By the end of September, the first years had all settled into their groups. Carmen Jordan had been accepted into a band of free-ranging mischief makers. There was a tiny clump of studious sorts, who worshipped Hermione Granger as a goddess. There was a mildly frightening band of Quidditch enthusiasts, who spent most of their time arguing the Wronski Feint versus the Alvarez bluff. In and around these main groups were tiny knots and pairs of friends . . . and then there was Ginny.
She'd taken to spending all her free time alone in the dormitory room, writing in her diary. Tom was the only one who understood her--really understood her. I'm so glad I've got this diary to confide in, she scribbled one rainy evening, as a raucous game of Exploding Snap was taking place in the common room below her. It's like having a friend I can carry around in my pocket.
Well, I'm glad you found me, Ginny, Tom wrote back. You've got no idea how lonely it is to talk only to yourself.
It can't be any worse than sitting in class with nobody to talk to, she wrote back gloomily.
Are they still being beastly to you?
Nobody in my year, but my brothers--they're so AWFUL to me all the time. I can't believe it. Ron doesn't even TALK to me anymore. She made a little "tuh" sound with teeth and tongue.
And what about the twins?
I WISH they wouldn't talk to me. They're horrid, absolutely horrid. They pull my hair when they pass me in the hallways and call me Wee One where people can HEAR and put things in my food at dinner. And then they just howl with laughter.
Have you told them off?
As if they'd listen to me.
Good point. What about Percy?
If it's possible, he's even worse, although not in the same way at all. He's taking Mum very seriously--she scowled in remembered humiliation--and he keeps trying to include me in things, or tell the twins off, and that just makes everything worse. On top of all that, he's always trying to get me to stop talking to you! "Stop writing in that diary, Ginny, and do your homework. Put away that diary, Ginny, and come play cards with me. Come on, Ginny, close that diary, it's time for lunch." I honestly wish he were like Ron and didn't know I was there. She sighed. Oh, Tom, Hogwarts isn't anything like I thought it'd be.
What did I tell you?
Chin up, she scribbled obediently. Head high. Never let anyone see how much you're hurting. She repeated it to herself often, some days hourly.
Good girl. Isn't there anyone here besides me that isn't horrible to you?
No--even Filch's cat is nasty to me. I always sort of wished I had a cat, you know, but there's too much wildlife in my house already, and besides my parents couldn't afford another mouth to feed. Well, this cat of Filch's--I wouldn't want any animal like that! When I tried to pet it a few days ago, it scratched me all up and down my arm. Madam Pomfrey fixed it, of course, but--oh, what a horrid beast!
What about Harry Potter? Does he follow your brother Ron's lead?
No, she wrote with another sigh, this one for an entirely different reason. But he's so involved with Ron and Hermione and everything that he barely even says hello. Of course, that's better than anyone else, but that shouldn't surprise me in the least.
The dormitory door opened, and Carmen Jordan came in. Ginny swiftly shoved the diary under her pillow and grabbed up one of her Lockhart books--it didn't matter which, they were all alike.
"Ginny," Carmen said. "Would you like to come downstairs? To the common room? I'm sure it's much nicer than being shut up in here all evening. We can play Exploding Snap."
Ginny buried her nose in the Lockhart book, barely seeing the ridiculous words in front of her. "I've got to study. We've got a quiz tomorrow."
"Well--well, can I study with you? I haven't read that one all the way through yet and I could probably use the help."
"I don't think I'd be of any help to you--this is my first time reading it too." The troll must have been twenty feet tall, but it was no match for my wit . . . Lockhart's quizzes were dead easy; flatter him enough and he gave you top marks.
"Well, then, we can both go to Hermione Granger for help," Carmen persisted. "I'm sure she knows them backwards and forwards. What do you say?"
"Maybe some other time." Ginny knew she was being rude, but she wanted to get back to Tom.
"Well--all right. Come on down if you change your mind, all right? We can all shove up on the couch. Won't be a bit of trouble."
"Mhm."
Carmen left, closing the door after her, and Ginny straight away started to feel a little guilty. There hadn't been any call to be quite that rude, had there? And Carmen was rather nice, sometimes, when she wasn't ignoring Ginny along with the rest of the Gryffindor first-years.
And maybe--maybe Percy was right, maybe she had ought to involve herself a little more . . . she could just go for a little bit, and then come back upstairs to Tom . . .
Her mind made up, Ginny closed the Lockhart book and clambered off her bed. But when she opened up the door, she heard Carmen's voice echoing up the spiral stairwell.
"Well, I tried, Lee. But she's just too good for the likes of us." She was standing just at the spot where the staircase began to bend, her hands on her hips. Ginny couldn't see who she was talking to, but it was obviously her older brother.
"You going to be the one to tell the Weasleys that?"
"God, no, they're your friends. I know she's their baby sister, but honestly--!"
"Their mum told them to look after her, and their big brother's on their case about it too."
"Well, at least tell them to stop involving me in their schemes to turn that little caterpillar into a butterfly."
Ginny's shoe scraped against the stone, and Carmen turned, her mouth springing open in a gasp before she recovered and said brightly, "Oh! Are you going to study with us after all? Come on then--"
Her face twisting, Ginny stepped back into the dormitory and slammed the door shut. The tears of mingled rage and humiliation pouring down her face plopped onto the pages of the diary. As she wrote, they blurred her scritchy, wobbly handwriting and sank into the parchment along with the ink.
I hate them, Tom, I hate them, HATE THEM! I hate them ALL! I wish I HAD been put in Slytherin!
The next time Ginny opened her diary, however, she had something even worse to record than her social problems. Dear Tom, I think I'm losing my memory. There are rooster feathers all over my robes and I don't know how they got there.
That's not good. When did this happen?
Just today. It was after my Herbology lesson. I must have daydreamed or something on the walk back, because suddenly I was in the common room and I was all over feathers . . .
Maybe the wind blew them there?
There were a LOT, Tom. I don't think it was the wind. I burned them in the common room fire. Everyone thought Fred and George had let off a stink bomb again.
Did they get in trouble?
Them? God, no. Percy wasn't around, and everyone else thought it was hysterically funny. But the feathers, Tom--! Am I going mad? Should I tell someone?
Like who?
I dunno--a teacher? or Percy? I'm not talking to any of my other brothers, and they don't care, but Percy might--
I don't think he'd do you any good, Ginny. Better to keep it a secret. It mightn't happen again.
Tom! I'm eleven years old today! I can't believe it!
Congratulations!
Ginny's mood soured a little. But everyone's forgotten, I think--nobody's said anything anyway. None of my brothers, and--well, nobody else knows it's my birthday--and I didn't get anything in the mail this morning, and I really thought I might . . . I would have liked at least a cake or something, Mum always sends a cake to the boys on THEIR birthdays . . .
Oh--I am sorry for that, Ginny. Maybe she forgot.
Her eyes widened. Do you think she'd actually forget, Tom?
There are seven of you in total, right? It can't be easy to keep track of that many birthdays in a year.
But there's only six; the twins, remember? And she keeps track of the entire family--my granddad and both grannies and all the aunties and uncles and cousins and everybody--even Harry--
There you are then. That's a terrible lot. She hadn't ought to have forgotten your birthday, I know that, but some people . . .
Ginny's hand flew up to cover her mouth. It must be--it must--her mum had always sent the birthday cakes off to her brothers on the very mornings of their birthdays. The only reason she didn't have it now was because she'd been forgotten. Utterly.
Her wobbling lip firmed up. Away for two piddling months and your own family completely forgot you existed--forgot your very first grown-up birthday, even!
Oh, Tom, I don't feel like I have anyone anymore! This is horrible!
I promise you, Ginny, that you'll always have me.
Yes, that was right. She hugged the diary to herself. She'd always have Tom--even when nobody else in the world seemed to remember she was alive.
Her problems kept mounting and mounting, Ginny thought gloomily, tucking her feet under her before she started to write.
Dear Tom, I can't remember what I did on the night of Halloween, but a cat was attacked and I've got paint all down my front.
Didn't you go to the feast with everyone else?
No, I stayed here. I was crying about--well, you know. And I could have sworn I cried myself to sleep--but then, the dreams, Tom! They were so strange! It was like I was running through a dark, slimy tunnel--not even running. Sort of slithering.
A little odd, I guess, but dreams don't mean anything, Ginny.
But the next thing I remember after that, I was standing in the Gryffindor common room, and there was all this red paint, all over my robes! It was a horrible mess. I tried to clean it off, but I couldn't. And then everyone came in and told me about the cat that was attacked--
Attacked? What d'you mean, attacked?
It was--it was--
Killed?
No, though everyone thought it was at first. It was sort of--oh, it's horrible, Tom. She was sitting in the common room, in a squashy armchair close to the blazing fire, but she felt a shiver roll down her spine.
Best to get it all out at once, then.
Turned to STONE, Tom.
What? His shock came through clearly in his handwriting. But--how is that possible? How can that be possible?
I don't know! The poor cat--I feel so awful. It was Filch's cat, you remember, the one I wrote such nasty things about. I'm wishing I hadn't, because it's just lying there in the infirmary like a statue. Filch is just heartbroken. He's gotten nastier than ever, but I can't help feeling a little sorry for him.
But they don't know how it happened?
No, nobody can figure it out! And they have to wait for the Mandrakes in the greenhouse to mature before they can revive her, and that's the ENTIRE YEAR. She was hanging off a wall sconce, and someone had written on the wall underneath, "The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir, Beware"! Nobody knows what it means, but everyone's talking about it!
That is extraordinary.
Do you know what it's talking about?
No, not at all.
Oh, Tom--and Harry found it!
Did he really? How--interesting.
Oh, yes! Nobody knows what he was doing up there at that time of night--I mean, Ron and Hermione were with him too, but it's him everyone's talking about.
Do you think he could have done it?
Tom, how can you possibly say something like that? Harry would never, ever--even to that horrid cat! He's much too kind--he was just APPALLED--
I'm sorry about that, Ginny. I don't know what came over me. Please, forget I said it.
That's all right, Tom. I know you didn't mean it, really. But, Tom--the PAINT--
Maybe you sleepwalked. Did you ever sleepwalk when you were little?
Sometimes. Well, a lot actually. But I thought it had gone away.
You never know about these things. Maybe you brushed up against the wall when the paint was fresh.
Do you really think so?
I don't know what other explanation there could be.
Oh, thank you. I feel so much better.
"Ginny," Percy said briskly, "shut up that diary. You've cried enough over that cat. Now, look, I've got something for you--"
She looked up and at the cake he set on the table, which was large and extremely sticky, with her favorite green icing. From the smell of it, the inside was chocolate. She loved chocolate.
Saliva pooled on her tongue, but she swallowed it. She didn't need any forgot-your-birthday cake. It was just a shoddy attempt at getting her goodwill back, a guilt cake. She didn't need it!
She slid her diary into a pocket and got up. "You have it. I'm not hungry." And she left the common room, leaving her brother gaping after her.
"Well, I like that!" George said indignantly, coming up behind Percy. "She didn't want her birthday cake?"
"D'you think she's sick?" Percy asked thoughtfully
"Who knows? She's probably just honked off because Mum didn't get it here on the stroke of noon on Halloween."
"It's not as if Mum could help it," Percy said stuffily. "Errol had a spot of trouble on the way; some turbulence, it looks like--lost half the feathers on his right side--"
"And it's Errol, too," Fred finished, grabbing the knife their mum had included. "Have a slice, Perce, let's not let it go to waste."
"Hey--!" Percy protested as the cake was divvied up and passed into grateful hands (the third years were just coming back from Herbology). "That's Ginny's! Stop it, now!"
"She said she didn't want it," Fred said, with his mouth full. "Finders keepers, I say."
So by the time Ginny changed her mind and came back downstairs for a slice of her cake, all that was left was crumbs.