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“I wish he was mine, he’s really divine,
The hero who conquered the Dark Lord,” Ginny transcribed, then added,
“I was thinking about sending him a Valentine, Tom, when February comes. Don’t you think that rhyme would make a good Valentine? Do you think Harry Potter will like it?”
You’re offering him your heart, sweet Ginevra—how could he be unappreciative? But I bet he’ll be shy at first. Boys usually find it harder than girls to show their feelings. Even the bravest boys. I imagine that it will be a while before he can admit his true feelings for you. What do you think will bring you two together, in the end? How do you imagine his final declaration will happen?
Ginny bit her quill and scribbled, blushing, “Sometimes, I pretend—I wonder—what if I was in danger, and he rescued me. Like Andromeda and the dragon. Percius saved her, and then he carried her right off and married her. If Harry rescued me, then he’d notice me.”
Of course he would. The hero rescues the fair maiden, and then they fall in love and marry. It’s practically a rule. How might he rescue you, pretty Ginevra? From what peril? Describe it.
Her quill dropped a blob of ink as she thought, but Tom waited patiently. He was always patient with her. Dipping it again, she wrote, “Like Andromeda, Tom, like I said. Say I was captured by a monster, and I couldn’t move or help myself, and then HE comes. To rescue me. Only see, it’s not like Percius that way, I wouldn’t be just some strange girl chained to a rock. Harry Potter already knows me. Only, see that could be even better, because what if for a second he thinks he’s too late?”
The words were flowing eagerly now. “Just for a second. He thinks that I’m already dead, and that’s when he finally realizes that he loves me. That he’s loved me for a while. And he’d say, “Ginny!” like he was crying. Crying because he thought it was too late. He’d say, “Ginny, please don’t be dead!” And then I’d move, and he’d be so happy. Because I wasn’t really. Dead, I mean. And then he’d take his wand—or, no, a sword—the Sword of Gryffindor!—and kill the monster. And maybe I’d help him somehow. Maybe I’d get my wand back and cast a spell to make it trip—or, no, I’d be in chains, but maybe I’d use them to trip the monster or something. And then afterwards he’d say he couldn’t have done it without my help."
The way I heard the story, Andromeda didn’t have any slack in her chains. But didn’t she show herself worthy of his love just by her noble comportment? You were named for a queen, Ginevra. The highest of queens. How would you show your courage if you couldn’t move?
“Just—just by the way I stood, all proud and straight in my chains, not crying or anything even though I think I’m going to die. Everyone would say how bravely I faced my fate. Then everyone would say how brave and strong Harry is, and how brave I am too, and how we belong together.”
Harry Potter and his true princess. In danger together, and then united by that danger. Together forever, at last.
Ginny nodded her head vigorously, and then remembered that Tom couldn’t see that.
“Together forever. It would be wonderful, Tom, if that’s just exactly how it happens,” she wrote. “If that’s how he finally comes to notice me. Being rescued by Harry Potter would be the most wonderful thing ever.”
*
It wasn’t.
It was blood, and fear, and shame.
And Ginny hadn’t been brave or strong at all. She’d let Tom do everything he wanted, even when she finally understood what he was doing, even when she knew that it was wrong.
She hadn’t stopped him. Maybe she hadn’t really wanted to, not really enough, maybe because of still wanting to be saved by Harry Potter. Maybe that’s why she could never struggle hard enough to escape, or find courage enough to tell.
So if she had died down there, if Harry Potter had died, if Percy’s girlfriend or Hermione Granger or even Mr. Filch’s cat had died, it would have been her fault.
Her weakness, her cowardice, that Tom had used.
And Harry knew.
He hadn’t wanted to touch her. Her parents had held her fiercely, and even Ron had grabbed and hugged her, but Harry had made Ron be the one to hold her hand, flying out. She’d come last before Lockhart.
And, all that…. Tom hadn’t even done all that to hurt her, Ginny; she’d just been a way to trap The Boy Who Lived. Just like Harry Potter hadn’t really cared about rescuing her, just You-Know-Who’s latest victim.
Ginny was nothing. And Harry knew it. He knew exactly what she was.
She tried to act normal around him, like she tried to act normal for her brothers and Mum. Only, every time Ginny looked at him, she kept seeing him all soaked with stinking blood, his face white and frightened and furious, and all of it her fault.
And every time she saw him, it was like it was all about to happen all over again. Like she was about to see Tom Riddle’s smile. Like she was about to shut her eyes once more against it, just for a second, and open them again in darkness. To the snake and the blood and the shame.
And every time she tried to be brave enough to look him in the eye—and she did try, twice—Harry Potter’s glasses only flashed back her own reflection.