Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
"Ginevra!" An angry screech cut through the peaceful morning like a blade through paper. Ginny opened her eyes, squinting against the harsh sunlight, and groaned. "Ginevra! Where are you?" the same awful voice cried again.
"Coming, Stepmother!" She pulled herself off of the uncomfortable, straw-stuffed mattress and blinked a couple times. The small attic she that she used as her bedroom was already brightly lit, and judging by the angle the sunbeams came through the window, it was already late morning. Cursing, Ginny hurried down the steps of the creaking staircase, almost running into Stepmother Olga who stood at the very bottom with hands on her hips and nostrils flaring.
"You lazy, insolent, girl." She struck Ginny, causing her to wince when the blow came in contact with her old bruises. "Fetch the water, and no breakfast for you! When you're done that, you are to wake and dress my daughters." Without waiting for a reply, she turned and walked—no, sashayed in the direction of the parlor. Digging her nails into her palm, went to the kitchens to do as she was told even though she was fuming with rage. She slammed the buckets on the ground than was necessary, ignoring the looks of the cook and the two other servants of the household, and dragged them into the courtyard where a well was waiting for her. At least she was alone there with no one except the company of chirping birds. Turned into a slave in my own home, she thought bitterly along with some other unkind words towards her stepmother and stepsister.
It all started, if she remembered correctly, when she was quite young, too young to even understand the concept of death or the idea that her mother was gone. Molly Weasley had gotten sick one spring, and after days of raging fever, her skin suddenly cooled and she stopped breathing. What had happened after was a blur in Ginny's memory; all she remembered was her father bringing home a new woman, an awful woman, who wore too much perfume, wore a false mask of sweetness, and insisted Ginny call her Stepmother Olga. Ginny supposed that her father's moderate wealth and occupation as a merchant had appealed to Olga, so much so that she eventually married him. And with her, she brought her daughters, Pansy and Millicent, who were at least ten times worse than Olga Parkinson. Arthur had meant well, Ginny supposed, but it was very soon after that he discovered that he found it unbearable for him to remain home with a constant reminder of his late wife, so he sent, Ron, his only son to the castle to train to be a knight, left his daughter under the "care" of his new wife, and left for foreign lands. Ron, happy with his new life as a knight-in-training and relieved of having escaped the presence of Olga, made sure to never come back. It had been several years since Ginny had seen either her father or her brother, and she had already forgotten what they both looked like. Her letters to both of them went completely unanswered, but Olga lived on a steady flow of incoming money without lifting a single finger so Ginny guessed that her father was still alive and funding them. So every day, Ginny endured the abuse of her step-family (hags, really, and completely undeserving of the word "family" in the same sentence) while the people of the town would pretend that they did not know of her unfortunate situation. They were all afraid of Olga, and if Ginny ran away, no one would help her and she would have nowhere to go.
After she was finished hauling the heavy buckets of water back to the kitchen, she went upstairs and knocked loudly on the bedroom door of Pansy and Millicent. It was dark inside, the large window drawn shut with heavy, velvet curtains whose sole purpose was to allow indolent, spoiled brats the longest sleeping time possible. "Time to get up," Ginny said sharply. She didn't want to spend more time with either of them than needed. "I don't have all day and Merlin knows you couldn't get dressed to save yourselves." Pansy sat up and scrunched up her pug-like face, scowling at her while Millicent barely moved in the bed beside hers.
It took close to an hour for Ginny to finally get them dressed and presentable, and by then, she was already exhausted from trading barbs with the Parkinson sisters. They had already promised her a beating for talking back, and pinched her hard enough to leave another bruise before they joined their mother for the midday meal. It was too-soon after that Olga found Ginny while she was sweeping the steps and instructed—or rather, demanded the windows to be washed and the parcels to be picked up from the tailor's.
Ginny didn't mind running errands for them in town (it was only a short walk to get there from the house); picking up items or delivering flirtatious letters from Pansy to some poor, unfortunate gentleman who had caught her attention gave Ginny some free time away from the hags. It was washing the windows that she truly abhorred, especially the windows in the dining room which ran from the high ceiling to the floor; it was too far for her to reach all the way to the top. The only thing Olga allowed her was a rickety, old ladder that was barely held Ginny; Olga refused to let her step on any of her fine furniture. "If you could only see what she's done with all your money, Father," Ginny muttered to herself as she wiped the grime off the panes to reveal the town in the distance, and attempting to balance herself on the derelict ladder.
For a brief moment, Ginny entertained the notion of being able to use magic to help her clean the windows, but she quickly shook her head at the ridiculous idea. All magic was banned from the kingdom ever since King Cornelius Fudge had ascended the throne; he had accused it of being the instruments of evil. The more Ginny thought about it, the more she understood why this fear had become so popular not only with the king himself, but with almost every member of the kingdom. The last Great War had been barely a decade ago, and the Lord Voldemort had used a large dispense of magic in an attempt to over throw the kingdom. Since his defeat, he had gone into hiding and the stories what happened to him ran wild and magic became feared. But not all magic was evil; Ginny's mother had been a hedge-witch herself, specializing in small healing spells and potions. Even with the apprehension of magic though, it not completely disappear. Practitioners of magic had to either stop or hide what they were doing since the ban, but Ginny knew that one should require such special services, then it was not hard to find the appropriate spell or potion, especially in dark alleyways.
Sighing in resignation, Ginny threw the dirty rag back into the bucket of murky water. She couldn't continue on being a slave forever, but she knew that Olga would find a way to drag her back if she tried to leave. She was just finishing the last window when she heard her stepmother screech her name from the down the hall. Gritting her teeth, she went to receive her orders; escaping would have to wait for another day.
Harry Potter usually considered himself, not only a virtuous knight, but also a rational man. However, the problem in front of him was causing to quickly lose his patience. "You're sure?" he asked the other man standing before him, his best friend, Ron.
"Not completely. They are only rumors after all; stories the traders are spreading at the taverns and the docks," he replied.
Harry clenched his fists. This was not good news, even if they were rumors, but one never knew if they were based on truth or not. For years, the kingdom had been relatively peaceful, but now, merchants from the north were talking about the possible resurfacing of Lord Voldemort. "Rally the men, we'll meet on the practice field."
"And our plan of action?"
"We'll need to start preparing now. If Voldemort plans to attack, our army will be ready for war."
Ron grimaced, "we don't have nearly the amount of men necessary for a war, especially if it's anything like the war eight years ago."
"Recruit some more then." Harry ran his hand through his hair, messing it even more than usual. To say that he was a bit worried was an understatement. He had been there nine years ago during the Great War. He knew exactly how damaging war was; after all, he had watched so many of his own friends die as a result. But Ron, his best friend and constant companion ever since they were both boys, squires with much to learn about the world. They both persevered, sharing struggles and success. When Harry defeated Voldemort in battle, he was bestowed the highest honor of knighthood by the King. However, both Harry and Ron knew the steep price of heroism.
After Ron ran off to gather the men, Harry attempted to gather his thoughts and settle on a strategy, running his fingers through his hair again. His eyes ended up drifting out to the busy city beyond the castle gates, visible from the high palace window. They're all blissfully unaware, he mused, wishing he could keep it like that forever.
But it was inevitable, he knew. Voldemort would rise again, and with him, the darkness.
Hello all, I've had this idea forever and it was bugging me. Just wanted to post this chapter to see how people would react. The beginning is mostly explaining everything and I will introduce more characters later. If you like the story, I will continue so please leave me something. Even a one-word reply will do just so I know if people are still around here these days. (I know, I've been gone forever.)