Queen of Basilisk
Ginny was anxious about where she would end up. Either during the short, to long term, she would have difficult choices to make. She needed to become strong enough to equate a god. Strong enough to stand by his side for… Well, more than eternity since, apparently, universes have expiration dates.
Still, while wishing to become as powerful as a god, would make her ambitious, and, therefore, a prime subject for Slytherin House, the fact she hadn’t technically wished to be in this position, and the fact that she mostly wanted to do this to avoid having her soul annihilated, meant that she was placing her own survival above everything else.
Slytherin much eh?
But, no matter. As she walked forward to be sorted. The last one tonight, September the First was already ringing in her head as a day of incredible… Annoyance.
Her brothers were looking at her with boredom or pride in Percy’s and Fred case.
She knew she wasn’t the most well liked among the Weasley.
She was the girl. The… Only. Girl.
This meant that she was the favourite of all their extended family relatives. From their grandmother, to their uncles and aunts, to about everyone sporting the name Weasley.
Still, she would not be deterred. She was Ginevra Molly (erk) Weasley, and One day, she would be Queen of the Underworld… or dead. More than dead actually but you get the drift.
She always did like those Americans slang her brother Bill brought back.
“Hmm. How curious. Not much like the others of your family are you?” said the voice of the Hat in her head.
She sighed.
“Don’t show that kind of resignation. Mister Potter handled not being in Gryffindor very well.”
“Yeah. Because Hufflepuff is well known for breeding dark wizards and witches and being home of most blood purist.”
A chuckle from the hat.
“You are very entertaining. So. Either Slytherin or Ravenclaw shall do.”
Ginny thought.
“Ravenclaw would be better. At least I know someone I moderately like in it.” then added. “I also would believe the house of Knowledge would be better suited to my goal. After all, I do not know how to achieve such, and I do not want to use my power for stuff that isn’t in that single goal.”
She realized her mistake just as she finished her addendum.
“Well then-”
“Don’t you-”
“Better be-”
“Dare!” she yelled just as
“Slytherin!” rang in the dead silent hall.
Ginny, livid, as she realized the hat had tricked her. As it chuckled, sending a last thought telling her, that she would do better to see the whole picture.
As her clothes turned green and silver, she closed her eyes on the stool, inhaled a great deal of her through the nose, and then breathed out. She got up, walked toward the Slytherin table with a small, polite smile. Her eyes however, reflected all of the anger she felt at this placement.
She sat as far away from everyone as she could, placed her hands on the tabletop, and proceeded to ignore every sneer and lecherous gaze sent at her.
They were few in the wake of the shock, but she wasn’t ignorant enough to not recognize the glint of interest some held in their eyes.
Had she been raised a Slytherin, there would be no doubt that she’d have recognized that glint, as not lustful in any way, but more as a sadistic or calculating one.
The walk to the Slytherin common room ended up being rather drab. The other first years kept on pushing her when they thought the Prefect couldn’t see them. The fact Ginny noticed they did, in fact, see all of that, yet did not do a thing, was augur to bad things.
For them or her?
Well, she was certain she’d be the only one with enough ambition to even entertain the thought of become a goddess.
The fact Harry hadn’t thought it impossible, and neither had Hades, the older version at least, was encouraging.
When they got inside the Common Room, it was to her trunk being opened and her stuff passed around to laughter and jeers. At this point, Ginny stopped dead. She stared, looking pale and her fiery hairs blocking the sight of her face.
Now, you may wonder who of the Weasley had the most wicked temper?
The answer was Percy. He was much more akin to their father in that regard. Slow to anger, very slow. Mostly chill and cool, composed and never angry. Then, you would say the one thing that would set him off in a furious rampage. And you’d be screwed.
Now, what about Ginny?
Ginevra was, much like her mother Molly, a very fiery type of human. The kind that was quick to anger, and faster to forgive or move on.
But that didn’t mean she wasn’t able to be ruthlessly cold and vicious when pushed too far.
So she walked forward toward the seventh year observing the whole happenings. He looked at her and said something inane or stupid. He did look the part of the troll-like brain dead mortal.
She whipped up her wand so fast most people didn’t realise she’d done so until they noticed her trembling hand in front of the Seventh year.
Many scoffed or laughed outright. But a few, the ones who had learned professional duelling, noticed something… peculiar.
She was standing at the exact right distance to avoid and riposte to any and all spells which could be cast at her. Her hand was trembling, meaning she probably was an amateur with good perception, but it left a strange taste in the mouth of most.
“And what do you think you’re doing with that Weasel?” asked the older student.
Ginny lifted her head, from the parted curtains of hairs, a single, vicious and so utterly merciless glare answered. It made the older boy stop laughing and reach for his wand.
Too late.
With a whisper of impedimenta, she sent the older boy flying at high speed, sailing over straight into the other seventh years who’d been laughing with him. The cracking sound and sickening crash their collective bodies made, when the force of the spell brought them in flight as well, installed a deep, religiously observed, silence.
Everyone stared. From the seventh years who had not participated in this foolishness, to the member of dark families believing themselves superior to the little Weasley girl, to the other first years who stared paper sheet white.
The intermediate years and the Slytherin who believed there must have been some other path for their house looked on in awe.
The ones who benefited most from the current arrangement where, however, watching with abject terror as a new Queen and player had entered the board.
There was now a light Witch, with powers much greater than any would have thought, unlikely to be tricked and already on the warpath.
“You think this is funny don’t you all?” said Ginny.
She looked around the room.
“Let’s play a game. For each one of you who holds one piece of my stuff, I will cast a hex or jinx, perhaps a curse if you are holding my underwear. You have only one way to avoid getting sent sailing like those fuckers back there.”
She smiled cutely.
It felt more like a threat than a treat.
“You bring my stuff here. What is damaged you keep and replace with yours. If it is clothes, you better hope they are in a good state, because the hex I’ll cast will make it so at random points, your; clothes, will become so filthy and damaged you’ll pray to have fifth hand strips of muggle clothes.”
They all complied immediately. With none of the older and more outspoken blood supremacist around, it was clear that Weasley had won this battle.
“Now if you’ll excuse yourselves… I need to talk with those which garnered that punishment for you.”
The night was filled with the screams of the seventh years.
Because one may say that Ginny Weasley is brash and kind and gentle.
But even the gentle doe can kill if they feel threatened.
And Ginevra was far from a doe.
She was a Basilisk.
And she was going to play their game, until they learned to stop playing it.
But that night, in the dream she shared with Harry, she allowed herself to cry. To explain what had happened and the things she’d done to insure her protection.
And if her sense of guilt and shame remained even in the morrow at dawn. She did feel better knowing that no one would be coming to blame her, except those who should have been blamed already.