A/N: I'm trying out a new strategy for this fic: an outline. I've up to chapter ten
mapped out, and hopefully that should keep me from bailing mid way. I'm also playing with
a 'no 'shipping' rule. I don't want this to turn into a 'ship fic, because invariably those
get rather uninspired after a while. Of course, I'm a rabid shipper, but this fic is not
going to be about romance or fluff. The final new thing which separates this fic from any
other that I've written is that this one will have religion. Let me stress something
though, if this is not your faith [it certainly isn't mine] don't take it offensively.
It's not meant to be, it's only meant to add to the story.
Prologue
Everything seemed so meaningless.
Just a month ago, I was hexed senseless on the train home from school. Just a month ago, I cared nothing more than who my father was. I cared for nothing but money and power.
With every drop of ink staining my skin, I felt every important feature of my life diminish. My name didn't matter, my money didn't matter, and certainly my feud with Potter didn't. All that mattered was the... incredible feeling of peace.
As one silver needle after another was threaded into my skin, the tattoo became more vibrant, glowing against my pale skin. Three wise men were appointed the task, to bind me into the Order. At first, I had been reluctant to join in my ancestral religion. What end would it help me achieve? I had thought of them as nothing more than old dirtbags, full of hot air and ready to complain about how the new generation had failed them.
Of course, it wasn't. Every person in the Order did not use their relationships for anything other than its spiritual ties. The Order was not for discussing politics, though many in the Order also held ties to the darker side. Most of them were like me; chosen heir to the family, and to cement alliances, thus had to join the Order. The time when it seemed like a bother seemed so far away. I was more content with feeling my body shudder with unacknowledged pain and bliss every time a needle punctured and was removed from my skin.
I heard nothing but the waves crashing on the shore. I felt nothing but the sacred ink. I saw nothing but the imperfect black sky. I tasted the salty ocean and smelt the biting wind.
A voice cried loud, in a language forgotten to this time. And though I knew not the language, the words seemed incredibly clear to my ears.
"Bind to you, Aleitheia, forever this single soul!"
The final needle pierced my skin, and a black cross tinged red stood stark against my pale white skin.
Bind to you, Aleitheia, bind to you a Malfoy without a single regret in his blood.
"Ronald Weasley!" I screamed, hurtling myself down the rickety old stairs of the Burrow. He thudded down before me, cackling evilly, and waving my letter above his head as he went. I howled in anger, skipping the last step and launching myself through the living room into the kitchen.
"What's wrong, little Ginny? Want the letter from your widdle boyfriend?" he cooed, edging his way around the dinner table.
Stalemate. With either one of us on either side of the table, this could go on forever.
"Give it to me!" I screeched, running around the table as fast as I could. Naturally, Ron ran in the other direction, and we chased each other madly until Percy popped into the room, and sleepy as he was, managed to pluck the letter out of Ron's flailing arms, hand it to me as I circled by him, and grab a spot of coffee left on the table before Ron even noticed what had happened.
"My favorite brother!" I crooned, hugging him around the neck and shooting a triumphant smile at Ron. Percy mumbled something and shooed me away. I gleefully trotted back up the stairs, my letter from Dean tight in my hand.
I had but a week of summer left, and most of my summer I'd spent missing Dean. We'd parted on great terms, but rarely got to see each other during the break. It made sense though; he was spending time with his muggle friends who were fast growing away from him. I couldn't begrudge him that, even if it did make me feel more than a little unwanted.
I opened the door to my room and let it swing shut behind me, dive bombing my bed. Rolling onto my back, I tore through the envelope and began the letter with relish.
'Gin-'
I smiled already.
'How's your summer been?'
Dreadful. I spent the entire thing cooped up in the Burrow, far, far away from everything happening with the Order of Phoenix. There were too many memories for Mum to handle, so she, Ron and me all stayed home whilst the other brothers and Dad went off to handle the big things. Harry stopped by, but it was like visiting with a ghost, and not at all fun. Come to think of it, all I did was play chess with Ron, and chat with Dean through letters.
'Mine's been rather exciting, what with meeting up with all my old friends again. I went to a football game the other day, you've no idea how long it's been! It was Russia verses...'
Sorry love, I don't think I could handle another football story. Unfortunately, that's filled most of his letters this summer. I skimmed the rest of the paragraph (which was the main body of the letter), because it dealt with the inner workings of the game and explanations of a red card and so on. I picked up on the second paragraph though.
'Mum won't let me tell my friends anything that happens at school, and sadly enough, that includes you. My friends have taken in upon themselves to try to get me a girl. Oh, the insanity! They keep introducing me to these nice girls, but I have nothing to say to them, and find myself missing you even more.'
I stopped. What? Setting him up? He couldn't defy his mother's rules and tell them that he just had a girlfriend? What was going on?
'Anyway, I've been rather anxious to see you, have you gone to Diagon Alley yet?, if not, let's go together! Owl me back soon though, I think Mum wants to go in a couple of days.
Love,
Dean'
I reread the letter, paying specific attention to every part of it, even the boring football section. There was nothing else to be said. He simply hadn't told his friends about me. But why? Would there really be so much harm in just telling them? And why would he still let his friends set him up? If he said no, who were they to disrespect his decisions? Argh! Why did he even tell me that? Ignorance is bliss you know.
Downright agitated, and for no good reason might I add, I set about replying.
'Dean-
My summer's been awfully boring, unlike yours. Why on earth did you decide to tell me about your love life with only a week left into the summer? You make it out that this dating of yours has been going on throughout the summer. Did you just feel the need to omit it from your previous letters? Tell me straight.
-Ginny
P.S. I've already gone to Diagon Alley.'
In a huff, I rolled the letter up and gave it to the owl waiting on my window sill. Dean's owl was well trained; the damn thing wouldn't leave without a response, and it wouldn't let you sleep until you gave it one. I knew; I'd put one of Dean's letters aside in favor of a short nap, only to be rudely awaken every time my eyes drifted closed by the be damned owl.
The owl took the note and flew off, taking most of my resentment with it. I felt bad that I'd lied about Diagon Alley. What was I supposed to say? 'By the way, I haven't gone to Diagon Alley yet but I don't want to go with you, you slimy git.' That was too harsh, considering all he did was go out with a few girls because his friends didn't know about us. Regardless, I settled down on my bed and stared at the ceiling. I had been looking forward to school and Dean, but now I felt myself beginning to wonder if school would prove to be the exciting place I thought it to be. It was last year, though in a most dreadful sense. This year, I expected to battle with Slytherins, spend quality time with Dean, and all those other things you think school is before you get there.
But now my time with Dean would be severely hampered by the day's discoveries.
_________
A/N: Comments? Problems? Thoroughly in need to talk with someone? Hey hey, there's a little link box at the bottom there. Remember: "the work is nothing without the reader's reaction to it."