2 October 1942 — 12 October 1942
Ginny had never felt weaker, more cowardly, than in that moment. Sitting across from Dumbledore with her shaking hands wrapped around a chipped teacup, she had never felt more like the stupid, silly little girl she pretended not to be — the girl she buried under a quick temper and blustering bravado, the girl Tom had always known she was.
"I can't do it. I know what you're asking me to do but I can't."
"I won't force you, Ginny," said Dumbledore, "but we need to be open to the possibility that there may be no other way to open the Chamber."
In that moment, she hated Dumbledore too, for his soft eyes and kind face. He should be angry, frustrated, disappointed — anything but this warm, gentle understanding. If it had been anything but this, she would have a reason to respond in kind, and maybe then she would feel something other than this cold shame, this pitiful numbness.
"I wish —" said Ginny, but she couldn't say. She had ridden this useless train of thought to its end more times than she could count. Wishes were things for children, a luxury she didn't have the spare change to afford, and she hadn't been a child for a long time now.
She looked down at her tea and breathed in the scent of home. She could imagine her mother, bustling in the kitchen. Her brothers, arguing and tussling over the food. Her father, smiling benignly at the head of the table.
Blue eyes stared at her from behind half-moon glasses, and Ginny knew this was the closest she would ever get to that wish — a pale reminder of home, in the visage of a man she barely knew but trusted in spite of it.
Because Harry did — Harry would, and this was all she had left of them.
Ginny couldn't remember ever being this tense. Not even during the first week of term, when she had done a splendid job going by unnoticed, had she been this on edge.
"Be on your guard," Dumbledore had told her. "Act as though nothing has changed. Tom mustn't have even an inkling that you know what he has done."
But Riddle was still bloody staring.
Ginny had taken to avoiding glancing his way, for fear that her Occlumency might not hold with how restless and agitated she was. It meant it was even harder for her to read him — how could she anticipate his movements when she barely looked at him? Had his demeanour changed at all? Was he acting any differently?
What was he thinking?
If her friends had noticed her unease, they didn't comment other than to ask if she had slept well the night before. She hadn't. How could she, when the Chamber was now open?
At breakfast, Margot kept mentioning Riddle and her study group. Ginny had to hide her flinch each time — she hadn't noticed how much Margot had alluded to them until now. She didn't think it had anything to do with Riddle, but after yesterday. . . .
But why? Why did he keep asking about her? As far as he knew, she didn't know anything about the Chamber . . . he couldn't possibly suspect. . . .
So why, then, did Margot keep insisting Ginny attend her study group meetings? Why did she keep name-dropping Riddle?
Ginny found some answers during Care of Magical Creatures with the Ravenclaws. While Margot did nothing more than leave hints and meaningful looks, Nancy needed no prompting.
"It's a shame you couldn't come," she said brightly. "Tom was really nice — he helped us practice for Defence. I swear, he probably has the whole curriculum mastered and memorized."
"Probably," said Ginny dully.
"It really is a shame, but I guess you've been really busy with Black."
Ginny somehow managed to choke on air. "Which one?"
Nancy rolled her eyes.
"Ickle Orion Black," she said, then smiled conspiratorially. "Obviously, I meant Alphard. He's really quite handsome. I can see why you've been spending so much time together."
Ginny swallowed the laugh bubbling in her throat. "You can?"
"Don't tell him I said this," said Nancy in a low voice, beaming even wider, "but I think Tom's a bit jealous."
"Is he?" said Ginny, struggling not to react.
"He hasn't talked to you yet, has he? Well, I reckon he's probably a bit intimidated, because you've got Alphard Black and all. He's been asking after you so much lately —"
"How long?"
"Oh, the past week, I think — round the time you started hanging out with Black. Margot swears it's been much longer —" Nancy stopped suddenly, looking alarmed. "Er — don't tell her I told you. She's — well, she told us not to meddle . . . but this isn't really meddling. I'm just. . . ."
"Retelling?"
"Yes, that's right," she said, nodding eagerly. "Just retelling old stories."
God, what was Riddle telling them? Surely he knew how much the people in this school loved to gossip . . . surely he must have known Ginny would find out. . . .
"He's staring at you again," said Nancy, giggling.
Ginny tried to smile. "Right."
While her friends might not have noticed Ginny's disquiet, Alphard did, if his questioning looks were anything to go by. He didn't address it until their Herbology class, when their professor was busy fawning over Riddle's and Margot's work.
"You're jumpy today," commented Alphard.
"Must be the caffeine kicking in," said Ginny casually.
"How much have you had?"
"Four cups of coffee. Briseis took away the fifth."
Alphard chuckled as he watered his potted shrubbery, which was shrieking delightedly. "What did you do?"
"Homework." It was a simpler answer than saying she had been kept awake by her worst memories, that she had been losing sleep ever since she broke down in sobs in front of Dumbledore. "You know that Potions essay due today? I didn't think it'd be such a nightmare."
"I did tell you to do it earlier."
"No one likes people who say 'I told you so', Alphard."
"Did you finish it, at least?"
"Yes, Mum," she said, rolling her eyes.
"So it has nothing to do with Riddle at all?"
Ginny very carefully did not stiffen, though her grip on her pot tightened. Her plant was now making whimpering noises about not getting watered.
"Oh shut up," she said to it. "Wait your bloody turn."
It whimpered some more until Alphard turned the watering can in its direction. It threw Ginny a dark look that melted into moony eyes as it turned to Alphard.
"I thought it might," he said, as her plant sighed in contentment. "You haven't looked at Riddle the whole day."
"Why should I? There's nothing to look at."
Alphard stifled a laugh, planting his fist over his mouth and turning it into something of a loud wheeze. Wendy turned to look at them, questioning, and Ginny shrugged.
Ginny's apprehension grew as the week went on. Her mood must have been affecting Alphard too; while he didn't bring it up again, he looked troubled every time Riddle glanced at her in class.
She kept half-expecting a body to appear, for Riddle to do something, but he acted as though nothing was out of the ordinary. What was he waiting for? Why hadn't anything changed? Wouldn't attempting murder be his first order of business, now that he had opened the Chamber?
Ginny was relieved when Quidditch practice came. She wasn't looking forward to seeing Malfoy again, but it would be a much-needed distraction from all her worrying. She was heading down to the pitch with Briseis when she remembered Alphard's Hogsmeade invitation — the trip was two days away, and she hadn't yet discussed it with Briseis. She had been meaning to, not wanting to impose on what sounded like a yearly tradition with Alphard and Malfoy, but she had forgotten it with all her fretting about the Chamber.
"He invited you?" said Briseis when Ginny relayed the invitation. She looked like she was trying to force herself to smile.
"I don't have to come," said Ginny, frowning. "I don't want to intrude —"
"He invited you," Briseis repeated, looking away as she lifted her hands to run through her hair. "Does Abraxas know?"
"Well, I'm not telling him if he doesn't," said Ginny carefully. "Look, Briseis — if you mind that I'm —"
"I don't mind," said Briseis, too high, too quickly. "Why would I mind? Don't be silly."
Quidditch practice was brutal. Not only had Malfoy made it drag on for longer than usual — with the first match only a month away, it was getting harder to book the pitch for more frequent practices — but it was clear Briseis wasn't at her best. She passed the Quaffle more aggressively than needed and made such awful shots that even Cormac McLaggen could have saved them.
Finally, Malfoy called a halt to the session and turned to her and Ginny as the team fled to the changing room.
"All right, what's gotten into you?" he said irately.
"I'm fine —" began Briseis.
"You're not. Your flying's been mediocre at best and that last shot? It's like you weren't even trying, Briseis."
Briseis flushed, and Ginny winced in sympathy.
"You were doing well last time, but now? I don't think I've seen you this out of sorts since —" He looked away, grimacing.
Briseis' cheeks tinged an even hotter shade of pink.
"Why don't you ask him then!" she roared so fiercely that Ginny gaped as she stormed off.
Malfoy turned to Ginny, bewildered. "What did you do?"
"That's the conclusion you're jumping to?" said Ginny, offended by the accusation.
"What did you say to her?"
"I told her Alphard invited me to your —" She sighed, realization dawning. "He invited me to Hogsmeade."
Malfoy's expression hardened. "And was I lumped in with this invitation or should I be expecting a June wedding?"
"Hold the weddings bells," she said, rolling her eyes. "He invited me for one butterbeer — and you're supposedly paying for it."
"Of course he did," he muttered. "Did he say anything else?"
"Just that I could invite anyone I wanted." Ginny spotted the glaze of suspicion settling over his eyes. "I don't have to go if it's such a big deal. I get it — it's your tradition and all."
"He told you that too," said Malfoy, glaring. "Why would he invite you? What's so special about you?"
"Oh, buggering hell — just rescind the invite! I'm not going to get offended if you tell me to piss off."
Malfoy laughed. "Alphard isn't here, did you notice? He saw this coming, that bastard."
Ginny did notice, but she hadn't thought it would be because of Briseis. She hadn't thought Briseis would react this way at all.
"Invitation's still open," said Malfoy, to Ginny's surprise. "Come with us, if you want. Considering he's gone through all this trouble, Alphard must think you're worth it."
"Well sheesh, Malfoy," she said sardonically. "I didn't think a butterbeer was that much of a hassle."
Malfoy scoffed. "You're more than a hassle, Smith. You're nuisance."
"Then I won't come," she huffed irritably.
"Come," he said, with as much enthusiasm as a wilting plant. "Alphard wants you there, so you might as well."
"But Briseis —"
"She'll get over it. It's not her business who Alphard invites or not."
As Ginny returned to the castle, it occurred to her —
"First trip of the year, the three of us always go together," Alphard had said. But he had never said who.
"I'm sorry," said Briseis, the moment Ginny stepped inside their dormitory. "I was being silly. I'm not mad at you, really, it's just — it's always been those three, and I've never really minded, not at all — but then you're here, and suddenly Alphard's invited you, and he's never done that before and I'm just —"
Ginny cut her off when it was clear she was becoming incoherent with embarrassment. "I reckon he only asked because of Lestrange."
"I know," said Briseis quietly. "I just thought — well —"
She didn't finish, but Ginny could guess.
"You're coming too," said Ginny. "It's my fault — I'm sorry, I thought I mentioned it, but I guess it slipped my mind."
"Oh." Briseis' face was still red, but there was barely-concealed hope in her expression. "Did he really —"
"Of course he did," said Ginny before Briseis could finish, as if this made it a little less of a lie.
Ginny wanted to ask Alphard about it the next day, the day before the trip — but then what would she say? It was her own fault for assuming. He might not have even realized she would mistakenly think that Briseis was part of his Hogsmeade tradition.
"Where were you?" said Ginny during their Charms class. "You weren't at practice yesterday."
Alphard looked at her in askance. "I didn't realize my presence was required."
"Malfoy thinks you were avoiding Briseis."
His face fell and he darted a confused glance at Briseis, who was seated in front of them. "Why would I avoid her?"
"Hogsmeade."
"Does she not want to go?" he said, genuinely taken aback.
Boys. Merlin's beard, she didn't want to deal with this.
"She's coming," said Ginny. "So why weren't you at practice?"
"Homework," said Alphard, and it surprised her how much the word sounded like a dare. It was like he was tempting her to ask, but whether because he genuinely wanted to share or if he was looking for an excuse to be all mysterious, she decided not to, mostly to spite him, partly in an effort to keep the conversation from delving back to Riddle.
"I'm thinking of inviting Margot," she said instead, "if she hasn't got any plans."
Alphard's hesitation was palpable as he fiddled with his quill. "Have you asked Droope?"
"Not yet, but I can convince her."
He seemed to be thinking quickly, and Ginny didn't doubt it was because of Malfoy's probable reaction.
"Great," said Alphard, with a smile that looked more like a grimace. "The more the merrier."
Ginny had expected him to say no — Malfoy was displeased enough with her as it was. What did Alphard want from her, that he would risk annoying Malfoy even more?
Ginny was wondering how to broach the topic with Margot that evening in their dormitory, as Margot and Wendy were practicing their tarot card reading for Divination. It was Wendy's turn to do the reading, and Margot had her book, parchment, and quill propped on her lap. Ginny, Briseis, and Odette were gathered around them, making light jabs as they prepared the cards.
Margot and Wendy took turns shuffling the deck, going back and forth a few times before Wendy began laying out three cards in between them. Almost immediately, everyone quieted as Wendy flipped over the first card — the cloaked Death stared ominously up at them.
"That's not promising," said Odette, from her perch on the end of Briseis' bed. Briseis was doing up Odette's thick, curly hair in a complicated crown braid, the kind Ginny wouldn't know how to begin. "Can't you pick something happier?"
"It doesn't mean, like, actual death," said Wendy bracingly. "It means an ending, so . . . you're going to experience change? Oh, no, sorry, I think that's — resistance to change?"
Margot consulted her book.
"It could be both," she said encouragingly, "but the card's upright. Which one is it?"
Wendy frowned in concentration. "The first one. You're . . . letting go of something, and it's going to change your path."
"Right," said Margot, nodding approvingly. She wrote it down on her parchment as Wendy brightened.
Ginny didn't recognize the second card right away, but she didn't need to. The other girls, sans Margot, erupted into high-pitched squeals at the sight of the second card.
"The Lovers," said Odette with relish. "I wonder who that could be."
"Oh, not again," said Margot crossly. "Don't even —"
"Tom Riddle," said Briseis in a singsong voice, sharing an amused look with Ginny.
"How many times do I have to say it?" said Margot despairingly. "It's not like that."
"At least once more," said Odette sweetly, "and maybe we'll believe you."
"He does not fancy me," Margot insisted, blushing. Her eyes flickered to Ginny, wide and imploring, and Ginny tried to unsee it. "And besides, the card doesn't mean what it looks like. It represents a choice between two paths, so don't even —"
"Oi," said Briseis. "You're not the one doing the reading here."
But Wendy looked shaken, her eyes scanning everywhere but Margot's face.
"You're at a crossroads," she said slowly. "Or you will be — and it's reversed, so that's it, I think. You're going to have to make a tough choice, and you can't do it lightly because the effects are . . . they're lasting. I'm sorry, but you can't take it back."
There was a sharpness to her words that caught in the atmosphere.
"Why are you sorry?" said Margot.
"Because it won't be easy," said Wendy quietly, intently, and very suddenly looking right at Margot. "Our world is blood and names and grudges, and you're going to have to choose what side you stand on and your relationships — there'll be a break, a betrayal, I think. Maybe — maybe that's the choice you have to make."
Ginny felt her throat tighten instinctively. She was suddenly very glad she didn't take Divination, and she knew the same thought was churning in Briseis' and Odette's minds.
"Well," said Margot, clearing her throat delicately as she scribbled quickly on her parchment. "It could be. The Lovers do mean that."
Everyone was quiet, loud in their sudden attention, as Wendy turned over the last card. It was a man hanging upside down from a gallows branch, one knee bent over the other to form a four with his legs, his eyes open and blank. The Hanged Man, the card read.
"Couldn't you have bought a prettier deck?" said Odette, in a clear ploy to lighten the anxiousness in the dorm.
"Suspension and sacrifice," whispered Wendy. "Something's coming to a pause, and you're going to have to choose again. You're stuck, and to break that you have to allow it."
"Allow what?" said Margot, just as softly.
"The ultimate surrender," said Wendy bleakly. "Martyrdom."
A sharp intake of breath. A beat of horrified silence.
"That's right," said Margot, dazed.
Odette made a face. "I don't want my fortune read anymore."
They laughed, uncertain and nervous, no longer looking at the cards.
"I'm sorry," said Wendy, a bit dizzily. She twirled her fine hair around her hand until it looked like cotton candy on a stick, and Ginny was strongly reminded of the covers of Hermione's old Muggle novels — the pretty, doomed heroines, with their wispy golden hair and wispier smiles. "I got it all wrong, didn't I?"
"No, you got it all," said Margot reassuringly. "Top marks across the board."
Wendy's lip wobbled. "But the future — it sounds so terrible —"
"Divination makes everything sound terrible."
The unease continued to pervade the room, even as they retreated to their respective beds.
"Free butterbeer," Ginny blurted out, shattering the silence. "Who wants in?"
There was an audible and collective sigh of relief.
"Are you paying?" said Odette.
"Malfoy's paying."
Odette looked mildly impressed. "How'd you manage that?"
"Alphard," said Ginny as Briseis snickered.
"Well, who am I to turn down a free drink?" said Odette. Wendy, perking up, also agreed to come.
"Are you coming?" Ginny said to Margot, who had been silent as she packed away her tarot cards.
Ginny felt everyone's attention swerve her way.
"I don't think that's a good idea," said Margot, frowning.
"I think it's a great idea," said Ginny firmly.
"I was going to stay in, actually. I promised Leonard I would help him with our Arithmancy essay —"
"You can help him after," said Ginny, in a more wheedling tone. "It's Hogsmeade, Margot. Take a break."
"I don't know," said Margot cagily.
"I think you should come," said Wendy, flushing as everyone turned to her. "We've always gone together, haven't we? I don't see why it has to change now."
The girls' wary expressions didn't change, but no one spoke against it. Ginny grinned, and turned to Margot with the same imploring look she used to give to her brothers, the one that never failed to let her get her way.
"It'll be fun," she said, and Margot, very reluctantly, said yes.
"Are you sure that's wise?" Briseis, whose bed was next to Ginny's, hissed when Margot had her back turned.
"Absolutely," said Ginny. "I'm not letting Margot feel left out because of Malfoy."
Briseis blushed, looking faintly ashamed, and sighed. "I hope you know what you're doing."
"Don't worry," said Ginny, a little annoyed. "I'll keep my hexes to myself."
Hogsmeade, with its thatched cottages and cobbled streets, was like something out of time, untouched and unchanged in the fifty years between now and Ginny's own time period. There were some differences, buildings and stores she didn't recognize, but it was still every bit as picturesque as she remembered. It was a comforting thought, to know that there were some things — good things — that could stay the same, and it kept Ginny's spirits high despite her friends' grumblings about the cold wind and overcast sky.
Only Margot was more excited than Ginny. Despite her initial trepidation to join the trip, Margot dragged Ginny from store to store as they made their way around the village. She was in such a good mood that she didn't even complain when Briseis insisted they visit Spintwitches Sporting Needs, a sporting goods store that had closed down in Ginny's time.
"I'm glad you're here," said Margot, as Ginny looked at a display of broom polishing kits. "The girls are great, but they forget sometimes, you know? I know they don't mean to, but they don't understand, really, what it's like."
"Is that why —" began Ginny, tentative. "Don't take this the wrong way, but is that why you and Riddle —"
"I don't fancy him," said Margot immediately. "Honest."
Ginny bit back the urge to sigh. She really didn't want to get into this now. "Right, I just meant — why you two are such good friends."
"Oh, well . . . yes, that's why," said Margot, her ears reddening. "It hasn't been easy for us, and I don't think I could have lasted this long without him."
Ginny's stomach lurched. A distant image of a boy in a diary came to mind — how easy it had been to accept him, how much she had cherished his friendship in her loneliness, because he had been there for her when no one else had.
"Leonard too," added Margot, blushing more fiercely. "And there's Nancy and Edward, of course. You really should come with us sometime. It helps to get away from —" She hesitated then, as if she didn't think continuing was wise. "From trying to be perfect all the time."
You don't have to be, Ginny wished she could say, but how would she know? How could she really understand what it was like, to be a Muggle-born in Slytherin? She had her masks, and so did Margot.
They looked at more of the displays, as Briseis, Odette, and Wendy went deeper into the store. Ginny had just found a rack of magazines — the only non-Quidditch item she had seen so far — when Margot pointed to a figure outside, visible through the window.
"Tom's outside," said Margot with a meaningful look. "We should go say hi."
Ginny grabbed one of the trinkets on the shelves at random — a small brass broom compass.
"You go ahead," she said. "I'll just pay for this first and —"
Another figure had joined Riddle. It was hard to tell what Riddle was saying, now that he had turned away from the window. But the boy who had moved toward him, who had stormed over with a furious expression —
"Never mind," said Margot quickly, as she grabbed Ginny's elbow and tried to tug her away. "You wanted to get this, yeah? Let's go to the counter — oh, Ginny, please don't —"
Ginny wasn't listening. She returned the broom compass to the shelf and exited the shop. Alphard still looked livid, but Malfoy had appeared and, strangely enough, seemed to be holding him back rather than the other way around.
"— your dog on a leash," Riddle was saying.
Malfoy sneered. "I'd shut my mouth if I we're you, filthy Mu —" He saw Ginny's approach and glowered. "Riddle," he finished through gritted teeth.
Riddle and Alphard didn't miss Malfoy's pause, and they too looked at Ginny, Riddle with his jaw clenched and Alphard almost sagging with relief.
"Well," she said flatly. "Don't stop on my account."
"Smith," said Riddle tersely. "We were just catching up."
"Looks like it." She inclined her head toward the store. "Margot and I can see you all the way across the street. She wanted to say hi."
The change was instantaneous. Now aware he was being watched, Riddle plastered on a charming smile.
"She's here, then?" he said. "I thought she wanted to skip the trip."
"She changed her mind. Abraxas here promised to buy us a butterbeer."
"Did he," he said tonelessly, his eyes narrowed.
Too late, Ginny remembered Dumbledore's warnings — his reminders to lie low, to not draw Riddle's attention, to not give Riddle reason to believe she knew about the Chamber's opening.
"You should come with us," said Ginny, smiling thinly, knowing full well he wouldn't. Given how their last encounter went, it seemed there was no point in putting on airs around him anymore. "Margot would love to have another friendly face."
Malfoy glared.
"Another time, perhaps," said Riddle easily. "Unfortunately, I've already made plans, and I don't think Margot would be happy with my company. She and Raoul don't get along, you see."
Alphard blanched so suddenly that his dark hair and robes stood starkly against his now colourless face.
"He's not tired of you yet?" said Malfoy, and Ginny wished she could turn around and punch him. "Seems he must have lowered his standards, since we last met."
Riddle's smile was as sharp as a knife. "Remind me again, how did that end for you?"
Alphard held Malfoy back, just as Ginny stepped in between him and Riddle.
"If either of you draw your wands," she hissed at them both, "I will scream like a banshee. Does anyone here really want to start a scene?"
Riddle scoffed. "How ironic, for you to caution us against making a scene."
"What can I say," she said dryly. "I really want my free drink."
"Well, what have we here!" came a booming voice from behind them.
They turned to see Professor Slughorn, who was wearing an enormous furry hat and an overcoat with matching fur collar. Alphard's relief was clear, and Ginny could see the colour reappear on his face.
"My best students, all here together," said Slughorn. Behind him were Ginny's friends, who were eyeing the scene with curiosity and trepidation. "Lovely to see you all getting along."
There was an uncertain chorus of greetings, but he didn't seem to notice as he clapped his hand on Riddle's shoulder.
"Tom, my boy!" said Slughorn genially. "What do you say to a spot of supper Monday night? Not quite so formal as the last one, but some very good friends of mine will be coming along, and I'm sure they'd be happy to meet you." Chuckling, he turned to Alphard and Malfoy. "Now, you two, I daresay you've met them all already. But in times like these, it'll be good to catch up with old family friends, wouldn't it?"
"Of course, sir," said Malfoy politely, as though he hadn't been two seconds away from getting into a duel.
"Good, good." Slughorn moved to leave and saw Ginny's friends behind him. "Oh, Augusta! You missed our last get-together! Now, that won't do at all! I shall be seeing you this Monday, I hope? And, of course, you as well, Margot."
"Augusta?" Ginny mouthed to Briseis, who had descended into a coughing fit.
Margot was smiling like her life depended on it. Odette, too stunned to correct him on why she hadn't gone to the last dinner, nodded.
"Wonderful!" he said.
And with a regal wave, Slughorn waddled away, taking as little notice of Ginny — and Briseis and Wendy — as he had been doing the past weeks.
"Er," said Margot, when he was out of sight, still with that too wide smile. "Is everything all right?"
"Just fine," said Riddle pleasantly. "In fact, I was just about to —"
"Leave," Malfoy cut in, sneering again.
They glared at each other, though Riddle's expression remained unchanged. If anything, he looked like he was humouring a sulking toddler.
Malfoy caved first. "Come on, you lot. I didn't think I'd be feeding a flock, but now you're all here anyway —"
Everyone followed him without complaint, except for Ginny and Margot, who was frowning worriedly at Riddle.
"Go on," he said, still amiably. "Your friends are waiting. I'll see you later."
His gaze flicked to Ginny, then he left with no more than a wordless wave. They watched him go until he rounded a corner, out of sight.
"You don't think he's mad, do you?" said Margot anxiously as they headed to the Three Broomsticks.
Ginny felt a twinge of guilt. She had brought up Margot's name, knowing it would get Riddle to back off, but she hadn't stopped to think what it would mean for Margot's friendship with him.
"At you?" said Ginny. "Never."
The pub was extremely crowded, noisy, and warm. Ginny found their large group at the back, somewhat cramped and sharing a too small table.
"What was that about?" Odette was saying as Ginny and Margot approached.
"Just a disagreement," said Malfoy.
"Some disagreement." Seeing Ginny, Odette rounded on her. "And you! We turn our backs for one minute —"
"I didn't do anything!" said Ginny irritably. "Why do you always think it's my fault?"
"You have a history," grumbled Malfoy.
"It was my fault," Alphard spoke up before she could. "Ginny was just stepping in — kept it from escalating."
Briseis, seated next to him, placed her hand on his arm. "That doesn't sound like you."
Alphard shrugged, and Briseis dropped her hand, her face falling. On Alphard's other side was Malfoy, leaving the only empty seats between him and Wendy. Resignedly, Ginny took the seat next to Malfoy.
"Listen," said Odette impatiently, "if you and Tom are going to start fighting again —"
"Who said we stopped?" drawled Malfoy.
"For god's sake," she muttered. "We're Switzerland. Don't drag us into your stupid little rivalry —"
"Calm down," he said, rolling his eyes. "Our problem has nothing to do with you. Why should you get involved?"
He shot Ginny a pointed look. Ungrateful ponce.
"Good," said Odette, then she grinned. "Now, we were promised drinks, but I could have sworn you said something about feeding us. . . ."
Malfoy scoffed and waved his hand magnanimously, as if to say, Well — go ahead.
The table descended into a flurry of conversation, as if the confrontation had never happened. Even more surprising to Ginny was how friendly Malfoy seemed, how easy the banter was. He was polite even to Margot, who was quiet for most of the meal. It was jarring to see — Ginny kept forgetting that, despite his all around prattishness, Malfoy was charming when he wanted to be, and he had history with everyone here. That they really were friends, just as Briseis had told her.
It was a reminder too, that as much as Ginny liked her roommates, they were still the sort of people she would have never gotten to know. Had they been her age in her time, they would have existed in each other's periphery, without ever anything more than maybe knowing their names.
Not even Margot, who wore her mask so well that Ginny would have never known she didn't quite fit, if Margot hadn't told her herself. Who knew how many others like her went to Hogwarts at the same time as Ginny, Slytherins she could have befriended if they had crossed the giant divide between their Houses.
As they ate, Ginny glanced at Alphard, who kept his eyes averted from hers. While everyone else seemed content to ignore the scene earlier, she wondered what his argument with Riddle had been about. Alphard had never struck her as the sort to approach Riddle the way he did — Malfoy, maybe, but not Alphard.
Malfoy was telling the group about his O.W.L.s — everyone was listening with rapt attention, and even Margot sat up a bit straighter when he said he had gotten an O in Divination — when Alphard offered to get everyone another round of butterbeer.
"I'll come with you," said Ginny, getting to her feet and looping her arm through his before he could say no.
Margot, now an empty seat away from Malfoy, looked alarmed, but Ginny could spare her no more than an encouraging look as she left with Alphard, who looked uncomfortable as they approached the bar.
"Well?" he said, when Ginny said nothing right away. "Aren't you going to ask me?"
"I didn't think I'd have to. I was hoping you'd sing like a canary."
"Too bad — I can't hold a tune."
Alphard still looked uneasy as they waited for their order. Ginny gently nudged his shoulder with her own.
"You don't seem like the sort to start fights," she said. "It looked like you were going to punch Riddle in the face."
"Worried I'd ruin his pretty face?"
"Worried he'd ruin yours."
"Aww," he cooed jokingly. "You think I'm pretty?"
Ginny rolled her eyes — damn it, she really needed to break that habit. "Vanity's not a good look on you."
"I know you've already guessed."
"I want to hear it from you anyway," she said lightly. "Is it about Lestrange?"
He glanced around, as if to make quite sure that nobody was listening; a pair of old women were some seats away, drinking tiny glasses of sherry and talking to the short, balding bartender.
"Abraxas wants me to let it go," said Alphard gruffly, "but how am I supposed to? I share a dormitory with Raoul. I see him every day. Sometimes I want to —" He sighed heavily. "It'd be so easy, to just forgive and forget."
Ginny felt the weight of his words and didn't quite know how to answer.
"Why don't you?" she said quietly.
Alphard laughed, but it was a sad, strangled sound. "I don't think it'd be worth it."
"It's why you invited me, isn't it?"
And not Briseis, Ginny thought as she leaned to try to force him to look her in the eye. She grabbed his arm lightly, trying to make the gesture seem determined rather than uncertain. He stared at her fingers before finally squarely meeting her gaze, a sheepish look on his face.
"I invited you because of Abraxas," he said. "I know you don't like him, and I don't blame you. He's . . . ethically challenged, let's say."
She snorted. "Ethically challenged?"
"Kindest way to say it, hating things for no reason."
"He's got a reason — seems pretty dotty about that reason."
He gave a soft amused noise that was halfway towards being a disbelieving scoff.
"Blood," he said. "Daft reason."
Somehow, in that one breath, Alphard had dismissed centuries of bigotry, ingrained in him since birth, as thoughtlessly as one would swat away a fly. Somehow, more than anything he had said before, he had made himself impossible for Ginny to dislike, ever again.
"I'd like it if you would get along," said Alphard earnestly. "I'm not asking you to be friends but — he's trying. You probably think he's doing a shoddy job of it, but he is trying."
Ginny tried to see it, but she had a hard time reconciling the Abraxas Malfoy that Alphard knew, to the one who grew up to raise a man like Lucius Malfoy.
But then, he was just a child now — what did he know of war and consequence? Who was she to say that his trying was destined to amount to nothing, when here she was trying to rewrite time itself?
And wasn't that how most things start anyway? By trying?
"I've been hearing a lot of this lately," said Ginny. "From Uncle, mostly, but I've gotten an earful from Briseis too. It's not as easy as it sounds, compromising."
"It's not supposed to be," said Alphard, with a rueful grin. "How're you managing?"
The only progress she seemed to have made was seeing more pissed-off Slytherins up close rather than from afar. Not counting her Quidditch teammates, there was also Riddle on that list — if she hadn't made an enemy of him before, then she certainly had now.
But there was Margot too, and Alphard and her other dormmates, the kind of people she would have never looked at twice, in another life.
What would Harry think, of her befriending the man who's scion had bullied him for years? What would Harry do, in her shoes? For all the horrors he had faced, Ginny didn't think he had ever fought a battle quite like this, all subtle politics and intrigue rippling between the lines.
"I got a free meal out of it," she said wryly, "so that's something."
The bartender gave them their drinks, and they returned to their table with a tray of foaming tankards of hot butterbeer.
They stayed another half hour inside the pub before Alphard and Malfoy left to meet with their friends. Not long after, Ginny and the other girls drew their cloaks tightly around them and went back to the castle. When they reached the entrance hall, Margot headed straight for the library to go to her study group, while the rest of them took the route to the dungeons.
"Alphard told you about it, didn't he?" Briseis said to Ginny in an undertone. Ahead of them, Odette and Wendy were talking excitedly about Slughorn's dinner. "The . . . disagreement?"
Briseis was wearing the same look she wore when she learned of Alphard's invitation. Ginny's lips parted to answer, frozen between yes and no.
Despite her closeness with Alphard, Briseis didn't seem to approve of interfering with the status quo. This divide between Malfoy and Riddle, and all the issues that came with it, was the sort of thing she avoided. How much did she know about Alphard's conflict with Lestrange and Riddle? For that matter, how much of it did Alphard want her to know?
"You don't have to tell me," said Briseis when Ginny hesitated too long. "I'm just worried, that's all."
"It was about Lestrange," said Ginny. It was all she could do not to look sorry for Briseis, shrugging and looking puzzled with every inch of the liar in her. "That's all he said. Can't say I know what's going on with them, honestly."
Briseis looked away. The happy glow of the Hogsmeade trip had dimmed to a timid, wary look, and it was like watching a plucked flower dry and fade. Ginny was reminded of herself at eleven, in all her bumbling awkwardness, and suddenly very much wanted to slap some sense into Alphard.
Odette and Wendy were still talking about what Odette should wear to Slughorn's dinner. Briseis had hidden away her doleful look and was now jumping into the conversation. Ginny, for lack of anything else to say, followed her lead.
"So," said Ginny when they were back in their dormitory. "Your first name's Augusta?"
Odette scowled. "Oh, don't you start."
Ginny saw little of Riddle for the rest of the weekend, though he seemed normal — as close to it as he was capable of — in the glimpses she had of him in the Great Hall. Margot claimed he was fine and not angry like she had feared when he had gone to their study group. That, at least, had made Ginny somewhat reassured that he wasn't off plotting murders with his Death Eater friends.
Only somewhat, because she never could be sure with Riddle. Ginny would have tried to pry some more, but most of Margot's attention swivelled between her worrying about Leonard's feelings — "He wasn't there today," Margot said when she had returned from the library. "I hope he isn't mad I cancelled on him. . . ." — and the dreary reports on the war all over the Daily Prophet.
Not eager to talk to Riddle herself, Ginny felt she had no other option but to talk to Nancy, who she had passed by after Sunday's Occlumency lessons. It took everything in her not to react when Nancy immediately dissolved into giggles.
"He was so disappointed, you know," said Nancy. "It was all he could talk about yesterday, that he hadn't asked you to Hogsmeade."
"Oh, I don't know if he fancies me all that much," said Ginny, feigning nonchalance. "I get the feeling he's avoiding me."
"He's just embarrassed, I think, because you saw him and Alphard fighting about you —"
"Me?"
More giggling. "I told you," said Nancy cheerily, "he's jealous."
Of Alphard? There was plenty for Riddle to be jealous about — Alphard's wealth, money, family — but not her.
"But of course," Nancy went on, "if you set him straight about you and Alphard, I'm sure he'll do the gentlemanly thing."
Nancy's face was bright with curiosity, and her words were vague enough that Ginny knew what she was hoping to hear — that Ginny would reveal what, exactly, was going on between her and Alphard. It could simply be gossip fodder, but she wouldn't put it past Riddle to use the rumour mill for his own ends.
So Ginny smiled and said, "Thanks for telling me about all this. I really didn't know — Margot never tells me a thing."
"I always thought it'd be those two," mused Nancy as they walked to the Great Hall for dinner. "But Tom's never really looked at anyone like he looks at you, and Margot's always fancied Leonard — she's in quite a state too, because he skipped out again today. I've told her he probably just forgot, but you know how she worries."
Margot was still worrying when Ginny arrived at their table. As Ginny consoled her, she couldn't help but glance at Riddle, who was making seemingly innocuous conversation with Mulciber. Of all the tactics she expected from him, of all the dastardly plots he could have come up with, making her the centre of some make-believe love triangle was the last thing she could have imagined.
Points for creativity, if nothing else.
Monday morning came too soon and far too early. Ginny had gotten hardly any sleep, so she could be forgiven for bumping smack into someone's chest mid-yawn as she came down to the common room.
"Shit, sor —"
It was Riddle, and he was holding her elbows to keep her upright. Ginny immediately jumped away, her stomach roiling with dread.
"Tom!" said Margot, with a liveliness that shouldn't be allowed this early in the day. "Good morning!"
"Good morning," he said, though it was Ginny he was looking at with polite amusement. "I was wondering if I could walk you to breakfast."
"I'll save you some bagels, Ginny," said Margot at once. Suddenly she was dragging Briseis, Odette, and Wendy out of the common room, and they glanced at Ginny with wide-eyed surprise as they left, gone before Ginny had even found her bearings.
This was not how she wanted to start the week.
"What did you say to her?" said Ginny, with more calm than she thought she possessed.
"Enough," said Riddle, smirking. "She seems quite pleased, doesn't she?"
She really didn't want to know, but morbid curiosity got the better of her. "What did you tell her?"
"Not as much as you think. She formed her own conclusions."
"And you did nothing to dissuade her, I reckon."
His smirk widened. "She's been trying to get us alone for the past week. Haven't you noticed?"
"I tried not to," she muttered. "What do you want?"
"At the moment? Breakfast." He gestured toward the exit. "Shall we?"
"I know how to get there by myself, thanks," she said coolly.
Riddle quirked one eyebrow up — a trick she couldn't get the hang of at all, though all of Slytherin house seemed to have it down pat. "Now who's avoiding who?"
"I barely slept, Riddle. Excuse me if I'm too sleep-deprived to deal with all your —" She flopped her hand in his direction. "God, I don't even know."
Ginny sidestepped him and ploughed out of the room and down the corridor, determinedly ignoring that Riddle was keeping pace with her, seemingly unfazed.
"Is this how you normally are when you're not pretending, or am I just lucky?"
"Are you normally this irritating or am I just special?" she retorted. "Apologies if I'm too tired to provide you suitable entertainment."
Riddle clamped his mouth shut, but his lips twitched as if he was holding back a grin. Prat.
"How was your weekend?" he asked after a while.
She chanced a glance at him from the corner of her eye and saw nothing but calculated interest.
"I wouldn't want to bore you with the details," she said blandly, "but Abraxas was quite generous to his friends."
His smirk slipped.
"Abraxas now, is it?" he said coldly. "I thought it was Black you were interested in. You've grown quite close, from what I've gathered."
"Jealous?" she said with an exaggerated simper. "Because from what I've gathered, that's the story you've been selling."
And the amusement was back. "You caught on longer than I thought you would."
"Why have you been lying to Margot?" she said, scowling. "How long have you been lying to her?"
Riddle didn't answer. He just looked over at her, as though saying, Be more specific — as if he didn't bloody know.
Ginny glowered, hating herself for the words about to come out of her mouth. "You've been telling her you fancy me."
"What makes you think I don't?" he said silkily, then laughed at the look of disdain on her face.
"You don't strike me as the pining sort," she said wryly. "It's quite a story you cooked up. You've got Nancy itching to play matchmaker."
He shrugged. "They came up with the story. All I did was insinuate."
"What's your endgame here? What could you possibly hope to gain by spreading gossip?"
Riddle smiled suddenly, as if he found something funny. "It's a shame you're not coming to Slughorn's party."
Ginny gave him a dirty look. "You haven't answered my question."
"You never answer mine."
"I do — you're just never satisfied with the answers I give you."
"And yet you seem to think you'll be satisfied with mine."
Stumped for any clever retort, Ginny could only glare as they swept through the Great Hall and reached their table. She watched as Riddle's amused expression turned into a shy, unassuming look, as easily as one would put on a cloak.
Ginny was instantly accosted with questions when she sat down, Briseis frowning disapprovingly as Margot, Odette, and Wendy talked over each other in their excitement. But Ginny had no answer to give them, except for a helpless shrug and a laugh she hoped sounded lighter than she felt.
"So," said Alphard as he sat next to her, "you two back to normal, then?"
Ginny sighed wearily. She was really starting to hate that word — surely there had to be something better than normal, to describe whatever the hell was going on with Riddle.
"I don't know what to tell you," she said.
Alphard's brows drew together. He cast a wary glance at Riddle, frowned at her some more, then left it at that.
Ginny tried to put the whole morning out of her mind. Riddle hadn't approached her again, but he did smile at her when they passed each other outside of class — not for her benefit, but for Margot's and his stupid story.
Her friends teased her throughout the day, and Margot was clearly relieved she wasn't at the receiving end of it anymore. Ginny just rolled her eyes and endured it. Denying Riddle's so-called crush would get her nothing but more teasing, and explaining who and what Riddle was, was obviously out of the question.
"We'll tell Tom you said hi," said Odette, snickering as she and Margot headed to Slughorn's dinner.
With the two of them gone, Ginny, Briseis, and Wendy were left to spend the evening in the common room, grudgingly doing their homework. Ginny had just talked herself into seriously focusing when she heard an uncomfortable titter ripple through the crowd.
Ginny looked up. All the Slytherins in the common room were muttering among themselves, looking at one another in confusion.
"What's going on?" asked Wendy, looking up from her textbook as the buzz of voices grew louder.
Briseis squinted at their assembled housemates, straining to hear snatches of conversation. "I think — something's happened at Slughorn's . . . something about a body. . . ."
Cold dread flooded Ginny, as if the temperature of her blood had suddenly dropped. Her thoughts were curdling, thinking of Riddle's odd behaviour, of the dead roosters, of Alphard and Malfoy's conversation earlier in the term. . . .
"Ginny, where are you —"
Dazedly, Ginny stood and sprinted out of the common room and through the dungeons. She hoped she was wrong. Merlin's beard, please, let me be wrong. . . .
She wasn't. Outside of Slughorn's office, a small crowd of students and dinner guests were gathered, some pressing forward to see the grisly sight, others trying to push them back. Above their heads, shimmering in the light cast by the flaming torches, were familiar words daubed on the wall.
The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the heir . . . beware.
Ginny was vaguely aware of Briseis and Wendy on her heels, coming up behind her as she stopped dead in her tracks. She was vaguely aware that other students had followed after her and were now joining the mass of partygoers, horrified and curious. She was vaguely aware of Slughorn, his voice magnified magically, shouting instructions to students to return to their dormitories.
But all these were drowned out by her heavy breathing, the thundering of her heart in her ears, as everything around her spun and shrunk and — this is my fault . . . I let this happen. . . .
"Ginny."
Alphard, his face stark white, appeared in front of her, gripping her shoulders to hold her steady.
"Let go," she said, and he did. She sounded rude, she realized, but right now, she didn't care. She needed to know, she needed to see —
Ginny battered her way through the crowd. As she edged nearer to the front, she saw a body on the floor, stiff as a board and eyes wide and staring. She turned, more than half-expecting to see Alphard — and there he was, two steps behind her, looking as afraid as she felt.
There was so much Ginny wanted to tell him, but instead she raised her voice to say, "Margot," and Alphard stepped forward to push people until she was only one step away from Margot, who was sobbing and shaking uncontrollably. Odette had her arm wrapped around her, patting her shoulder.
Hearing Ginny's approach, Margot looked up and suddenly she was in Ginny's arms instead of Odette's. Ginny patted Margot's back, burying her own guilty thoughts and trying not to look at Leonard Wright's unmoving body.
"Miss Droope," said Slughorn softly, his voice no longer modified. "If you could please go to the headmaster's office with Miss Black."
Margot did, her hand seizing Ginny's forearm so hard Ginny thought it might bruise, and they followed Lucretia Black away from the swarm of people.
The next thing Ginny knew, she was sitting in front of Dippet's desk, Margot next to her. Margot's head was resting on Nancy's shoulder, their chairs pressed close together. A little more apart on Nancy's other side was Riddle, who was wearing a sad, anxious look that Ginny wanted to slap off. She willed herself not to look at him, not sure what she would do to him if she did.
A little while later, a gangly, dark-skinned boy entered the room. Like Nancy, Edward Turner was wearing pyjamas under his cloak, and he was rubbing fiercely at his already bedraggled hair.
"Is it true?" said Edward, as a stocky boy with red hair conjured him a chair. "Ignatius said —"
Margot shook with renewed sobs. Nancy pet her hair gently.
"We're not sure yet," said Ignatius Prewett hesitantly. "But it'll be all right — the headmaster will be here any minute now. . . . Here, maybe this'll help."
He handed each of them a bar of chocolate, and only Nancy and Riddle accepted. When he reached Ginny, her first thought was, Charlie — except he didn't have enough freckles, and his eyes and his nose were all wrong, and her brother never had a Head Boy badge pinned to his robes.
Ginny shook her head. The cold dread in her chest delved deeper, swarming through her like ice water, numbing her so deeply that she felt nothing but a strange sense of detachment as she looked away from her great-uncle.
The writing on the wall, the still body lying beneath it — it might have all been a terrible dream, if not for Margot's tear-stained cheeks and the sound of crackling wrapper and snapping chocolate.
"I don't understand," said Edward suddenly. "I don't — why are we here? What happened?"
He looked around, but Ignatius was gone, and no one moved to answer him.
"It's true then," he said shakily. "Is he d — Leonard's —"
"No," said Riddle vehemently, and Ginny inwardly seethed. "He can't be. No one dies at Hogwarts — it's not possible."
"Then why are we here?" asked Edward, almost hysterically. "Why did they ask us — I just want to know if —"
"You are here, Mr. Turner," came a clear, kind voice from behind them, "because we wish to inform you of tonight's events. Perhaps you may also help shed some light on what has happened."
They all whirled around in their seats. Dippet entered the room and sat at his desk, Dumbledore standing behind him. Ginny looked down at her lap, unable to look at Dumbledore's face.
"No student has been lost tonight," said Dippet calmly. "Mr. Wright has been Petrified, but we will be able to cure him. Professor Dumbledore recently managed to procure some Mandrakes, and we will use them to revive your friend once they have reached their full size."
"Petrified?" said Nancy. "That's Dark Magic, isn't it? Who could have — why would they do that to Leonard?"
"That is why we asked you here, Miss Kincaid. As his closest friends, can you think of anyone, anyone at all, who would have reason to attack Leonard?"
They shook their heads, though Ginny had to stamp back the urge to pounce Riddle then and there.
"No one? Perhaps people who might have harboured some ill-intent? Perhaps to get back at him —"
"You think this could have been a prank?" Nancy half-hissed. "But why would anyone do that?" She blinked, then added, "Professor Dippet."
"That is what we wish to find out," said Dippet patiently.
"Sir," said Margot hoarsely, "can you tell us about the Chamber of Secrets?"
Ginny took a sharp, nervous breath.
"It's just a story, Miss Droope," he said, still so calmly Ginny almost missed how he sped up his words. "The Chamber of Secrets is no more than a myth."
"It can't be," said Margot, more feverishly. "Whatever it is, whatever's inside — that's what attacked Leonard."
"Miss Droope —"
"It's not a myth," Ginny heard herself say. Her voice was an oddly floating thing, and even as all eyes turned to her, she felt like it was someone else saying the words. "There's a monster inside it, and there's a monster controlling that — it Petrified Leonard because he's Muggle-born."
Riddle's gaze bore into the back of her head, but Ginny ignored it like she ignored Dumbledore's warning look.
"Is that true?" said Edward breathlessly. "Is it going to attack us too?"
Margot was trembling again, and Nancy had to bolster her up.
Dippet sighed. "We can't say for certain, Mr. Turner, but we will look into every possibility."
"Why do they hate us?" said Margot, looking at Ginny, then to Dippet and Dumbledore. "I'm sorry, but I don't understand. Aren't we magic too? Aren't we magic enough? I don't — I don't understand."
There was a moment of quiet. Under the watchful eyes of the silent portraits, it felt even longer. Again, Ginny fought the urge to look at Riddle, and she wondered what he was thinking under whatever convincing facade he was now wearing.
"Don't apologize, Miss Droope," said Dumbledore at last. "There are many answers I could lay out for you, reasons that have been given in the past from like-minded people, but I believe none of it will ever make sense to you. And there is no shame in that. There is no shame in not understanding hatred."
His eyes danced over them, reading their faces, lingering a second longer on Riddle's.
"It has been a long night for all of us," added Dumbledore gravely. "I believe, Armando, that if no one has anything to add, it's time we all get some rest."
Dippet nodded. "You may go," he said to Ginny and her classmates. "Miss Black and Mr. Prewett will escort you back to your dormitories."
They scrambled up from their chairs and filed out of the room. Dumbledore exited the headmaster's office and said, "Ginny, if you could join me for a moment in my office."
At Margot's panicked look, Ginny gave her a smile she hoped looked reassuring, as the Head Boy and Head Girl herded Margot, Riddle, and the others away.
Ginny and Dumbledore walked to his office in silence. It was enough time for her mind to catch up — to remember every encounter she had witnessed, to connect everything she knew. All the lines that once seemed blurry and tangled were now clearer and more distinct.
How had she not seen it sooner? Why hadn't she paid attention?
"Alphard Black," said Ginny, when they were away from curious eyes and nosy portraits. "He knows about the Chamber. He knew this was going to happen."
