Ensorcelled
By Atlas May Wood [atlasmay]
For The Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition: Training Camp; Round One—Fairytale Dabbling
Portsmouth Plovers—Seeker
Far beyond the reaches of muggle eyes, where the air is as clear as crystal and the hills sway with fields of emerald grasses, there lay a glittering, steepled school of magic.
To the south of the castle lay a glistening lake, the depths of which no mere muggle could measure. The oddly luminous waters flowed deep into the earth and twisted their way through the dungeons of the castle, as agilely as a glittering serpent, full of secrets that were better left undiscovered.
Far from the thrumming waters and nestled deep within a golden tower, whose twisted peak stretched high into the clouds, lay the littlest Weasley.
Ginevra Weasley dug her fingers into her worn wooden bedpost, clawing at the intricate designs that had graced the dormitory for generations, as if scared that she would be ripped from the castle and forced to return to her home.
'When you turn eleven, Ginny,' her mother had assured her. 'You will join your brothers at Hogwarts. You will make lifelong friends and you will see the forests and the villages that surround the castle grounds. You will be happy.'
It had been an obvious oversight on her part, Ginevra marveled, to believe that befriending her classmates would be easy.
As she lay in her empty dormitory, the littlest Weasley clutched helplessly at her heart, nails digging deep into her chest, as a silent tear crawled down her cheek. She had swung her legs off of her bed and was on her hands and knees, rummaging through her second-hand trunk, before she could come to her senses and realize what she was doing.
Her fingers closed around a crisply-bound diary and, unseeingly, she pulled it from her trunk, holding it up, fearful and enthralled all at once. She should have never tried to flush it. She didn't mean to get Harry involved.
Running her index finger reverently over the embossed name, Ginevra hurriedly flipped it open, eyes wide, as her breath caught in her throat.
Ginevra, how nice to see you again. It has been far too long.
She slammed the diary shit, fearfully whipping her head towards the door. She allowed her breathing to become even before she gently pulled the diary open.
Ginevra, are you still there?
Allowing herself a minute to gather her composure, the little Weasley trailed one sharpened finger over the spindly writing that spread and blossomed like a spilt inkwell across the page.
Hello, Tom.
Her fingers shook as she painstakingly forced them to scratch her short message.
Are you unwell, Ginevra? Your hand is shaking.
Her mouth opened as she greedily gasped for air, tasting salt on her tongue.
I'm sorry, Tom. I am not unwell, not in a traditional sense I suppose. You must think so poorly of me. I am upset again, because of my dormmates.
Her hand trailed idly to her cheek and she pulled it back, damp.
They are still ignoring you, Ginevra?
She readjusted her quill as she sniffled pathetically, attempting to muffle her sounds.
They have taken to avoiding me in the halls, too. What's wrong with me, Tom?
She swiped at her cold, sorrowful eyes, reddened by tears and lack of sleep. As her dear Tom wrote back to her, comforting her with kind reassurances, Ginevra lay back clutching the diary to her chest, blissfully unaware that her clouded eyes and state of perpetual reverence exuded an air of danger and ignorance which her roommates were all too eager to avoid.
She scribbled something back—a thank you and a promise—as she heard her dormmates' laughter carry up the stairs and scrambled to hide the diary.
Do whatever you must to seek out happiness, Ginevra.
The door slammed shut behind her as she flew to her beaten trunk, forcing it open as her fiery hair settled softy around her face, clinging to her damp cheeks.
Knitted jumpers and wrinkled shirts flew from her grasp as she tore through her trunk, gasping soundlessly as she searched for the diary. Her fingers closed tightly around it and she stared at her white knuckles and her quill poised above a blank page.
Tom.
Ginevra, what's wrong?
She refilled the nib, absent-mindedly watching the ink drip onto the aged parchment, blossoming as it spread from thread to thread before disappearing in the same manner.
I've been thinking about what you said, Tom. About happiness, that is. And I've realized that the one thing that would make me happy—a person, I suppose—is Harry Potter.
A pause.
Harry Potter? Yes, I do recall you mentioning him in passing before your long absence.
Ginevra winced. He was being polite, of course. She knew that she had talked ceaselessly about Harry and his wondrous feats and his beautiful green eyes and the absolutely mesmerizing way his hair fell about his face and—
Indeed, I had the pleasure of conversing with Mr. Potter quite recently. Before you took the diary back, that is.
The diary tumbled from her trembling hands and landed soundlessly on the carpet below her.
Did her talk about me at all?
I apologize, Ginevra. Mr. Potter did not mention you.
Ginny's hand clutched unseeingly at her chest, her nails drawing blood.
No, it's okay Tom. I understand.
Perhaps I can still help you, Ginevra.
The littlest Weasley blinked, lowering her eyes in shame. A solitary tear traced a path down the bridge of her nose and, disgusted with her ceaseless crying, Ginny swiped it away. She bit down, hard, on the inside of her cheek as she prepared herself for the stinging betrayal she was about to admit.
There's something else I wanted to tell you. I told my brother about you today. Rather, I tried to, but Percy stopped me. I suspect he doesn't trust me with his secret—he has a girlfriend—and you shouldn't either. I'm sorry, Tom.
There was a long pause and Ginevra began to fear that Tom would never speak to her again. Just as she began to close the diary with a heavy heart, she saw Tom's familiar scrawl appear.
I see.
She could practically hear his disappointment in her. She had failed him. Her Tom, who had always been so nice to her, so honest. Through her haze of tears, she nearly missed his next message to her.
I still wish to help you, Ginevra, if you'll just let me. If you'll just let me in.
Ginny smiled her first real smile in months. Her Tom. He was so precious to her, so kind.
I'll do anything.
Ginevra lay awake in her bed, exhaling quietly through her mouth as she stared up at her tightly drawn canopy. Her dormmates had entered the room earlier and she had had just enough time to conceal the coveted diary from their undeserving gazes.
I'm sorry, Tom. We were interrupted by my dormmates.
That's quite alright, Ginevra. I'm pleased that you understand how important it is that this diary be kept a secret. Do you still wish for my help?
Ginevra inhaled the scent of ink and parchment, rolling onto her side in the ethereal moonlight.
Yes, please.
Of course, I am more than happy to help. However, how can I be sure that you will not try to tell your brother about me again?
I promise I won't! Please, help me Tom!
The little Weasley waited with bated breath for his reply.
If you wish for my help, then you must pay the toll. I don't require much from you, just a vow of silence.
I don't understand, Tom.
A vow of silence, Ginevra. A vow that you will speak to no one about myself and what it is you are doing. Do you understand?
Ginny held her lip between chattering teeth. Surely her voice was a small price to pay for her happiness.
Yes, I understand.
And do you agree to my terms, Ginevra?
Squeezing her eyes shut, she pushed the tip of her quill into the page.
Yes.
Excellent. Follow my directions and you shall have Harry Potter. Let me in, Ginevra.
And her fate was sealed.
Waking from a nightmare and screaming soundlessly into the night, Ginevra bolted upright in her bed.
She was suffocating—she couldn't breathe. She clawed at her throat, leaving lines that swelled into raised, pink scratches in the wake of her nails. She opened her mouth to scream for help but succeeded only in emitting a hoarse choking noise.
Her voice.
Her nightmare replayed in her head. She was slaughtering chickens and leaving messages in blood around the castle. She was opening a long-lost chamber hidden deep below the castle grounds. A voice, so familiar and yet so unlike her own echoed in her mind.
'Bring me Harry Potter'
She wanted out of her deal with Tom.
'Kill Harry Potter'
She wanted her voice back.
'Kill Harry Potter'
But there was only one way out of the deal.
She crawled to the end of her bed, fumbling around in her trunk for the diary and some ink. She wanted to tell Tom about her nightmare. She wanted him to calm her and assuage her fears.
Almost instinctively, Ginevra raised her hand to inspect it in the moonlight.
It was covered in blood.
Her mouth fell open and she screamed soundlessly into the night.
Fin.
a/n: A retelling of Hans Christian Andersen's The Little Mermaid and, as such, is slightly non-canon/AU. I drew inspiration for the style of writing of the intro from the original (1836) edition.