A/N: This chapter is quite short. Oh well. It is certainly interesting. Well, I think so, anyway. By the way, if anyone cares, Aiobheann is pronounced 'Ay-vahn'. It's Irish. Like me. WOOP.
Disclaimer: I DO own Harry Potter. My name is JK Rowling and I'M SUING YOU ALL FOR COPYING MY WRITING! … Not.
The Letter P
Chapter Three: P is for Past
Dumbledore stepped back, finished. "You will be going shortly, Miss Weasley." He considered her over the top of his glasses, rather sadly, Ginny thought. Then he said, "I suppose that this is goodbye, then. Good luck, Ginevra."
Feeling suddenly terrible for Dumbledore, who was now left alone with only Professor Sprout, and a scattering of under-fourteens in Hogwarts, she opened her mouth to apologize, thank him for everything he's done, and most of all: "Goodb-" And then she was gone.
…
All was dark. Then colour started to swirl past her – green – blue – pink – white – red – so fast that it made her feel sick. Sometimes she would get a fleeting glimpse of the Headmaster's office, through the years, as she passed them.
There was Cedric Diggory, three years back, proudly receiving his Head Boy badge. Another three years, perhaps four, and there was… tears sprang to Ginny's eyes. There was a very short boy with messy black hair, glasses and an innocent look upon his thin face; a slightly taller red-haired boy; an even smaller girl with hair that looked like it had been hit by lightning; and the smallest of all, a very skinny girl with hair that seemed to have been set on fire.
Is that… me? I look so happy. It was probably just having Harry next to me. How stupid I was then.
People that Ginny did not know… was that Harry's mum? It was, she was gleefully accepting some sort of prize, while a dark-haired, hook-nosed, oddly familiar boy in the background watched longingly. A tiny person that she knew instantly to be Neville's father, from the round, open face, and a smug boy who was very obviously an eleven-year-old Lucius Malfoy.
Feeling tears threaten to spill over, Ginny turned her face away – and then she was spinning, faster and faster, it was taking all of her strength not to vomit in the abyss of time, and her head was spinning…
With a sickening lurch, she was thrown down.
Opening her eyes blearily, and blinking past a lot of pain, Ginny found herself staring at a very shocked Headmaster. He was short and podgy, with a wispy brown goatee and large grey eyes. He closed his eyes, waited a moment, and then opened them again.
"Nope, still here," said Ginny, biting back a giggle. Realizing how she must look, and blushing, she stood, dusting off her clothes. "Hi. My name is Ginevra Weasley…"
What the hell do I say?
Having a brain-wave, Ginny said with a grin, "You know that handbook? 'What To Do If A Kid From The Future Turns Up'? You thought you'd never need it, didn't you? Well… tada!" she threw up her hands.
Suddenly the man who was presumably Professor Dippet had his eyes bulge. He seemed to be staring at Ginny's torso.
The redhead followed his gaze. She saw what he was obviously looking at; lime-green skinny jeans that seemed to glow in the gloom of the dingy Headmaster's chamber, a yellow T-shirt that was far too small and exposed her midriff, chunky black trainers, and a black jumper.
Okay… obviously not the fashion in 1958.
"Sorry," Ginny apologized, "this is the fashion in the twenty-first century." Remembering that she had not quite explained yet, she lifted her jumper and removed the letter before handing it to him.
"Indeed," he said. His grey eyes scanned the text before throwing it into the fire; Ginny's heart sank with disappointment. "Twenty-first century, was it? What did you say your name was?"
"Er, yeah. Ginevra Molly Weasley, sir."
"Weasley?" Dippet echoed, and he scrutinized several sheafs of paper on his desk. "Oh dear. You'll not be able to go by that name – our caretaker is Epaphras Weasley."
What? Granddad told me he was a Quidditch player
"Oh. What's the date?" the sixteen-year-old inquired.
"September the second, 1958," Dippet said, still rifling through papers. "What is your mother's maiden name?"
"Prewett," Ginny responded, looking around the room. The tins and tins of lemon drops had been replaced by thick, dusty-looking, leather-bound books; where Fawkes once sat was a large Augurey.
I studied those.
Augureys were distant relatives of phoenixes – almost identical in appearance, except that they looked scrawnier, and were greenish black. Instead of causing peace with their call, they generally made people unhappy.
Dippet's a cheerful kind of man, isn't he?
"Well, we can't have that, either," said Dippet. "We have a first-year named Christopher Prewett joining this year."
Aaand… my dead great-uncle is a first-year. This is messed up.
"So you're a pureblood, am I right?" Dippet asked; Ginny nodded. "I think I'll have you enrolled as a half-Irish transfer student named Ginevra Aiobheann Peregrine. Just to be safe."
"Aiobheann?" Ginny echoed incredulously. "I can barely say Aiobheann, let alone write it! And why do I have to be Irish anyway?" she folded her arms across her chest.
"Because I say so!" Professor Dippet snapped. "What year are you in?"
"Sixth."
"What OWLs did you pass?"
"I took most of the classes. I got an Outstanding in Defence Against the Dark Arts… four Exceeds Expectations, I think, in Charms, Transfiguration, Potions and Muggle Studies… three Acceptables in Herbology, Arithmancy and Astronomy…" Ginny's voice trailed away, before adding lamely, "and I failed Divination, History of Magic and Care of Magical Creatures."
"An 'E' in Muggle Studies, eh?" Dippet asked, writing something down. "I think I'll have you as a Muggle-born, yes. And… you were home-schooled in London, previously… but, due to the Irish Muggle-born genocide bombs-"
Oh yeah… that was around now, wasn't it?
"- and henceforth, need to finish your education… and have chosen Hogwarts," Dippet finished, dotting a full-stop on his parchment, folding it, and tucking it away. He looked up to meet her gaze. "That," he said, swirling his wand; a trunk engraved with the letters G.A.P appeared (Ginny giggled, thinking of the Muggle brand, but was quickly silenced by one of Dippet's already famous glares), "is for you. It contains school robes that will change according to which House you are placed into, and a few casual clothes. I daresay you can buy some later with the gold provided in the trunk."
Ginny nodded. "Thank you, sir," she said politely.
"Come, now," said Dippet, "we are going to the Sorting."
The Sorting. Would she be in the same House, or a different one? Would she make any friends? 'Transfer' wouldn't have fooled her, and, as she changed into the standard school robes, she doubted it would fool the students here.
Surprisingly, few eyes turned to Ginny as she entered with Dippet. She quickly hid in the crowd of first-years, clustered in the middle aisle. She was quite a lot taller than all of them, but she bent her knees and tried to stay down.
"What are you doing?" asked a dark boy about half the height of Ginny, with thick brown hair. "Aren't choo supposed to be sat down or somefing?"
"Yes," whispered Ginny in reply, "but I'll give you a Sickle if you keep quiet about the big girl hiding here."
The boy's eyes widened. "Done," he nodded proudly, and ushered other people's gaze away from the redhead.
The Sorting Hat completed its speech, and called up the first-years. They ambled towards the front, and a petrified-looking girl with startlingly blue eyes moved forwards at the call of "Marianne Augustine".
The list moved on… came to 'P', with little Christopher Prewett going to Gryffindor, and the little boy who Ginny had made a deal with, Dominic Philips, going to Slytherin… and moved on. Slowly the crowd of first-years diminished, and Ginny had to stand taller, to stop herself from looking ridiculous. Now people were looking her way, and leaning sideways to whisper to their neighbours. Ginny quite pointedly ignored them, and stared ahead, until, at long last-
"Do not lift your cutlery yet!" called Dippet. "We have one more to be Sorted. This year we welcome our first ever transfer-student, joining in sixth-year. May we all welcome… Miss Ginevra Peregrine!"
Her heart was beating fast as she walked up towards the raised dais. Five years since she had been up there. She had forgotten how terrifying it was to walk past so many people, all staring and whispering.
Ginny took a deep breath, turned slowly, and sat on the stool. Her hazel eyes crossed to look upwards at the rim of the Sorting Hat as it was lowered, and then it was over her eyes, and she could not see.
You have been to Hogwarts before, Miss 'Peregrine'.
A feeling of dread sunk through Ginny. Please don't tell anyone, Hat!
You may call me 'sir'. And trust an old hat – not a soul shall hear it from me.
Thank you, Ginny thought, before hastily adding, sir, and thinking how stupid it was to call a hat such a formal title.
Now where to put you? You are loyal… but Hufflepuff is not the place for you, oh no. Intelligent… but you are rash and quick to make foolish decisions… I do not think that Ravenclaw would suit you. Brave… braver than most people I've ever met, for you have seen horrors they cannot imagine… definitely bravery, and that streak of reckless loyalty - but somehow… I am not sure.
Unable to help herself, she started to panic. What if the Sorting Hat couldn't choose, and it sent her away? It had been so quick to select Gryffindor in the twenty-first century… perhaps it had chosen due to her family, and now, confronted with her personality, was at a loss.
Just go with your first instinct, Ginny begged of it.
"SLYTHERIN!"
…
A/N: Ooh, who saw that coming? I did. Lmao. Anyway. Please review! Thank you to my beta SilverXan, and enjoy the rest of the fic!