"i know life well enough to know you can't count on things staying around or standing still, no matter how much you want them to. you can't stop people from dying. you can't stop them from going away. you can't stop yourself from going away either."...
"and in that moment there's nothing i fear except losing hold of her hand."
― jennifer niven
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Ophelia wasn't expecting to find herself standing at the end of a long dimly-lit hall underneath the second floor girls toilets beside one (slightly) terrified Harry Potter. She also wasn't expecting to see her sister lying on the floor at the end of it, pale, cold and almost lifeless.
"GINNY!" she screamed, racing to Ginny's limp body, dropping her wand in shock. Harry followed closely behind. She pulled her twin's head onto her lap, desperate for a response. Nothing. Tears clouded her eyes as she held her sister closer, not willing to give up on her yet.
"Please Gin, say something." She whispered, her voice trembling.
Harry was trying too. "Ginny please wake up." He muttered, shaking her gently. Still nothing.
"She won't wake." A soft voice made both children jump slightly, turning to see a tall, black haired boy, watching them. "She's still alive. But only just."
"Tom- Tom Riddle?" Harry stammered.
The boy nodded. Ophelia noticed he was almost blurred around the edges, like he wasn't truly there. She wiped the tears misting over her eyes, but no change. He began to tell Harry the story of the Chamber of Secrets; how he opened it 50 years ago. But the redhead couldn't focus on what he was saying, she just sat helplessly next to her sister, staring at her pale face. The diary responsible was lying beside her. She couldn't let it hurt her sister again, so she hid it away in her robe pocket. She felt an overwhelming amount of guilt, like she should've known. They were twins, for Godric's sake, surely she should've known. Fred would've known if it were George. This was her fault. It had to be. Her thoughts were disrupted by the cry of a bird.
Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix, swooped down over the children, dropping the sorting hat beside them. Riddle began to laugh, and it echoed through the chamber, making Ophelia shiver. And then he began to whisper. No not whisper. Hiss. Something was stirring inside the mouth of one of the statues. Something was slithering.
Ophelia clung to her sister even tighter, as a giant serpent uncoiled itself and began heading towards Harry. They knew what this was. The Basilisk. She immediately squeezed her eyes shut, knowing one look from the creature could kill. She didn't open them again. Not for a long time. Not until Harry called out to her:
"The hat!" he cried. She opened her eyes, searching the floor for the Sorting Hat. It was evident it was safe to open them, as Harry was looking desperately from across the room.
The hat was in arms reach, so she grabbed it, just as the snakes tail whipped around, nearly knocking her. But it was after Harry. Not her.
Now the problem at hand was, why a hat? The logical answer would be to put it on your head. Well, any normal person would. That's what a hat's for right? But Ophelia knew there had to be something else. She'd always thought differently.
