-The
Night World
Chapter Three
The days passed, as they always seem to do. I didn't do much for the rest of my summer vacation, just caught up on some Muggle reading that I was addicted to. I was now reading a book of poetry by Robert Frost, an incredibly talented poet of this century. My favorite poem (as cliché as it may seem) is 'The Road Not Taken'. I felt connected to the verses for some reason. I could almost relate to it in a way. In the poem he talks about taking a path in life that is different than other peoples, and that was exactly what my life was like. I am not like my brothers'; I wasn't going to grow up and be smart like Percy, clever like Fred and George, brave like Ron and Charlie, or cunning like Bill. I was just some nobody, who took a path not led by anyone before. But where Frost considers this in a more positive outlook, mine is more negative. Mine is more real.
The day soon came for the infamous Weasley family trip to Diagon Alley for school supplies. Not that I'd be getting much, all my books and other collectibles were always hand-me-downs anyway. But still my mother thought it would be nice to go out for the day, maybe if I got my hopes up I would get a new dress robe. Though I doubt that day would be arriving any time soon given the amount of money they put in for Percy's wedding.
Mother let me wander around on my own, though I think it was just to get rid of me personally. I didn't mind; I needed to be alone to think. I slipped out of Diagon Alley as soon as I had the opportunity and headed for the Muggle bookstore that was down the street. A sanctuary for me really, a place I felt a belonging to, a haven.
I never understood why some wizards hated anything to do with Muggles. To me their entire world was far more fascinating than ours, though I'm sure they'd say the same about the wizard world. My best grades in school came from Muggle Studies and well, Potions. I'm not sure why I was so good in those two areas, only those two areas. Muggle science has always intrigued me, and potions you could say is almost like the equivalent to chemistry. Measuring chemicals or in my case "items" and creating something helpful, or dangerous. I imagined if I were a Muggle teenager I'd pursue a career as a chemist in one of those universities and continue on to achieve a doctorate. Too bad there was nothing like that in our world. I suppose a potions teacher or researcher is similar, but you need better grades than mine to become one. I just wasn't smart enough in any other subjects unfortunately.
"Hello there Ginny, haven't seen you in here for some time." The storeowner said as he came out from behind the counter to greet my arrival. His name is Mr. Sinclair, a seventy-year old retired journalist from London who opened this bookshop about ten years ago with his wife. He knows me by heart now for I come here every chance I can, even if I have to sneak out of the house to do so. He has always treated me like a grown-up, never looked down on me, and always had a special treat or a new story to tell me when I arrive. I love him more than my own father, and yet I am not so ashamed to admit that.
"Hi Mr. Sinclair. I know I haven't been around, my brother's wedding was last week and things have been hectic. Any new arrivals?" I asked while glancing at the new release shelf. Mostly his store contained older material, classics really, such as Shakespeare, Dickens, Sophocles, Plato, and various other authors from all different time periods. But within the last two years he has been collecting newer works of literature from authors all around the globe. He's even taught me how to read Ancient Greek and Egyptian, though my favorite was Latin, surprisingly.
"So how did the wedding go? Awful as I hoped?" He joked, I told him of my brothers' perfections and of the problems I have at home. I trusted him with nearly everything, and he's always been a shoulder to cry on.
"Unfortunately no, it was a wedding out of a fairy tale, down to the floating fairies and beautifully tailored gowns. Though I was tempted to spike the wine just a bit more to see what it would be like to see everyone drunk. But I was a polite and ditched the entire reception instead." I said with a smile. I felt comfortable telling all of this to him, for he understood. As a child he came from a poor family too and worked hard over the years to be one of the best in his field. His writing is spectacular and as much as Mrs. Sinclair and I have tried to talk him into writing a book, he's refused.
"I read enough of them, I don't have to write them too. It's the thought that I could if I wanted to, that counts. But it's nice to have the support of the two most important women of my life. Thank you." He once told us, we left the argument at that.
"Ginny my dear, oh it's so great of you to stop by!" Mrs. Sinclair shouted from atop the stairs. Their house was located right above the bookstore for convenience. Some times, depending on the time of day, they would invite me to stay for a meal or even overnight. I've done the first and declined the latter. I didn't think my mum would really approve of me staying at a "strangers" house overnight, even if I did care for them more than my own parents.
She walked down the old stairs that creaked under her figure. She was once a beautiful woman, and still is in my opinion for her beauty comes not only from the outside, but also from within. Her slim figure grew out into a more rounder, motherly size and her grayed black hair has been pulled back into a tight bun. Her eyes were what always fascinated me though; they were a mix of gray, green, and blue, almost like a sea during a storm. She walked up to me and gave me a sound hug and a kiss on the cheek.
"I'm always happy to see you Mrs. Sinclair. I'd stay longer if I had the time but I have to be back in a little bit. I just dropped by to say hi and see what's new." I told her. She looked a little hurt that I couldn't stay longer, but then smiled and was happy to be able to see me for at least a short time nonetheless.
"Well love we just got a new book on the poetry of Tennyson. He wrote mostly about Ancient Greece and I know how much you love ancient history…" She said; my eyes lit up at the good news.
"I love all history, all studies from all over the world!" I laughed and ran to see the book I would soon be buying. I never carried too much money on me, but since my obsession with the muggle world I've made it a habit to collect a couple pounds here and there.
"I knew you would love it!" Mrs. Sinclair smiled and walked over to her husband. They've been married now for fifty years, since he was twenty and she seventeen. I envied their love sometimes, and often I found myself dreaming that I was their child, their only child, instead of the only daughter of seven children. The Sinclairs only had one child; he died in his thirties from a car accident. His name was Steven and after his death his wife and daughter moved back to the United States to live with her parents. Every now and then the wife and daughter came to visit Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair, and once, last year, I met their granddaughter. Her name is Haley and is a year younger than me in age and has dark brown hair and her grandmother's stormy eyes. She was incredibly nice to me and I was sad to see her off. Every now and then when she writes to her grandparents she'll send me a greeting and ask how things are going. I always answer the same to her, I lie and tell her everything's great; I don't want her to upset or worry over the insignificant happenings of my life. Besides, she doesn't know I am a witch, only her grandparents do.
"I really must be off now, but it was great to see you again Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair. I promise to stop by as soon as possible. I think our first Hogsmeade trip is three weeks into the school year so I'll see if I can sneak down." I said and gave them each a hug goodbye and walked out the door and back to Diagon Alley, back to hell.
Last year I added the Sinclair's fireplace to the floo network. It took some convincing but I argued to my father that there were certain books I might need for my Muggle Studies class and so he agreed. Now, every so often when I get a chance, I use the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room to sneak back to the Sinclair's store and see them. They knew I shouldn't be doing it, but I tell them I'd do it with or without their consent. Though I've never heard them complain when I show up and visit every now and then.
"Ginny where have you been? Mum and Dad have been looking for you for an hour!" Ron shouted as I walk into the streets of Diagon Alley. Hermione and Harry are right behind him and I try, for their benefit, not to sound too annoyed.
"I've been out, they told me to go walk around so I did. If they wanted me to be back at a certain time they should have told me." I told him. He just continued to stare at me for a bit so I turned around and started walking towards Flourish and Blotts where my parents are now standing, awaiting our arrival patiently.
"Ginny Weasley when I said you could go off on your own I didn't intend for it to be for the entire day! Now we'll be late getting back for dinner…" Mother continued to rant and rave as we headed to the fireplace to go home. I tuned her out after she forbad me to eat dinner and to go straight up to my room. I didn't mind; I don't eat at all really. Haven't in some time.
As we neared our destination we passed Lucius and Draco Malfoy and as one sneered the other glared. I glared back at Draco as we passed each other; our two families have never gotten along, ever.
"Slimy git." I heard my brother curse as he spotted the two Malfoys walking towards us.
They continued to walk past us without stopping to say anything, which I was thankful for.
As we arrived home I walked straight up to my room and went to sit at my sad excuse of a desk. The wood is now weathered and chipping in more than several places and the single candle that sits atop it has been melted down to a few inches. But nonetheless I still loved my room, for it was my hole to crawl to when everything becomes too much to handle. I walk over to my small vanity and sit upon the small plush covered stool. I stripped off my robes and threw them on my green comforter, then glance into the mirror.
I've changed so much in the last two years. My freckles have reduced to just a few small specks glittered upon my nose, but my skin was still as pale as ever. My red hair, once full of volume and life, is now limp and stick straight, and dull. Some would say it was because I haven't been eating, I say it's because my hair now reflects my personality, dull, limp, and lifeless.
I glance down at the dagger resting peacefully on my dresser. Charlie bought it for me four years ago as a souvenir, it was said to have belonged to a powerful witch in the 1400's. The blade has not diminished over the years, it may have dulled in color but the blade was as sharp as ever. I picked it up as I contemplated things that shouldn't be running through a sixteen year olds mind. My stomach then growled in hunger and I soon feel dizzy from exhaustion. I am slowly fading, but I couldn't let my body win. I grabbed the dagger again and nicked my pale skin two inches above where wrist meets hand. And I let the blood flow down my hand as crystal tears fell down my face, and suddenly I knew my world has took another wrong turn.
It was another step closer to dying…
