The Selection
A Harry Potter Love Story
In a magical world of glittering gowns and priceless jewels THE SELECTION is the chance of a lifetime: to compete for gorgeous Prince Harry's heart. But for Ginevra Weasley it means turning her back on her secret love and leaving home for a prize she's not ready for.
Then Ginny meets Harry and all her plans start to crumble. Can the life she always dreamed of compare to a future she never imagined?
A/N: Hey, fellow readers! *waves* I am trying out a new story where Ginny Weasley is America Singer and Harry Potter is Maxon Schreave. I just think it fits well. The plot will mostly be the same from the Selection series book, so Kiera Cass owns most of this! I've just changed the characters and scenes a little. But this did take a very long time, so please tell me what you think of this in the comments! That would be lovely. Hope you enjoy ;)
CHAPTER 1
WHEN WE GOT THE LETTER by owl post, my mother was ecstatic. She had already decided that all our problems were solved, gone forever. The big hitch in her brilliant plan was me. I didn't think I was a particularly disobedient daughter, but this is where I drew the line.
I didn't want to be royalty. And I didn't want to be a One. I didn't even want to try.
I hid in my room the only place I could avoid the chattering of the house, trying to come up with a way to sway her. So far, I had a solid collection of my honest opinions…I didn't think there was a single one she would listen to.
I couldn't avoid her much longer. It was approaching dinnertime, and as the older children left the house, and being the only daughter, cooking duties fell on me. I pulled myself out of bed and into the snake pit.
I got a glare from Mom but no words.
We did a silent dance through the kitchen and dining room as we prepared chicken, pasta, and apple slices, and set the table for seven. If I glanced up from my task, she'd fix me with a fierce look as if she could shame me into wanting the same thing she did. She tried that every so often. Like if I didn't want to take on a particular job because I knew the family hosting us was unnecessarily rude. Or if she wanted me to do a massive cleaning when we couldn't afford to have a Six come and help.
Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it didn't. And this was one area where I was unswayable.
She couldn't stand it when I was stubborn. But I got that from her, so she shouldn't have been surprised. This wasn't just about me, though. Mom had been tense lately. The summer was ending, and soon we'd be faced with cold. And worry.
Mom set down a pitcher of tea in the centre of the table with an angry thud. My mouth watered at the thought of tea with lemon. But I would have to wait; it would be such a waste to have my glass now and then have to drink water with my meal.
"Ginny," she said, no longer able to contain herself. "Would it kill you to fill out the form? The Selection could be a wonderful opportunity for you, for all of us."
I close my eyes, taking a deep breath. Yes. Yes it will kill me to fill it out. You don't understand. Filling out that form is certainly close to death for me. It's a big change.
It was no secret that the Death Eaters – the underground colonies who worked for Voldemort and hated Illéa, our large and comparatively young country –made regular violent attacks on the castle both violent and frequent. So many people have had their houses burned to the ground, and a handful of Twos had their cars vandalized and their families taken away – tortured, murdered. There was even a massive jailbreak once, but considering they only released a teenage girl who'd managed to get herself pregnant and a Seven who was a father to nine, I couldn't help thinking they were in the right that time.
But beyond the potential danger, I felt like it would hurt my heart to even consider the Selection. I couldn't help smiling as I thought about all the reasons I had to stay exactly where I was.
"These last few years have been very hard on your father," she hissed. "If you have any compassion at all, you might think of him."
Dad. Yeah. I really did want to help Dad. And Fred and George and Ron. And, I supposed, even my mother. When she talked about it that way there was nothing to smile about. Things had been strained around here for far too long. I wondered if Dad would see this as a way back to normal, if any amount of money could make things better.
It wasn't that out situation was so precarious that we were living in fear of survival or anything. We weren't destitute. But I guess we weren't that far off either.
Our caste was just three away from the bottom. We were artists. And artist and classical musicians were only three steps up from dirt. Literally. Our money was stretched as tight as a high wire, and our income was highly dependent on the changing seasons.
I remembered reading in a timeworn history book that all the major holidays used to be cramped into the winter months. Something called Halloween followed by Thanksgiving, then Christmas and New Year's. All back to back.
Christmas was still the same. It's not like you could change the birth date of a deity. But when Illéa made the massive peace treaty with China, the New Year came in January or February, depending on the moon. All the individual celebrations of thankfulness and independence from our part of the world were now simply the Grateful Feast. That came in the summer. It was a time to celebrate the forming of Illéa, to rejoice in the fact that we were still here.
I didn't know what Halloween was. It never resurfaced.
So at least three times a year, the whole family would be fully employed. Dad and the twins – Fred and George – would make their art, and patrons would purchase them as gifts. Mom and I would perform at parties – me singing and her on piano – not turning down a single job if we could manage it. When I was younger, performing in front of an audience terrified me. But now I just tried to equate myself to background music. That's what we were in the eyes of our employers: meant to be heard not seen.
Ron hadn't found his talent yet. He was seventeen, a year older than me. But we tried to tell him that art can be anything. Fred and George aren't very good at it, either, and are better at pulling jokes and pranks than anything else. He is okay with guitar, though. He just needs more practice.
Soon the leaves would change, and our tiny world would be unsteady again. Seven mouths to feed, but only five workers. No guarantees of employment until Christmastime.
When I thought of it that way, the Selection seemed like a rope, something sure I could grab onto. That ridiculous letter could lift me out of the darkness, and I could pull my family along with me.
I looked over at my mother. For a Five, she was a little on the heavy side, which was odd. He wasn't a glutton, and it's not like we had anything to overeat anyway. Perhaps that's just the way a body looks after seven children. Her hair was red, like mine, like all of ours in the family, but hers were full of brilliant white streaks. Those had appeared suddenly and in abundance about two years ago. Lines creased the corners of her eyes, though she was still pretty young, and I could see as she moved around the kitchen that she was hunched over as if an invisible weight rested on her shoulders.
I knew she had a lot to carry. And I knew that was why she had taken to being particularly manipulative with me. We fought enough without the extra strain, but as the empty fall quietly approached, she became much more irritable. I knew she thought I was being unreasonable now, to not want to fill out a silly little form.
But there were things – important things – in this world that I loved. And that piece of paper was the only thing holding me back from what I wanted. Perhaps what I wanted was stupid. Perhaps it wasn't even something I could have. But still, it was mine. I didn't think I could sacrifice my dreams, no matter how much my family meant to me. Besides, I had given them so much already.
I was the youngest one in the family, but was more mature and sensible than my brothers living here now that Bill was married and Charlie and Percy were gone. Percy was all business and had moved out not long ago. Charlie had moved out a while ago, and went to work with Dragons in Romania, and Bill was living with his wife. Ron was still working on his talents, and as for Fred and George, they were pranksters, so I did my best to contribute. We scheduled my homeschooling around my rehearsals, which took up most of the day since I was trying to master several instruments as well as singing.
But with the letter here, none of my work mattered anymore. In my mom's mind, I was already queen.
If I was smart, I would have hidden that stupid notice before Dad, Ron, Percy and the twins came in. But I didn't know Mom had tucked it away in her clothes, and mid-meal she pulled it out.
"'To the House of Weasley,'" she sang out.
I tried to swipe it away, but she was too quick for me. They would find out sooner or later anyway, but if she did it like this, they'd all be on her side.
"Mom, please!" I pleaded.
"I want to hear!" Fred and George chorused. That was no surprise. My brothers looked just like me, only on a three-year delay and masculine. But where our looks were almost identical, our personalities were anything but. Unlike me, they were outgoing and cheerful. And sometimes gossip crazy. They loved to tease Ron and I whenever a girl or boy was mentioned. They were currently trying to find each other dates, so this whole thing would seem incredibly romantic and humorous to them.
I felt myself blush. Dad listened intently, and the twins were practically on the edge of their seats, broad grins glued on their faces. Ron, sweet little thing, just kept eating. He was vulnerable when it came to food. Mother cleared his throat and went on.
"'The recent census has confirmed that a single woman between the ages of sixteen and twenty currently reside in your home. We would like to make you aware of an upcoming opportunity to honour the great nation of Illéa.'"
The twins laughed and rubbed my hair. "That's you!"
"I know, you monkeys. Stop before you tangle my hair up." But they just chuckled and rested their hands on my shoulders instead.
"'Our beloved prince, Harry Potter,'" Mom continued, "'is coming of age this month. As he ventures into this new part of his life, he hopes to move forward with a partner, to marry a true Daughter of Illéa. If you're eligible daughter, sister, or charge is interested in possibly becoming the bride of Prince Harry and the adored new princess of Illéa, please fill out the enclosed form and return it to your local Province Services Office. One woman from each province will be drawn at random to meet the prince.
"'Participants will be housed at the lovely Illéa Castle in Hogwarts for the duration of their stay. The families of each participant will be generously compensated '" – she drew out the words for effect – "'for their service to the royal family.'"
I rolled my eyes as she went on. This was the way they did it with sons. Princesses born into the royal family were sold off into marriage in an attempt to solidify our young relations with other countries. I understood why it was done – we needed allies. But I didn't like it. I hadn't had to see such a thing, and I hoped I never would. The royal family hadn't produced a princess in three generations. Princes, on the other hand, married women of the people to keep up the morale of our sometimes volatile nation. I think the Selection was meant to draw us together and remind everyone that Illéa itself was born out of next to nothing.
The idea of being entered into a contest for the whole country to see as this stuck-up little wimp picked the most gorgeous and shallow of the bunch to the silent, pretty face that stood beside him on TV…it was enough to make me scream. Could anything be more humiliating?
Besides, I'd visited homes of enough Twos and Threes to be sure I never wanted to live among them, let alone be a One. Except the times when we were hungry, I was quite content to be a Five. Mom was the caste climber, not me.
"And of course he would love Ginny! She's so beautiful," Mom swooned.
"Please, Mom. If anything, I'm average."
"You are not!" Fred said. "Because we're a male version of you, and we're hot!" His smile is so wide, I couldn't contain my laughter. And it was a good point. Fred and George were handsome.
It was more than their face, though, more than their winning smile and bright eyes. They both radiated an energy, and enthusiasm that made you want to be wherever they were. They were always pulling pranks on someone and there to make you smile. They were magnetic, and I, in all honesty, wasn't.
"Ron, what do you think? Do you think I'm pretty?" I asked.
All eyes fell on the second-youngest member of our family.
"No! Girls are gross!"
"Ron, please." Mom gave an exasperated sigh but her heart wasn't in it. "Ginny, you must know you're a very lovely girl."
"If I'm so lovely, how come no one ever comes by to ask me out?"
"Oh, they come by, but I shoo them away. My daughter is too lovely to marry Fives. Bill got a Four, and I'm sure you can do even better." Mom took a sip of her tea.
"Her name is Fleur. Stop calling her a number. And since when do girls come by?" I heard my voice raise an octave.
"A while," Dad said, making his first comment on all of this. His voice had a hint of sorrow to it and he was staring decidedly at his cup. I was trying to figure out what upset him so much. Girls coming by? Mom and me arguing again? The idea of me not entering the contest? How far away I'd be if I did?
His eyes came up for the briefest of moments, and I suddenly understood. He didn't want to ask this of me. He wouldn't want me to go. That I could understand. But he couldn't deny the benefits if I managed to make it in, even for a day.
"Ginny, be reasonable," Mom said. "We have to be the only parents in the country trying to talk our daughter into this! Think of the opportunity! You could be queen one day!"
"Mom, even if I wanted to be queen, which I thoroughly don't, there are thousands of other girls in the province entering this things, thousands. And if I somehow was drawn, there would still be thirty-four other girls there, no doubt much better at seduction than I ever could pretend to be. I'm a hopeless romantic."
"It's ridiculous to think that, with all of that, I'd somehow manage to win," I finished.
My mother pushed her chair out as she stood and leaned across the table toward me. "Someone is going to, Ginny. You have as good a chance as anyone else." she threw his napkin down and went to leave. "Ron, when you finish, it's time for your bath."
He groaned.
The twins at in silence. Ron asked for seconds but there weren't any – everyone ate it, particularly himself. When they got up, I started clearing the table while Dad sat there sipping his tea. He had paint in his hair again, a smattering of yellow that made me smile. He stood, brushing crumbs off his shirt.
"Sorry, Dad," I murmured as I picked up plates.
"Don't be silly, kitten. I'm not mad." He smiled easily and put an arm around me.
"I just…"
"You don't have to explain it to me, honey. I know." He kissed me on my forehead. "I'm going back to work."
And with that I moved to the kitchen to start cleaning. I wrapped my mostly untouched plate under a napkin and hid it in the fridge. No one else left more than crumbs, especially Ron with his high metabolism.
I sighed, heading to my room to get ready for bed. The whole thing was infuriating.
Why did Mom have to push me so much? Wasn't she happy? Didn't she love Dad? Why wasn't this good enough for her?
I lay on my lumpy mattress, trying to wrap my head around the Selection. I guess it had its advantages. It would be nice to eat well for a while at least. But there was no reason to bother. I wasn't going to fall in love with Prince Harry. From what I'd seen on the Illéa Capital Report, I wouldn't even like the guy.
It seemed like forever until midnight rolled around. There was a mirror by the door, and I stopped to make sure my hair looked as presentable as it was this morning and put on a little lip gloss so there'd be some colour on my face. Mom was pretty strict about saving makeup for when we had to perform or go out in public, but I usually snuck some on nights like tonight.
As quietly as I could, I crept into the kitchen. I grabbed my leftovers, some bread that was expiring and an apple all bundled up. It was painful to walk back to my room so slowly, now that it was late. But if I'd done it earlier, I would have just been antsy.
I opened my window and looked out into our little patch of backyard. There wasn't much of a moon out, so I had to let my eyes adjust before I moved. Across the lawn the tree house stood barely silhouetted in the night. When we were younger, my older brothers would tie up sheets to the branches so it looked like a ship. They took turns of being the captain and I was always their first mate. My duties mainly consisted of sweeping the floor and making food, which was dirt and twigs stuffed into Mom's baking pans. They would take a spoonful of dirt and "eat" it by throwing it over their shoulder. This meant that I'd have to sweep again, but I didn't mind. I was just happy to be on the ship with my brothers.
I looked around. All the neighbouring houses were dark. No one was watching. I crawled out of the window carefully. I used to get bruises across my stomach from doing it the wrong way, but now it was easy, a talent I'd mastered over the years. And I didn't want to mess up any of the food.
I scurried across the lawn in my cutest pyjamas. I could have left my day clothes on, but this feels better. I supposed it didn't matter what I wore, but I felt relaxed in my little brown shorts and fitted white shirt.
It wasn't hard to scale the slats nailed into the tree with only one hand. I'd developed that skill as well. Each step up was a relief. It wasn't much of a distance, but from here it felt like all the commotion from my house was miles away. Here I didn't have to be anyone's prince.
As I climbed into the tiny box that was my escape, I knew I wasn't alone. In the far corner, someone was hiding in the night. My breath sped; I couldn't help it. I set my food down and squinted. The person shifted, using the spell Lumos to light the room. It wasn't much light – no one in the house would see it – but it was enough. Finally the intruder spoke, a sly grin spreading across his face.
"Hey there, gorgeous."