Ginny gazed around the Great Hall during breakfast, listening to the speculation about Mrs. Norris and the Chamber of Secrets. Pressing her hands to her forehead, she desperately tried to recollect what she had done the previous night. Her hands felt cold and clammy against her head, and she could feel herself shudder slightly as she looked down into her untouched plate.
Glancing around the Great Hall, she looked to see if there was anyone she could entrust with her thoughts. Harry, Hermione and Ron were huddled together, whispering secrets—probably about the Chamber of Secrets. All her dorm mates were discussing their thoughts quietly with some other students. From across the room, she could see Draco Malfoy staring at her, a strange look of concern mingling with the traditional smug expression on his face. She looked away—he would never want to talk to her, especially after the previous night.
Rising suddenly, she pushed her plate aside and headed back towards her dormitory. There was one person she knew would always listen to her and would help her. Looking at her robes from the previous night heaped on the floor in the corner of her room, she flipped her diary open and began to write, “Dear Tom, I can’t remember what I did on the night of Halloween, but a cat was attacked and I’ve got paint all down my front.”
“Perhaps you had a bit too much fun at the Halloween festivities?”
Ginny contemplated his statement for a moment. Maybe she had gone to the Halloween party—she would not put it past her brothers to play tricks on her—but the paint still seemed very strange, and highly coincidental. She snapped the diary shut and shoved it in her pocket—if only she knew what was happening to her.
*~*~*
The days passed slowly as people fearfully whispered and gossiped about the Chamber of Secrets, and the Heir of Slytherin. The rumours were wild and unfounded, but Draco found himself to be the focus of many. He was not really certain as to why everyone seemed to believe this—but he did not care, he had more important things to concentrate on anyway, like Quidditch. Only several days before the first Quidditch match of the season did it dawn upon the students that on Saturday, Gryffindor and Slytherin would be playing—usually one of the most highly anticipated games of the year.
Draco had been trying to distract himself with Quidditch, but it was difficult with all the gossip floating around. He had tried to ask his father about the Chamber of Secrets, but his father had told him nothing of interest, only that if Draco knew too much about it, it would be bring suspicions about him. The only substantial thing Draco had found out about the last time the chamber was opened was that a Muggle born had died.
Ginny had been even paler and more fragile looking lately—Draco figured she must have been a cat lover, and taken Filch’s cat being petrified to heart. However, he still had the sinking suspicion that something else was wrong with her, but he was beginning to give up with trying to help her. Besides, he had Quidditch to attend to.
The Saturday of the match was humid and moist—Draco’s least favorite flying conditions. He ate a meager breakfast, worried about the match that was about to happen. He played his hardest, but Potter had still managed to snatch the Snitch before Draco could grab it. Draco had not even seen the Snitch until Potter had nearly careened into him. Of course, Potter could not just win, but he also had to make a huge show with breaking his arm and crashing into the ground. Draco had rolled his eyes at the situation—one of the bludgers that they had been playing with did seem to be tampered with, but then Potter had to blow everything out of proportion, like he usually did.
Draco had stalked off to join the rest of his team, only to be yelled at by Marcus Flint for missing the Snitch. Rolling his eyes and frowning, Draco walked away towards his dormitory, where he stayed in his room by himself until everyone else had gone to bed.
*~*~*
Once he was certain that the common room was empty, Draco cautiously crept out, planning on going to the kitchens to get some food from the house elves. He snuck carefully down the hallway, watching for signs of Filch and prefects, but he found no one except a pair of older students sneaking into an empty room—probably to have a good snog, Draco figured.
After eating a warm sandwich and a glass of pumpkin juice from the kitchens, Draco felt like continuing to wander around the castle. It was always exhilarating to roam the castle at night, trying not to be caught by Filch. He figured it would be easier to sneak around, especially now that Mrs. Norris was petrified. Filch had been very bitter lately, and he primarily patrolled the second floor hallway where Mrs. Norris had been petrified.
Slowly meandering down the hallway, Draco idly looked around—the castle was still and silent at night, a drastic change from the loudness during the day. He smirked as he saw another pair of students sneak into a classroom, and a small Gryffindor first year with a huge camera and a bunch of grapes nervously creep down the hallway. Draco briefly considered frightening the small boy, but then decided against it—it would not be worth it if he got caught.
Hearing rushed footsteps in the hallway, Draco sucked in his breath and jumped behind a suit of armor. He watched as a curly haired prefect girl walked down the hallway and turned the corner out of sight. Draco sighed, allowing the anxiety of being caught flow out of his body. He vigilantly turned the corner, looking both ways down the hallway. Suddenly, a door creaked open slowly, and Percy Weasley edged out, warily glancing down the hallway in both directions before resuming a pompous posture and walking down the corridor in the opposite direction. Draco narrowed his eyes—why was Weasley sneaking around in the middle of the night. He peeked both ways down the hallway again, looking for other students sneaking around—it seemed as though everyone was taking advantage of Filch’s cat being petrified.
Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as an entranced looking Ginny ambled down the hallway and out of sight. Curious, Draco carefully skulked after her, stealthily turning the corner that she had disappeared at. He watched as she dazedly opened the girl’s bathroom door, right near the hallway where Filch usually patrolled. Draco stared after her curiously—he wondered how she had not gotten caught by Filch. Suddenly, as though answering his question, he heard the unmistakable sound of Peeve’s wreaking havoc several floors above.
Draco carefully crept as close has he could to the girls bathroom without being in clear sight of people roaming the halls. He was trying to discern what Ginny was doing, roaming the castle in the middle of the night. Perhaps she sleepwalked, he thought. He sat in the corridor for nearly fifteen minutes, waiting for Ginny to return. Finding her disappearance peculiar, Draco wandered up to the girls bathroom door, wondering if he should go in. Carefully opening the door, Draco looked in to see if he could hear Ginny, but suddenly a squat ghost with glasses and limp hair started howling.
“You’re not a girl!” she cried, “This is a girl’s bathroom!” Draco rapidly shut the door and took off down the hallway—her racket was certain to catch the attention of Filch. As he quickly headed towards the Slytherin dormitories, he heard the unmistakable footsteps of Filch hot on his tail. Suddenly, he heard a strange noise from upstairs, and Filch’s footsteps pattered upstairs. Curious as to what distracted Filch, Draco headed up one of the secret passageways he knew about and furtively snuck towards the commotion in the hallway.
Professor McGonagall was gasping loudly as several other teachers arrived on the scene to see the problem. Draco looked out of his hiding place to see the cause of the fuss. Breathing in a sharply, Draco stared in horror at the petrified lump on the floor. It appeared to be the Gryffindor first year, with his camera and grapes. Shocked, Draco wondered what could have petrified the boy. Obviously the rumours about the Chamber of Secrets were true. Perhaps he would have to ask his father again. Draco covertly snuck back to the Slytherin common room, the whole time thinking to himself about the Chamber of Secrets and who the heir could possibly be.
*~*~*
Ginny arose in the morning, again tired from her sleepless night. She was beginning to get very concerned about her problems sleeping well. She thought perhaps all students were like this when adjusting to being away from home, but she did not see her dorm mates having difficultly sleeping like she did. She sighed and got ready to go downstairs—the previous night had been yet another strange night. Gryffindor had been celebrating their Quidditch victory, although it had not been as rambunctious as usual, probably because Harry was in the hospital wing. She remembered going to the party and having a wild time with her brothers, trying to forget about all the bizarre events happening to her; however, she had eventually headed upstairs for bed and gone to sleep. She felt as though she had only slept for a few hours—maybe Fred or George had given her something strange to eat.
Ginny idly wandered downstairs to breakfast. She sat down near her first year roommates at the breakfast table, but they did not seem as talkative as usual. In fact, the entire hall seemed a bit subdued and worried. Listening intently to a conversation at the table behind her, she heard a frightened sounding girl whisper something about a Gryffindor boy who had been petrified. Shocked, Ginny looked up and down the Gryffindor table, which seemed even more passive than the rest of the houses.
“Who was petrified?” Ginny quietly asked on of her roommates.
“Colin Creevy,” said the girl softly, “They say he was sneaking through the corridors last night, towards the hospital wing, and then McGonagall found him petrified.” She seemed entirely terrified at what had happened. Ginny was feeling a bit sick to her stomach, she kept sensing that something was wrong with herself, but she had no proof.
Ginny distractedly attended her classes, trying to forget about all the strange occurrences. She was probably just overreacting—she was just having difficulties adjusting to being away from her parents—that was all.
*~*~*
One week later, Draco was roaming the hallways when he saw a sign for a Dueling Club. Figuring that this would be a good opportunity for him to practice his knowledge of spells, Draco decided to attend. That evening, he wandered arrogantly into the Great Hall, staring condescendingly at everyone who turned their eyes in his direction.
Nonchalantly gazing around the room, Draco looked to see who else had shown up. He saw the Golden Trio, standing together near a large group of Gryffindors. He was looking to see if Ginny had decided to come, when suddenly Professor Lockhart paraded himself onto the stage, wearing ridiculously colored purple robes. He smiled slightly as he saw Professor Snape following Lockhart, a wicked sneer gracing his face. Hoping that perhaps Snape would finish the conceited Lockhart off, Draco turned his attention to the stage party to see what they would teach.
Soon enough, he had watched Snape disarm Lockhart and sent him flying backwards. Draco almost cheered for the Potions professor. Shortly after, Draco found himself paired with Harry Potter to practice disarming.
He bowed curtly at Harry, and then prepared himself for Lockhart’s countdown. Eager to cast his spell first, he anticipated Lockhart’s third count and sent his spell at Harry. However, Harry quickly recovered and hit him with another spell. Draco doubled up with laughter—that bloody Potter had hit him with a tickling spell. He could not remember the last time he had been tickled as he clutched his stomach, trying to stop the sensation long enough to cast another spell. He almost liked the tickling sensation though—it reminded him of his days at the Ministry with Ginny. He looked up and aimed his wand at Potter, yelling a spell at Harry which caused his legs to start dancing manically.
“Finite Incantatem!” shouted Snape, and the giddy feeling from the tickling abruptly stopped. Draco wished it could have stayed for a moment longer—it brought back such happy memories… He daydreamed for a moment about how Ginny and him would play Exploding Snap or Gobstones, and then talk for hours and fool around…
Suddenly, his attention was brought back to the Dueling Club as he heard Snape announce his name as a volunteer to duel in front of everyone, along with Potter. Draco rolled his eyes as Lockhart agreed eagerly. Draco watched as Lockhart moved towards Harry and tried to offer him advice about dueling, when he felt Professor Snape move down towards his ear.
“Serpensortia,” Professor Snape said strongly and quietly into his ear. Smirking, Draco looked towards Professor Snape and nodded, acknowledging the spell. He was not sure exactly what the spell did, but he was certain the Professor Snape would want him to triumph over Harry Potter.
He looked at Harry Potter superciliously, “Scared?” he asked quietly.
“You wish,” responded Potter. Draco smiled smugly as Lockhart clouted Potter on the shoulder and set the two of them up for the duel.
“Three—two—one—go!” Lockhart shouted merrily. Draco raised his wanted immediately and took careful aim towards Potter.
“Serpensortia!” he yelled loudly. He was stunned as a long snake jetted out of his wand onto the floor between him and Potter. He smiled smugly at Potter, trying to maintain his Malfoy air of superiority.
“Don’t move, Potter,” said Snape from Draco’s side. Draco could tell Snape was enjoying the moment, “I’ll get rid of it…” he continued, lazily raising his wand towards the snake.
“Allow me!” shouted Lockhart as he waved his wand showily, ending with a huge flourish which shot the snake ten feet into the air. Angrily, the snake slithered across the tables towards Justin Finch-Fletchley, a Hufflepuff boy in Draco’s year.
Suddenly, Draco heard a loud hissing noise, not coming from the snake. He turned quickly, and watched as Potter ran towards the snake, shouting at the snake in its own language. He seemed to be encouraging the snake as he approached it swiftly. However, after a moment the snake stopped moving towards Justin as it turned around to face Harry, who was looking at the snake in shock. Draco stared at Potter strangely—he could speak Parseltongue—one of the very rarest magical abilities.
“What do you think you’re playing at?” shouted Justin at the surprised looking Potter. Snape quickly banished the snake as Potter continued to look around at everyone, stunned. It was almost as though he did not know what he had just done. Draco watched as Weasley and Granger rushed him out of the room. Contemplating what had just happened, Draco remembered that talking to snakes was one of the Dark Lord’s abilities. Perhaps Potter was the Heir of Slytherin—except that it did not make sense. Potter’s best friends were a Muggle lover and a Mudblood—he would never want to purge the school of Muggle-borns. Distractedly, Draco excused himself from the dueling club and headed downstairs to the dungeons—he had to write his father another letter.
*~*~*
Dazed and disoriented, Ginny was startled awake as she heard a loud commotion from the Gryffindor common room. She jumped out of bed and rushed towards the landing. Standing at the top of the stairs, she listened as a frantic first year was telling about how there had been more attacks on the school.
She felt something jerk inside of her as she realized it was the middle of the afternoon. She could barely recall waking up that morning—but she was completely baffled as to why she was in her room again. She stood for a moment, wondering what to do. She could write to Tom again—he still talked to her and tried to make her feel better, but his sympathy and advice did not help much anymore.
Recently, Ginny had been noticing strange coincidences between her lapses of memory and the attacks on students. She had no idea how it was happening, but she had a sinking suspicion that she was the one who was attacking the students. Needing someone to talk to, she pulled out her diary and began to write. “Dear Tom, Percy keeps telling me I’m pale and I’m not myself”—that much she was certain of. She was having the hardest time remembering what she did before she went to sleep at night, and more recently there had been gaping holes in the middle of days that she could not recollect. All of this was causing her to act oddly and be even more solitary. “There was another attack today, and I don’t know where I was. Tom, what am I going to do? I think I’m going mad.” She scribbled furiously. The attacks were always coinciding with the times when she could not remember what she was doing. It was almost too peculiar to be a coincidence. “I think I’m the one attacking everyone, Tom!” She wrote desperately, wondering if he would be able to consol her. She watched as his understanding words appeared, telling her that everything was okay. Not feeling any better, Ginny closed the diary and placed it under her pillow. If only she knew what was happening to her…
Over the following weeks, many rumours began circulating the school about Harry Potter being the Heir of Slytherin. Only one day after Potter had been discovered as a Parseltongue, Justin Finch-Fletchley and Nearly Headless Nick had been found petrified in the hallway with Harry standing next to them.
Ginny was feeling especially lost and alone these days—her roommates did not talk to her much because she spent most of her time in solitude, and no one else seemed to notice her. Fred and George had taken to teasing Harry about being the Heir of Slytherin, which she did not find very amusing at all. She still felt as though she knew something about the Chamber of Secrets that everyone else did not know, but could not discern what that was. Draco had tried to approach her yet again, and she had brushed him off like before. She almost regretted shunning him as she saw him looking bitter and upset whenever they passed in the hallways. It was almost as though he wanted to help her.
It was nearly time for the Christmas holidays, and many students were getting ready to head home for the break. Ginny was planning on staying in lieu of visiting Bill in Egypt with her parents. She normally spent Christmas with her parents visiting her brothers—this year, she wanted to stay with her brothers at Hogwarts.
Finally, Christmas break arrived and the castle became oddly empty. Ginny knew that Draco had stayed for the holidays, probably because he generally did not get along well with his father. She briefly wondered how he was, and how his father had been treating him.
Ginny wandered down to the empty Gryffindor common room and picked up a magazine from a table. Idly flipping through it, she noticed an ad for singing valentines. She smiled to herself—Tom had told her she should send Harry something for Christmas, but she had not had the money. However, she had received a little bit of money as an early Christmas present, so perhaps she could afford to send Harry a valentine in February. She carefully removed the ad from the magazine and tucked in her pocket before heading back to her room.
She opened her diary and asked Tom what he thought about a singing valentine—he said did not care, but that she should send him something. She wrote a silly little poem and then copied it for Tom, who said it was quite excellent. Smiling, she filled out the order for Valentine’s Day, even though it was several months away. Tom was very insistent on her talking to Harry and finding out details about him. She sent the order via a school owl, and then headed to the Great Hall for breakfast.
*~*~*
Draco woke up early on Christmas morning, eagerly anticipating the many gifts he would receive from his parents. He opened the boxes of treats and candy his mother had sent him, along with a very heavy, warm cloak lined with soft fur. He walked into the Slytherin common room, carrying his new gift over his arm. His father had a similarly expensive clock that Draco had always admired, and he was pleased with his father’s gift.
He spent most the day outside, enjoying the time by himself. Not many students were outside as it was particularly cold, so he was not interrupted at all. Later, he entered the Great Hall and sat with Vincent and Gregory, who were busy stuffing their faces with everything they could see. Draco looked across the room to the Gryffindor table, where a pale looking Ginny was pushing her food around on her plate.
“What are you looking at?” Gregory asked Draco curiously, trying to follow his gaze over to the Gryffindor table.
Startled that they had noticed, he quickly thought of something to say. Draco smirked at Potter and his obviously homemade sweatshirt. “Look at Potter’s shirt,” he started snidely, “it looks as though it was made from some dead thing he found on the road.” Draco smiled smugly as the Slytherin’s around him sniggered at Potter—they seemed to be satisfied with his remark. Draco continued to stare at Ginny, who had not eaten a single bite from her plate. Suddenly, the Golden Trio stood and left. Draco watched them wander out and then turned to look back at Ginny—she was distractedly watching them leave as her brother Percy was trying to convince her to eat something.
Draco sipped his cup of tea as he watched Percy attempt to force feed Ginny. Angrily, she had thrown the food back at him and then picked up her own fork and swallowed several bites. He looked back towards Vincent and Gregory, had eaten most of the food near them at the table.
After he had finished his tea, Draco waited around in the Great Hall a while longer, watching the students happily converse with his friends. He had a fleeting wish had friends to have fun with, but then he brushed the thought aside. He could talk to his ‘friends’ if he wanted to—perhaps he would talk to Vincent and Gregory later, if they did not pass out from all the food they were consuming.
He excused himself and left the Great Hall, starting to head back to the Slytherin dormitory but then deciding to go take a walk outside and enjoy the cool evening air with his new cloak. Thinking about Ginny, he ambled towards the lake—he wanted to help her, but he knew that his father would never agree. He continued his long stroll, and after a little while he decided to return to the castle. Wandering towards the Slytherin common room, he found Vincent and Gregory distracted by one of the Weasley brothers.
“There you are,” he said as he walked up to his cronies, “Have you two been pigging out in the Great Hall all this time? I’ve been looking for you; I want to show you something really funny.” He acted as though he had just noticed Weasley, and gave him a haughty gaze, “and what’re you doing down here, Weasley?” he sneered.
“You want to show a bit more respect to a school prefect!” the Weasley said loudly, “I don’t like your attitude.” Draco smirked at his statement. Show respect to a Weasley? He nearly wanted to outright laugh in his face. Controlling himself, he gestured to Vincent and Gregory and headed towards the Slytherin common room. He sighed and looked at them, “That Peter Weasley—”
“Percy,” corrected Vincent. For a fleeting moment, Draco wondered how Vincent knew which Weasley was which.
“Whatever,” Draco continued, not really caring about Weasley at all. “I’ve noticed him sneaking around a lot lately. And I bet I know what he’s up to. He thinks he’s going to catch Slytherin’s heir single-handed.” Draco laughed shortly, but Vincent and Gregory did not join in. Perhaps they had eaten too much—Draco would not doubt it. He turned to Gregory and asked idly, “What’s that new password again?”
“Er—” started Gregory, looking as baffled as ever. Draco rolled his eyes at their stupidity.
“Oh yeah—pure-blood!” Draco said. He walked into the common room—it was empty. Trying to recall what he had wanted to show Vincent and Gregory, he stood for a moment and thought. Suddenly, he remembered that his father had sent him an article about Arthur Weasley—usually those two brutes thought the newspaper clippings his father sent were hilarious. Looking at the two boys, who looked completely lost in the common room, he told them to wait while he ran to his room.
Grabbing the article off his bed from underneath his gifts, he quickly returned to the common room where Vincent and Gregory had sat down in the chairs next to the fireplace. Handing the article to Vincent, he waited expectantly for them to read it. He knew it would take them awhile to read it—Gregory seemed to have given up with trying to comprehend it and was laughing weakly. Draco rolled his eyes—they were so dense sometimes. “Well?” he asked them as Gregory handed the paper back to him—they had read the article unusually fast. “Don’t you think it’s funny?” he continued.
“Ha ha,” said Gregory feebly. Draco looked at him strangely—they must have eaten too much—they were acting quite peculiar.
“Arthur Weasley loves Muggles so much he should snap his wand in half and go join them,” Draco said disdainfully, thinking about how the Weasleys all seemed to one-up him in everything. Except Ginny, he remembered—but then, Ginny was no longer talking to him. “You’d never know the Weasleys were pure-bloods, the way they behave,” he continued, before glancing up at Vincent’s face, which looked oddly livid. “What’s up with you, Crabbe?” Draco snapped, wondering what possessed him to act so unordinary.
“Stomachache,” Vincent grunted, clutching his stomach. Draco smirked—of course he had a stomachache with everything that he had eaten today. Draco would not have been surprised if they had staying in the Great Hall the entire time he was taking a walk.
“Well, go up to the hospital wing and give all those Mudbloods a kick from me,” Draco said snidely. “You know, I’m surprised the Daily Prophet hasn’t reported all these attacks yet. I suppose Dumbledore’s trying to hush it all up. He’ll be sacked if it doesn’t stop soon. Father’s always said old Dumbledore’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to this place. He loves Muggle-borns. A decent headmaster would never’ve let slime like that Creevey in.” Draco talked lazily, reciting everything his father had always told him. He knew that Vincent and Gregory had grown up in similar families, believing the same things Draco had always learned. Draco was not sure how much of what his father said was true, but it was certainly better to be on his father’s good side rather than make him angry by defying him.
Draco shook his head at the thought of the Creevey boy—it was no loss at all that he had been petrified—all that boy did was follow Harry Potter, taking pictures and worshiping him. Draco pretended he was taking pictures with an imaginary camera and mimicked Colin’s voice, “ ‘Potter, can I have your picture? Can I have your autograph? Can I lick your shoes, please, Potter?’” Looking at Vincent and Gregory’s equally blank stares, Draco was very confused at their slow responses. “What’s the matter with you two?” he questioned.
Vincent and Gregory laughed weakly—Draco wondered to himself how they managed to get through their classes without failing—they really were slow on the uptake. He glanced down at the article in his hands—it discussed how Arthur Weasley was facing an inquiry at the Ministry for his flying car. Draco bitterly remembered how Potter and Weasley had been heroes because they crashed that stupid car into the Whomping Willow and not gotten punished. “Saint Potter, the Mudbloods’ friend,” Draco started resentfully, “He’s another one with no proper wizarding feeling, or he wouldn’t go around with that jumped up Granger Mudblood. And people think he’s Slytherin’s heir!” Draco sulkily remembered the first day on the train to Hogwarts when Harry Potter had rejected his friendship—then Potter had gone on to become everyone’s favorite idol while Draco was left behind in the shadows. And now people thought Potter was Slytherin’s heir? Draco could not believe what possessed the school to be so dense—obviously Potter would not be trying to rid the school of Mudbloods. “I wish I knew who it is,” Draco said, “I could help them.” Anything to help rid the school of all the insufferable gits who worshiped Potter, he thought bitterly.
“You must have some idea who’s behind it all…” started Gregory thickly, while Vincent looked on with his mouth gaping open, looking entirely daft and stupid. Draco shook his head at Gregory—he had told them thousands of times that his father would tell him nothing, and yet they persistently asked him about the heir of Slytherin.
“You know I haven’t, Goyle, how many times do I have to tell you?” Draco snapped at the large boy, before relating everything he knew about the Chamber of Secrets from his father. It seemed as though they never remembered anything he told them unless he repeated it eighty times. Draco was beginning to get fed up with their stupidity. He exasperatedly finished the conversation, barely even surprised when Gregory could not remember what Azkaban was. Suddenly, they both jumped up, looking frantically at each other. They both looked a little odd—Vincent was looking very red and turning paler.
“Medicine for my stomach,” Vincent grunted before both of them fled from the room. Draco looked after them suspiciously, trying to remember the last time he had seen them run so fast. Then he shook his head; he was happy for them to be gone—they were too dense for words.
*~*~*
Ginny tried to enjoy herself as the Christmas holidays passed. She spend some quality time with her brothers—Percy seemed to be very concerned about her passive behavior, and had finally found time to make sure she was eating and sleeping properly. The twins were up to their usual antics, and since most of their friends had gone home for the holidays, they had also been spending more time with Ginny. Ron was always busy with Harry—it seemed that Hermione had gone home after Christmas Day; Ginny figured she had decided to spend the rest of Christmas break with her family.
Ginny had been feeling better lately—more alive and upbeat; perhaps because she had more friends and family around to talk to. She had almost forgotten to write to Tom on some nights because she had been too entertained by the twins, and by the time it was time for bed she was too tired to write. Oddly enough, her memory lapses were becoming more and more infrequent as well—she had a strange instinct about that, but she was so delighted that she was feeling better so she decided not to dwell on it.
However, as suddenly as everything had gotten better, it seemed to get infinitely worse once school started again and all the students came back. She had taken to writing to Tom habitually, and she spent more time alone in her room. It seemed that everyone only cared about her when they had nothing better to do, as though she was just an afterthought—just a tiny dot lost all alone in a world that completely disregarded her.
Ginny awoke the morning classes resumed, feeling disoriented and lost as she did so often before vacation. She distractedly got ready for her classes—wondering what caused her sudden ups and downs. Christmas vacation had been so great, and suddenly she was miserably dejected once again. As she trudged slowly to the Great Hall for breakfast, she heard snippets of conversation in the hallway—rumours of another attack on a student. Ginny shuddered—the attacks always coincidentally coincided with her memory lapses. There had been no attacks all of Christmas break—she had been happy then.
Ginny thought about it a moment longer, slowly dawning realization that she had neglected Tom during most of the holidays. She leaned up against the hallway, breathing shortly and trying to regain her composure—it could not be Tom causing everything—he was her friend! She trusted him! He helped her through all the tough times, and made her feel better. But then, she had never felt better really—he always offered kind words of support, but she would always wake up later the next morning, never remembering what had happened. Ginny felt a tingle of apprehension run down her spine, making her shudder she suddenly felt very cold. It all made sense—she had started writing in the diary as school started, and as she corresponded with Tom more frequently, her condition had deteriorated.
Sliding down the wall, Ginny could barely breathe as everything seemed to slide into place—she was the one who was attacking everyone; Tom was making her. She could barely think over the sound of her heart thumping loudly in her head—fiercely threatening to burst inside. She stood up abruptly, feeling lightheaded and weak, and started to run frantically towards the direction of the Gryffindor dormitories.
Running hysterically, trying to escape the harsh realities in her head, Ginny was not paying attention to where she was going. Suddenly, she halted in front of the girl’s bathroom on the second floor. The hallway was eerily empty, and for some reason the bathroom door looked oddly familiar, although Ginny was certain she had never been there. As she cautiously pushed open the door, disregarding the OUT OF ORDER sign hanging solemnly on the door. Still panting heavily with tears running down her face, she looked into the bathroom. It was the most dismal bathroom she had ever seen—the mirrors were cracked, the sinks were chipped, and everything looked as though it had not been touched in decades. Ginny slowly crept into the bathroom, surveying the room while trying to regain calmness and cease crying but failing.
The room evoked a feeling of uncanny familiarity, and as she looked around more, she felt more and more certain that Tom had caused all of the trauma in her life. She had trusted him—she had told him everything; and he had betrayed her. He had wanted to kill the Muggle-borns—perhaps that was why he wanted to know so much about Harry, because Harry had conquered the most vindictive Muggle hater who ever existed. She felt as though she was hyperventilating as she gazed at the room, taking in everything. Tom had never wanted to help her—he had always been using her. As a sudden impulse, Ginny opened one of the stalls while retrieving the diary from her pocket. She stared at it for a moment, as though apologizing for what she was about to do, even though she knew that Tom had caused more trouble than she had ever deserved. Crying uncontrollably, she threw the battered diary into the toilet and stomped on the handle fiercely before running frantically out of the bathroom.
*~*~*
After breakfast, Draco was wandering lazily down the second floor corridor when suddenly Ginny burst out of a random door and began running hysterically down the hallway, directly in his direction. He had noticed that she was not at breakfast, but he had not really worried; however, it seemed as though something was wrong with her. As he watched her stumble down the hallway crying, he stepped in front of her and grabbed her arms, looking her into her eyes. She stared at him uncertainly, as though she was not sure whether she wanted to run away or talk.
“Are you okay?” Draco heard himself ask concernedly—she was acting very peculiar and he could not help feeling uneasy about Ginny’s behavior. He thought she had stopped her uncharacteristic, solitary behavior during the holidays, but it seemed as though something was still wrong.
Suddenly, Ginny threw her arms around Draco and began sobbing into his shoulder. Thoroughly befuddled, Draco uncertainly looked up and down the hallway for people, but the corridors were thankfully empty. He had not been this close to Ginny in quite some time—he had missed her. He almost felt as though she belonged with him, in his arms. They had been such good friends, and it was just stupid petty reasons that had pulled them apart. He hesitantly reached his arms around her and lightly rubbed her back, trying to comfort her. If only he knew what was wrong…
Glancing around the Great Hall, she looked to see if there was anyone she could entrust with her thoughts. Harry, Hermione and Ron were huddled together, whispering secrets—probably about the Chamber of Secrets. All her dorm mates were discussing their thoughts quietly with some other students. From across the room, she could see Draco Malfoy staring at her, a strange look of concern mingling with the traditional smug expression on his face. She looked away—he would never want to talk to her, especially after the previous night.
Rising suddenly, she pushed her plate aside and headed back towards her dormitory. There was one person she knew would always listen to her and would help her. Looking at her robes from the previous night heaped on the floor in the corner of her room, she flipped her diary open and began to write, “Dear Tom, I can’t remember what I did on the night of Halloween, but a cat was attacked and I’ve got paint all down my front.”
“Perhaps you had a bit too much fun at the Halloween festivities?”
Ginny contemplated his statement for a moment. Maybe she had gone to the Halloween party—she would not put it past her brothers to play tricks on her—but the paint still seemed very strange, and highly coincidental. She snapped the diary shut and shoved it in her pocket—if only she knew what was happening to her.
*~*~*
The days passed slowly as people fearfully whispered and gossiped about the Chamber of Secrets, and the Heir of Slytherin. The rumours were wild and unfounded, but Draco found himself to be the focus of many. He was not really certain as to why everyone seemed to believe this—but he did not care, he had more important things to concentrate on anyway, like Quidditch. Only several days before the first Quidditch match of the season did it dawn upon the students that on Saturday, Gryffindor and Slytherin would be playing—usually one of the most highly anticipated games of the year.
Draco had been trying to distract himself with Quidditch, but it was difficult with all the gossip floating around. He had tried to ask his father about the Chamber of Secrets, but his father had told him nothing of interest, only that if Draco knew too much about it, it would be bring suspicions about him. The only substantial thing Draco had found out about the last time the chamber was opened was that a Muggle born had died.
Ginny had been even paler and more fragile looking lately—Draco figured she must have been a cat lover, and taken Filch’s cat being petrified to heart. However, he still had the sinking suspicion that something else was wrong with her, but he was beginning to give up with trying to help her. Besides, he had Quidditch to attend to.
The Saturday of the match was humid and moist—Draco’s least favorite flying conditions. He ate a meager breakfast, worried about the match that was about to happen. He played his hardest, but Potter had still managed to snatch the Snitch before Draco could grab it. Draco had not even seen the Snitch until Potter had nearly careened into him. Of course, Potter could not just win, but he also had to make a huge show with breaking his arm and crashing into the ground. Draco had rolled his eyes at the situation—one of the bludgers that they had been playing with did seem to be tampered with, but then Potter had to blow everything out of proportion, like he usually did.
Draco had stalked off to join the rest of his team, only to be yelled at by Marcus Flint for missing the Snitch. Rolling his eyes and frowning, Draco walked away towards his dormitory, where he stayed in his room by himself until everyone else had gone to bed.
*~*~*
Once he was certain that the common room was empty, Draco cautiously crept out, planning on going to the kitchens to get some food from the house elves. He snuck carefully down the hallway, watching for signs of Filch and prefects, but he found no one except a pair of older students sneaking into an empty room—probably to have a good snog, Draco figured.
After eating a warm sandwich and a glass of pumpkin juice from the kitchens, Draco felt like continuing to wander around the castle. It was always exhilarating to roam the castle at night, trying not to be caught by Filch. He figured it would be easier to sneak around, especially now that Mrs. Norris was petrified. Filch had been very bitter lately, and he primarily patrolled the second floor hallway where Mrs. Norris had been petrified.
Slowly meandering down the hallway, Draco idly looked around—the castle was still and silent at night, a drastic change from the loudness during the day. He smirked as he saw another pair of students sneak into a classroom, and a small Gryffindor first year with a huge camera and a bunch of grapes nervously creep down the hallway. Draco briefly considered frightening the small boy, but then decided against it—it would not be worth it if he got caught.
Hearing rushed footsteps in the hallway, Draco sucked in his breath and jumped behind a suit of armor. He watched as a curly haired prefect girl walked down the hallway and turned the corner out of sight. Draco sighed, allowing the anxiety of being caught flow out of his body. He vigilantly turned the corner, looking both ways down the hallway. Suddenly, a door creaked open slowly, and Percy Weasley edged out, warily glancing down the hallway in both directions before resuming a pompous posture and walking down the corridor in the opposite direction. Draco narrowed his eyes—why was Weasley sneaking around in the middle of the night. He peeked both ways down the hallway again, looking for other students sneaking around—it seemed as though everyone was taking advantage of Filch’s cat being petrified.
Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as an entranced looking Ginny ambled down the hallway and out of sight. Curious, Draco carefully skulked after her, stealthily turning the corner that she had disappeared at. He watched as she dazedly opened the girl’s bathroom door, right near the hallway where Filch usually patrolled. Draco stared after her curiously—he wondered how she had not gotten caught by Filch. Suddenly, as though answering his question, he heard the unmistakable sound of Peeve’s wreaking havoc several floors above.
Draco carefully crept as close has he could to the girls bathroom without being in clear sight of people roaming the halls. He was trying to discern what Ginny was doing, roaming the castle in the middle of the night. Perhaps she sleepwalked, he thought. He sat in the corridor for nearly fifteen minutes, waiting for Ginny to return. Finding her disappearance peculiar, Draco wandered up to the girls bathroom door, wondering if he should go in. Carefully opening the door, Draco looked in to see if he could hear Ginny, but suddenly a squat ghost with glasses and limp hair started howling.
“You’re not a girl!” she cried, “This is a girl’s bathroom!” Draco rapidly shut the door and took off down the hallway—her racket was certain to catch the attention of Filch. As he quickly headed towards the Slytherin dormitories, he heard the unmistakable footsteps of Filch hot on his tail. Suddenly, he heard a strange noise from upstairs, and Filch’s footsteps pattered upstairs. Curious as to what distracted Filch, Draco headed up one of the secret passageways he knew about and furtively snuck towards the commotion in the hallway.
Professor McGonagall was gasping loudly as several other teachers arrived on the scene to see the problem. Draco looked out of his hiding place to see the cause of the fuss. Breathing in a sharply, Draco stared in horror at the petrified lump on the floor. It appeared to be the Gryffindor first year, with his camera and grapes. Shocked, Draco wondered what could have petrified the boy. Obviously the rumours about the Chamber of Secrets were true. Perhaps he would have to ask his father again. Draco covertly snuck back to the Slytherin common room, the whole time thinking to himself about the Chamber of Secrets and who the heir could possibly be.
*~*~*
Ginny arose in the morning, again tired from her sleepless night. She was beginning to get very concerned about her problems sleeping well. She thought perhaps all students were like this when adjusting to being away from home, but she did not see her dorm mates having difficultly sleeping like she did. She sighed and got ready to go downstairs—the previous night had been yet another strange night. Gryffindor had been celebrating their Quidditch victory, although it had not been as rambunctious as usual, probably because Harry was in the hospital wing. She remembered going to the party and having a wild time with her brothers, trying to forget about all the bizarre events happening to her; however, she had eventually headed upstairs for bed and gone to sleep. She felt as though she had only slept for a few hours—maybe Fred or George had given her something strange to eat.
Ginny idly wandered downstairs to breakfast. She sat down near her first year roommates at the breakfast table, but they did not seem as talkative as usual. In fact, the entire hall seemed a bit subdued and worried. Listening intently to a conversation at the table behind her, she heard a frightened sounding girl whisper something about a Gryffindor boy who had been petrified. Shocked, Ginny looked up and down the Gryffindor table, which seemed even more passive than the rest of the houses.
“Who was petrified?” Ginny quietly asked on of her roommates.
“Colin Creevy,” said the girl softly, “They say he was sneaking through the corridors last night, towards the hospital wing, and then McGonagall found him petrified.” She seemed entirely terrified at what had happened. Ginny was feeling a bit sick to her stomach, she kept sensing that something was wrong with herself, but she had no proof.
Ginny distractedly attended her classes, trying to forget about all the strange occurrences. She was probably just overreacting—she was just having difficulties adjusting to being away from her parents—that was all.
*~*~*
One week later, Draco was roaming the hallways when he saw a sign for a Dueling Club. Figuring that this would be a good opportunity for him to practice his knowledge of spells, Draco decided to attend. That evening, he wandered arrogantly into the Great Hall, staring condescendingly at everyone who turned their eyes in his direction.
Nonchalantly gazing around the room, Draco looked to see who else had shown up. He saw the Golden Trio, standing together near a large group of Gryffindors. He was looking to see if Ginny had decided to come, when suddenly Professor Lockhart paraded himself onto the stage, wearing ridiculously colored purple robes. He smiled slightly as he saw Professor Snape following Lockhart, a wicked sneer gracing his face. Hoping that perhaps Snape would finish the conceited Lockhart off, Draco turned his attention to the stage party to see what they would teach.
Soon enough, he had watched Snape disarm Lockhart and sent him flying backwards. Draco almost cheered for the Potions professor. Shortly after, Draco found himself paired with Harry Potter to practice disarming.
He bowed curtly at Harry, and then prepared himself for Lockhart’s countdown. Eager to cast his spell first, he anticipated Lockhart’s third count and sent his spell at Harry. However, Harry quickly recovered and hit him with another spell. Draco doubled up with laughter—that bloody Potter had hit him with a tickling spell. He could not remember the last time he had been tickled as he clutched his stomach, trying to stop the sensation long enough to cast another spell. He almost liked the tickling sensation though—it reminded him of his days at the Ministry with Ginny. He looked up and aimed his wand at Potter, yelling a spell at Harry which caused his legs to start dancing manically.
“Finite Incantatem!” shouted Snape, and the giddy feeling from the tickling abruptly stopped. Draco wished it could have stayed for a moment longer—it brought back such happy memories… He daydreamed for a moment about how Ginny and him would play Exploding Snap or Gobstones, and then talk for hours and fool around…
Suddenly, his attention was brought back to the Dueling Club as he heard Snape announce his name as a volunteer to duel in front of everyone, along with Potter. Draco rolled his eyes as Lockhart agreed eagerly. Draco watched as Lockhart moved towards Harry and tried to offer him advice about dueling, when he felt Professor Snape move down towards his ear.
“Serpensortia,” Professor Snape said strongly and quietly into his ear. Smirking, Draco looked towards Professor Snape and nodded, acknowledging the spell. He was not sure exactly what the spell did, but he was certain the Professor Snape would want him to triumph over Harry Potter.
He looked at Harry Potter superciliously, “Scared?” he asked quietly.
“You wish,” responded Potter. Draco smiled smugly as Lockhart clouted Potter on the shoulder and set the two of them up for the duel.
“Three—two—one—go!” Lockhart shouted merrily. Draco raised his wanted immediately and took careful aim towards Potter.
“Serpensortia!” he yelled loudly. He was stunned as a long snake jetted out of his wand onto the floor between him and Potter. He smiled smugly at Potter, trying to maintain his Malfoy air of superiority.
“Don’t move, Potter,” said Snape from Draco’s side. Draco could tell Snape was enjoying the moment, “I’ll get rid of it…” he continued, lazily raising his wand towards the snake.
“Allow me!” shouted Lockhart as he waved his wand showily, ending with a huge flourish which shot the snake ten feet into the air. Angrily, the snake slithered across the tables towards Justin Finch-Fletchley, a Hufflepuff boy in Draco’s year.
Suddenly, Draco heard a loud hissing noise, not coming from the snake. He turned quickly, and watched as Potter ran towards the snake, shouting at the snake in its own language. He seemed to be encouraging the snake as he approached it swiftly. However, after a moment the snake stopped moving towards Justin as it turned around to face Harry, who was looking at the snake in shock. Draco stared at Potter strangely—he could speak Parseltongue—one of the very rarest magical abilities.
“What do you think you’re playing at?” shouted Justin at the surprised looking Potter. Snape quickly banished the snake as Potter continued to look around at everyone, stunned. It was almost as though he did not know what he had just done. Draco watched as Weasley and Granger rushed him out of the room. Contemplating what had just happened, Draco remembered that talking to snakes was one of the Dark Lord’s abilities. Perhaps Potter was the Heir of Slytherin—except that it did not make sense. Potter’s best friends were a Muggle lover and a Mudblood—he would never want to purge the school of Muggle-borns. Distractedly, Draco excused himself from the dueling club and headed downstairs to the dungeons—he had to write his father another letter.
*~*~*
Dazed and disoriented, Ginny was startled awake as she heard a loud commotion from the Gryffindor common room. She jumped out of bed and rushed towards the landing. Standing at the top of the stairs, she listened as a frantic first year was telling about how there had been more attacks on the school.
She felt something jerk inside of her as she realized it was the middle of the afternoon. She could barely recall waking up that morning—but she was completely baffled as to why she was in her room again. She stood for a moment, wondering what to do. She could write to Tom again—he still talked to her and tried to make her feel better, but his sympathy and advice did not help much anymore.
Recently, Ginny had been noticing strange coincidences between her lapses of memory and the attacks on students. She had no idea how it was happening, but she had a sinking suspicion that she was the one who was attacking the students. Needing someone to talk to, she pulled out her diary and began to write. “Dear Tom, Percy keeps telling me I’m pale and I’m not myself”—that much she was certain of. She was having the hardest time remembering what she did before she went to sleep at night, and more recently there had been gaping holes in the middle of days that she could not recollect. All of this was causing her to act oddly and be even more solitary. “There was another attack today, and I don’t know where I was. Tom, what am I going to do? I think I’m going mad.” She scribbled furiously. The attacks were always coinciding with the times when she could not remember what she was doing. It was almost too peculiar to be a coincidence. “I think I’m the one attacking everyone, Tom!” She wrote desperately, wondering if he would be able to consol her. She watched as his understanding words appeared, telling her that everything was okay. Not feeling any better, Ginny closed the diary and placed it under her pillow. If only she knew what was happening to her…
Over the following weeks, many rumours began circulating the school about Harry Potter being the Heir of Slytherin. Only one day after Potter had been discovered as a Parseltongue, Justin Finch-Fletchley and Nearly Headless Nick had been found petrified in the hallway with Harry standing next to them.
Ginny was feeling especially lost and alone these days—her roommates did not talk to her much because she spent most of her time in solitude, and no one else seemed to notice her. Fred and George had taken to teasing Harry about being the Heir of Slytherin, which she did not find very amusing at all. She still felt as though she knew something about the Chamber of Secrets that everyone else did not know, but could not discern what that was. Draco had tried to approach her yet again, and she had brushed him off like before. She almost regretted shunning him as she saw him looking bitter and upset whenever they passed in the hallways. It was almost as though he wanted to help her.
It was nearly time for the Christmas holidays, and many students were getting ready to head home for the break. Ginny was planning on staying in lieu of visiting Bill in Egypt with her parents. She normally spent Christmas with her parents visiting her brothers—this year, she wanted to stay with her brothers at Hogwarts.
Finally, Christmas break arrived and the castle became oddly empty. Ginny knew that Draco had stayed for the holidays, probably because he generally did not get along well with his father. She briefly wondered how he was, and how his father had been treating him.
Ginny wandered down to the empty Gryffindor common room and picked up a magazine from a table. Idly flipping through it, she noticed an ad for singing valentines. She smiled to herself—Tom had told her she should send Harry something for Christmas, but she had not had the money. However, she had received a little bit of money as an early Christmas present, so perhaps she could afford to send Harry a valentine in February. She carefully removed the ad from the magazine and tucked in her pocket before heading back to her room.
She opened her diary and asked Tom what he thought about a singing valentine—he said did not care, but that she should send him something. She wrote a silly little poem and then copied it for Tom, who said it was quite excellent. Smiling, she filled out the order for Valentine’s Day, even though it was several months away. Tom was very insistent on her talking to Harry and finding out details about him. She sent the order via a school owl, and then headed to the Great Hall for breakfast.
*~*~*
Draco woke up early on Christmas morning, eagerly anticipating the many gifts he would receive from his parents. He opened the boxes of treats and candy his mother had sent him, along with a very heavy, warm cloak lined with soft fur. He walked into the Slytherin common room, carrying his new gift over his arm. His father had a similarly expensive clock that Draco had always admired, and he was pleased with his father’s gift.
He spent most the day outside, enjoying the time by himself. Not many students were outside as it was particularly cold, so he was not interrupted at all. Later, he entered the Great Hall and sat with Vincent and Gregory, who were busy stuffing their faces with everything they could see. Draco looked across the room to the Gryffindor table, where a pale looking Ginny was pushing her food around on her plate.
“What are you looking at?” Gregory asked Draco curiously, trying to follow his gaze over to the Gryffindor table.
Startled that they had noticed, he quickly thought of something to say. Draco smirked at Potter and his obviously homemade sweatshirt. “Look at Potter’s shirt,” he started snidely, “it looks as though it was made from some dead thing he found on the road.” Draco smiled smugly as the Slytherin’s around him sniggered at Potter—they seemed to be satisfied with his remark. Draco continued to stare at Ginny, who had not eaten a single bite from her plate. Suddenly, the Golden Trio stood and left. Draco watched them wander out and then turned to look back at Ginny—she was distractedly watching them leave as her brother Percy was trying to convince her to eat something.
Draco sipped his cup of tea as he watched Percy attempt to force feed Ginny. Angrily, she had thrown the food back at him and then picked up her own fork and swallowed several bites. He looked back towards Vincent and Gregory, had eaten most of the food near them at the table.
After he had finished his tea, Draco waited around in the Great Hall a while longer, watching the students happily converse with his friends. He had a fleeting wish had friends to have fun with, but then he brushed the thought aside. He could talk to his ‘friends’ if he wanted to—perhaps he would talk to Vincent and Gregory later, if they did not pass out from all the food they were consuming.
He excused himself and left the Great Hall, starting to head back to the Slytherin dormitory but then deciding to go take a walk outside and enjoy the cool evening air with his new cloak. Thinking about Ginny, he ambled towards the lake—he wanted to help her, but he knew that his father would never agree. He continued his long stroll, and after a little while he decided to return to the castle. Wandering towards the Slytherin common room, he found Vincent and Gregory distracted by one of the Weasley brothers.
“There you are,” he said as he walked up to his cronies, “Have you two been pigging out in the Great Hall all this time? I’ve been looking for you; I want to show you something really funny.” He acted as though he had just noticed Weasley, and gave him a haughty gaze, “and what’re you doing down here, Weasley?” he sneered.
“You want to show a bit more respect to a school prefect!” the Weasley said loudly, “I don’t like your attitude.” Draco smirked at his statement. Show respect to a Weasley? He nearly wanted to outright laugh in his face. Controlling himself, he gestured to Vincent and Gregory and headed towards the Slytherin common room. He sighed and looked at them, “That Peter Weasley—”
“Percy,” corrected Vincent. For a fleeting moment, Draco wondered how Vincent knew which Weasley was which.
“Whatever,” Draco continued, not really caring about Weasley at all. “I’ve noticed him sneaking around a lot lately. And I bet I know what he’s up to. He thinks he’s going to catch Slytherin’s heir single-handed.” Draco laughed shortly, but Vincent and Gregory did not join in. Perhaps they had eaten too much—Draco would not doubt it. He turned to Gregory and asked idly, “What’s that new password again?”
“Er—” started Gregory, looking as baffled as ever. Draco rolled his eyes at their stupidity.
“Oh yeah—pure-blood!” Draco said. He walked into the common room—it was empty. Trying to recall what he had wanted to show Vincent and Gregory, he stood for a moment and thought. Suddenly, he remembered that his father had sent him an article about Arthur Weasley—usually those two brutes thought the newspaper clippings his father sent were hilarious. Looking at the two boys, who looked completely lost in the common room, he told them to wait while he ran to his room.
Grabbing the article off his bed from underneath his gifts, he quickly returned to the common room where Vincent and Gregory had sat down in the chairs next to the fireplace. Handing the article to Vincent, he waited expectantly for them to read it. He knew it would take them awhile to read it—Gregory seemed to have given up with trying to comprehend it and was laughing weakly. Draco rolled his eyes—they were so dense sometimes. “Well?” he asked them as Gregory handed the paper back to him—they had read the article unusually fast. “Don’t you think it’s funny?” he continued.
“Ha ha,” said Gregory feebly. Draco looked at him strangely—they must have eaten too much—they were acting quite peculiar.
“Arthur Weasley loves Muggles so much he should snap his wand in half and go join them,” Draco said disdainfully, thinking about how the Weasleys all seemed to one-up him in everything. Except Ginny, he remembered—but then, Ginny was no longer talking to him. “You’d never know the Weasleys were pure-bloods, the way they behave,” he continued, before glancing up at Vincent’s face, which looked oddly livid. “What’s up with you, Crabbe?” Draco snapped, wondering what possessed him to act so unordinary.
“Stomachache,” Vincent grunted, clutching his stomach. Draco smirked—of course he had a stomachache with everything that he had eaten today. Draco would not have been surprised if they had staying in the Great Hall the entire time he was taking a walk.
“Well, go up to the hospital wing and give all those Mudbloods a kick from me,” Draco said snidely. “You know, I’m surprised the Daily Prophet hasn’t reported all these attacks yet. I suppose Dumbledore’s trying to hush it all up. He’ll be sacked if it doesn’t stop soon. Father’s always said old Dumbledore’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to this place. He loves Muggle-borns. A decent headmaster would never’ve let slime like that Creevey in.” Draco talked lazily, reciting everything his father had always told him. He knew that Vincent and Gregory had grown up in similar families, believing the same things Draco had always learned. Draco was not sure how much of what his father said was true, but it was certainly better to be on his father’s good side rather than make him angry by defying him.
Draco shook his head at the thought of the Creevey boy—it was no loss at all that he had been petrified—all that boy did was follow Harry Potter, taking pictures and worshiping him. Draco pretended he was taking pictures with an imaginary camera and mimicked Colin’s voice, “ ‘Potter, can I have your picture? Can I have your autograph? Can I lick your shoes, please, Potter?’” Looking at Vincent and Gregory’s equally blank stares, Draco was very confused at their slow responses. “What’s the matter with you two?” he questioned.
Vincent and Gregory laughed weakly—Draco wondered to himself how they managed to get through their classes without failing—they really were slow on the uptake. He glanced down at the article in his hands—it discussed how Arthur Weasley was facing an inquiry at the Ministry for his flying car. Draco bitterly remembered how Potter and Weasley had been heroes because they crashed that stupid car into the Whomping Willow and not gotten punished. “Saint Potter, the Mudbloods’ friend,” Draco started resentfully, “He’s another one with no proper wizarding feeling, or he wouldn’t go around with that jumped up Granger Mudblood. And people think he’s Slytherin’s heir!” Draco sulkily remembered the first day on the train to Hogwarts when Harry Potter had rejected his friendship—then Potter had gone on to become everyone’s favorite idol while Draco was left behind in the shadows. And now people thought Potter was Slytherin’s heir? Draco could not believe what possessed the school to be so dense—obviously Potter would not be trying to rid the school of Mudbloods. “I wish I knew who it is,” Draco said, “I could help them.” Anything to help rid the school of all the insufferable gits who worshiped Potter, he thought bitterly.
“You must have some idea who’s behind it all…” started Gregory thickly, while Vincent looked on with his mouth gaping open, looking entirely daft and stupid. Draco shook his head at Gregory—he had told them thousands of times that his father would tell him nothing, and yet they persistently asked him about the heir of Slytherin.
“You know I haven’t, Goyle, how many times do I have to tell you?” Draco snapped at the large boy, before relating everything he knew about the Chamber of Secrets from his father. It seemed as though they never remembered anything he told them unless he repeated it eighty times. Draco was beginning to get fed up with their stupidity. He exasperatedly finished the conversation, barely even surprised when Gregory could not remember what Azkaban was. Suddenly, they both jumped up, looking frantically at each other. They both looked a little odd—Vincent was looking very red and turning paler.
“Medicine for my stomach,” Vincent grunted before both of them fled from the room. Draco looked after them suspiciously, trying to remember the last time he had seen them run so fast. Then he shook his head; he was happy for them to be gone—they were too dense for words.
*~*~*
Ginny tried to enjoy herself as the Christmas holidays passed. She spend some quality time with her brothers—Percy seemed to be very concerned about her passive behavior, and had finally found time to make sure she was eating and sleeping properly. The twins were up to their usual antics, and since most of their friends had gone home for the holidays, they had also been spending more time with Ginny. Ron was always busy with Harry—it seemed that Hermione had gone home after Christmas Day; Ginny figured she had decided to spend the rest of Christmas break with her family.
Ginny had been feeling better lately—more alive and upbeat; perhaps because she had more friends and family around to talk to. She had almost forgotten to write to Tom on some nights because she had been too entertained by the twins, and by the time it was time for bed she was too tired to write. Oddly enough, her memory lapses were becoming more and more infrequent as well—she had a strange instinct about that, but she was so delighted that she was feeling better so she decided not to dwell on it.
However, as suddenly as everything had gotten better, it seemed to get infinitely worse once school started again and all the students came back. She had taken to writing to Tom habitually, and she spent more time alone in her room. It seemed that everyone only cared about her when they had nothing better to do, as though she was just an afterthought—just a tiny dot lost all alone in a world that completely disregarded her.
Ginny awoke the morning classes resumed, feeling disoriented and lost as she did so often before vacation. She distractedly got ready for her classes—wondering what caused her sudden ups and downs. Christmas vacation had been so great, and suddenly she was miserably dejected once again. As she trudged slowly to the Great Hall for breakfast, she heard snippets of conversation in the hallway—rumours of another attack on a student. Ginny shuddered—the attacks always coincidentally coincided with her memory lapses. There had been no attacks all of Christmas break—she had been happy then.
Ginny thought about it a moment longer, slowly dawning realization that she had neglected Tom during most of the holidays. She leaned up against the hallway, breathing shortly and trying to regain her composure—it could not be Tom causing everything—he was her friend! She trusted him! He helped her through all the tough times, and made her feel better. But then, she had never felt better really—he always offered kind words of support, but she would always wake up later the next morning, never remembering what had happened. Ginny felt a tingle of apprehension run down her spine, making her shudder she suddenly felt very cold. It all made sense—she had started writing in the diary as school started, and as she corresponded with Tom more frequently, her condition had deteriorated.
Sliding down the wall, Ginny could barely breathe as everything seemed to slide into place—she was the one who was attacking everyone; Tom was making her. She could barely think over the sound of her heart thumping loudly in her head—fiercely threatening to burst inside. She stood up abruptly, feeling lightheaded and weak, and started to run frantically towards the direction of the Gryffindor dormitories.
Running hysterically, trying to escape the harsh realities in her head, Ginny was not paying attention to where she was going. Suddenly, she halted in front of the girl’s bathroom on the second floor. The hallway was eerily empty, and for some reason the bathroom door looked oddly familiar, although Ginny was certain she had never been there. As she cautiously pushed open the door, disregarding the OUT OF ORDER sign hanging solemnly on the door. Still panting heavily with tears running down her face, she looked into the bathroom. It was the most dismal bathroom she had ever seen—the mirrors were cracked, the sinks were chipped, and everything looked as though it had not been touched in decades. Ginny slowly crept into the bathroom, surveying the room while trying to regain calmness and cease crying but failing.
The room evoked a feeling of uncanny familiarity, and as she looked around more, she felt more and more certain that Tom had caused all of the trauma in her life. She had trusted him—she had told him everything; and he had betrayed her. He had wanted to kill the Muggle-borns—perhaps that was why he wanted to know so much about Harry, because Harry had conquered the most vindictive Muggle hater who ever existed. She felt as though she was hyperventilating as she gazed at the room, taking in everything. Tom had never wanted to help her—he had always been using her. As a sudden impulse, Ginny opened one of the stalls while retrieving the diary from her pocket. She stared at it for a moment, as though apologizing for what she was about to do, even though she knew that Tom had caused more trouble than she had ever deserved. Crying uncontrollably, she threw the battered diary into the toilet and stomped on the handle fiercely before running frantically out of the bathroom.
*~*~*
After breakfast, Draco was wandering lazily down the second floor corridor when suddenly Ginny burst out of a random door and began running hysterically down the hallway, directly in his direction. He had noticed that she was not at breakfast, but he had not really worried; however, it seemed as though something was wrong with her. As he watched her stumble down the hallway crying, he stepped in front of her and grabbed her arms, looking her into her eyes. She stared at him uncertainly, as though she was not sure whether she wanted to run away or talk.
“Are you okay?” Draco heard himself ask concernedly—she was acting very peculiar and he could not help feeling uneasy about Ginny’s behavior. He thought she had stopped her uncharacteristic, solitary behavior during the holidays, but it seemed as though something was still wrong.
Suddenly, Ginny threw her arms around Draco and began sobbing into his shoulder. Thoroughly befuddled, Draco uncertainly looked up and down the hallway for people, but the corridors were thankfully empty. He had not been this close to Ginny in quite some time—he had missed her. He almost felt as though she belonged with him, in his arms. They had been such good friends, and it was just stupid petty reasons that had pulled them apart. He hesitantly reached his arms around her and lightly rubbed her back, trying to comfort her. If only he knew what was wrong…
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