Girls In Glass Houses

by Greensl33ves

While in the Hospital Wing after being taken to the Chamber of Secrets, Ginny encounters the one person willing to ask her what really happened: Luna Lovegood. Oneshot.

Title: Girls in Glass Houses

Author: Greensl33ves

Rating: K+

Disclaimer: HP and friends aren't mine.

Cover: Created and designed by me. Photo of witch by Piercarloabate on Pixabay, in public domain. Photo of girl and book by Justine Espinueva, posted on Flickr, used under Creative commons license 2.0 (non-commercial with attribution). This author has no affiliation with those artists or their works and thanks them for their lovely photos.

A QUICK NOTE: I originally wrote this story in 2009, and took it down in 2012. I am restoring it now for two reasons: one, I've had several requests for copies of it since that time. Two, it's a good story and I like it.

Three: I wanted to let those of you who read my stories of old that I've published a novel. Details are at the bottom of this story, but suffice to say that if you enjoy this, you will probably like my novel, for all their appearances differ at first glance.

I've edited this story a bit, changed one or two details, reworded the occasional sentence, but mostly it remains the same story it was back in 2009. I hope it lives up to your memories.

---

"Do you miss him?" asks the girl in the next bed over. I can't see her face because it's covered in bandages. Only her eyes peer out at me; I think they are pale blue. Her voice is almost familiar.

I turn my face away. "Miss who? My dad?" He's just left from another of his visits to the Hospital Wing. He'd taken time off, just to visit me. It makes me feel terrible.

"Okay. Your dad."

"No."

"Oh. Alright then. Do you miss Tom Riddle?"

I sit bolt upright and stare at the girl. My heart is beating too fast. "You said his name."

Her eyes are calm, I think. "Yes."

"No one ever says his name."

"No, they don't."

"They just call him You-Know-Who."

"Yes."

I stare out the window, blinking fiercely. "He wasn't, though. He wasn't You-Know-Who."

"Okay," the girl says again, "then who was he?"

Tom, of course, I want to say, but I don't. I can't. I can't say anything but, "I'm tired. I'm going to sleep."

"Okay."

"Good night."

"Good night."

xXxXxXxXx

The next day when Madam Pomfrey brings in breakfast on a try she calls the girl "Luna." I think I know her, from when we were little kids and lived near each other. I think I've heard of her, though I haven't had any classes with Ravenclaws since we learned to fly.

Breakfast itself is oatmeal, gloppy and lukewarm. Madam Pomfrey must spoon it into Luna's mouth because the girl's hands are covered with bandages too. I get a look at her mouth beneath the wrapping, and suddenly I'm not hungry at all.

When she finishes feeding Luna, Madam Pomfrey looks at my full tray and tuts, hands on her hips and a look of firm sympathy on her face. It was she who stopped the grownups from asking me questions, but it is also she who can get me to talk.

"You need to eat, Miss Weasley. What can I get to tempt you? Chocolate? Doughnuts? Rasher of bacon, perhaps?"

I just shake my head and look away, but I don't want to worry her; she's the only one who seems to understand me. "I'm…I've got a stomachache. Cramps." Not quite true, my cramps aren't that bad, but close enough.

Madam Pomfrey laughs. "Oh, that'll put you off oatmeal well enough. You need more calcium! I'll get you a potion and have the house elves make you a milkshake. That'll do the trick. Vanilla alright? Or better yet chocolate, for the endorphins."

"Not vanilla," I say quickly, "Chocolate's good." I don't want to think about vanilla.

"Can I have a banana one?" a plaintive voice asks from my right.

The stern nurse smiles at her, the same smile she gives me, the one that says she's so worried and wants to help us so much and please, please, please improve and be well and don't hurt anymore. "Of course you can, Luna. Now, I'll be back in a minute with that potion for you, Ginny."

And sure enough she is. I drink it all, and suddenly a warm feeling rushes through my stomach and collects on my tummy. First one muscle unknots, then another, and another, and then knots I didn't know were tied are loosening and the warm feeling is spreading and I feel ten, no, a hundred times better than I did before. I didn't know my muscles had hurt so much, even. Without meaning to I give a great groan of relief and flop back against my pillow.

"That help?" Madam Pomfrey asks with a smile that is so kind.

"Yes," I gasp. "Yes, it did."

"I thought so," she replies in a satisfied voice. "Muscle relaxant, that one, works on the entire body. Gets rid of tension in a snap. And look, your milkshakes are here."

I glance at the bedside table that I share with the girl and sure enough, two milkshakes await, one yellow, one brown, both with whipped cream and a cherry on top, and curly straws sticking out of them. I seize mine, suddenly ravenous, as Madam Pomfrey directs Luna's to hover in front of her so that she can sip at it through the straw.

"You girls be good. I'll send some books over in a bit, but classes are starting in a few minutes and the regular rounds of injuries will start coming in soon. Just call if you need me."

And then she's gone, leaving us to sip our milkshakes in silence. When we finish, the glasses simply disappear. Luna hasn't moved since Madam Pomfrey sat her up this morning.

The horrible sight beneath the bandages flashes through my mind, so awful as to put me off of my breakfast.

"Why are you here?" I ask Luna. "What happened to you?"

"What happened to you?" she asks back. "We're both in the mental ward, you know."

My good mood is gone and I turn over to bury my head in the sheets. "I know. So why are you here?"

"I'll tell you if you tell me."

I think about it for a moment. "I saw beneath your bandages earlier."

"Did you?" her voice is dreamy, like she isn't thinking about where we are, not really.

"A bit."

"Well, earlier, I saw beneath yours." There's a pause. "A bit."

"I'm not wearing bandages," I retort.

Silence. Then— "Why do you hate vanilla so much?"

Maybe if I pull the sheets over my head she'll get the hint and be quiet.

"Why, Ginny? Does it have something to do with Tom?"

"SHUT UP!"

And, thankfully, she does.

xXxXxXxXx

A small pile of books arrives with lunch, suddenly appearing on the bedside table that Luna and I share. As the food—scrambled eggs, sausages, and apple slices—begins to spoon itself into Luna's mouth, I look at the books and ignore my own dishes, which are nudging me. None of them look like any I've read before. The Secret Garden, one is called. Another is Howl's Moving Castle. Alana: The First Adventure, The Hidden Staircase, The Blue Sword—and suddenly I realize they are all Muggle books.

That's when I notice the final novel. It is beneath all the others, but so dark and drab next to their colorful covers that I hadn't seen it. It's a book, blank and small, without even so much as numbers on the pages. The cover is brown leather, maybe a few years old. There is a pen that goes with it, a Muggle ball-point.

A diary.

I slip it under my sheets before Luna can see. "Well," I say brightly, "how about I read aloud? There are five books. Which one should I start first?"

"I don't know," she says between bites. "Read me the summaries."

I pick up the top book on the stack. "I wonder why she sent five?"

"Because they," she pauses, swallowing, "mean to," swallow, "keep us here until the train comes for us."

"Why?"

"Because we'd," pause, "be in danger."

"No one would hurt me!" Wouldn't they, though? I petrified people. I hadn't meant to, but did it. They'd missed a year at Hogwarts for it. The whole school had been terrified. "Well, I don't think so anyway."

"Then maybe they," swallow, "think you'd hurt yourself."

I pick up my meat pie and take a huge bite, just to avoid answering. "Um, the first book is called The Blue Sword, by Robin McKinley. It's a Muggle book."

"You shouldn't avoid things by changing the subject," Luna says all at once, apparently having finished with her lunch. "First, it doesn't work well. Second, you're bad at it."

I glare at her. "Do you want me to read, or not?"

Her eyes say nothing, hidden in shadow. "Do as you like."

"Fine!" I turn the book over to the summary. "I'm going to read aloud. Now listen. And stop saying stupid things."

I read until my voice goes hoarse. Luna doesn't say anything at all.

xXxXxXxXx

Madam Pomfrey is pleased that we like the books she sent, and even more pleased to see that I am eating again. It lasts until she directs a spoonful of soup into Luna mouth. Luna swallows, then begins to cough, the creamy liquid spilling out of her mouth and down her bandaged chin. It's a revolting sight, and I look away.

"Oh dear," Madam Pomfrey tuts when the same thing happens with the second spoonful, and vanishes the mess. "This can happen. I'm afraid that you won't be able to eat anything for a couple of days, my dear. But not to worry, that's what nutrient drips are for. I'll be back in a moment, alright?"

She bustles off and Luna coughs some more.

"Are you alright?"

"Fine," she says, and it's the first time that she has sounded anything but dreamy or curious. Her cough has a deep, wracking feel to it. "I'm as fine as you are."

"That's not very," I retort without thinking. "Anyway, why would burns make you not be able to eat?"

She doesn't say anything but her silence is cold, full of coughing and anger. Madam Pomfrey returns soon enough, carrying a metal pole with dangling plastic bags and tubes. They look Muggle. Picking up one of Luna's bandaged arms, the nurse gently slides back the wrappings a tiny bit and slides a needle into Luna's skin, muttering a spell to make it stay in.

"That should help with the hunger, Luna. It'll feed nutrients directly into your bloodstream, as you won't be able to keep down any food for a few days."

"What about this cough?" she asks in a tiny voice.

Madam Pomfrey glances at me. "Nothing to worry about. Nothing I can do about it, either; it's just part of the healing process."

"Right," I say, and Madam Pomfrey leaves for the night.

"Read to me some more," Luna says in her usual dreamy voice as soon as Madam Pomfrey's gone.

The other one's still waiting under my pillow, the different one. "No. I'm tired."

"Okay. Night, then."

"Goodnight," I reply, and turn over. But I don't go to sleep right away. Instead I read, and read, and read until the dull words lull me into dreams.

xXxXxXxXx

I'm in the room that we always went to, with the pretty flowered carpet and bright drapes and big windows. Tom is there, sitting in the winged chair like he always did. He smiles at me.

"Hello, Ginevra. I see you've come back to visit me."

I can't say anything, but I can't escape, either. There's no door in this room. There never was, not until he wanted it to appear.

"What, no greeting? I'm hurt, Ginevra darling. Have you forgotten me already?"

"N-no," I stammer. "What are you doing here? I know who you are."

He smiles at me. He's still handsome, even now when I know what he is. "Of course you do. I'm your Tom. I take care of you, love you when no one else will."

"No! No you don't!" My back hits the wall and he chuckles. "You're—you're Lord Voldemort!" But even as I say it, I'm not sure I believe it.

Tom's laugh is louder now. "Where would you get an idea like that, Ginevra? Come here, stop hiding."

"No."

His voice is impatient now. "I said come here." He opens his arms, and I see suddenly that there's a design on his sweater. A basilisk. The basilisk. Its yellow eyes are open, staring at me, and I'm looking at the basilisk's eyes and I can't move, I'm petrified, and Tom is standing, walking over to me, reaching out to touch my face and I can't move I can't no—

"Ginny! Ginny, wake up! Madam Pomfrey! Madam Pomfrey!"

I jerk and suddenly I am free, free from those eyes, that hand that was reaching for me to touch me—

"Ginny, Ginny, are you alright?"

I sit up and turn to Luna's bed where her eyes glint at me in the moonlight. There are footsteps coming closer and I draw back from the door when a figure bursts through—

"Luna, Ginny, what's happened?"

Just Madam Pomfrey. I let out the breath I had taken to scream as Luna's voice fills the room, high and panicked. "Ginny was having a nightmare or something, I don't know, she screamed, though and she wasn't waking up."

Madam Pomfrey turns to me, huddled in a ball on my bed, praying she won't turn on a lamp.

"Is that right, Ginny? Was it a nightmare?"

"Yes," I whisper. "I was—he was there, and I couldn't move…"

She sits on the end of my bed. "He was here? Do you mean Riddle?"

I nod. "And we were—we were in our room—the room where we met—and the basilisk was there and it petrified me and..."

Just barely I catch myself before I let out a sob. Tom doesn't like it when I cry. It makes him angry, and I don't want him to be angry with me.

Madam Pomfrey lays a hand on my knee. I flinch. Tom doesn't like other people touching me, either. I think she notices the flinch, but she doesn't take her hand off like Mum and Dad and Ron and Percy did. Instead she reaches in the pocket of her robe and pulls out a tiny vial.

"I have here a potion for dreamless sleep, Ginny," she murmurs. "Do you want it?"

It's almost the same thing she said the first day I was here: "I can cast a cheering charm on you, Ginny. I can make it all go away. But do you want me to?"

I could. It's so easy. Just reach out and take it, drink it down. And tomorrow do it all over. I'd never dream of his eyes again, if only I'd just to follow along and do what's expected of me.

I can feel Luna's eyes on me, and that is what gives me the courage to say, "No. Thank you, Madam Pomfrey. I'd rather dream."

She nods without replying, but I think there is approval in her eyes. "Very well then. If you ever want to talk about your dreams, I am here, as are your family or a professional from Saint Mungo's, should you request one. Or I think Luna there might make a good listener…am I right, Luna?"

"Yes," she says, staring at me like she always does.

"Well then. Do you need anything? No? Good. Try to go back to sleep then and I will see you both in the morning."

She leaves the candle and Luna and I stare at each other in its dim glow. Finally I think to ask, "What made you call Madam Pomfrey? How did you know I was having a nightmare?"

"You screamed." I can't tell what she's thinking from her voice. "And even before that you were jerking around, all twisted up in the sheets."

"Oh."

"You were also saying something."

"Oh."

"You were saying, 'Don't leave me, Tom, I'll be good.'" She pauses and I want to look away, but somehow I can't. "Did you love him?"

Another question no one had asked me. I had thought they would, was sure they would punish me, and maybe Luna will hate me for it but I can't keep it in anymore, just have to say—

"Yes. I did."

"But he didn't love you."

"No."

"People think that we're too young to be in love, but we're not, are we?"

"No," I say, and think about it. "Were you in love with someone, Luna?"

"No, I wasn't," she says very quietly, almost to herself, and there's an edge to her voice that I can't deal with. Like she's said it too many times already.

"What are you afraid of?" I ask, my thoughts wandering out of my mouth before I can stop them.

Her eyes look thoughtful. "Hmm. A lot. Everyone's afraid of a lot of things, aren't they?"

"I am." I'm afraid of so many things.

"Well, I'm afraid of cruel people. Of people who like being mean to other people. What are you afraid of?"

"Tons," I say automatically, then look down and back. "Promise not to tell?"

Her eyes stare straight to my soul almost. "Yes. I won't tell anything. Ever." I believe her.

"Well…I'm afraid of, that, well, no one will ever love me. Because of what happened. Because I'm too dirty."

"Why are you dirty?"

I don't want to say out loud. It sounds too bad, even in my head, but she hasn't hated me yet, so maybe she won't hate me now. Maybe.

Maybe please?

"I'm dirty because…because I loved him. He killed people, he hurt people, he started a whole war, but I loved him."

Luna blinks at me. "You're not a saint," she says, sounding surprised.

"I know." I try to laugh, but it comes out as a croak.

"No, I mean, you don't have to be perfect. You loved a killer. Okay. So what? It's not like you knew what he'd done."

Not until the end, anyway. And that's when she says something that stops me in my tracks. "Just because he's evil doesn't mean he doesn't deserve to be loved. Everyone deserves to be loved. Maybe that just makes you cleaner."

"But he touched me." The words slip out without me meaning to say them, words I never meant to tell anyone, ever. The worst secret in the world.

I think Luna's eyes go wide, but I can't tell. She knows that she's just heard a secret. "Like, kiss-touched?"

I nod, letting my chin drop so the covers hide my mouth. If she didn't hate me for loving him, she'll hate me for this. Because it was my fault.

"Oh." She thinks for a moment. "But you didn't mind, because you loved him."

"Well…"

"And you thought he loved you."

"Yeah." She's right, exactly right, and it hurts so much that I think my heart is going to just burst open in my chest from holding in the sobs but I can't do that, can't do it at all. I don't even trust myself to talk for a few minutes, but finally I manage to calm myself a little. "That's why…why I didn't try to—to stop him…" I can't. It's too much. Too true, too real, something I know I should keep to myself but I can't.

Because I let it happen. Me, and no one else.

Didn't I?

Luna waits until I can look at her again. Her eyes are frank and questioning when she says, "Ginny, even if you hadn't thought he'd loved you and you hadn't loved him, would you have been able to stop him from touching you?"

I can't answer her. I can't even think about it; it's too close to what I've been thinking, too close to the reason why I'd thrown the diary away in the first place, too close to everything everything everything.

"Good night, Luna," I croak.

"Good night, Ginny."

I don't blow out the candle.

xXxXxXxXx

The next day when I read to Luna, I do it sitting on the window ledge, letting the sunlight fall across the pages. It's soothing, that there is still sunlight in the world. For the first two days after Harry rescued me from the chamber, it had rained and I wasn't sure that it would ever stop. I wasn't sure I wanted it to. But now I like the brightness that pools on the text and warms my arms and legs with the Forbidden Forest to my back, wild and beautiful and strong.

The weather's nice enough that after lunch Madam Pomfrey opens the windows a crack, letting in a warm breeze that feels good on my face. We both push Luna's bed closer to the window so that she can feel it too.

But as soon as the breeze hits her, Luna begins screaming, high pitched and horrible, shrieking like somebody is torturing her.

Madam Pomfrey slams the window shut and shoves the bed away. Then her wand is out and she levitates Luna, racing out of the room with Luna's still shrieking form in front of her.

I try to follow, but at the last moment Madam Pomfrey turns and shouts, "No, Ginny, you stay here!"

Then the door slams in my face and for the first time since before the Chamber, I am alone.

Luna gone, our room is deathly silent, all sterile walls and high, cold windows. I try to open one, but it remains firmly shut. Madam Pomfrey must have used a spell on them. Of course she would have; this is the mental ward, after all.

She left her bag, though. When will she come back for it?

After a few minutes I fish the diary out from under my bed and sit with it by the window. The blank pages stare back, pristine in the center, a little worn at the edges. I could write a story there, something like what I've been reading. Or a poem. Or a transfiguration essay.

I could write to Tom.

I slam it shut and stuff it back under my pillow. There has to be something else to do, but there isn't. Just reading or staring out the window.

Unless there's something interesting in Madam Pomfrey's forgotten bag.

There isn't really. Salves for Luna, a replacement nutrient drip bag, a thermometer, a notepad. Boring stuff. I could read the notepad, but it's none of my business. A pen, but I don't have anything to write; a pair of tweezers, but I don't have anything to pluck.

In the very bottom, though, I find something that does interest me: a tiny pair of scissors that I recall Madam Pomfrey using to trim the ends of Luna's bandages and tubes. Not much as far as a cutting edge, but enough.

Enough for this, anyway.

I wait until the house elf brings dinner and leaves me alone, taking the bag with her. Then I set to work. Finally, release.

Tom always loved the things about me that I hated about myself. He loved my freckles, called them "cinnamon sprinkles." He loved my small breasts that have just barely begun growing. He loved the scars on my knees from when I was a kid. But what he loved most was my long, tomato-red hair that falls to my waist, perfecting, shining, and straight.

I have so many memories of Mum brushing it straight and plaiting it perfectly every morning, and then later of Tom being to one to braid it, brushing carefully for as long as it took to get every strand perfect. He didn't plait it, though. Instead he wound it up on top of my head in complicated coils, like a princess's hair, and where he learned to do that, I'll never know, but I looked so grown-up.

The first time Tom touched me had been to brush my hair. He put it up in a simple bun that time. I loved him even more for it.

And now I hate my hair.

Slowly, slowly, I cut through a few strands. They drift to the bed beside me, softly. I don't even feel them go. When I pick them up, they barely weigh anything at all.

"Ginny!" The door bursts open and Madam Pomfrey runs in, her eyes wide, still clutching a pair of tweezers. She seizes my wrists and turns them over, then runs her hands down my arms before smoothing me in a hug with a whisper of, "Thank goodness!" Then she pulls back and scowls. "Why did you take my scissors? You gave me such a scare!"

I hide them behind my back. "I wasn't going to hurt anything, I promise."

"Yes, but why did you want them? What were you doing?"

It's no use hiding it. I offer the few strands that I cut off.

Madam Pomfrey's eyes go wide. "Oh Ginny, why do you want to cut off your hair?"

I try to glare at her and fail. "Because I hate it."

"Why do you hate your hair?"

I bring up my chin. "Because. Because…" I won't cry. I won't. "He liked it. But it's ugly." Luna's words pop into my head. "I'm no saint."

"No," Madam Pomfrey says slowly, and a little of the worry leaves her face. "No, you're not. But you're not a devil, Ginny, and neither is your hair."

"I know," I whisper.

"Just because Riddle liked your hair doesn't mean it's bad."

"I know." I take a deep breath, steeling myself. "He liked my freckles too, but I don't hate them."

"You like your freckles?" she asks, not unkindly.

"Yes. Yes I do. They are 'cinnamon on…'" But then I choke up. I can't say the last word. I just can't.

Slowly, slowly, Madam Pomfrey reaches around to tug at the hand holding the scissors, guiding it into my lap where she squeezes it tightly, scissors and all. Her mouth is a firm line.

The words burst out of me. "I like my freckles, and I like the scars on my knees, and I like my birthmark but, but I hate my hair! I hate it!"

"You hate your hair, or you hate that it's long?"

I don't answer, and Madam Pomfrey sighs.

"Ginny, I am going to trust you, alright?" Her hand is crushing mine. "I am going to go sit by the window and look out at the forest. And whenever you are done with the scissors, you just tell me, alright? And then I will take them back with me." Her eyes stare deep into mine, gray and stern and worried and gentle. "You won't hurt yourself. You'll just…do what you need to do. Alright Ginny?"

The weight of her trust settles on my shoulders, and they square themselves a little. "Alright. I will, Madam Pomfrey."

"Good."

Then she turns and slowly walks over to the window, where she stands with hands clasped behind her back. I unclench my hand from around my scissors. Will she really let me do this? I make an experimental snip through a few more strands of hair and she doesn't move an inch. A couple more. Still she gazes at the forest.

The strands fall around me like snow, red snow, as I make my way around my head. No strand escapes my scissors unscathed. As I cut, I watch Madam Pomfrey.

"What happened to Luna earlier?" Snip snip. "Why did she start screaming?"

She glances back, not commenting on my half-finished hair. "It was the pollen from the air outside. It got under her bandages and stung her wounds."

"What happened to her, anyway?"

"That's not for me to say. If she wants you to know, she'll tell you."

"I already know that she was burned," I offer as more strands drift to the floor. "But why? How?"

"Ginny, I'm sorry, but I really can't say. Healers aren't allowed to disclose information about their patients."

I frown, cutting viscously. "That's not fair. She knows what happened to me!"

"I know, and I'm sorry about that, but it was Professor Dumbledore's decision to tell her, and there's no stopping him."

"What?" I stop and stare at her. "That's not fair! That's not fair at all!" How could he?

"I'm so sorry about that, Ginny," she says, and I can tell she means it, but that doesn't change what happened.

"Can't you tell me anything? Why she's in the mental ward, at least? How do I know she won't try to kill me in the night or something?"

"Well, first of all, she can't move," Madam Pomfrey replies dryly. "But I suppose…if you were out in the school you'd know this anyway…well. Luna is in the mental ward because she didn't resist what was done to her. Four students were expelled because of what happened, you know."

I didn't. "Expelled? So what did they do?"

"Two Muggle-borns and two half-bloods. Shocking. And the day after the Chamber of Secrets was closed, too. Two first years and two second years. Who would have thought it?"

My hair is almost all short by now. "I don't get it, though. What did they do to her?"

Her voice is quiet. "Think about it, Ginny."

I do, and I nearly cut my ear when I realize what I'm being told. "Oh my god, they didn't set her on fire, did they?"

Silence. "Not quite. What else burns, Ginny? You have to be very careful of it in Potions class."

No. "…Acid?"

Slowly Madam Pomfrey nods. I am too horrified to say anything but, "Why?"

"I can't say anything more, Ginny. If she wants you to know, she'll tell you." Her voice changes, becomes brisk and all business. "Are you almost finished?"

I pause, staring at the last, skinny chunk of hair left in front of my face. "…Yeah, I'm finished. Can I have a ribbon?"

"Any particular color, or will anything do?" Is that sarcasm? She takes the scissors from me and slips them in her pocket. ""I'll bring one when I bring in Luna, which should be quite soon. Eat your dinner, Ginny, and I'll see you in a few minutes."

I do eat my sandwich when she's gone. Then I scoop up my hair and go to the window, where I shove it through the tiny crack that Madam Pomfrey has left open until it's all gone.

xXxXxXxXx

The first thing that Luna says when we are alone for the night is, "Your hair is short."

I smile at her. "Yes, it is." It's a Luna sort of answer for me to give, one that agrees and says nothing else.

Her eyes smile back at me. "Your ears must be cold."

"Not really. It is summer after all. Anyway, the window's open, why isn't it hurting you?"

"Because Madam Pomfrey spent all afternoon putting charms on the ward to keep out dust, pollen, and anything else that might hurt me. My healing has been set back by two days."

"Why did those kids throw acid at you?" I blurt out without meaning to. Then I cringe; I hadn't meant to let on what I knew.

The silence seems to go on for ages, but when she speaks, it is in an even voice. "They threw acid on me because they thought that I was someone I'm not."

"Mistaken identity? Who did they think you were?"

"No, they knew I was Luna Lovegood." Her voice has a hollow ring to it. "They just thought that I was someone...who was not me. Who was glad the Chamber had been opened. Who defended Professor Dumbledore's actions."

"What actions?"

"About you," she says quietly. "They thought you should have been expelled. I disagreed."

I can't believe it. "But why didn't you lie, why didn't you try to stop them—"

"Did Madam Pomfrey tell you what happened to me?"

"Well…" I don't want her to be mad at Madam Pomfrey. "Not really. I knew most of it already. I mean, I put it together myself. But I would have known anyway if I had been out in the school, a regular student," I add defensively.

"Ah," Luna says, "but you're not a regular student. You're Ginny Weasley, who opened the Chamber of Secrets."

I don't say anything. What can I say to that?

"Good night, Ginny."

What can I say? Nothing.

xXxXxXxXx

We don't talk the day after that, not even to have me read aloud. Madam Pomfrey is in and out all day, remarking that a lot of students must be skipping class because there are so few injuries, but really I think she's worried because of the not-talking thing.

I'm not worried, though. I'm not angry, either. I'm thinking, about what Luna said and Madam Pomfrey said and, well, everything really.

Just after dinner, Percy bursts into the room. I'm still licking the tapioca off my bowl when he walks in, startling me enough that the bowl shoves up and leaves a smear of tapioca on my nose.

He smiles at Luna, sticking out his chest to show off his prefect badge. "Hello, Miss Lovegood! How are you doing?"

She blinks at him. "In pain."

"Um, er, naturally. But you're recovering, right?"

Luna doesn't even bother to answer him. "You'd best look at your sister."

"I'd best…" It takes him a moment to find the right words for his horror. "Merlin, Ginny! What happened to your hair?"

I glare back. "It's my hair, I can do with it what I want."

"But…but…"

"I don't need your permission to cut my hair! I don't need anyone's!"

His face crumples. "No, no you don't. I'm sorry, I just…" He pushes his shoulders back, pastes a smile on. "I was just surprised, that's all."

"But you don't like it." I don't know why I can't let it alone.

"No…" Percy sighs and sits on the edge of my bed, dropping the fake act. "I'm just not used to it. Mum's not going to like it, at any rate. And where'd you get scissors?"

Just for that, I bare my forearms at him. There are scabs on them, but nothing fresh. "I asked Madam Pomfrey, of course."

His eyes widen. "No, I didn't mean—I just was wondering, that's all. Because I knew you didn't have any."

"She let me." I shake my head, relishing the light feeling. "I think it looks cool. I don't look so young."

"But you are young."

"Not really," Luna's voice drifts over from her bed. "Look closer; she's changed."

Percy stares at her, then me. He's begun to grow a beard, little hairs on the tip of his chin. They look ridiculous.

"Yes," Percy says finally, after a full minute. "I suppose you are older. Twelve. Almost a second year. The family will have to start beating off your suitors soon."

I don't say anything at that, and when he realizes I'm not going to, Percy clears his throat.

"Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about the train ride home in a few days. As you might know," his eyes slide to Luna and snap back, "not all of the school agrees with the Headmaster that you are free of blame for opening the Chamber of Secrets. They might try to…take things into their own hands. So on the train I want you to stick with the family, alright? Just in case. We want you to be safe."

I nod. "Okay." It's not like I have anyone else to sit with, anyway. "Is that all you came here to say?"

He looks hurt. "Of course not! I wanted to see how you're doing. Fred and George have outdone themselves pulling pranks on anyone who says a word against you, you know. You should have seen breakfast this morning, half the people turned bright pink, and no one's gotten it off yet. Brilliant, really. Makes me wonder if they ever studied for their exams at all even…"

"Course they didn't." Neither did I.

"You're probably right." Percy settles into gloom as he turns to Luna. "Oh, and I bet you'd like to know that when your four friends got back from the Headmaster's office it was to find their trunks and belongings sitting in the corridor outside their common rooms, waiting. When they opened them on the train, everything they touched turned to frogs." He shakes his head, suppressing a smug smile. "Impressive wandwork, whoever did it."

"Revenge solves nothing," Luna replies in a matter-of-fact voice.

"No, I suppose not," Percy says quietly, "but it does feel good." He turns back to me. "Anyway, just to warn you, Fred and George should be visiting later. They're cooking up something, so watch out. But is there anything you want them to bring to you?"

I shake my head. "No, I'm good. Maybe some better clothing? You could have a girl get it. Some jeans or something." Mum picked out all the clothing I have in the hospital wing, sweaters and jumpers and ugly blouses. She doesn't know about the stash of Muggle clothes that I bought this year by mail-order with my own money, and nobody knows what Tom gave me.

Percy pats my knee in a distinctly Mum-ish way. "Alright, I'll tell them. Get some sleep. You look like you need it."

"Okay." I give him a smile that's as close to real as they come with my family, even with my favorite brother. "Thanks, Percy."

"Good night, Ginny, Luna."

"Good night."

Luna waits only a few seconds before asking, "Why are you angry at your family?"

I'm not surprised that she noticed it; it's not like I've been hiding it, not even from them. I choose my words carefully.

"It's because…because I guess I blame them a little. This…wasn't supposed to happen, none of this. I was supposed to go to Hogwarts and be able to be with my brothers and make a ton of great friends. But it didn't. I made a couple of okay friends, but my brothers just ignored me. Like they didn't even care that I was at Hogwarts now. So I started writing to Tom more and more and tell him all the things I couldn't tell anyone else and…nobody noticed." I pause to gaze at the forest, so close, so far. "You would think someone would notice that a first year is spending all her time writing in a diary and isn't talking to anyone."

"No, I wouldn't think they would notice. Of course they wouldn't. They don't care."

"Yeah, not strangers, I wasn't expecting them—well, not really—but not even my family…"

"I have cousins here, you know," Luna says dreamily. "Five of them. Four girls and a boy. The girls are my father's sister's children, and they're in Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. All older than me. But they haven't talked to me all year. The boy is my mother's brother's child, and he's a Slytherin. He talked to me once, but after that I haven't seen him except at meals. Do you think it's a rule that we're not allowed to sit at other House tables? Nobody's ever said anything, but nobody does it."

I think about it. "I don't think so, but I bet you'd get a duffing up if you tried."

"Probably."

"Definitely."

"Well, depends. I bet I could sit at Gryffindor with no problem."

I shrug. "Maybe. I didn't know you had cousins here."

"You wouldn't. They aren't Lovegoods; they're Bones and Malfoys. Not your family's type."

Trying to fight a scowl from forming on my face is useless and I glare helplessly at the wall. "I don't care what my family's 'type' is. I want to be better. I want to show them all that I'm not some stupid Weasley brat. I'm powerful. I want to show them all."

"And Lord Voldemort is very good at both of those," Luna says, "at showing people power, and being 'better' than others."

I square my shoulders and try not to show how much her words scare me. "Then—then I guess that we were well suited to each other."

"Stop trying to be brave," she replies in a voice that shows nothing. "Read a book until your other brothers come."

Reading is impossible, though, and I know that without even trying. "No. I can't. Why should I? I don't have to follow your orders. Besides, I'm not being brave. I'm telling the truth."

"Are not." She is angry. I've never heard her angry before. "You're just being spiteful. Tell your brothers that you're angry and get it over with. That's a nice, brave, Gryffindor thing for you to do."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that you're being stupid and taking out your anger on me! So stop it!" Then she mutters, so tiny that I can barely hear it, "That's why I hate Gryffindors."

Her words are a slap that snaps me out of my anger. Something clicks into place. Gryffindors. Of course. How could I not have seen it before?

"Luna," I begin slowly, "were the people that attacked you from Gryffindor?"

"…Yes. Three of them."

I can't even look at her. No wonder Percy was so smug about the revenge; no wonder he knew so much.

"I'm sorry," I whisper.

"It's not your fault."

My eyes prickle. "Yes it is, and you know it!"

"You didn't do it on purpose."

I didn't get her hurt on purpose. Open the Chamber, though? I don't know. There were so many times that rage burned through me and I had wanted to knock the whole school down. The time when I had figured out why my favorite brother didn't care about me anymore by walking in on him and his girlfriend kissing, and then she got set on by the basilisk…and how Hermione Granger, my brother's best friend and the one that kept him away from me got petrified at the same time…

I'm not sure if I'm lying or not when I say, "I guess not. But I'm still sorry. It was my House."

"Actually, it was your dormmates, in part."

"What?" I nearly shout. "Who! Sarah, Christine, Julia, Natalie, or Leticia?"

"Hmm. Christine and Natalie, I think. And another girl from a year above, and a girl called Doreen—she was Natalie's sister, I think—from Ravenclaw."

My mind is still trying to wrap around the fact that my Potions partner and my Herbology partner had done something so horrible, when once again the door opens and my family spills into the room.

This time it's Fred and George, and they come bearing two large baskets. "Surprise!" they shout in unison. Then they turn and I get a good look at them and I burst out laughing, not little giggles or a quick forced burst, but gales of laughter that hurt my sides. My twin brothers glance at each other in mock bewilderment and gallop around the room, swinging their baskets, head to foot covered in fake, bright-colored fur: blue on one, purple on the other.

From her bed Luna giggles as each of them pulls out a flower to give to her, only to have them turn into wooden swords. They mock-duel around the room for a minute or so before their swords transform back into flowers. Still they bash each other over the heads with them until the flowers fall apart. At that the twins also begin to wilt, their fur falling off in clumps, until my two weirdest brothers are standing in front of me, grinning from ear to ear, with fake fangs in their mouth.

I burst into another peal of laughter when I realize that their eyebrows are still colored. It takes them a moment to see what I am pointing at, but soon enough they join right in.

When he's wiped the last tear from his eye, one of them—I think George—reaches into his basket and pulls out another set of fake teeth, tossing them to me. "Fangs for making it an interesting year, Ginny!" Definitely George.

Fred comes up with a set of deely-boppers with black puff balls on the ends, which he gently places on Luna's head. "And thanks for bee-ing a good excuse to try out our new spells on a large scale!" he says to her.

She looks ridiculous, but I think she's smiling under the bandages. A buzzing sound emits from her mouth in reply and the twins roar with laughter. More buzzing comes out, rather insistent now, and Fred takes the deely-boppers off her head again. "Sorry, couldn't resist!"

"It's alright," she replies dreamily. "I've never spoken like that bee-fore."

The twins chuckle and I decide to try out the fangs that I'm holding. I put them in my mouth and try to say, "Are the fangs spelled?"

A giant roar fills the room, and making the lamp glass vibrate. We all jump about a foot, even me, before bursting back into hysterical laughter.

"That's fantastic!" George crows. "We'll have to turn the volume down somehow, but it's great! Really perfect. Do that again, Gin!"

I roar, and they collapse into giggles again. Then I take out the fangs and look pointedly at the still-full basket. "Anyway, did Percy give you my message?"

"Yeah," George replies, and hands it to me. "I had your dormmate, Leticia, I think, go up and get them."

"Leticia?" She's hardly spoken a word to me all year. In fact, she hasn't spoken to anyone. "Really?"

"Really. Anyway, she says that all your new stuff is in there."

I peek under the wrappings. I won't know until I check it all, but it looks about right.

"Well," Fred puts in to cover the awkward silence that has somehow developed, "I think that's about all, little sis. We'll see you on the train. Alright?"

"Alright."

"See you then, Gin."

"Night, Ginny! And you too, Luna."

I wave at them and smile. "Night then. Thanks for bringing my stuff."

"No problem."

The door closes, leaving silence that seems somehow more boring for their being gone. As soon as I am sure they aren't coming back I pull the cloth off the top of the basket and take out my clothing. Acid washed jeans, a flannel shirt, my favorite scrunchy that's now useless, two pairs of leggings, a blue and teal striped tunic, a dark jean jacket, a crop-top—all familiar items that I spent so many weekends in, lounging in the common room or the dorm.

But they're only the first layer. Underneath are the things that I'm afraid to touch, as if they will bite me. These are things that Tom gave me. I don't know where he got them, or how Leticia knew I owned them.

First is a dress, light blue and demure, with a sailor collar and a hem that hits my knees. He liked it when I wore this dress early in the year, and I liked it too. I'd thought it was pretty.

"That's old-fashioned," Luna comments, and I jump. I'd forgotten she was still here.

"It was the first thing Tom gave to me. In September. He liked me to wear it with a blue Alice band and my school shoes. The first time he brushed my hair, I was wearing that dress."

"If it's the first, what else did he give you?"

Instead of replying, I pull out the next garment. It flows to the floor smoothly, the light green folds gently uncreasing themselves and the dangling dark green sash giving itself a little shake.

"Robes. Nice robes. Are they wool?"

"Yes. Wool twill. Sea-foam green, to be exact. He gave them to me the day after Halloween, when I told him that I couldn't remember the night before and a student had been attacked. He said it was to calm me down, but now I see it was a reward." My smile turns into a grimace. "A job well done, you know?"

She doesn't rise to the bait. "What else did he give you?"

"Well, for Christmas, we had a party, just the two of us." I reach into the basket and pull out the simple silk dress. It is the most elegant thing I own. When I wore it with my hair piled on my head in a beautiful tiara Tom had produced from somewhere just for the occasion, I'd felt like I was eighteen, not eleven, and about six feet tall, too. There are slinky high-heeled shoes that go with it, but they aren't in the basket. "Tom wore dress robes and we drank Champaign. I didn't like the bubbles much, but it was very elegant. I gave him—" And then I stop. I don't want to say. What I gave him was a kiss, a kiss on the lips like I had refused to do until then, a kiss that led to—

I fumble into the basket, groping around the depths blindly, anything to distract myself. "And, um, the last thing he gave me was, er, it was a…oh. It's not here." I stare into the basket. "Huh."

"What was it?" Luna asks. "Describe it."

"Er, okay. It was a white cloak. It was wool, with golden silk lining. I don't know where he got it. I don't know where he got any of this, but…it was very long. To my toes. It had a hood with a point and a tassel, and gold braid around the hem. The ties were gold ribbon."

I look over at Luna. Her eyes are thoughtful. "You're speaking about it in the past tense."

A memory flashes in my mind, Tom's eyes, brown-red and hate-filled, looming down on me where I am laying, sobbing, clutching at my face. Blood is running out of my nose and from the cuts on my arms and neck. Running onto my beautiful white cloak, staining it.

Back in the present, I can feel the blood drain out of my face. Past tense. Of course. Tom had gotten angry and vanished the cloak, leaving me only in my school robes for when he carried me down to the Chamber.

"It's gone," I hear myself say in a high-pitched voice. "I don't know where it is now."

"Oh. Okay." That simple, as if she can't see my hands shaking. "Will you read aloud for me, Ginny?"

"What? Yeah. Sure. The Blue Sword?"

"Yes."

"Right." Shoving the clothing roughly back into the basket, I grab the book on top of the stack and open it to the marked page. It takes all my willpower not to rub my arms, to feel the scabs from the cuts that everyone assumed I had gotten on my way down the Chamber.

Well, not everyone. Madam Pomfrey knew. She asked me about them, in that soft-but-firm voice that doesn't judge. She asked me who had done them, and what the situation had been, and the same for the scratches on my neck and the scars on my shoulders that haven't faded yet. Then she had asked me if I wanted her to heal them. I had said no. I wanted the reminder of why I hate him. I still do.

The cloak is a reminder. I wonder where it is. And most of all I wonder why Leticia included my other clothing in the basket. How did she know?

I don't remember a word of what I read.

xXxXxXxXx

The next morning, Luna eats a full breakfast, her coughing finally cured. Madam Pomfrey is delighted at this development, and so am I, though not as much as I am when she levitates Luna to a private room so she can change her bandages. It seems like forever since I've been alone, even though it's really only been a day or two.

Once they're gone, though, I don't know quite what to do with myself. Stare at the journal, but what do I have to write. Instead, I stand and stretch, staring at the forest outside the window while scratching absently at a scab on my neck. I am wearing another of my old dresses from before Hogwarts, one that Mum brought from home. For some reason, I can't bring myself to wear my other clothing, but like the scabs on my body they're something I just can't leave alone. I haul the basket out from under my bed, dumping its contents out over my sheets.

There are two separate piles. One is trendy and Muggle and bright. The other is refined and quality and very Wizarding.

I squint at them critically. One pile tacky and childish, one old-fashioned and stuffy. One is my tiny, petty rebellion, items paid for with the money I earned by being Fred and George's test subject. The other pile is the carrots Tom used before resorting to sticks. Natalie had helped me send away in a Muggle catalogue for the first. Tom had dressed me up with the other. One for posing in the common room to try to get people to be my friend, the other to please Tom and make him love me as I loved him.

I hate them both equally.

I pick up my teal and blue tunic. It's the last thing I bought, before Tom ordered me to stop letting Fred and George test things on me and I had run out of money. The absolute latest fashion, Natalie had insisted. In fact, she has one just like it, only hers is purple and pink. We wore them both on the same day once, with clanky gold bracelets that she let me borrow. We had knotted the tunics up on our hips with scrunchies, put our hair in matching side ponytails. My leggings had been white; hers had been black.

I will never see Natalie again. Not ever, probably. If she graduated from a magical school, it will not be Hogwarts, and I'll never go to another magical school. Hogwarts is free; most schools are not. We don't have the kind of money to pay for private boarding school, just like I don't have the kind of money to buy any more new clothing. As much as I wish I could cut all of this up, I can't.

Instead, I pull on my acid washed jeans under my dress before taking it off. It reminds me a little of the sailor dress from Tom in that it too is hopelessly outdated, something secondhand Mum picked up. Instead of it, I pull on my crop-top, a pale pink shirt that clashes with my hair and shows my tummy button. It also shows my arms and neck, and all the healing cuts and bruises that Tom left during that endless descent into the Chamber.

Mum would hate this outfit. I love it. I wish I had a mirror so I could do something with my hair, but I don't. I lie down on the ground and do twenty sit-ups. I'm invincible; the scars only make me stronger.

The empty diary sits under my pillow, but I leave it there, picking up Alana: The First Adventure instead. It's about a girl who decides to become a knight. She has red hair too. I am light as a feather.

xXxXxXx

I'm back in our room, only the light is different. It isn't sunshine, or cloudy day light. It is red, and makes the carpet look like someone has been bleeding on it.

"Where have you been?" Tom's quiet voice asks from behind me.

I whirl around, and there he is, just as real as he ever was, except for his eyes. His eyes are also red.

The light, it's just the light.

"Come on, Ginny, tell me. Where have you been?"

"I…I…"

"Speak up."

"I was in the infirmary," I finally manage. "In the mental ward."

His face creases in concern. "The mental ward? But Ginny, why would you be there? What happened?" He tugs the lone long piece of hair that hangs in front of my face as his eyes widen. "They cut your beautiful hair!"

Tom looks so shocked, so horrified as he pulls me close to him and hugs me. His hands run through my short hair to loosen the ribbon from the long bit so that it separates into strands.

"Not much cinnamon on vanilla, anymore," he says softly, his hand moving down my neck, and I suddenly realize that I am not wearing any clothing. His hand is still moving, lower, lower. "Not much at all. Oh Ginny, why did you let them cut your hair?"

His hand is so low and I blurt out, "I cut it."

The hand freezes. "You what?"

He's going to kill me, but I say it anyway. "I cut my hair off."

I'm flung away so hard that I reel back against the sofa and trip to land on my back. Tom looms over me, dark red and frightening because the red light isn't coming from the window, it's coming from him.

"You're worthless!" he shouts. "You're filth!" His hands grab my shoulders and shake me until my teeth rattle. "You're so stupid! No wonder no one likes you! You should be grateful to me for liking you! You're such an idiotic little—"

"Ginny! Ginny! Wake up!"

I'm in the mental ward. I can see the beginnings of dawn out the window. Madam Pomfrey is shaking me and Luna is calling my name.

I pull away, clutch my nightgown around my shoulders. The light in here is gray; it was a nightmare.

"Oh good, you're awake!" Madam Pomfrey exclaims and pulls me against her bosom. "We've been trying to wake you for a bit now—Ginny!"

I fight my way out of her embrace to slam my back against the headboard. My one lock of long hair has come undone from its ribbon and is spreading itself across my face, getting in my mouth and tickling my neck, and I yank it away.

Tom's face looms in front of mine. Filth, I'm filthy, I'm worthless—

I wrap the long strands around my knuckles and yank them out.

Madam Pomfrey gasps and grabs my wrists but it is too late, they are gone and I have all short hair now and no one can stop me, not ever.

"Ginny, why did you do that?"

I try to pull my wrists away from her but she has a tight hold. It makes my stomach feel sick.

"Ginny! Answer me!"

"I want to put this hair out the window," I say, not looking her in the eye. "Let me go!"

"No, not until you answer me. Why did you yank your hair out? You're bleeding, Ginny!"

"I don't care! I want to put it out the window!"

"Ginny!" Madam Pomfrey shakes my wrists a little, and I can feel her trying to make me meet her gaze. "Please! Tell me why!"

She won't let go. "You're hurting me!"

"No I'm not. Now tell me—"

"No!"

"Does it have anything to do with 'cinnamon on vanilla'?" Luna's steady voice asks.

I freeze while Madam Pomfrey jumps and stares at first Luna, then me.

"You said that," Luna adds. "Outloud."

I just want them to leave me alone. "Maybe. Can I put this out the window?"

Madam Pomfrey sighs. "No, not until you explain why you ripped it out in the first place. That's the deal Ginny; take it or leave it."

I haven't made deals since Ron still lived at home; Tom would have just flattered me until I said it, and if that didn't work, hit me. In some ways, a deal is harder, because I have to choose. How much do I want to put this out the window?

"Tom was in my dream," I mumble. "He liked my hair. He called it 'cinnamon on vanilla,' red on pale skin. In my dream, he was angry that I'd cut my hair."

Madam Pomfrey sighs and loosens her hold on my wrists. "Leave it on the table for now and I'll let you put it out when I come in with breakfast. In the meantime, try to get some sleep. And don't either of you dare hurt yourselves again."

She taps her wand to my temple and leaves. I reach up and touch the drip of blood that remains over this new scar. Another from Tom.

"How many scars do you have?" Luna asks.

"Don't know." I quickly count the ones on my left arm and multiply them by five, for each limb and then my torso. "Maybe eighty? Or a hundred? Approximately. You?"

"I won't have any scars," she says a little smugly. "All new skin. No birth mark, even. It was on my right elbow. It looked like a fish."

"What kind of fish?"

"A hammerhead shark."

"Oh."

I stare at the grayness out the window. It isn't getting much lighter; it is only false dawn.

"Cinnamon on vanilla," Luna says suddenly, and I flinch. "Your hair, but you never said whose skin."

She's smart. "His."

"I thought so."

"Goodnight, Luna."

"Sweet dreams, Ginny."

xXxXxXx

The next day, I wear my crop top and a school skirt and move obediently while Luna counts my scars.

I have eighty-three, including all the scabbed scratches that will soon become scars. Of all of those, seventy exactly are from Tom. Twelve of them, on my back and neck, I did not know about. There is a perfect set of ten crescents back there that are scabbed over: fingernails. Then two more long scratches no one mentioned to me.

My bruises are fading and will soon be gone, except for the very deep bruise on my leg that is still purple and green. It hurts when I touch it

Time is going by quickly. Soon it will be time to go home. Two days, and then no Hogwarts for another two months. No having to face the rest of the school, or my teachers. No one but my family, and my family loves me. Loves me like Tom probably never did.

And why did it take me so long to understand that?

"Ginny, why do you have so many scars?"

I shrug. "I didn't want to do what he told me to do."

"What did he tell you to do?"

"To go to the Chamber of Secrets. To order the basilisk to kill Harry."

Luna's eyes darted away. "Harry Potter?"

"Yes."

"But you wouldn't."

"Never."

"Why not? You set it on other people. Why not him?" I can't tell if her eyes are angry or not, and it makes me wary.

"Because…" I try to piece together why I'd resisted so hard. Why I hadn't done that for everybody. Then suddenly I see his beautiful green eyes like they were that day in the Chamber when I woke up, bright behind his glasses. There had been blood caked in his eyebrows and a cut on his cheek. He had saved me. "Because he's a hero."

"He wasn't when you said no," Luna snaps at me. "He only was after. When you had gotten hurt because of it."

"But he was anyway!" My voice is louder than I meant it to be. "No one else did anything! He did!"

"You're only saying that because you fancy him."

"I am not!"

Her voice is suddenly deadly quiet. "But you do like him. And he doesn't like you back, not like that."

"What do you know!" I retort. "I bet he's never spoken a word to you in your entire life!"

"So what?" Her eyes are definitely angry. For the first time, she raises a finger to point at me. "What do you know about me? Nothing! I don't care if I've never spoken to Harry Potter! Besides, I thought you were in love with Tom."

Her voice is bitter and mocking and I want to slap her so badly it hurts. "Shut up."

"No! I won't! You can't tell me what to do!"

"Shut up!"

"Is that your answer?" she sneers. "Is that your answer to everything? 'Shut up shut up shut up, my name is Ginny Weasley and I can't bear to hear anything I don't want to hear—'"

"ENOUGH!"

Luna and I both jump and stare at the door, where Madam Pomfrey stands, wand in hand, glaring at us both. She begins walking into the room after a moment, and for the first time in a long while I suddenly remember that she is an adult.

"You two," she begins, her voice soft and hard, "have so much in common. You both have great potential and were placed where—according to the Sorting Hat—you wanted to be. You were set up to achieve excellence, but you didn't. In fact, not only did each of you fail to live up to expectations, you completely failed to thrive. It led to…to terrible things for each of you, things no one should go through, and yet now that you are here in this room with each other, you still will not let down your defenses enough to realize you have been given second chances." Her eyes sweep from Luna to me and back. "I don't want to hear you fighting again, do you understand? Not about petty things, anyway. Not about things that can't or won't be changed. Is that clear?"

I nod silently and I think Luna does the same because Madam Pomfrey nods back. "Good." She closes the door behind her with a decisive click.

Luna and I don't say anything. There isn't anything left to say. We shouldn't have fought, but we did, and now it's too late to unsay what we said.

Instead, I stare out the window. Luna isn't wrong; I didn't resist the basilisk going after Hermione Granger, who had shown me a shortcut to Charms class in the second week. Or Colin Creevey, whom I'd sat by in Transfiguration.

"Maybe you're right," I say, after a long, long time. "Maybe I am a bad person for not saving them all from him."

"No." It sounds like Luna is about to cry. "That's not what I said. That's not what I meant."

"But it's true."

"But…you can't change it. So don't bother thinking it."

The clouds in the sky have just barely begun to turn orange with sunset.

"Too late."

xXxXxXxXx

We're getting on the train tomorrow, but when Madam Pomfrey comes to check on us after lunch, she assures both Luna and I that packing is being taken care of for us, so as not to put us in further danger by having us return to the dorms. Then she pulls out a big bundle and begins checking under Luna's bandages, poking at a knee, an elbow, her neck.

A smile spreads across her mouth. "Good news. The healing process has finally finished. This means that tonight, when it's dark, we're going to take your bandages off and put you into some real clothes."

"Why wait until night?" I ask.

"Because her new skin has never been exposed to sunshine," Madam Pomfrey explains. "We wouldn't want it to burn so quickly, now would we? She'll have to keep under a parasol and lotion all summer or this new skin won't look so pretty anymore."

Luna nods and giggles a little. "That's okay. I like parasols."

"Good!" Madam Pomfrey stands. "I'll ask the house elves to include some chocolate cake in dinner—though it's the leaving banquet tonight, so the food should be wonderful anyway—and Gryffindor is slated to win the House Cup, Ginny, unless someone does something very drastic in the next four hours, which I really doubt—and then I will be back around ten tonight to undo those bandages."

She sweeps out of the room with a satisfied smile and I turn to Luna with a grin. "Do you really like parasols?"

She isn't listening, just peeking under her own bandages and making little squeaking noises. "I'm healed!"

"I know!"

Her smile is wide, and so are her eyes. "Just think, a second chance, in a whole new skin."

"Yeah," I say, and touch my hair that's so short it won't even cover my ears anymore when I used to love my long hair so much. "What more could you wish for?"

We stare at each other, smiles fading. What more could we wish for, if we could? A do-over of the last year? A do-over of the last life? Or maybe I just would wish for something smaller, that my family had never met Lucius Malfoy in Flourish and Blott's. That I'd thrown away the diary from the start, or better, burned it. That I'd had the courage to tell Harry how I felt, to talk to him, instead of just writing pages and pages and pages about it to someone who didn't care.

"What do you wish for?" I ask Luna.

I can only see her eyes, which slide away from mine and out the window to the blue sky.

"That I would never have to take these bandages off." The color of the sky is a few shades off from her eyes, except around the very horizon where it turns light. "Or that when I did, I'd have my old scars back."

Just like the horizon, Luna doesn't blend into the rest of the sky. There's no way; she couldn't, she's too weird.

Different.

We're in the mental ward. How did I miss it?

"Luna, where did those girls throw acid on you?"

"Where location, or where on my body?"

"Both."

She won't look at me, just out the window. For the first time since I got here, she cannot or will not meet my eyes.

"In a corridor near the Hospital Wing." Pause. "There were witnesses. That's why I'm here. They saw that I didn't resist. Maybe four or five people." Pause. "They forgot to say how they failed to stop those girls."

She sighs and turns her face completely away, drawing up her knees to clutch them. It is weird to see her move after remaining still for so long.

I'd thought she couldn't. Maybe she just didn't want to.

"They'd planned it—maybe not for me, but for someone like me. It was an ambush. They yelled that you were horrible for what you did, and I was horrible for not believing that you should be expelled, that I only think so because I'm a pureblood and was never in any danger. Then one of them reached into her pink bag and pulled out a jar and threw it at me."

I catch my breath. I know that pink bag, with the stupid zippers on the side: it's Christine's. Christine, throwing acid at someone.

"She missed."

"She has terrible aim," I whisper, thinking of the pillow fights from the beginning of the year, when we were all friends.

"Yes. But that doesn't matter much with acid." Luna's voice is so matter of fact. "When it hit the wall behind me, it splattered on my robes and my legs. Then the other girl, the older one I don't know the name of, she pulled out another jar—she was wearing gloves, I think—and took off the lid and while I was bent over my legs she poured it over my head. My skin—"

"No!" I hear myself say out-loud despite the ringing sound in my ears and the buzzing in my head as I fight to keep my lunch down. "No, please, don't…I can't…" Please don't tell me; I can't bear to know.

Luna is silent while I collect myself, unclenching my hands from my hair and slowing my breathing. But all the while, things are clicking into place.

"Go on," I finally whisper, though I'm not sure I want to know anymore.

"That was when Professor Snape turned the corner and found what was happening, only I don't remember that part. Madam Pomfrey said that he blasted everyone in the hallway and levitated me back as fast as he could. The next thing I remember was after they'd put me on a pain potion and were picking the threads out of my skin. That's when…" For the first time, she hesitates

"…They found your scars," I finish for her.

"…Yeah."

After all, what was first thing Madam Pomfrey checked for when she realized I had her scissors? "Your arms."

"And my legs." The tiniest of sniffs comes from the other bed. "And my tummy." Another sniff, louder. "And now they're all gone." There is a pause, and then suddenly she bursts out in a half-wail, "At least you still have yours! What do I have? I have nothing! Nothing at all!"

She's crying, really crying, and trying to hide it by keeping her face turned away. I am stunned, though. She envies me, with my eighty-three scars and chopped hair and…and…

I am sitting on the bed beside her before know it, my arms around her shoulders, hand stroking the bandages that cover her hair. She turns blindly and wraps her arms around my middle to sob against my chest. Her body shakes, and I notice I am taller than her, bigger than her. I am the one in charge here. I am the one that's okay.

So many times I'd been in her position, smaller, vulnerable. I had been the one crying, to a book and later against a boy's shoulder. And what had I gotten for it?

There are tears prickling my eyes, but no, I won't cry. Tom…Tom, he wouldn't like it…he'd be so angry—

Too late. A tear drops from my cheek to the back of Luna's bandaged head and I gasp. This isn't happening. I can't cry, I can't, I have to be strong. I have to be. Or…or…

Or what?

"He isn't coming back," I whisper, realization dawning on me, and I gasp again because I can't seem to get enough air. I don't know if I'm laughing or I'm crying. "He'll never be back, never ever ever." There is something building in my chest. "I'll never see him again."

The thing bursts out and it is a sob, loud and terrible, and I double over from the pain of my wail adding to Luna's, and now I am crying with her, just as hard, just the two of us, together in the mental ward.

That's how Madam Pomfrey finds us when she brings dinner hours later. She doesn't say anything, just pulls us close and tells us stories until the sun goes down.

When we finally take Luna's bandages off in pale moonlight, her skin is a translucent milky-white and her hair is a fine stubble that's only just begun to grow back in.

She is beautiful.

xXxXxXxXx

I can't sleep, and I don't think Luna can either, because her breathing is too loud and uneven.

"Why are you awake?" I finally ask, not looking at her now that her bandages are off and her feelings, once hidden, are all too apparent.

"Just thinking," she replies, and she doesn't look at me either. "About tomorrow. And the summer. And next year. You?"

"Yeah." I stare at the ceiling. "Things will be different than they were before."

"We're different than we were before."

"Yeah."

The silence that was once restful between us is now tense.

"We can't be friends in real life, you know," Luna says.

"I know."

She pauses. "I won't ever tell your secrets."

"I know," I reply, because I do know. "I won't tell yours."

"You don't even know mine."

"Yeah. But I wouldn't if I did."

"I know." It's so quiet it almost crackles. "That's why I'll never tell you."

xXxXxXxXx

The train is set to leave at eleven, the same as it did at the beginning of this year when this whole thing began. This time, though, I'm not allowed to sit by myself and hope for someone to join me; instead, I am herded on with a hustle and a bustle befitting of the Minister himself by not only Percy, but Fred and George and Ron and Harry and anyone else they had been able to round up over the last few days. No one comments on my hair or Luna's, or the scabs and scars that show above the collar of my shirt and between my skirt hem and my school socks, or Luna's skin that's read where her clothing brushes it, too rough against something so new.

In the jumble of the platform I lose track of Luna when someone jostles us and our hands break apart. I begin to shout to Percy to grab her, but she just shakes her head and waves at me, so I must simply watch as she is swept away in the sea of black-clad students, with only her nearly-bald head to set her apart. And then I can't even see that as I am gently pushed into a compartment and the door is closed.

Percy peers out the window gloomily. "Time to go home."

"Yes."

"Well, you won't mind if I spend the last few hours with some, ahem, friends, will you?" he asks, shifting slightly.

I shrug. "Suit yourself."

He does, closing the door behind him, and I turn to the countryside now rushing past the window. I missed the final view of Hogwarts in the confusion of leaving, and now there is only gorse and bracken flashing by. Fred and George are whispering to each other in the seat across from me, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione are in a world of their own for a moment.

Seizing the chance, I pull out the gift that Madam Pomfrey had pressed into my hands at the last minute before leaving the Hospital Wing.

It's a diary, blank and small, without even so much as numbers on the pages. The cover is brown leather, maybe a few years old. There is a pen that goes with it, a Muggle ball-point, which I take out to begin the first page.

Hello. My name is Ginevra Molly Weasley. Ginny. I am twelve years old, and this is my second diary. I'm on the train home from Hogwarts right now.

I pause, thinking, wondering what to write. There is a jolt as the train goes around a bend, and if my pen had been a quill, I would have spattered all over the page. Tom always hated that, but this isn't a quill, and there isn't anyone in this diary. No one but me. But that reminds me of my first diary, and suddenly I know what I want to say.

I want to write down in here the story of how I lost my first diary.

It began in Diagon Alley. No, no, it was before that. It began when I was little and Mum would tell me stories of how Harry Potter saved the wizarding world from You-Know-Who…

---

Author's Notes: I do hope this story lives up to your memories. I edited out the mentions of Lolita, and corrected my odd allergy to contractions. But otherwise, this is the story as it was seven years ago.

If you are interested in reading my further works, I suggest searching the phrase "Saint Flaherty" on a popular book-selling website. My writing has ever been quite distinctive. If you've enjoyed my fan fiction, you will almost certainly enjoy my novel; it touches on many of the same topics.

Anyway, thank you for reading.

-Steph

aka Greensl33ves