Ladder of Dreams

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤

The Weasleys were widely acknowledged as an old, slightly respected house, despite not being Noble or having family magics. They were also just as widely identified as the house stuffed with red-headed children they couldn't support. And the Dark simply recognised them as blood traitors.

What wasn't so outspoken was the jealousy some families had of the Weasleys. Seven children, all of them witches or wizards. None were squibs, none were even close to that — so far, all the children of this generation's Weasleys had been top of their year.

That rarity in their bloodline caused the families in the Noble Family Magics to isolate and belittle them. The minister, Arthur's boss, was no help in that matter.

Alora did feel slightly guilty for using that information. The Weasley's didn't have enough money to support their children with the same luxuries most have; cue secondhand shops.

All Alora had done was go to Diagon Alley when the prices were lowest in late august. Then wait, disillusioned behind a bookshelf, and drop a journal into Ginny's basket of primary schoolbooks as they had left the store.

There were assurances that it would work, of course, considering that this was the exact method Lord Malfoy himself used. And it did.

Well, hello, diary. I'm pretty sure my mum accidentally bought you, but I think I will just use it anyway. I'm Ginny.

It was the fact she had achieved this using a Death Eater method that made her uneasily gaze at the ink on the journal before snapping out of it and picking up a pen.

The original nature of the method didn't matter, only how she used it.

Honestly, a diary was a good guess as the matching journals she had bought were both empty with plain grey covers. But it was much more desirable than a simple diary. Ginny's ink faded when she pressed her pen to the page.

Hello Ginny, it's nice to meet you. I'm not sure how you managed to get this, but it's not actually a diary. It's a communication journal, and I have the other one it connects to. My names Alora, by the way.

Lies, sure, but necessary ones. She'd just have to gain her trust, to become friends in this way, then it would be safe to tell her all the truth. Seconds later, she received an expected answer.

Oh! I'm so sorry, I had no idea. Would you like me to return it to you?

She quickly wrote her response.

I don't know...what if you kept it? Would you like to talk like this? Maybe become friends? I'm eight. I think you're around that age too.

This needed to work. It had to; the Weasleys were so very essential to the Light, so very powerful, and Ginny was the perfect link to them. Seconds passed as her grip tightened further on the pen, muscles tensed —

Sure! I don't really get to meet many people my age. I'm seven. Alora, right?

Oh Ginny, gullible little Ginny, the one that had passed the soonest, in a gruesome, horrible death. Alora didn't know when she would share it with her or how well Ginny would take it. But it was a conversation for another year.

Yeah!

There were five kids Alora needed to visit per week. Estella was the only one she saw twice, as she spent most of that time holed up in a study or the drawing room with Estella's parents and other adults.

For Ginny, the sixth, she spent a few hours a week writing in the journal, becoming friends with the girl. And, of course, Ginny never once imagined that the other journal's owner may be hiding the truth.