Disclamer: None of this is mine.
Prologue: Through the Looking Glass
The rain beat down outside. The sky was dark and the torches in the sconces on the walls were the only source of light in the old classroom. Ginny stared morosely out the window at the school grounds, now muddy and flooded slightly. Her forehead was pressed against the cold pane, her breath fogging up the glass until she could barely see anything past it. She allowed fingers reached up and touched the glass, ignoring the sharp sense of cold, to follow the ripples that had formed over many, many years. They made the glass blurry, giving it a frosted look in places. If she closed her eyes, the touch reminded her of the back of an old seashell.
Sighing, Ginny pushed herself off the glass and turned around to look at the clock. It was only 4 minutes after she had looked last. Funny how it seemed like an eternity. The girl shivered and pulled her robes closer. It was late; the heating charm in the room was beginning to wear off. She hated the classrooms at times like these. The December chill, the darkness of the sky outside, the incredible loneliness of it just seemed to bombard her until she wanted to scream.
The room was large, completely made of stone, like most of the rest of the castle, and had a high, arched ceiling. It always reminded her of a cathedral, the long rows of desks seeming like pews. Always at the end there was the teacher's desk, where a priest would have stood. The light was always brighter there, shining around the teacher, the focal point of the room. Always that dim light, somewhere between orange and yellow. Though it usually didn't bother her much, on an evening like this it was haunting.
She walked over to her desk and sat on it, putting her feet on the seat. Her bag was next to her, slightly hanging off the side. She shivered again, more from the stillness of it all than the cold this time. She drew her knees in close, hugging them to her chest, making herself as small as possible, trying to draw comfort in with her long limbs. 'You're being a baby,' she told herself. 'You've been here almost every day since you were 11 and you choose now to be scared of it?'
It was just that the room had never been this dark before, or seemed so foreboding. There was a cloud over everything, like it was portending something. But it had to just be the weather and the general eeriness. Days like these weren't uncommon at Hogwarts.
Ginny had been missed Defense Against the Dark Arts the day before. While the rest of the class had been receiving instructions on the essay they needed to turn in the next day, she had been in the hospital wing with a broken wrist she gotten from running into Neville. She now looked at the wrist she had hurt and flexed it. It was her right one and now there was no sign it had ever been in anything but the perfect condition. But for that, she had been in a frenzy to finish her essay.
It had taken her all her lunch and most of her afternoon to research everything she had needed, working furiously. There seemed to be no books left on the topic of banshees; they had all been checked out and only a few remained, all practically useless. She had tried to prevail upon Hermione for her notes from last year (it was a well known fact that Hermione kept all the notes she had ever taken and they were all color coded by class, as well as under a shrinking spell so she could fit them all under her bed) but the older girl was no where to be found. Ginny had frantically gone around to everyone she knew, asking them for their books if they had any that would help, and it was surprisingly difficult to find one that helped at all, but she had managed at last.
She was supposed to have given Professor Rutherford her essay at 7 o'clock sharp, but here it was, 7:36, and still no sign of the teacher. She hadn't been worried or uneasy at first, but now she was eager to quit the dank classroom and return to the warmth of the Gryffindor tower and her dorm. She normally wouldn't wait, she would just leave the assignment on her desk, but Rutherford had a forgetfulness streak in her, and if her extreme tardiness was any indicator, Ginny doubted she would ever find it.
Ginny had checked her essay 3 times, and each time she could find nothing wrong with it. She even reckoned she had it memorized. She tried reciting it out loud, just to see it she did.
"The term banshee comes from the Gaelic word 'bean' meaning woman," she began, her voice reverberating from the high ceiling, creating an echo. "In Gaelic, a banshee is known as 'bean si,' literally meaning 'woman of the fairy mound.' Banshees are deeply routed in Irish culture, both Muggle and Wizard, though the line of belief separates the two. From the ancient stories of Tir fo Thoinn, from which Banshees originated, to the modern day Banshee Rights Act, being reconsidered and appealed in our own Ministry Court next month…"
She stopped, unable to remember what came next, not that it mattered. It was all on the parchment, that's what counted, and instead of filling the silence, her voice made it seem as if it increased between each word. She gave up and pulled out a book from her bag.
It was poetry, Emily Dickenson, in fact. It was one of Ginny favorite volumes; she had read it completely through twice. She preferred Muggle literature to its Wizarding counterpart. There was something so different about Muggle books. She wasn't sure what it was, she had never been able to pinpoint what made the too styles so different, but she had come to almost detest Wizard authors. She always had a few Muggle books in her bag, just in case she got bored, or, in this instance, needed to drag her mind away from the shadows flickering around the room.
After a while, Ginny looked up from her book to take one more look at the clock. It was 7:48. 'Oh this is ridiculous,' she thought, shoving her book back into her satchel. 'One more minute in this room and I think I might go insane.' She was about to get off the desk and leave in a huff when she stopped and considered. This paper was a major part of her grade and she had put a lot of effort into it, though it had been for only a short period of time. Fifty minutes though… she sighed. If she had committed nearly an hour of her life to this, she wasn't going to back out now. Besides, it was the Friday before the Christmas holiday and she was going to be staying at school again this year, so she really had nowhere to be.
She settled down again, preparing herself to be there quite a while longer. Not a moment after she had made herself comfortable, the door opened. Thinking it was Professor Rutherford, and also of how she wasn't supposed to be sitting on the desks like she was, she hopped off as quickly as she could. Unfortunately, her left hand caught on her bag and she pulled it off the surface and onto the floor, contents spilling everywhere. She swore mildly when she saw that to was not the Professor, but Draco Malfoy at the door. He stared at her, his face a little disgusted, but mostly uncaring. She ignored him and started picking up all her spilt books.
"Is Professor Rutherford here?" he asked, looking around the room.
"No," Ginny said, crawling under a few desks to reach a quill that had rolled away.
She didn't want to talk him right now. He rarely went out of his way to insult her like he did Ron; they disliked each other, but they weren't enemies like he and Harry or Hermione or brother were. Judging by his current indifference, if she didn't say anything, he would leave her alone, and if he did choose to pick a fight her nerves right now were so high that it would be to his folly.
Ginny straightened as she arranged everything that had fallen from her bag back in order. "What are you doing in here?" she asked, making sure she had everything. He held up a small vile containing a violet potion.
"Snape wanted me to give this too her," he said simply.
She nodded absently, counting the rolls of her essay, making sure she had them all.
"Wait," she said, mainly to herself, shaking her bag around a little and digging through it. "Where's my wand?" Draco sighed.
"Over there," he said, making no indication showing where "there" was. She looked around to her right where most of her things had fallen, still not seeing it. "No, not there!" He walked over to the teacher's desk and reached under it, pulling out Ginny's wand. "Is it really that hard?"
Refusing to take the bait, she walked over to claim it from him, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "Give it to me."
She was getting out of there. She would just leave the essay on Rutherford's desk, risking whether or not the teacher found it when she came back. She could take the creepiness of the room, and the general irritation of Draco, but not at the same time, and not tonight, of all nights. She had had enough.
She held out her hand for her wand, expecting him to let it go and leave her be, but he didn't. He had placed the small vile on the desk and was examining a folder that had been lying open. He flipped through it, completely ignoring the wand he held.
"Oh," he said, clearly disappointed. "It's only lesson plans. I was hoping it had some tests answers."
"You would, wouldn't you?" she asked, still holding her hand out. He wasn't paying any attention to her; he was looking through the papers, when he stopped at one. It was a list of spells. Most were written in black ink, but there were a few that were in faded red. One in particular seemed to grab his attention. He was tracing under it with his free hand, his long finger traveling over the crumpled parchment.
"Give me my wand, Malfoy," she said again, grasping the end of the wand that he wasn't holding, carefully avoiding touching his hand. She pulled at it, but he still held on, oblivious to her attempts.
"I know this one," he said to himself, ignoring Ginny's rough tugs. "Where do I know it from?" He squinted, willing himself to remember. "Fee-uhr Ihf- ruhn?" he sounded out, forgetting everything but the words.
As soon as he uttered the last syllable, a bright, sliver light, the brightest either of them had ever seen, shot out of the end of Ginny's wand, pointing right at her heart and quickly enveloping her. Before either of them could do anything but watch in horror, the light expanded and soon covered Draco as well. The room began to tilt, just a little at first, like a large, old-fashioned ship, but in an instant it spend up and soon seemed to over turn, both of them going with it, though still upright. It kept going, faster and faster, turning upside down until nothing was anything anymore and the world was one huge blur.
Ginny screamed. Her eyes were filling with tears, her heart was pounding, her ears were ringing, but she was only aware of her scream. Every part of her felt like it was being pressed until she was flattened and then it was being pulled apart until she would tear. Somewhere she registered that this wasn't new, that it had happened before, just like she knew that they weren't traveling, that the room would be the same if it ever stopped, but she didn't know when anything like this could have happened before.
She tried to reach for something, anything to hold on to, and threw her hand out to her side, with much difficulty. The desk should be here, she thought despairingly, it should be here! Her hand finally collided with something smooth and glassy. She tried to hold on to it; it was shaped like a large knob, but it was too smooth and she felt like she was being pulled away from it, though she wasn't moving. Her fingers held on for the briefest moment, but began to slip with the force and the small object began to slide. It must have fallen to the floor, because as soon as she couldn't feel it anymore, there was the sound of heavy glass shattering.
The spinning stopped then, so abruptly that both Draco and Ginny were pitched backwards onto the hard stone floor. She fell on her bag, crying out as it dug into her back, and he fell slightly on top of her shoulder. Everything went black.
This is my attempt at something serious. If all goes well this should be dark, meaningful, and have an actual plot. It will be as long as it needs to be, no rushing this time. This is my baby, my attempt at real writing. I hope you like it.
Prologue: Through the Looking Glass
The rain beat down outside. The sky was dark and the torches in the sconces on the walls were the only source of light in the old classroom. Ginny stared morosely out the window at the school grounds, now muddy and flooded slightly. Her forehead was pressed against the cold pane, her breath fogging up the glass until she could barely see anything past it. She allowed fingers reached up and touched the glass, ignoring the sharp sense of cold, to follow the ripples that had formed over many, many years. They made the glass blurry, giving it a frosted look in places. If she closed her eyes, the touch reminded her of the back of an old seashell.
Sighing, Ginny pushed herself off the glass and turned around to look at the clock. It was only 4 minutes after she had looked last. Funny how it seemed like an eternity. The girl shivered and pulled her robes closer. It was late; the heating charm in the room was beginning to wear off. She hated the classrooms at times like these. The December chill, the darkness of the sky outside, the incredible loneliness of it just seemed to bombard her until she wanted to scream.
The room was large, completely made of stone, like most of the rest of the castle, and had a high, arched ceiling. It always reminded her of a cathedral, the long rows of desks seeming like pews. Always at the end there was the teacher's desk, where a priest would have stood. The light was always brighter there, shining around the teacher, the focal point of the room. Always that dim light, somewhere between orange and yellow. Though it usually didn't bother her much, on an evening like this it was haunting.
She walked over to her desk and sat on it, putting her feet on the seat. Her bag was next to her, slightly hanging off the side. She shivered again, more from the stillness of it all than the cold this time. She drew her knees in close, hugging them to her chest, making herself as small as possible, trying to draw comfort in with her long limbs. 'You're being a baby,' she told herself. 'You've been here almost every day since you were 11 and you choose now to be scared of it?'
It was just that the room had never been this dark before, or seemed so foreboding. There was a cloud over everything, like it was portending something. But it had to just be the weather and the general eeriness. Days like these weren't uncommon at Hogwarts.
Ginny had been missed Defense Against the Dark Arts the day before. While the rest of the class had been receiving instructions on the essay they needed to turn in the next day, she had been in the hospital wing with a broken wrist she gotten from running into Neville. She now looked at the wrist she had hurt and flexed it. It was her right one and now there was no sign it had ever been in anything but the perfect condition. But for that, she had been in a frenzy to finish her essay.
It had taken her all her lunch and most of her afternoon to research everything she had needed, working furiously. There seemed to be no books left on the topic of banshees; they had all been checked out and only a few remained, all practically useless. She had tried to prevail upon Hermione for her notes from last year (it was a well known fact that Hermione kept all the notes she had ever taken and they were all color coded by class, as well as under a shrinking spell so she could fit them all under her bed) but the older girl was no where to be found. Ginny had frantically gone around to everyone she knew, asking them for their books if they had any that would help, and it was surprisingly difficult to find one that helped at all, but she had managed at last.
She was supposed to have given Professor Rutherford her essay at 7 o'clock sharp, but here it was, 7:36, and still no sign of the teacher. She hadn't been worried or uneasy at first, but now she was eager to quit the dank classroom and return to the warmth of the Gryffindor tower and her dorm. She normally wouldn't wait, she would just leave the assignment on her desk, but Rutherford had a forgetfulness streak in her, and if her extreme tardiness was any indicator, Ginny doubted she would ever find it.
Ginny had checked her essay 3 times, and each time she could find nothing wrong with it. She even reckoned she had it memorized. She tried reciting it out loud, just to see it she did.
"The term banshee comes from the Gaelic word 'bean' meaning woman," she began, her voice reverberating from the high ceiling, creating an echo. "In Gaelic, a banshee is known as 'bean si,' literally meaning 'woman of the fairy mound.' Banshees are deeply routed in Irish culture, both Muggle and Wizard, though the line of belief separates the two. From the ancient stories of Tir fo Thoinn, from which Banshees originated, to the modern day Banshee Rights Act, being reconsidered and appealed in our own Ministry Court next month…"
She stopped, unable to remember what came next, not that it mattered. It was all on the parchment, that's what counted, and instead of filling the silence, her voice made it seem as if it increased between each word. She gave up and pulled out a book from her bag.
It was poetry, Emily Dickenson, in fact. It was one of Ginny favorite volumes; she had read it completely through twice. She preferred Muggle literature to its Wizarding counterpart. There was something so different about Muggle books. She wasn't sure what it was, she had never been able to pinpoint what made the too styles so different, but she had come to almost detest Wizard authors. She always had a few Muggle books in her bag, just in case she got bored, or, in this instance, needed to drag her mind away from the shadows flickering around the room.
After a while, Ginny looked up from her book to take one more look at the clock. It was 7:48. 'Oh this is ridiculous,' she thought, shoving her book back into her satchel. 'One more minute in this room and I think I might go insane.' She was about to get off the desk and leave in a huff when she stopped and considered. This paper was a major part of her grade and she had put a lot of effort into it, though it had been for only a short period of time. Fifty minutes though… she sighed. If she had committed nearly an hour of her life to this, she wasn't going to back out now. Besides, it was the Friday before the Christmas holiday and she was going to be staying at school again this year, so she really had nowhere to be.
She settled down again, preparing herself to be there quite a while longer. Not a moment after she had made herself comfortable, the door opened. Thinking it was Professor Rutherford, and also of how she wasn't supposed to be sitting on the desks like she was, she hopped off as quickly as she could. Unfortunately, her left hand caught on her bag and she pulled it off the surface and onto the floor, contents spilling everywhere. She swore mildly when she saw that to was not the Professor, but Draco Malfoy at the door. He stared at her, his face a little disgusted, but mostly uncaring. She ignored him and started picking up all her spilt books.
"Is Professor Rutherford here?" he asked, looking around the room.
"No," Ginny said, crawling under a few desks to reach a quill that had rolled away.
She didn't want to talk him right now. He rarely went out of his way to insult her like he did Ron; they disliked each other, but they weren't enemies like he and Harry or Hermione or brother were. Judging by his current indifference, if she didn't say anything, he would leave her alone, and if he did choose to pick a fight her nerves right now were so high that it would be to his folly.
Ginny straightened as she arranged everything that had fallen from her bag back in order. "What are you doing in here?" she asked, making sure she had everything. He held up a small vile containing a violet potion.
"Snape wanted me to give this too her," he said simply.
She nodded absently, counting the rolls of her essay, making sure she had them all.
"Wait," she said, mainly to herself, shaking her bag around a little and digging through it. "Where's my wand?" Draco sighed.
"Over there," he said, making no indication showing where "there" was. She looked around to her right where most of her things had fallen, still not seeing it. "No, not there!" He walked over to the teacher's desk and reached under it, pulling out Ginny's wand. "Is it really that hard?"
Refusing to take the bait, she walked over to claim it from him, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "Give it to me."
She was getting out of there. She would just leave the essay on Rutherford's desk, risking whether or not the teacher found it when she came back. She could take the creepiness of the room, and the general irritation of Draco, but not at the same time, and not tonight, of all nights. She had had enough.
She held out her hand for her wand, expecting him to let it go and leave her be, but he didn't. He had placed the small vile on the desk and was examining a folder that had been lying open. He flipped through it, completely ignoring the wand he held.
"Oh," he said, clearly disappointed. "It's only lesson plans. I was hoping it had some tests answers."
"You would, wouldn't you?" she asked, still holding her hand out. He wasn't paying any attention to her; he was looking through the papers, when he stopped at one. It was a list of spells. Most were written in black ink, but there were a few that were in faded red. One in particular seemed to grab his attention. He was tracing under it with his free hand, his long finger traveling over the crumpled parchment.
"Give me my wand, Malfoy," she said again, grasping the end of the wand that he wasn't holding, carefully avoiding touching his hand. She pulled at it, but he still held on, oblivious to her attempts.
"I know this one," he said to himself, ignoring Ginny's rough tugs. "Where do I know it from?" He squinted, willing himself to remember. "Fee-uhr Ihf- ruhn?" he sounded out, forgetting everything but the words.
As soon as he uttered the last syllable, a bright, sliver light, the brightest either of them had ever seen, shot out of the end of Ginny's wand, pointing right at her heart and quickly enveloping her. Before either of them could do anything but watch in horror, the light expanded and soon covered Draco as well. The room began to tilt, just a little at first, like a large, old-fashioned ship, but in an instant it spend up and soon seemed to over turn, both of them going with it, though still upright. It kept going, faster and faster, turning upside down until nothing was anything anymore and the world was one huge blur.
Ginny screamed. Her eyes were filling with tears, her heart was pounding, her ears were ringing, but she was only aware of her scream. Every part of her felt like it was being pressed until she was flattened and then it was being pulled apart until she would tear. Somewhere she registered that this wasn't new, that it had happened before, just like she knew that they weren't traveling, that the room would be the same if it ever stopped, but she didn't know when anything like this could have happened before.
She tried to reach for something, anything to hold on to, and threw her hand out to her side, with much difficulty. The desk should be here, she thought despairingly, it should be here! Her hand finally collided with something smooth and glassy. She tried to hold on to it; it was shaped like a large knob, but it was too smooth and she felt like she was being pulled away from it, though she wasn't moving. Her fingers held on for the briefest moment, but began to slip with the force and the small object began to slide. It must have fallen to the floor, because as soon as she couldn't feel it anymore, there was the sound of heavy glass shattering.
The spinning stopped then, so abruptly that both Draco and Ginny were pitched backwards onto the hard stone floor. She fell on her bag, crying out as it dug into her back, and he fell slightly on top of her shoulder. Everything went black.
This is my attempt at something serious. If all goes well this should be dark, meaningful, and have an actual plot. It will be as long as it needs to be, no rushing this time. This is my baby, my attempt at real writing. I hope you like it.