So I've had this one written for a while, but haven't had time to type it up. There's at least another chapter or two just like that, sitting all scribbled out in my notebook. I swear I'll get it up soon. Yays for Thanksgiving break giving me some time to breathe and make you all happy again. ^-^;;

Musical Inspiration: "It Ends Tonight" - All-American Rejects

She glared into the mirror, one hand on either side of the sink, blood dripping into the ivory basin beneath her palm. Her eyes were narrowed in disgust, her pale skin gave her the appearance of a ghost in the dim light, her red hair a sharp contrast with her other features. Freckles spread across her nose and over her cheeks. Red hair, blazing like flames. She stuck out like a sore thumb in any crowd. How she loathed her Weasley traits - the only things she'd ever be noticed for.

Dark circles lay beneath her menacing green eyes. Sleep hadn't been an ally of hers over the last couple of months. Since the Dark Lord fell, her dreams - her one place of solitude - had been overrun with images of an old, worn book - a diary, Tom's diary. She'd had no idea why, and remained utterly clueless. Her one guess, however unlikely, linked her subconscious thoughts to the Dark Lord because of their bond. She'd only ever had one experience with him and that one experience alone had been more personal, more profound, more life-altering than the handful even Harry had, It made her feel special at the time, as a first year, having had such a powerful and mysterious friend and ally. Tom, though merely a memory, had understood her, admired her, made her feel significant. When Harry took that away from her she'd been left entirely alone. Since that day, nearly five years ago, she was always alone. No one understood her. How could they while they all stood there thinking they knew her?

The night that she'd heard the Dark Lord had fallen, and every night since then, her dreams were haunted by Tom's diary, ruined forever, the basilisk venom stained across its blank pages. Except, in her dream, the pages were no longer blank, but filled with writing. The pages turned exceedingly fast as if blown by a breeze. Ink was scratched across the turning pages but it was impossible to read as the pages continued to turn. She could never see the end of the diary; she always woke up before the breeze reached the end of the book.

Her emerald eyes darted down to the cut across her palm as she held it up to examine. It stung like something wicked, but it was bearable. She could control it. She could not, however, control her life. It was being molded into what her parents thought it should be, to what her siblings thought it should be, to what the Ministry thought it should be. She was utterly sick of it. She wanted to make all her own choices, consequences be dammed. She wanted praise. She wanted glory. She wanted power. To be unique, special, different from her housemates, her friends, her family.

Damn the consequences!

She scooped up her robe and book bag and headed down to the Great Hall, already in her uniform, to wait. She wouldn't go to her classes today. School had been in progress for almost a week and she'd avoided Harry far easier than she thought imaginable. At first she was concerned he would rat her out to Ron and Hermione about her little rendezvous with Malfoy. She was shocked when the fourth day passed by and still no one had confronted her about her exploits. Now, it was beginning to irritate her.

How insignificant am I?

She was going to change that if it bloody well killed her. Ginny didn't even have to go far, only having reached the bottom step outside the Great Hall before spotting her target. There he was, the "Slytherin God" and all his platinum blond glory. She jogged a bit to catch up with him before he slithered off too far into the dark passageways. "Oi! Malfoy!" she called, her bitter voice echoing off the stone walls as the hall was relatively vacant in the early morning hour.

He came to a stop and peered over his shoulder, raising a brow questioningly at the red head as she stood beside him, a faint gleam in her eyes.

"Weaslette," he nodded to her, "Somehow, I never pictured you as a morning person."

"I'm not. I just…I don't sleep well." she mumbled.

Why did I tell him that…?

"I see. And you decided to bless me with your sleep deprivated presence because…?" he sounded genuinely curious.

"Well, you said be willing to help a fellow 'Slytherin'. I've come to take you up on that offer." she declared.

He nodded in understanding and leaned casually against the wall, "I'm listening."

She sucked in a deep breath, pushing out all of her nerves as she exhaled, "I want to change. Well…my reputation, that is. I don't want to be little Ginerva Weasley, Ron's sister, Potter's ex, a poor, dirty, bloodtraitor. That…" she explained, "That isn't who I am. That is just what people think I am, if they even regard me at all. I want my outsides to match the interior. Understand? I…I'm much darker than what people perceive. You have connections; you're wealthy, powerful, and well respected. You have everything I crave." She confessed openly, "I never want to be known as Weaslette again."

A/N: Honestly, I'm working on the next one! R&R please! PLEASE! T_T