As Ginny slowly began to wake, memories of the morning and early afternoon gradually returned, causing a fresh wave of disappointment to wash over her. She felt her stomach lurch as she remembered that horrible feeling of realization when she found herself surrounded by Death Eaters in her house. Her bedroom. Her safe place. No place is safe, she thought gloomily. Eyes still closed, she recalled the image of Malfoy Sr. perched on the edge of her bed, his black robes a stark contrast to her pink quilt and his frosty eyes a testament to the code of hate he chose to live by. A chill went down her spine at the thought of having been in his presence. At the time she had been too concerned with getting away, adrenaline pumping through her veins, for her to fully comprehend the fact that she was in the company of Lucius Malfoy. Not to mention a handful of other Death Eaters. As scary as any Death Eater was, though, none could compare in her mind to Mr. Malfoy. There was something about him that just reeked of evil, something that made him ten times bigger than all the others to her. Something that was deeply personal. He was the one that had cunningly slipped that wonderful, awful diary into her hands. Not a day went by that she did not think of it; that she did not remember the soothing words written to her by her first friend, or the pain of betrayal when she realized she had been deceived. Every night, when the lights went out and she was plunged in darkness, she relived her nightmare. She could almost hear drops of water falling, reverberating through The Chamber, and the scratching of rats scuttling over animal bones in the pipes overhead. The cold of The Chamber coupled with the numbing feeling of her soul trickling from her body into the diary would unfailingly cause her to break out into gooseflesh. And then she would remember the heart-warming concern from her secret quill-pal when she had a bad day. Her thoughts would drift to the memory Tom showed her of himself – a young, pale boy with a head full of dark hair and large, haunting blue eyes. He had been tiny for his age and appeared even smaller, huddled in a corner of the orphanage he had grown up in, knees drawn to his chest. Ginny had angrily watched on, unable to interfere in a memory, as older and bigger children kicked little Tom and called him a freak. Then she would remind herself that this boy had grown up into the darkest and most feared wizard of the age. She hated and pitied Voldemort. The familiar confusing emotions welled up inside of her, muddling her brain, allowing her to curiously wonder if perhaps there was still a little bit of Tom left in You-know-who.

Feeling overwhelmed with frustration, she cut off the guilt-inducing train of thought. If anyone even suspected her feelings concerning the Dark Lord were not black and white, they would think she was either mental or a supporter of his cause. No matter how unsure she was about him, she would never agree with his hatred and bloodlust. She was definitely not a supporter. Mental, on the other hand? Now that could be argued.

Shaking her head to clear it of contradicting and rather controversial thoughts, she began to get up from her potion-induced nap. A quick look around the room informed her that Snape had brought her back to the study and placed her on a plush, if rather moth-eaten, chair. She gave a mighty stretch from her dagger-like claws to the tip of her fuzzy black tail before lightly hopping down to the floor where she changed back to herself. She looked down and amusedly noticed that she was still wearing her nightgown and it was almost dinnertime. Ah well, she thought, why bother changing now? She let herself out of the room and was immediately accosted by Ron. Good heavens, has he been sitting out here this entire time?

"Ginny!" he exclaimed as he jumped up from the floor and nearly flew over to her. He wrapped his tall, gangly form around her in a crushing bear-hug, muttering her name over and over again. "Ginny…oh Ginny, I'm so sorry," he sobbed. Gently pulling away from him, she looked up at the tears cascading down his face and was touched. Ron rarely cried, and when he did, it was usually accompanied with anger. This time, however, there was no anger in his eyes, only remorse. She felt her own eyes begin to prickle as she tried desperately to force away a growing lump in her throat. She threw her arms around her brother's neck and assured him that he had her forgiveness.

When he finally released her, Ron's face began to turn red in embarrassment and he took a step back, wiping the tears away. After one last sniffle (more of a honk, actually) he got himself under control and met her eyes again. "So," he said, cuffing her lightly on the shoulder, "when were you gonna tell us you were an animagus?"

Ginny chuckled, "Maybe after my prat of a brother figured it out for himself…"

"Oi! Brothers! In the plural! I'm not the only one, you know." He looked at her shrewdly, "You're pretty sneaky, you know that? You sure you're not a Slytherin?"

No.

"Yes!"

Not anymore.

Shut up!

Ron laughed and threw an arm around her shoulders. "Come on," he said, leading her down the stairs and to the kitchen for dinner.