Author's Note: Hey guys! So here is the second chapter, I hope you enjoy it. I want to give a special shout out to my buddy edwardhpsam for all the help she's given me on this chapter and the story as a whole.

I actually have a request for you guys: I need help writing a better summary. I'm not good at condensing what the story is about it such a constricted amount of characters... so HELP! ;)

The weeks went by and I got into a bit of a routine. I'd wake up, eat, go to classes, eat, a few more classes, eat again, then go to my library nook to write to Tom. It was a pretty good system, really.

Now this is the hard part, explaining my relationship with Tom. People only ever think of him as this evil snake man. Yes, he was evil, but he was also very charming. He knew just what to say to make little 11-year-old me feel comfortable and understood and accepted. The more I told him, the more he knew me, the easier it became for him to control me and influence me. At first it was little things, helpful things. He would tell me to work on my potions homework or that I should use this book to add a few inches to my transfigurations essay. Following his suggestions changed from a choice to an impulse. I started to feel like I needed to find that book, that it was imperative for me to accomplish this charm.

That should have been my first warning sign.

One positive to the whole Tom situation was that I stopped noticing how my classmates treated me. Tom was on my mind for everything I did. Would this please him? He's going to be so mad about that. I can't wait to tell him about this! I was so consumed with Tom that I even forgot to be sad about my brothers.

He was there for me through everything. He sympathized with my Slytherin problems (he had been an orphan with a muggle surname in the snake's lair), he let me cry to him when, weeks later, my mum finally wrote me a short, stiff letter that didn't really talk about anything, and he kept me on top of my studies. He was the perfect best friend, pocket size for my convenience. He had hooked me body, mind, and soul.

I still remember waking up the morning after my first blackout.

I didn't open my eyes at first. You know that place right between asleep and awake? You know, when you're lying there and you can still vaguely remember your dream, but you can feel it slipping away so you keep your eyes shut tight hoping that would bring the memories of your sweet dream back to you? Well that's what I was trying to do, except the few fleeting sensations I was able to hold on to sent a bead of sweat down the back of my neck.

I slowly opened my eyes, confused at the sense of dread curling in my stomach. I looked down and saw that I was clutching my diary, not an all together uncommon occurrence. There were many nights I would fall asleep with a quill in my hands, my bedspread had the ink marks to prove it. What was unusual was the blood covering my hands and splattered up on my wrists and arms. It took every ounce of self-control I had not to let loose the loudest scream of my life at that moment.

I thought I was dying there was so much blood.

I did a quick self-evaluation, looking all over my body expecting to find some hideous gash. There was nothing. I looked and looked trying to find the source of the mostly dried blood all over me. The fact that I was uninjured was half a relief and half more worrisome. If it wasn't my blood where did it come from?

It was a very out damn spot moment.

I searched my memory of the day before for some sort of answer. It had been Halloween. I was really excited about the feast that was to take place that night, the whole castle was abuzz with rumors about what Dumbledore had planned for the festivities. It was the first thing I had been excited about that had nothing to do with Tom since term started. He was excited about it, too. I could tell from the way his normally perfect script looked a bit rushed. I figured he was reminiscing about all his Halloweens spent in the castle.

In fact, everyone seemed exceptionally thrilled about the holiday. Even the normally stoic Slytherins had a bit of an extra bounce in their steps. One 7th year girl actually almost smiled at me when I walked past her on my way to breakfast. If I hadn't been so caught up in the excitement sizzling through my own veins I would have been shocked.

I didn't notice it that year, so entranced was I in the feel of the day, but there were a few students who weren't quite so enthralled. There were only a few Slytherins who fell into this category. Those few seemed to be even more testy than normal, prone to sending disgruntled and jealous glances at their energized classmates. Not noticing any of that, I also didn't notice that the unhappy ones were those without last names like Malfoy and Nott and Greengrass.

Classes that day were a bit of a joke. I couldn't even pay attention to the lectures. Most of the professors decided to give us fun practical magic assignments instead of fighting the loosing battle for our attention; in charms the tiny professor taught us how to charm faces onto the pumpkins he had floating around the classroom.

Then I had a couple hours till the feast started so I decided to go to my secret corner to pass the time with Tom. He was telling me a funny story about when he was in 4th year a group of students charmed all the professors' heads into jack-o-lanterns then… then… nothing. Just nothing! My mind is blank, no explanation for the blood. When I tried really hard I was able to get a bit of feeling in that blank, black spot in my mind: fear.

I glanced at the clock and saw that it was 20 minutes after when I should have gotten out of bed.

"Shit!" I yelped as I frantically rubbed as much of the blood off me with my blanket as I could. House elves can work magic, literally, on any type of stain so I wasn't overly worried about my blanket, more about what my roommate would think if she saw me covered in blood.

I threw the curtains aside and stumbled gracelessly out of bed fully prepared to sprint into the shower. That was before I saw that my morning freak out caused me to be late enough that she was already dressed sitting in that hated spot on her bed. It always bugged me that she stayed sitting during our daily power struggles; it was like I was such a pathetic opponent that she didn't even need to use the advantage of her height.

She still had a bit of the glow we all had from the day before. She looked so serene in her stillness rather than the harsh restraint that normally kept her a mute statue.

I snapped.

I was so tired of these stupid Slytherin games! No interaction among the snakes occurred without at least a subtle superiority contest. There was a very rigid hierarchy down there in the dungeons and everyone knew their place and asserted their authority as often as possible. Even a 6th year laughing at a 4th year's joke would be a carefully calculated move to prove some sort of point. And after everything that had already happened in the half hour I'd been awake I was in no mood to play this stupid game. I was freaked out and confused and generally scared shitless so forgive me if I wanted to screw Slytherin politics.

Like I said, I snapped.

"Fuck you, Greengrass," I spoke in an even, neutral tone, keeping my hands hidden in the loose fabric of my pajama pants. I held her eyes just long enough to see them widen in shock before I rushed to the shower to scrub my body with the hottest water I could stand. Despite everything, I couldn't keep a small smile off my face knowing that with just three words I was able to shake her, to break her of that annoying self assurance that she was better than me in some fundamental way.

I had won a Slytherin battle in a very Gryffindor way.

I didn't even think to suspect Tom. The whole castle was talking about the message written in blood. The Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs were itching to know what the Chamber of Secrets was. The Slytherins, on the other hand, strutted through the corridors with knowing smirks on their faces. It seemed that just about all of the upper years knew all about the chamber, and even most of the younger years did, too. Those few, like myself, who had no clue what was going on wouldn't let that show. They would smirk at all the right jokes and sneer at the other houses' ignorance. Luckily for me I didn't have to pretend because I didn't talk to anyone.

Okay, I'm not stupid. Of course I connected a message written in blood on the wall and waking up covered in blood. When I walked by that girl's loo the first time my stomach clenched in unexplained terror. I avoided that corridor wherever humanly possible. While it was somewhat of a major inconvenience (the fastest way from the Great Hall to the dungeons was through that hallway), I was able to find a secret passageway behind the tapestry of the Third Great Goblin Rebellion on the second floor that cut a good five minutes off my commute.

I don't think I ate anything that day. I missed breakfast and I wasn't hungry for lunch so I just went to my nook to tell Tom about what happened.

"…Tom I'm so scared. I don't remember anything from last night! I think I attacked a cat. And there was so much blood! So much blood EVERYWHERE! What happened to me, Tom? And what is this whole Chamber of Secrets thing? All the Slytherins seem to know about it! You were in Slytherin, too. Do you remember anything about a chamber?"

"Well, Ginny, there was this time my 6th year… Students started getting attacked and there was a lot of talk about Salazar Slytherin's monster…"

And so Tom told me his story. When he got to the part about the muggleborn dying a chill ran down my spine.

Could I be the heir of Slytherin? No! It's impossible. My family is a firmly light devoted Gryffindor family. But the blackout… and the blood… Was I going mad? Was all the stress of being in Slytherin and my brothers being angry with me finally making me crack?

Tom was able to calm me down.

He talked me around in circles with empty platitudes. And when that didn't work, he distracted me by changing the subject to Harry.

Oh, Harry. Don't get me wrong, I may have yelled at him and I may glare at him whenever he caught my eye, but I was still hopelessly infatuated with him.

Every spare second when Tom wasn't in my head, Harry was. When I didn't have terrifying nightmares of attacking students with a horrible monster at my back, my dreams were filled with his perfect green eyes gazing at me in love. Sometimes I would write in the diary stories in which Harry professed his love for me. Tom humored me. He would tell me that someday Harry would truly see me and we would ride off into the sunset together on his Nimbus 2000. He would feed into my obsession then ask for more information about Harry, a subject I was more than happy to talk about.

It never seemed weird to me that he was so interested in Harry. I mean he was Harry freakin' Potter! Who wouldn't be interested in him? He was very interesting… and cute… and nice… and brave…

And someone Avada me now, please! Insert puking noises here.

A few weeks later the castle was buzzing with excitement again, this time over the first Quidditch game of the season. And, of course, because everything in this school seems to love to feed the rivalry, Slytherin and Gryffindor played each other in the first match of the year.

The gossip channels were positively squealing with the news that Draco Malfoy got the empty Slytherin seeker spot and that the whole team just so happened to be generously donated a complete set of Nimbus 2001's by Malfoy senior. Imagine that.

Malfoy became completely insufferable. He started strutting through the castle like he was the king of the world and as the match got closer and closer he used every means possible to torment Harry, and my brother by association. His favorite tool being yours truly.

Ever since that first breakfast where Malfoy walked in on the tail end of my argument with Harry and Ron, he knew that using me was the quickest way to get under their skin. I was still angry enough at them and apathetic enough towards everything else, thanks Tom, to let Malfoy use me to torment the saintly trio.

Really, I shouldn't blame Tom for my actions where my brother and his friends were concerned. I was young and angry and I felt turned on by those who I expected to stand by me always. I was hurt, and at 11 I may not have seen things as clearly as I should.

One day, about a week before the game, I was heading back to the castle after a pretty relaxing walk around the lake, when my path was blocked by the group of arguing idiots.

It was a very familiar scene, really. Malfoy, incessantly smirking, flanked by Dumb and Dumber, facing my brother, face redder than his hair and being restrained by Harry and Hermione. It would have been completely unremarkable and not worth noting if it wasn't for the fact that they were directly between me and the lovely front doors that, incidentally, I needed to pass through to get to my lovely dorm where the lovely books were that I needed to finish my lovely homework. Lovely. I hadn't found the secret tunnel under the archway to the north courtyard that lets you bypass all the major hallways on your way to the dungeons till after Christmas my second year, so this was my only path inside.

As I approached them I turned my head away, hoping to be able to pass them without comment or being drawn into the conflict. Isn't that naivety so cute?

"Oh, look here! The only Weasley even remotely worth the air she breathes," Malfoy's pre-pubescent tones rang out, drawing all attention to me.

I fought down a scowl as I turned to the six of them. My hand tightened around the diary, taking strength from Tom to get through this confrontation.

"Why, Malfoy, how heartwarming it is to know you think so well of me! Seriously, my world is complete," I deadpanned, focusing on those ice blue eyes so as not to have to look at the Gryffindors.

Malfoy's smirk widened noticeably as I went to stand next to him. He knew that while I couldn't stand him and was in no way on his side, I was willing to play. The ignorant Gryffindors across from us, of course, completely missed that little Slytherin byplay.

"Feisty little snake we have here, don't we, Potter?" he threw the question out as he tauntingly rested his arm across my shoulders.

I smirked the few inches up at him as I wrapped my arm around his waist, pinching his side. Hard. Malfoy was barely able to contain a wince. He tightened his hand on my shoulder, silently telling me to behave.

Again the Gryffindors, as unsubtle as they tend to be, missed it all.

I looked over at them for the first time to see three pairs of eyes widen in shock and betrayal. They actually thought I was flirting with Malfoy! The absurdity of that notion nearly made me crack up laughing.

"Feisty isn't the word I would use to describe her," Ron spat, answering for Harry. He narrowed his eyes dangerously at me.

"Oh, Ronald, how would you describe me, hmm?" I sneered at him in contempt I only half felt. Without giving him time to respond, I turned to the other two. "Or I'm sure Potter and Granger could answer that. What are all the nasty little things my dear brother says to you? Do you let him cry on your shoulders about his evil, disgraceful, Slytherin baby sister?" They withered slightly under the heat of my glare.

"He's just worried about you, Ginny… we all are…" Hermione spoke up, barely finding the courage to look me in the eye.

"You're worried about me?" I scoffed in derision, "Save your worrying, Granger. I neither want nor need it. Especially from a bunch of self-important Gryffindors," I spat the last word as if it was something gross I found on the bottom of my shoe. I could feel Malfoy shaking slightly next to me with suppressed laughter, the feeling of his silent gloating practically emanating from him.

I ran my eyes up and down the trio, sizing them up. For a moment I nearly faltered in my game. They were so… Gryffindor. They were bright and shining and brave. They were everything I had ever wanted to be. Even at 12 they had a certain bond, it was impossible to describe. In years to come it would become more noticeable. You would be able to glance at them and just know that this was a special type of friendship, one that was very rare and probably hadn't been seen in centuries, if ever at all. Theirs was an extraordinary love that can only be gained through shared experiences, both life changing and mundane, and the knowledge that nothing, magical or not, could ever truly separate the three of them.

I should have felt jealous, they had everything my lonely 11-year-old self wanted. I have been jealous of that several times since then. More times than I'd like to admit, actually. But in that moment all I felt was shame at trying to hurt something so pure.

Then it passed.

I let my eyes run over them, silently judging and finding them wanting.

"Let's get out of here. The air suddenly seems a bit foul, for some reason," I blithely comment up at Malfoy.

He used his arm around my shoulders to steer me towards the castle, remarking loudly, sneering back at them, "Don't worry, Ginevra. That's just the stench of dirty blood. We'll be free from it in the common room."

I let him guide me back to the castle, Crabbe and Goyle trailing behind us like lost puppies. Really ugly, stupid puppies. Not once did I look back. Partly because I had to concentrate on the game I was still playing with Malfoy. With just a few biting comments I was able to leave him standing with his goons, fuming and stunned, in the Entrance Hall.

But mostly because I knew that if I had taken the time to really see the hurt and anger and betrayal I knew was shining through the eyes of the three friends, I would have been helpless to stop the tears from running down my cheeks.

I'll admit, I took maybe a little too much joy out of being able to get one up on both the trio and Malfoy in one go. Tom had convinced me that I had no reason to apologize to my brothers so I was still waiting for them to approach me. So yeah, I enjoyed reminding them of what I was now while they took their sweet time to grow a pair. I never denied my vindictive streak… in fact, I fully embraced it. I wanted to hurt them as much as they had hurt me.

I focused on that joy so I could forget the other feelings brought up that day.

Despite everything, I was pretty excited to watch my first ever Hogwarts Quidditch game. I'd always been fascinated with the sport, ever since I was little watching Bill and Charlie fly around our little makeshift pitch.

My first time on a broom was an unmitigated disaster. I'm glad none of my brothers had been around to see that. There are some advantages to sneaking out in the middle of the night to fly your brothers' brooms. Unfortunately, it's not advantageous to have no one there to tell you the proper grip to use so you slip off the back about a million times before you figure it out. My backside was so bruised, I sat funny for a week; bit hard to explain, that.

I was a little late waking up the morning of the game, but nothing could put a damper on my bubbly mood that day. Everyone else had already gone down to breakfast so I practically skipped down the stairs to the empty common room. I stopped at the bottom of the stair case to adjust my Slytherin scarf then continued toward the entrance when I noticed there actually was someone still there and I stopped in my tracks.

It was Malfoy. He was already dressed in his Quidditch robes sitting on the couch directly in front of the fire, staring intently into the flames. It was clear my presence went unnoticed because there's not a chance he would just let me walk by without a comment.

I should have just left, I mean I was already late enough and I really wanted to be able to eat a little bit before the match. I should have, but something about the scene before me kept me frozen in place.

He was just sitting there. Expression emotionless, his feet were up on the couch in front of him, his arms wrapped tightly around his legs, cradling his knees against his chest. His face from the nose down was hidden; all I could see was the fire reflected in his piercing blue eyes.

They were so intense, so focused, so… scared.

That's what really threw me. Every inch of him, from his normally slick hair looking slightly disheveled to his comfortably worn trainers, screamed fear. He was tucked in a tight ball on a couch where he would normally be found sprawled languidly; he was completely out of place.

I was mesmerized. I knew that Malfoy would never intentionally let anyone see him in such a vulnerable position. I felt a vague horror at being witness to such an intensely private moment, but I was unable to move. There was a terrifying beauty to the way the fire cast an orange sheen to his platinum blonde hair and a deep shadow under his eyes.

After what felt like an eternity, I was broken out of my reverie when a shudder went through Malfoy's body. It was the kind of shudder that you can tell shakes the body to the bone. He shut his eyes tightly and the spell was broken.

As quickly and quietly as I could I exited the common room. The wall could have slammed shut and I doubt Malfoy would have noticed.

I wanted to root for Slytherin, really I did. But it was just so hard to when all my life I thought I'd be roaring along with the students now sitting on the other side of the pitch from me. And Harry. Watching Harry fly made my heart speed up and slow down at the same time. Every movement, every flip and turn and dive, looked on the brink of out of control and yet so very perfectly in control. He flew with the ease of a seasoned professional and the joy of a novice. All in all, it was very exciting to watch.

And that was just the warm up.

All the players touched down to listen to Madam Hooch's speech and to wait for the whistle. The sun broke through the thick overhang of clouds for a split second. In that moment a flash of light drew my eyes to the group of Slytherin players. Of course the sun reflected off of Malfoy's perfectly blonde head.

He was smirking then. As I watched, one of the older players said something that made the rest of the team snicker. It was probably something completely foul. But again I found my eyes glued to the blonde prat. He couldn't have looked more different than he had that morning in the common room. He was back to his usual cocky, vile self. But I couldn't forget, and still can't ever forget, that scared boy by the fire.

That memory would haunt me for years to come.

I'm surprised my heart didn't just stop during that game. Stupid bloody elf! Why must they insist on meddling? Every time that bludger turned back around towards Harry my heart skipped a beat and when it actually broke his arm? I didn't think my lungs would ever work properly again.

And speaking of idiotic meddling, what the hell is wrong with Lockhart? It's almost as if he wanted to get found out as a fake. If you know you fail at magic, don't flaunt your ineptitude in front of a stadium full of students and teachers by removing all the bones in the Boy-Who-Lived's arm!

Okay Ginny, breath in, breath out… breath in, breath out…

Okay, I'm better now. I don't think I'll ever be able to think about my first Defense professor without getting seriously miffed. I heard about how he wanted to just leave me in the chamber, he actually actively worked against my rescue. Bloody wanker.

So that night I did what I normally did when I was stressed or scared or anxious: I wrote to Tom.

The Slytherins were on a bit of a warpath. Everyone was angry about the outcome of the match both because we lost, and because Harry didn't die like a decent human being would when getting attacked by a mad bludger. No one had seen Malfoy since he touched down after the match; he was probably holed up in some empty classroom licking his wounds after being so humiliated. There was a lot of talk in the common room about whether or not keeping Malfoy was worth a new set of brooms if he couldn't even catch the snitch when the other seeker just broke his arm.

But then they remembered the other seeker was Harry.

An angry Slytherin house was not good for my health. Just walking through the common room to the staircase I was pushed into three walls, shoved into six people, and subsequently knocked into five pieces of furniture. I don't even want to think about the bruises I got on the climb up the stairs.

I know what you're thinking: way to have a backbone, right?

But really, what could I have done? Little firstie me challenge the entirety of Slytherin to a duel? Yeah, right! And it's not like I could go to Snape. If the way my head of house treated me in Potions was any indication, he would probably just push me into a cauldron of something nasty to the applause of my housemates. This scene played through my head as I entered my mercifully empty dorm room. Me, covered in some sort of green slime, getting laughed at by the faceless Slytherins in the shadows…

Ew.

I yanked my bed curtains tightly closed as I massaged my sore left shoulder. It had become intimately acquainted with several of the tastefully decorated common room walls and one very ornately carved high backed chair.

I could tell Tom was getting frustrated with my whining after only 20 minutes of writing to him, which was weird because he usually had an endless store of patience for me. I was so upset about the Quidditch game and what could have happened to Harry, I didn't care that Tom was obviously annoyed. His responses got shorter and shorter and his handwriting became very stiff.

"But, god, Tom! What if that bludger hadn't hit his arm? What if it hit his HEAD?? He could have DIED!! And we have no clue who did it, too. If it had been someone in Slytherin, I'm sure they would be bragging about it, but no one's claimed credit! And who else would want to hurt Harry? And you should have seen how PALE he looked after Lockhart—"

"ENOUGH!!"

The next thing I knew, I had fallen back against my pillow. I sat up slowly, wondering why there was a weird ringing in my ears. I looked down at the diary, closed in my lap. Did the book shake right before I fell back?

No. That's impossible, I was just tired. It had been a very long day; first the whole Malfoy thing, then the Harry/bludger/Lockhart thing. I just needed sleep. I opened the book back to the page I was on last.

"I'm sorry, Tom. I think I need to go to sleep. I'm not feeling too well…."

All of a sudden I found myself lying on the wet floor of a bathroom.

I sat up slowly, my hair heavy from holding so much filthy water. Looking around me, I saw a solid layer of water covering the entire floor, noisily trickling down the drain a few feet away from where I sat. My heart was pounding in my chest as if I had just run 10 laps around the Quidditch pitch.

My soaking wet robes made getting to my feet a struggle. When I was finally fully upright I had to grab onto the sink next to me to remain standing. The room started spinning, my vision started clouding, and my breath hitched in my throat. I gripped the sink so hard my fingers started cramping, and it was only that pain that brought me back to myself. I forced myself to take several long, deep breaths to steady myself.

I reached shakily out to grab the sink with my other hand. I gingerly turned and supported most of my weight on the chipped porcelain.

Looking up at the mirror in front of me, the first thing I noticed was the sopping tangles of harshly red hair cascading around my face. My hair was normally thick and wavy and vibrant, reaching down to the middle of my back. In that mirror I saw ratty tangles of a gritty, blood red mess.

Then my eyes traveled to examine my skin. I'm a naturally pale person in general. Even in the sun I don't really tan, I just burn and get more freckles. But what I saw in the mirror was an impossibly pale face. My skin looked almost translucent, as if I had lost a massive amount of blood, and the dusting of freckles across my nose and cheekbones stood out abnormally.

My lip started to tremble as my eyes met their reflection. The breath leaving my lungs stopped in its track and my heart started beating erratically, but the face in the mirror didn't move a muscle. The expression didn't change and the eyelids didn't blink, but something in me shifted. What I saw in those glassy eyes, eyes I couldn't think of as mine, chilled me to the bone.

They were completely lifeless.

I stood there for several hours, my entire body shaking though I didn't feel cold. I stood there until, finally, I swallowed the lump in my throat and crept through the still sleeping castle as the sun rose over the grassy hilltops on the edge of the grounds.

The early morning sunlight shining through the windows as I staggered down the corridors did nothing to stop the shaking in my body, nor did the long, scalding hot shower I took while my roommate slept soundly in her bed.

I walked through that day in a blur, not seeing where I was going or whom I was bumping into; just that face in the mirror. Most people just walked by, not caring to think about the anomaly that was the Slytherin Weasley. The few that did notice me would do a double take, often times running into something or someone in their confusion, before shaking their heads vigorously, either from disbelief or to rid their minds of the disturbing image now planted there.

That entire day not a single tear fell from my cold, dead eyes.

Author's Note: Thanks for reading guys! Let me know what you think so far or if you have any suggestions for a better summary in a review. Come on guys, you know you wanna!! The little green button is calling to you!