Secrets

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CHAPTER 5: Making It Work

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Saturday afternoon, Ginny sat in a corner of the common room, diary open in her lap, and idly watched the other Gryffindors. Tom had given her tips on her Transfiguration essay but she'd put most of it off for later, preferring not to think hard. She hated thinking on rainy days -- it was far too much effort.

Movement caught her eye from across the room and she perked up. "Harry's back from Quidditch practice," she told Tom. "Well, he came back a while ago but now he's cleaned up."

"Harry again, eh?" wrote Tom. "And does he clean up well?"

"Tom!" Ginny flushed and bit her tongue to keep from scolding out loud.

"Yes?"

"Don't say things like that! It's embarrassing." She glanced around furtively, then wrote, "Yes he does. And it's none of your business so stop asking."

"As you wish. I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable, though I hope you realize there's no harm in looking -- provided it makes you happy."

Ginny's face flamed again. "I know that! It's just that it's private. And my brothers tease me for watching him."

"Tch. I can't imagine that they haven't, on occasion, liked and watched various girls. Teasing you for liking Harry is therefore hypocritical."

"Yeah!" Ginny nodded. "I know Ron likes Hermione, but I don't think he realizes it. I could tell from his letters last year and the way he acts even when she yells at him. Fred and George have something going on with the Gryffindor Chasers -- I just don't know which two.

"Bill and Charlie don't tease me much, but they're grown up and they've actually had girlfriends, so that's different. And Percy's so stiff I don't think he knows how to tease anyone. Plus I don't think he notices. He's not good at noticing people."

"Tch. They are hypocrites, aren't they. Have you told your mother about this?"

"NO! She's my MUM! I couldn't tell her about Harry!" Ginny drew her feet up onto her armchair and hunched over the diary.

"Virginia, I meant to ask if you had told your mother about your brothers' behavior. I know I'm not the most sensitive person in the world -- nor am I female -- but I do understand that one doesn't speak to parents about private matters. Credit me with some sense."

Ginny squirmed at Tom's dry tone and managed to flush still more. She was afraid her face might literally catch fire if she couldn't change the subject. "Sorry," she wrote.

"It must be nice to have parents," mused Tom, "even if you can't talk to them about everything."

"Don't you have parents? Well, didn't you, anyway?"

"In the strict biological sense, yes," wrote Tom slowly. "In the practical sense, no. My father was a Muggle; when he learned that my mother was a witch, he threw her out. I was born shortly thereafter, she died, and I was raised in an orphanage. I never knew my father -- to be perfectly honest, I don't want to."

"Good. He sounds awful," wrote Ginny firmly. "Was the orphanage very lonely?"

"One could say so," wrote Tom with an air of finality.

Ginny sighed and shifted in her chair. Tom was clearly avoiding the subject, which wasn't surprising. After all, Harry never talked much about the Dursleys and they were probably as bad as an orphanage -- perhaps worse, since they were family. But at least Harry's father hadn't thrown his mother out... Well, both boys were unlucky, but Harry seemed all right and Tom managed to act like a brother though he'd never had one, so she supposed she shouldn't worry about them too much.

Still... "You can share my family if you want," she offered.

There was a pause. "Really?"

"Yes."

"Hmm. With your brothers, I wonder how wise that would be."

Ginny stifled a giggle; it wouldn't do to be seen laughing over her diary. "You're not allowed to insult the family unless you're part of it, silly. So you're an honorary Weasley now."

"Thank you, Virginia."

"You know," wrote Ginny thoughtfully, "nobody in my family ever calls me Virginia -- unless Mum's really angry. It's always Ginny. 'Come here Ginny,' 'Ginny Weasley, don't you use language like that in this house!' 'Ginny go to bed,' and on and on. I used to hate my name -- it reminds me of when Mum washed my mouth with soap even though I was only four and the twins told me to say the words to Mum as a good morning present." Ginny pulled a face, remembering the flavor. "But she made them de-gnome the garden six times and wouldn't let them fly for a month, so that was all right."

"Would you like me to call you Ginny?" asked Tom.

"Actually, no," wrote Ginny slowly. "You don't say Virginia because you're angry, so it's special between you and me. I like it. Besides, Ginny's a little girl's name."

"As you wish, Virginia."

"Thanks, Tom. Hey, at the orphanage, did they ever get angry if you swore?" asked Ginny, still remembering the soap incident.

"When they noticed us. Why?"

"Just curious. Mum hates swearing, but she never washed my brothers' mouths with soap. I think she only washed mine because I'm a girl, which is unfair. I have to make up words, like toad-guts, but Ron and the twins say things and all she does is scold them."

"Families can be unfair at times, Virginia, but I'm sure your mother only wants to protect you. May I ask why you curse toads?"

"Because they're slimy and warty and when I was three years old, Fred -- I think it was Fred -- shoved one down my shirt at breakfast and it wriggled all over me!"

"I see." Ginny could almost hear Tom laughing.

"Shut it, you evil toad-licker!" she wrote, sticking her tongue out at the page. "At least I'm not as bad as Ron -- I hate toads but he's terrified of spiders. It's funny to watch him when he sees one, so of course the twins drop spiders on him. They don't shove toads in my face though; the last time they tried that I hit George in the nose and he whined for days." Ginny smirked. "It's their own fault for the first toad at breakfast."

"Of course," wrote Tom, "and I'm sure they regret it. But enough of toads -- is anything interesting happening at the moment?"

Ginny looked around. "Not really. Harry, Ron, and Hermione are talking about something over to one side -- maybe Harry's Quidditch practice. Percy's actually mingling with the common folk for once. He's writing something at a corner table and Oliver Wood just sat down next to him -- I think he's asking about an essay.

"Erm. There are a bunch of sixth and seventh years doing homework. Apple just dragged Colin in through the portrait hole. They look frazzled -- her plait is falling to pieces -- so she was probably trying to turn him into a normal human being and didn't succeed. As usual." Ginny snorted.

"The twins are poking a salamander near the fire -- I can't see clearly -- there are too many people by them. I think they might be feeding it. Hold on a minute." Ginny leaned over the chair arm, twisting around for a better view.

Fred maneuvered an object in the salamander's mouth, tickling its throat with a smoldering quill. "Come on, swallow it you daft blighter -- that's it -- swallow now," he murmured. The salamander gulped suddenly and the object vanished. "Yes!" cried Fred. "Gather round now, watch closely--"

"We haven't any idea what happens next--" said George.

"But ten Sickles says it's interesting," finished Fred. The huddled students (and Ginny in her corner) eyed the salamander warily. It twitched twice, hissed a plume of ashy smoke, and belched explosively, hurling itself backwards into the air and across the room.

"Look out! There it goes!" cried George as the creature ricocheted around the room in a cloud of sparks and explosions. The twins dashed after it, jumping and grabbing wildly. Ginny ducked back around her chair and sighed -- she'd watched this scene at home, with innumerable cosmetic variations, far too often to worry about the outcome. The salamander would escape, Percy would yell, the twins would grin, and all non-Weasleys would be distracted enough to ignore her slipping off.

"Idiots," she muttered, snatching the diary and her unfinished essay. "You'd think Percy would've given up by now." Tucking her supplies under her arm, she headed to the girls' dormitory. Confused shouts, cheers, and explosions drifted up the staircase behind her.

Once her essay was placed on her stack of unfinished homework, Ginny perched on her bed and reopened the diary. "Sorry Tom!" she wrote. "The twins fed something to the salamander -- probably a firecracker -- and it banged around the room shooting sparks. Percy went on the warpath so I slipped out."

"Sensible of you," wrote Tom. "And don't worry about the interruption. Does that sort of thing happen often at your home?"

"Unfortunately yes."

"At least your family is interesting." Tom's grin flashed in the corner of her eye; she could feel the amusement in his words.

"They're your family too, Mr. Tom Honorary-Weasley Riddle." Ginny paused, struck by a sudden thought. "Say, is Tom your real name or is it a nickname like Ginny?"

"Tom is my given name -- Tom Marvolo Riddle -- after my father and grandfather." He hesitated; Ginny held her breath, hoping he'd confide in her. Finally he continued.

"I assume my mother intended to honor her family and still thought she loved my father." Tom paused again. "From what little she left me, I believe she came from an old wizarding family that had fallen on hard times, which explains why she was living among Muggles and why she didn't return to the wizarding world when my father assaulted her."

"He assaulted her?" Ginny fell back against the headboard, horrified. "Just for being a witch? That's horrible!"

"Though we are all human, the gap between Muggle and wizard seems unbridgeable at times -- the Muggles' fear and distrust is too great. And if wizards don't wish to fight back... well, my mother is not the only witch to suffer at the hands of a supposed friend or lover." A blot spread from the last period, as if Tom had pressed too hard on a quill.

"Oh. But isn't it our job to protect Muggles?" asked Ginny. "So they don't find out about magic. Then nothing can happen, right?"

"True enough, so far as it goes. But the best Obliviators occasionally fail, and the families of Muggle-born witches and wizards don't always react well -- and we can't Obliviate them. So the problem continues.

"But enough of this. Regardless of rain, Harry, exploding salamanders, and politics, you, Miss Virginia Weasley, still have an unfinished Transfiguration essay. Shall we?"

"You, Mr. Tom Marvolo Riddle," wrote Ginny carefully and precisely, "are a stinking, no-good, despicable toad-licker."

"So they tell me. Transfiguration?"

"Git," muttered Ginny aloud. She scribbled a quick, "Yes, whatever," and snatched the essay back off her night table. She might as well work on it now; she had nothing better to do.

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The princess paused in her search for the dragon, head tilted to catch a faint, echoing cry. Was it -- could it be -- one of the sorceress's guardian beasts? She had hoped them destroyed with the castle, banshee screeches forever silenced, but apparently she had hoped in vain.

She could withstand the torturous cry but the dragon had no painful immunity. The cry was death to untrained ears. The beast must die.

The princess crept through darkened corridors, spiraling out from the castle's heart, tracking the cries of the beast. At the gatehouse doors -- great doors, hanging drunkenly from broken hinges -- she hesitated. The castle sheltered royal blood, but outside the sorceress reigned. She must be cautious, crafty, sheathed in shadows.

She walked swiftly through the damp night, toward the soft yet piercing cries. Darkness shrouded her and shielded her -- she wrapped it round her like a cloak. Finally she neared the lair. A thick stone wall encircled it, topped by spikes and guarded by a giant. The princess tiptoed past the sleeping guard and slipped the latch on the gate.

The beast lay still in its nest, crying softly in its sleep; the sound battered her. But the princess steeled herself, tearing her dress and stuffing cloth into her ears. Deafened, she raised a stone, raised it high, and smashed the beast with all her strength. It thrashed in pain, screeching, and she beat it into silence.

Plucking the cloth from her ears, the princess listened for the giant, hoping against hope he slept unaware. Fate was with her. As she left, an empty bottle glinted -- the source of her luck. The princess snorted in disgust.

Her return was swift and silent, but her breath came quick and shallow until the doors swung shut behind and the castle walls surrounded her with familiar weight and shelter.

Task accomplished, the princess returned to the castle's heart and resumed her search. She was looking for the dragon.

Ginny rolled over, pressing her right cheek firmly into her pillow, scrabbling at the tatters of her fading dream. "Nnngh, don't want to wake up..." she mumbled into the pillow. The words wormed into her mind, jostling the nighttime furniture and drawing back curtains to let the moonlight in.

"Toad guts," hissed Ginny, now fully awake, knowing she wouldn't sleep any time soon despite the tiredness weighting her body. She pried her face from the pillow and looked blearily around. The other girls slept, curtains drawn around their beds. Moonlight streamed in the windows, pouring through a break in the oppressive clouds. Susan's wind-up alarm with glowing hands read half past three.

"It's too early to be awake," Ginny told herself. "I'm going to lie down and fall asleep, like I was before." She settled back under the covers and rolled onto her back, staring at the cloth overhead, counting Quaffles. She shifted irritably; something was scratching the back of her neck.

Ginny reached behind her head, fishing for anything that didn't belong. Something stabbed her fingers and she sat up, shaking her head and yanking both hands through her tangled hair until a wispy object came loose in her grasp. She brought her hand around to examine her capture.

Trapped between her fingers was a small brown feather, short and fluffy, with just enough stiffness to prick her. "What on earth?" Ginny fished through her hair again and patted her pillow, dislodging three more feathers. Disconcerted, she turned down the covers and discovered several more feathers stuck through her nightdress, which itself was discolored and torn at the bottom. Her feet were filthy.

"Oh no," breathed Ginny, "it happened again." She scrabbled under her pillow for the diary. She had to talk with Tom.

"Dear Tom, please wake up," she wrote. "I think I just sleepwalked again. I had another dream about the princess but this time she went somewhere else and was worried about something -- an animal, I think. And I woke up with feathers in my hair, my nightdress is torn, and my feet are almost black. You said it was a one-time thing!"

"Virginia, be calm," responded Tom, his writing dark and sharp. "Don't panic. You had a variation on your recurring dream, which included an animal. While dreaming, you walked in your sleep, and you woke with feathers in your hair and dirt on your feet. This seems fairly straightforward.

"You're still agitated over your situation at Hogwarts and are expressing that agitation by wandering; this occurs in your sleep because while awake, you control of your subconscious mind. You interpret your restlessness as a search for a dragon. Tonight you wandered into the Owlery, which explains the feathers, dirty feet, and presence of an animal in your dream."

Ginny found herself nodding; that did make sense. The Owlery floor was notoriously filthy, after all, despite Filch's attempts to keep it clean.

"This is still nothing to worry about," continued Tom. "Sleepwalking is harmless in itself, as are Hogwarts owls. Should you wander outside the castle or have an accident, we can take the matter to the Headmaster, but until such an unlikely event occurs I suggest you relax and concentrate on your classes. The more comfortable you are at Hogwarts, Virginia, the less you should sleepwalk."

Ginny cocked her head, considering. "You're probably right, Tom," she wrote. "This is twice now and I haven't fallen down the stairs yet, so I guess I should be all right. But what if I get caught after curfew? That almost happened last time!"

"Serve your detention and explain the problem to the Headmaster. As I recall, he's a forgiving sort and will likely excuse any future midnight wanderings," replied Tom.

"Dumbledore is awfully peculiar," wrote Ginny. "I wouldn't put it past him to say something about sleepwalking being a wonderful form of exercise and just offer me sweets. Ron said he did things like that to Harry last year."

Tom's grin flashed, illuminating a quirked eyebrow. "The Headmaster's a peculiar man, no doubt, but he is forgiving and sympathetic. Perhaps you should sleep on the question and decide on a course of action in the morning."

"Right. Good night, Tom. Thank you for listening."

Ginny closed the diary and slipped it back under her pillow, but she was too awake to fall asleep directly. Instead, she tiptoed to the bathroom and washed her feet, changed her nightdress, brushed her sheets, and watched the moon for a while. After half an hour she lay down to rest a bit and realized she was more tired than she'd thought; she dropped off less than a minute after her head touched the pillow and her hand brushed against the diary.

She tossed in her sleep, but her hand never moved from under the pillow.

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The week rolled by smoothly -- sneaking up on Hallowe'en -- to Ginny's mingled irritation and delight. She desperately wanted to attend the Hallowe'en feast, but she wanted nothing to do with her fellow first years, particularly not pretending to celebrate with them all evening. Also she was sure Harry, Ron, and Hermione were planning something secret -- with those three, any secret was bound to be interesting and might be an adventure. Thus far Ginny's Hogwarts experience was sorely lacking in adventure.

Friday morning Ginny almost leaped out of bed, thinking of Hallowe'en. Then she remembered her morning schedule -- Defense Against the Dark Arts. With Lockhart. Ugh.

The man was in his element, spinning ghost stories all through class. Most of them, naturally, ended with his spectacular unmasking or defeat of the spirit in question. Susan, Gwen and Jia-li ooohed in all the right places; Colin joined in despite Apple's glares and jabbing fingers. The boys snickered quietly amongst themselves and Ginny spent the lesson scribbling to Tom, who took great pleasure in twisting the stories so they ended with Lockhart's death. The means of his demise grew more fanciful as the minutes wore on.

Ginny particularly enjoyed Tom's fifth story, in which a ghost -- who was only haunting people in protest against her parents' murder -- pretended to be awed by Lockhart's reputation and led him off a cliff on the pretext of moving back a few steps to look better in a photograph. Then Lockhart's own ghost rose up and blithely proceeded onward, unaware that he was no longer corporeal even though the local villagers screamed and fled. This, felt Ginny, was probably what would eventually happen to him. She was surprised no ghost or werewolf had thought of this yet -- it seemed a foolproof way to kill the idiot. Perhaps Apple was correct and his books really were all lies.

Finally the lesson finished and the Gryffindors ambled down to the Great Hall for lunch. They clustered together at the table -- Ginny on the outskirts -- and settled in to discuss the Halloween Banquet. "So, we aren't supposed to wear costumes like little children," began Susan. "That's a relief! But I take it a few bats or something with pumpkins wouldn't be out of place?"

"Mmm-hmmm," said Jia-li through a mouthful of sausage. "But make sure it's nice -- it is a banquet after all."

"And it has to fit under your robes," said Eugene. "You're not excused from wearing them even if it is after school hours -- they're very keen on traditional wizarding robes at formal occasions."

"But my mum packed a suit," said Colin, "and she said I'm to wear it for anything formal. And robes are so odd..."

The other boys shot him dirty looks. "Look, school robes are bad enough," said Danny Park, "but you don't have to call attention to them. And they aren't odd. My dad wears robes all the time. Muggle suits are what's odd -- they have too many pieces -- they never fit right -- and they make men wear leashes around their necks. Robes are much more comfortable and if you don't think so, you're nuts."

Colin appeared ready to pitch a fit in protest but Apple leaned over and whispered in his ear. He subsided unhappily and said, "I'm not nuts. It's not my fault my parents aren't wizards."

"Oh," said Danny. "Sorry -- you fit in well enough that I forgot. You just wait 'til you get some formal robes; you'll see what I mean."

"Okay," said Colin, and speared another sausage from the serving platter. Apple smiled approvingly.

Interesting, thought Ginny. She'd have sworn Apple couldn't do anything with Colin but here she'd headed off an argument and made Danny apologize without having to do much at all. Power from the side, just like Tom said. Sneaky power, now that she came to think of it, almost Slytherin. Ginny frowned. She definitely needed to keep an eye on Apple.

Lunch was far from over when Ginny excused herself and headed to the library. She had a good forty-five minutes before she needed to be at greenhouse one -- so she might as well squeeze in some review. Sprout had hinted at a practical lesson about the effects of magical growth formulas on Muggle and magical herbs, and Ginny wanted to be sure she knew the varying effects of all common growth potions and powders.

When she arrived at the greenhouse, which Sprout had thoughtfully left unlocked so students wouldn't have to stand outside in the rain, all the other Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs were already there. Ginny checked her battered wind-up wristwatch to make sure she wasn't late -- she didn't want to disappoint Professor Sprout or give the others any weapons to use against her.

Sprout bustled in and beamed at the class. "Good afternoon!" she said. "Today we're going to divide into pairs and test growth formulas on several Muggle and magical herbs. Each pair will use a different formula and we'll pool the class results at the end of the lesson. I expect a four foot report on the results and their probable causes for next Friday's lesson -- with charts and tables." The class groaned.

"Oh, cheer up, it's not so terrible," said Sprout, dampened by the lack of enthusiasm. "You have almost two weeks. Pair off and I'll pass 'round the growth formulas."

Ginny grabbed Xanthe from a huddle of Hufflepuffs and led her to the far corner of the work area, which they had unofficially claimed. Sprout hurried through the milling students, passing out packets of powders and stoppered vials of potions, each with a parchment scrap covered in carefully written instructions, and finally popped up in Ginny and Xanthe's corner. "Miss Weasley, Miss Delaflor, you'll be working with Flaxbind's Fabulous Fertilizer -- here it is in this jar." She handed Ginny a small jar filled with something viscous and brilliantly purple that oozed around the container as Ginny tilted it dubiously.

"Read the instructions carefully and be sure not to spill it on yourselves -- it can be a touch corrosive in high concentration," said Sprout. "I trust you girls not to be silly. The mint, lavender, chamomile, squint, fingerweed, and Flannery's shamrock are on the instruction table by the measuring tapes." She beamed and bustled off, peering over shoulders and answering questions about the instructions.

Xanthe favored Ginny with a wry grin. "You'd better be up to this, you know," she said, "because any trust the Professor has in us is your fault. I'll get the plants. You deal with that purple goo -- I'm keeping my hands away from it."

"That's probably a good idea, considering," said Ginny with a smirk.

"Hey! No fair making perfectly justified comments about my clumsiness."

"You're the one who planted half her sleeve in the chamomile without noticing," said Ginny.

Xanthe waved this off. "That was ages ago. Come on, read the instructions -- I want to finish before Caroline and Anne so I can go watch them botch everything -- if you think I'm bad you've never seen them with plants!"

"If you say so," said Ginny. "You'd better fetch the herbs then."

Xanthe nodded and walked off towards Sprout's instruction table. Ginny returned her attention to the jar of eye-searing purple goo. She gently unscrewed the lid and winced at the stench that assaulted her nose -- it was becoming obvious why she'd never heard of Flaxbind's Fabulous Fertilizer despite her years in Mum's garden. The stuff was corrosive -- it reeked of burnt onions, rancid raw chicken, and rotting compost -- and it hurt to look at straight on.

Sprout's instructions did nothing to ease her distaste.

"Measure one teaspoon of fertilizer into three gallons of water. Mix thoroughly. Each plant should receive one ounce of diluted solution for every stem of at least five inches' length or every seven leaves, whichever is more applicable. If neither should apply, use one and a half ounces for every square inch of ground cover. While applying the solution, be sure not to pour it directly onto any portion of the plant above the soil.

"Repeat the words 'Fertilitatem Excito' three times over each plant once it has been watered. Step away from the plant immediately after activating the solution, as Flaxbind's Fertilizer has been known to have unexpected side effects that may spread over the immediate area. All changes should be complete within ten minutes of activation."

"This is mad," said Ginny, staring incredulously at the purple goo. "What sort of growth potion is this?"

"It's that bad?" asked Xanthe, setting down six potted herbs and a measuring tape.

"It's worse," said Ginny. "We need a three gallon bucket, an ounce measure, and a teaspoon. And I want gloves -- I'm not putting my bare hands anywhere near that goo."

"I see what you mean," said Xanthe, peering at the instructions. "This is mad."

"That's what I said." Ginny shook her head and rose from her crouch. "I'll get the spoon and the gloves. Can you find the measure and a bucket?"

"Sure."

The purple goo was duly measured, diluted, and applied to the six plants, whose pre-application dimensions and characteristics were recorded on Ginny's meticulous chart. Ginny had a scare when Xanthe almost upset the bucket while pouring the third ounce of fertilizer onto the pot of shamrock, but only a few drops spilled onto the paving stones. Xanthe mopped these up with a handkerchief produced from her waistband; the fabric sizzled on contact with the liquid and a burnt umber spread along its threads from the wet portion.

"Ugh," said Xanthe, shaking out the cloth and glaring at the stains. "Where did Professor Sprout find this mess anyway? It ought to be banned."

Ginny shrugged. "I have no idea. Let's back away -- I'm going to start it off."

Xanthe squeaked and scuttled away, dropping the handkerchief. "Better you than me," she said.

"Coward," said Ginny, and whispered the activation charm three times, tapping each pot with her wand. She scrambled backwards, watching the herbs warily.

"Shouldn't something have happened by now?" asked Xanthe after a few seconds.

"I don't know. Shhh... I think they're twitching."

The two girls stared, fascinated, as the herbs swayed under an invisible wind. The chamomile burst into flower, showering the area with tiny yellow petals, while the fingerweed twisted into knots, knuckle joints creaking as the fleshy stems intertwined. "This isn't good -- this really isn't good," said Xanthe under her breath, grabbing Ginny's arm. "We're going to fail and my mother will be so disappointed..."

"Shhh," said Ginny again, shifting uncomfortably in Xanthe's grip. "Sprout said it had unpredictable side effects."

The Flannery's shamrock flushed purple and crept over the sides of its pot, sending scaly tendrils snaking over the paving stones.

"Okay, that's not good," admitted Ginny. Since when did shamrock have tendrils? It was overgrown clover for goodness' sake!

After several minutes the fertilizer effects subsided. Ginny waited another three minutes as a precaution, then approached the herbs warily, wand out. Xanthe watched from a safe distance. "Are you sure they're done?" she asked.

"It's been fifteen minutes; they ought to be," said Ginny. She poked the scaly, purple shamrock experimentally. It remained still. "I think they're safe. Come help measure them."

They wrote the new plant dimensions on their chart, along with detailed notes on the side effects -- the perfect double helix into which the fingerweed had successfully woven itself, for example. The mutated shamrock received an entire paragraph in Xanthe's angular scrawl, heavily underlined and liberally sprinkled with exclamation marks. "It just isn't right, you know," said Xanthe when Ginny suggested a calmer approach. "This is more important than my marks -- it's an outrage. Plants do not turn purple and go snaky because of growth potions. This stuff is dangerous."

Ginny declined to argue with this last statement.

They left the chart on the empty instruction table -- despite the oddities of their fertilizer they were the first pair to finish -- and went to watch Caroline and Anne poison their plants. The Hufflepuff girls seemed to be arguing, however, and paying no attention to their surroundings. Ginny slowed as she approached, not sure of her welcome amongst Xanthe's friends or of her place in a fight.

"Stupid, blasted rubbish!" cried one of the two girls, glaring at a pot of fingerweed. "It won't grow."

"You're sure you said the incantation correctly?" asked the second, whom Ginny recognized as Caroline.

"Yes!" said the other girl, throwing up her hands. Her cheeks were flushed with frustration and she seemed almost ready to curse the fingerweed; her wand was ready in her left hand and she was muttering under her breath. This must be Anne, concluded Ginny. She resolved never to get on the girl's bad side; she'd seen that look in Mum's eyes and didn't want it aimed at herself.

"Hi!" said Xanthe, waving her hand in Anne's face. "Not finished yet? What's wrong?"

"Do we look like we're finished?" said Anne, switching her glare to Xanthe. Caroline snickered. "The blasted fingerweed won't bloody well grow! Caroline mixed the powder wrong." She frowned at Caroline.

"I did not!" said Caroline. "I followed the instructions -- it isn't my fault!"

Anne looked ready to growl at her partner, and Ginny broke in hastily. "What fertilizer were you using?" she asked.

"Wachsenpuder," snapped Anne. "Who are you?"

"This is Ginny," said Xanthe. "You know, she's in Gryffindor, stood with me at the Sorting, studies with me on Saturdays -- remember? You should let her help; she's really good at Herbology."

Anne and Caroline studied Ginny. Ginny stared back, curious about Xanthe's friends. Caroline was more immediately noticeable, courtesy of her dark skin and multitude of short, twisty plaits. She bubbled with suppressed energy. Anne had hair-colored hair, blue-gray eyes framed by wire-rim glasses, and a roundish, instantly familiar face -- but her eyes snapped with determination and she was a bit too tall and solid to fade into the background. They were not quite what Ginny had expected from Hufflepuffs.

"All right," said Anne abruptly. "Xanthe says you're smart. So what's wrong with this blasted fingerweed?" She picked up the pot and shook it at Ginny.

"Er, you shouldn't really shake it like that," began Ginny, holding out her hands in a placating manner. "You're using Wachsenpuder?"

"Yes," said Caroline.

"Then there's no problem. Wachsenpuder is made with Re'em blood, but because fingerweed's a combination of plant and animal the Re'em blood has no effect on it."

The three Hufflepuffs stared blankly at Ginny.

"You know that?" said Caroline.

"Yes," said Ginny, confused. "It's in the supplemental reading -- Tansy Alembic's Herbology and Potions: Intertwined Disciplines. Besides, it only stands to reason. Re'em blood makes you stronger if you drink it, so that's its effect on animals; for plants, it absorbs their strength. Wachsenpuder uses that absorbed energy to force growth. But since fingerweed is a plant with animal characteristics, the effects cancel each other -- the Re'em blood makes the plant stronger, absorbs the strength, and sends it right back into the fingerweed. It's a locked circle, only the energy bleeds away so nothing ever happens -- which is lucky because if it built up the plant might explode," she finished happily.

There was an abrupt silence. Ginny fidgeted under Caroline's blank astonishment and Anne's measuring stare. Xanthe grinned unrepentantly.

"Xanthe," said Caroline solemnly, pulling herself together, "I see why you study with her. She's scary."

"Not really -- you haven't seen what a mess she makes of Astronomy," said Xanthe, still grinning. "Didn't I tell you she could help?"

"Xanthe..." said Ginny, embarrassed.

"Thank you," said Anne, setting down the fingerweed and standing. She stuck out her hand; Ginny blinked and grasped it tentatively. "Anne Wilkinson, Hufflepuff, of Stoketon-on-Marsh. Nice to meet you." She shook Ginny's hand firmly.

"Ginny Weasley, Gryffindor, of Ottery St. Catchpole. Er, likewise." Slightly dazed, Ginny rescued her hand and turned to Caroline. "Do I shake your hand too?"

Caroline laughed. "Only if you want to! I'm Caroline Addo and I'm from Ghana, but I've lived in Manchester since I was seven. And whatever Xanthe's told you, my grandfather was a king. She's just too stupid to believe me."

Xanthe stuck her tongue out at Caroline, who grinned smugly in reply.

"Oh, not again," groaned Anne, waving a hand between her friends' faces. "Ginny, stop them while I hand in the results." She grabbed a sheet of untidy notes and strode toward Sprout's instruction desk.

Xanthe pulled her tongue in and the three remaining girls exchanged glances. "Now what?" asked Xanthe.

"Ginny stops us from arguing," said Caroline, turning to Ginny, "by telling us everything about herself!"

Ginny shot Xanthe a worried look. "Er, I'm very boring really. I have six older brothers, I like Potions and Herbology, I hate Snape and Filch, and I can't think of anything else." She shrugged helplessly. "I'm sure you're a lot more interesting."

"Hah!" said Xanthe, earning a frown from Caroline.

"I'm very interesting!" she protested. "I'm royalty -- that's always interesting."

"Royalty is a load of rubbish," said Anne, rejoining them. "And we don't believe you about your grandfather anyway."

"Hey!" protested Caroline. "You have a queen, don't you?"

"The English monarchy hasn't done anything but get written up for scandals since before--" began Anne, only to break off as Xanthe stepped on her foot.

"Stop it," said Xanthe. "If I can't argue you with Caroline, you can't either, you know. Besides, we're leaving Ginny out -- let's talk about something else."

"I didn't mind, really," said Ginny.

"It's still rubbish," grumbled Anne.

"Oh dry up," said Xanthe. "I said to stop, you know. Let's talk about Quidditch -- what about the house teams this year?"

The Hufflepuffs discussed Quidditch for several minutes, running over the strengths and weaknesses of each team. Caroline and Anne, Ginny learned, were both Quidditch-mad. Caroline was furious about Hufflepuff's slim chances at the House Cup and was determined to try out for the team next year. She was also still angry about Ghana's loss to Ireland in the preliminary matches for the World Cup. Anne naturally favored England while Xanthe, courtesy of her paternal grandfather, harbored a partiality for Spain.

Ginny, a halfhearted Quidditch fan at best -- unless Harry played; she very much wanted to see him play -- found the arguments fascinating. She'd never realized girls could be as obsessive as her brothers. She knew Gryffindor was good, England was mediocre, and the Chudley Cannons, regardless of what Ron said, were a joke -- but beyond that she didn't much care. The Hufflepuffs did, and they entertained each other, encouraged by Ginny's questions, until Sprout called the class to order.

"I've compiled your results into these charts," she said, pointing to a large slate board behind her desk, "and this list of special notations. Copy them and use the information for your essay."

Ginny pulled out a new sheet of parchment and copied for all she was worth. Beside her Xanthe scratched away, muttering about Spain's World Cup chances and fielding indignant retorts from Caroline. Anne was glued to her charts, scribbling nearly as fast as Ginny.

A long period of writing and hand cramps later, Sprout dismissed the class early, saying no child should be expected to learn too much on a Friday afternoon the day before Hallowe'en. Ginny packed her bag, waved at Xanthe as she left for Transfiguration, and waited for the other Gryffindors to get well ahead of her. As she waited, she idly studied the dittany patch, stroking the edges of the small leaves.

"After November I can give you one if you'd like," said Sprout, popping up behind Ginny. "They make good houseplants -- medium light, not too much water -- and the flowers are lovely."

"Oh," said Ginny, startled. "Er, thanks -- I'll remember that." The girls' room was a bit dreary without any plants, now that she came to think of it.

"Do consider it," said Sprout, smiling. "I'm always happy to find good homes for my plants." She paused, moving forward to stand beside Ginny. "On a different note, Miss Weasley, I'm glad you stayed after -- I wanted to talk to you. I assure you it's nothing upsetting."

Sprout sighed and gazed pensively at the dittany. "As you know, Herbology is one of the key disciplines of wizardry, but it's an often overlooked field. We use few dramatic spells, earn no glory, and offer no glamour. So I take it upon myself to encourage those few students who show a true interest in the field.

She turned to Ginny. "Miss Weasley, would you be interested in some extra-curricular Herbology work? The greenhouses and grounds are a bit much for only myself and Hagrid to handle, and I would welcome another student's aid. There are some others who help me a few afternoons and evenings each week, and I think you might enjoy the work," -- Sprout paused briefly -- "and the companionship.

"What do you say, Miss Weasley?"

Ginny blinked, realizing she had pinched off several leaves and was crushing them between her fingertips; she dropped them back into the herb patch. What was she supposed to say to that? Yes? Of course she wanted to spend more time in the greenhouses... but she wasn't lonely really, and she did want to have time to spend with Tom...

Bother it all. "I think I'd like that, Professor Sprout," said Ginny. "When do I start?"

---------------------------------------------

The common room was noisy, stuffy, and crowded -- most classes were finished and the grounds were currently inhospitable. Ginny slipped upstairs, walking to her bed in relief. Apple looked up from a Transfiguration textbook and shot her an inscrutable look, which Ginny did her best to ignore.

"Are you planning to stay long?" asked Ginny.

"Twenty minutes, no more. Please be quiet until I leave." Apple tugged her bed-curtains partially closed and returned to her book.

Ginny fished the diary out of her bag and tugged her own curtains closed, not wanting to risk discovery; Tom was her friend, her secret, and nobody was going to take him away from her. She hummed as she pressed the pages flat.

"Dear Tom, you'll never guess what happened! Herbology was strange -- Sprout gave me and Xanthe a bizarre fertilizing potion -- but after class she asked if I wanted to do extracurricular work for her and Hagrid, taking care of the greenhouses and grounds. She said she asks people who are interested and have a gift for Herbology, and she thinks I have a gift! I start Monday evening. Isn't that great?"

"That is good news, Virginia. Finally your true genius is appreciated!"

Ginny stuck her tongue out at the diary. "You shut it," she wrote. "I like Herbology and Professor Sprout, and this is the best thing that's happened to me this year besides meeting you. The least you can do is be happy for me -- not like stupid Percy. I ran into him and he just sniffed and said 'That's all very well and good, Ginny, but you should think about your future. Herbology's a dead-end field.' Stinking toad-licker."

A wry smile flashed briefly in her eyes. "So he is. And a mistaken one as well. Herbology may not seem exciting in its traditional form, but its applications are endless -- medical research, Potions, cross-breeding, etc. I regret my lack of talent in the field. You can go far with your gift, particularly when combined with your skill in Potions."

"Really?" asked Ginny. "I never thought I'd be much good as a witch. Somebody in my family's already done everything -- all I have is that I'm the only girl, and I'm the baby. But all that means is that they think I'm silly and won't let me do anything interesting."

She sighed. "Ron always says he has it bad, but really I don't see what he's talking about. Everyone likes him; he's awfully clever when he forgets to be stupid, and he's really brave. Plus he's Mum's favorite -- she never says it but I know he is. Bill and Charlie are too old, Percy's too perfect, the twins are too annoying, and I'm a girl so I'm supposed to be a young lady. I hate that -- it means I have to look after my brothers because they're boys and boys are expected to misbehave, but at then I have to listen to them because they're boys and boys are supposed to protect girls. I'm in Gryffindor; can't I protect myself?"

Ginny shook cramps from her hand while Tom digested her tirade. Please let him not think she was a silly ungrateful girl -- she couldn't last if she lost her only friend.

"Virginia, if anyone tells you that you aren't capable of handling troubles on your own, ignore him," wrote Tom, a serious tone pervading his words. "You are more than capable of dealing with anything that comes your way; rescues are not required. Still, your mother isn't totally out of line when she tells you to listen to your brothers. They are, after all, older and more experienced than you, though I'm sure you have more good sense than all six of them together!" An intangible hug punctuated the words, breaking through Ginny's tension.

"Thanks Tom. You always make me feel better. I wish more people understood me like you do -- you're a much better brother than my other ones."

"Your happiness is my only desire, my lady."

"Oi! Bite your tongue," wrote Ginny. Tom smirked, and she shook her head. "I'd love to talk longer but I really ought to start on my Herbology paper. I have two weeks, but it's four feet and after today I want it perfect."

"Understandable, but remember that perfection is, so far as we know, unobtainable -- don't overstress yourself, Virginia."

"Don't worry, I'll be fine."

"Incidentally, shouldn't you be thinking about what to wear to the Hallowe'en banquet tomorrow evening?"

Ginny grimaced. "I'm not going. I don't want to spend all night with a bunch of stuck-up toad-lickers, and besides, I think Harry, Ron, and Hermione are planning something secret and I want to know what. I thought I might follow them."

"I see why you want to avoid the banquet, but I would advise against following your brother and his friends. Regardless of his performance as a family member, you should respect his privacy. It's fair play; if he ignores you, you ignore him. Besides, with the tower to yourself you can finish your work early."

"I guess you're right," wrote Ginny reluctantly. "I'd be angry if I caught him spying on me. But still, it isn't fair! He never used to keep secrets from me; we had adventures together. And now he's forgotten me, or he's embarrassed and thinks I'm stupid, and I don't know which idea I hate more."

"Things change, Virginia, things change. You cannot expect Ron to stay a child forever, nor can you remain the same. He has new friends and new interests. You have me. I hope I'm not too poor a substitute."

"Oh, never! I just miss him..." Ginny trailed off, quill sliding aimlessly across the page. The ink trail vanished, all evidence of her carelessness sucked away and hidden wherever Tom lived. All her words vanished that way, swallowed into blankness -- was that what she seemed like to everyone else? Blank, boring, silly, unimportant little girl?

At least Tom listened. Tom remembered. Tom answered.

"I miss my friends too," he wrote. "They're all old now, if they're still alive -- 60, 70 years old. Sometimes I wonder what happened to them. I wonder what happened to me. You didn't know my name, after all... do I work in a shop? Do I live as a Muggle? Did I move overseas? Am I dead? It's strange to live in here, half awake through year after year after year with no knowledge of the world, no way to truly become an adult.

"At least you still see your brother."

"Tom, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to make you sad! You're right, really I'm much better off and I do still have my family and I know they're still around even if I don't always like them--"

"VIRGINIA!" Tom's writing sliced across her fading words. "Listen to me, Virginia. I did not mean to imply that your troubles are insignificant. I merely meant to show that you're not alone in missing the past. I'm sorry my words came out badly -- sometimes my memories catch me and I misspeak myself. Please don't worry."

Ginny gnawed her lip, which had gone unaccountably wobbly. "I'm sorry Tom. I just feel bad for you, like you feel bad for me. You're my friend."

"And I cannot begin to say how grateful I am for your friendship," wrote Tom. "But some things about my situation cannot be helped, and crying over them will get us nowhere. Your troubles, however, are in the present and can be dealt with, which is why I focus on you. I like helping you. If you truly want to help me, someday I may find a way to escape this diary; then you can repay the favor. Until then, don't worry about me."

"I can't help worrying. But I'll try not to get upset. And I will set you free somehow, Tom, I promise. Cross my heart."

Tom was silent for a moment. "Thank you, Virginia," he wrote finally. "I am proud to be your friend; you have a warm heart. Still, I believe we agreed that your problems were more pressing than mine... and one of those problems is a four foot Herbology paper. Am I correct?"

"Yes Tom. I'll get started. But you have to promise to think of ways to get out of the diary."

"Right at this moment?"

"Yes," wrote Ginny. "If I have to work, you have to work. Fair is fair."

"True. Until later, Virginia."

"Thanks, Tom."

Ginny shut the diary and slid it under her pillow. Tom was right about her paper and he was probably right that she shouldn't follow Harry and Ron tomorrow. She could use the time to get ahead in her classes; she knew exactly what to do with the free time she'd earn. The Hogwarts library had books on almost any area of magic imaginable -- surely she could find something to set Tom free. She wouldn't tell him; it would be a present for him, a secret just for herself.

Ginny pulled out her Herbology charts, smiling at the thought of Tom's reaction. It would be the best present ever.

---------------------------------------------

Saturday evening inexorably arrived and Gryffindor tower hummed with activity and cheerful voices. Ginny sprawled on her bed, flipping through a journal of Herbology research -- a lot of it went over her head but what she understood was fascinating. The other four girls bustled around the room, checking each others' hair and earrings, and discussing Jia-li's crush on Danny and Apple's supposed interest in Colin.

"Coming, Ginny?" asked Gwen shortly after six. "You haven't dressed."

Ginny shook her head. "I'm not going. I have work."

Susan looked upset. "You can't have that much work -- we're in all your classes and we have time for the banquet. And we haven't talked in ages. Come on, Ginny."

"I have extra work for Herbology. Sprout asked me to be one of her assistants."

"That's great! But she'll understand about the banquet -- and won't you be hungry? You look a little pale and you shouldn't miss dinner," said Jia-li.

Ginny quirked her mouth in a half-smile. "I saved a sandwich from lunch. I'll be fine. Don't worry about me." She focused on her reading, ignoring the puzzled looks and Apple's knowing gaze. Why wouldn't they leave? She wanted to talk to Tom.

A few minutes later Deirdre Connolly, the sixth year prefect, stuck her head into the room to call everyone down. "You're sure you don't want to come?" asked Susan as the others filed out.

"Yes I'm sure!" said Ginny, waving the Herbology journal in exasperation. "Look, I'll be fine. Go have fun and let me work in peace."

"Oh, fine. Be that way." Susan strode out, banging the door behind her. Ginny sighed in relief.

Setting the journal on her night table, she pulled Tom's diary from under her pillow. "Dear Tom, it's Hallowe'en and everyone's left for the banquet," she wrote. "I got a Herbology journal from Madam Pince this afternoon and I thought I could read it in the common room. What do you think?"

"The common room is appropriate for work, but I think perhaps you should focus on something a bit closer to home, such as your paper," wrote Tom. "Extracurricular reading is not immediately useful. The paper, however, will be graded."

"Toad-licker. You're right though. I'll grab my notes and head downstairs. Talk to you later."

"Of course, Virginia."

Ginny tucked the diary under her arm and slowly descended the stairs, carrying her notes, writing supplies, and two books for reference. Tom was right -- she did need to work on her paper -- but it wasn't nearly as interesting as the journal. Granted it was Herbology, but she already knew the material. The journal was full of new ideas, unknown plants, breeding techniques, ways to blend Herbology with other disciplines... she itched to read more.

The common room was deserted, every other inhabitant of Gryffindor tower having left for the banquet. Ginny sank into a chair by the fire, laying her books on the low table. She sighed in comfort. First years almost never got chairs by the fire unless the older students were out -- she could see why they guarded those seats.

Yawning, she opened the diary. "Hi Tom, I'm in the common room now, sitting by the fire. Do you want to talk or are you going to make me work?"

Tom quirked a ghostly eyebrow. "I'm a cruel taskmaster, am I? Well, who am I to disagree with your assessment? To your paper, Virginia; we can talk anytime but the paper has a deadline."

Ginny felt like whining. "But it's so comfortable here and I don't want to think about fertilizing potions. I'll fall asleep."

"Then don't sit by the fire," responded Tom, "and stop fishing for sympathy. I used to attend Hogwarts too; I know all the ways to weasel out of work... and the results of procrastination. Read. Write. We'll talk later."

"Meanie." Ginny crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue at Tom's fading words before grabbing a sheet of parchment and starting to outline her paper.

She had only been working for fifteen minutes, pausing now and then to scribble a comment to Tom, when a noise from the dormitory stairs caught her ear. Ginny slammed the diary closed and slipped it under her notes before fading into the corner -- nobody was supposed to be in the tower. What was going on?

Hermione -- what was Hermione doing here? -- walked to the boys' staircase and called, "Harry! Ron! Get down now or we'll be late."

"He's been dead five hundred years, Hermione, five minutes won't matter." Ron's voice echoed down the stairs and Hermione grimaced.

"Honestly," she muttered, then raised her voice again. "Harry, bring him down. I don't care if Sir Nicholas is dead -- it's rude to be late."

"We're coming, Hermione," said Harry, clattering down the stairs. Ron grumbled along behind him.

"Explain to me again why we're going to this bloody stupid party," said Ron. "All right, Harry promised, but why can't I go to the banquet? I want pudding -- there might be dancing skeletons -- last year's was all a mess with the troll--"

"Watch your language, Ron! It'll be educational -- who else will be able to say they've been to a ghost's Deathday party? Now move, we're going to be late." Hermione latched onto the boys' arms and dragged them to the portrait hole. Ron rolled his eyes at Harry, who shrugged minimally and clambered out of the room.

Ginny stepped from the shadows, thankful the trio had missed her presence. They were going to a Deathday party for Nearly Headless Nick? Interesting, but hardly worthy of being a secret, and certainly not worth almost giving her a heart attack.

"Dear Tom," she wrote in the diary, having rescued it from under her papers, "Harry, Ron, and Hermione just went out; they're skipping the banquet and going to a Deathday party for Nearly Headless Nick, our house ghost. I guess that was their big secret. Hermione scared me when she came into the room so I hid -- I don't think they saw me."

"Interesting. That's a fairly innocuous secret, but you're probably best off keeping your knowledge to yourself, since they have no idea you saw them and they have told no one else."

"Okay. Back to Herbology, before I fall asleep."

Ginny returned to her notes, jotting down results and trying different ways of grouping the fertilizers. It was tedious work involving little thought, and she soon found herself drifting off. The fire was warm, the chair soft, and the light low -- she felt syrupy and her eyelids weighed several pounds each. Ginny sighed.

"Tom, I'm falling asleep," she wrote. "I think I'll go to bed now, before everyone gets back from the banquet. I'll finish the outline tomorrow."

"That sounds like avoidance, Virginia -- are you sure you'll get up early enough?" asked Tom.

"Yes, Tom Marvolo Riddle, I'm not a baby. Good night." Ginny snapped the diary shut and gathered her supplies. Friend or not, there were times when Tom was too much like her brothers, eager to tell her what to do, so sure he knew what was best. Idiot. It wasn't her fault she was tired -- maybe Percy and Jia-li were right and she should see Madam Pomfrey tomorrow.

Teeth brushed, nightdress on, and diary under pillow, Ginny slid into bed with a heavy yawn. A quarter past seven was awfully early, but she was so tired... She really had to get more sleep. Her last thought as she drifted off was that she'd forgotten to eat her sandwich and Percy would undoubtedly lecture her tomorrow.

---------------------------------------------

The dark man stood behind the princess as she faced the dragon, half-wakened from its slumber. -Obey- she told it, and it bowed its head in recognition of the heir. -Climb- she told it, and its great coils rasped against each other as it unwound.

She rode the dragon from the hidden chamber into the upper castle, the dark man at her shoulder. His voice whispered in her ears. -Who falls first, my lady? Who fears? Who falls?-

-The sorceress- she almost said, but a beast came upon them, a cunning, slinking beast with lamp-lit eyes, one of the invaders' spies. It hissed in warning and she raised her hands before her face. -Defend me- she cried as the creature roared and sprang, and the dragon gazed upon the slavering beast.

The princess huddled against the walls while the dragon fought, and the dark man placed his hands upon her shoulders. -Rest, my lady- his voice echoed in her ears. -Rest and do not fear- And she rested, but she still feared.

And the beast was gone, its yowling silenced, but footsteps echoed through the halls. -Return- she cried to the dragon, sending it back to its lair, back to its slumbers, and she ran from the battle, the dark man's voice whispering in her ears.

-Flee, my lady, the others come. Let them fear. Let them fall. Flee, my lady, the others come: beasts in shadow, blood in darkness. Flee, my lady, flee-

The princess fled, through the halls, through the chambers; through the broken, empty castle the princess fled. And fled. And fled.

The shadows crashed behind like waters.

Water splashed over the sink basin, dripping onto her feet. Ginny shrieked and scuttled back, slipping on wet tiles. What in the name of the Founders was she doing here? And awake?

Oh. Sleepwalking. Again.

Ginny shook her head, trying to remember the dream that seemed to accompany her wandering -- this one was even stranger than the others. She'd found the dragon, but she couldn't remember where or what it looked like. There had been a beast and a battle. And a dark man? Who could he be?

More to the point, where was she and what had she been doing when she woke up? Ginny looked around. Unless Hogwarts was stranger than she thought, she was in the lower Gryffindor girls' bathroom -- Gwen's Holyhead Harpies towel hung next to Susan's flowered monstrosity, and Jia-li's basket of bath oils and whatnot sat in the corner next to Apple's battered wooden sandals. The sink was still dripping, reddish water draining too slowly to keep the floor dry.

Ginny shut off the tap and fished through the water until she found the drain, choked by something thick and oozing. She jerked her fingers back -- they dripped red paint. She glanced at her left hand and saw reddish stains under her fingernails. Sticking her hand back into the water, she scooped the paint from the drain, mixing it into the water and watching the mess gurgle away into the pipes.

Why did she have paint on her hands? Why so much paint, thick enough to clog a drain and stain the floor pink? Ginny flinched at that thought -- she had to get everything clean before anyone returned from the banquet. Or had they already returned? What time was it? What if someone saw her?

Grabbing a hand towel, Ginny mopped the pink from the floor, splashing clear water all over in her haste. The paint filtered into the towel, staining the green fibers brown. Ginny shoved the sodden thing into the laundry hamper; the house elves would keep their mouths shut about anything out of place.

She frowned at her hands and the sink, both still stained. Hot water should take care of the sink. Her hands... Ginny let the water run and scrabbled at the paint hardened under her nails and worked into the cracks of her knuckles. She had to get rid of the evidence -- nobody could know she sleepwalked -- she was supposed to be in bed...

Noise broke her concentration, an excited babble surging into the common room and up the stairs. Abandoning the sink, Ginny dashed across the landing and dove into her bed, barking her shins on the frame in the darkness. Her wet nightdress clung to her back and knees.

The door banged open. "Ginny? Oi, Ginny, wake up!" called Susan as someone waved on the lights. "You won't believe what happened -- you really should have come -- absolutely the creepiest thing I've ever seen -- I still can't believe it was Harry Potter who did it--"

"Did what?" asked Ginny sharply, hugging her quilt to her chest. "What did Harry do?"

"Killed Mrs. Norris!"

"May have killed her," said Apple, frowning at the other girls. "She might only have been cursed -- the Headmaster took her away to examine -- but she was stiff as a board and hanging from a torch bracket outside Moaning Myrtle's bathroom."

"Yeah," said Susan, breaking in. "We came up from the banquet -- the professors said something about fireworks on the parapets -- and Harry Potter and your brother and Hermione Granger were standing in front of a great puddle with Mrs. Norris strung up dead, and red writing on the wall! It was creepy, I tell you!"

"Red writing?" Ginny tucked her hands under the covers.

Jia-li nodded. "It was on the wall across from the bathroom, in big, dripping letters--"

"Like blood!" put in Susan.

"Like blood," continued Jia-li. "It said, 'The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir, beware.' And Mrs. Norris was frozen up, staring at us." She shivered. "What if Harry Potter thinks we're enemies? He might come after us!"

"Oh," said Ginny. "Are you sure Harry did it?" Apple looked at her thoughtfully, and Ginny flinched.

Susan stared at Ginny as if she were mad. "Well, of course he must have done it! He was right there, wasn't he? And he skipped the banquet so nobody knows where he was -- plus Filch has it in for him, everyone knows that, and who knows what Harry Potter can do? He practically killed You-Know-Who when he was just a baby -- I bet it gave him ideas!" Gwen and Jia-li nodded.

"Oh," said Ginny again.

"You should've come to dinner -- you'd have been safer with us, not all alone in this tower," said Gwen. "You were awfully lucky."

"Say, that's right -- you were here after we all left," said Susan. "Did you see Harry Potter leave the tower? Or his friends? They were with him too -- maybe he made them kill Mrs. Norris!"

"No!" said Ginny. "I didn't see anything. And that's my brother you're talking about; you shut up about him!"

Susan rolled her eyes. "Fine, fine, you were asleep, your brother had nothing to do with it -- no need to shout."

I hate you, Ginny thought, all of you. Go away. "I was asleep and I want to go back to sleep," she said. "Be quiet or leave." She yanked her bed curtains closed and slid further under her quilt, pressing her hand on the diary under her pillow.

"Stuck-up cow," muttered Susan. Ginny bit back a retort, and the room soon quieted as the other girls wandered down to the common room. Finally, peace.

Ginny peeked out of her curtains, making sure Apple was gone too, then pressed the diary open. She paused. How did she explain this to Tom? What exactly was she explaining? What had happened?

Her hands were shaking. Ginny peered at them in the dim wandlight; the red specks grew and shrank as her fingers flexed. She ran her hands through her hair, searching for feathers, twigs, anything that might show where she had been. Her nightdress sucked free of her chest, dripping onto her bed. How had it gotten so wet? And... and so red. The front was soaked with red paint, thick streaks stretching fingers to the hem, leaking pink onto her sheets.

She would not scream. She was a Gryffindor -- she was brave -- she would not scream. She would pick up her quill and tell Tom what she knew, and he would tell her what to do. Yes.

Ginny pressed the quill onto the page. "Dear Tom, it's Hallowe'en night and I sleepwalked again. I can't remember what I did, but a cat was attacked and I've got paint all down my front and on my hands. There was a message in red paint next to the cat, and I dreamed about the dragon and a beast and I think they fought -- and I think I might have been there when the cat was attacked. I think I might have attacked it, Tom! What do I do?"

Tom responded instantly. "Virginia, you are far too kind to attack cats even while sleepwalking. As to what you should do, first tell me exactly what happened so I know where we stand."

Ginny drew a deep breath. Right. She was a Gryffindor. She could do this. "I went upstairs and fell asleep. I dreamed I found the dragon; I think I was going to attack the sorceress but a beast found us and the dragon defended me. Then the sorceress's army was coming and someone told me to run, so I ran. Everything got very wet after that and I woke up washing red paint off my hands.

"The paint clogged the sink.

"The others came back from the banquet and I hid in bed. They said Mrs. Norris -- that's Filch's cat -- had been attacked and maybe killed. They found Harry and Hermione and Ron standing there and they think Harry did it. He couldn't have done that. Ron and Hermione wouldn't have done that."

She paused and shook her hand before continuing the story. "Beside Mrs. Norris there were words on the wall in red paint, saying a chamber of secrets has been opened and enemies of the heir should beware. Tom, I was sleepwalking and I have red paint on my hands and my nightdress. Red paint. And I dreamed about a fight. Tom, what did I do?"

Several seconds passed as Ginny's words faded into the page. She scratched at her hands, waiting for Tom to finish thinking.

"As I see it, there are three options," he wrote finally. "First, and most unlikely, you attacked the cat and painted a message on the wall. I find this nearly impossible since a totally stiff body implies some type of Petrifying spell. You don't know any. Furthermore, you have no red paint.

True, thought Ginny. Thank goodness.

"Second, you may simply have stumbled into the wall while sleepwalking. This would account for the paint on your hands and nightdress. However, it doesn't account for your dream, and your dreams do seem to have some connection to your actions while you sleepwalk.

"Therefore, I think the most likely option is the third: you stumbled upon the person who Petrified Mrs. Norris, watched the cat struggle, and ran when the person turned his or her attention to you. That would account for the battle in your dream, and the advancing army. The person must have already painted the wall, which you bumped into or pressed against while he or she fought the cat. That explains the paint."

Tom paused; weight settled on Ginny's shoulders. "Virginia, you are very lucky to have escaped tonight."

Oh God. Tom was right. She must have walked right into that person and nearly died. No wonder she was scared when she woke up. No wonder she'd been shaking.

"Tom, what do I do?" she asked again. Make it better, make it safe, make it go away.

"Do you remember anything clearly enough to be useful in an investigation?"

"No. I just remember a beast and something dark, and staying against a wall. I was asleep!"

"I know, Virginia; my apologies. Since you have no useful information, perhaps you should keep this to yourself. Coming forward will only make you a clear target for the attacker -- who may not have seen you clearly in the dark." Tom hesitated.

"And? I know there's something more you want to say."

"And, from what you said, Harry Potter and your brother are being accused simply for having the bad luck to discover the cat, though from your words, I cannot imagine how anyone could think Harry Potter would attack anyone. If you say you might have been there during the attack, imagine what people will say about you. They are cruel enough already; why borrow trouble?"

That was true, thought Ginny. Nasty but true. The Gryffindors had abandoned her for Daphne and only Xanthe was willing to be her friend. If people suspected her it would be ten times worse. Her brothers wouldn't help: Percy would sniff and say she was a disgrace, Fred and George would tease her, and Ron had forgotten she existed at all. Harry might protect her if he noticed, but everyone already thought he was evil and she'd only make it worse.

She stiffened at another unpleasant thought -- Sprout might not let her work in the greenhouses. She couldn't let that happen. Nobody was going to think she was mad for sleepwalking or think she might have attacked a cat. If they could blame Harry they could blame anyone. Besides, Tom was right; she hadn't seen anything and she had to protect herself in case the attacker thought she had.

"You're right, Tom. I won't say anything. The professors will find out what happened, people will stop blaming Harry, and nobody has to know I was there."

"Very good, Virginia. I'm glad you'll be sensible; I would never want anything to harm you. I came too close to losing you tonight."

Ginny shivered, seeing a dark figure looming over her, dead cat dangling from its hand. How close had she come to sharing Mrs. Norris's fate? "Thank you, Tom. I don't want anything bad to happen to you either. But it's getting late and I should go to sleep before the others come up."

"True. Sleep well, Virginia. Pleasant dreams."

"Goodnight Tom."

Ginny set the diary beside her bed. Tired as she was, she couldn't sleep just yet; she had to clean. The nightdress and the pink-stained sheets went in the laundry for the house-elves, and she remade the bed herself. A quick scrub washed the paint from her front, a brush straightened her tangled hair, and another Herbology article soothed her mind. Finally she felt ready for sleep.

The diary lay warm under Ginny's hand as her fingers stroked the binding. If a person watched closely, she might see faint misty tendrils seeping from the pages, winding around those fingers, but no one was there to see.