The assimilation of the Basilisk was unlike anything Ginny had experienced before. The Philosopher's Stone had been a searing, purifying fire; Harry's Horcrux, a chilling consumption of malevolence. The Basilisk, however, was a battle.
As she initiated the ritual, a profound, ancient magical presence surged against her, a primal will resisting her intrusion. The Basilisk roared, a deafening sound that reverberated through the Chamber, shaking the very stone around them. Its massive coils thrashed, kicking up dust and debris. Ginny gritted her teeth, holding fast to her magical connection, pouring her intent into the assimilation, bending the beast's formidable will to her own.
The pain was excruciating, a thousand venomous fangs sinking into her magical core, a blinding, soul-searing agony as the Basilisk's raw, untamed magic tore at her defenses. But this time, Ginny was prepared. Her enhanced magical core, fortified by the Philosopher's Stone and the Horcrux, withstood the assault. She focused, channeling her dark magic, asserting dominance, absorbing the beast's essence, its power, its very nature.
It felt like wrestling with a mountain, a colossal, ancient force trying to break her. But Ginny, fueled by ambition and the cold logic of her ultimate goals, refused to yield. Slowly, agonizingly, the Basilisk's struggles weakened. Its roars diminished to guttural growls, then to a faint hiss, and finally, a profound silence. The immense magical presence receded, not vanquished, but integrated.
When the last tendrils of the Basilisk's essence flowed into her, Ginny collapsed, gasping for breath, her body trembling uncontrollably. Every muscle screamed in protest, every nerve ending flared with phantom pains. But beneath the exhaustion, a new, exhilarating power surged, a cold, potent strength that resonated with the very concept of death and ancient reptilian might.
With a shaky hand, Ginny pulled up her status screen, her eyes gleaming with a fierce triumph.
Name: Ginevra Molly Weasley Race: Witch Magic: 9.8 Body: 2.1 Spirit: 9.5 Innate Abilities: Assimilate 1/3 (regen: 1/year (Total: 7/decade)), Parseltongue, Magic Perception, Superior Logical Processing Unit (1/1), Soul Perception, Soul Binding (1/1) - Linked with Harry James Potter (Bond: 7%), Basilisk Gaze (Passive - Level 1) Skills: Cooking Lv.3 (4/4000), Flying Lv.5 (121/16000) Magicks: Enchantment Lv.8 (2000/128000), Transfiguration Lv.8 (2000/128000), Dark Magic Lv.10 (500000/2048000), Mind Magic Lv.7 (2000/64000)
Her core stats had leaped again, her Magic and Spirit nearing an almost unheard-of level for her age. Dark Magic had seen a significant boost, reflecting the Basilisk's dark nature. But the most significant change was the new Innate Ability: "Basilisk Gaze (Passive - Level 1)." The knowledge of its power, its lethality, its ability to petrify or kill, flooded her mind. It was a terrifying weapon, a silent, unseen power, now hers to command. It was passive, she noted, meaning she wouldn't have to consciously activate it for low-level effects, and a mental command would control its full power.
'Success,' she thought, a cold, ruthless satisfaction settling in her soul. 'Complete success.' The Basilisk, the feared monster of the Chamber, was now merely a part of her, its power fueling her ascent.
Despite her exhaustion, Ginny rose, her gaze sweeping the Chamber. She couldn't leave any trace. With precise, silent spells, she disintegrated the Basilisk's remaining physical form, ensuring no evidence of its demise remained. She then meticulously wiped away any lingering magical residue, leaving the Chamber as pristine, as empty, as it had been for centuries.
Her mind already raced ahead, strategizing. This new power, this innate ability to instantly kill or petrify with a mere gaze – it was a game-changer. It would cement her "Fame" in the wizarding world, even if the true nature of her involvement remained hidden. She would orchestrate events, subtly guiding the narrative, ensuring she received the credit for the Chamber's closure. And with Harry now bound to her, his loyalty and burgeoning power at her disposal, she was truly unstoppable.
She ascended the winding pipe, emerged from the sink, and slipped back into the deserted castle, a phantom in the quiet halls. The victory was hers, the Basilisk's heart now beating within her own. The summer holidays approached, but for Ginny Weasley, the true work had only just begun.
With the Basilisk's immense power coursing through her veins, Ginny felt a boundless sense of triumph. But victory was only half the battle; the other half was controlling the narrative. The Chamber of Secrets, once a looming threat, was now an empty, sealed vault, and Ginny intended to ensure she received the credit for its neutralization, further bolstering her "Fame" in the wizarding world.
The next morning, she sought out Professor McGonagall. Her demeanor was a careful blend of concern and a carefully feigned innocence. "Professor McGonagall," she began, her voice low and serious, "I… I think I've found something out about the Chamber of Secrets."
McGonagall, who was typically unflappable, raised an eyebrow, a flicker of guarded curiosity in her eyes. "Ms. Weasley, what could you possibly know about the Chamber?"
"I… I don't quite understand it myself, Professor," Ginny confessed, adopting a slightly bewildered expression. "But ever since Harry… well, ever since that dark entity was removed from him, I've felt a strange connection to the castle. A sort of… awareness." She paused, letting the implication hang in the air – her "gift" stemming from her selfless act for Harry. "Last night, I felt a strong pull, a deep sense of wrongness emanating from the girls' bathroom on the second floor. It was a… a whisper, almost. In a language I barely recognized, but understood somehow." She subtly hinted at Parseltongue without explicitly naming it, allowing McGonagall to draw her own conclusions.
"I followed it," Ginny continued, her voice filled with a tremor she manufactured for effect. "And I found a hidden entrance. It was… a terrible place, Professor. But when I reached the end, the Chamber was empty. Whatever creature was there, it was gone. And I… I sealed it. I don't know how, but I felt a strong compulsion to make sure no one could ever open it again. It felt… dead." She made sure to emphasize the emptiness, ensuring no one would go looking for a body.
McGonagall's face was a study in controlled astonishment. Her gaze, sharp and assessing, bored into Ginny's, searching for any hint of deception. "You entered the Chamber of Secrets, Ms. Weasley? And you sealed it?"
"I felt I had to, Professor," Ginny insisted, her eyes wide with a convincing blend of fear and determination. "It felt like a great danger had been averted, and I couldn't leave it open."
Within hours, a team of professors, including Dumbledore and a grim-faced Snape, accompanied by a cautious McGonagall, descended into the Chamber. Ginny, 'nervously' waited with the rest of the student body, her heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and anticipation.
Their return was swift. Dumbledore's usually twinkling eyes held a profound, almost awestruck expression. He confirmed Ginny's account: the Chamber was indeed empty, and the entrance was sealed with a formidable magical barrier that even he found difficult to undo.
Later that day, Dumbledore addressed the school in the Great Hall. "Students," his voice resonated through the hall, "I have important news regarding the Chamber of Secrets. Thanks to the extraordinary courage and unique magical gift of Ms. Ginny Weasley, the Chamber has been found to be empty, and has now been permanently sealed. Whatever threat it once posed is no longer present, due to her selfless actions."
A collective gasp swept through the hall, followed by a thunderous ovation. Ginny, seated at the Gryffindor table, feigned modesty, a faint blush rising to her cheeks. She exchanged a quiet, knowing look with Harry, who beamed at her, his gratitude shining through their Soul Binding bond.
Her status screen, checked discreetly beneath the table, confirmed the narrative's success:
Name: Ginevra Molly Weasley Race: Witch Magic: 9.8 Body: 2.1 Spirit: 9.5 Innate Abilities: Assimilate 1/3 (regen: 1/year (Total: 7/decade)), Parseltongue, Magic Perception, Superior Logical Processing Unit (1/1), Soul Perception, Soul Binding (1/1) - Linked with Harry James Potter (Bond: 7%), Basilisk Gaze (Passive - Level 1) Skills: Cooking Lv.3 (4/4000), Flying Lv.5 (121/16000) Magicks: Enchantment Lv.8 (2000/128000), Transfiguration Lv.8 (2000/128000), Dark Magic Lv.10 (500000/2048000), Mind Magic Lv.7 (2000/64000) Fame: Significant
The "Fame" stat had appeared, marked as "Significant." It was a subtle, yet powerful validation of her cunning. The whispers about the Chamber, the fear it had once instilled, were now replaced by awe for the "Weasley girl" who had seemingly, single-handedly, resolved the mystery. She was a hero, a prodigy, a force to be reckoned with. And all of it, a meticulously crafted illusion. The power was hers, the influence was hers, and the wizarding world, unwittingly, was now dancing to her tune. The game had truly begun.
The "Fame: Significant" status on her internal screen quickly translated into a tangible reality. The days following Dumbledore's announcement were a whirlwind of quiet adoration and curious glances. Students whispered in the corridors as she passed, professors offered subtle nods of approval, and even Snape's usual sneer seemed to soften, albeit imperceptibly, when she was in his vicinity. The attention was, predictably, a double-edged sword. It was useful, undeniably. Doors that might once have been closed now seemed to swing open. But it was also tiresome, an endless stream of superficial admiration that Ginny found herself tolerating rather than enjoying.
'Such easily swayed creatures,' she mused, observing the shifting tides of popularity with a detached amusement. 'A few well-placed words, a dramatic reveal, and suddenly, the little sister is a hero.' The cynicism was ever-present, but a sliver of genuine, almost childish pride, often pricked at her. She had outmaneuvered them all.
Her personal training intensified, pushing the boundaries of her rapidly expanding magical core. The Basilisk's assimilated essence was a thrilling new dimension to her power. She spent hours in the Room of Requirement, perfecting the nuanced control over her Basilisk Gaze. At Level 1, it was a passive, subtle effect, enough to deter minor creatures or instill a momentary dread. But she could feel the potential for more, the devastating power lurking beneath, waiting for her to unlock its full, lethal potential. She practiced focusing it, aiming it at inanimate objects, watching them subtly weaken or momentarily freeze, leaving no visible trace of the effect. It was a silent, terrifying weapon, one she knew would prove invaluable.
Harry's training continued apace. He was a diligent student, eager to please and even more eager to become stronger. His Mind Magic had progressed to the point where he could consistently clear his mind of stray thoughts and maintain a rudimentary mental shield. His Parseltongue was no longer a series of awkward hisses but fluid, guttural whispers, a hidden language that seemed to awaken something ancient within him. Ginny encouraged his progress, subtly pushing him to explore the limits of Soul Guard, urging him to allow it to absorb and channel more magic. She delighted in seeing his green soul grow brighter, more defined, less chaotic. He was becoming the precise, powerful hero she envisioned, a protector, an unwitting reflection of her will.
"You're getting incredibly strong, Harry," she told him one afternoon, watching him effortlessly deflect a training spell with Soul Guard, the magic flowing back into his core. "You're going to be an unstoppable force."
Harry, still a little breathless, grinned. "Only because of you, Ginny. I wouldn't have known any of this." His genuine gratitude was a warm current through their Soul Binding, a subtle affirmation of her influence. She accepted it, a complex mix of satisfaction and a faint twinge of something she refused to name.
The end of the school year truly arrived, marked by the inevitable exams and the joyous, if slightly melancholic, farewells. Ginny approached the impending summer holidays with a mixture of strategic planning and a fleeting, human anticipation. The Burrow awaited, her family's warmth a comforting anchor. But beyond the familial embrace, lay a world ripe for further manipulation.
She pondered her next targets, her mental map of wizarding artifacts and powerful magical entities already forming. The Chamber of Secrets had been a major victory, cementing her influence. What next? Perhaps some of Voldemort's remaining Horcruxes, now that she had assimilated one and understood their nature. Or maybe other legendary artifacts, sources of power she could absorb. The world was her oyster, and she had the tools, the power, and the unwavering resolve to claim it all.
As she boarded the Hogwarts Express, the cheers of the students and the soft murmurs of her fame following her, Ginny settled into a compartment with Harry, Ron, Hermione, Aileen, and Gwen. She smiled, a genuine, content smile that reached her eyes. She was a hero, a genius, a friend. And no one, not even the great Albus Dumbledore, truly understood the depth of the power that now lay within her, waiting to be unleashed. The summer break was merely a strategic pause in her grand, unfolding narrative.
The Burrow, vibrant with the chaos of a large, loving family, was a comforting balm after the structured intensity of Hogwarts. The summer holidays settled upon them like a warm blanket, filled with Molly's boisterous cooking, Arthur's earnest discussions about Muggle contraptions, and the good-natured bickering of her brothers. Ginny navigated this familiar landscape with ease, her internal world a carefully guarded secret. To her family, she was still their bright, brave Ginny, the hero who had miraculously solved the Chamber of Secrets. To herself, she was Ginevra Molly Weasley, the weaver of destinies, the silent queen.
Harry, still residing at the Burrow, was a constant presence. Their Soul Binding, now at a comfortable 7%, provided a subtle, ever-present hum of connection, a gentle reminder of his trust and her influence. Their shared secret training continued, albeit in a more relaxed setting. The expansive, if slightly overgrown, garden provided ample space for physical exercises, and the quiet hours after sunset became opportune moments for Mind Magic practices and Parseltongue drills. Ginny found a peculiar joy in these sessions, watching Harry's emerald soul grow stronger, more disciplined. She was forging him, piece by piece, into the powerful wizard she knew he could be, a perfect mirror to her own ambition.
"You're becoming incredibly good at this, Harry," Ginny hissed one balmy evening, their voices a low, sibilant melody in the moonlit garden as they practiced Parseltongue. "Your control is improving by leaps and bounds."
Harry, his eyes gleaming in the dim light, responded in kind, the serpentine whispers flowing more naturally from his lips. "It's all thanks to you, Ginny. I never thought I'd be able to do any of this." His genuine appreciation, flowing through their bond, resonated deeply within Ginny. It wasn't just about power; it was about shaping something, nurturing it, watching it flourish under her deliberate guidance. A strange, almost parental pride settled in her chest, a stark contrast to the cold, calculating machinations that usually occupied her mind.
But while the outward appearance was one of innocent summer fun, Ginny's internal gears never stopped turning. The assimilation of the Basilisk had left her with a potent new ability: Basilisk Gaze. She spent countless hours in the privacy of her room, meticulously experimenting with its control. She practiced in front of a mirror, not to see her reflection, but to perceive the subtle flow of energy from her eyes. She learned to dial its power, from a faint, unsettling aura to a terrifying petrification, and even the full, lethal effect. She discovered she could direct it with mere intent, a silent, unseen weapon that now resided within her.
Her research during the summer shifted towards another major goal: locating and assimilating more Horcruxes. The first one, the diary, had been almost too easy. She knew of others. Her prodigious memory, coupled with Riddle's assimilated knowledge, provided her with a starting point. Marvolo Gaunt's Ring, she determined, was the most likely next target. It was powerful, dangerous, and steeped in ancient, dark magic. She began to formulate a plan, considering its potential location, the formidable defenses it would undoubtedly possess, and the precise magical procedures required for its assimilation. This wouldn't be a simple task; it would require cunning, preparation, and perhaps, a carefully orchestrated opportunity.
The summer days drifted by, marked by Quidditch games in the orchard, impromptu picnics by the creek, and the comforting rhythm of family life. But for Ginny, each day was a strategic step forward, a silent consolidation of power. She was preparing, not just for the next school year, but for a future she would shape, a world she would subtly control. The ring, the next piece of Voldemort's fractured soul, beckoned from the shadows, and Ginny, armed with new powers and unwavering resolve, was ready to answer its call.
The summer days at the Burrow were a deceptive calm, a perfect cover for Ginny's clandestine preparations. While her family believed she was simply enjoying her holidays, Ginny was meticulously plotting her next move. The Marvolo Gaunt Ring, one of Voldemort's fragmented souls, was her next target. Her SLPU worked tirelessly, sifting through Riddle's memories, piecing together fragments of information about its location – the decrepit Gaunt Shack in Little Hangleton – and the insidious curses protecting it. This would be no simple task.
One sweltering afternoon, while the rest of the family was preoccupied with a chaotic game of backyard Quidditch, Ginny slipped away. A potent disillusionment charm, refined over months of practice, rendered her utterly invisible. She apparated silently to the outskirts of Little Hangleton, the familiar lurch in her stomach a minor discomfort compared to the thrill of the hunt.
The village was sleepy, unremarkable. Guided by Riddle's lingering imprints and her own heightened magical perception, Ginny soon found the Gaunt Shack. It stood isolated, a decaying monument to a disgraced pure-blood line, surrounded by a thicket of overgrown weeds and a palpable aura of ancient, dark magic.
As she approached, the air grew heavy, pressing in on her. The shack hummed with layers of powerful, malevolent curses. Ginny's Soul Perception flared, revealing a formidable array of wards designed to deter intruders, and, most ominously, a potent death curse woven directly into the ring itself. She bypassed the outer wards with practiced ease, her Dark Magic unraveling their intricate patterns like loose threads.
Inside the shack, the stench of decay and neglect was overwhelming. In the gloom, on a dust-covered floorboard, lay the ring. It was a heavy, ugly thing, made of dull gold, with a large, cracked black stone crudely set into it. The Horcrux's dark essence pulsed from it, a sickeningly familiar echo of the diary. But more than that, Ginny felt another powerful, ancient magic radiating from the black stone itself – the Resurrection Stone.
The moment her fingers brushed the ring, a searing pain lanced through her, sharper than any she had experienced before. The death curse activated instantly, a malevolent energy rushing to consume her. Ginny gritted her teeth, refusing to release her grip. This was it.
She poured her own vast magical reserves into countering the curse, her Dark Magic rising to meet the challenge. She didn't try to dispel it entirely; instead, she redirected its energy, drawing it into her core, forcing it to assimilate alongside the ring itself. It was a dangerous gamble, a high-stakes duel between her will and the raw power of the curse. The Basilisk Gaze, an instinctive reaction, briefly flared in her eyes, momentarily stunning the magical onslaught, buying her precious seconds.
The Horcrux within the ring shrieked, a mental wail of pure terror as it felt itself being torn from its anchor. Ginny focused, pushing the assimilation process forward, drawing the dark fragment, and simultaneously, the ancient magic of the Resurrection Stone, into her being. The combined influx of power was immense, almost overwhelming. Her body convulsed, a familiar agony engulfing her as the dark magic of the Horcrux and the subtle, potent magic of the Stone integrated into her soul.
When the pain finally subsided, Ginny lay prostrate on the dusty floor, gasping. She felt raw, drained, but also intensely, profoundly, powerful. She pulled up her status screen, her eyes eager, noting the astonishing changes.
Name: Ginevra Molly Weasley Race: Witch Magic: 11.2 Body: 2.5 Spirit: 10.8 Innate Abilities: Assimilate 1/3 (regen: 1/year (Total: 7/decade)), Parseltongue, Magic Perception, Superior Logical Processing Unit (1/1), Soul Perception, Soul Binding (1/1) - Linked with Harry James Potter (Bond: 10%), Basilisk Gaze (Passive - Level 2), Soul Echo (0/1) Skills: Cooking Lv.3 (4/4000), Flying Lv.5 (121/16000) Magicks: Enchantment Lv.9 (1/256000), Transfiguration Lv.9 (1/256000), Dark Magic Lv.10 (1500000/2048000), Mind Magic Lv.8 (1/128000) Fame: Significant
Her core stats had surged once more, pushing her magic and spirit beyond the realm of even the most powerful adult wizards. Her Dark Magic had skyrocketed. Basilisk Gaze had leveled up, indicating greater control and power. But the most intriguing addition was "Soul Echo (0/1)." As the knowledge of this new ability flooded her mind, she understood its nature: the ability to perceive and subtly interact with the spirits of the dead, to draw echoes of their essence, to learn from them. The Resurrection Stone's magic, now part of her.
A triumphant, almost feral smile spread across Ginny's face. Two Horcruxes down, and the formidable power of one of the Deathly Hallows now integrated into her very being. This was exhilarating. The summer, far from being a time of rest, was becoming a forging ground for unparalleled power. She rose, leaving the desolate shack behind, another piece of Voldemort's shattered soul now residing within her, fueling her unstoppable ascent.