Erised

Erised

The black diary was on her bedside table when Ginny ripped the hangings around her bed apart. It sat unblinking, awash in the moonlight and a breeze tore its way in through the open window.

She walked to the window and pulled it down and just as the latch clicked, she saw her arms. Goosebumps broke out underneath the blood.

Stifling a scream, she stepped away from the window and ran towards the Girls' Bathrooms.

~~

The fire was still crackling in the grate when she made her way down to the Common Room later. The pouffe was comfortingly soft when she sat down, and the warmth from the fire eased her panic a little.

Had she killed someone? Killed something?

For months now, she had been waking up in the same way, sweaty and uncomfortable and unable to remember anything of what she had done in the past few hours.

Today- well yesterday, she supposed; the clock read one o'clock- had started like any other. She had gotten up, brushed, showered, skipped breakfast, attended classes and in the evening, dinner.

Things got a bit sketchy after that. She remembered attempting the impossible essay Snape had set on Bezoars, and going up to the dormitories. To write in her diary while nobody was around...

Maybe she had fallen asleep while writing in it. No. No that was impossible, because the diary was on the table when she had woken up. And it didn't explain the blood. All up to her elbows and giving off a sickening coppery smell.

She took a ragged breath.

It had gone under her nails. She looked at them now. There wasn't a trace of red but she rubbed them, nevertheless, against the manchester of her bathrobe. The feeling of unclean rose inside her and she gasped for air-

A snore broke through the silence. Ginny sat up and looked around wildly. Someone was here in the common room, with her.

There was deep breathing coming from the sofa a little way from her. She got up and cautiously moved closer.

An unmistakeable head of black hair greeted her. Harry. He had fallen asleep with his glasses on.

It was a little desperate, but the sight of him comforted her. She sat down with her back to the fire and watched him sleep.

He was pure and beautiful with the firelight dancing on his face. But when she looked closer, there were dark rings under his eyes. He was exhausted.

She had heard people talking about the Parseltongue thing. It was a bit freaky, but the more Ginny thought about it, the more it made sense. Maybe, when he tried to kill Harry, Voldemort hadn't just given him a scar. Maybe he had unwittingly transferred some of his powers to him in the process.

And people were calling him the Heir of Slytherin. The Heir who would purify Hogwarts of muggle- borns. She could imagine how that must torture Harry, to be blamed for attacking Hermione, for landing his own best friend in the Hospital Wing. She knew better than anyone else that he visited Hermione nearly everyday.

And they were still shunning him and he was doing nothing about it. They were too thick to know that Harry was noble and good and he meant nobody harm.

He wasn't the Heir of Slytherin. He was too good to be it.

Which meant someone out there was. Someone out there was controlling the Basilisk and setting it on muggle- borns, just like Tom had said happened fifty years ago and Ginny was taking refuge in the fact that she was a pureblood.

She was struggling with herself. Did it make her a bad person if she took comfort in that? What would Harry say if he knew she thought that? What would Hermione say? Ginny sniffled and wiped her nose on her sleeve. And what was she supposed to do about the blood on her hands?

Harry gave another light snore and stirred slightly. Ginny got up as quietly as she could. It would be more than embarrassing to be caught watching him sleeping so soon after the Valentines Day card. And by Harry himself.

Feeling calmer than she had in days, Ginny slowly made her way up to the Dormitories and when she had crossed the balcony to stand in front of her room, she looked down.

There was a bit of black hair just visible on the armrest and an arm hanging over the side. She felt a bit like Juliet, except with Romeo unaware and sleeping on a couch in their common room. Shaking her head, she turned around and opened her door.

The window was closed but she could see the moon through it. Her diary sat in the same position, closed and glowing silver and when she sat down on her bed, she saw bloody fingerprints on the gold embroidery of her hangings.