Hey there peeps, this is the first chapter for my story, The Deviant. Regarding whether this is canon, the major plotline will take place (e.g Horcrux hunt, Voldemort's death, etc) but there will be changes, whether they are big or small is subjective. Whether or not my Ginny is canon is also subjective. I hope you guys enjoy and leave a review if you want to see more. :)

It was a hot and humid summer day in the streets of England. Ice cream parlors lined the streets and beaches were crowded with folks looking for a good time. Most people usually went traveling in these months, venturing out into places such as France, or Venice. Except for the sticky humidity and the detrimental sun rays, summer was typically a good time for most people. A good time for everybody but Ginny Weasley.

The sun shone directly through the small window of the Grimmauld Place attic and right at Ginny's eyes as she vigorously mopped the floor of the Grimmauld Place. Why she was putting so much effort into the cleanliness of the attic, Ginny didn't know. Normally she resented her mother for putting them all to work, but here she was, mopping the floors even though she knew by now that no matter how many times she washed the floor, it would still always remain filthy. She sighed as she put the mop back in the pail. It was a surprisingly small attic for such a big house, with only a creaky desk and a tattered bed inhabiting the room.

It was times like these that made her question the life decisions that got her in this very unfortunate situation. If Ginny had it her way, she would be on the sandy shores of the beach, watching the glistening waves contrast with the sunset as she read her favorite novel. But unfortunately, she was neither old nor cool enough to be able to do that.

But Ginny wasn't the only miserable occupant in the wretched house. Ron and Hermione were off devising plans to save the wizarding world from the treacherous hands of Lord Voldemort, all the adults were all downstairs also trying to save the world from the Dark Lord, and Fred and George were scheming and creating brilliant pranks and ideas. So while everyone was scheming and thinking and using their brains, Ginny was stuck in the attic with nothing but a sad-looking mop and a pail of dishwater. What had her life come to? Ginny just didn't understand. Didn't her parents want her to be prepared for what was going to happen? Voldemort was out there, and she knew absolutely nothing. She tried everything, from Extendable Ears (Fred and George's product) to sneaking under the table (in which her mother caught her before any of the members arrived) but nothing worked. She was always, too young, too stupid, too… Ginny.

Then there was Percy leaving, which took a large toll of Mrs. Weasley; none of the siblings could say his name without her bursting into tears. Ginny was never particularly close with Percy, but she never expected him to turn out the way he did. She even tried to take on the perilous hobby of knitting with her mum so she wouldn't feel so alone, but that didn't really work out, seeing as her fingers were just as uncoordinated as the rest of her body.

Ginny looked around the small attic. By now, the room had become her personal haven. Her homework and school supplies rested on the rickety desk and most of her personal belongings had been moved there. Ginny sighed. She had already finished all of her homework and had read every book in the house. Hell, she even resorted to Hermione's Advanced Potions Textbook. If she had a knut for every single time she reread Pride and Prejudice, Ginny would be rich enough to buy her own selection of books.

Ginny knew that she shouldn't be complaining so much, but she couldn't help it. She was just so bloody bored. She was too old to find amusement in whatever she saw, yet too young to be important or involved in any of the action. What a stupid age she was.

Ginny flopped down on the bed and rested her head on the raggedy pillow. She could hear Fred and George's laughter from the adjacent room, along with other slight voices. Ginny was just tired at pretending that everything was okay when it wasn't.

Whenever Ginny, Ron, and Hermione were together, Hermione and Ron would mostly cast worried glances at each other while attempting to make feeble small talk with Ginny to make sure she doesn't suspect anything. Hermione and she got along just fine, but whenever Ron or Harry was there, it was like the redhead never existed.

Ginny wasn't particularly bothered with that, she also never made any real effort to try and get close with Hermione or Harry… Harry. Bloody hell. Ginny cringed at the sound of his name. Sure, she had gotten over her crush a very long time ago, but that still didn't erase the embarrassing memories caused by that wretched diary. God, how stupid and shallow she was in her first year!

Granted, she was only eleven years old, but still. The girl Ginny was back then was a completely different version than what she was now. She would never go chasing after some boy she had never met, nor would she let some diary get the better of her. To this day, Ginny was still incredulous to how immature she was when she was younger. Positively humiliating. Luckily, nobody really found out about the incident so she was spared some of her dignity, but Ginny was certain that her reputation was ruined and Harry's eyes. Oh well.

Sometimes she wondered how such an important person like Harry got acquainted with her family. It was a little funny, really, how she grew up hearing stories of Harry Potter only to have him spending the summers at their house.

She smiled as she snuggled herself deeper into the quilt, remembering the ridiculous things she did when she was younger.

"His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad

His hair is as dark as a blackboard

I wish he was mine

He's really divine

The hero who conquered the Dark Lord!"

The singing letter ended on a piercing high note, before zooming off into another table. The entire table burst into giggles as Harry turned a deep shade of red.

Eleven-year-old Ginny sat at the edge, mortified at what she just heard. On what planet did she think that this was a good idea? At least she didn't put her name on the poem, which saved some of her dignity...

She spent the rest of her breakfast moping at the table at her loss. The poem sounded quite good in Ginny's head, she didn't know what a disaster it turned out to be. Some of the students were still laughing, saying it was a shame that they didn't know who wrote it. It was times like these when Ginny questioned her life choices.

"Which one of you can tell me which potion does not contain valerian sprigs," Snape stated in his monotonous voice as he walked around the room, sending vicious glares to the frightened first-years. His dark eyes turned toward the freckled redhead writing vigorously in her notebook.

"Miss Weasley," he stated, his black eyes turned towards her.

Ginny looked up rapidly from her diary to find her Professor staring at her.

"Which potion does not contain Valerian Sprigs," He asked dangerously. Ginny gulped. She didn't really spend her time revising for her classes, mostly talking to Tom or dreaming about Harry.

"Er… I don't know sir," she said meekly. Snape smirked and walked back to the chalkboard.

"Of course. You are a Weasley after all." A few Slytherins snickered while Ginny turned a bright shade of scarlet. "Well then, twenty points for Gryffindor. Let's hope that Miss Weasley isn't as incompetent as she seems."

Ah, the memories. Truly lovely. At least the other Gryffindors didn't blame her. Speaking of fellow Gryffindors, her thoughts fell toward Amy, a girl she met in the third year while she was getting ready for the ball. She, along with Ginny, was one of the few lucky third-years who had the privilege of going to the Yule Ball. She was the one who tamed her wild hair and set it neatly into a French Twist. Amy introduced her to Michael Corner as well, who was pretty cool. The two hit it off pretty well, but they weren't good friends. If Amy needed help with Charms, she would go to Ginny, and vice versa. In fact, Ginny didn't really have any friends, not that she really minded.

She didn't have any real enemies either, just a bunch of random acquaintances. Well, she did have Neville, but he was as much of a loner as Ginny was, so she wasn't really sure that counted. Plus, half the time they spent together was searching for Trevor. Well, Michael also had a lot of friends… Oh, bloody hell.

Ginny quickly sat up and inwardly smacked herself. She had forgotten all about Michael! Granted, the most they ever did together was hold hands on the train station, but still! How could she forget something as important as her very own boyfriend?! Perhaps the lack of sunlight and vitamin C was really jogging up to her memory. Ginny sighed as she laid back down on the bed again, too absorbed in her own thoughts to try and do anything productive.

Many of her acquaintances were surprised when she started dating Michel. Ginny didn't seem like the type of girl to get a boyfriend at age thirteen, but it's not like they were dating-dating.

To Ginny, there are two types of boyfriends. The first kind is the generic kind: the one that brings flowers on Valentine's Day and snogs you under the mistletoe. The second type of boyfriend is more of a close companion. You would go to Hogsmeade together, and perhaps even meet each other after class.

Well, in that sense, that meant that Neville was also Ginny's boyfriend… Perhaps she should reevaluate her standards…

Michael wasn't particularly smart or handsome, but his self-reliance was quite refreshing to Ginny. He wasn't pushy and could take care of himself. He was confident and stable enough to make a decent person, which was what Ginny really liked about him. In theory, he was the exact opposite of Ron, which was exactly what Ginny was going for. Not that didn't love her brother; he had many redeeming attributes, but he certainly couldn't take a hint.

As Ginny shifted for a comfortable position on the small bed, she felt something poke her. It was an old mirror that must've been there for a long time.

But before she set the mirror down on the desk, she stopped to look at herself. Her hair had turned from light ginger to a deep shade of red over the years, which was something that confused her to no end. Her freckles had died down drastically, with only a few of them left on her upper-cheeks. Mrs. Weasley would reprimand her, saying that she would look much more attractive if she just put some more care into her looks. She had a rustic carelessness weaved into her appearance, something that set her aside from others. It didn't make her look better or worse, just… different.

She wondered how…

"I SUPPOSE YOU'VE BEEN HAVING A REAL LAUGH, HAVEN'T YOU, ALL HOLED UP IN HERE TOGETHER -" The booming voice echoed through the house, creating a shaky motion through the weak walls of the attic.

Ginny was caught completely by surprise by this, and consequently fell off the bed and made contact with the dusty floor. Who the bloody hell was that? And why the bloody hell were they yelling? It sounded like Harry, but he wouldn't be arriving until…

Oh, he was arriving today. Again, Ginny had completely forgotten. She really needed more vitamin C.

Suddenly, she remembered that she had to report to Fred and George about their new product. The yelling had ceased, but she could still hear voices from below. Ginny sighed before rubbing her eyes. It was probably time that she had gotten some real human contact, and decided that she should probably go greet Harry.

"Oh, hello Harry, I thought I heard your voice," Ginny said brightly before turning to the twins. Everybody heard his voice.

"The ears are a no-go, Mum put the Imperturbable Jinx on them- I've been chucking dungbombs at the door to see if it worked. Fred and George looked crestfallen.

The conversation proceeded smoothly from there. They mostly discussed Harry's upcoming trial, along with the corruption of the Ministry. Then the topic of Percy came up, which wasn't quite pleasant to discuss. Ginny couldn't imagine what life would be like without Harry at Hogwarts… what Ron would be like…

Suddenly, Mrs. Weasley burst through the door. "The Meeting's over, everyone can come down and have dinner now. Ginny go wash your hands, they're filthy," she hastily added on while shooting a kind glance at Harry. Ginny looked down at her hands, she had forgotten that she'd been throwing dungbombs earlier. She grimaced as she followed her mum out the door.

"Hey Gin-Gin," Fred said with a smirk on his face. "How would you like to sample our brand new product?"

"They're called the Skiving Snack Boxes," George added on. "And they're…"

"UTTERLY BRILLIANT!" They exclaimed. Ginny rolled her eyes at the ridiculous monologue.

"Thank you, but no thank you, go test them yourselves," she replied as she walked past them. Ginny remembered when Fred and George would make her test their products when they were younger, saying that she was helping humanity by her contributions.

Ginny quickly washed her hands and went downstairs to start helping out for dinner.

Suddenly, a harmony of shrieks echoed through the kitchen.

"FILTH, SCUM, BY-PRODUCTS OF DIRT AND VILENESS," the voices boomed. Ginny clapped her hands over her ears. Tonks must've tripped over the umbrella stand again.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," She heard Tonks say from a distance. Ginny sighed and chuckled.

"Wotcher Ginny!" Tonks exclaimed when she saw the redhead.

Tonks turned her hair into a deep red, making her look like Ginny's older sister. Ginny laughed shortly before turning back to the mound load of dishes. "How've you been holding up so far?" She asked, picking up a plate and roughly scrubbing it before setting it aside.

Ginny shrugged aimlessly. "Everything's been… confusing," she said thoughtfully. She could've made up some phony fib, about how grand her summer has been and how refreshing homework free it was, but she was tired of lying.

Tonks' smile lessened. "Yeah," She muttered. "Yeah kid, it's been confusing." The two worked in contemplative silence, meticulously scrubbing and drying every dish before setting it aside for Mrs. Weasley.

Ginny thought about her acquaintances and how Dean's birthday was soon coming up. It was a matter of time before she had to send the dreaded 'Happy Birthday letter' to him along with some hand-crafted gift. It's not like she didn't like Dean, she just hated formal pleasantries and awkward letters.

"Fred-George-NO, JUST CARRY THEM!" Mrs. Weasley shrieked, interrupting Ginny's train of thought.

Harry, Sirius, and Mundungus looked around and, within a split second, they had dived away from the table. Fred and George had bewitched a large cauldron of stew, an iron flagon of Butterbeer, and a heavy wooden breadboard, complete with knife, to hurtle through the air towards them. The stew skidded the length of the table and came to a halt just before the end, leaving a long black burn on the wooden surface; the flagon of Butterbeer fell with a crash, spilling its contents everywhere; the bread knife slipped off the board and landed, point down and quivering ominously, exactly where Sirius's right hand had been seconds before.

Mrs. Weasley shouted a bit more and a few laughs were exchanged before dinner was finally set.

For a few minutes there was silence but for the chink of plates and cutlery and the scraping of chairs as everyone settled down to their food. Then Mrs. Weasley turned to Sirius.

'I've been meaning to tell you, Sirius, there's something trapped in that writing desk in the drawing-room, it keeps rattling and shaking. Of course, it could just be a boggart, but I thought we ought to ask Alastor to have a look at it before we let it out. '

'Whatever you like,' said Sirius indifferently.

'The curtains in there are full of doxies, too,' Mrs. Weasley went on. 'I thought we might try and tackle them tomorrow. '

'I look forward to it,' said Sirius sarcastically.

Pretty soon everyone was comfortably settled, and even Ginny found herself having a surprisingly good time as she engaged in a pleasant conversation between Hermione and Tonks.

"Not just yet, Molly,' said Sirius, pushing away his empty plate and turning to look at Harry. 'You know, I'm surprised at you. I thought the first thing you'd do when you got here would be to start asking questions about Voldemort."

The atmosphere in the room changed with the rapidity Harry associated with the arrival of dementors. Where seconds before it had been sleepily relaxed, it was now alert, even tense. A frisson had gone around the table at the mention of Voldemort's name. Lupin, who had been about to take a sip of wine, lowered his goblet slowly, looking wary.

"I did"' said Harry indignantly. "I asked Ron and Hermione but they said we're not allowed in the Order, so-"

"And they're quite right,"' said Mrs. Weasley. 'You're too young. '

She was sitting bolt upright in her chair, her fists clenched her arms, every trace of drowsiness gone.

"Since when did someone have to be in the Order of the Phoenix to ask questions?" asked Sirius. "Harry's been trapped in that Muggle house for a month. He's got the right to know what's been happening-"

"Hang on!" interrupted George loudly.

"How come Harry gets his questions answered?" said Fred angrily.

"We've been trying to get stuff out of you for a month and you haven't told us a single stinking thing!" said George.

"You're too young, you're not in the Order,"' said Fred, in a high-pitched voice that sounded uncannily like his mother's. 'Harry's not even of age!'

"It's not my fault you haven't been told what the Order's doing,' said Sirius calmly, 'that's your parents' decision. Harry, on the other hand-'

"It's not down to you to decide what's good for Harry!" said Mrs. Weasley sharply. The expression on her normally kind face looked dangerous. 'You haven't forgotten what Dumbledore said, I suppose?'

"Which bit?" Sirius asked politely, but with the air of a man readying himself for a fight.

"The bit about not telling Harry more than he needs to know," said Mrs. Weasley, placing a heavy emphasis on the last three words.

By now everyone's heads were turned at Mrs. Weasley and Sirius. Tension riddled the room as the two stared at each other with contempt.

"I don't intend to tell him more than he needs to know, Molly," said Sirius. "But as he was the one who saw Voldemort come back" (again, there was a collective shudder around the table at the name), "he has more right than most to-"

"He's not a member of the Order of the Phoenix!" said Mrs. Weasley. "He's only fifteen and-"

"-and he's dealt with as much as most in the Order," said Sirius, "and more than some-"

"No one's denying what he's done!" said Mrs. Weasley, her voice rising, her fists trembling on the arms of her chair. "But he's still-"

"He's not a child!" said Sirius impatiently.

'He's not an adult either!" said Mrs. Weasley, the color rising in her cheeks. 'He's not James, Sirius!'

"I'm perfectly clear who he is, thanks, Molly," said Sirius coldly.

"I'm not sure you are!" said Mrs. Weasley. "Sometimes, the way you talk about him, it's as though you think you've got your best friend back!"

"What's wrong with that?" said Harry.

"What's wrong, Harry, is that you are not your father, however much you might look like him!" said Mrs. Weasley, her eyes still boring into Sirius. 'You are still at school and adults responsible for you should not forget it!'

"Meaning I'm an irresponsible godfather?" demanded Sirius, his voice rising.

"Meaning you have been known to act rashly, Sirius, which is why Dumbledore keeps reminding you to stay at home and-"

"We'll leave my instructions from Dumbledore out of this if you please!" said Sirius loudly.

"Arthur!" said Mrs. Weasley rounding on her husband. "Arthur, back me up!"

Ginny watched anxiously as the argument progressed. She was hoping that maybe her parents would let her stay, though she didn't count on it. Meanwhile, Crookshanks curled into her lap and fell asleep, limiting Ginny's ability to move around.

"Fine!" shouted Mrs. Weasley. "Fine! Ginny — BED!"

Ginny inwardly groaned. Of course, everyone got to stay but her. Lovely.

She trudged upstairs with Crookshanks right on her heels and headed for her attic. But what was the point anyway? It's not like someone as small or as silly as she could make a real change in the upcoming war.

As she looked out the window and pondered on the outcome of everything, she saw a vague outline of an owl gliding towards her. It landed swiftly on the windowpane and motioned for Ginny to open the window. The creature was holding a newspaper, along with a thick letter. Ginny, inwardly groaned, she knew exactly who it was from.

She had been exchanging letters with Terry Boot these past months, someone she would possibly consider a friend if they both weren't such aloof and awkward people. He was an outspoken and analytical Ravenclaw with an obsession for Greek philosophers, while Ginny was a quiet and intuitive outcast who the Hat wanted to put in Slytherin or Ravenclaw. Looking back, Ginny probably should've just let the Hat sort her correctly instead of insisting on being put in Gryffindor. Currently, they were engaged in a long-distance argument on whether Voldemort was really back. Terry believes Voldemort and Harry had faced off, the latter would be as dead as a doorknob. He blamed Ginny's belief in Harry on family and Gryffindor pride, which in her opinion, was quite outlandish. Although his stubbornness aggravated Ginny to no end, she appreciated how his sense of logic has led him to discredit Harry in contrast to most people's fear and denial.

Ginny sighed as she flipped through the Prophet, looking for the underlined section that Terry most likely indicated. Along with an opinionated and wordy letter, Terry would send her a Daily Prophet, underlining a specific passage that supported his point. Ginny would often respond with a famous and well-known quote, before diving into her equally strong and controversial response. The debates have been going on ever since Dumbledore's emotional speech regarding Cedric Diggory's death, but instead of letters, they would talk during meals or study sessions.

Harry Potter and his Downward Spiral

From as long as we can remember, Harry Potter has been known as "The-Boy-Who-Lived." We have seen his rise from a pitiable baby whose parents had been brutally murdered (See pg. 9 for details) to a self-obsessed teenager, canting about how the Dark Lord has been resurrected. Where do we begin with the details!? This is problematic for a multitude of reasons, the first being the self-entitlement being exhibited. It is common knowledge that You-Know-Who is one of, if not the darkest wizard of all time. He and his followers had tortured and killed many innocent people, with the inclusion of some of the brilliant witches and wizards of our time. The world was shocked when it was discovered that a one-year-old child was the result of his downfall. The problem with Mr. Potter claiming that the You-Know-Who is back is quite evident. He believes that just because he had killed The Dark Lord as a child means he can go around preaching that he had seen and battled him. The fear and pandemonium he is causing for the expense of his own benefit is completely outrageous and should not be accepted. This is not to mention Mr. Dumbledore promoting this ridiculous behavior (see pg. 7 for details). Mr. Potter is one of the prime examples of how fame can change a well-adjusted person's demeanor. I sincerely hope that the upcoming trial will humble the pompous boy. I suggest that we all learn from Harry Potter and understand the negative effects of unearned attention.

-Sylvia Bernard

Dear Ginny,

I would like to start off by commending your previous letter. While I disagree with your points, your writing style has massively improved, and if I were Neville Longbottom, I would probably be caving in right about now. But as I'm Terry Boot and you're Ginevra Weasley, this will possibly be going on until the end of time. Although you can argue that the claims in the article do not match up with the character of Harry Potter, one cannot completely suspect another's true intentions. To add on, nobody has seen or heard from Voldemort either. No surprise muggle attacks, no odd behavior, nothing.

And perhaps Dumbledore isn't who everyone thinks he is. I believe that you, one of the most cynical and suspecting I know, are aware that not everything is at it seems. Sure, Dumbledore seems like the wise and all-knowing great-grandfather we wish we all have opposed to the whiny alcoholic one that we do, we really don't know what is going on inside his head. I've been doing some research and it turns out that he had a bit of a dark streak when he was younger. The events aren't coherently outlined, but there are still major potholes in his past. And let's just say that Dumbledore isn't going senile, all right? Well, that still doesn't change anything.

We all know that the great headmaster of Hogwarts has a tendency to be too trusting. If his favorite pupil (and don't try and fight me on this, we all know that Potter is his favorite) comes up to him and says that Voldemort is back, of course, he is going to believe him!

And speaking of Harry Potter, we share three classes together, and while I can say that he is no idiot, he is not exceptional either. Let alone on Voldemort's level. Well, I'm done. Hope to hear from you soon, tomorrow morning would be a good time. Let's just say that my great-grandfather is coming over in the afternoon and I'm going to have to spend every moment of my time at his beck-and-call.

Bye, Terry Boot

Ginny chuckled lightly as she finished the letter. Terry was one of the few people who could say Voldemort without so much as flinching. Weaving in anecdotes from his summer while maintaining a systematic and opinionated tone was only a feat Boot could accomplish. If her brothers ever met him, she knew that they would rip him to shreds. Grabbing a quill and paper, she planned out her calculated response, deciding to use "Your perception of the world around you is not necessarily the same as what is occurring" as her famous quote.

When she had finished, she had sent Terry's owl back with the letter and Daily Prophet. Ginny watched the Tawny Owl fly into the night sky, wishing she could do the same.

"Tell me," Ginny said later that night, knowing that Hermione wasn't really sleeping.

"I don't know what you're talking about," She heard a small quiver in her reply. Ginny sat up and gave the brunette a pointed. Hermione sighed and also sat up, diving into a deep monologue about the events of the Order meeting. Ginny listened to her, rapt with the elusiveness of Voldemort. Everything seemed so pointless yet so important at the same time. It was almost ludicrous.

Ginny spent the entire night tossing and turning in her sleep, too many thoughts swirling around about Voldemort and the ministry, not to mention Dean's birthday. She had to come up with a card…