Authoress's note: Here's a short story that I thought of a while ago and decided to post.
As always feedback is appreciated.
Enjoy.
She was the youngest of seven, the long looked for daughter, the little sister her family loved and would fight to protect. These were truths which she had always known, from the moment her father had presented her proudly to his friends at the ministry when they had come to offer their congratulations. They were easily read in the tender glances her mother cast her way as she introduced her to the fine art of cooking, or the intricacies of household magics which were every witch's bread and butter.
Her dad so often ridiculed by his fellow wizards, would offer her a look of great tenderness and deep affection, whenever he was showing her some new muggle curiosity he had just brought home. Together they would laugh as they puzzled over the odd muggle names, and tried to work out the purpose of each object.
She had spent many fascinating hours with the twins, as they all struggled to unlock the mysteries of muggle creations. The twins kept her secrets, leaving the shed unlocked so she could practice her flying out from under the watchful eyes of her mother. She had learned so much from their tricks, lessons of perseverance and the value of laughter which would serve her well in the years to come.
From Charlie she learned what it meant to be a Gryffindor, and the rewards which came from making friends of creatures which so many witches and wizards thought either dangerous or inferior. Bill had shown her the necessity of knowing the magics which dark wizards favored, so that she could learn how to thwart them when fully grown. She had promised herself that she would follow that example, the first time he had come home after receiving the honor of being named Curse Breaker. Indeed it was those recollections which had helped her to endure; she often thought afterwards that they were what kept her strong during the years when the second war raged.
And then came her first year at Hogwarts, where she was drawn into a world of darkness which she knew none of her family could ever understand. For although they had lost family to Riddle, none of them truly knew what lay within his deepest thoughts. How could they possibly comprehend the hatred which drove him to kill without remorse, or the lingering sense of grief she had carried ever since he first responded to her tentative offers of friendship. He had become her confidant, the one to whom she told all of her secrets. Many were the nights when she would lie awake in her bed, reading by candlelight the sweet words of comfort and friendship which Tom never tired of repeating. She often thought it ironic afterwards, that it was the young Dark Lord who introduced her to the joy of the written word, stimulating her love of learning in a way no teacher at Hogwarts could ever have done.
Afterwards; when the nightmare of that year was finally ended, she never told anyone of the things she had learned from Riddle, fearing that they would call her a dark sorceress. Her family did what they could, but there came a time when even the comfort of her mother's gentle embrace and nights spent talking over tea in the kitchen with her dad no
longer helped to keep her dark thoughts at bay. Fred and George suspected, because of all her kin they dared to look and think beyond the boundaries set by the wizard world.
The years that followed were filled with hard work and laughter, and the excitement of mastering her magic. But always present was the shadow of Voldemort, and the knowledge that one day she would take up her wand to defend all she loved. She did not know then, the cost which war demanded, or that she would use the power of words instead of magic to combat the boy she had once called friend. Until sixth year, when all she knew and loved was swallowed by darkness. No longer was Hogwarts a refuge and she was forced to lay aside her foolish hopes that somehow all would be well once she was behind the castle walls.
She watched with pride as Neville smoothly took up the reins of leadership, taking up the mantle of a warrior with a grace and courage she was sure his parents would have admired.
But it was only after their daring plan to steal Gryffindor's sword had failed, that she knew she must do more.
But what could she do?
The plan took shape, in the dark hours of night when sleep proved illusive, and she sat beside yet another small first year who had been tortured by the Carrows. The young Muggleborn witch had asked for a story, hoping that it might distract her mind enough so that she could forget about the pain.
It was then she recalled those far off nights, when her father would read her tales from both the wizard and muggle worlds. One of her favorites had been the story called Arabian Nights. Together she had laughed with her father over the Muggles strange ideas about magic, and admired the courage of the heroine who had used her intelligence to bargain for her freedom and life.
And Ginny found herself thinking of those evenings before the common room fire, when a young Dark Lord had shared with her his passion for learning, and she had tasted the sweet waters of knowledge as he told her tales from wizard history. Grim satisfaction filled her soul as she considered her plan. She would indeed use the knowledge taught to her long ago, but in a way which Voldemort would never suspect. She, who knew the darkness within Riddle intimately, would fight against the lingering specter of his memory by turning his knowledge against him by using one of the oldest magics of all.
She gathered them around the fire and began her tale. Eyes alight with determination, she wove a magic wizards would have scorned because it had long been relegated to the realms of impossibility. It was power born not of elemental forces, but the need to keep hope alive in the hearts of children who were being robbed of their innocence. She was not bargaining for another day of freedom. No she was trying to keep alive the memories of joy and hope, and encourage those students who were determined to keep Hogwarts from completely falling under the enemy's control.
More came to listen as the weeks went by. And on the nights when despair sought to overwhelm her, others took up the challenge.
Michael who she had once dated told the stories of Odysseus and the courage of Penelope as she waited faithfully for his return. Unspoken between them all lay the thought that they too were awaiting the return of a hero, the one it was said was destined to put an end to Voldemort and restore peace to their world.
Parvati and Padma shared tales from their native India, banishing for a few precious moments the lingering specters of fear and despair which had become a part of every student's life.
Even when they were forced to live in the Room of Requirement, the nightly ritual continued. Then it was Tracy and Daphne, members of Slytherin who took up the challenge, bringing to life old legends from the time of Arthur and Merlin. Others told tales from muggle literature, or stories of their families which brought brief bursts of laughter from the whole group.
She fought back, as only a Weasley could fight, with a magic which no servant of Voldemort could quench, nor hope to comprehend. When small first years came to her broken and terrified, she told them tales of wonder, of people who still fought no matter the obstacle placed in their path. For many weeks, she kept everyone spellbound by the tale of Frodo's quest to destroy the terrible ring of power. Often she found herself struggling to keep a note of irony from entering her voice; for once again she had chosen a tale which mirrored the mission which had sent Harry out into danger. Secretly she marveled at how alike the fates of both heroes were, and prayed that Harry would not make a similar sacrifice for the sake of their world and his friends.
Years later, when James brought home his Hogwarts materials, she realized the impact which her stories had made. It had been Hermione's idea to revise her favorite of all Hogwarts texts, even going so far as to include comments from those who had lived to survive the second war. Indeed there was more than one chapter devoted to the famous Hogwart's battle.
Beneath the name of her dead brother was her own. And beside it an inscription which few in the wizard world would understand, but one which brought tears to her eyes as she remembered the second war and blessed her father for instilling within her an appreciation for Muggle literature. .
Ginny Weasley
Scheherazade