I ducked behind a statue of a gnarled old wizard, listening intently to the people emerging from the Headmaster’s office. I frowned to myself as the sobs of a woman drowned out their voices. Peering from my hiding place, I observed the scene. The woman had frayed ginger-coloured hair and looked as though she’d dressed too quickly before Apparating there. She had her arm around a small girl.

That’s her, I thought. She was to be my first story. She seemed so delicate, though. She didn’t look like she would be able to withstand being offered a glass of water, not to mention being asked persistent questions. What was I to do? I wasn’t about to—

Well, I couldn’t do anything at all if I didn’t find out where the little girl was headed. I tiptoed after her and her mum. They turned down a corridor, the woman steering the girl—Ginny, her name was—toward the Hospital Wing. The poor girl had been forced to go through a great deal of trouble throughout her first school year. According to my editor, it was she who’d opened the Chamber of Secrets. She had been commanded by a young version of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named preserved in a diary. But those were just the basics. It was my job to figure out what she felt about it.

*~*

Two hours after watching Ginny being guided to the Hospital Wing, I emerged from the kitchens, where I’d visited the dear house elves who were so patient with my appetite when I had been at school. Clutching my notebook, I carefully climbed the stairs from the kitchens.

I closed my eyes to try and rid myself of some of the guilt that was weighing down upon me: I wasn’t supposed to be here. I’d gotten in anyway, though. The castle hadn’t barred itself against me, so my purpose hhere couldn’t be simply to find a story. I had to be doing something useful.

It was time for the interview. Visiting hours in the Hospital Wing were over, and Ginny would be resting. Ginny Weasley—I’d gone to school with her brother Bill. He’d always been a bit on the wild side, but pleasant. Now, as I approached the Hospital Wing, I wondered about Ginny. What would I learn from her? That was the best part of journalism: the people.

I peeked around the door opening into the infirmary area. As I suspected, the visitors had gone, probably off to bed in order to allow Ginny some peace. Not even Madam Pomfrey was in sight! How fortunate I was. Curtains were drawn around one of the beds. Taking a deep breath, I edged over to the bed, going over my carefully prepared questions in my head.

Gingerly, I pulled back the curtain to look at Ginny’s prone form, resting under the blankets. I wasn’t surprised, really, to find her awake. She was staring into the distance, thinking. When I opened the curtain, her eyes snapped up to me, and she drew in her breath sharply, startled.

We contemplated each other for a moment. She was pale and drained, white as the starched sheets covering her—all but her straggling auburn hair. She had transluscent purple circles under her eyelids, giving her face a sad, transparent appearance. But, somehow, she managed to appear entirely unafraid.

“Ginny,� I started nervously, pulling a chair up behind me and sitting awkwardly on the edge of it. “I’m Gemma Parker from the Daily Prophet. Well, I’m just starting, really, but—yes. Would you mind if I asked you a couple of questions?�

I held my breath as she looked at me a while longer before shrugging her shoulders in response.

“I’m pretty sure I can see where you keep your brain,� she commented.

I tried not to show my surprise at such a statement; instead, I tapped my temple.

“Right here,� I told her as I fetched my fluffy black Quoting Quill and placed it on a blank page. Ginny smiled.

“Yes, right there. So what do you want to know?�

“I need you to help me understand your role in everything that’s happened these past few months.� She was only eleven. Did she even know what I wanted her to tell me? Instead of becoming perplexed, however, her expression merely evolved into a stoutly determined one, her eyes glazed in memory.

“The first thing everyone needs to know about what’s gone on here,� she began resignedly, “is that I never really wanted to hurt anyone. I guess I just I found a friend in Tom Riddle, that’s all, and I thought I could trust him. I really did. I didn’t even know what was happening to me.�

“What was happening to you?�

“He was living through me, I guess,� Ginny responded, wrinkling her eyebrows. “It sounds mad when I say it that way, but I was his life. Does that make sense? I thought I mattered to him, if only a little.�

“Do you still think you mattered to him?�

“Now? No one has ever mattered to him but himself, I think. I wish I’d seen it before. He wants everything. He needs everything, especially all the power he can manage to get. If you look at it that way, he did need me, I suppose. How weird.� Ginny managed a small smile. The irony of it all seemed to be sinking in.

I was entranced by her story at the same time as I was saddened by it and impressed that she understood so much about what had happened. I glanced out at the sky and the clouds gathered there. Even though I wasn’t outside, there was a feeling of impending rain about the sky, as though it wanted to wash itself clean but didn’t quite know how to begin. My quill had finished writing Ginny’s words, so I turned back to her. She was looking at me, not accusatorily, but curiously.

“They tried to keep you people out,� she said simply.

“You people?� I responded, taken aback.

“Oh, you know,� she sighed. “Reporters. But I guess if I trusted a Dark Wizard in a book, I might as well trust you. You don’t look like a bad reporter.�

“I don’t know what kind of reporter I am,� I admitted, shaking my head. “I’m just starting, you know?�

“Well, I don’t know what kind of witch I am, either. I’m known, as of now, as some kind of madwoman who was responsible for almost murdering three people, a cat and a ghost. What a reputation,� she sighed, wearily.

“Do you think people believe all that?�

“Well, if it wasn’t for Harry, I probably wouldn’t even be alive. So I don’t know what people believe. But what they need to know is the truth, like I said before: I never wanted to do any of that. I just wanted someone to listen to me. I didn’t ask Tom to use me. He said he understood me, but what can a person possibly know about another person from their complaints?� Ginny sounded almost hopeful, as if she wanted what she said to be true without knowing whether it was or not.

“I can’t miss his comfort,�she went on, her eyes leaking tears of exhaustion and grief as her words became hoarse. “I won’t. He doesn’t deserve that.� She blinked slowly, and the tears trickled down to the pillow underneath her head.

“I want to leave him behind,� she murmured.

As I watched her, tears stung my own eyes. Here was nothing but a little girl’s desire to be accepted and now to be a better person, but this desire wasn’t just for small girls. It was something everyone could need to feel. To do well at life and all its requirements—it was what we all wanted.

I reached out on impulse and carefully tucked Ginny’s hair behind her ear. Ginny siged and closed her eyes. The only audible sounds were the soft scratching of my quill, which was finishing its notes, and a gentle pitter-patter on the roof. The rain had begun.