"Hi, Tom! Miss me?"

I always do, Ginny.

"I was going to do some homework but I'm a little worried. I think I'm losing my memory. I can't believe I wrote for an HOUR yesterday? I must have been daydreaming, but I don't remember what I was daydreaming about. And there were rooster feathers all over my robe and I don't know how they got there."

They were probably just pillow feathers. Don't worry so much, Ginny. How is everything?

"Terrible, actually."

Tell me.

"Okay, so FIRST…you know I have to share my Lockhart books with ALL of my brothers?"

Right, because your folks couldn't afford to get you all one, is that right?

"Right. So when I needed Year with a Yeti for an assignment and went downstairs to get it Fred said that he had ACCIDENTALLY EXPLODED when he and George had been testing Muggle lighter fluid. He even showed me a piece of a page and it was burnt around the edges! So I started panicking because I'm already late on my assignment because…well, I haven't really been doing my homework as much as I mean to…I'm going to go do it right after I finish writing to you, though…anyway, I was TERRIFIED because Lockhart said it was the LAST POSSIBLE DAY I could get the assignment done and there was NO WAY I could send home for another one between then and then, and just as I'm about to start CRYING (RIGHT IN FRONT OF HARRY, WHO WAS COMING DOWN THE STAIRS READY TO GO TO HIS DETENTION WITH PROFESSOR LOCKHART!) George laughs and pulls out the book and it turns out he just TORE the page and he and Fred had the idea to burn it a little and pretend it had exploded! AND HARRY LAUGHED TOO! But what made it WORSE was that Percy showed up and told them, IN FRONT OF HARRY, they ought to be nicer to me, because I was JUST A KID. And then he asked me if I wanted a SWEETY. Like I was SIX."

And Harry didn't say anything about the whole thing?

"Well…he took the book and mended it for me, but he was still laughing."

You need to introduce me to Harry sometime, Ginny.

"Why? So you can tell him off for ignoring me? Tom, it's not his FAULT. He's too IMPORTANT to notice me. Especially in second hand robes, and with my hair, and my freckles, and everything."

Who's been telling you all this rot about yourself?

"Nobody. It's just true. Lavender Brown in the next year up calls me 'Gin-ger' sometimes, and her friend Parvati Patil always tells her to be quiet but she's always giggling and then sometimes she gives me fashion tips. IN THE NICEST POSSIBLE WAY. But I can tell she feels sorry for me."

God, I hate that.

"Hate what?"

Pity. People looking down on you because you've got to wear second hand robes, or take charity from the school. As if it's your fault. As if they're any better than you, just because they can afford new books and clothes.

"Does that happen to you, too?"

All the time. Doesn't it make you mad? Doesn't it make you want to show them that you're just as good as them?

"Well…sometimes. Sometimes it just makes me feel hopeless and…and sort of useless, you know? Like, what point is there, even? I'll never be pretty like Parvati, or brave like Lavender. Maybe I shouldn't even be in Gryffindor. I DEFINITELY shouldn't expect someone as brave and good and great and clever as Harry Snape to ever notice me. I don't like the sort of things that boys want girls to like, like, I don't know, pretty clothes and make-up…You want to know what I really like? I never told anybody, not even my brothers—especially not my brothers, they'd tell me to leave off right away. You want to know?"

Of course I want to know! I want to know everything about you. What is it?

"Quidditch."

Quidditch? Really?

"I love flying, and I'm really good at it. I sneak down to the broom shed sometimes and nick one of my brothers' old hairbrushes and practice. OH! You HAVE to hear about this! After the Slytherin team were finished practicing this morning…you can keep a secret, right?"

Ginny, really. Who am I going to tell?

"Well, I went down to the Quidditch Pitch just to look at it, and Professor Potter was there."

Professor Potter? Is he the flying instructor?

"Yeah, and Quidditch Coach. He gets us to call him Coach. Ron and Harry and Hermione really think he's horrible, so I was going to turn around and leave, but he made me come back and he asked me my name and he said 'Of course, you're a Weasley' and smiled and he seemed really friendly, and then he asked me what I was doing and I said just looking around, and he asked if I were going to come to Flying lessons next Thursday, and I said yes of course, but I said I could already fly really well, and then he said 'Well, let's see, then! If you're anywhere near as good as your brothers you'll be fair enough' and HE WENT TO THE SUPPLY SHED AND GOT ME A BROOM, and it wasn't one of the school brooms, either, it was HIS broom, his OWN broom. And he told me to fly once around the stadium and I DID, and when I got back he was smiling so big I thought his face was going to crack open, and he told me I HAD to try out for Quidditch next year, I was THAT good! And then he took me to his office and we had tea and biscuits—the nice kind, the ones that come in a packet and have all sugar on the top—and he asked me how I learned, and I told him, and then he asked what my favourite Quidditch team was, and we talked for ages and then he told me that any time the team wasn't practicing I could come down and fly about a bit, if I liked, and that he'd let me know when it was free and I could use his broom whenever I wanted, since first years aren't allowed broomsticks of their own, and I wouldn't have to pinch my brothers' brooms anymore, and he wouldn't tell ANYONE and it could be a secret!"

So when you said things were going terribly…

"Well, it sort of went out of my head. What with the book and everything. And Parvati gave me another style tip this evening, she said I shouldn't wear pink because it didn't match my hair, and she was so…NICE about it, you know?"

That's the worst of it, isn't it? When they're nice. Because you know they're just being kind to you to assuage their own consciences, when they look at you and see you being poor. And it's not as though you asked for their help. And just the fact that they're offering it means they think you need it, like you're not good enough unless you conform to their standards.

"That's it EXACTLY! I try and tell Mummy that, and she just doesn't understand. She always says 'They're just trying to be nice'. Well, maybe they ARE, but that's not the POINT!"

I say bugger them all, Ginny. Forget all your so-called friends and family. You don't need anyone else to tell you who to be or what to do. You've got me, right?

"I do have you. That's right. You always understand…nobody's ever understood me the way you do, Tom."


Ginny closed her book and brushed a non-existent speck off the cover. She glanced at the clock—a little past eleven. Too late to start on that assignment now…she could do it in the morning, or something. She should have done it hours ago, but there was Tom, ready and waiting to hear all her troubles and joys and be sympathetic and kind. She suddenly pressed her lips to the little faded black book and lay back against her pillow, exhausted.

Harry…Harry right now would be sitting in Professor Lockhart's office, answering fan mail, a little furrow between his perfect green eyes as he tried not to hear Professor Lockhart bragging about himself the way he always did in class and everywhere. He would be glancing at the clock. She let her imagination wander a little…he would be missing her, counting the seconds until he could see her face again, wishing that one of the letters would have his name on it and be signed Love, Ginny, and he would keep it forever the way she kept that photo of him (or, theoretically of him, even though he was hardly ever in the picture), and…

As she began to drift off, she could almost imagine that the little black book below her pillow had a heartbeat, like a living thing, lulling her to sleep.

…Slowly, the heartbeat became stronger, and as her body surrendered to unconsciousness, a very keen observer might have seen a shadow grow from under her and creep across her pillow…


Finally.

It was easier when she was asleep. Not that it could be much easier than it was when she was awake, she had such pathetic defences…

He opened her eyes and checked to make sure that each of her little roommates was asleep, then directed her out the door, down the stairs, through the corridors.

He didn't meet anyone, not even the caretaker or his oh-so-terrifying cat. He kept in the shadows all the same, hiding from any possible eyes.

He remembered finding the entrance…was it really fifty years ago? More? The snake had heard him whispering in the dark and called to him, summoned him. He'd heard the legend, of course—everyone had, back then, it was the popular myth of the age—but until he heard the snake he didn't realise what the monster must be. Stupid, stupid, he thought. The little snake on the faucet was a bit of a giveaway, really, it was there for anybody to see if they just looked, but of course, that was the thing about people, wasn't it, they never really looked, any more than they ever thought, or wondered, or really aspired. Ordinary people, even ordinary wizards, were so incredibly stupid.

He didn't want to kill anyone, yet, and anyway, he probably didn't have time. He just wanted to make sure it was still there, to talk to it, to see it and feel his own power over it. It would be hungry, and it would not recognise him, but it would hear his voice and know him.

"Open," he whispered to the tap, and the sink began to move, and when the passageway was open he leaned over and called, and after what seemed like a very, very long time there was a noise like a knife being slowly drawn from its sheath and a long, low, whispering, in a well-remembered voice, a voice like ice and death…

"Come…come to me….Let me rip you….let me tear you….Let me kill you…."

He closed her eyes and felt the long, lithe body slide right past him and coil itself around her feet.

"You, you I don't know," the snake whispered, so low that he barely heard what it said. "You speak with the voice…but I do not know you, little girl…"

"I am the heir of Slytherin," he replied. "I have been reduced to this…inhabiting the body of another…but soon I will grow strong again…you will help me, and I will grow strong, and then you will know me."

"Why should I not kill you now, little girl?" it asked.

"Because I order you, I control you, and without me there is no other who can feed you the Mudbloods you so strongly crave…"

The snake hissed in appreciation.

"When? Now?"

"No, there is not enough time now. I can feel the body slipping out of my control."

"But soon?"

"Soon."