Ginny was once again in the common room, curled up near the fire and watching the rest of Gryffindor tower at play. There had been some sympathy from Carmen and the other Gryffindor girls after Colin's Petrification, but she hadn't been fooled. It was all fake. None of them had been his friend while he was still around. Tom was right, she didn't need them.
So it was back to herself and Tom, just the way she liked it.
She glanced around for Fred and George, but they were involved in something over in a corner. They'd taken to putting on masks or hideous disguises and jumping out at her from dark corners lately--horrid, horrid brothers! Their wretched idea of fun . . .
But for the moment, she was safe, since she could see them, and she put quill to paper. I think I've figured out the problem.
What problem's that?
With Harry, of course! Why he never notices me!
Oh! Sorry--what is it?
I'm just not pretty enough.
Oh. You're right. That is a problem.
I mean, I've got this awful Weasley hair--bright orange! It's like my entire head is on fire! My eyes aren't so bad, I guess, but brown just doesn't GO with orange. It goes with brown or black hair much better, not orange. I--
A hideous face, purple with green spots, popped up over the side of her chair. "BOO!"
Ginny screamed so loud the entire common room went still. Then she saw the tuft of red hair peeking up over the top of the horrid mask. "Fred!" she wailed, whacking him with her diary.
Percy stormed over and grabbed Fred by the ear. He was bright red with fury, his freckles standing out like spots of ink. "All right, that's it, you two! No more of this stupid joke of yours! I'm going to tell Mum--"
The Gryffindors were in hysterics, some rolling on the floor. They were laughing at her!
Pink with humiliation, Ginny grabbed up her things and fled up the stairs, leaving Percy behind her, still dragging the twins across the room by their ears.
"But we just--ow, Percy, ow, ow!"
"Perce, we--owwwwwwww!"
"No more, I said! Or I really am going to write Mum! Yes, and I'll tell her Ginny's having nightmares, you hear me?"
Fred and George blanched. Percy was nothing, but Mum was forever to be feared. "Is she?" George ventured.
"I wouldn't blame her if she did!" Percy stomped away, radiating righteous indignation.
Fred tossed the horrible mask at Lee Jordan, who was still laughing at their predicament. "See what happens when you try to be nice," he grumbled.
George, who could never resist a joke even if it was on him, started to laugh too. "Come on, Fred, give over!"
Fred began to chuckle. "Guess we did look a little silly being towed around by our ears . . ."
Abovestairs, Ginny had just finished lambasting her brothers, and had returned to the subject of her looks. I look like a freak! And do you know what the worst part is?
No, what?
I'm so skinny! It's that horrid Weasley metabolism--no matter how much I eat, I still look like a bundle of sticks held together with string. I mean, I've got NOTHING! I'm eleven whole years old, you'd think I'd have something by now, wouldn't you?
Uh--I--
I'm not just flat, I'm CONCAVE. I mean, I'm not asking to look like Hilda Nuttley in sixth year, but a few curves would be nice, at least.
Well--I can't help you with--um--the--that. But have you ever thought about enchanting your hair?
Ginny's hand flew up to touch a strand that lay over her shoulder. My hair? You mean, to be another color?
Yes. There's a charm, I think I remember--
That would be wonderful! That would be perfect! Maybe the rest wouldn't matter so much if my hair was a different color--tell me, what is it?
Mutacapilli. And then you have to specify the color you want it to change to. It works pretty well--stays on for quite awhile.
What color do you think?
Well--weren't there a few that went better with brown eyes? How about brown?
Brown hair's nice enough, I suppose, but--Then she thought of lovely Morgan Hoffmeister, whose long, long braid gleamed black as night in the sun. Black, she wrote dreamily. Dark, dark black, that's even a little bit blue when the light hits it just right.
Sounds good to me. That'll be really pretty.
I'm going to the bathroom to do it so I can see in the mirror. This is going to be fantastic! I'm going to stun everyone!
Well, she was going to stun everyone, all right.
Through the film of tears in her eyes, Ginny stared at herself in the bathroom mirror. Her hair--her awful, awful hair--! Even orange would have been better than this. She tried stuffing it up under her hat, but the edge of her hairline still showed quite clearly.
Tom had been so penitent, and so sweet about apologizing. Honestly, I didn't remember until too late that you had to specify your original hair color too! I feel terrible.
Isn't there a countercharm? she'd scribbled, snuffling tears away.
I can't remember it right now, and I've been trying for ages, ever since I realized. I'll keep on trying. I am horribly sorry.
I know you are. It's not your fault. It's mine for being stupid.
No countercharm, no chance of hiding it . . . she didn't even have a handy Invisibility Cloak to wrap around herself. There was no help for it. She was going to have to face the common room precisely as she was.
She took off her hat and watched her horrible hair cascade down around her shoulders. She almost burst into tears again, but she swallowed hard and wiped her eyes. She was not going to cry in front of everybody.
But it took all she had to descend the stairs with her chin high and her eyes dry.
As usual, the common room was teeming with noise and activity. But as she progressed through the crowd, her teeth gritted, silence spread out like a ripple in a pond.
Mouths gaped.
Eyes popped.
Fingers pointed.
She pretended not to notice any of it.
It was just as she was marching by Harry's usual table that a voice said, "Er--Ginny?"
She stopped and looked over at her brother, who was staring at her with enormous, stunned eyes. "Yes, Ron?" she said stiffly.
"Your--er--hair, Ginny. It's a bit--"
She crossed her arms. "Yes?" Her voice just dared him to make some sort of joke.
"Um--purple."
A bit purple was probably the understatement of the year. It was brilliant violet, luminous to the point of glowing. All the brightness of her original hair had come through, and none of the beauty she'd been hoping for.
But she couldn't let anyone see how genuinely humiliated she was. "I'm--aware--of--that," she said dangerously. "Is that all?" A quick glance told her that Harry's mouth was hanging open so far she could have put her entire hand in it.
Ron fumbled, "Just--uh--wanting to check that you knew."
"I do know." With a disdainful sniff, and a flick of her vibrantly, brilliantly, immutably purple hair, she hitched her bag up on her shoulder. "And if you don't mind, I'm going to class."
She did a sharp right-face and marched towards the portrait hole.
Another voice intruded just as she'd almost reached her goal. "Um--Ginny?"
She turned her head to look Hermione Granger in the eye. "Yes?" she said frostily.
"Would you--like a bit of help, changing it back? I'm sure I've seen books in the library--"
"I don't need any help, Hermione." With another sniff, she pushed the portrait hole open and climbed out, fighting to maintain her stiff dignity.
Just before the hole closed all the way, she heard the entire room explode into gales of laughter. Her dignity failed her, and she fled down the hall.
For the next few days, she avoided the Great Hall when it was full, only slipping in very early or very late for every meal and eating as quickly as she could. But that was about all she could do, aside from ramming her hat as far down on her head as she could while in the halls. Even so, a trail of whispers and giggles inevitably followed her to every class and accompanied her as she tried to take notes.
Fred and George were horrible. "Purple hair! How'd you do it, Wee One?"
"Yeah, we're going to try it on Snape! See how he'll like that--"
"D'you think you could enchant yourself some glowing red eyes to go with that?"
"That'll make you stand out from the crowd!"
Ron got after her for her rudeness to Hermione. "She was just trying to help--I can't believe you sometimes--"
She stared at him in disbelief. "I'm sorry, is this the same brother who spent the entire summer holidays telling us how bossy she was? And you called her a know-it-all right to her face last week! What's that if not rude?"
Ron's face contorted, his struggle clear. "Yeah--but--but--I'm allowed! I'm her friend!"
"Funny kind of friend, if you ask me," she muttered after he'd left.
Percy was the worst. "Serves you right," he said loftily. "What's wrong with your hair, I'd like to know, that you had to go and turn it purple?"
"I wasn't meaning to!"
"Red hair serves all of us perfectly fine--you don't see me running about with hair like a paint-box, do you?"
"Only because the twins haven't got to you yet," she sniped.
"What!?"
The professors' reactions were varied. Professor Sprout asked her kindly if she'd like one of the enormous flowery gardening hats that hung on pegs in Greenhouse One. (Ginny turned it down. They were almost worse than her hair, and she'd only have to take it off again at the end of class.) Professor McGonagall, after a startled blink, took one look at her stiff, set face and never mentioned it. Neither did Snape, but every time he looked at her, his lips curled up in a nasty, mocking smirk. Professor Binns, of course, never noticed a thing.
On Thursday, Professor Flitwick scurried into class a few moments late. Clambering up on his pile of books, he called out, "Good day, class, good--" His eyes landed on Ginny, who had her hands fisted in her lap and her head bowed, so her stunning hair fell in front of her face. He choked on his words. "Ah--Miss Weasley?"
She lifted her face. She was sure she was white to the lips. "Yes, Professor?"
"Ah--see me after class, would you, Miss Weasley?"
Probably going to give her a talking-to for trying out charms on her own, Ginny decided gloomily. "Of course, Professor," she said in a hollow voice.
After class, she stayed in her seat, dreading the expected scolding.
Professor Flitwick, his eyes on level with her own, approached. "Miss Weasley--"
"Yes, Professor," she mumbled.
"Trying to change your hair, were you? Did you use Mutacapilli?"
"Yes, sir."
"What color?"
She lifted her eyes for a moment. "Black."
His bushy white brows rose. "Black, eh? D'you mean the kind that's almost blue?"
She nodded guiltily.
"Probably the blue that did it."
"I know," she mumbled.
The professor sighed, rocking back on his heels. "About when did you try this?"
"Tuesday," she muttered.
"What time of day?"
Why all the strange questions? "Just after lunchtime."
"Well--let's see. Give it until tomorrow, after lunchtime, and then come to me. We'll set it to rights."
Ginny's head snapped up. "D'you mean--" she gasped, "d'you mean you'll change it back for me?"
"Can't have you going around with purple hair for the next year or so, can we?" He smiled at her from under his brows.
She felt the delighted grin stretching her mouth, but she had to ask, "Can't you do it now?"
"What? Oh, no, no, no--you never know what could happen! You could lose all your hair, not just the color."
Ginny gasped and clapped her hands protectively over her head. Just because she hated the original color didn't mean she wanted to go around bald.
Professor Flitwick nodded. "Tricky things, cosmetic charms. Have to settle for about seventy-two hours before they can be altered again."
"You must think I'm terribly stupid," she whispered, toying with her unnatural hair.
"Oh, no, no--we get a few every year. Now let me think--was it last year? No, must have been the year before. There was a Hufflepuff boy--seven-stone weakling, as you might call him. Tried to give himself muscles like Hercules. I think he wanted to attract the attention of some pretty little thing from Ravenclaw."
"What happened?" Ginny asked, fascinated in spite of herself.
"Poor old Diggory wound up like a blimp--puffed out in every direction! We had to wait a week to deflate him." Professor Flitwick shook his head again. "Madam Hooch took him under her wing--he's a Quidditch player now. Got muscles that are bit more natural." He winked. "And of course, there's always a few, every year, that try to curse their spots off and wind up losing a nose, or an ear instead . . ."
Ginny giggled. At least her face still had all the bits it was supposed to.
"Like I say, see me after lunchtime tomorrow. We'll have it back to normal."
As she gathered her things up, happy for the first time in three days, something occurred to Ginny. "Couldn't you--turn it black for real?"
"Ah--I think you'd better stay away from cosmetic charms for a few years, Miss Weasley. At least until you learn how to work them."
With her hair once again properly orange, Ginny vowed not to try anything new with her appearance, at least magically. Because you never know WHAT could happen. Professor Flitwick was ever so nice about it, but those were three days I wouldn't want to repeat in a hurry.
I know exactly what you mean.
She did, however, spend hours trying to fix her hair in a more flattering style. Unfortunately, the only ones who noticed her lovely French braid were Fred and George, who pulled it every time they walked behind her.
She gave up.
I don't know what I'm going to do, I honestly don't. And anyway, who can worry about hair when all this stuff is going on?
Are people still talking about Harry and the cat?
A little. They're even saying now that he went after Colin because Colin annoyed him with his camera! As if that could ever--I mean to say, he was in the infirmary, regrowing thirty-three bones in his right arm! How could he have done ANYTHING?
You don't have to convince me! But you know what people are like, they'll believe anything . . .
And everyone is so crazy and paranoid!
Apparently, the teachers realized that too. The third week of December, a notice for a Dueling Club was pinned up in the entrance hall.
How is this supposed to make everyone feel better? she asked Tom indignantly. Teaching them how to duel is just going to make them start dueling!
Think about it a moment--if you were a teacher, would you rather have students dueling any which way and any which place, or in a room where you could watch?
Oh. I guess you're right. I didn't think of it that way.
Teachers are easy to predict. Are you going to do it?
I think I will--what with everything that's been happening around here, it might come in handy. Besides, if I know how to duel, maybe I can get my brothers to leave me alone.
There used to be a Dueling Club when I was at Hogwarts, Tom told her. I had a lot of fun--I happened to be really good at it. I miss it, actually. Come back and tell me everything.
Professor Lockhart slapped Harry on the back and said cheerily, "Just do what I did, Harry!"
"What, drop my wand?"
Ginny had to muffle her giggle. So far, the Dueling Club hadn't been the most informational of half-hours, although it had been worth it to see Lockhart get knocked off his feet by Snape's Expelliarmus spell. Handy, that. She'd have to remember it.
She swallowed hard as Harry faced off with his partner, who just happened to be that horrid Malfoy who'd been at Harry back in Flourish and Blott's, before the beginning of term. They'd been set to duel by Snape, and Ginny didn't like the cold, calculating look in the blond boy's eyes one little bit.
Lockhart, beaming stupidly, counted off. "One--two--three--go!"
"Serpensortia!" With a bang, a gigantic black snake spurted from the end of Malfoy's wand and hit the floor with a heavy thud.
Oh god! Ginny almost fell flat on her behind, jolting away from the horrible thing. It was huge, monstrous, the biggest snake she'd ever seen in her life. It lifted its head and hissed, and a tiny scream escaped her mouth, lost in the cacophony around her.
"Don't move, Potter," Snape said, and he didn't even sound concerned. "I'll get rid of it . . ."
Sure he would--when it had bitten Harry's head off or something. . . . For a moment, Ginny's fury overcame her fear, and she glared at the back of Snape's greasy head.
"Allow me!" Lockhart shouted, like the bleeding idiot he was. Predictably, all his stupid spell did was hurl the snake into the air and let it fall back to the ground right in front of a dark-haired boy who was only a few feet away from Ginny.
The snake rose the front half of its body up in the air, opening its mouth and hissing, displaying its fangs--
Ginny was too petrified to even cover her eyes.
But then Harry darted forward, raising his wand. "Leave him!" he shouted at the snake, and, incredibly, it listened, turning away from the boy and relaxing to the floor, its shining eyes fixed on Harry.
Ginny almost applauded.
"What do you think you're playing at?" the boy shouted at Harry, and then turned and stomped out of the Great Hall.
Ginny's mouth fell open. The horrible--ungrateful--well! Couldn't he--didn't he--?
"What was that?" someone by Ginny asked. "It sounded funny--all hissy--was that even English?"
"Parseltongue," someone else almost snarled. "Harry Potter is a Parselmouth."
Ginny's stomach turned to ice.
She hadn't heard anything but plain English--but everyone else had obviously heard some weird hissing sorts of sounds--which meant--
She herself was a Parselmouth.
When she tore through the Gryffindor common room on her way upstairs to Tom, she saw Ron and Hermione talking in low, intense voices to Harry, who was slumped in an armchair, looking as sick as she felt.
Oh, Tom! she wrote moments later. This is terrible--Parseltongue is such a Dark Arts thing, and neither Mum or Dad ever said anyone in our family had it--I've never heard of anyone nowadays but--but--HIM having it.
But maybe Parseltongue isn't such a horrible talent. It's not a Dark thing itself, is it?
No . . . not as such . . . but you know how You-Know-Who was a Parselmouth, and so was Salazar Slytherin . . .
What's so bad about being able to talk to snakes? I think it would come in handy occasionally, myself.
Maybe it'll go away. I've never been able to do it before, not even that one time Ron put a whole nest of garter snakes in my bed.
A lot of funny things happen to wizards around your age. Abilities pop up quite a bit. Usually they keep them.
Keep it? I don't WANT to keep it! What do I do?
Don't tell anyone about it. You said everyone was whispering about Harry Potter already, because he gave himself away, and you hardly need that. Think what your parents would say.
You're right. You're always right. Tom, dear Tom, you always know what to say.
Thank you. I do try.
The next day, her news was almost worse than the Parseltongue.
There was another attack today and I don't know where I was. Ginny hesitated, wondering if she should tell him of the horrible suspicion lurking away in a corner of her mind. It was so mad, however, that she only said, It's so strange. Every time there's an attack, I don't really know where I was when it happened.
I'm sure it's just your mind playing tricks on you.
But what am I going to do? I think I'm going mad! I don't know how I keep losing myself all the time. Do you think there's something wrong with me? Should I go to Madam Pomfrey?
But what could she possibly do?
I--don't know.
Best not to tell anyone. You don't want people to think you're really crazy, do you?
No, of course not.
Well then. What happened? Today, when the people were attacked?
Well, nobody knows really, of course. But Harry found them, and it's so awful--everyone's whispering about him already, after yesterday. He almost tripped over them in the corridor. It was that Hufflepuff boy that he saved from the snake and--oh, you'll never believe this--Nearly Headless Nick! Both petrified!
Not the Gryffindor ghost?
Yes! Who could do something like that to a GHOST? He's already dead!
It is a terribly powerful, dangerous thing. I should like to meet the wizard controlling it.
You may, but I don't--he must be as Dark as You-Know-Who himself, to be able to this, and then to do it to innocent students-- Ginny paused, appalled at her own words and what they meant to her growing suspicions.
But then Tom said, Oh, Ginny, they're only Mudbloods.
TOM!
What? It's just a word . . .
That's a HORRIBLE word! Dad said if he ever caught us saying it, for any reason at all, no matter who we were saying it to, he'd take away our wands and toy brooms and everything for months and months--
I'm sorry. I suppose it was a little bit more acceptable when I was at school.
Oh--well, I guess you didn't know any better. But I'd still like it if you wouldn't use it any more.
I'll try to remember that.