A/N: For Round 6 of QLFC. As Keeper, I'm drawing inspiration from the lovely Rainy's story, "The Shame of Crimson," which is an au where Rodolphus Lestrange went to Gryffindor.
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It hits her, somewhere in between stumbling off the boat with her hand-me-down robes dragging in the mud and entering Hogwarts, that her brother and Harry Potter are going to miss her sorting.
Ginny picks at her broken nails, scowling. From the Gryffindor table, Percy affords her a bland nod, refusing to break his new solemn, Prefect personality. As far across the table from him as possible, the twins are distracted, whispering something to Lee Jordan. Hermione Granger sits alone, bushy hair crackling from the sheer magic that fills the hall as she keeps glancing at the door, as if hoping her sheer will could summon her friends to her.
"Are you nervous?" one of the boys beside her asks his friend, voice shaking with fear. His friend nods and begins a tirade about his family legacies and expectation while Ginny tries not to snort.
What good is a legacy if your own family barely cares? Ginny knows she's going to Gryffindor anyways. It's just another one of those obvious things in life, like her red, fiery Weasley hair and the way her mom treats her more like a doll than a human being.
"Ginevra Weasley," Professor McGonagall calls, her eyes and emotions hidden behind her cat-eye glasses.
The Hat reminds her of her robes, a hand-me-down from Percy, the only one whose clothing is thin and small enough for her to be able to fit into. Her mother may love all her children but her time is torn seven ways, between the lack of funds and a house of rambunctious sons. She has no time to tailor a wardrobe for her young daughter.
Ginny walks up almost mechanically. Every eye in Hogwarts is trained with her, though everyone knows the results. Weasleys always get Gryffindor, the way they're always good, and heroic and kind and ready to ruin themselves to save the world.
"Well, well, what do we have here?" the Hat asks as it drops onto her head, blocking her view of the crowd. Ginny is silent for a second, enjoying being out of sight from peering eyes.
Guess what, Ginny thinks, more than a little sarcastically, and then tries not to laugh at her own joke.
"Now, now, Ms. Weasley. You are capable of far more than self-deprecating humour."
I know. I'm capable of being a hero and being like the rest of my family in Gryffindor, Ginny responds back, a little more bitter than even she expected. It feels like a waste of time, sitting on a stool when her future is planned out.
"Are you really?"
Ginny begins to frown at that. What do you mean by that?
"You're sharp, Mrs. Weasley. You want more, then, to be like your parents and brothers. You certainly have the ambition, if not yet the tools."
I'm not a snake, Ginny snarls. Out of all the people in the world, she knows best where conversations like this lead to. I'm not a future Death Eater.
"Those aren't the same thing," the Hat tells her, but it doesn't sound placating the way people who usually say that sound like.
The Hat sounds honest, and that scares her more than anything, because if she's capable of being a Slytherin, she's capable of anything in all the worst ways. If she's capable of being a Slytherin, it means she's been lied to.
"What do you want, Ms. Weasley?" the Hat asks patiently and for the first time in her life, Ginny finds herself at a loss for words.
It's always been about who she is, not what she wants. The seventh child of a seventh child, her mother's biggest source of disappointment, a girl with a last name like a war banner. Her family has bled crimson red their whole lives. When she got her wand, gold sparks lit up Ollivander's shop like they belonged there.
It's a betrayal, to want more, but she does. Her hands itch for it, a craving Ginny knows deep in her bones that she will not be able to satisfy.
The heroes always go to Gryffindor, she says for a lack of a better response. I want to be worthy.
"What's stopping you from doing that, Ms. Weasley? There have been brave Slytherins who have fought wars and changed both worlds and lives. You would be an excellent fit for that group, if you wouldn't mind me saying. But the choice is yours and I ask you again, what do you want?"
This is what she wants: Happiness that warms her bones and makes her feel alive. The feeling of flying, soaring high above the earth on something other than her brothers' stolen brooms. More of the breathtaking ease of her quill scratching on paper, her words flowing out on it, scathing and smart and utterly her own.
"SLYTHERIN," the Hat says and Ginny clutches her hands together to stop them from shaking. She has to stay strong now, there's no other choice. Ginny pulls the Hat off and stares out into the Great Hall.
The Slytherins are a cold group, their eyes staring at her. At Gryffindor, the twins clutch each other in genuine horror while Percy stands up as if to stop it all, before being pulled down by his fellow Prefect.
Ron and Harry Potter still aren't even there (it hurts, but she's about to have worse), the seats around Hermione Granger are empty and the girl's mouth falls open, staring at Ginny in shock. She can already imagine Hermione penciling a letter to her mother in her head and Ginny winces at the thought that she'll have to do that.
"Ms. Weasley," the Deputy Headmistress chides and Ginny steps down automatically, making her way to the Slytherin table on complete autopilot. Her heart is beating like a war drum as she sits in an empty seat.
Still, despite it all, there's a part of her that's a little curious, more than a little ready. She's the first Slytherin Weasley.
Ginny knows she has to make that mean something.