Apologies for my absence, exam season was rather brutal.
Happy reading!
- Red
The consequences of her actions caught up to Ginny by mid afternoon.
She sat in McGonagall's office not for the first time, but probably for the most serious.
The room was oddly welcoming, cozy with a large fireplace and a window overlooking the Quidditch field.
Ginny felt far from relaxed however. Feigning innocence would not only be stupid but pathetic. There was no talking her way out of it, Ginny was smart enough to realise that, and so she sat in her chair, hands folded neatly on the table in front of her, and trying to make eye contact with her Head of House.
"Miss Weasley I expected better." McGonagall was terrifying when angry, harsh enough to make even grown wizards flinch. Disappointment was something else.
Ginny was prepared for anger. Prepared to hear the speech about how she expected this sort of behaviour from Fred and George.
She hasn't planned for disappointment, and as such was rewarded with the sinking feeling of guilt in her gut.
She could apologise, say that she wouldn't do it again, but she'd be lying. It was only her fourth year after all, and the track records of other Weasleys weren't in her favour.
For once Ginny was glad she didn't get a chance to speak.
"Skipping one class is bad enough, but the whole day? I don't even want to touch on your behaviour towards Professor Umbridge."
At the mention of the Ministry woman, McGonagall's tone soured, elevating Ginny's mood a little.
"I meant what I said. About Umbridge," Ginny confessed, hoping that her Head of House would understand. "She's not teaching us anything! It's ridiculous, especially now!" Her voice rose against her will and her hands left the desk to curl into fists at her sides. "You-Know-Who is back! How can she be refusing to teach us anything?"
McGonagall's face twisted and she reached up to pinch her nose. The internal conflict occurring inside her mind was so loud Ginny could practically hear it.
"Umbridge's teaching methods are out of my control. Professor Dumbledore does what he thinks is best for the school, and we all trust his decisions."
Judging by her tone of voice, Ginny assumed she'd either had this conversation before, or was trying to convince herself.
The aura in the room quickly turned solemn.
"I understand that last year was a shock to all of us, Ginny, but you mustn't worry about your safety. The teachers here are committed to keeping you all safe. Security has been tightened since last year and we are taking many precautions to ensure that it stays this way."
The witch's words comforted Ginny a little. Hogwarts was supposedly the safest place in the Wizarding World, or at least it had been since Harry Potter arrived. If anything posed a threat to her, it was within the castle. The red head nodded.
"If you need someone to talk to Miss Weasley, I'll be happy to make the arrangements myself." Her face was filled with compassion, her hard exterior shattered. No longer was she the woman dealing out Ginny's punishment for being rebellious, but a concerned teacher.
"I'll be okay, I think. I'll come to you if I have any problems."
Mcgonagall nodded. "I won't add anymore punishments to your schedule, detention with Professor Umbridge is punishment enough." The look on the witch's face communicated to Ginny that her words were to stay between them.
Smiling for what felt like the first time in ages, Ginny left the office.
Monday rolled around too quickly, and with it came Ginny's week of detention. Her classes that day passed quickly, as though the universe was punishing her as well.
She knocked politely on the door of Umbridge's office to be met with a sickeningly sweet voice inviting her in.
The sight was not what Ginny expected. The walls were covered in pale pink wallpaper, decorated with numerous framed photos of cats, most of them running around or playing with balls of yarn. The torture cave Ginny had imagined was better than the sight she was met with.
Umbridge sat behind her desk, wearing a plain lavender shirt, considerably less shocking than her normal attire.
The room is enough, Ginny thought. She took her seat without prompting, something that she expected to cause her more trouble, instead the witch smiled, the sight of it sending chills down Ginny's spine. She reached into one of her drawers and produced several sheets of parchment as well as a quill.
The writing instrument was like nothing Ginny had seen before, she picked it up, turning it around in her fingers curiously. The feather was long and black, heavily pointed at the top. The nib is what piqued Ginny's interest. It was a ghastly looking thing, sharp and slightly hooked.
Of course Umbridge would keep freaky looking quills.
"You'll be writing lines, Miss Weasley." Her beady eyes fixated on the red head, her lips curling into a smile that was far from pleasant. "I must not question my superiors."
Ginny fought the urge to roll her eyes. Superior. The only thing Umbridge was superior to was an army of swamp creatures.
"How many times?" She expected an obscene number, 300 maybe 400. Instead she was met with another smile.
"I think you'll know when to stop."
Ginny shrugged, and put the quill to the parchment, writing out the first letter.
She understood the sudden smiles instantly.
The sting on the back of her hand was sharp, grabbing her attention instantly. Ginny stared at her skin, completely dumbfounded, mouth open like an idiot. A tiny letter "i" was etched into her skin, tiny droplets of blood oozing out. Her eyes flickered from her hand to the quill, but she refused to give Umbridge the satisfaction of her shock.
This has to be illegal. Surely this is against some sort of law?
Ginny swallowed, the Gryffindor traits inside her refusing to let the witch win. She was stronger than she looked, and her determination to prove the maniac wrong was enough motivation to continue writing.
The pain dulled into an ache, her skin slowly going numb, and her head dizzy as she stared at her blood on the parchment. Umbridge paced, the clicking of her heels only adding to the torment.
"You know you've done wrong."
Ginny wanted to stab her with the pointed end of the quill; to shove in into her throat just so she wouldn't be able to speak in the sickeningly sweet voice of hers. She was enjoying it; Ginny could see her grin in her mind.
How did Dumbledore find this woman? She wondered if Dumbledore was even the one to hire her at all. The Ministry was known for interfering in matters that they didn't belong in, and considering the events that occurred last year, the Ministry was probably on high alert.
Time passed slowly, agonizingly so. The pain returned again as exhaustion finally took its hold on Ginny. Umbridge seemed to pick up on it, and coughed in a way she probably thought was polite.
"I think that's enough for today, Ms Weasley." She moved back to her desk, searching in her drawer for something. "Your hand please? We don't want you bleeding on the floors do we?"
Ginny obeyed, the fire that had originally been burning in her stomach dulled; extinguished by both the mental exhaustion and discomfort. The witch wrapped her hand in gauze, effectively covering up any evidence of what took place inside her office. Ginny already understood that if she told anyone, she would be the one facing the consequences.
"I'll see you tomorrow."
Ginny left the office, eyes burning with tears she didn't understand the reason for.
She elbowed her way down the staircase, head held low in a vain attempt to hide her watery eyes. Some of the portraits noticed her sour mood and called out to her, only making things worse. By the time she reached the first floor her face was as red as her hair.
She didn't exactly have a destination in mind, but rather a list of places she didn't want to be. The common room, too crowded. The Quidditch pitch, currently occupied by Slytherins. She could find her secluded patch of grass, but it looked like it was going to rain soon.
An alcove it was going to be. She could tuck herself away and pretend that she was doing homework or something equally as boring.
Her plans were far from boring however. After she found an alcove and made herself comfortable, she reached into her bag and pulled out the diary.
She hadn't been writing as frequently as she used to. Partly it was because she didn't want to face him after the dream, but it was also because she hadn't made up her mind.
Blood magic. After her detention, blood was the last thing she wanted to think about.
She wrote hastily, her letters uneven and barely legible.
You won't believe this Tom.
His reply came but Ginny didn't read it.
She had some sort of blood quill. It's a torture device. I don't even think it's legal, you'd think someone from the Ministry would know better. It's absolutely ridiculous.
The tears fell onto the page just as she realised she was crying. She let them sit there, soaking into the paper the same way the ink did, half wondering if he could tell the difference.
You're crying.
So he could tell the difference. That or he could see her. Both options didn't seem so bad in the moment. Tom was the only one she could talk to about this. If she so much as mentioned it to anyone else she was sure Umbridge would find a new way to punish her. Her father worked in the Ministry. She couldn't risk it.
She's evil Tom.
Ginny angrily rubbed at her eyes, crying now with frustration. She wants me to get upset. I'm just letting her win.
A new sense of recklessness filled her system, fuelled by anger and sheer curiosity. She'd bled enough today, a few more drops weren't going to make a difference.
Ginny pushed the nib of the quill into her index finger, wincing at the pain that came when the skin broke. The blood pooled for a second, and before she could give herself time to think about it further, she or sees the wound into the open pages of the diary.
The blood was a pleasant surprise, though the sudden sensation of it entering his world bordered on traumatic.
He's spent so long feeling nothing. No air in his lungs, no feeling against his skin, not even the coldness of air.
So when those red droplets fell from the sky like some twisted form of rain, Tom didn't know if he should rejoice or scream at the sudden intake of feeling.
Ginny hadn't even warned him of her decision, but he figured that was typical. Ginevra had grown rather unpredictable in the past years. No longer was she the doe eyed child she had been at the age of eleven. When she first made connection he wanted a body, something the eleven year old could offer him. But now she had so much more to give. There was a fire in her that he no longer had the desire of extinguishing. Her mind was at the perfect age of shaping. She was old enough to understand what he was saying, but young enough to believe whatever nonsense he decided to spew at her.
There was a number of downsides, as there always were, but they could be worked around. She was a Gryfindor for one, and with that came a special kind of recklessness that quickly turned into stupidity. She also had the bleeding heart of a woman that was sympathetic to mudbloods and muggles and bloodtraitors. Tom was smart enough to know that he couldn't shift her opinions, and he wasn't stupid enough to try and keep her away from his plans, whatever they may be.
Time was all Tom had, yet he hadn't decided what he wanted to do yet. The beauty of only having time was that there was always more of it. He'd get out of the diary and decide where to go from there.
The blood was a big step forward, even if it was such a tiny amount. He'd need more for the connection to be formed properly but it was a start. He knew better now, he wouldn't ask for more lest he scare her away again. No he needed to be slow, painfully so. Patience was always one of his best attributes.
So he'd do what he had done for as long as he had been stuck in the book: wait.
I have to go to class Tom. I'll speak to you this afternoon.
The words appeared in front of him, messy lettering in navy blue.
He pulled his wand out of his robes and wrote his reply.
Until next time.
He felt the diary shut, felt the sudden loss of light in his chest, and his world returned to nothingness. At least it would be for a moment.
The connection was flimsy, barely formed and weak, but it was there. After so many years of nothing, Tom's longing for something was greater than his longing for a body. The connection was the only way he was going to get it, so now that the chance was there, he allowed himself to be reckless.
It had been a long time since he had manipulated the connections. The last time Ginny had been eleven, and the connection was still shaky. Tom figured it would get better with practice, but the child had apparently noticed his attempted possession and ever since she had been hesitant.
Or she had been.
She was still cautious, but she was trusting. Tom knew that the connection was weak, and that attempting to get inside her head was useless, he'd be inside for half a minute and then get knocked back, but if the connection was weak maybe she wouldn't notice the intrusion.
He would just be testing the waters, he wouldn't push too far or else all progress would be lost.
Tom closed his eyes, focusing on his magical energy, manifesting it into a physical form; a glowing orb in front of him in a brilliant shade of emerald. He then pictured Ginny's face, what snippets of it he had managed to see, bright brown eyes, a smiling freckled face, and long red hair.
The connection buzzed in his head like a noise he couldn't locate. It was faint, barely a tickle or an itch, but it was there. He pushed his energy and pulled on Ginny's, throwing himself into her head with a feeling he still didn't know how to describe.
So the plot thickens. Big thank you to everyone who read and left a review, you can expect updates more frequently now. Hope you enjoyed, Red