That night, after her roommates had succumbed to the gentle embrace of sleep, Ginny quietly slipped out of bed. Her steps were silent, her movements graceful as she made her way to the Room of Requirement. The lingering echoes of the Philosopher's Stone assimilation still hummed beneath her skin, a potent reminder of the power she now wielded.
Once inside her private sanctuary, she activated her "Superior Logical Processing Unit." The world blurred, time itself seeming to stretch and contort. She pulled out an ancient, dust-laden tome on Soul Magic, a subject that had captured her interest ever since her assimilation of Riddle's diary.
For what felt like hours, she devoured the archaic script, her mind processing the complex theories at an unprecedented rate. She delved into the intricacies of soul preservation, the subtle dance of magical energies, and the terrifying concept of soul fragmentation. When she finally deactivated the ability, the world snapped back into focus, and a quick Tempus spell revealed that only ten minutes had passed.
A sigh of disappointment escaped her lips. Despite the hyper-cognition, despite the accelerated learning, the book contained precious little of true value regarding soul magic. It was filled with vague rituals and even vaguer philosophies, a testament to the magical world's inherent ignorance of such a profound and dangerous branch of magic.
"Guess I'll have to develop it myself," she mused, a determined glint in her eyes. It wouldn't be easy. She would have to combine her meager knowledge of soul magic with the principles of ritual magic and, most importantly, her unique Assimilate ability. Her primary target for learning, however, remained Harry. His soul, with its inherent Horcrux, was a living textbook, a direct conduit to understanding the intricacies of fractured souls. She would tread carefully, of course, but the opportunity was too valuable to pass up.
The next morning, as Ginny walked through the bustling corridors of Hogwarts, her mind still replaying the intricate theories of soul magic, she found her path abruptly blocked by a dazzling, self-important figure. Gilderoy Lockhart. He was even more obnoxious in person than she had imagined.
"Ah, the delightful Ms. Weasley!" Lockhart boomed, his smile wide and blindingly white. "Lost, perhaps? Allow me, the celebrated Gilderoy Lockhart, to escort you to your next class. A charming damsel such as yourself should never wander these halls alone!" He winked, his perfectly coiffed golden hair shimmering under the torchlight.
Ginny resisted the urge to roll her eyes. His charm, she noted, was as transparent as a newly cleaned window. "Thank you, Professor Lockhart," she replied, her voice sweet and innocent, "but I assure you, I'm perfectly capable of finding my own way." She flashed him a polite, yet dismissive smile, attempting to sidestep him.
But Lockhart was persistent. "Nonsense, dear girl! A true hero always escorts the lady! Besides, a burgeoning talent such as yourself, a shining star in the making, deserves nothing less than the best company!" He puffed out his chest, clearly enamored with his own eloquence.
Ginny merely gave him a vacant, wide-eyed stare. "Oh, you're a hero, Professor? How utterly amazing!" she chirped, her voice dripping with feigned admiration. "Tell me, how many villains have you defeated? And were they truly fearsome? Did you face them alone? Oh, I do so love hearing about brave heroes!" She batted her eyelashes, her innocent façade firmly in place.
Lockhart, predictably, preened. "Ah, well, the tales are numerous, Ms. Weasley! Too many to recount in a single morning! Perhaps over tea, one day, I could regale you with my most daring escapades!" He winked again, evidently believing he had completely captivated her.
Ginny, however, was already planning. 'Pathetic,' she thought, a cold, calculating amusement settling in her mind. 'But useful.' Lockhart was an egomaniac, easily manipulated, and possessed two things Ginny craved: a mysterious 'secret vault' rumored to contain hidden treasures (or at least, things he thought were treasures), and an abundance of 'fame' – a currency she could leverage in the wizarding world.
"Perhaps, Professor," she said, her voice still brimming with faux admiration, "I would be honored." She gave him a truly dazzling, innocent smile, one that promised adoration and attention. Lockhart, oblivious to the calculating mind behind the charming facade, beamed.
"Excellent! Excellent! We shall arrange it!" he declared, puffed up with self-importance.
As Ginny finally managed to extricate herself from his presence, her internal monologue took on a distinctly cynical tone. 'Poor, deluded fool,' she thought, a predatory glint in her eyes. 'You don't know it yet, Gilderoy Lockhart, but you're about to be tamed. And your 'secret vault' will soon be mine. And your 'fame'... well, that will merely be another tool in my arsenal.' The puppeteer had found her first string.
The lingering phantom pains of the Philosopher's Stone assimilation still prickled at Ginny's nerves, a stark reminder of the ordeal. Yet, as she lay in the quiet solitude of her bed, her mind, now sharpened to an impossible degree, began to unravel the true purpose and power of the legendary artifact. It wasn't merely a stone for eternal life or the transmutation of metals; those were but superficial applications. Its true essence, its profound magic, lay in its capacity for magical amplification and, more significantly, soul purification.
The searing agony she had endured during the assimilation was not merely a side effect; it was the very process of that purification. The Philosopher's Stone, she concluded, had somehow cleansed and strengthened the magical core of her being, enhancing her innate abilities and making her magic more potent, more refined. And with that purification came a clearer, more profound understanding of the mystical forces at play.
Her thoughts, inevitably, turned to Harry. Specifically, to the two distinct soul signatures she had perceived within him: his own vibrant emerald green, and the murky, sickly black that was unmistakably a fragment of Voldemort's soul. The Horcrux.
A calculated resolve hardened within her. She would assimilate Harry's Horcrux. The decision was not born of malice, but of cold, logical necessity. There were several compelling reasons. Firstly, and most importantly, it was for Harry's own well-being. That parasitic soul fragment was a blight, a constant drain on his magical and spiritual health, poisoning him from within. Removing it was an act of mercy, a liberation. Secondly, it promised another surge of soul power for herself, another piece of Voldemort's vast magical knowledge to assimilate, another step towards her ultimate goal of absolute magical supremacy. And thirdly, and perhaps most crucially, it was the surest way to prevent Voldemort's eventual return. With each Horcrux she assimilated, she chipped away at his anchors to this world, ensuring that when the time came, he would face true, unadulterated oblivion.
A faint flicker of unease, a ghost of a moral dilemma, stirred within her. Assimilating a part of another person, even a fragment of a dark wizard's soul, felt… invasive. A violation. But the ethical debate was short-lived, swiftly overruled by her pragmatism and her own dark ambition. Harry would be better off without it, and she would be stronger. The greater good, in this instance, aligned perfectly with her personal agenda.
Yet, a more subtle, manipulative thought took root. She wouldn't just take his Horcrux. She would "tame" Harry Potter. The idea of him, the boy-who-lived, the hero of the light, unknowingly dancing to her tune, was undeniably appealing. She envisioned him as a loyal ally, a powerful, albeit unwitting, pawn in her grand schemes. It was a more elegant solution than simply taking what she wanted; it offered control, influence, and a useful asset for the inevitable conflicts to come.
As she observed Harry in the following days, her Soul Perception became an invaluable tool. His magical core, she noted, was incredibly abnormal. It pulsed with a raw, untamed power that was both magnificent and chaotic. The Horcrux, she realized, was acting as a constant, internal magical booster, an uncontrolled amplifier that simultaneously strengthened and destabilized his innate magic. No wonder his accidental magic was so potent; it was a consequence of this internal, volatile magical overflow. This anomaly explained his accidental magic and how he had survived the Killing Curse. The sheer, untamed power within him, constantly fed by the parasitic Horcrux, had simply overwhelmed the dark magic, causing it to backfire.
The implications were staggering. Harry Potter was not just a symbol; he was a living, breathing paradox, a magical anomaly of immense potential. And she, Ginny Weasley, now understood the key to unlocking that potential, and simultaneously, the means to disarm the deadliest weapon in Voldemort's arsenal. The game was set.
As the weeks bled into months, Ginny found herself observing Harry Potter with increasing frequency, her Soul Perception a constant, subtle hum in the background of her awareness. His vibrant green soul, intertwined with the sickly black of the Horcrux, fascinated her. A strange, unexpected affection began to bloom in her chest. Despite her manipulative plans for him, despite her intention to "tame" him, she found herself genuinely fond of the boy. He was a good boy, she conceded, loyal, kind, and remarkably resilient. He was family.
This growing fondness led to a quiet, internal debate. Even if she intended to exert control over him, didn't he deserve to know the truth about the parasitic soul fragment nestled within him? Didn't he deserve to be free of it? The answer, she decided, was a resounding yes. However, the revelation had to be strategic. Dumbledore, she reasoned, would undoubtedly attempt to intervene, to "protect" Harry in his own convoluted way, which might involve removing the Horcrux in a manner that would preclude Ginny from assimilating its power. Voldemort, if he knew of the Horcrux's presence, would undoubtedly attempt to reclaim it, endangering Harry in the process.
No, the truth would wait. She would reveal it only after she had amassed enough power to protect Harry from both Dumbledore's meddling and Voldemort's wrath. She would master her abilities, strengthen her core, and then, she would approach Harry, offering him liberation and, in doing so, securing another piece of her own ultimate power. She would, she decided, even find a way to convince Dumbledore that the Horcrux had been successfully removed, leaving him none the wiser about her unique ability or the power she had gained.
The Christmas holidays were fast approaching, and with them, the commencement of her advanced classes. Ginny embraced the challenge with relish. Each night, after the dormitory had fallen silent, she would activate her "Superior Logical Processing Unit," devouring advanced magical texts for ten minutes at a time. The time dilation allowed her to absorb vast quantities of information, her mind mapping complex spell structures, intricate ritual designs, and arcane magical theories with astonishing speed. She meticulously maintained the ten-minute rule, acutely aware of the magic exhaustion that followed prolonged use. Her core stats were slowly but surely recovering from the Philosopher's Stone assimilation, and she wasn't about to risk another debilitating setback.
Beyond her relentless pursuit of knowledge, Ginny continued to nurture her friendships. Aileen and Gwen, now fully recovered from their initial alarm about her early graduation, had become her constants. They bickered good-naturedly, shared secrets, and offered a grounding presence that, surprisingly, Ginny had come to cherish. Their simple, uncomplicated affection was a balm to her increasingly complex and calculating mind. She found genuine joy in their laughter, a quiet contentment in their presence. They were her link to the normalcy she was slowly leaving behind, yet simultaneously, a source of strength she hadn't anticipated.
Christmas drew nearer, bringing with it the joyous anticipation of holidays and family. Ginny, however, felt a different kind of anticipation. The holidays would be a brief respite, a lull before the storm of accelerated learning and the continued pursuit of her grand designs. Harry's fate, and indeed the fate of the wizarding world, rested, in part, on her shoulders. And Ginny, with her growing power and chilling resolve, was ready to bear that weight. The architect had made her promise, and she intended to see it through, no matter the cost.
The final week before the Christmas holidays passed in a blur of last-minute assignments and a palpable sense of anticipation among the students. Ginny, however, felt a twinge of disappointment. Harry, she discovered, was not staying at Hogwarts for the holidays. He would be returning to the Dursleys, a fact that complicated her plans for the Horcrux nestled within his soul. Her meticulous calculations for his assimilation would have to be put on hold, a minor setback in her grand design. Still, her resolve remained unshaken. She would "tame" Harry Potter, no matter how long it took. Her patience, honed by years of waiting for her rebirth, was boundless.
Her thoughts turned to other potential assimilations. The Chamber of Secrets, with its slumbering Basilisk, remained a tempting target. Assimilating the legendary beast would undoubtedly grant her immense power, particularly in Dark Magic and perhaps even a form of innate magic resistant to its deadly gaze. However, the risk was too high while children were still present in the castle, and her primary focus, for now, remained Harry. The Basilisk could wait.
The Sword of Gryffindor also crossed her mind. If it possessed properties beyond its known ability to absorb that which makes it stronger, if it offered unique magical attributes that could be assimilated, it would be a worthy target. But its location and accessibility were still unknown, shrouded in the mysteries of the headmaster's office. Another project for later.
Christmas, however, required immediate attention. Ginny considered her roommates, Aileen and Gwen. They had become an unexpected comfort, a source of genuine joy in her otherwise calculating existence. She settled on gifts that would genuinely delight them: a collection of rare, first-edition Quidditch cards for Aileen, and a beautifully illustrated book on rare magical creatures, complete with pop-up diagrams of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks and Nargles, for Gwen. The thought of their excited faces brought a genuine smile to her lips, a warmth that had nothing to do with power or strategy.
Soon enough, the Hogwarts Express pulled into Platform 9 3/4, and Ginny found herself enveloped in the familiar, suffocating embrace of her mother, Molly. "Ginny, darling! You've grown!" Molly exclaimed, her eyes shining with tears. Arthur, Fred, George, Percy, and Ron were all there, their faces beaming. And then, there was Harry, standing a little awkwardly at the edge of the bustling crowd, a shy smile on his face.
The Burrow, as always, was a riot of noise and warmth. Molly, ever the doting mother, hovered over Ginny, fussing over her food and asking a million questions about her first term at Hogwarts. But there was a subtle shift in Molly's demeanor, a quiet observation that Ginny didn't miss. Her mother, Ginny realized, was noticing her newfound independence, her quiet confidence. It was a change that Molly, with her fiercely protective instincts, found both gratifying and faintly disconcerting.
Ginny, for her part, played the role of the demure, slightly overwhelmed youngest child perfectly. She listened attentively, offered innocent anecdotes, and deflected probing questions with practiced ease. Her internal monologue, however, was a mix of amusement and a lingering, faint guilt. 'Such easily manipulated creatures,' she thought, a small, dark satisfaction settling in her heart. 'But so warm, so… loving.' The warmth, the genuine affection from her family, was a tangible thing, a force that, despite her darker inclinations, she found herself craving. It was a complex dance, this manipulation, a constant balancing act between her growing ruthlessness and the unexpected, burgeoning capacity for love.
She watched her family, their boisterous laughter filling the cozy kitchen, their magic a comforting, vibrant hum that she could now perceive distinctly. Harry, seated beside Ron, looked more relaxed than she had ever seen him. A small, almost imperceptible smirk touched Ginny's lips. He was hers to 'tame', and she had all the time in the world. Christmas, it seemed, was just the beginning of her grand orchestration.
Christmas at the Burrow was, in a word, chaotic. But it was a chaos Ginny found herself surprisingly, profoundly, enjoying. The old, crooked house, filled with the warmth of mismatched furniture, the scent of Molly's cooking, and the constant, boisterous laughter of her brothers, had a way of seeping into her very core. She would often find herself laughing genuinely, not a forced, polite titter, but a deep, unrestrained mirth that bubbled up from within. This joy, she realized with a faint sense of wonder, wasn't a facade. It was real.
The affection she felt for her family deepened with each passing day of the holidays. Molly's tireless fussing, Arthur's quiet, genuine interest in her studies, Fred and George's endless pranks, Percy's earnest (if sometimes misguided) advice, and Ron's simple, unwavering loyalty – all of it resonated with a part of her that, despite Riddle's lingering influence, remained distinctly Ginny. And Harry, the quiet, observant boy who had become an honorary Weasley, was no exception. He was part of this chaotic, loving family, and she found herself growing fonder of him with each passing day.
Christmas morning dawned bright and cold, the air crisp with the promise of magic. The living room was a riot of discarded wrapping paper, half-eaten sweets, and the excited chatter of the Weasley clan. Ginny, with a quiet satisfaction, watched as her carefully chosen gifts found their recipients.
For Percy, she had found a rare, first-edition book on "Advanced Transfiguration Theory," a dense, academic tome that would undoubtedly fuel his intellectual pursuits. Percy, usually reserved, had actually beamed, his spectacles gleaming with excitement.
Fred and George, naturally, received a stack of new joke books, filled with ancient, forgotten pranks, alongside a substantial pouch of Galleons. "To fund your ventures, gentlemen," she had said, a knowing wink in her eye. The twins, momentarily speechless, had then descended into a flurry of whispered plans and excited cackles.
Ron, ever the simple soul, received a set of signed Quidditch memorabilia from the Chudley Cannons, his favorite team, and a brand-new, slightly-used, but perfectly functional broomstick that Ginny had subtly enchanted to give it a little extra speed. Ron's eyes had lit up like the Christmas tree itself, and he had hugged her, awkwardly but sincerely.
Molly and Arthur received more practical, yet no less thoughtful, gifts: a set of enchanted cooking utensils for Molly that made meal preparation a breeze, and a self-repairing toolbox for Arthur, whose fascination with Muggle artifacts often led to minor household disasters. Their smiles, genuine and heartfelt, were all the reward Ginny needed.
Then, it was Harry's turn. Ginny handed him a slim, leather-bound book with no title, its cover smooth and unadorned. Harry looked at it curiously, turning it over in his hands.
"What's this?" he asked, a faint frown creasing his brow.
"It's a book on a new branch of magic I've been studying," Ginny explained, her voice carefully casual. "The Theory of Soul Magic. It's incredibly complex, but I think you'll find it fascinating. It's all about the essence of magic, how it interacts with our very being, and how it can be… manipulated." The last word was almost imperceptible, a whisper in the boisterous room.
Harry's eyes, green and intense, widened slightly. He looked from the book to Ginny, a flicker of intrigued curiosity in their depths. "Soul Magic?" he repeated, a thoughtful expression on his face. "I've never heard of it."
"It's very obscure," Ginny said, shrugging lightly. "Not many wizards delve into it. But I think it's important. It explains a lot about… unusual magical phenomena."
Harry nodded slowly, clutching the book. He seemed genuinely intrigued, a positive sign for Ginny's future plans. She watched him, a complex swirl of emotions churning within her. His easy trust, his unwavering goodness, contrasted sharply with her own manipulative intentions. There was a faint pang of guilt, a fleeting moment of discomfort, but it was quickly subsumed by the cold, calculating logic of her grand design. He would be better off. And she would be stronger. It was a means to an end, a path she was determined to walk, even if it meant playing a subtle, dangerous game with the people she had, against all odds, come to care for. The stage was set, and the first act of Harry's 'taming' had begun.