𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑭𝑨𝑳𝑳𝑬𝑵 𝑨𝑵𝑮𝑬𝑳 [ᕼᑭ ᙭ ᑭᒍO]

XV || "definitely not writing fake love letters"

*A/N at the end.

✿⁠ ♡ ◍⁠ •⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠ ◍ ✧⁠ * 。♡

"I told you all! See. It was a Basilisk. And you risked a student's life as well."

✿⁠ ♡ ◍⁠ •⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠ ◍ ✧⁠ * 。♡

THEY ENTERED DUMBLEDORE'S office covered in muck slime and blood, it appeared that they had interrupted an important meeting with with Dumbledore, the Weaselys, Professor McGonagall.

Oh well.

"Ginny!" Molly wailed, sprinting for her daughter. Arthur followed after, flinging himself at them.

"Lilith..?" McGonagall was stunned. "What did you do?"

"I swear I did nothing ! And why do you—" Lilith started but Harry interrupted her and told them the whole story, skipping the part where he saw her use her powers. The adults listened very carefully.

McGonagall looked at Lilith, her brow rose. "Why did you went with them?"

"It was a Basilisk." She said.

"Why?" She turned around, it was Molly who was crying as she looked at Lilith.

"I just really hate snakes." She said truthfully. She have fought millions of monsters before but Python was the one that tore her apart. Since then she hated snakes. "Speaking of that." She turned around towards the Professors. "I told you all! See. It was a Basilisk. And you risked a student's life as well."

The professors looked guilty while the parents were shocked.

Dumbledore recoverd first. "What interest me the most is that how Lord Voldemort managed to enchant Miss Weasely. When sources tells me he is currently in Albania."

"W-what's that?" said Mr. Weasley in a stunned voice. "You-Know-Who? En-enchant Ginny? But Ginny's not . . . Ginny hasn't been . . . has she?"

"It was this diary," said Harry quickly, picking it up and showing it to Dumbledore. "Riddle wrote it when he was sixteen. . . ." 

Dumbledore took the diary from Harry and peered keenly down his long, crooked nose at its burnt and soggy pages. "Brilliant," he said softly. "Of course, he was probably the most brilliant student Hogwarts has ever seen." He turned around to the Weasleys, who were looking utterly bewildered.

"Very few people know that Lord Voldemort was once called Tom
Riddle. I taught him myself, fifty years ago, at Hogwarts. He disappeared after leaving the school . . . traveled far and wide . . . sank so deeply into the Dark Arts, consorted with the very worst of our kind, underwent so many dangerous, magical transformations, that when he resurfaced as Lord Voldemort, he was barely recognizable. Hardly anyone connected Lord Voldemort with the clever, handsome boy who was once Head Boy here."

"But, Ginny," said Mrs. Weasley. "What's our Ginny got to do with —with — him?"

"His d-diary!" Ginny sobbed. "I've b-been writing in it, and he's been w-writing back all year —"

"Ginny!" said Mr. Weasley, flabbergasted. "Haven't I taught you anything? What have I always told you? Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can't see where it keeps its brain. Why didn't you show the diary to me, or your mother? A suspicious object like that, it was clearly full of Dark Magic —"

"I d-didn't know," sobbed Ginny. "I found it inside one of the books
Mum got me. I th-thought someone had just left it in there and forgotten about it —"