The familiar, comforting clatter of the Charms classroom was a welcome sound. Ginny settled into her seat, a quiet sense of satisfaction settling over her. Her "detention," a minor disciplinary inconvenience she'd deftly navigated (and used to further her clandestine studies), was finally over. The return of her precious free time was a small victory in her ongoing quest for knowledge and power.
Professor Flitwick, a cheerful, energetic presence despite his small stature, bustled into the room, his smile as wide as ever. "Good day, everyone! A perfect day for magic, wouldn't you agree? And today, we shall perfect the Levitation Charm!" he announced, his voice surprisingly robust.
Ginny, having mastered the charm weeks ago, used the class as an opportunity for advanced practice. While her classmates struggled to make their feathers merely hover, Ginny's feather danced and pirouetted through the air with an almost sentient grace, a silent testament to her growing magical proficiency. She watched, a subtle amusement playing on her lips, as Ron, predictably, fumbled with the pronunciation, earning a sharp, exasperated huff from Hermione. The familiar tableau unfolded like clockwork.
As the class ended and students began to filter out, Ginny found herself walking beside a girl with wispy, ethereal blonde hair and dreamy, wide blue eyes. Luna Lovegood. Ginny had observed her from a distance, a curious, almost detached fascination. Luna was different, undeniably so, yet she radiated an almost innocent purity that intrigued Ginny's increasingly complex mind.
"Excuse me, Ginny," Luna said, her voice soft and airy, "but are you feeling the Nargles today? They seem particularly active around the Charms classroom."
Ginny's lips twitched. "Nargles, Luna?" she asked, her tone carefully neutral. "And how would one 'feel' a Nargle?"
Luna tilted her head, her gaze seeming to look past Ginny, into a world only she could perceive. "Oh, you just do. They make you feel a bit fuzzy, and sometimes they steal your things. But I think they're friendly, mostly."
A wave of intellectual curiosity, a trait now significantly amplified by the assimilated diadem, washed over Ginny. She could sense the magic around Luna, a constant, low-level hum, distinct from the ambient magic of the castle. It wasn't the magic of a spell or an artifact, but something inherent to Luna herself, connected to her unique perception.
"Luna," Ginny began, her voice taking on a more serious, analytical tone, "what if... what if you're not 'feeling Nargles' but rather, you're subconsciously perceiving the constant, minute fluctuations in the magical aura of people around you? Emotions, thoughts, even subtle shifts in magical intention – they all cause ripples in a person's magical field. And since no one's emotional state is truly still, you're always perceiving these shifts, constantly, even if you interpret them as something else."
Luna's eyes widened, a flicker of something akin to awe, or perhaps profound contemplation, replacing her usual dreamy expression. She remained silent, her gaze fixed on a distant point, processing Ginny's words. For the rest of the walk to the Great Hall, Luna was uncharacteristically quiet, lost in thought.
Upon reaching the vast, bustling Hall, Luna muttered a quick, almost inaudible "Thank you," before scurrying off to the Ravenclaw table, her mind clearly still grappling with Ginny's novel theory.
"Was that Loony Lovegood you came with?" Aileen asked, her voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and disdain, as Ginny slid into her seat beside Gwen.
"Aileen, that's rude!" Gwen immediately chastised her, her face a mask of disapproval. "It's not nice to make fun of people behind their backs!"
"So it's okay if I do it in front of them?" Aileen countered, her eyebrow arched playfully.
"That is also rude! Making fun of people is rude!" Gwen insisted, her voice rising in exasperation.
"Okay, okayyy~ Calm down will ya?" Aileen conceded, throwing her hands up in surrender.
"Luna is actually a great person. She may be a little quirky—" Ginny began, a small smile playing on her lips, a genuine warmth stirring within her at the thought of Luna's unique spirit.
"—Loony," Aileen muttered under her breath, earning a sharp glare from Gwen.
"—but she is a great person once you get to know her," Ginny finished, a hint of something protective in her voice.
Gwen immediately turned to Ginny, her eyes brightening at the possibility of making a new friend. Aileen just rolled her eyes, muttering something about social butterflies and her friend's penchant for befriending "weirdos." Ginny, however, merely chuckled. She found Luna's eccentricity charming, her perspective refreshing. Perhaps, amidst the grand, dark designs for her future, there was indeed room for a peculiar witch who saw Nargles and Snorkacks, and a genuine, if somewhat unusual, friendship.
Halloween arrived and departed, a night of spooky festivities that, to Ginny's quiet satisfaction, passed without incident. Ms. Norris remained as healthy and un-petrified as ever, and the eerie whispers of the Heir of Slytherin were conspicuously absent. There were no overgrown, insta-death snakes slithering through the plumbing system of Hogwarts, and the year remained remarkably normal. The most exciting events had been the occasional, misguided attempts by a rogue house-elf to "save" Harry Potter, and a rather amusing incident involving a pompous ferret being made to vomit slugs due to a fully functional, rather than backfiring, wand. All in all, a perfectly uneventful and, by magical standards, utterly normal year.
On another front, Ginny observed that Professor McGonagall seemed to have finally, thoroughly, forgiven her. Acknowledging Ginny's prodigious extra work and exceptional performance in classes, McGonagall had begun to award her a steady stream of house points. Ginny happily accepted these, not out of any particular zeal for the House Cup, but as a strategic asset. While the House Cup itself held little inherent value to her, she knew it mattered deeply to the other students. Her primary motivation was to amass enough points to counterbalance any deductions Professor Snape might inflict upon Gryffindor in his endless campaign against her.
She had, after all, continued her subtle campaign of torment against the greasy-haired Potions Master. After the 'Hair-Raising' fiasco – a particularly amusing incident she had orchestrated where a perfectly normal Hair-Raising Potion, brewing in Snape's own cauldron, had caused his usually slick hair to explode into an unmanageable, frizzy mop – she had executed a few more well-placed pranks. Each one was meticulously planned, leaving no conclusive evidence that she was the culprit, yet both of them knew precisely who was responsible. She had purposefully made it obvious, for instance, that she was the reason his experimental vial had chosen that precise moment to erupt in his face, leaving him coated in an unidentifiable, foul-smelling goo. It was a game they played, a subtle war waged across the hallowed halls, and Ginny, with her growing cunning, was undeniably winning.
One blustery afternoon, Professor McGonagall summoned Ginny to her office. Her expression was serious, her gaze piercing. "Ms. Weasley," she began, "your academic progress has been, to put it mildly, unprecedented. The other professors and I have taken note of your exceptional abilities. We have decided to propose a unique arrangement for you."
McGonagall then laid out the proposal: Ginny would be allowed to take advanced, extra classes, potentially skipping grades and graduating early. The idea sent a ripple of excitement through Ginny. Accelerating her education meant faster access to higher-level magic, more opportunities for assimilation, and ultimately, a quicker path to her ultimate goals. It was an enticing prospect, a direct path to the power she craved.
However, the analytical part of her mind, now augmented by the diadem, also weighed the drawbacks. Graduating early meant missing out on the full Hogwarts experience, the casual friendships, the simple joys of childhood. More significantly, it meant potentially separating from her family and, more importantly, from Aileen and Gwen, who had, against her initial expectations, truly grown on her. Despite her earlier cynicism about fitting in with "children," she found herself genuinely fond of their company, their spirited arguments, their genuine affection. The thought of losing that connection, of abandoning the comfort of their presence, sent a surprising pang through her.
She returned to her dormitory, her mind buzzing with the weight of the decision. Gwen, ever perceptive, noticed her pensive mood. "What's wrong, Ginny?" she asked, her brow furrowed with concern.
"Professor McGonagall wants me to take extra classes," Ginny began, her voice carefully neutral, "and maybe even graduate early."
Aileen's eyes widened. "Graduate early? So... so you won't be with us anymore?" Gwen looked undeniably saddened, and Aileen, despite her usual feigned nonchalance, appeared distinctly miffed. In the short two months since they had met, the three of them had formed an unbreakable bond, a surprising friendship forged in the crucible of first-year Hogwarts.
"No, silly," Ginny quickly reassured them, a genuine warmth spreading through her chest at their distress. "We'll still stay in the same dorms, even next year if I meet the requirements. Why would they needlessly complicate things? We'll still be roommates, I promise." She didn't want to separate from them; their company, their unadulterated joy and affection, had become an unexpected anchor in her increasingly complex life. She continued to comfort them, dispelling their fears, until they reached the Owlery.
There, she penned a letter to her parents, detailing McGonagall's proposal. She was certain that McGonagall, as Head of Gryffindor, had already informed Molly and Arthur. In her own letter, Ginny subtly hinted that they should speak to McGonagall about the Snape situation, perhaps influencing a change in his treatment of her.
Two days later, a half-dead Errol, the Weasley family's long-suffering owl, arrived with their reply. Molly and Arthur expressed immense joy and pride at her extraordinary achievements, assuring her that they would support her no matter what decision she made regarding her studies. However, they were unequivocally clear on one point: they would not ask McGonagall to intervene with Snape. "Actions have consequences," they wrote, a firm, unspoken message that resonated deeply. They would not add to the troubles of the Hogwarts staff, who were already going out of their way for their daughter's benefit.
That night, Ginny cried herself to sleep. Not because of Snape, or even the missed experiences, but because of the unexpected sting of her parents' firm, unyielding stance. It was a reminder that even with her growing power and cunning, there were still lines she could not cross, still consequences she could not evade. And for a brief, fleeting moment, the calculating mind of the burgeoning Dark Lady melted away, leaving only the vulnerable heart of a child who, despite everything, still yearned for her family's unconditional love and approval.
"Are you certain of your decision, Ms. Weasley?" Professor McGonagall's voice held a rare softness, a hint of concern beneath her usual stern demeanor. She sat across from Ginny in her office, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows on the stone walls.
"Very, professor," Ginny affirmed, her voice steady, her resolve unwavering. She had weighed the pros and cons, the accelerated path to power against the simple comforts of a normal childhood, and the scales had tipped decisively. Her ambition, fueled by Riddle's lingering influence and her own inherent drive, far outweighed any sentimental attachments to a typical Hogwarts experience. Besides, she had already reassured Aileen and Gwen; their friendship, she reasoned, would endure, even if her academic trajectory differed.
"Very well," McGonagall acknowledged, a faint sigh escaping her lips. "I have discussed this with the other professors, and we have unanimously decided that your extra classes will begin after the Christmas Holidays. Should any professor feel that you are not meeting their expectations, they will retain the right to cancel your classes."
Ginny nodded seriously, acknowledging the terms. This was a privilege, not a right, and she understood the weight of the expectations placed upon her. "Thank you for your time, professor," she said, rising from her chair.
With a light heart and a tune humming beneath her breath, Ginny skipped her way back to the Gryffindor Common Room. The thought of the advanced magic, the accelerated learning, filled her with a profound sense of anticipation. As she walked, she mentally brought up her status screen, a habit she had cultivated to monitor her progress.
Name: Ginevra Molly Weasley Race: Witch Magic: 4.3 Body: 0.9 Spirit: 4.4 Innate Abilities: Assimilate 1/3 (regen: 1/year (Total: 7/decade)), Parseltongue, Magic Perception, Superior Logical Processing Unit (1/1) Skills: Cooking Lv.3 (4/4000), Flying Lv.5 (121/16000) Magicks: Enchantment Lv.8 (1/128000), Transfiguration Lv.8 (6/128000), Dark Magic Lv.9 (1001067/1024000), Mind Magic Lv.6 (29800/32000)
The slight dip in her core stats reflected her recent overuse of the "Superior Logical Processing Unit," a clear indicator of the toll hyper-cognition took on her nascent magical core. But her Magicks were progressing steadily, fueled by her diligent study and the assimilated knowledge.
Her next destination was the Room of Requirement. It was time for her third assimilation. This one, unlike the previous two, was not a Horcrux or a fragment of a person's intellect. This was something far more ancient, far more legendary: the Philosopher's Stone.
She stepped into the familiar, echoing chamber, and conjured the stone. It pulsed with an inner light, a captivating crimson glow that seemed to hold the very essence of life and magic. "Assimilate," Ginny commanded, her voice firm, resolute.
The stone shimmered, its brilliant red hue intensifying, and then, with a silent, blinding flash, it dissolved, flowing into her. At first, there was nothing. A moment of eerie calm. Then, a searing, burning pain erupted throughout her entire being, as if she had been plunged into a molten inferno.
"ARRGHH!" The scream tore from her throat, raw and involuntary. She writhed on the cold stone floor, every nerve ending ablaze, consumed by an agony that threatened to tear her apart, convinced that this was it – this was how she died. The pain persisted, an endless, tormenting fire that seemed to stretch into eternity.
Finally, after what felt like an impossible age, the excruciating sensation began to recede, slowly, mercifully. Ginny lay gasping for breath, her body trembling uncontrollably, the tremors of an earthquake after its devastating fury.
"Morganna's Unholy Asshole!" she swore, her voice hoarse, filled with a mixture of profound frustration and disbelief. "What the fuck was that?!"
She remained sprawled on the ground, waiting for the residual spasms to subside. With a shaky hand, she raised her wand, casting a Tempus spell. The green mist swirled, forming into the numerals: "5 minutes."
"Five minutes? Five minutes?! But that felt like a motherfucking eternity! Ugh," she exclaimed, the disbelief evident in her voice.
Unsteadily, she pushed herself up, her muscles screaming in protest. The roosters she had used to conjure the stone still crowed loudly in the corner, their magic now dull and listless after the assimilation. With a weary flick of her wand, she transformed them back into small, innocuous buttons.
All Ginny wanted was to leave, to escape the lingering echoes of that unimaginable pain. She yearned for the quiet solace of her bed, for a long, undisturbed session with her pillow, where she could finally rest and process the profound, terrifying power she had just absorbed. The Philosopher's Stone was hers, and with it, a new chapter of her power, forged in the crucible of unimaginable agony.
The morning after her harrowing assimilation of the Philosopher's Stone, Ginny awoke with a sense of profound power surging through her veins. It was unlike anything she had felt before, a deep, resonant hum that vibrated from her very core, radiating outwards. The previous exhaustion, the dull ache, the sluggishness – all had vanished, replaced by an invigorating, almost boundless energy. This wasn't merely the return of her full magical capacity; it was an amplification, a fundamental shift in her magical being.
She brought up her status screen, her fingers tracing the words as they materialized in the air before her.
Name: Ginevra Molly Weasley Race: Witch Magic: 6.9 Body: 1.1 Spirit: 6.8 Innate Abilities: Assimilate 1/3 (regen: 1/year (Total: 7/decade)), Parseltongue, Magic Perception, Superior Logical Processing Unit (1/1), Soul Perception Skills: Cooking Lv.3 (4/4000), Flying Lv.5 (121/16000) Magicks: Enchantment Lv.8 (120/128000), Transfiguration Lv.8 (121/128000), Dark Magic Lv.9 (1010000/1024000), Mind Magic Lv.6 (30000/32000)
The numbers confirmed her suspicions. Her core stats—Magic, Body, and Spirit—had not only recovered but had also seen a significant increase. The Philosopher's Stone, she realized, wasn't just about eternal life or transmutation; its true power lay in its ability to amplify the very essence of a magical being, to strengthen and purify the magical core itself. It hadn't added raw power as much as it had made her existing power infinitely more potent, more efficient.
Her Magical Perception, too, felt sharper, more finely tuned. The omnipresent hum of magic was no longer an overwhelming din, but a distinct, flowing current, clear and intelligible. She could discern individual magical signatures, the subtle nuances that defined each enchanted object and living being.
But the most astonishing change was the appearance of a new innate ability: "Soul Perception." As she focused on the words on her screen, a profound understanding bloomed in her mind. She could now perceive souls. Not as ethereal forms or vague energies, but as distinct, vibrant colors, each unique to the individual, swirling with their own distinct hues and patterns. She could discern their fluctuations, their subtle shifts in resonance, revealing the ebb and flow of emotions and intentions.
"Fascinating," she murmured, a chilling thrill running through her. This was a whole new dimension of perception, a power that transcended mere magical ability. It was an insight into the very fabric of existence, into the deepest, most hidden aspects of living beings.
Her mind immediately drifted to the implications of this new ability, particularly in relation to Horcruxes. A Horcrux, she knew, was a fragment of a soul, tethered to an object, designed to anchor a wizard to life even after their body was destroyed. And Voldemort, in his desperate bid for immortality, had cleaved his soul into seven pieces. She had already assimilated one of them – the diary – and the Philosopher's Stone had, she suspected, helped her to fully integrate that fractured piece into her own being, purifying and strengthening it in the process. This new ability would be invaluable in detecting and dealing with the remaining Horcruxes.
Ginny turned her gaze to her sleeping roommates. Aileen's soul shimmered with a vibrant, playful yellow, tinged with streaks of fiery orange, reflecting her energetic and passionate nature. Gwen's soul, on the other hand, glowed with a soft, comforting green, interwoven with delicate threads of blue, a testament to her kind heart and gentle spirit. Ginny felt a strange, almost possessive warmth towards these two, a burgeoning affection that softened the edges of her ruthless ambition. They were her anchors, her unexpected connection to the mundane world, a stark contrast to the dark path she was forging.
And then, her gaze shifted to the bed where Harry Potter lay sleeping soundly. His soul, to her astonishment, radiated with two distinct colors, two separate, yet intertwined, hues. One was a brilliant, almost blinding emerald green, pulsating with immense power and an innate goodness. The other, however, was a murky, almost sickly black, a faint echo of the same malevolence she had consumed with Riddle's diary.
"So, the Horcrux is still within him," Ginny mused, her voice a low whisper that barely disturbed the quiet of the dormitory. "Just as I thought." It was a confirmation of her suspicions, a chilling validation of her fears. The Philosopher's Stone, in its amplification of her magical core, had not only allowed her to assimilate Riddle's first soul fragment, but it had also granted her the ability to perceive the one still nestled within Harry.
This was a game-changer. The soul perception ability gave her an unparalleled advantage, a direct insight into the nature of her enemies and the hidden dangers that lurked in this world. The pain of the assimilation had been immense, but the rewards were immeasurable. The stage was set, and Ginny, with her newfound power and chilling insight, was ready to play her part.