The next few weeks passed smoothly, though not without their own challenges.
The study group Ginny formed with Corbin Flint and Octavius Burke quickly fell into a routine. Their sessions were productive, with each member bringing something unique to the table.
Ginny's initial reservations about Burke proved somewhat justified; though he offered valuable insights, it became clear that he wasn't the most altruistic of students.
Corbin, on the other hand, seemed to harbor a quiet disdain for people, Astoria Greengrass in particular, a sentiment that only grew stronger when she had started showing up to their study group unannounced.
Despite Corbin's clear distaste, Astoria slipped into the leadership role within their little group, much to Ginny's annoyance.
Astoria had a way of subtly directing the conversation and guiding their study sessions, her confidence and knowledge making her a natural leader. Ginny found it frustrating, especially given that this was supposed to be her study group, her chance to prove herself.
But Astoria's influence was undeniable, and Ginny had to admit that their sessions were more efficient under her guidance, even if it irked her to no end.
When Ginny confided in Tom about her frustrations, he reassured 's fine,Tom wrote, his words appearing slowly on the page, as though he was carefully considering his it's not ideal to have someone else take the leadership role, you couldn't have assumed it right away. You're still establishing yourself. Astoria's presence will help you learn how to navigate these dynamics, and in time, you'll find your own way to lead.
Tom's reassurance soothed some of Ginny's irritation, but she couldn't shake the feeling that she was still falling short.
Ginny found herself spending most of the time with Corbin Flint, and though their conversations were often sparse, there was an unspoken understanding between them.
They sat in the library together, sometimes for hours, the silence only broken by the rustle of parchment or the scratch of quills. It was a comfortable silence, one that Ginny found surprisingly soothing.
It was during one of these quiet study sessions in the library that Ginny noticed a shift in her feelings toward Astoria.
She had already felt a growing irritation toward her, but Corbin's growing disdain for his childhood friend seemed to amplify Ginny's own feelings.
Astoria was too confident, too smooth in the way she maneuvered herself into the center of their group.
"She's always been like this,"Corbin said one evening, his voice low as they sat in their usual corner of the library. His quill tapped impatiently against the page of his Potions textbook. "Always trying to be the best at everything, always needing to be the one in control."
Ginny nodded, feeling her own annoyance flare up. "It's like she doesn't even realize she's taking over. Or maybe she does, and that's the problem."
Corbin's gaze flicked to hers, a rare moment of shared understanding passing between them. "She knows exactly what she's doing. But that's Astoria. She's always been like that, even when we were kids."
Ginny found it interesting that Corbin, with all his quiet intelligence and cunning, had grown up alongside someone like Astoria.
It was clear that their relationship was complicated, but it also seemed to feed into Corbin's drive to succeed.
Their conversations about Astoria became a regular occurrence, a way for both of them to vent their frustrations. And though Ginny didn't fully understand the depth of Corbin's feelings toward Astoria, she could see that he was affected by her presence, just as she was.
Corbin was different from most of the other Slytherins. He had a sharp mind, one that seemed more suited to Ravenclaw, but there was no denying his Slytherin cunning.
He had a way of analyzing problems from angles Ginny hadn't considered, yet he never flaunted his intelligence. Instead, he quietly worked through his thoughts, sharing his insights only when necessary.
Ginny appreciated this about him. She didn't feel the need to fill the silence with meaningless chatter, and she respected the way he approached his studies with a seriousness that matched her own.
There was something comforting about their shared focus, their mutual struggles. But despite their compatibility in some areas, they both had their weaknesses.
Academically, she was doing well enough—better in some subjects than others. She performed admirably in Charms, where her spells were precise and effective, though she still struggled to perfect more advanced techniques.
Potions were the bane of Corbin's existence, and his frustration with the subject was palpable.
Ginny often watched as his calm demeanor cracked, his hands clenching around his quill or the edge of his book as he tried to grasp the intricacies of potion-making.
He was precise, but Potions demanded more than just precision—it required intuition, an understanding of the subtle ways ingredients could interact, and how magic could be drawn out of them at just the right moment.
This was where Corbin struggled; he could follow the instructions perfectly, but without that instinctive feel for the magic, his potions often fell short.
Ginny, on the other hand, had developed a deep affinity for potion-making.
She found solace in the delicate balance of ingredients, the way each component had its own magical properties, its unique signature that could either enhance or disrupt a potion.
The theory behind potion-making fascinated her, particularly the way magic itself could be manipulated through the careful selection and preparation of ingredients.
She had learned that the art of potion-making was not just about combining ingredients, but about understanding the magical essence of each one.
The magic within ingredients wasn't static—it could be influenced by external factors. This meant that a potion brewed at the full moon might have different effects than one brewed during the new moon, a nuance that Ginny found endlessly fascinating.
Timing was another critical element. Some ingredients required precise timing to unleash their full magical potential. A moment too early or too late, and the magic could dissipate or even turn volatile.
Ginny had started to notice that her best potions were the ones where she didn't just follow the instructions, but where she could almost feel when the next ingredient needed to be added.
It was a sense that went beyond logic, something that Professor Snape had hinted at during his lectures but had never explicitly taught.
Her success in Potions was a small victory, but in her other classes, Ginny was struggling to keep up.
She did well enough to avoid notice, but her performance was decidedly average, and it frustrated her to no end.
Snape, for all his harshness, was a figure Ginny had begun to find herself strangely calm around. His presence in the classroom, his precise instructions, and his unwavering expectations created an atmosphere where Ginny could lose herself in the process of potion-making.
Something was reassuring about his exacting standards, it made her want to meet them, to prove herself in a way that she hadn't felt in other subjects.
Unlike most of her other professors, Snape didn't coddle. He simply demanded excellence, and Ginny found herself wanting to rise to that challenge.
Transfiguration, however, remained a thorn in her side. No matter how much she studied or how many hours she spent practicing, the spells never quite clicked.
The complexity of altering one object into another, especially the subtleties involved in maintaining the new form, eluded her.
It didn't help that Corbin, who excelled in Transfiguration, seemed to struggle with explaining his process.
What came naturally to him felt like an insurmountable challenge to her, just as Potions did for him.
This shared frustration over their respective weaknesses became a common point of conversation between them.
Corbin would vent about the impossibility of getting the potion's consistency just right, while Ginny would sigh over the intricacies of transforming inanimate objects.
They both understood what it was like to hit a wall, to feel the sting of failure in subjects that demanded perfection.
The nightmares didn't help Ginny either.
They started subtly—flickering images of darkness, indistinct figures, and a sense of suffocation that lingered even after she woke. But as the weeks passed, the dreams grew more vivid, more terrifying. She would wake up in a cold sweat, her heart pounding, the remnants of fear clinging to her long after the dream had ended.
The protective wards around her bed did nothing to keep the nightmares at bay, and Ginny found herself growing more anxious, and more tired with each passing day.
Then there was Marcus Flint, Corbin's older brother and the Slytherin Quidditch team captain.
Marcus was everything Corbin was not—loud, brash, and more than a little intimidating.
He had a reputation for being ruthless on the Quidditch pitch, and Ginny often wondered how someone as thoughtful as Corbin could be related to him.
Marcus would occasionally drop by during their study sessions, his presence immediately shifting the dynamic in the room.
He never stayed long, just long enough to throw out a few jabs or check on his younger brother's progress.
Corbin always seemed a bit more on edge when Marcus was around, though he never said anything about it.
Ginny often found herself comparing the two brothers, marveling at how different they were.
Corbin, with his quiet intelligence and calm demeanor, seemed almost out of place in Slytherin at times. And yet, there was no denying that he belonged there. His cunning was subtle, his ambition carefully calculated.
Her own brothers still hadn't spoken to her directly, a silence that felt like a weight on her chest.
She caught glimpses of them in the corridors, but they never approached her, and she didn't dare to seek them out.
The tension between Percy and Ron seemed to have escalated, though. Ginny had seen them arguing more than once, their voices raised and faces red with anger.
She couldn't hear what they were saying, but she had a feeling it was about her.
The one constant in her life was Tom. He continued to teach her, his lessons growing more advanced as the days went on.
He had introduced her to the entire runic alphabet, a complex and ancient system of magical symbols that could be used to enhance spells and create powerful wards.
Ginny found the runes fascinating, their shapes and meanings resonating with a deep, primal magic that felt both familiar and alien. Though memorizing them and how they interacted with each other was difficult.
Tom had also begun teaching her Occlumency, the art of protecting one's mind from intrusion.
The theory behind it was confusing at first, requiring Ginny to anchor her sense of self to her own mind, to create mental barriers that could repel any outside influence.
It was difficult, requiring intense concentration and a level of self-awareness that Ginny was still struggling to achieve. But Tom was patient, guiding her through the process step by step, and Ginny was determined to master it.
Your mind is your greatest weapon,Tom wrote one evening, his words glowing softly on the you can protect your thoughts, your memories, and your emotions, then no one can control you. Not even the most powerful Legilimens can break through a well-trained mind.
The nightmares, the pressure, the growing sense of unease—she couldn't let any of it break her. She had come too far, learned too much, to falter now.
Ginny rarely spent time in the Great Hall these days. The noise, the clatter of utensils, and the endless chatter of her classmates felt like a world away from the focused, quiet spaces she preferred.
She often skipped meals, opting instead to grab a piece of fruit from the kitchens or nibble on a chocolate frog stashed in her bag.
Corbin was much the same. The library had become their sanctuary, a place where they could immerse themselves in their studies without distraction.
The librarian, Madam Pince, had developed a soft spot for the pair. Though she was notoriously strict with other students, she often left Ginny and Corbin to their own devices, occasionally offering them a rare smile or a recommendation for a book that might aid their research.
One Saturday afternoon, Ginny found herself alone in the library. Corbin had gone off to deal with some family matter—something about his older brother Marcus that he hadn't elaborated on.
Ginny didn't mind the solitude. It gave her time to focus on her work, to dive deeper into the rune charts Tom had suggested she study.
She was so engrossed in her reading that she didn't notice the figure approaching until they were standing right next to her table.
"Hi, Ginny."
Startled, Ginny looked up to see Hermione Granger, one of Ron's friends. Ginny barely knew her, though she had heard of her often enough at the Burrow. Hermione was watching her with a peculiar expression, something between concern and pity.
"Granger,"Ginny greeted stiffly, quickly lowering her gaze back to her book. She didn't want to engage in a conversation right now, especially not with one of Ron's friends.
Hermione didn't take the hint. She hesitated for a moment before pulling out a chair and sitting down across from Ginny. "I hope you don't mind if I join you."
Ginny stiffened slightly, but she couldn't exactly refuse. "Whatever,"she muttered.
For a few minutes, they sat in awkward silence, Ginny pretending to be absorbed in her reading while Hermione fidgeted with her quill.
Finally, Hermione spoke, her voice soft and filled with an uncomfortable sincerity. "I've seen Ron. He's been…well, he's been upset."
Ginny's grip tightened on the edge of her book. "He'll get over it."
Hermione sighed, her gaze unwavering. "It's not just Ron. Your other brothers miss you too. They're worried, Ginny. They don't understand why you're shutting them out."
Ginny's annoyance flared at Hermione's words, though she kept her eyes fixed on the book in front of her, refusing to give Hermione the satisfaction of a response. The nerve of this girl, barging in uninvited, assuming she knew anything about what Ginny was going through.
After a few moments of silence, Hermione leaned in a little closer, her voice lowering to a whisper. "I know you're in Slytherin now, and things are… different. But that doesn't mean you have to push everyone away."
Ginny's eyes snapped up, and she glared at Hermione with a mix of irritation and defiance. "You don't know anything about me or what I need. So why don't you stop pretending like you do?"
Hermione didn't flinch at Ginny's sharp tone. If anything, her expression grew more determined. "I'm not pretending. I just want to help."
"I don't need your help,"Ginny shot back, her voice rising slightly, earning a few curious glances from nearby students. "And I certainly don't need you telling me what to do."
Hermione's brow furrowed in frustration, and for a moment, Ginny saw a flicker of the same intensity that had made her so annoying. "I'm not telling you what to do. I'm trying to be a friend."
"A friend?"Ginny scoffed, leaning back in her chair. "We're not friends, Granger. We barely even know each other. And you don't get to just walk in here and act like you're my savior."
Hermione's eyes flashed with a hint of anger, but she kept her voice calm. "I'm not trying to be your savior. I just know what it's like to feel isolated, to be different from everyone else. I thought maybe—"
"Maybe what?"Ginny interrupted her tone cold and cutting. "You thought you could come in here and fix everything? That you could be the hero and make everything better, just like you always do?"
Hermione's cheeks flushed with anger, and she finally snapped back. "I'm not trying to be a hero, Ginny. I'm trying to reach out because I care. I care about Ron, and I care about you. But if you're going to push everyone away just to prove how tough you are, then fine. Keep doing what you're doing. But don't pretend that you're not hurting, because everyone can see it."
Ginny felt a sharp pang at Hermione's words, but she refused to let it show. She narrowed her eyes and leaned forward, her voice low and venomous. "You don't get to tell me how I feel. You don't get to come in here and act like you're some kind ofsaint. You're just a know-it-all who can't mind her own business! So why don't you go back to your books and leave me alone?"
Hermione's face hardened, her lips pressing into a thin line, looking like she was about to cry. For a moment, Ginny thought she might get up and leave, but instead, Hermione took a deep breath and met Ginny's glare with unwavering resolve. "Fine. I'll leave you alone for now. But don't think for a second that I'm going to give up on you. You're stronger than this, Ginny Weasley. I know you are."
With that, Hermione stood up, her chair scraping against the stone floor as she pushed it back. She gave Ginny one last look, a mixture of frustration and sadness in her eyes, before turning and walking away, her footsteps echoing through the library.
Ginny watched her go, her heart pounding in her chest.
As Hermione's footsteps faded into the distance, Ginny let out a long, shaky breath. The conversation had stirred up a whirlpool of emotions she'd rather not deal with. She felt a strange mixture of guilt, anger, and a stubborn sense of defiance.
Hermione might have had good intentions, but that didn't change the fact that Ginny wanted to be left alone. She didn't need Ron's friends trying to pull her back to the Weasleys, to Gryffindor, to where she no longer felt she belonged.
She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to push away the echoes of the argument.
When she opened them, she found Corbin Flint standing a few feet away, leaning casually against one of the tall bookshelves.
His expression was unreadable, but Ginny could see a glint of something in his eyes—pity, perhaps, or understanding. She couldn't tell.
He approached her table with his usual quiet grace and slid into the seat Hermione had vacated.
For a moment, he said nothing, merely studying her with those sharp eyes of his, as if trying to gauge her mood.
Finally, he spoke, his voice soft but tinged with amusement. "That was quite the show. I had no idea you had such a temper, Weasley."
Ginny stiffened, feeling defensive. "She was asking for it."
"Maybe," Corbin replied, his gaze never leaving hers. "But you really let her have it. Not what I'd have expected from the Weasley family's youngest."
Ginny's cheeks flushed, a mixture of shame and anger bubbling up inside her. "She was acting like she knows everything, like she can just waltz in and fix all my problems. I don't need her help."
Corbin nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. "I suppose I can't blame you. After all, you've got it rough. Stuck in a Gryffindor family, surrounded by people who probably don't understand you anymore."
Ginny's eyes narrowed, the resentment she'd been trying to bury surfacing. "They don't. They never did. Ron's always been the golden boy, and the twins are practically legends. Percy… well, he's Percy. And then there's me. The odd one out."
Corbin leaned back in his chair, a slight smirk playing on his lips. "Must be difficult, being the only girl. Always having to prove yourself, always being compared to your brothers."
Ginny's hands clenched into fists on the table. "They don't understand what it's like to be in Slytherin, to feel like you don't belong anywhere. They think I've changed, that I'm betraying them just by being in this House."
"And maybe you have changed," Corbin said, his voice growing softer. "But that's not necessarily a bad thing. There's strength in that."
Ginny looked at him, surprised by his words. There was something oddly comforting about what he said, though she couldn't quite put her finger on why.
"Thanks," she mumbled, feeling a little awkward. Corbin wasn't exactly the type to offer reassurances, but she appreciated it all the same.
"Don't mention it," he replied with a shrug, his smirk returning. "Just remember, we're all snakes here. You don't need to play by Gryffindor's rules anymore."
Ginny gave a small nod, mulling over his words. Perhaps Corbin was right.
The next day, after lunch, Ginny made her way to the library, her mind still lingering on her conversation with Corbin.
The day had been uneventful, and she was looking forward to the quiet refuge of the library, where she could focus on her studies and forget about everything else.
But as she turned the corner into one of the castle's many corridors, she was abruptly cut off by Ron, who had been waiting for her. His face was flushed with anger, his eyes blazing as he marched up to her.
"Ginny!" he barked, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "Why the bloody hell did you say that to Hermione?"
Ginny felt her stomach drop. She hadn't expected this confrontation, but she quickly steeled herself, her expression hardening. "I just told her to mind her own business."
Ron's face twisted with fury. "You made her cry! She's been trying to help you, and you just—you called her names! How could you?"
Ginny's temper flared. "She had no right to stick her nose into my life! I don't need her or you trying to tell me what to do!"
Ron's fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles turning white. "You're acting like a Slytherin—like one of them! What happened to you? You're not the same Ginny who used to care about her family, who used to be kind and decent. Now you're just—you're just a slimy Slytherin, just like the rest of your Housemates!"
Ginny's anger boiled over. She took a step forward, her voice dripping with venom. "Maybe I am a Slytherin. Maybe that's who I'm meant to be! At least they don't try to control me, to make me feel like I'm worthless just because I'm different. You're the one who doesn't understand, Ron. You're just too blinded by your Gryffindor pride to see it!"
Ron stared at Ginny, his face a mix of disbelief and anger. "Different? You're not different, Ginny, you're just lost! And you're letting those Slytherins twist you into something you're not. This isn't you! You're not an evil pureblooded bigot!"
Ginny's eyes flashed with defiance. "You don't know anything about me! You've never cared about what I wanted or how I felt. It's always been about you, Ron, and your precious Gryffindor ideals. Well, I'm done with it! I'm done with all of you!"
Ron's face twisted in rage, his chest heaving as he struggled to control his temper. "You're not the only one who's had it rough, Ginny! We all have! But that doesn't give you the right to act like some—some dark witch, hurting people who care about you!"
Ginny's expression hardened. "Maybe I'm tired of being the good little sister who never gets a say. Maybe I'm tired of being ignored and overlooked. Maybe I'm tired of being a Weasley!"
The words hit Ron like a slap in the face. For a moment, he just stood there, his mouth open in shock. Then, without thinking, he lashed out. "Mum must be so ashamed—"
But the rest of the words caught in his throat, his face contorted with anger and pain.
Ginny saw it coming, the way his hand trembled with barely restrained fury. Before she could react, Ron's fist shot out, striking her across the cheek and nose.
The blow wasn't hard enough to knock her down, but the crack she heard as his fist slammed against her nose sounded of something breaking.
For a moment, the world seemed to stop, the corridor echoing with the sound of Ron's fist meeting her skin. Ginny's head snapped to the side, her hand flying to her cheek as she stumbled back, her vision blurring with tears.
Ron froze, his face pale, his eyes wide with horror at what he'd just done. He took a step back, his voice barely a whisper. "Ginny, I—I didn't mean—"
But Ginny didn't want to hear it. The pain in her cheek and the blood dripping down her nose was nothing compared to the pain in her heart, the betrayal she felt cutting deeper than any physical blow.
She looked at him, her eyes burning with unshed tears, and spoke in a voice trembling with fury. "You're not my brother anymore."
Ron's face crumpled in anguish, his eyes pleading for forgiveness, but Ginny didn't give him a chance to speak.
She turned on her heel and ran, her feet pounding against the cold stone floor as she fled from him, from everything he represented.
She didn't know where she was going—she just needed to get away. Away from the hurt, away from the betrayal, away from the brother who had just raised his hand against her. The tears she had been holding back began to spill over as she raced through the corridors, her vision blurring with the shock and pain.
Blood began to trickle from her nose, warm and sticky, dripping onto her robes. She could taste the coppery tang of it on her lips as she looked up at Ron, disbelief and hurt flashing in her eyes.
By the time she reached the entrance to the Slytherin dungeon, Ginny was nearly blind with tears.
She didn't even notice the figure standing in the shadows until she collided with him, the impact jolting her back to reality.
Strong hands caught her shoulders, steadying her before she could fall. "Miss Weasley," a cold, familiar voice said, the tone both sharp and inquisitive. "What is the meaning of this?" He gestured to her heavily bleeding face and the mark against her cheek.
Ginny looked up through her tears to see Professor Snape, his black eyes narrowed as he studied her tear-streaked face. For a moment, she couldn't find her voice, the weight of what had just happened pressing down on her like a stone.
"Well?" Snape's voice was a blade, cutting through the fog of her thoughts. "What happened, Miss Weasley?"
Ginny swallowed hard, struggling to find her voice. "I—It was Ron," she finally managed, her voice shaking. "He… he hit me."
Snape's expression darkened, his features hardening as the words sank in. His grip on her shoulders tightened just slightly, enough for Ginny to notice the tension in his hands. "And what, exactly, precipitated this outburst?"
Ginny hesitated, feeling a fresh wave of humiliation wash over her. She didn't want to recount the argument, didn't want to admit how things had escalated to the point where her own brother had struck her. But under Snape's piercing gaze, she knew there was no escaping it.
"We argued," Ginny said, her voice barely above a whisper. "He—he was angry about something I said to Hermione yesterday. And then he called me… he called me a slimy Slytherin. I said I didn't care about being a Weasley anymore, and then…" She trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.
Snape's expression grew even colder if that were possible. "So, your brother believes that being in Slytherin justifies physical violence against you? How noble."
Ginny winced at the sarcasm in his voice. "He's just… He doesn't understand," she said weakly, the words feeling hollow even as she spoke them.
Snape let out a low, bitter laugh, the sound devoid of any humor. "Understanding does not excuse violence. Especially not between family."
His tone was clipped, and controlled, but Ginny could feel the anger simmering beneath the surface.
Without another word, Snape released her shoulders and turned on his heel, his robes billowing behind him as he strode down the corridor.
"Come with me, Miss Weasley," he said, his voice brooking no argument.
Ginny followed him silently, her mind racing.
She had expected Snape to be angry, but this… this was something else. She had never seen him like this, not even when students had bungled their potions in the most spectacular fashion. There was a different kind of intensity in his movements, something she couldn't quite place.
They reached the hospital wing in what felt like seconds, Snape's pace leaving Ginny breathless as she struggled to keep up.
When they entered, Madam Pomfrey looked up from her desk, her brows knitting together in concern as she saw the state of Ginny's face.
"Oh, dear," Madam Pomfrey said, hurrying over to Ginny. "What happened?"
Snape answered for her, his voice as cold as ice. "Her brother decided to express his displeasure with her choice of House by breaking her nose."
Madam Pomfrey's eyes widened in shock, and she immediately began examining Ginny's face, her hands gentle but efficient. "A fractured nasal bridge," she murmured, her tone professional despite the anger that flickered in her eyes. "It's not a severe break, but it will require Skelegrow. You'll need to stay here for a few hours, Miss Weasley, to ensure the bone heals properly."
Ginny nodded numbly, feeling a strange detachment from the situation as Madam Pomfrey led her to a bed and began preparing the Skelegrow potion.
As she sat down on the bed, Snape remained standing a few feet away, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable.
Madam Pomfrey handed Ginny a vial of the foul-smelling potion, and Ginny swallowed it without complaint, grimacing at the taste. The effect was immediate—a burning sensation spread through her nose, and she winced as the bone began to knit itself back together.
"Try to stay still, dear," Madam Pomfrey instructed, her tone gentle. "The pain will pass in a moment."
Ginny nodded again, her eyes watering from the sensation. She could feel Snape's gaze on her, but she couldn't bring herself to meet it. There was too much swirling inside her—pain, anger, shame.
As the pain began to subside, Madam Pomfrey gave her a small smile. "You'll need to rest here for a few hours, just to make sure everything heals properly. No strenuous activity, and definitely no more fights."
Ginny managed a weak smile in return, but her heart wasn't in it. She felt numb, and drained, as if all the fight had been knocked out of her.
Madam Pomfrey turned to Snape, her expression serious. "She'll be fine with a bit of rest, Severus. But this… this is unacceptable."
Snape nodded curtly. "Indeed. I intend to deal with the situation promptly."
Ginny finally looked up at him, her voice small as she spoke. "Professor, I don't think… I mean, it wasn't just him. I provoked him."
Snape's eyes narrowed. "That does not excuse what he did, Miss Weasley. You may believe that your brother's actions were justified, but I assure you, they were not."
Ginny bit her lip, feeling a pang of guilt.
She knew Snape was right, but a part of her couldn't shake the feeling that she had brought this on herself.
She had pushed Ron too far, and now… now she wasn't sure where they stood.
Snape's voice softened slightly, though it retained its edge. "Physical violence is never an appropriate response, no matter the provocation. Your brother will be dealt with accordingly, and I expect you to focus on your recovery."
Ginny nodded the weight of his words sinking in.
She had always known that Snape was strict, but hearing him speak with such conviction about her situation was oddly comforting.
It was as if he was telling her that she deserved better, that she wasn't as alone as she thought.
Madam Pomfrey patted Ginny's arm reassuringly. "Try to get some rest, dear. You'll feel better once the potion has done its work."
Ginny lay back on the bed, her thoughts swirling as she closed her eyes. The pain in her nose was fading, but the ache in her heart remained, a dull throb that refused to go away.