Secrets

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CHAPTER 11: A Place to Stand

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Ginny watched Harry carefully for the rest of the week. She even went so far as to follow him to and from his classes, like Colin had done before... well, before. Ron spotted her several times and started giving her funny looks, like he thought she'd lost her mind, and Hermione asked if she wanted help with her lessons, but Harry didn't even notice. Once she overheard him talking about Hagrid and pets before Ron elbowed him silent, but whatever Tom had showed him couldn't have been too convincing, since Harry wasn't rushing off to blame Hagrid for anything. And he didn't seem to know anything about Ginny, which was a huge relief.

Harry was acting normal.

Percy, on the other hand, had gone very peculiar. He'd always been fussy about his clothes, but now he shined his shoes every morning and adjusted his tie every ten minutes. He'd muted his cologne -- it didn't make Ginny sneeze anymore, just wrinkle her nose at the smell -- but the fact that he was wearing cologne at all... Something fishy was going on.

She was surprised Fred and George hadn't noticed, but Quidditch practices did take up a lot of time and she thought they were planning some elaborate trick that kept them distracted. They certainly spent a lot of time huddled in a corner of the common room, hunched over a tattered parchment, waving their arms in hushed arguments.

After the second time she saw him slip out of an unused classroom, Ginny started to wonder if Percy might have confiscated the diary from Harry.

That could be very bad. Percy was smart, but he didn't always pay attention once he'd got hold of an idea, and he liked being flattered, so it was easy to make him swallow outrageous stories if you started out telling the truth and slipped the lies in gradually. Tom was clever. He'd figure out how to get to Percy, and by the time Percy realized -- he was smart enough to realize eventually -- there was no telling what else might have gone wrong.

She'd have to follow Percy instead.

This was easier said than done. For one thing, Percy was a sixth-year, which meant he had classes in parts of the castle where a first year girl stood out like a sore thumb. For another, he was a prefect, which meant he spent a good bit of time patrolling the corridors, especially after other students were supposed to be in their common rooms or in bed. Two weeks after the Valentine's Day disaster -- with far too much practice running from Filch and ducking around corners to avoid Percy's classmates -- Ginny decided she needed a new strategy.

She picked at her breakfast toast and wished she had an Invisibility Cloak like Harry.

Then she thought about what Tom could have done if he'd been able to turn invisible, and shivered. It wasn't fair that she was the person who had to fight him -- he was older, he was smarter, and he knew all sorts of Dark magic. She was just a first year, and she was obviously stupid or she wouldn't have believed him for so long.

Ginny set her toast down, shoved her plate away, and rested her head on her crossed arms. She kept falling into a blue funk these days, no matter how much she tried to stay determined and optimistic. She was awfully tired, too. Percy frowned whenever he looked at her, like he still thought she was sick.

Ginny felt sick, enough that she'd gone to see Madam Pomfrey on her own and had got a bottle of tonic to add into her pumpkin juice every morning. "It's likely nothing but a cold, or a bit stress keeping you up at night," Madam Pomfrey had said. "If you don't feel better in a week, we'll try something stronger."

Ginny wasn't having trouble falling asleep -- if anything, she had the opposite problem. She had a nagging feeling that she wasn't sick, either. Tom could drain her magic and probably her life as well. He didn't have to act nice or pretend to be dead anymore. If he was pulling faster, how long would it take before he got out of the diary?

Ginny shivered. She'd have to corner Percy today, just to get him off her mind. Then she could figure out where the diary was and get it back.

Charms was fun that morning, if frustrating -- they were learning to move inanimate objects in complicated patterns, and the small pillows Professor Flitwick had supplied kept shooting unexpectedly across the room and knocking into people. Transfiguration was easier, since Professor McGonagall spent the lesson reviewing the differences between one-step changes and multi-step changes, and the benefits and drawbacks of both methods. Ginny scribbled notes when Professor McGonagall looked her way, and spent the rest of the time glaring at Susan or trying to figure out how to follow Percy without getting spotted.

After lunch, she found the twins in the common room and asked them for help.

"Follow someone without anyone spotting that it's you? That's easy," said George.

"But why bother following Percy?" asked Fred.

Ginny shrugged. "Practice. And I owe him for hauling me off to the hospital wing."

"Oh, right," said Fred. "In that case--"

"--we'll be happy to help," said George. He looked at Fred. "D'you think...?" Fred nodded, and the twins stood from their couch. "We need a bit of privacy for this." Fred took hold of Ginny's arm and steered her toward the portrait hole.

"Wait, what are you talking about? Where are we going?" protested Ginny. "Let go of me!"

The twins exchanged a long-suffering look. "What's happening to Hogwarts these days?" asked George. "When we were first years, there was respect for your seniors, and everybody knew you had to--"

"--figure mysteries out on your own," continued Fred. "Manners have fled, the noble tradition of study is failing, everything is done by rote, and young minds--"

"Just because you care more about fooling around--" Ginny started.

"Oh, shut it, Ginny," Fred interrupted. "We said we'd help you, didn't we? Come on, let's go find an empty room and we'll explain everything to our ickle baby sister so she isn't confused anymore."

"Of course, we expect a full report on whatever Percy's done to get your attention," added George, leaning past her to push the portrait open.

Ginny swallowed. That... might not be possible, not if Percy had the diary. But she was sure she could make up something that would embarrass him without drawing too much of the twins' attention.

They led her down several corridors and up a staircase to a musty storeroom near the Owlery. Tucked out of sight behind a mountain of empty trunks and several teetering stacks of old chairs, a battered plush couch sat facing a long table. Three cauldrons, a set of scales, a portable fire-dish, and various other potion-making equipment lay scattered around.

Ginny yanked her arm out of Fred's grip and glared at her brothers. "Brewing experimental potions without supervision is dangerous! You could kill yourselves, or blow up the room, or set poison gas seeping through the whole castle. I should tell Professor McGonagall."

Fred smiled. "But you won't -- not if you want our help."

"Besides, we're careful. One of us is always ready to put up a barrier and throw neutralizers over any mistakes," added George. "We're not stupid."

"I've heard that one before," muttered Ginny. "Anyhow, what were you going to show me? I don't think jokes will help -- I want to follow Percy, not transfigure him into a giant canary."

The twins exchanged one of their mysterious looks and then grinned, widely. "Giant canary?" said Fred.

"Temporary," said George, in a warning tone.

Fred waved that off. "Right, right. Moulting's more funny anyway, especially if it's uneven. Ginny, you're a brilliant, brilliant, wonderful ickle baby sister. For that, we waive your price." George gave Fred a sharp look, but Fred waved that off too. "Sit down and close your eyes for a minute," he said, pushing Ginny onto the couch.

Ginny stuck out her tongue, but she closed her eyes and covered them with her hands for good measure. Something rustled on the other side of the table -- one of the twins pulling parchment from a bag -- and then George murmured something low and unintelligible.

"You can look now," said George, as he sat beside her.

"Voila!" said Fred, from his perch on the table's edge. "Are we your favorite brothers, or are we your favorite brothers?"

Ginny stared, dumbstruck, at the crumpled parchment in George's hands. To call it a map of the castle was a massive understatement. It showed every floor, from the lowest dungeons to the highest towers, with all the staircases, one-way doors, and trick corridors clearly marked. It showed secret rooms and hidden passages between the walls. And it showed every single person in Hogwarts, moving around, with their names floating next to the tiny black symbols; when she focused on any particular dot, the tiny print swam into clear view.

"This is dead cool," she breathed. "This is the coolest bit of magic I've ever seen. Did you make this?"

"Don't we just wish we had! " said George. "We'd spend a month sucking up to Snape if that would buy us half the skill we'd need to make something like this. This is the Marauder's Map--"

"--made by four geniuses who used to be students here -- we nicked this from Filch's files back when we were ickle firsties. See?" Fred pointed to the top of the map, which said:

Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs

Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers

are proud to present

THE MARAUDER'S MAP

"This is how we get around the castle without being caught," said George.

"Pay no attention to him, most of that's natural skill," corrected Fred, "but yes, the Map's a huge help. Best aid for sneaking and spying there is."

"We'll lend it to you--"

"--for one day. Maybe two, but then you'll have to pay--"

"--with more than giant canaries. Which is a smashing idea, thanks," said George. "We won't tell you the code to make the map appear--"

"--must keep some of our secrets--"

"--but to hide it, just tap it with your wand and say, 'Mischief managed!' It'll vanish, just like that." George showed Ginny the blank parchment. Then he laid his wand on it and whispered something she couldn't catch; the map snaked back over the parchment in a tangle of ink, welling up from some intangible source.

Ginny suppressed a shudder. The map wasn't like Tom. It didn't think. It wouldn't hurt her -- it hadn't hurt her brothers -- and she needed it. "Thanks," she said, taking the map from George and stuffing it into her bag. "You're the best."

The twins grinned at each other over her head. "Best is the same as favorite, wouldn't you say?"

"Not necessarily," returned George. "Girls can be funny that way -- sometimes they like utter prats better than suave geniuses like ourselves."

"Well?" Fred asked Ginny. "Are we your favorite brothers?"

Ginny grinned back at them, feeling much more cheerful than she had in weeks. "No, Ron's still my favorite. But you're catching up -- you're about even with Bill now -- so keep trying and maybe you'll knock him out of first place sometime before you turn a hundred."

"Stabbed through the heart!" cried Fred, pressing his hand to his chest. "Wounded! Betrayed!"

"Told you so," said George, clapping his hand on Fred's shoulder. "We'll pick up the map tomorrow evening, Ginny. Now come on -- let's get back to the common room before Lee starts hunting us down."

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Ginny decided not to follow Percy that afternoon. Instead, she made a point of blowing her nose repeatedly during dinner and acting listless in the common room. It was dangerously easy -- she'd nearly fallen asleep for real by the time Hermione tapped her shoulder and asked if she felt all right. "I think I'm coming down with a cold," she told Hermione. "I'm going to sleep early."

"If you're still sick tomorrow, take the day off," said Hermione. "If you try to push through you'll only make yourself worse -- you might lose a whole week of classes."

That didn't sound nearly as terrible to Ginny as it apparently did to Hermione, but Ginny made agreeable noises and shuffled off to bed.

Tuesday morning, she stayed in bed with her covers pulled up over her face. Nobody seemed to notice at first, but eventually Susan came over and prodded at her through the blankets. "Gwen and Jia-li already went to breakfast and you're still in bed. Are you sick?"

"Yes," said Ginny, pulling down the covers enough to glare at her. "Go away; I'm sleeping."

"Be that way," snapped Susan. "See if I try to be nice anymore." She stomped off and slammed the door behind her.

"I'll make your excuses to Lockhart and Professor Snape," said Apple, mumbling around a mouthful of hairpins. "You should go see Madam Pomfrey at some point, though, so Professor Snape won't be able to accuse you of shirking." She jabbed several pins into her hair and added, "Besides, I'm sure a draught of Pepperup potion will do you good."

Ginny scowled. "I hate that stuff. It doesn't help anyhow -- she's been making me drink it for weeks, and I still feel awful." Which was entirely her own fault, for being stupid enough to let Tom talk her into doing blood magic, but she couldn't tell that to anyone.

"For weeks? And you're still not better..." Apple hummed thoughtfully as she finished pinning up her braid. "In that case, you should definitely see Madam Pomfrey. You're clearly not well, and if the standard remedies aren't working, either you have a serious disease or something's affecting you magically. I'll tell Professor McGonagall--"

"No!" Ginny scrambled upright, panicked. "Don't tell her! And don't tell my brothers -- don't tell anyone!" Apple frowned, and Ginny scrambled for a plausible excuse. "I'm fine, there's no problem, it's just a bad cold. I don't react well to Pepperup potion, that's all. Mum never uses it at home, only chicken soup and hot tea and Cheering Charms and whatnot, and that works fine. Pepperup just makes me feel hot and itchy. Please don't tell anyone; they'll tell Mum and then I'll never hear the end of it. It's only a cold and not sleeping enough."

Apple's frown deepened, but she shrugged and said, "Fine. If you aren't better in three days, though, I'll tell Madam Pomfrey, Professor McGonagall, and your brother Percy." Ginny winced; Apple nodded in satisfaction. "We understand each other. Now get some rest. I don't like making threats and I'd rather not have to carry through."

How Apple expected her to rest now, Ginny thought grumpily, was beyond comprehension. Fortunately she had no intention of sleeping. Instead, she washed up and dressed as fast as she could, and then crept down to the common room. It was deserted -- everyone was at breakfast or classes -- and she slipped out through the portrait hole.

"You're a bit late, dear," the Fat Lady remarked.

"I'm skipping classes and going to the infirmary," said Ginny. "It's only a cold, so please don't tell my brothers; they'd just worry."

The Fat Lady winked and held a plump finger to her lips. "Cross my heart, dear. It'll be our little secret."

She had quite enough secrets already, Ginny thought as she slipped into an alcove several corridors away and drew out the twins' map. The last thing she needed was more of them. Yet here she was, lying and ending up with nearly twice as much to keep straight and not talk about. She was a horrible person.

It was Tom's fault, but she was still horrible.

She was in luck; Percy wasn't in a lesson yet, and he wasn't in the Great Hall or the library either. Instead, the little black dot with his name was moving steadily along a corridor that led to the Northwest Tower and a whole wing of unused storage rooms. This was perfect. Aside from a collection of dots up at the top of the tower -- a classroom for one of the electives, maybe -- there weren't any other people there, so Percy had no reason to be wandering around that part of the castle.

He was up to something. This time, Ginny was going to find out what.

She hurried through the castle toward the Northwest Tower. Once she ducked down a side corridor to avoid Filch and his mop, and two staircases later she wasted a minute explaining to a Ravenclaw prefect that she'd been in the loo and was late for class, so she didn't have time for a lecture. The prefect took two points instead; normally Ginny would have argued, but she had more important things to worry about at the moment.

Fifteen minutes after she left Gryffindor Tower, Ginny skidded to a breathless halt at the near end of her target corridor. She slipped into the nearest room. It held stacks of rusted cauldrons, piles of tapestries, neatly rolled and tied, and several ranks of unmoving portraits and paintings -- either their spells had worn off, or they were Muggle make and had been taken down in concession to pureblood pride.

Ginny pulled out the map to see if Percy had moved. She was in luck -- he was still in the storage room at the far end of the corridor. And he'd been joined by another person! This dot was labeled 'Penelope Clearwater.' Ginny had never heard of her, which meant she was from another house. Maybe she was a Slytherin, which was why Percy was meeting her in secret. Maybe she knew something about the Heir, or about Tom!

Ginny shoved the map into her bag, sneaked down the corridor, and carefully turned the brass doorknob. Then she peeked into the storage room, wondering what trouble Percy had fallen into. She was ready for anything.

Her mind went blank.

Percy and the girl were kissing.

Percy didn't have the diary. Percy had a girlfriend.

Ginny squeaked and stumbled into the room.

Percy let go of Penelope Clearwater and whirled around. "Ginny? What on earth?"

"Oh God," said Ginny, pointing at him. "You-- Percy-- you-- she... so that's why you're always taking showers and polishing your shoes and wearing cologne and whistling. You've got a girlfriend!"

Percy slammed the door and grabbed Ginny by the shoulders. "Don't you dare tell anyone!" he said, flushing brilliant red around his ears. "If you so much as breathe a word of this to the twins, or to Ron, or even to Mum, I'll..." -- his eyes narrowed, and he looked eerily like one of the twins in a dangerous mood -- "I'll take you to Madam Pomfrey every morning for the next month, I'll tell Professor Sprout you're too ill to participate in her evening Herbology sessions, and I'll send love letters to Harry Potter and sign your name to them."

Ginny nodded in frantic agreement as Percy shook her. "Right, right, I won't tell!"

"Good," said Percy, drawing a deep breath and seeming to regain control of himself. "Now. If you leave this instant, I won't bother asking how you ended up here, or why you've been following me all week -- yes, I noticed. Do we have a deal?"

"Yes," said Ginny. She turned to Penelope Clearwater, who'd been watching with a bemused expression. "Nice to meet you, and I'm sorry about interrupting. Erm. Percy's a prat, but he's a good person anyhow, and he's my brother, so be nice to him or I'll tell everyone you were just toying with him. Then you'll have the twins after you for revenge, and nobody wants that." Warning delivered -- family was family, after all -- she escaped before Percy could lose his temper again.

She didn't stop running until she reached Sir Vladislav's alcove. Then Ginny slumped against his pedestal and tried not choke with stifled laughter.

It was too funny! Percy had a girlfriend. Percy -- her stupid brother Percy -- Percy, who couldn't say five sentences to anyone under fifty without irritating people -- Percy had a girlfriend. She liked him enough to kiss him! They sneaked around in empty rooms like they were star-crossed lovers in a bad Muggle play!

She wished she could tell Tom. He would have had such fun trying to figure out what Penelope Clearwater saw in Percy, and wondering how long she'd be able to put up with him. Ginny could almost hear his whispery voice saying "It seems your brother has hidden depths, Ginevra," or something like that -- and she'd say "They're awfully well hidden, then," -- and he'd say...

Ginny tangled her fingers into her hair and pulled, hard.

"Tom is evil," she told herself. "Tom is not my friend. I don't want to tell him anything, and anyhow, I promised Percy I'd keep quiet."

Her arms and legs felt heavy, and the chill of the stone floor seeped up through her robes. She was tired and all her good humor had drained away.

"Hi, Sir Vladislav," she said to the suit of armor, which was peering down in a concerned fashion. "Don't mind me -- I'm just having a very strange day. I think I'll go see Madam Pomfrey and ask for more tonic."

Sir Vladislav patted her shoulder as she stood. Ginny hugged one of his greaves, gently, and walked away without looking at Myrtle's bathroom or the vivid red message warning people about the Heir.

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Ginny pushed on through the week, somehow managing not to fall asleep in her classes or to tell anyone about Percy and Penelope. That secret was a lot harder to keep than she'd expected -- she'd been keeping secrets all year! -- but this was the sort of secret that was only worth keeping as blackmail. Otherwise it was meant for telling, just to see everybody's reactions.

She really wished she could tell Tom.

She skipped the Thursday evening Herbology session, telling Neville she wasn't quite over her cold. Professor Sprout sent her worried looks on Friday and reminded her that next week she was going to do a special demonstration on hybrid plants. Ginny promised to be there unless she got Petrified.

"Don't joke about that," said Xanthe, shaking a trowel at her. "It's tasteless."

"Sorry," said Ginny. It was funny, though, in a horrible way -- she was the one person safe from Tom, at least until he got out of the diary. Then he'd probably kill her first, because she knew too much.

"Are you sure you're all right?" Xanthe asked as they left the greenhouse that afternoon. "If you want to talk about anything, I'll shut up and listen. You do look pale..."

"If one more person tells me I look pale, I'm going to scream," said Ginny. "Then I'm going to hex people. So drop it."

Xanthe held up her hands. "Don't bite my head off -- I'm just worried about you. Friends look out for each other, you know. Every time I think you're settling down, something sets you off again and it bothers me that I don't know how to help!"

"Sorry," said Ginny, meaning it this time. She tugged on a strand of hair and wondered what she could tell Xanthe without explaining everything. "Erm. I'm not good at making friends, I guess. There's a Slytherin, Daphne Rumluck, who hates me -- it's bad, because all the other Gryffindors think she's dead cool, and her cousin Apple is my roommate and she thinks the fight is my fault. My brothers keep driving me nuts. And... and I was reading a book a while ago, and I found a weird incantation and said it out loud, and I think maybe I cast it on myself by accident -- maybe that's why I'm so tired all the time!"

Ginny clamped her mouth shut before she could say anything more incriminating. That was a pathetic story, but maybe she'd get lucky and Xanthe wouldn't push for details. "Mostly it's just that the other Gryffindors don't like me, or they like Daphne better," she added, trying to redirect Xanthe's attention.

Xanthe had a concentrated expression. "Your housemates are silly if they don't like you. That will blow over -- most things do. But an incantation..." She started unraveling her plait, as if her fingers had to keep moving while her mind raced. "What did it say?"

"It's German -- I don't know," said Ginny.

"Drat. If it were Latin I could translate for you, but I don't know German. Madam Pince must have translation dictionaries, though -- or do you know anyone who knows German?"

"Why?" asked Ginny. "It's probably nothing. I bet I just have a cold, or maybe I'm allergic to something in the castle."

"But you thought the spell might be making you tired, and magic's about feelings as much as logic," Xanthe pointed out. Tangled strands of hair fell into her face, and she looked at them in surprise. "When did my plait come loose?"

"You undid it yourself," said Ginny with a smile. "Maybe you're under a spell!"

"I am not!" said Xanthe. "And if it's not Herbology or Potions, I'm always right, you know!"

"You were wrong about Caroline's grandfather," said Ginny, which effectively distracted Xanthe before she got too close to the truth.

Later, though, Ginny dug through her bag and her dresser, looking for the parchment where she'd written the incantation that linked her to Tom. She couldn't remember why she'd kept it, but it might save her now. If she learned what it really said -- she didn't think it was half as harmless as he'd told her -- maybe she could break the link and keep Tom in the diary. She just had to translate it.

Ginny found the scrap of parchment in her trunk and studied it, the harsh words ringing in her mind.

'Blut zum Blut, Leben zum Leben, Seele zur Seele,

Ohne Kampf komm' ich zu Euch.

Herz zum Herz, Luft zur Luft, Geist zum Geist,

Verwenden Sie mich; ich gehöre Euch.'

It was dark magic, blood magic. She didn't want anyone to see her researching Dark Arts in the library... but she did know someone who spoke German! Ginny stuffed the incantation into her bag, grabbed several loose sheets of parchment, and hurried off to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

Sir Vladislav was posing with his sword drawn this evening, instead of saluting or standing at watchful rest. Ginny wondered how she'd managed to see the suits of armor change positions for months and not realized that they had personalities like the portraits. It seemed so obvious in hindsight.

"Hi, Sir Vladislav!" she said. "Thank you for your help with the Valentine -- things didn't work out, but that's because somebody interfered. Anyhow, has anything interesting happened to you lately?" She held out parchment, ink, and a quill, and waited for Sir Vladislav to sheathe his sword and sit on his pedestal.

"Hello," he wrote. "No thing interessting has happened heer. How are you?"

"Tired, and I think I know why," said Ginny. "You remember when I had an argument with my friend in the diary? And he turned out to be evil? Well, a while before that, when I thought he was a real friend, I cast a spell to let him share a piece of my life and eventually get out of the diary into a real body."

She looked down at her feet. "I think... I think he's still draining me." The words fell through the air like jagged stones, and she scrambled back from their finality. "I don't know, maybe I'm wrong or just going mad, because memories can't do things like that, right? Only nothing else makes sense and it's the sort of thing Tom would do, isn't it? He said he killed a girl before, so he wouldn't mind killing me, right? Even though he spent months saying he was my friend?" She blinked back a mortifying prickle of tears -- why wasn't she past that sort of thing?

Sir Vladislav rested his gauntlet gently on her shoulder.

"Thanks," said Ginny, pulling out a handkerchief and blowing her nose. "Erm. Anyhow, I can't let him get out, but I don't know where the diary is right now, so I can't... can't kill him. All I can do is try to break the spell so he can't use me anymore."

"This sounds danjerus. You shoud tell the professers," Sir Vladislav wrote.

"It wouldn't do any good," said Ginny, flinching over the thought of being expelled for attempted murder. "Anyway, the incantation is in German, so I don't know what it actually says. Will you translate it for me, please?"

Sir Vladislav managed to convey disapproval via the set of his helmet and shoulder-plates, but he held out his hand for the incantation. Then his gauntlet dropped to his sword, as if he wanted to hack something to pieces.

Ginny's heart sank in anticipation while Sir Vladislav scribbled furiously. Her hands shook as she took the parchment and began to read.

"This is an evil spell, from when the Katholiken und die Protestanten miteinander Krieg geführen haben fouht a long war. Sometimes wizards fouht too -- the war happened befor the Decree of Secrets -- and wizards woud take prisoners and brake their minds, their will. This spell ties a prisoner to a wizard, who can read his mind and make him a puppet. It says,

"'Blood to blood, life to life, soul to soul,

With no fite, I come to you.

Heart to heart, breth to breth, mind to mind,

Use me; I belong to you.'

"The old spell sayed 'Ohne Kampf kommst du zu mir,' und 'Ich besitz dich; du gehörst mir,' -- 'You come to me with no fite,' and 'I control you; you belong to me,' -- because the wizard cast it, not the prisoner, but this is the same spell. It is EVIL. I guarded a kastle, and I saw men go mad and kill themselfs when they saw what the wizards had made them to do.

"Tell the professers. They can help."

Ginny dropped the parchment. "I can't tell anyone! I can't. It's all my fault, and they'll hate me, and I'll get sent to Azkaban and I'll die."

"Not your fault," Sir Vladislav wrote on another sheet of parchment. "Remember the spell, which makes you do what the wizard wants you to do. Any evil thing you did is HIS fault. He controlled your mind and made you to do it."

"But Tom said--" Ginny started, and then caught herself. "Wait. I know he's evil. I know he's a liar. So why did I believe him when he said I picked the victims? He picked them, and he made sure they were people I was annoyed with, so if I did find out, I'd feel so guilty I wouldn't realize it was all his fault."

"Yes," wrote Sir Vladislav. "Tom is evil. Tell the professers."

"No. This is my problem -- I got into it because I was stupid, so it's my responsibility to fix things and make sure Tom doesn't hurt anyone else." That was what Harry would do. But she wasn't sure that would convince Sir Vladislav.

"Sometimes honour is not the best anser," Sir Vladislav wrote, but he shrugged with a creak and clash of metal, and clambered back to his feet. He patted Ginny's shoulder and scribbled one last note: "See if the spell is in the librarie. Then maybe you can brake it. If you can not brake it within a week, I will leave my watch and tell the Headmaster."

"Do you think I can break this?" asked Ginny as she picked the fallen parchment from the floor. It sounded awfully strong for a first year to mess around with, and a week wasn't very long at all.

Sir Vladislav nodded.

A week was better than nothing, Ginny decided. "Thank you," she said, hugging Sir Vladislav's greaves. Then she stuffed the parchment into her bag and headed for the library. It looked like she'd be researching Dark Arts anyhow.

It took her all of Friday evening to figure out what she was looking for -- a branch of magic called Legilimency -- and to realize she'd have to get into the Restricted Section to learn anything useful. Ginny shut an encyclopedia with a sigh and headed for Gryffindor Tower. She'd missed dinner, but she didn't think she could eat much anyhow, so that was probably just as well.

She stared thoughtfully at the stairs to the boys' dormitory, wondering if she could dash up and find the diary, but Percy climbed in through the portrait hole and gave her such a fierce look that she decided against it. Besides, she was bone-tired and she had a lot to think about.

If Tom were a Legilimens, he could read her mind. Probably he couldn't do that from inside the diary, or not very well, but the incantation gave him an opening. A Legilimens could put things into people's minds or move in and take over like the Imperius Curse. So she wasn't the one who'd Petrified people -- it was her body but not her will. Tom was the true Heir.

It was still her fault for believing him and giving him that opening, but she didn't feel quite as worthless and filthy as before.

She dreamed about dragons that night. One was green and serpentine; the other was the color of flame and soared on vast wings. They twined around each other, hissing, biting, clawing great wounds in each other's sides, but neither could break free -- an iron chain looped around their necks and bound them together.

The princess watched from the side, silent, waiting.

Dreams were horrible, Ginny thought the next morning. She hadn't sleepwalked, at least, but she was sick of the princess and her dragons. If the princess was supposed to be her, then why didn't the idiot do something instead of standing around like a useless lump?

With a firm resolve to find some way into the Restricted Section and to invent a way to break Tom's spell if one didn't already exist, Ginny set out for the library... after a long detour to watch the Slytherin-Hufflepuff Quidditch match, courtesy of the twins, who thought she ought to be a natural Quidditch fanatic. Slytherin won, surprising nobody, and Ginny slipped away when the twins went off to stalk their rival team.

She was pouring over a history of magical theory when Xanthe sat down at her table. "Earth to Ginny!" said Xanthe, waving her hand between Ginny's face and the book. "We didn't cancel today's study session, you know, just moved it because of the match."

Ginny blinked her eyes back into focus as she shut her book. "Erm. I forgot, sorry. What are we going over today?"

"Yesterday's lesson," said Xanthe, dryly. "But I understood it, for once, so if you're researching your German incantation, let's work on that instead. Have you found anything?"

Ginny shifted the book to the table corner, aligning it perfectly parallel to the edges with a one inch margin on both sides. She couldn't tell Xanthe! She couldn't tell anyone about Tom! But Xanthe already knew something was wrong, and if Ginny clammed up, she'd get suspicious...

"I got it translated, but I can't do much more without books in the Restricted Section. I've been trying to figure out how to sneak in, but all the ideas I think of are stupid."

"That's because sneaking into the Restricted Section is stupid," said Xanthe. "You should get a pass from a professor instead. I bet Lockhart would give you one if you buttered him up a little -- he wouldn't notice an ulterior motive if it bit his nose."

Ginny laughed. "But he's such a smarmy git. I'd get sick if I talked to him long enough to ask him for anything."

"Point." Xanthe chewed on her thumbnail. "I hate to say it, but Professor Sprout likes you. If you tell her you want to research something before her next evening session..." She made a face as if she'd eaten something sour. "I feel dirty for suggesting that."

"But you're right -- it might work," said Ginny, leaning forward. "I do want to read books on hybridization, and some of those are in the Restricted Section -- people can do nasty things with herbs, let alone dangerous plants like Tentaculae -- and if I make sure to do legitimate research while I'm there--"

"Fine, ask her," interrupted Xanthe. "But don't tell me any details -- I don't want to be party to tricks on my head of house. Just, you know, tell me if the incantation is really a problem."

"Don't worry, it's probably nothing," said Ginny. "Anyhow, you may be fine with Herbology, but I want to review syzygy." She pulled out her Astronomy notes and waited until Xanthe started digging through her own bag.

She was grateful for Xanthe's help, but this was her problem. She'd solve it on her own.

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Ginny spent most of Sunday sleeping. It worried her how easy it was to let the hours slip away, but she needed rest so she could think clearly and keep people off her back. Besides, Monday started with Double Potions; she needed to be alert in case Daphne tried anything.

Snape seemed to be feeling merciful, or at least less vicious than usual -- Bitterbind Brew, the day's lesson, was one of Arsenius Jigger's example potions, so its complete ingredients and brewing instructions were in the textbook. None of the ingredients were especially slimy, bad-smelling, or otherwise nasty, so Ginny and Electra split the work more evenly than usual. Electra was good at measuring and chopping, when she wasn't being stuck-up or squeamish. She also unbent enough to talk civilly about Saturday's Quidditch match.

"Malfoy's a toad-licking scumbag," said Ginny as she stirred in the nightshade, "but he's not half bad as a Seeker when Harry's not around. He was horrible in the first match -- if you're going to play Quidditch, you ought to play Quidditch, not blather at the other players."

"Nobody spoke to him for days after we lost to you, which he deserved for missing the Snitch right above his own ear," said Electra with a disparaging sniff. "Still, your point margin wasn't that high, and we crushed Hufflepuff, so depending on how you do against Hufflepuff and we both do against Ravenclaw, we might still win the Quidditch Cup.

"In your dreams," said Ginny, but it came out less sharply than usual and Electra just laughed.

Snape declared all the potions tolerable and handed around large glass bottles for storage. "This will be the base for next week's lesson. If any impurities are left from the initial brewing, or if you're careless about sealing the bottles, the consequences will, quite literally, be on your heads." He sneered.

Ginny and Electra exchanged a longsuffering glance, and took great care pouring the Bitterbind Brew into the bottle -- Electra dug a glass funnel from her supplies, and Ginny cast a Sticking Charm on her gloves before picking up the cauldron.

Behind them, Daphne snickered. "Oooh, so scared. Afraid I'll do something to your precious potion, Weasley?"

"Daphne, shut it," snapped Electra, before Ginny could say anything. "I don't care what you do to Weasley out of class, but in here, back off! I'm sick of Professor Snape marking me down because of your stupid fight." She jammed the stopper into the bottle, scribbled 'Summers-Weasley' on the label, and marched off to the storage cupboard.

Daphne glared at Electra's back, one hand curled around her wand and the other pressed flat on her worktable. Ruth, her partner, hovered worriedly nearby.

"Well?" said Ginny, setting down the cauldron and unsticking her gloves. "I'll call truce in class if you will."

Daphne snapped around and stared at her. Then, grudgingly, she nodded. "But only here! I haven't forgiven you, not until you apologize. I'm going to make you grovel."

Ginny slouched in her seat and smirked. "You can try. But not even my brothers can make me apologize for things that are my fault. I don't think you'll have any luck making me apologize for something that isn't."

Daphne's answering smile was sharp and bright and jarred with her round, pleasant face. "I'll take that bet. You can ask Apple how many times I've lost." Then she grabbed Ruth's arm and strode out of the classroom.

"The answer, by the way," said Apple from behind Ginny's shoulder, "is six bets, out of at least a hundred that I know of. Daphne only bets on sure things, or things she can make sure. And I think, in retrospect, that you two are both at fault for your fight -- Quidditch isn't a solo game, as they say -- so your analysis of the situation is flawed. Besides, you'd get along like a house on fire if you just stopped being idiots for a moment."

"Oh, dry up," said Ginny, leaning down to grab her bag. "There's no way I could be friends with Daphne."

Apple raised an eyebrow. "Really. Then I was simply imagining our ride into Hogwarts last autumn? You seemed friendly to me."

"That was different," Ginny protested, not quite able to meet Apple's eyes. "Anyhow, I'm going to lunch, so stop bothering me."

"For now," agreed Apple, standing aside.

Ginny hurried from the room.

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On Tuesday, she made a pointed effort to act cheerful and awake in Herbology. Xanthe didn't seem to believe the change; she mimed reading a book, and pointed toward Professor Sprout with a guilty expression. Ginny nodded.

After class, she sidled up to Professor Sprout's desk and cleared her throat. "Erm."

"I'm glad you're feeling better," said Sprout, beaming at her. "Can I do anything for you?"

"It's about hybrid plants," said Ginny, tugging on a loose strand of hair. She wrenched her eyes away from the patch of clover behind Sprout's shoulder and met the professor's eyes, trying to seem trustworthy. "See, I'm really interested in them, and I want to do extra reading, but a lot of the books are in the Restricted Section..." She trailed off meaningfully.

Sprout looked delighted. "Extra research on hybrids? That's wonderful! It's been ages since I had a student more interested in crossbreeding than in applications or enhancements. I'll write you a pass; if Madam Pince complains, send her to me." She fished a sheet of parchment from a drawer, tore it in half, and wrote out a pass -- it gave Ginny full access to the Restricted Section for the rest of the week.

Ginny felt like scum.

"Thanks, Professor!" she said, forcing a cheerful tone. "Do you want me to bring any books on Thursday?"

"No, I'm only reviewing the basics and some recent professional papers, but thank you for asking," said Professor Sprout. "I'll do my best to keep the session interesting!"

Ginny smiled, and fled.

After Charms, she avoided Apple and slipped off to the library, not even bothering with lunch. Madam Pince examined her pass with a gimlet eye, but eventually took down one of the plush sashes that marked off the Restricted Section from the rest of the library. "There are reading tables by the wall," she said. "Don't take any of the books past this line or the alarms will sound. Leave them on the cart when you're done and don't reshelve anything yourself -- nobody will ever be able to find anything if you muddle the system."

Madam Pince, decided Ginny, was nearly as much of a killjoy as Snape. She knew perfectly well how to shelve books -- it was all down to the codes on the spine and knowing how to count and say the alphabet in order. Besides, if she left anything other than Herbology books in the cart, it would look suspicious.

She found the reading tables -- empty, except for two seventh year Ravenclaws -- and then checked the guide on the wall to find the Legilimency section. In a stroke of luck, the Herbology section was down the same aisle, right across from the Legilimency books. If anyone looked for her, it would be easy to turn and pretend to be doing legitimate work.

Ginny trailed her finger along the shelves, skimming the titles. There weren't many -- Legilimency wasn't a popular or easy branch of magic -- but... A History of Legilimantic Abuses, by Margaret Lawson, looked promising. And Coercion: A Study of Legilimency on Willing and Unwilling Subjects, by Justinian Falter. And Blurring Boundaries: The Sister Disciplines of Legilimency and Occlumency, by Sophia Greyjoy.

Ginny pulled the three books from the shelf and sat on the carpet, leaning against the Herbology section. She started with Lawson.

Several hours later, she had an aching back, an unsettled stomach, and a swarm of questions and recriminations flying inside her head.

Legilimency wasn't necessarily a Dark Art, but it was grey at best, and it tipped over the line if you sneezed the wrong way. Some people had a degree of natural defense -- the very dim or scattered were hard to read, and the very stubborn or repressed were often hard to influence -- but a skilled Legilimens could overcome those obstacles. And if the victim agreed to the connection, natural defenses became irrelevant.

She'd let Tom in. She'd practically handed him her soul in gift-wrapping.

The two bright spots were that she hadn't understood what she was doing, which meant that if an invitation was like opening a mental door and welcoming Tom in, she'd only opened hers halfway... and that he was still stuck in the diary, so he couldn't make full use of her invitation. It was like he'd stuck a hand in through the doorway, but couldn't get all the way inside.

Only death or the Legilimens could break a Legilimantic connection. Tom wouldn't let her go. And Ginny didn't know where Harry had put the diary, so destroying it -- killing Tom -- was out of the question right now.

Even if she couldn't break the link, a skilled Occlumens could theoretically pinch a link down to almost nothing -- it would be like slamming the door so Tom's fingers were caught in the frame. He'd still be in her mind, just a little, but he wouldn't be able to do anything.

She just needed to learn a complicated and obscure branch of magic well enough to beat a master of its sister branch, in less than a week.

It was impossible.

But so what! She was a Gryffindor; she had to at least try.

She also needed to read about hybridization. Ginny made a sour face. She really was interested in hybrid plants, but reading about crossbreeding now felt like cheating. It was cheating; it was only a cover for her stupid, unforgivable mistake in ever trusting Tom. But she needed results to show Professor Sprout on Thursday. She couldn't leave loose ends or people would figure out everything.

The more she tried to fight Tom, the more things she had to hide. Something was very wrong about that. But it was her fault that he'd Petrified people, so stopping him was her responsibility. She wasn't much use as a hero, not like Harry, but at least she was trying.

Ginny closed her eyes and cleared her thoughts until her mind was filled with nothing but blackness. She pictured a string running from herself to Tom. She imagined scissors cutting through it. She pictured an open door and slammed it.

When she opened her eyes, nothing had changed. She didn't feel the faint tingle of a finished spell, and she was as tired as ever.

Ginny pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, refusing to give in to tears.

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Thursday evening, she stuck her notes on hybridization into her bag and hurried down to the greenhouses. The other first and second years were already sitting together at a table -- Ginny squeezed in next to Neville, on the opposite end of the table from Ruth. Queenie Greengrass smirked over Neville's head as Ginny set her bag on the table, but she didn't say anything out loud.

"Hello everyone!" Sprout said as she bustled in a minute later, trailing a string of floating pots behind her. Their contents were a mixture of everyday herbs and flowers, and some of the oddest plants Ginny had ever seen.

"The one thing these plants have in common," Professor Sprout said, arranging the pots on her desk, "beyond simply being plants, of course, is that they're magically created hybrids. Some of them were so useful or popular that only specialists remember their origins." She pointed to the Flannery's shamrock with its golden, coin-shaped flowers. "Others are a bit more outlandish." The Tentacula Rose waved its thorny tendrils as if in agreement.

"Tonight we're going to discuss the history and purposes of hybridization, as well as several of the more popular methods. Then we'll start a project that should last the next several weeks -- creating your own crossbreeds." Professor Sprout beamed at the students, and then launched into the body of her lecture.

After half an hour, Professor Sprout asked them to pair off for the main project. Ginny grabbed hold of Neville's hand before Queenie could steal him and leave her partnered with Ruth. Neville shifted awkwardly in his seat. "Erm. Professor Sprout says it's a good idea to get to know people outside of our houses. Maybe you should work with Queenie tonight?"

Ginny already spent quite enough time working with Slytherins during Potions. Neville was a bit of a wet blanket, but at least he was a Gryffindor. "No. I don't like her."

"She's nice to me," said Neville, but he didn't argue further.

Professor Sprout had laid out a wide variety of plants for their use. Left to her own devices, Ginny would have chosen the Venomous Tentacula -- she liked plants with personality, especially ones other people thought were creepy or dangerous -- but that probably wouldn't go over well with Neville. She chose dittany instead. Neville hovered indecisively before hoisting a giant sunflower into his arms. "I think shrinking the flower so it's proportionate to dittany stems and leaves will be interesting," he said as he settled the sunflower's pot onto the floor next to a table.

They spent the rest of the evening deciding which characteristics they wanted to emphasize in their crossbreed. That was the other reason Ginny liked working with Neville -- he didn't rush into things or see the world upside-down and inside-out, the way Queenie and Ruth did. When it came to Herbology, she and Neville thought the same way.

She said as much when they stored their plants in a corner and put their cloaks on an hour later. "I like that. We get a lot more done than if we argued all the time." She lit her wand and opened the greenhouse door.

Neville shuffled his feet. "Maybe. But sometimes you have to work with people who don't agree with you. It's a good thing! If you make a mistake, you need somebody to stand up and tell you that you're wrong. I think that's why Professor Sprout likes us to partner outside our houses -- it's too easy to stick up for housemates and stop asking questions."

"But we're not making mistakes," said Ginny, letting the door swing shut. "And sometimes people disagree with you because they're wrong, or because they don't like you, not because you're making mistakes. Besides, we're Gryffindors. If something goes wrong, we fix it instead of pretending everything is all right."

"Maybe," said Neville, but he sounded doubtful. "We should get back to the castle."

They walked back to the common room in silence. Ginny gnawed over Neville's words -- what right did he have to lecture her, when he wasn't a professor, a prefect, or one of her brothers? -- and fumed. She was not going to work with Slytherins just because they might notice a mistake before she did. Maybe Electra wasn't as bad as she'd thought, and maybe Daphne might actually honor their truce, but she wouldn't bet money on either of those.

Slytherin was Tom's house. She didn't trust them an inch.

"I'm sorry I made you angry," Neville said when they reached the entrance, turning so his voice wouldn't carry to the Fat Lady. "It's just -- you're smart and nice and pretty -- you're good at all sorts of things, not like me -- and you shouldn't shut yourself up and try to make everyone hate you. You could have lots of friends." At Ginny's blank stare, he flushed, mumbled the password, and fled across the common room to the boys' dormitory.

"I don't try to make people hate me," Ginny said. "Why would I do that?" She wanted to make friends. She wanted to fix things.

"I'm sure I don't know, dear," said the Fat Lady, "but would you mind either going in or letting me swing shut? I'm a bit squished against the wall."

"Sorry." Ginny scrambled through the portrait hole and hurried up to her room, feeling out of sorts. It wasn't even her room, not really -- not with four other girls sharing the space, casting her curious glances as she changed into her nightdress -- but she pulled the curtains around her bed and pretended she was alone.

She missed the Burrow. Last summer, she hadn't felt out of place. Her family had paid attention to her instead of forgetting that she existed. Her friends had been real friends, not evil, lying traitors. Her mind had been her own.

She wanted to go back to when her life had made sense.

Ginny closed her eyes.

This time, instead of trying to clear her thoughts, she pictured her bedroom at the Burrow. She imagined the mirror on her closet door, the secondhand dresser with its uneven feet, the patchwork quilt on her bed, the stuffed dragon on her pillow, the flowerbox in her window, the family pictures on the walls, afternoon sunlight slanting across the wooden floor -- her own room, her place, the heart of her world. She didn't even have to imagine a string tying her to Tom; it snapped into the picture of its own accord, one end wrapped around her wrist, the other running through the open door. It pulsed like a heartbeat, exactly in time with her own.

Ginny grabbed a pair of scissors and tried to cut the string; it refused to fray or snap. She tried to untie it; her fingers slipped off the knot. She bent her head and tried to bite through the string; it filled her mouth with blood -- her heart stuttered and raced -- and she spat it out.

She sat for a minute, recovering her breath, staring at darkness outside her room, visible through the half-open doorway. Somewhere out there, Tom was waiting. He was laughing at her.

He could go to hell.

In the room at the heart of her mind, Ginny stood and walked to the door. Each step was harder than the last, pushing against the weight of Tom's magic, feeling the hooks of his thoughts tear into her will. She refused to fall down. She refused to stop. Gryffindors didn't give up.

"You think you're going to win," she whispered as she leaned against the doorframe of her mind. "Maybe you've always won before, but this time, you're wrong."

In her mind's eye, Ginny reached out and slammed the door.

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End of Chapter Eleven

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