The Might of the Siren
Monday, December 14, 1998, 2:00 PM
So, she had passed her Potions Exam. It wasn't as if she hadn't expected it. Her mother had once said, "If you truly love what you do, you'll never have to worry about failing. It'll come natural to you."
She was a Weasley. She loved cooking biscuits and hot cocoa, playing with animals, and. knowledge. Once she read a book once, off she was to find another. She knew mountains of facts. Percy, the stuck up git, was her only close tie to what she was herself. She assumed it wasn't her fault. Afterall, it was her mother who had encouraged her. Still, the fact remained that she was very unlike her siblings.
Of course, they loved Percy and his success. He was a goody-two shoes. She was not. He was rewarded with each of his accomplishments. Hers were never noticed. He worked at the Ministry. She never even wanted to. He wore button-downed suits everyday. She wore 'vintage' clothing. He was a boy. She was a girl. He was supposed to be successful. She was supposed to be a good, obedient daughter, and one day, a good, obedient wife. An unappreciated, stereotyped, delicate ghost was what she was. Never noticed, never blamed, never there.
She did have some consolation though. She knew she wouldn't be stuck in this rut forever. One day, she would have all she ever desired. Knowledge, power, money. All would be hers for the taking. Hers.
She looked down at her ragged nails. They matched so perfectly with everything else about her. Her robes bore the markings of many mendings done by her mother. She had second hand shoes, the toes worn down almost to nothing. She even had a used pair of socks adorning her feet. She was enveloped in her own self-pity when her thoughts veered to what had happened previously that day.
Same Day, Noonish
"Weasley!" Malfoy shouted from across the hall.
"Yes?" She turned, walking toward him ever so slightly. The hall was dimly lit, the torches casting eerie shadows on the walls. She felt his movement toward her as the flames flickered, causing the shadows to dance. The effect was rather disconcerting.
"I have something for you." He smirked and held out his hand. "It think you might find it rather interesting."
She looked at him scrupulously, examining the parchment he held. The stiff paper looked rather expensive, nothing like what her friends and family would write on. "I doubt it Malfoy." Ginny replied, rolling her eyes.
"The only things you ever give away are tasteless jokes and bad odors." She added under her breath.
"What'd you say, Weasley?" Draco questioned, narrowing his eyes.
"Nothing," Ginny hurriedly replied, "Like I said, I'm not interested." She turned to continue on her way, when Malfoy rushed toward her. The flames once again danced, and as he appeared next to her, the light that shined near her cast a foreboding glow on his frame, reminding her of a bat out of hell (with blonde hair of course).
"Stop." He demanded. He grabbed her wrist, and shoved a piece of folded parchment into her hand. She squirmed and jumped out of his grasp.
He looked down at her menacingly. "Don't dare turn your back on me," he hissed. "I don't think you'd like the consequences. Oh, and by the way, you might want to get a new robe. Really, Weasley, it's indecent, even by Weasley standards." She looked down, noticing a tear running from the bottom off her robe all the way up to her upper thigh, revealing her left leg, visible beneath her shorts. Her blood boiled, but she was silent.
"Damn!" She exclaimed as he walked away, the flames once again dancing. She tried mending the tear, but to no avail. She'd just have to send it to mum for patching. With that in mind, she proceeded to lunch, telling herself she didn't really care if anyone noticed the rip in her robe.
Back to the Present
She did care, however. She ran up to her dorm in a fury. Her hair trailed behind her, the fiery strands tangled from lack of attention. She locked the door and looked around the room warily. How she wished she didn't have to share her room. She shared everything!
6:00 PM
She had finally cooled down after hours of self-therapy and a box of chocolates she had bought with her money on her last Hogsmeade visit. At the moment she was mourning its loss. "No more chocolate for a long while," she told herself ruefully. She was stuck at Hogwarts due to the threats resulting from Voldermort's return, and she had just eaten her last bit of comfort food. Personally, she thought it was ridiculous to just stay there and wait for him to attack. What was the point of that? It was at moments like these that she wished her brothers would pay more attention to her. It seemed everything she wanted, she had to get by herself. She fished out the note that she had stowed away in her Transfiguration text so that she would remember to deal with it when it was time to do her homework.
Six Years Prior
Ginny was pacing. They had come again. Ever since Malfoy had spread the news about her involvement with Voldemort, she had had no sleep.
It was what irked her the most that was causing her to pace at the moment; however, it had nothing to do with her trauma preceding the terrifying ordeal. She was terrified. Harry was noble, pure even. During her stay with Tom she had realized, she was anything but. She wasn't the least bit traumatized. At least she thought so. "Maybe I've always been bad," she thought. "Or maybe," she thought again, "it took Tom for me to realize it."
She looked up from the rug on the floor to focus her attention on the picture mounted on the wall. It was a picture portraying the Sirens. Her eyes were glued to one creature in particular, one with red hair and pale, ivory skin. So powerful, beautiful, enchanting, deceiving. The red-haired Siren had dark brown eyes, almost black, just like hers. She reached toward the painting with one hand and touched the canvas. How she wanted to be one of those Sirens! Maybe she would be one. one day.
Back to the Present
Ginny streched and rose. She looked back to the spot where the picture was hung. Its gilded frame helped it to fit in with the room's décor. It was funny how no one else seemed to notice how that one picture tainted the righteousness of the room. She laughed inwardly, and began to unfold the note. Could she trust this person?
TBC
Monday, December 14, 1998, 2:00 PM
So, she had passed her Potions Exam. It wasn't as if she hadn't expected it. Her mother had once said, "If you truly love what you do, you'll never have to worry about failing. It'll come natural to you."
She was a Weasley. She loved cooking biscuits and hot cocoa, playing with animals, and. knowledge. Once she read a book once, off she was to find another. She knew mountains of facts. Percy, the stuck up git, was her only close tie to what she was herself. She assumed it wasn't her fault. Afterall, it was her mother who had encouraged her. Still, the fact remained that she was very unlike her siblings.
Of course, they loved Percy and his success. He was a goody-two shoes. She was not. He was rewarded with each of his accomplishments. Hers were never noticed. He worked at the Ministry. She never even wanted to. He wore button-downed suits everyday. She wore 'vintage' clothing. He was a boy. She was a girl. He was supposed to be successful. She was supposed to be a good, obedient daughter, and one day, a good, obedient wife. An unappreciated, stereotyped, delicate ghost was what she was. Never noticed, never blamed, never there.
She did have some consolation though. She knew she wouldn't be stuck in this rut forever. One day, she would have all she ever desired. Knowledge, power, money. All would be hers for the taking. Hers.
She looked down at her ragged nails. They matched so perfectly with everything else about her. Her robes bore the markings of many mendings done by her mother. She had second hand shoes, the toes worn down almost to nothing. She even had a used pair of socks adorning her feet. She was enveloped in her own self-pity when her thoughts veered to what had happened previously that day.
Same Day, Noonish
"Weasley!" Malfoy shouted from across the hall.
"Yes?" She turned, walking toward him ever so slightly. The hall was dimly lit, the torches casting eerie shadows on the walls. She felt his movement toward her as the flames flickered, causing the shadows to dance. The effect was rather disconcerting.
"I have something for you." He smirked and held out his hand. "It think you might find it rather interesting."
She looked at him scrupulously, examining the parchment he held. The stiff paper looked rather expensive, nothing like what her friends and family would write on. "I doubt it Malfoy." Ginny replied, rolling her eyes.
"The only things you ever give away are tasteless jokes and bad odors." She added under her breath.
"What'd you say, Weasley?" Draco questioned, narrowing his eyes.
"Nothing," Ginny hurriedly replied, "Like I said, I'm not interested." She turned to continue on her way, when Malfoy rushed toward her. The flames once again danced, and as he appeared next to her, the light that shined near her cast a foreboding glow on his frame, reminding her of a bat out of hell (with blonde hair of course).
"Stop." He demanded. He grabbed her wrist, and shoved a piece of folded parchment into her hand. She squirmed and jumped out of his grasp.
He looked down at her menacingly. "Don't dare turn your back on me," he hissed. "I don't think you'd like the consequences. Oh, and by the way, you might want to get a new robe. Really, Weasley, it's indecent, even by Weasley standards." She looked down, noticing a tear running from the bottom off her robe all the way up to her upper thigh, revealing her left leg, visible beneath her shorts. Her blood boiled, but she was silent.
"Damn!" She exclaimed as he walked away, the flames once again dancing. She tried mending the tear, but to no avail. She'd just have to send it to mum for patching. With that in mind, she proceeded to lunch, telling herself she didn't really care if anyone noticed the rip in her robe.
Back to the Present
She did care, however. She ran up to her dorm in a fury. Her hair trailed behind her, the fiery strands tangled from lack of attention. She locked the door and looked around the room warily. How she wished she didn't have to share her room. She shared everything!
6:00 PM
She had finally cooled down after hours of self-therapy and a box of chocolates she had bought with her money on her last Hogsmeade visit. At the moment she was mourning its loss. "No more chocolate for a long while," she told herself ruefully. She was stuck at Hogwarts due to the threats resulting from Voldermort's return, and she had just eaten her last bit of comfort food. Personally, she thought it was ridiculous to just stay there and wait for him to attack. What was the point of that? It was at moments like these that she wished her brothers would pay more attention to her. It seemed everything she wanted, she had to get by herself. She fished out the note that she had stowed away in her Transfiguration text so that she would remember to deal with it when it was time to do her homework.
Six Years Prior
Ginny was pacing. They had come again. Ever since Malfoy had spread the news about her involvement with Voldemort, she had had no sleep.
It was what irked her the most that was causing her to pace at the moment; however, it had nothing to do with her trauma preceding the terrifying ordeal. She was terrified. Harry was noble, pure even. During her stay with Tom she had realized, she was anything but. She wasn't the least bit traumatized. At least she thought so. "Maybe I've always been bad," she thought. "Or maybe," she thought again, "it took Tom for me to realize it."
She looked up from the rug on the floor to focus her attention on the picture mounted on the wall. It was a picture portraying the Sirens. Her eyes were glued to one creature in particular, one with red hair and pale, ivory skin. So powerful, beautiful, enchanting, deceiving. The red-haired Siren had dark brown eyes, almost black, just like hers. She reached toward the painting with one hand and touched the canvas. How she wanted to be one of those Sirens! Maybe she would be one. one day.
Back to the Present
Ginny streched and rose. She looked back to the spot where the picture was hung. Its gilded frame helped it to fit in with the room's décor. It was funny how no one else seemed to notice how that one picture tainted the righteousness of the room. She laughed inwardly, and began to unfold the note. Could she trust this person?
TBC