A/N: For now this is a one shot ficlet, very short, if I get enough feedback maybe I'll extend it and this will be a prologue. The idea basically comes from one I had during a very long RP and now I'm expanding on it- enjoy.
Ginny
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Tastes Like Cherries
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I can't figure out what people mean when they say 'the warm sun'. The uncharacteristically harsh May sunlight that Saturday burned my eyes when I looked up, forcing me to look down at all times. I walked quickly along the lake's banks, being careful not to trip on my trousers and fall headlong into it. Sitting down at the bottom of a tree's trunk, I took out a piece of parchment, a quill…and my wand.
For most wizards and witches, the wand is an object that makes things easier. It's always primarily made up of wood, with a core of some mystical substance. I looked at it, lying peacefully on my lap, and picked it up slowly, cherishing the feel of the wood in my hand. It was cool and polished to a fault: flawless. Within that little bar of wood was a world of magic that I couldn't comprehend, but I could access with one flick of my hand and the right incantation. Power in its purest form, compressed into a wooden stick for me to use. One thin beam of supremacy, built for the user. You won't find anything else in the world like that, not even in the Muggle one. My fingers shook slightly as I twirled it in my hand, completely forgetting about the homework I had come out to the lake to finish off. Performing magic is so much more interesting than writing about it, or reading about it- to experience magic, you have to make it.
Ever since the Chamber it was so easy. Dark spells seventh years don't even know were practically injected into my system, swimming with the flimsy charms like sharks eager to devour. I could feel the power rippling my skin, willing it to spark something, anything. Oh I had fought with Tom, a bitter battle I eventually lost, but like Harry before me part of him remained with me, and in my case it was his magic. The curses he made me perform and the know-how stayed with me, eating away at me until I could recognize it.
So there I was. Wand in hand, hardly any people around as it was a Hogsmeade weekend (this is my fifth year) and homework that could be easily forgotten. The lake's surface was flat as parchment, and it looked as solid as one of Colin's prized marbles (a stupid obsession in my opinion). I itched to change it. Change is something I could do with my wand, and I wanted to so badly…so I did.
Swish, flick, point- a string of water comes slowly out of the lake, rising and swirling in a mad frantic cone. Giggling slightly, I slowed it down to a crawl, and with another swish it came to me. The water tickled my nose and made me laugh; one strange look got the water tower to collapse. Annoyed, I sighed and tapped my wand against my palm looking around in boredom.
Hogwarts is always so boring in the afternoon.
With a start, I realized that there was a steadily growing whirlpool by me in the lake; my wand was letting out a stream of blue sparks towards the water, as if magnetically attracted. Trying desperately to stop it, I tried to jerk my wand away but it stayed rooted where it was. That forced me to feel the chilling, wonderful feeling flooding through me like a poison- power. Thinking excitedly to myself, I realized that this lake would bend to my will, my power, my magic. Not Ron's, not Harry's, not Hermione's, not Percy's, not Tom's, mine.
I shuddered and flicked my wand, treasuring the high I was getting. Don't believe that drugs are the only things in life that are addictive, it's a lie. Addiction to anything is something you can feel, something that gnaws at you slowly, something that you can taste…
…it tastes like cherries.