Exams approached. Ginny stopped her Patronus practice and threw herself into studying. Luna was a great study partner about sixty percent of the time, and horribly distracting the other forty, but Cyrus was always on task so it balanced out.
The only hitch was when Astor plunked Hogwarts, A History down on the table as she arrived to study, in mid-May. “Forty-two,” she said.
Ginny and Xander blinked at her. “What?” Ginny said.
“That’s how many times someone’s been re-Sorted in Hogwarts history,” Astor said. “Forty-two. There’s precedent.”
“Astor,” Xander said slowly. “Are you really saying what I think you’re…”
“I’m a Gryffindor,” Ginny said, even though the voice and the cold feeling in her stomach were both saying otherwise. “I don’t want to—I can’t change houses!”
“Don’t want to?” Astor said determinedly. “Or can’t?”
Xander rubbed his nose. “Astor, if she doesn’t want to—”
“Do you not want to because you like being a Gryffindor?” Astor said. “Or is it because you’re afraid what your family would think, afraid of being one of us?”
“I am a Gryffindor,” she repeated. Even though she might have meant to say Weasley. Ginny’s head hurt and she was so afraid her hands wanted to tremble. She made them into fists instead.
“Yeah,” Astor said, “you have a lot of Gryffindor traits. You’re brave. You’ve got your principles. But you know what I think?” She leaned forward, intent. “I think just ‘cause you have one house’s traits doesn’t mean that’s the only place you can go. I almost went to Hufflepuff. Neville is the most Hufflepuff Gryffindor ever. Cyrus could’ve been in Ravenclaw. You’re clever and pragmatic. You don’t actually care that much about people who aren’t your friends. The only thing missing is ambition… and I’m not convinced you don’t have that.”
Xander looked between them. “Ginny, did the Sorting Hat consider putting you anywhere else? If you don’t want to talk about this you don’t have to, but—I’d like to know, if you’re willing to share.”
His eyes were round and honest. Ginny had spent more than half her time in Slytherin this year and she knew that degree of honesty was one of the most valuable gifts one Slytherin could give another. She knew it, because she fit right in in Slytherin—took to it weirdly easily, all things considered.
She remembered sitting down and putting the Hat on her head, its brim slipping over her eyes. A little voice in her head saying well, well, another Weasley, and how bloody angry she got because she wasn’t just another Weasley. Ginny remembered aching with how badly she wanted to prove herself, to do something great and be remembered, be seen for herself instead of her family and her six brothers, and the Hat’s surprised oh, my, you are a delight, resourceful, bold, determined… not a Hufflepuff, that’s for certain, nor a Ravenclaw…
When she realized where it was considering putting her, all her blood ran cold. Weasleys went to Gryffindor. Always. Both her parents, all her grandparents, all her brothers.
You’d do fine in Gryffindor, with that daring and spine, it admitted. But you would thrive just as much or more so in Salazar’s house.
Not. Slytherin.
Even now she could feel the horror, the—shame. Except now she was ashamed both at the idea that she could be a Slytherin, and ashamed of not wanting to be a Slytherin, because her best friends were snakes and it just felt disloyal.
Just. Her family would be so—
“No,” she said, and before Madam Pince could yell at her for being too loud she’d shoved back her chair and run.
Astor found her that night. “I’m sorry I pushed so hard,” she said quietly. “I just—I want you to be happy and it seems like you’re happier with us.”
“I am,” Ginny said. “I just…”
“It’s fine.” Astor covered Ginny’s hand with her own. “I get it.”
“Ron still hates that I’m friends with you guys,” Ginny whispered, staring at her lap. Everyone said she was brave, but was she really? If she let fear be the reason she—avoided this, ignored the Sorting Hat’s words, kept pretending to be a Gryffindor?
Being brave was a Gryffindor thing but if she was brave now she might end up in Slytherin. Ginny’s head hurt.
“You could just make your own house,” Luna suggested.
Astor and Ginny jumped. “How do you sneak around like that?” Astor complained. “You’re like a ghost.”
Luna smiled and sat down across from them. With exams approaching, the common room was full of students, but those who wanted quiet workspaces had activated the Silencing Stones set in every Slytherin table and chair to block out the noise. Study groups and debates and Exploding Snap games that people hadn’t silenced drowned out their conversation. “If you don’t want to be noticed, people won’t,” Luna said. “It’s easy once you’ve the trick of it. Did you know that lions are actually really cowardly?”
“I… didn’t,” Ginny said.
“Tigers are a lot braver,” Luna said. “Majestic. I’ve always thought it made more sense to have a tiger be Gryffindor’s animal… but there’s some speculation that the house animals are the Animagus forms or Patronus shapes of the founders, so Gryffindor couldn’t very well choose something else. And of course so many people think Ravenclaw’s animal was an actual raven, and it was changed into an eagle for the sake of image somewhere along the line.”
“Fascinating,” Astor said.
Luna nodded. “Yes, especially when you think that none of the house animals is magical, which seems a little odd for a magical school.”
“What do you think?” Astor said.
“I think imagery is powerful,” Luna said. “But it’s silly to reduce a whole house to just one animal or set of traits, isn’t it? A bit limiting. We get too stuck on houses sometimes.” She considered. “Perhaps we ought to organize people by their Refraxall magical index… hm.”
As she dug out books, Astor turned back to Ginny. “She’s gone down a Luna well,” Astor said with a fond smile. “Did you want to say something?”
“No,” Ginny said slowly, still looking at Luna flip through a complicated arithmancy book. “No, I’m… good.”
Should I get re-Sorted?
If you want to.
You’re me. You should know.
What do you value more? Bravery, and doing the right thing, or being clever and ambitious? What do you want most?
Why does this have to be complicated?
It’s not as if the entire magical population can be easily sorted into one of four boxes. It’d be weird if your house was the only one that fit. Usually it’s just the best fit.
I don’t want to just be the youngest Weasley or the girl Weasley anymore. Even before…
Are you only considering Slytherin to stand out more?
No. I want to—be great. Be someone. Important for who I am. And I’ve always been clever.
Or cunning?
…I guess.
It’s not a bad thing to be selfish. Selfishness is natural. You’re also very brave, like Astor pointed out.
Brave enough to do this?
Merlin was a Slytherin. Do you really think the greatest wizard in history wasn’t brave?
No. But then—how much of this is me and how much is…
Does it really matter?
Of course it matters! Why would it not?!
Like it or not, this is how you are now. You were possessed. You’ve changed, like anyone would after something traumatic. You’re still Ginny Weasley, and if you’d be happier and have more opportunities in Slytherin, who cares why? The Hat considered you in Slytherin before you were possessed, anyway.
I guess that makes sense.
It’s your decision. And maybe you put the Hat on and it decides your bravery in asking for a re-Sort makes you a Gryffindor after all, and keeps you where you are. Doesn’t mean you can’t be friends with Slytherins.
I’m totally crazy. Like, actually insane. I’m talking about my future with a voice my subconscious cooked up to cope with being possessed for almost a year.
Good thing it’s such a nice, helpful voice.
She didn’t tell anyone except Luna. “Astor would be all smug, and Xander would try to talk about it, and Cyrus would—do that thing where he doesn’t say anything but you can tell he has an opinion,” Ginny said when Luna asked why. “It probably won’t happen until next year, anyway. I have to convince Mum and McGonagall and Snape. They might not let me.”
“They will,” Luna said dreamily. “It won’t be difficult. How do you plan to convince them?”
Ginny laid back on the lawn. Exams started tomorrow and they should be studying, but it was a beautiful June day and she’d been studying for weeks. Also, Luna was brilliant. They could take a break. “I’ll say… I started writing in the diary before the Sorting, and I don’t know if it was really me at that point, and I’ve made such good friends in Slytherin, and I don’t feel welcome in Gryffindor anymore… et cetera.”
“Clever,” Luna said. “You would be a good snake. Or a tiger, I suppose. Not a lion.”
“Did the Hat consider putting you anywhere other than Ravenclaw? I think I remember your Sorting took a while.”
Luna laughed. A grass sprite poked its head out of the uncut lawn by their toes, looked at her, and vanished again. “It said my mind was slippery, but once it got an idea of me, no. I didn’t really think I’d go anywhere else to begin with.”
“No, I can’t see you anywhere else,” Ginny agreed. “Do you think Hermione belonged in Ravenclaw? Like some people think?”
“No.” Luna wrinkled her nose. “We like open minds and dialogue. She’s… far too convinced she’s always right. And of course, we know there’s more knowledge than can be found in books.”
“Like crumple-horned snorkacks,” Ginny said.
“Mhm.”
“I’m meeting Snape this afternoon.”
Luna deposited a buttercup on Ginny’s forehead. “Good luck.”
The buttercup was hidden in Ginny’s pocket when she went to Snape’s office and asked him about switching houses. He watched her with unreadable black eyes. Don’t fidget, the voice advised, you’ll look nervous, and she waited impatiently while he made up his mind.
“The Sorting Hat may have spotted any… outside influences when you were first Sorted, if they were strong enough to affect your Sorting by that point,” Snape said.
“But maybe it was too subtle,” Ginny said. The voice floated her a wordless idea and she scuffed one foot and bit her lip. “And… I just… most of my memories from last year are—skewed. I don’t know what’s me and what’s not and—I can’t spend the rest of Hogwarts not being sure I’m in the right House.”
Snape sighed through his nose. “I suppose that’s not entirely unjustified. Very well. Should my opinion be sought on the matter of you being re-Sorted, I will advise that they allow it.”
“Thank you, Professor,” Ginny said, and meant it.
Flitwick was so distracted he agreed after about five seconds flat, and Sprout caved almost instantly when Ginny played the I don’t fit in in Gryffindor, I don’t think they accept me card.
She saved McGonagall for last, right after exams.
“Professor?”
McGonagall glanced up from a stack of tests. “Good afternoon, Miss Weasley. What can I do for you?”
Ginny took a deep breath and perched on a seat across the desk. “I… well, it’s just that… this year has been really hard for me… after everything. Like… remembering what’s me and what—wasn’t.”
“Of course,” McGonagall said, expression softening. “It would be surprising if you didn’t have to process what happened. Do you need to talk about anything?”
“Kind of.” Ginny’s hands twisted together in her lap. It was only partly calculated. “I… started writing in the diary before coming to school,” she whispered. “Weeks before, really. The whole first year was—impacted by him.” Dark hair and blue eyes, secrets and whispers and lies— “I don’t even know if my Sorting was me or him.”
McGonagall sat back in her chair. Her lips thinned, but she didn’t look unhappy. “I see. You are… requesting a re-Sorting?”
“Yes.” Ginny looked up, pleading. “There’s been almost fifty times someone got re-Sorted, for a bunch of reasons, and… I just don’t feel accepted in Gryffindor because I didn’t make any friends first year, and I don’t know if I’m really a Gryffindor at all or if it was—a mistake. It would be easier if I—if I was sure.”
“It’s always difficult for those students whose friends are in other Houses,” McGonagall said with a sigh. “I had hoped you would readjust this year… are you sure this is what you want?”
Ginny swallowed. She hadn’t expected McGonagall to be this—understanding. “Yes.”
“It is independent of your parents’ wishes,” McGonagall said. “When Hogwarts was founded, children were expected to mature more quickly than they do now, and eleven was the age at which they were granted a certain degree of independence along with magical maturity. It is in the Hogwarts Charter that Sorting is entirely outside of parental jurisdiction. Going forward is your choice, but barring concerns about your personal safety, they’ll be notified if your House changes.”
“I’m sure,” Ginny said. “I… need to do this.”
McGonagall nodded briskly. “Have you spoken with the other Heads of House?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll make the arrangements with the Headmaster, then. We can have your re-Sorting most likely on the last day of term. And, Miss Weasley… whether or not you remain in Gryffindor, my office is always open.”
“Thank you, Professor,” Ginny said. Her eyes burned and she blinked a few times.
The voice spoke up as she left the office. Surprising. It appears her attempts to redirect you to Gryffindor were well-meaning.
I’m glad, Ginny replied. I like her. And if she’s in support, it’ll help with my parents and Dumbledore.
He’s almost definitely not going to take this well.
The news that Lupin was a werewolf hit the school on the same day as Ginny’s re-Sorting. Calla told her in the dorm when all four Gryffindor second-years were getting ready to go get breakfast.
“So?” Ginny said. “He was still a good teacher.”
Calla sniffed at her. “He’s a monster.”
“He’s a man with a problem.”
“You just don’t get it,” Kristen snapped, dragging Calla away.
Ginny rubbed her forehead.
Somehow it didn’t surprise her to learn that Harry, Hermione, and Ron had spent the night in the hospital wing. Ron had a broken leg and Harry had had some kind of scrape with the dementors and Sirius Black. Snape was in the kind of mood that made even his Slytherins shy away from him, the Gryffindors were alight with rumors about their beloved Boy Who Lived’s latest adventure, and Ginny couldn’t help a bright hot bloom of resentment. Everything he did—they did—overshadowed the whole rest of the school. And then there was Ron, tagging along, pretending to be more important than he was. She saw how he treated Hermione all the time, different from how he treated Ginny but it was all just dismissal in the end.
They got around to her re-Sorting after lunch. Ginny still hadn’t told anyone aside from Luna. If she stayed in Gryffindor, she didn’t want Astor and Xander and Cyrus to be disappointed; she’d just tell them she was re-Sorted and the hat left her in Gryffindor. And if she ended up in Slytherin, she’d rather not have it be a bigger deal than it had to be.
“You’re sure of this, Miss Weasley?” Dumbledore said for the fifth time, counting the four variations on that question when he and McGonagall talked about it a few days ago. “We’re making allowances for the circumstances, of course, but it is no small matter…”
“I know,” Ginny said. Her hands were open at her sides but they’d be fists if she wasn’t thinking about it. “I’m sure.”
I’m brave, was what she meant. Bravery mattered. Maybe not the most, but it did, and Ginny would believe that no matter what house she ended up in today. The bravery to take risks and do the hard thing, in pursuit of what you wanted or what was right or what was necessary.
“Very well.” Dumbledore’s voice was solemn. Ginny kind of wanted to stare around the office; she’d never been in Dumbledore’s domain before and it felt like a sacred place. But she couldn't look anywhere other than the Sorting Hat as he took it down off a shelf and held it to McGonagall.
Ginny sat down on a chair and closed her eyes before McGonagall put it on her head.
Her secret lived in the corners of her smile when Ginny went down to dinner. Because she wanted to tell them she’d done it, she went to the Slytherin table instead of the Gryffindor one.
None of the Gryffindors noticed.
Figures, the voice said. Blind idiots wouldn’t notice a singing kneazle wearing light-up robes. They didn’t even catch Black when he broke into their tower.
Ginny smirked and sat down with her friends, minus Luna.
“Ooooh, I feel special,” Xander said, handing her a platter of salmon. “The lady graces us with her presence at dinner, how rare.”
“It’s the end of term,” Ginny said. “Special occasion.”
“Sitting with the Slytherins at the End of Term Feast?” Astor said, eyes sharp. “Bold of you.”
Ginny shrugged, spooning pea salad onto her plate. “I’m generally bold, yeah.”
“Haven’t seen you since we got exams back this afternoon,” Cyrus said. “How did you do?”
“Topped the year in Defense,” she said proudly. “Os and Es in everything else. You?”
Cyrus had all Os, predictably, and he came out on top of their year in Potions. Xander had mostly Es with an A in History, and Astor Es with an A in Herbology and O in Charms. “We’re golden,” Xander said, raising a mock toast.
“Back it up a bit,” Astor said, eyes on Ginny. “Is there a special occasion?”
She ate a bite of pork, chewed, swallowed. “Yeah. I got re-Sorted today.”
“What!”
Cyrus stabbed Xander’s hand lightly with his fork. “Keep it down,” he hissed.
Xander glanced up the table with a self-deprecating smile to turn the older Slytherins’ subtle attention away from them. “Sorry,” he said quietly.
“Congratulations,” Astor said with a grin. “Can I guess?”
“Have at it,” Ginny said.
Astor turned Ginny’s tie green.
Ginny laughed. “In one.”
“Yes!” Astor said, quieter but no less enthusiastically than Xander from a second ago. The boys’ eyes were both wide as saucers. “Oooh, this is awesome, now you get to spend every night with us—I mean, I wouldn’t have been any less your friend if you stayed in Gryffindor, but yes!”
“Congratulations,” Cyrus said with a thin smile.
Xander recovered his voice. “You—actually—huh. Okay. Didn’t think you’d really do it, to be honest. Welcome to the House of Serpents.” He smiled and Ginny was reminded that even though he was the nicest of their group in a lot of ways, he was also usually the one to suggest they go pull some prank or get a bit of petty revenge.
She smiled back like she did when Fred and George were pressing at her. “I think I’ll fit right in, don’t you?”
“Oh,” Cyrus said, glancing at the Gryffindor table, “absolutely.”
Luna wasn’t surprised.
Telling her family was the worst part.
Ginny started with Dad, because she always knew he’d be the easiest to talk to about it. He blinked in vague bewilderment, heard her out, and offered support because he couldn’t totally understand what was going through her head but wanted her to be happy.
His usual response to someone being decisive, the voice sneered. Ginny reprimanded it (herself) (probably) for the thought, but it was halfhearted.
Mum was harder. “I… we had a re-Sort,” Ginny said, hands open on the table. “Because—of the diary. I started writing in it before school started and—we weren’t sure if… and I mean me and Professor McGonagall and the other Heads—we didn’t know if my Sorting was influenced by… it at all.”
“That’s nice, dear,” Mum said, not even looking up from dinner. It was their first night back, the boys were unpacking, Dad was worrying his wedding ring off to one side, and Mum wanted a nice big dinner for the whole family to share.
Ginny gritted her teeth. “The Hat didn’t put me back in Gryffindor.”
Mum looked up at that, almost sending a whole fish flying across the kitchen. “It—didn’t? Well. I suppose—I’m very sorry, dear, I didn’t even consider that last year might have—are you all right?”
“Yeah,” Ginny said. Why is it the end of the world to not be in Gryffindor? Like three quarters of the students there are worthless because they’re not in the noble lion house, the voice grumbled. “I’m fine, I wanted the re-Sort. I couldn’t—I couldn’t stand not knowing.”
“Of course not.” Mum bustled over and wrapped her in a one-armed hug. Ginny closed her eyes and breathed in her flour-earth-and-fresh-air scent, fighting a bizarre sense of finality. She was twelve. No way was this the last time she’d ever hug her mother. “Goodness, I didn’t even know re-Sorting a student was possible! You must be the first Weasley out of Gryffindor in, what, generations? Arthur?”
“It’s been a lot,” Dad said. “I don’t remember exactly… Cedrella was a Slytherin, my grandmother, but she married in, she was a Black originally and they’re nearly all Slytherins…”
Maybe that’s where you got it from.
“So what house are you in now?” Mum said. “I’ll need to knit you a new scarf now—”
“Slytherin,” Ginny blurted. “I’m in Slytherin.”
This time, Mum actually did launch the fish across the kitchen. Ginny and Dad reacted at the same time. It was her spell that caught the fish and levitated it a few inches from the dirty floor by the garden steps.
“Good catch, Ginny—” Dad began.
“Ginny!” Mum summoned the fish with a sharp jerk of her wand. “You know you’re not supposed to use magic in the summers—and—Slytherin?”
Ginny’s shoulders rounded forward against her will. “Yeah,” she said quietly.
Mum blinked several times. “Well. I’ll… need green yarn, then.” She took a deep breath. “Slytherin. Gracious. Your—roommates? They’re all right?”
“Yeah,” Ginny said quickly. “Yes, they’re—great. I mean, I’m not super close with most of them, but—the other girls in Gryffindor, I didn’t get to make friends with them last year, and they’ve been really cold this whole year, so… Astor, she’s in my dorm now, and she’s my best friend, her and Luna. The three of us study together a lot. And Xander Sparrow, remember, from last summer?” Mentioning Luna would help; they liked Xenophilius and if Luna was friends with Astor then Mum would like the idea of her better. Hopefully enough to not connect Astor with Astoria the youngest Greengrass.
Cyrus she wouldn’t even mention. A few careful questions and some old Prophet issues had revealed the two Death Eaters named Greengrass were Astor and Daphne’s aunt and uncle; the Death Eater named Travers had been Cyrus’ father.
Castor Travers had been there when Rabastan Lestrange killed Gideon and Fabian Prewett, and been given the Kiss for his crimes.
Ginny hadn’t brought that up with Cyrus yet.
Probably clever not to remind him that his father helped kill your uncles. Who were fighting on the opposite side of a war.
“Yes…” Mum said slowly. “Not all Slytherins are bad, surely—we’ve got more wizards gone bad from Slytherin than anywhere else, but if fully a quarter of Hogwarts graduates were like that we’d be up to our eyeballs in trouble.”
Like we’re not already? Ginny couldn’t tell if this was her or her voice, but either way she agreed and there was similar sentiment echoing from the place the voice usually talked from. She listened to the rumors, paid attention to the Prophet, knew what it meant when Harry the Boy Who Lived got caught up in so much drama. People always said maybe You-Know-Who wasn’t really dead. Even if he wasn’t, not everyone who followed him was—just look at the Malfoys—and they definitely had plenty of trouble to deal with.
Mum kept trying to shelter her from it. Ginny swallowed a scowl.
“Our Gin can be the good influence they need,” Dad said, visibly relieved that the confession hadn’t produced a classic Molly Weasley explosion. He patted her shoulder and Ginny leaned into it and smiled back when Mum beamed at her and told herself it would all be all right.
Then, of course, her brothers came pounding down the stairs at the familiar rhythm of dinner being ready, and they had more rounds of explanations. It was a row that completely ruined the first night home. George and Fred were melodramatically upset—covering their shock, the voice muttered—and Percy was stuffily concerned that she hadn’t spoken to anyone before making such a rash decision, and Ron was just plain outraged. Mum finally had to send Ron off to bed without dessert.
Ginny let the animated glass horse figure trot around on her bed that evening. It jumped the bumps of her shins and preened when she scratched at its tiny withers.
Commentaires