her. In the end she had left for Hogwarts after giving her father their very secret smile and an especially long hug. She hoped he got her message.
At first she let it remain blank. The newness of all those untouched pages was somewhat intimidating. She wasn't certain that she knew anything special enough to say that would grace the pages rather than just polluting them. She had tried writing her name. It wasn't special enough. Her ink just disappeared from the page. She wasn't a bit surprised that the name Ginny Weasley didn't seem to belong in it. She still wasn't quite sure how the journal worked, though, but knew she was clever enough to figure it out without having to ask Fred and George. At any rate, Ginny knew better than to expose a secret journal to them. Might as well save the trouble and read it to them.
Ginny was looking about at the scenery and didn't notice the Slytherin girl until she nearly tripped over her. She did know her name. She knew the name of everyone in Slytherin House and a good bit about them each too. Fred and George had been downright helpful in that regard. They had understood the Muggle philosophy of knowing thine enemies whereas their father had puzzled,"Why would Muggles think that? Wouldn't it be better not to know them at all?"
Pansy Parkinson was sitting sprawled out across the path, wearing a fishnet body stocking under high black dragonhide boots, a black dragonhide- for lack of a better word- bra and a black dragonhide mini-skirt. She was silently crying long lines of her heavy black eye-liner while silently muttering angrily to herself. Now and then she transfered black eyeliner onto her pale fingers tipped with black polish or her black lipsick onto her silver cigarette that smelled more like Pansy's sickly sweet perfume than tobacco.
"Those will kill you," Ginny said softly.
Pansy looked up, then focused on her as if she were waking out of a bad dream.
"Let's hope so, Weaselette." Pansy stood and started to walk away, but spun on her heel suddenly, and tossed her cigarette into the lake. When it hit water it hissed like a snake. Before Ginny could even think to defend herself, Pansy grabbed Ginny's face and rubbed black lipstick across Ginny's lips. "Don't tell anyone," she whispered softly against Ginny's hair. Then Pansy released her and did leave. Ginny was so shaken she didn't notice to where.
Ginny knelt and pulled out an old compact mirror that sang songs to improve the user's mood. Granny Prewett had given it to her mum when she started school. Her mother had given it to her during the summer. The mirror was as confused as Ginny was apparently. It didn't sing. It didn't make a peep. Maybe it was finally tired of singing or just broken. Ginny wouldn't have minded except that her mum was sure to do her nut when she found out. Ginny wiped the big black bruise off her face with some spit onto the sleeve of her student robes and put the mirror away again.
Don't tell anyone what, anyway? That Pansy kissed her? That Pansy smoked? That tough Slytherin girls did cry? That Pansy talked to herself and dressed like a whore even though she was only a second year? That Pansy was completely mental and reeked of perfume? Don't tell anyone Ginny wouldn't mind kissing her again and maybe for real next time?
Who was she likely to tell any of that, except maybe her new journal? Ginny wondered to where she had gone. She looked around now but didn't see her. She didn't think Pansy had time to make it back to the castle, not wearing those boots, but to where then? The Forbidden Forest? Hagrid's Hut? Was she hiding in the bushes somewhere watching her right now? Might as well look busy, then. Ginny sat and took out her journal and pocket quill. She was fairly sure this story was special enough. No matter which page she wrote on, though, her words just kept disappearing.
The second time Pansy talked to her was at breakfast in the Great Hall not long after Filch's cat got petrified.
"Weaselette."
"The name's Ginny."
"Should I care?"
"Yes."
The third time Pansy spoke to her was also in the Great Hall, also at breakfast a couple of days later.
"Ginny."
"Pansy."
"I like Weaselette better."
"Fine, Parkinson."
Pansy stoked her hand up the side of Ginny's thigh and pinched her at the juncture where her leg met her hipbone. Ginny realized her knickers were rather uncomfortably moist after. Ginny tried to ignore that.
Mostly Pansy didn't talk, even when she had the opportunity. She did other things instead. Sometimes when they passed, Pansy would brush against her. Sometimes when Ginny was looking for a book in the library, Pansy would wordlessly squeeze herself facing Ginny between Ginny and the stack. Sometimes their breasts or thighs brushed. Sometimes Pansy would trail her hand across Ginny's stomach until she had moved too far away to touch her. Then she'd grab a book and squeeze past again. Sometimes Pansy would stand looking for the right book forever making Ginny wait forever for her second pass. No matter how long Pansy took, Ginny always waited, trying to breathe normally, ignoring Pansy's perfume and her own flushed skin and wetness. Sometimes their hands would brush in hallways, their fingers nearly intertwining. Sometimes when they passed their eyes met. Sometimes Pansy winked at her. Ginny never winked back.
Sometimes when their eyes met across the Great Hall, Pansy would do things with her tongue. Evidently Pansy's tongue had quite an extensive repertoire. Sometimes Ginny couldn't help but smile. Pansy never smiled back.
Sometimes Ginny hated that she was so prone to blushing. Sometimes she didn't mind when Pansy made her blush. Pansy would have made herself blush were she the blushing type, which she wasn't. Ginny didn't tell anyone about any of it. She did tell her diary. In those early days after she learned how to use it, her diary kept all her secrets safe.
The fourth time Pansy spoke to her was on Valentine's Day. Pansy caught her on the top of a changing staircase while she was on her way to Charms. She couldn't imagine where Pansy could be going as Ginny knew Pansy's next class was Potions.
"Like him. Don't you?"
Ginny flinched. How could Pansy know about Tom? "Just who would 'him' be?"
Pansy pressed right up against her and put her lips to Ginny's ear. Breathily she whispered, "His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad. His hair-"
Ginny swallowed and tried not to worry that Harry had the diary now. Tom had told her it was all right. She didn't trust him any more though. Did she? He did forgive her for what she'd done with it in Myrtle's lav. And why did she do that? She could have made a secret place where no one would have ever found it. She realized Pansy looked very smug to have upset her. "I didn't have anything to do with that tripe."
"Silly, sweet, tasty, little Gryffindor, I -know- you didn't."
"Why? You hate his guts. Now everybody thinks that I sent it."
"Did he think that you sent it?"
"Probably."
"Ooo, he knows you like him then!"
"I don't need any help, Parkinson."
"Why would I help?"
When Ginny dumped her book bag after classes, a gauzy black scarf fell out. There was a perfect heart cut out at the very center. Putting it to her nose, Ginny could smell Pansy's perfume. It didn't smell sickly sweet to her now. It smelled like Pansy who was neither sickly nor sweet. Ginny wondered if Pansy had given Draco the other part. Which was better to have, Ginny wondered, a Slytherin's black heart or the absence of it? Tom's voice answered her. He told her it was a toss up.
That night when Ginny touched her most secret of places, she didn't think about Tom. She didn't think about Harry either. She thought about long polished fingernails and cigarettes that smell like perfume. She thought about what black tears might taste like. She thought about what Pansy Parkinson could do with her tongue.
The fifth time Pansy spoke to her was at the end of term when Ginny was in the infirmary recovering from being possessed. She awakened. All the curtains about her bed were drawn. Pansy was sitting at the foot of her bed, a dark green peacoat over a very proper black dress robe, plus white tights and shiny black Mary Janes. She was hugging herself as if she were cold. For the first time Ginny could recall, Pansy Parkinson looked younger than her age, apart from that dark and knowing look in her eyes. Ginny wondered how she'd gotten past Pomfrey and how long she'd been sitting there staring at her.
"What is He like?"
"Nicer than Draco."
"I doubt that."
"Yeah."
"Here." Pansy tossed a small package to her. "Have a summer, Weaselette." Then with a billow of a curtain, Pansy was gone.
It was wrapped in black paper and tied with a black ribbon. For some reason Ginny didn't want to open it until her first night back at the Burrow. When she did open it, she found one of those ridiculously expensive magical lipsticks, the kind they advertised in the current issues of Witch Weekly. This one was pale pink, opalescent, and barely there. It was supposed to utilize existing lighting and shadow to best accentuate the lips of the wearer. It never went on crooked, never got on your teeth, and never smeared. You couldn't kiss or chew it off. It was the kind Pansy's mum would buy for her, to keep a prim and proper young witch looking her magically enhanced best. It was the kind that Pansy Parkinson never wore.
Ginny never wore it either. She kept it in her latest secret place, along with the remains of a black scarf, a couple of novelties and a Wizard's Card of Merlin that Fred and George had given her during the school year, and a photo of Harry at the Burrow.
Harry smiled mildly and waved to her as usual before sauntering out of the frame. She watched him leave and put her new lipstick away. She hoped Harry really wasn't holding Tom against her. She knew Harry could be every bit as bad for holding grudges as He was, though. Suddenly she wanted a photo of Pansy. She would never hide pretending to be nice and boring. That just wasn't her style. Ginny couldn't help admiring her just a little for that. In her head she could hear Tom laughing at her. This time, she knew that 'He' was nothing more than her own common sense.