Disclaimer-for all chapters hence: Ginevra is Tom Riddle's, and Tom Riddle is JK Rowling's.
A/n: to those who have reviewed that which is hidden from the world.
Leafs-gurl999- I feel that you shall be here (reviewing) til the very end.
Monikka- it is indeed my own. You have "fears", and I just write down strange rhymes for my reviewers.
Ebony moonlight- I don't believe I ever thanked you for the review you gave me. it was possibly the best review I could have received.
"Ginny?" Hermione asked cautiously. Ginny was sitting alone on the floor of the room, quiet. Everyone else was downstairs, listening to the Order, but Hermione felt as though Ginny could not have fit in, even if she had wanted to.
"Yes?" came Ginny's voice, small and timid. Hermione shuddered.
Because she sounded like this when she talked to Tom Riddle in her sleep.
"Are you alright?" Hermione asked, shutting the door behind her softly and creeping p beside her. "You've been very distant lately."
Ginny did not reply for a moment. Then she turned to look at Hermione with hollow, hollow eyes. "What's the different between your blood and my blood?"
Hermione stared at her blankly, then glanced over to see where Ginny's hand rested. It was a diary. One she had bought shortly after her second year.
Hermione had found it strange that Ginny had wanted to own a diary after that, but she never pressed it. Obviously Tom was on her mind a lot- she dreamed of him nearly every night for a few months after that, and she had recently begun having those dreams again. So had she recorded things she remembered about him in there? Hermione didn't doubt it.
"Well," Hermione said slowly, thinking. She had thought about herself during their second year, when Draco had first called her a mudblood and she had discovered its meaning. "I suppose that it means that the blood in your veins is the same blood, in a sense, that was in the veins of witches and wizards since.... in essence, eternity." Hermione took a deep breath. She wasn't fond of this next part. "And my blood was never in the veins of any witch or wizard, ever."
Ginny nodded. "Why do you think the Malfoys and the Blacks care? Why them and not the Weaselys?"
Hermione tilted her head. "The Blacks, Sirius once said that they thought of themselves as almost royalty, like the Malfoys, and most families with entirely wizarding heritage. In a sense, they are- they are of purely wizarding blood. It's an honor thing."
Ginny's face was as stone. "Then have the Weaselys no honor?"
"The Weaselys do not believe that honor can be determined by the deeds of those who came before you, or by the purity of those who came before you, because purity comes from the heart," said Hermione simply.
A thought that came to her mind she did not mention- the heart is the organ that pumps the blood. Pure blood. Dirty blood.
"It must be a Slytherin thing," said Ginny half-heartened.
"No, no," said Hermione soothingly. "It's a thing that goes with certain mindsets. Pure blood is not a quality the Sorting Hat goes by- it's the other traits."
"Shouldn't all Slytherins be pureblood?" asked Ginny.
Hermione laughed, although she did not really find the matter amusing. "That's like saying all Goths should be white, Gin. Slytherin is an attitude- gothic is an attitude. Physical differences mean nothing."
"But they can affect your mind," added Ginny.
"No, they can't; what you think can affect your mind, but thinking something completely physical separates you- that warps a mind. Tom Riddle was warped, Ginny. Dwelling on him won't help you figure things out."
Ginny stared at Hermione. Hermione knew it pained Ginny to hear- and it pained Hermione to say. But Ginny needed to hear it.
Ginny put her face in her hands. She wasn't crying, but she was shaken. "Oh, Gin," whispered Hermione, wrapping her arms around Ginny. She had a younger sister, but they were as of two different worlds, and it was difficult. Her sister never had to deal with those things. Hermione felt closer to her best friend's sister to her own, and she often wondered about it. Was it betrayal?
No- it was only betrayal if she let herself think that. Another one of those blood things.
Finally Ginny and Hermione broke away. "Hermione," Ginny asked, "I'd like to see it. See that our blood is the same."
Hemione was a bit puzzled. "How?"
"Your- your razors."
Hermione's eyes widened in shock. She hadn't known Ginny knew.
"Oh- okay."
Hermione got them out and handed Ginny one, and took out one herself. It was her favourite one- the one she used for all her worst problems, in times of dire need. And Ginny was in dire need of reassurance.
"Ready?" Hermione asked.
Ginny nodded, tight-lipped.
They cut a slit on their arms. Their blood flowed out, calmly, red, bright red.
Hermione held her arm up next to Ginny's.
"Is it really so different?" Hermione asked. Ginny stared, from her blood to Hermione's.
"No," she whispered, voice hoarse. "It's not at all."
They sat in silence for a moment, before taking care of things. There is not enough silence in the world. It is never there when you need it to deaden the misery that surrounds you. And it is always there just when you need a sound.