Ginny awoke the next morning to find herself surrounded by rich emerald drapes. A wave of panic washed over her before she grasped the new reality: Slytherin was her house now. She would have to adjust to the sight of green and silver replacing the familiar crimson and gold.
While Ginny wasn't particularly fond of red and gold herself, these colors had become ingrained in her subconscious as the embodiment of Hogwarts. Whenever her mother spoke of the magnificent castle, her stories were always woven with Gryffindor's identity, as though being a brave, loyal lion were the only destiny for a Weasley.
A pang of guilt shot through her. She hadn't written to her parents, a promise blatantly broken. Her mother had specifically requested a detailed description of the Gryffindor common room and dormitories, eager to know if it lived up to Ginny's dreams. Once again, she winced under the weight of the emerald and silver, a constant reminder of her secret. Surely Percy, the ever-dutiful prefect, had already delivered the shocking news. Even without him, she wouldn't be able to keep this hidden for long. Better to rip the bandaid off now, before the truth became an infected wound. Her brother had a talent for spilling secrets. But wait... brother.
A new wave of dread washed over her. Another crucial detail, deliberately ignored the night before, slammed into her mind. Ron. Her youngest brother, the one who always had her back, the one she could tell anything to – her confidante, her best friend, her entire world. The realization hit her like a bludgeon. He had no idea she was now a Slytherin, a house he'd always described as a "snake pit." He'd declared it boldly, expecting agreement, and Ginny's silence had been misinterpreted.
Ginny longed to defend the Slytherins. Why, after all, was ambition a mark against someone? A fine line separated cleverness from cunning. Ravenclaws were esteemed for their intelligence, but did a touch of manipulation alongside brilliance instantly brand someone a future criminal? Certainly, Slytherins didn't always follow the Gryffindor path of righteousness, but then again, neither did many Ravenclaws. The prejudice that all Slytherins were evil was something Ginny loathed. After all, wasn't the current Minister of Magic a Slytherin? Did that inherently make him a bad person?
Ginny sighed, for arguing with Ron was like banging her head against a brick wall – a futile exercise in frustration. Ever since he'd started Hogwarts a year ago, a coldness had settled between them, the youngest Weasley siblings no longer as inseparable. It wasn't just the physical distance of him being at school; there was a deeper block in their connection. Ginny understood that she wouldn't always be Ron's top priority, but the sudden shift had left her unprepared, adrift without the familiar anchor of their bond.
One moment, Ron was hugging her, promising to write weekly. The next, her place had been taken by Harry Potter. Ginny had always felt a flicker of warmth towards Harry, the Boy-Who-Lived. But now, a cold knot of resentment twisted in her stomach. Ron had been her partner-in-crime, their bond an unshakeable fortress that even the Weasley twins wouldn't dare challenge. After one evening spent with Harry. Replaced. Was she ever anything more than a convenient friend to Ron? Ginny couldn't help but wonder. Had she ever truly mattered to Ron, or had he simply settled for her because he was alone? The truth, like a bitter pill, seemed to be the latter.
As if being sidelined wasn't enough, the once inseparable duo became a trio with the addition of Hermione Granger on that fateful Halloween night when they battled a troll together. They'd joke saying, "If you fight a troll together, you stick together". Harry and Hermione now seemed to occupy Ron's every thought, pushing her further down his list of priorities. Sure, he loved her, but maybe because she was his sister, not necessarily because he enjoyed her company. A pang of hurt shot through her. It was clear he preferred their company to hers. Case in point: cancelling their Christmas plans for Romania to stay at Hogwarts with them. She'd been looking forward to it for months, but Ron, ever the loyal friend, undoubtedly felt obligated to stay.
Even the figurative snatching of her brother wasn't enough for those two; they intended to take him from her literally as well. Only Ginny understood how she coped after learning about Ron's injuries sustained at the end of the term. Relief washed over her when he made a swift recovery with potions and rest.
Even after returning home for the summer break, he no longer wanted to play with her like they used to. He held himself with an air of newfound maturity, his gaze dismissing Ginny as if she were an unintelligent child incapable of independent thought. His dismissive attitude of everything she cared about grated on her nerves. Perhaps it was a defense mechanism, a way to shield herself from revealing the true extent of his hurtful behavior.
Pushing aside her pain, she focused on Ron and his adventures. The idea that some first-years felt it was their duty to protect a heavily guarded magical artifact from a dark wizard still puzzled her. If they were so convinced of the plot, shouldn't they have informed Dumbledore immediately? And if Dumbledore was truly as brilliant as everyone claimed, why hadn't he noticed You-Know-Who clinging to the back of one of his professors' heads?
Looking back, perhaps that was when Ginny should have realized she differed from her hot-headed family. They'd jump at the first chance to react, while she preferred to think things through before responding. It was the difference between impulsive actions and considered responses, a defining characteristic that set her apart.
Even the twins and Percy, despite their Gryffindor house, harbored a surprising amount of Slytherin cunning. Planning elaborate pranks required stealth and strategy, but the courage to execute them was undeniably Gryffindor.
Percy, with his unwavering ambition, seemed like a misplaced Ravenclaw. Even as a young boy, his sights were firmly set on a future at the Ministry, meticulously working his whole life to fulfill that dream. So, why Gryffindor? Loyalty, perhaps? But then, wasn't she loyal too? Was it a different kind of loyalty, a fierce protectiveness for their family that colored their house placement?
The events of yesterday evening caused Ginny to forget informing her new friend about the disturbing mess she found herself in. Technically, Tom was a diary, but not a regular one - he could talk back. She found him among the heavy Lockhart books. It was a beautiful leather-bound diary in dark green, worn around the edges. For a second, she thought it might be someone else's, but it seemed blank except for the beautifully handwritten inscription on the inner cover: 'Tom Marvolo Riddle.' Though worn, the expensive leather spoke of its age and origin. This led Ginny to believe Harry had given it to her.
Despite a flicker of resentment for whisking her brother into danger, Ginny couldn't deny the fluttering in her chest whenever he was near. After all, he was the Boy-Who-Lived, the powerful wizard who vanquished You-Know-Who as a baby and liberated the Wizarding World. And Merlin's beard, was he ever handsome! Especially those eyes - an emerald green that she rarely encountered, flecks of gold catching the light like sparks. Who wouldn't be captivated? Ginny would wager every Galleon she owned that every witch at Hogwarts had been bewitched by him since childhood, raised on whispers of his bravery.
In spite of the recklessness of it all, facing He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named again at the young age of eleven took incredible bravery and strength. Ron had recounted how he'd been entirely alone during the final encounter, yet managed to defeat Quirrell and thwart Voldemort's attempt to steal the Philosopher's Stone.
Ginny secretly admired their daring, even if she found them a touch reckless at times. Deep down, she longed to be part of their inner circle, to share in their wild escapades. Last summer, a particular dream had filled her head: the golden trio becoming a quartet, with her by Harry Potter's side. There was so much she wanted to discuss with him, before her insecurities got the better of her and she ended up doing something embarrassing.
Her brothers wouldn't let her live it down. They relentlessly teased her about the incident every chance they got while Harry was there. It wasn't her fault she was caught unaware of his arrival at the Burrow. She'd been in her flimsy nightgown, not even a robe for goodness sake! No wonder she bolted from the room, a scarlet blush scorching her cheeks. That was definitely not how their first meeting was supposed to go. After that mortifying introduction, she found it nearly impossible to meet his gaze without turning the same shade of crimson as her hair. Sometimes, her face even outshone its fiery hue!
Despite her earlier mishap, misfortune seemed to follow her. One evening, as she gazed into those captivating green eyes, her elbow plunged into the bowl of butter. The memory sent a shiver down her spine. Even now, the twins and Ron wouldn't let her forget it, erupting in laughter at every mention.
A pang of worry stabbed at her. What would her brothers think now? Their once-clumsy little sister, sorted into Slytherin? The dream of the inseparable quartet seemed to be slipping away. After all, Harry wasn't exactly a fan of Slytherins. In their eyes, perhaps, every Slytherin was a Draco Malfoy in the making - a haughty bully. True, some Slytherins embodied that stereotype, but judging an entire house by a few bad apples was unfair.
Her stomach churned. Would they accept her? Would the twins unleash some awful prank for landing there? Would Ron write her off as a traitor, a snake in the making? Harry... would he see her as another Draco Malfoy? Even Hermione, who'd shared the tense train ride fretting over the boys, seemed withdrawn yesterday after the Sorting. Was Hermione going to hate her too, now?
A wave of nausea welled up as all these questions threatened to crack open her skull, unleashing a torrent of jumbled emotions. Bolting upright in bed, she saw the sunlight filtering through the blinds. It was time. Time to face the peculiar day ahead.
Trembling legs propelled her upright. Fear gnawed at her stomach - fear of what this new day held and whether she possessed the strength to confront it. She rushed through her morning routine, the coolness of the shower barely penetrating the knot of anxiety in her chest. Slipping on her new robes, a small smile tugged at her lips. Yes, new. Though Mrs. Weasley had initially insisted on second-hand robes, Ginny had persuaded her to splurge on these with her earnings from village chores. There were afternoons spent weeding Mrs. Davies' garden, a gentle soul who lived near her favorite Muggle bookstore, evenings babysitting the boisterous Davies brood (young children, she'd discovered, were a force of nature!), and even the occasional, slightly hair-raising, encounter pet-sitting the invisible Crumple-Horned Snorkacks for their delightfully eccentric neighbor.
Her earnings had come mostly in Muggle money, a source of immense pride for her father. He couldn't resist being captivated by the Muggle coins. Whenever they glinted in the sunlight, he'd seize the opportunity to explain their value and composition. He'd point out, with a touch of wonder, that the one-pound coin was made of nickel-plated brass, unlike the Galleon, the gold-based coin of the wizarding world. Shillings and pennies were their equivalent of Sickles and Knuts. All summer long, her father couldn't contain his fascination, talking endlessly about them.
The extra money, combined with what her mother had set aside for used robes, allowed her to purchase a brand new set, just for her. Starting a new year at Hogwarts in her brother's hand-me-downs was simply out of the question. Having Arthur Weasley as a father meant one was aware of the intricacies of the Muggle world. And the Muggle books helped her better understand the Muggle world, broadening her horizon.
The intricate mirror on the wardrobe door reflected her back. She realized she looked stunning in the emerald and silver robes. Unlike scarlet and gold, these colors didn't clash with her fiery red hair; they complemented it beautifully. With a deep breath to steady her nerves, she closed the wardrobe and began packing her bookcase with essentials – parchment, ink, anything she might need. Just as she was about to head out the door, she remembered Astoria. "Astoria!" she called, her voice sharp to rouse her friend from her stupor. A mumbled thanks drifted back from the other side, and she slipped out the door.
The common room was deserted except for a few scattered Slytherins, likely waiting for friends to join them for the walk to the Great Hall. Ginny longed for Astoria's company, but she knew she couldn't postpone facing her brothers any longer. It would be much less daunting with a less crowded Hall. With a determined stride, she headed for the exit, only to catch sight of the tall, pale boy with sleek, dark brown hair. His deep, chocolate brown eyes held a surprising warmth that momentarily startled Ginny. She offered him a tentative smile before exiting the common room.
The boy, noticing her departure, rose from his worn leather armchair and trailed behind her at a distance. Halfway there, Ginny felt his gaze pierce her back. It was a look that sent shivers down her spine - was he about to approach her or perhaps cast a hex? After all, he had been sitting next to Draco Malfoy at dinner the night before. A single smile couldn't erase the suspicion that maybe his kindness was just a facade.
She discreetly wiped her sweaty hands on her robes and began to pace fast towards the group of Hufflepuffs nearby. The puffs would never let that boy hurt her, right? She breathed a sigh of relief when the Great Hall came in view.
A lick of nervous sweat dampened her palms. She surreptitiously wiped them on her robes, the fabric rough against her skin. With a surge of urgency, she quickened her pace, heading straight for the cluster of Hufflepuffs in the distance. Surely, those loyal Puffs wouldn't stand by and watch as that boy dared to hurt her? Relief washed over her like a tidal wave as the silhouette of the Great Hall came in her line of vision.
The chatter of hundreds of students washed over Ginny as she entered the Great Hall, the emerald Slytherin table gleaming in the flickering candlelight. Ginny, still a little shell-shocked from the Sorting Hat's decision, sat amongst a group of unfamiliar Slytherins. She wasn't sure if it was nerves or the unfamiliar green robes, but she felt like a conspicuous emerald beetle amidst a sea of black, the lone redhead among them. A flicker of movement caught her eye - the lanky boy from before had taken a seat two places down.
Suddenly, a familiar voice cut through the chatter. "Ginny! There you are!"
Ron, his hair as fiery as ever, barreled through the throng of students towards her, his face a mix of confusion and worry. He reached her table, knocking over a goblet of pumpkin juice in the process, which splashed across a nearby Slytherin's lap.
Ginny winced, mortified. The Slytherin boy scowled but muttered something about clumsy Gryffindors under his breath.
Meanwhile, the Slytherin table fell silent, their attention turning to the spectacle of the youngest Weasley, looking decidedly out of place.
"What in Merlin's beard are you doing here?" Ron whispered loudly, completely oblivious to the disgruntled Slytherin. "Did they shove you in by mistake?"
Ginny gritted her teeth, her cheeks burning. "No, Ron, I wasn't shoved anywhere. I'm a Slytherin."
Ron's mouth gaped open like a landed fish. He stared at her, then at the Slytherin robes, then back at her face. "A… a what?" he finally choked out.
"A Slytherin," Ginny repeated, her voice tight. "The Sorting Hat put me here."
Ron's face contorted in a mixture of disbelief and something akin to betrayal. "But that's impossible! We're all Gryffindors! You can't be a Slytherin!"
Ginny's temper, simmering just below the surface, finally boiled over. "Why not? Maybe I have more cunning than you give me credit for, eh, Ronnie?"
Ron spluttered, his gaze darting between Ginny and the other Slytherins, who were now openly smirking. "Cunning? You? That's a good one, Gin. You're about as cunning as a house-elf!"
A guttural growl, raw with barely contained menace, erupted beside Ginny. It was the tall, pale boy, his familiar chocolate brown eyes now cold and imperious. He leaned in close, his face a mask of icy threat as his gaze narrowed menacingly at Ron. "Weasley," he hissed, his voice dripping with condescension, "I suggest you choose your words carefully. Disrespecting a fellow Slytherin wouldn't be wise, would it now?"
A warmth bloomed in her chest at his protectiveness. It was a strong reminder that he was the only one who had extended a hand of kindness after the awkwardness of the Sorting ceremony yesterday. Gratitude warred with a flicker of annoyance. She didn't want to be further indebtedto him, but she couldn't let Ron humiliate her in front of the entire school. "Yeah, Ron," she said, her voice surprisingly firm. "Maybe you should head back to your own table before you get into more trouble."
Ron's face flushed crimson. "Trouble? I'm not the one who ended up on the wrong side of the Sorting Hat! You'll be miserable here, Ginny! Slytherins are all…" He trailed off, searching for the right insult, but nothing seemed to come.
"Proud, ambitious, resourceful?" Ginny supplied sarcastically. "Not like you Gryffindors, all reckless courage and misplaced loyalty."
Ron's face flushed crimson. "That's not fair, Ginny! You know that's not what Gryffindor is all about!"
"Isn't it?" Ginny shot back, her voice barely a whisper but laced with venom. "Look around, Ron. This is where I belong. Maybe you should think about why you think being a Gryffindor is the only option for a Weasley."
Before Ron could retort, a stern voice cut through the air. "Mr. Weasley, Miss Weasley! Please refrain from causing a scene in the Great Hall." Professor McGonagall, her gaze as sharp as ever, stood a few feet away, her arms crossed.
Shame washed over Ginny. She had caused enough of a scene already. "Sorry, Professor," she mumbled before turning back to Ron, a cold glint in her eyes. "We'll continue this later, in private."
Ron opened his mouth to protest, but seeing the steely resolve in his sister's eyes, he closed it again with a defeated sigh. He mumbled a quick apology to the Professor and retreated back towards the Gryffindor table, his head hanging low.
Ginny stole a glance at Ron, who still looked thunderstruck. Maybe being a Slytherin wouldn't be so bad after all. She might even enjoy proving her brother wrong, one witty remark at a time.
Ginny forced down her breakfast in silence, trying to push some food down her throat despite the bile rising in her throat. She stole a glance around the Great Hall, a flicker of relief warming her when she spotted her brothers. The twins, their usual mischief replaced by concern, offered her a hesitant smile. It was a small gesture, but it calmed the storm raging in her chest. Percy, nose buried in a weighty tome as usual, finally tore his gaze away and sent her a fleeting smile, a hint of worry creasing his brow.
A tiny spark of hope flickered inside her, like maybe, just maybe, things wouldn't completely suck. They were still family, after all, house colours or not. Dad always drummed that into their heads, right? Family sticks together, no matter what. Deep down, she knew Ron would come around eventually. But the worry wouldn't leave her alone. What if he exploded during his denial meltdown and said something he can't take back later?
Squeezing her eyes shut, she focused on calming her breaths, readying herself for the inevitable confrontation. This conversation could make them or break them. Just as she rose to her feet, a mumbled greeting from beside her snagged her attention. Astoria. It seemed readying herself had taken longer than anticipated. A half-hearted response tumbled from her lips. "Hey Astoria, I'm just heading down to the Gryffindor table to see my brothers," she managed, her voice betraying the nervous turmoil within.
Out of the corner of her eye, Ginny spotted "chocolate-eyes" was ready to protest. What did it matter to him anyway? Though Ginny couldn't deny his constant kindness, she couldn't shake the suspicion that lingered around him. A Slytherin, a close associate of Draco Malfoy, showering her with courtesy? It defied logic.
Pushing aside the puzzling thoughts, Ginny shook her head, refocusing on the pressing issue at hand. Still, there was the question of his name. No matter how aloof she might appear, surely Astoria, with her Pureblood connections and their endless social gatherings, would recognize everyone in Slytherin. With a subtle lean, Ginny murmured to Astoria, "Do you happen to know this tall boy on my left?"
Astoria's eyebrows disappeared into her hairline. Why did my question about him seem so shocking? Her gaze turned assessing, yet to my surprise, she remained silent. Leaning closer, she murmured into my ear, "That's Theodore. Theodore Nott. If you're considering befriending him, forget it. He might appear pleasant, but he's about as social as a hermit crab. During all those Christmas gatherings and balls? you'd always find him sequestered in a corner, brutally shutting down any attempt at conversation. Did you know he and Draco were thick as thieves as children? Then something went down, and things haven't been the same since. They're civil now, but their interactions reek more of obligation than genuine enjoyment."
Her gaze met Ginny's, a clear question in her eyes: why the sudden interest in the "chocolate-eyed" boy? Knowing his name didn't mean she had to abandon the secret nickname – after all, his eyes were undeniably captivating. With a flustered movement, Ginny rose to her feet, directing a look at Astoria that promised an explanation later.
Ginny trudged towards the Gryffindor table, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. It felt like the thunderous pulse could be heard across the entire hall. Her hands, clenched into fists by her sides, betrayed the tremor running through her. With each small step, she felt like she was inching closer to her inevitable doom.
The twins were the first to pick up on her distress. They flashed her a wide, genuine smile, a silent attempt to ease the knot of tension tightening in her stomach. Even Percy, usually lost in the depths of a heavy tome, seemed to sense her turmoil. He lowered his book with a sigh and offered her a hesitant, but warm, smile. Only Ron remained oblivious, a scowl still etched on his face. No doubt, the earlier debacle at the Slytherin table still rankled him.
Ron's jaw clenched, his silence a storm brewing beneath the surface. Before she could even stammer a defense, he loomed over her, his face contorted with rage. "You really are a Slytherin," he roared, his voice thick with venom. "The way you humiliated me in front of everyone just because I didn't want my little sister mixed up with those snakes! Weasleys are Gryffindors, through and through. You not only broke tradition, you did it in the worst way possible. You've shown your true colors, just like every other Slytherin scum." He leaned in further, his face inches from hers, the spittle flying from his lips as he shrieked, "A traitor, that's what you are! A filthy, conniving traitor!" His words were like a viper's strike, venomous and aimed to wound as deeply as possible.
Horror contorted the faces of the twins and Percy as they stared at Ron. Never before had they witnessed such insensitivity from him towards Ginny. The normally oblivious Ron, often dense when it came to emotional cues, usually possessed an uncanny intuition about Ginny. They bickered constantly, his teasing a relentless barrage. But that, they understood, was their way of showcasing love towards one another. After all, familiarity often bred playful contempt. But, this? This utterly unexpected outburst left them speechless. Ron had obliterated Ginny's feelings with a cruel indifference, branding her a traitor with a single, heartless word.
Dread coiled in Ginny's stomach. The damage was done, exactly as she'd feared. Ron, fueled by his temper, would inevitably blurt out something he'd deeply regret later. How she choked back the sob stuck in her throat and masked her tears, only she knew. Harry and Hermione, caught in the crossfire of the Weasley family feud, shrank into themselves, their expressions betraying a mixture of helplessness and exasperation.
The twins, jolted from their brief shock, sprung to Ginny's defense. "Shut your mouth, Ron," Fred growled, his glare burning into Ron's face. "Being in Slytherin isn't the end of the world," he added with forced calmness.
George, his gaze fixed warmly on Ginny the entire time, chimed in, "She'll always be our little sister, no matter what house the Sorting Hat chooses."
Percy's face hardened, and he shot Ron a glare that could have curdled milk. "I'll write to Mum about this," he hissed. "How dare you speak to your sister like that! And if I ever catch you bullying her again, you'll regret the day you were born."
The twins, ever the opportunists, chimed in, "And if we see you harassing her again, you'll have us to answer to. We've got a whole new arsenal of pranks waiting to be unleashed."
Though the twins' fierce protectiveness and veiled threat warmed Ginny's heart, it was Percy who truly surprised her. Here was her uptight, rule-abiding brother, not only threatening Ron but also seemingly condoning the twins' future pranking endeavors. It was a revelation. She'd always known Percy loved her, after all, she was his only sister. But seeing him break the rules for her, that was something she never thought possible.
Though their actions warmed her heart, the sting of Ron's betrayal lingered. A small, grateful smile curved her lips as she looked at her brothers, hoping it conveyed the depth of her appreciation. Not only had they accepted her, but they'd also stood by her against Ron. Just as she opened her mouth to express her thanks, Errol, the Weasley's ancient owl, swooped in with a clumsy thud, landing squarely in Hermione's porridge. The surprise was stolen not by the sight of the bedraggled owl, but by the crimson letter clutched tightly in its talons – a Howler. Not just any Howler but one with Ron's name on it in their mother's neat, cursive handwriting.
The Weasley twins, ever the instigators, couldn't resist milking the situation for amusement. Fred, with a mischievous glint in his eye, leaned across the table. "Going to ignore that, are you, Ron? You know, the longer you leave it, the louder it gets."
Ron's face flushed crimson, mirroring the color of the Howler. He shrunk further into his seat, the porridge forgotten. George, never one to miss a beat, chimed in, "Don't be a prat, Ronnie. Just get it over with."
With a resigned sigh, Ron gingerly reached out a hand, his fingers trembling slightly. The moment he grasped the Howler, it sprang to life. A voice, unmistakably Mrs. Weasley's, boomed through the hall, laced with fury. It was a full-blown Howler, meant to humiliate the recipient in public. Ron winced as his mother's voice scathed him for flying to Hogwarts in their father's car. Ears burning, he braced himself for the onslaught, his face turning the color of a ripe tomato.
Across the table, Ginny watched with concern, her lower lip trembling slightly. She probably sensed her daughter's unease even from miles away for Mrs. Weasley's voice next reached out and said reassuringly. "Don't you worry about a thing, Ginny," she said, her voice filled with warmth. "The Sorting Hat makes mistakes sometimes, but that doesn't change a thing. You're our daughter, and we love you no matter what house you're in. Slytherin or Gryffindor, it makes no difference to me."
Her words, laced with unwavering love, brought a shaky smile to Ginny's face. A sense of relief washed over her, dispelling the anxieties that had been brewing since the Sorting Ceremony.
A cold drawl sliced through the Great Hall. "Miss Weasley," Professor Snape addressed her, his lips pressed into a thin line. His gaze swept over Ginny with an intensity that made her skin crawl, as if he could see right through her. As their eyes met, a shiver ran down her spine. The raw emotions of the previous night threatened to engulf her again. Instinctively, she dropped her gaze, and the icy sensation vanished. "See that this doesn't happen again," Snape snapped. "I have no time to waste searching for first-years." With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the timetable at her, the black robes swirling dramatically around him as he stalked away.
With a hurried goodbye to her brothers, Ginny bypassed Ron altogether and returned to the Slytherin table. She settled beside Astoria, waiting patiently as her friend meticulously examined their new timetable. A burst of excitement erupted from Astoria, "Double Charms on Mondays and Fridays!" Ginny couldn't help but grin. Charms had always been her favorite subject, and Professor Flitwick, Bill's (her eldest brother) all-time favorite teacher, was known for his captivating lessons. Bill would regale them with tales of Professor Flitwick's fantastical spells and mischievous charmwork.
Ginny stole another glance at the timetable, a flicker of dread crossing her face. "Ugh, Potions first thing this morning," she groaned. Ron and the twins had bombarded her with stories of Professor Snape's harsh demeanor and blatant favoritism towards Slytherin. Despite being a Slytherin herself, her encounter with Snape earlier left a bad taste in her mouth. He didn't seem particularly welcoming, perhaps due to her Weasley blood. The thought of facing him again so soon filled her with apprehension.
Ginny cast a furtive glance around the Great Hall. Though the lingering chatter indicated breakfast wasn't over, a collective lethargy hindered any rush to leave. She needed to get a head start. Beckoning Astoria with a flick of her wrist, Ginny led the way out of the sun-drenched hall and downwards, towards the looming shadows that marked the entrance to the dungeons.
A cold dread coiled in Ginny's stomach. Potions. The very word conjured the image of her new greasy-haired nemesis, a sneer permanently etched on his face. Sharing this class with a contingent of boisterous Gryffindors, who somehow managed to embody everything she aspired to be until then, did little to ease her anxiety.
Taking a deep breath for courage, Ginny pushed open the heavy and rusty door of the Potions classroom. A wave of damp, stale air washed over her, laced with the pungent aroma of unknown concoctions. Inside, flickering lanterns cast long, eerie shadows across the room, their meager light struggling to penetrate the thick gloom. Unlike the airy classrooms above, this one felt like a forgotten crypt. Rows of shelves, crammed with glass jars filled with an assortment of unidentifiable creatures suspended in murky liquids, lined the walls. Ginny shuddered as her gaze landed on a jar containing a monstrous, bulbous-eyed creature that resembled a mutated lizard. With a hasty glance, she steered clear, opting for a seat smack dab in the middle of the empty room. It wouldn't be long before the chattering students, Slytherins and Gryffindors alike, would invade this unsettling sanctuary.
The heavy oak door creaked open with a finality that sent shivers down Ginny's spine. A tall, gaunt figure draped in a billowing black robe strode purposefully into the room. Professor Snape. His face, a mask of perpetual displeasure, seemed even more severe under the dim light of the classroom. His dark eyes, like chips of obsidian, swept over the chattering students, and the room fell silent with a collective gasp. The air crackled with a sudden tension, thick enough to choke on.
Snape's voice, a low, menacing rasp, sliced through the sudden silence. "Silence!" he commanded, the word echoing off the stone walls. "Settle yourselves, you little dolts. Have you no respect for the delicate art of potion-making? Or perhaps your idea of brewing involves a good, loud cauldron explosion?" A sardonic smirk played on his lips, a humorless twist that sent shivers down spines. It was a well-known fact that Snape had his eyes on every cauldron, and disruptions were met with a swift and unforgiving tongue.
With a flick of his long, black robes, Snape swept towards his desk at the front of the room. The silence remained unbroken, a testament to the effect he had on his students. Even the usual Gryffindor bravado seemed to have dimmed in the face of his imposing presence.
With a flick of his long, black robes, Snape swept towards his desk at the front of the room. Reaching for a piece of chalk, he began to scrawl instructions on the board in a sharp, precise script. "Today," he announced, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "we will be attempting the rather rudimentary "Boil Cure Potion". Elementary, even for the likes of you." His gaze flicked towards the back of the class, where a particularly nervous-looking Colin Creevey fumbled with his ingredients.
Ginny and Astoria exchanged a glance. The constant plume of smoke rising from their cauldron, fueled by the damp air of the dungeon, made deciphering the instructions on the board a challenge. However, Ginny knew this territory well. Potions, for some reason, came naturally to her. She approached it the way she approached cooking in the Burrow with Molly Weasley – with a dash of intuition and a whole lot of practice feeding a boisterous family.
The class progressed, punctuated by Snape's acerbic pronouncements. He lingered by Colin's cauldron, his voice a low growl as he pointed out the boy's haphazard chopping of Flobberworms. Ginny, meanwhile, stirred her potion with practiced ease, the emerald liquid simmering perfectly within the cauldron.
As the bell rang, signaling the end of class, Astoria leaned over, her brow furrowed in confusion. "Ginny, that was brilliant! How did you get it so perfect?"
Ginny grinned. "It's kind of like cooking, you know? Mum always had us all helping in the kitchen at the Burrow, and there's a certain rhythm to it all. Potions just feels familiar somehow."
Astoria snorted. "Well, you've got a natural talent for it, that's for sure. Unlike some of our classmates," she added, eyeing the bubbling, murky concoction in Colin's cauldron with amusement.
Ginny chuckled. Maybe Potions wasn't so bad after all, especially when you had a secret Weasley weapon in your arsenal.
The dungeon's oppressive atmosphere clung to Ginny as she exited the Potions classroom, blinking in the sudden brightness of the hallway. Thankfully, Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration class offered a welcome reprieve. The air crackled with a different kind of energy here – one of focused concentration as McGonagall, her stern demeanor softened by a hint of pride, guided them through the intricacies of transforming a toothpick into a needle. Ginny found a certain satisfaction in the precise flick of her wand and the satisfying click as her toothpick twitched and its place lay a pointy needle.
Lunch found Ginny nestled in a quiet corner of the library, a familiar warmth blooming in her chest as the scent of old parchment and leather filled her senses. Yesterday's encounter with Malfoy had left a bitter taste in her mouth. She wasn't about to be caught unprepared again. This time she had the element of surprise on her side as the young Malfoy wad unaware that Ginny knew any useful spell to defend herself. With a determined glint in her eyes, she scanned the shelves, finally pulling out a well-worn copy of "Defensive Spells for the Young Witch." Flipping through the pages, her gaze settled on a charm rumored to stun opponents – "Stupefy." Hours melted away as she devoured the instructions, her mind a sponge soaking up the intricacies of wand movement and pronunciation.
The afternoon offered a welcome break with a free period. Ginny, ever the pragmatist, decided to put her newfound knowledge to the test. Slipping away to a secluded corner of the Hogwarts grounds, she practiced "Stupefy" with unwavering focus. Her wand felt surprisingly steady in her grip as she muttered the incantation, a silent vow forming on her lips. Never again would she be an easy target for Malfoy to pick on.
As the sun began its descent, casting long shadows across the grounds, the bell tolled, signaling Charms class. Professor Flitwick, a whirlwind of energy barely contained within his tiny frame, bounced onto the platform, his booming voice filling the room as he launched into an animated lecture on the intricacies of charmwork. Ginny, emboldened by her earlier success, found herself even more engaged than usual. The prospect of wielding charms not just for household chores but for self-defense ignited a spark of determination within her. Perhaps, just perhaps, this year at Hogwarts wouldn't be all bad after all.
The weight of a thousand unspoken words hung heavy in the air as Ginny left the Great Hall. Though dinner itself had been mercifully uneventful, a simmering tension had colored the Slytherin table. It all started with Theodore Nott. As Ginny had reached for a slice of pumpkin pie, his gaze had met hers across the table. It wasn't a mere glance – it was a deliberate, unnerving stare that sent shivers down her spine. He hadn't broken eye contact until she'd looked away, a smirk playing on his lips.
Then came Melinda Rosier, the snobby brunette, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. "Well, well, Weasley," she purred, her perfectly manicured nails tapping against the table. "Professor Snape certainly seemed impressed with your potion today. Must be nice to have a natural talent for something, unlike some of us mere mortals."
Ginny gritted her teeth, forcing a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Just a bit of practice, Rosier," she replied evenly, refusing to be baited. Melinda's smile faltered for a brief moment, a flicker of something akin to jealousy crossing her face before it was masked once more.
Back in the Slytherin common room, Ginny sought refuge in the relative peace of the room she shared with Astoria. Leaving her bag at the foot of her bed, she retrieved a worn leather-bound book from a hidden compartment in her trunk: Tom Riddle's diary. A pang of guilt pricked at her conscience, she had promised Tom she will write to him soon after her sorting but the unexpected upheavel in life did not give her a chance to make time for her friend.
Taking a deep breath, she settled onto her plush armchair and carefully opened the diary to a blank page. The familiar, pearlescent ink shimmered under the soft glow of her bedside lamp. She dipped her quill into an inkpot and began to write, pouring out the events of the day in a torrent of words. The Sorting, the insecurities, the Malfoy incident, the quick companionship she found with Astoria, the uncertainty, Ron's sharp words, the twins and Percy standing up for her, her mother still loving her, the encounter(s) with Nott, the chilling contact with Snape the veiled threat from Rosier, the quiet satisfaction of her success in Potions – it all spilled out onto the pages, a silent plea for understanding and perhaps, a flicker of advice from the enigmatic Tom Riddle.
Until next time!