While Minerva noted the disappearance of Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, I noticed Ginny Weasley the night of the Welcome Feast. While timid, she entered the Great Hall with a quiet assurance undoubtedly developed by her contradictory upbringing, the ever present support of her family and the need for self-reliance as the youngest child.
She reminded me of Lily Evans.
Lily, whose parents loved her unwaveringly but could not quite understand her. Lily, whose sister had terrorized her psychologically out of jealousy. Lily who had been vibrant, passionate, and empathetic. Lily, my friend.
I suddenly felt young and vulnerable once more.
Ginny inspected the Great Hall slowly. She knew there would be a lengthy wait before her name was reached on the list. Tom had described the sorting process in detail to her on the train so she knew Fred and George had been far from truthful. Solid Percy had given her more realistic expectations but his respect for rules extended to protecting the sanctity of the Sorting Ceremony.
When her brothers' had abandoned her on the Hogwarts Express, she had pulled out her new diary. She was grateful to her parents for the thoughtful gift. She had avoided drawing attention to the gift since her parents didn't seem to want the recognition and she didn't want her brothers to feel left out. While tenacious by nature, she was grateful for the help in adjusting to life at Hogwarts.
Tom had immediately enchanted her with his wry wit and pointed comments.
"Weasley, Ginevra!"
Ginny stepped up to the stool and Professor McGonagall placed the Hat upon her head. A small voice spoke in her ear and for the first time, Ginny felt fearful. Slytherin could not possibly be a fitting choice for her.
He found her outside of the second floor girls' bathroom one evening. She was sitting with her back against the wall and her chin tilted upwards.
"Ms. Weasley, it is past curfew."
She eyes fluttered open and her breath hitched with a start. She drew herself upwards into a standing position, awaiting the loss of points to Gryffindor.
"Ten points."
She looked up swiftly at the uncharacteristically low deduction of points. I noticed moisture in the corners of her eyes, balanced precariously.
Remembering where I stood, the skeletal details provided by Albus, and the information I had pieced together out of curiosity, understanding struck.
I understood the draw the Dark Lord had. I had succumbed to it, as had she. Her eyes had aged. They were murky, le fond de l'étang. Like her humble beginnings, they were not beautiful or alluring. They were indecipherable.
In a rare moment of kindness, I offered her a piece of dark chocolate. She accepted my offering with murmured thanks. The light caught the gold flecks in her eyes and beckoned. I resisted the urge to apply mild Legilimency and accepted the sensed affinity at face value.
It was a new beginning of sorts. Unlike the bungled effort I had made to meet Lily, this young girl, aged beyond her years, had accepted and appreciated my overture.