Everyone thinks they know Ginny Weasley, but they don't.

I bet brother Ronald Weasley doesn't know how deeply hurt she is inside. I bet boyfriend Harry Potter doesn't know she still feels guilty about the Chamber of Secrets. I bet best friend Hermione Granger doesn't know she sneaks out at night to see me.

In fact, no one knows that. Who would suspect that their precious Ginevra Molly Weasley uses her boyfriend's invisibility cloak to sneak out and meet a Slytherin all hours of the day and night? No one, that's who.

Why would they bother with watching her more closely? Her brother would slaughter any man who even thought about doing anything with her. Her boyfriend is the boy-who-wouldn't-fucking-die. Her best friend is the most intelligent girl at Hogwarts. Ginny, in all truth, is the Gryffindor Princess.

But how many of them know that she hates that title?

They don't watch her walk down the hall and scowl when Ravenclaws whisper about her. They don't see her make rude gestures at the Hufflepuffs when they cower in fear before her. They don't notice her withdrawing her wand to hex a Slytherin when they insult her. They don't realize how many people she would curse for daring to let the words "Gryffindor Princess" role off their tongue.

Except me.

I was the one who watched her get off the Hogwarts Express and into a carriage. I was the one who watched her get off the carriage and sneak away from the crowd. I was the one who followed her to the Astronomy Tower. I was the one who asked her what was wrong. I was the one she poured her heart out to. I was the one who kissed away her tears.

And what did I get in return?

Nothing.

The only thing I asked of her was to trust me, and she did. Unlike those friends of hers, unlike that heroic bastard she calls a boyfriend, I can be trusted.

No one ever associates the name Pansy Parkinson with trust; that's what I found the most appealing about Ginny. Ronald Weasley doesn't sooth her mind the way I do, doesn't protect her the way I do. Harry Potter doesn't touch her the way I do, doesn't make her feel free the way I do. Hermione Granger doesn't talk to her the way I do, doesn't motivate her the way I do.

I will never have the privilege of telling the Slytherins to sod off or the Gryffindors to fuck themselves. I will never have the pleasure of telling the Ravenclaws to suck each other or the Hufflepuffs to shove it up their ass. But I will always have more of Ginny than anyone else, and that's all that matters.

She's too careful to get caught. She's too self-conscious to out us both.

I love Ginny Weasley and that's why I don't say anything.

I just hope that one day she'll see I care more about her than those so-called friends of hers. Maybe, just maybe, she'll realize they aren't worth her time and with me, all she has to be is herself.

But until then, I'll be the woman who waits in the shadows to comfort her when they hurt her. And I'll be the woman who hides behind classroom doors and wall tapestries when she wants something more than the boy-who-lived. Most of all, I'll be the woman who's a friend to her when the others don't have enough brains to understand the definition of the word.

Everyone thinks they know Ginny Weasley, but they don't.