Scarlet and Ginger
By C.Y. Potter
Prelude:
The hundred thousands injuries of being Ginny Weasley I had borne, but when they ventured upon a barrier beyond disgrace and abasement, I vowed revenge. It didn't suffice my hunger for vengeance to flee without so much of a trace from the racist wizarding world in which I had been raised and brought up to suffer in. I promised myself that if I ever did return from my deviating life, I would do it such that no soul would ever cease to forget my appellation for all eternity.
And so to rectify the stereotypes that have been adorned upon me as I bore the heavy laden packages that were accessories to my family name, I reassessed my inner desires of having children and being deeply in love and found refuge instead for settling to be a Mediwitch. This would prove to be a vital decision for me, as with the accrual of more wizards to the Dark Lord's underground Death Eaters, I was certain that this would amplify the need of healers for both sides of the war. There was no avoiding it - those who turned blind like the Minister of Magic, stupid git that he was, would undoubtedly fall sooner or later.
But even with my carefully laid plans (after all, the best laid plans of mice and men oft do go awry) I was unprepared for the draft of Hogswarts students. I was the only fifth year out of a scrapful of seventh years that were recruited into the medical forces that year, thanks to a recommendation from Madam Pomfrey. That night before graduation was oddly the most liberating I have ever felt up to my fifteen years of age as I left Hogwarts on a covert mission - a mission in which my parents had neither consented to nor endorsed. The same mission I never returned from, and in which my parents and family still believe was the cause of my disappearance. Or rather, my death.
It is not of too much importance what that assignment was originally intended for, because I cannot fully recall anything. All you need to know right now is that from this mission, only one out of all the healers survived, and that was I. But no one knows, do they, that I still exist and am still very much a living, breathing creature. Perhaps not fully living as I would like, but breathing nonetheless. In this unpredictable era of destruction and betrayal as more and more wizards turn to the Dark Side, it is all you can expect out of life - which is, simply put, to be. You can't trust anyone, you never know what side they're on. This animosity between the extremists of both parties has caused the death of many Ministry officials and simultaneously given burden to the slim number left. Ironically, these accessions are made very rarely, because as I've stated before, you can't trust anyone. There are times when I believe the term "yourself" should be added into that. You can't trust yourself, either. How else could so many Resistance fighters apparate into the legions of the Dark Lord?
But allow me to refer back to the recruitment of Mediwizards and Mediwitches in training during my fifth year. This should never have been allowed and probably would have been vetoed had Dumbledore been present at the time to declare how utterly dangerous this was. But alas, he was away on business putting a band of wizards and witches, notoriously given the nickname Original Resistance, or the Order of the Phoenix. The peak of this was perhaps during my fourth year, during which I was still meticulously laying out my plan to seek revenge. Exclusively clandestine and so rightly suspicious, the Order did not immediately permit the training of Hogwarts students, even the seventh years. They were to pass an act that would ban the recruitment of nongraduates from any wizarding school in the world. That is, until news leaked out (with the always omnipresent help of the notorious Rita Skeeter, queen of wizarding tabloids) that the best Mediwizards and Witches had been kidnapped and placed under the Imperius curse to work their abilities for Voldemort. Losses of Cornelius Fudge, the real Mad-Eye Moody and other aurors convinced them to finally given in. Otherwise, what would be left?
People are disappearing, most likely dying, left and right of me. Everyone now is placed in a society where even an innocent five year old girl is jaded simply looking out the window at night. Even before the pinnacle of doom, how could a family expect their youngest child and only daughter to remain oblivious to the grim reality of what was really happening? Teachers left suddenly, and those who returned never were the same again. And life was never quite the same without those who never returned from their oncall duty. There was fear in everyone's eyes - whether it was fear of dying, or fear of losing a loved one, or even fear of war itself. Even a blind Hippogriff could distinctly feel it in the atmosphere, even if they could not see the wild panic behind one's fake cheery persona. It was so loud that the emotion in itself was tangible.
No, I don't believe that I'm a coward for deserting my family. I realize that perhaps I might have cost everyone a lot of pain and sorrow, and in vain. But in the throes of heated passion and fueled by anger to prove my self-worth, all was forgotten amidst the myriad of uncertainty about whether or not one was going to live to see dawn's awakening the next day. I had to get out, I needed to make myself useful in some way, to help my family and friends. Had I meant to do them any harm, then I would have killed myself immediately, why go through all this trouble?
There are notices and papers now, flying across the almost deserted paved roads of Diagon Alley, fluttering with the wind. Photographs and images of missing children, missing mothers and fathers, and lost friends were all over, strewn in large colonies of other ads, lost in the crowds. Tacked and posted once on the rock walls that separated the Alley from the Muggle world, they were now crumpled and ignored by the occasional bypassing stranger. Diagon Alley is now a gallery, a museum, a collection, a showcase of tragedy and loss. No more is it home to Ollivander's Wand Shop, nor the other miscellaneous novelty stores that it was once famous for. It is a rundown shack in ruins, its prosperity forgotten. It is not safe to go there - rumors spoke of the unspeakable evil that lurked in the hidden corners, in the abandoned buildings. It's not safe anywhere, anymore. That taken for granted feeling of security was forgotten.
Except for Hogwarts. Uneasy as the circumstances were, Hogwarts thrived as best as it could. After all, were they not all under the all-seeing eyes of Albus Dumbledore? Did they not have Harry Potter to extract hope from? Even those that have lost a family member or a dear friend placed their hope in Harry, still the hero he was. Consistently strong, forevermore handsome, a sign that Voldemort was not all powerful, living proof that He Who Must Not Be Named could be (and was once, for that matter) defeated. There was much pressure on our hero, and there still is, and he has been at the point that he can't handle it. I know how the famous Harry Potter feels, he is weakening. I can sense it. After the tragedy of Cedric Diggory and his godfather, Sirius Black, he was never able to recover fully. Hermione, the astute girl she was, could understand it too, from her rational understanding. Ron, of course, was Ron, which ultimately implies that he is an inept bungler when it comes to tactfulness, and mainly tried to be the same to make Harry feel better as if nothing was wrong.
But you can't go on pretending forever. I know I can't.
Times have changed drastically, you must change with time, alter yourself with the circumstances, be shrewd and play the game of life with skill. However, there are some things that remain timeless, there are some things that never change. Perhaps it's due to the fact that people don't want them to change, what with all the other chaotic matters at hand. Shall I take into example the infamous Weasley and Malfoy feud? Why, it's so ancient that parts of it are even recorded in the old annals of Hogwarts libraries and hidden, outdated Ministry records. Of course, nobody today knows how that feud originated, and yet, nobody seems to care. Bottom line was, Malfoys don't associate with "low class" Weasleys. It was a rule. The rule had several commandments - a Malfoy cannot have civilized conversation with a Weasley (if they are capable of civil conversation, if you get my drift). In fact, they must abash them and debase them, make their lives a living hell by informing other Ministry officials of half-truths about Weasleys in general, making the public look at them with disdain evident in every line in their faces. Belittling their efforts is also high on the list. Constant referrals to their less-than-rich wages also seem to be popular insults, according to the Malfoys. Those of the Weasley clan, on the other hand, are influenced in a way that makes them believe all Malfoys are Death Eaters, all Malfoys are evil, evil, evil. Malfoy. Noun. In the Weasley dictionary, it is the best definition for all things unpure, evil, bad, dark, things like that. Right there, next to Voldemort (who is also listed as You-Know-Who, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, Dark Lord, etc.) and Severus Snape. Snape, of course, was mischievously added by Forge and Gred, crossed out by an incensed Percy, and rewritten by Ron in his first year.
War changes everything. I have seen much of war, much of its effects. But there was a time too, when it was calm and happy and peaceful. There did once exist an era that rejoiced in the downfall of Voldemort once. Yes, it was real tranquil at one time. But it was only the ominous calm before an unrelenting storm. This storm brought with it hurricanes of torture and death, clouds of doom, and pelting showers of curses. The silence before it, however, is where winds of change happened to me.
I remember parts of it like it was just yesterday. The Sorting Hat called my name. Oh, how I hated that name. I wanted a name like the girl before me; Adela Oleander Vanliese, something beautiful and exotic-sounding. My name sounded sordid next to hers. I remember groaning inwardly at the injustice of it all.
"Weasley, Ginny!"
I stepped up and plopped the Sorting Hat onto my flaming head and closed my eyes, hoping, praying…my mind was an intelligible mess of fret and worry. What if I didn't get into Gryffindor? I kept on imagining all sorts of horrible consequences. What if I was sorted into (heaven forbid), Slytherin? Oh, I'd never live it down. Oh, and what would Harry think of me then? I glanced around the tables, scanning them for a sign of familiarity. Oh, there was Percy, and Fred and George…their hair, not unlike my own, made it hard to miss.
"Another Weasley, eh?" The hat was talking to me, and I nearly jumped out of my seat. " I'd be wealthy if I had a knut for every Weasley I've sorted. Alas, a female…haven't had one of those in awhile…Hmm, let me see here. Ah, very difficult, very difficult. I see a potential to be great, a power, a sense. You would be good in Slytherin, you know, no doubt they'd have good uses for you."
I did not like the sound of that.
"Please," I pleaded silently, "Let me be in Gryffindor. I want to be like my brothers!"
"Your brothers, you say? Well, you're very different from your brothers. Special, yes, I haven't seen one of you in many, many years." The Sorting Hat made a sort of grunting noise that indicated that he was in deep thought. "Peculiar, indeed."
My heart sank as I sat there, it seemed to take forever for that blasted hat to decide.
"Yes," I heard it muttering, " I see power, I see many things."
But I did not hear what the rest of what the hat saw, as it cried, "GRYFFINDOR!" Brimming with joy and relief, I nearly toppled over myself scurrying to the Gryffindor table to join my siblings, feeling more confused than ever. I glanced surreptitiously at the small black book in my dingy robe pocket, the Sorting Hat's words echoing painfully in my mind. But I soon forgot it, like children often do. I put it in the back of my mind and let it sit. But after my first year, everything around me became harder and harder to ignore.
- Extracted from the diaries of Ginny Weasley
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Next Chapter:
- More of Ginny's life during Hogwarts is revealed through her diary, and something is slipped.
- Enter Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter. Their jobs and relationship becomes a bit more evident.
- Someone new strikes a blackmail deal with Blaise Zabini.
- The Three Broomsticks is the place to see and the place to be. Something fishy is going on there.
Author's Notes:
I'd really like feedback and constructive criticism. Please, tell me what you think!
By C.Y. Potter
Prelude:
The hundred thousands injuries of being Ginny Weasley I had borne, but when they ventured upon a barrier beyond disgrace and abasement, I vowed revenge. It didn't suffice my hunger for vengeance to flee without so much of a trace from the racist wizarding world in which I had been raised and brought up to suffer in. I promised myself that if I ever did return from my deviating life, I would do it such that no soul would ever cease to forget my appellation for all eternity.
And so to rectify the stereotypes that have been adorned upon me as I bore the heavy laden packages that were accessories to my family name, I reassessed my inner desires of having children and being deeply in love and found refuge instead for settling to be a Mediwitch. This would prove to be a vital decision for me, as with the accrual of more wizards to the Dark Lord's underground Death Eaters, I was certain that this would amplify the need of healers for both sides of the war. There was no avoiding it - those who turned blind like the Minister of Magic, stupid git that he was, would undoubtedly fall sooner or later.
But even with my carefully laid plans (after all, the best laid plans of mice and men oft do go awry) I was unprepared for the draft of Hogswarts students. I was the only fifth year out of a scrapful of seventh years that were recruited into the medical forces that year, thanks to a recommendation from Madam Pomfrey. That night before graduation was oddly the most liberating I have ever felt up to my fifteen years of age as I left Hogwarts on a covert mission - a mission in which my parents had neither consented to nor endorsed. The same mission I never returned from, and in which my parents and family still believe was the cause of my disappearance. Or rather, my death.
It is not of too much importance what that assignment was originally intended for, because I cannot fully recall anything. All you need to know right now is that from this mission, only one out of all the healers survived, and that was I. But no one knows, do they, that I still exist and am still very much a living, breathing creature. Perhaps not fully living as I would like, but breathing nonetheless. In this unpredictable era of destruction and betrayal as more and more wizards turn to the Dark Side, it is all you can expect out of life - which is, simply put, to be. You can't trust anyone, you never know what side they're on. This animosity between the extremists of both parties has caused the death of many Ministry officials and simultaneously given burden to the slim number left. Ironically, these accessions are made very rarely, because as I've stated before, you can't trust anyone. There are times when I believe the term "yourself" should be added into that. You can't trust yourself, either. How else could so many Resistance fighters apparate into the legions of the Dark Lord?
But allow me to refer back to the recruitment of Mediwizards and Mediwitches in training during my fifth year. This should never have been allowed and probably would have been vetoed had Dumbledore been present at the time to declare how utterly dangerous this was. But alas, he was away on business putting a band of wizards and witches, notoriously given the nickname Original Resistance, or the Order of the Phoenix. The peak of this was perhaps during my fourth year, during which I was still meticulously laying out my plan to seek revenge. Exclusively clandestine and so rightly suspicious, the Order did not immediately permit the training of Hogwarts students, even the seventh years. They were to pass an act that would ban the recruitment of nongraduates from any wizarding school in the world. That is, until news leaked out (with the always omnipresent help of the notorious Rita Skeeter, queen of wizarding tabloids) that the best Mediwizards and Witches had been kidnapped and placed under the Imperius curse to work their abilities for Voldemort. Losses of Cornelius Fudge, the real Mad-Eye Moody and other aurors convinced them to finally given in. Otherwise, what would be left?
People are disappearing, most likely dying, left and right of me. Everyone now is placed in a society where even an innocent five year old girl is jaded simply looking out the window at night. Even before the pinnacle of doom, how could a family expect their youngest child and only daughter to remain oblivious to the grim reality of what was really happening? Teachers left suddenly, and those who returned never were the same again. And life was never quite the same without those who never returned from their oncall duty. There was fear in everyone's eyes - whether it was fear of dying, or fear of losing a loved one, or even fear of war itself. Even a blind Hippogriff could distinctly feel it in the atmosphere, even if they could not see the wild panic behind one's fake cheery persona. It was so loud that the emotion in itself was tangible.
No, I don't believe that I'm a coward for deserting my family. I realize that perhaps I might have cost everyone a lot of pain and sorrow, and in vain. But in the throes of heated passion and fueled by anger to prove my self-worth, all was forgotten amidst the myriad of uncertainty about whether or not one was going to live to see dawn's awakening the next day. I had to get out, I needed to make myself useful in some way, to help my family and friends. Had I meant to do them any harm, then I would have killed myself immediately, why go through all this trouble?
There are notices and papers now, flying across the almost deserted paved roads of Diagon Alley, fluttering with the wind. Photographs and images of missing children, missing mothers and fathers, and lost friends were all over, strewn in large colonies of other ads, lost in the crowds. Tacked and posted once on the rock walls that separated the Alley from the Muggle world, they were now crumpled and ignored by the occasional bypassing stranger. Diagon Alley is now a gallery, a museum, a collection, a showcase of tragedy and loss. No more is it home to Ollivander's Wand Shop, nor the other miscellaneous novelty stores that it was once famous for. It is a rundown shack in ruins, its prosperity forgotten. It is not safe to go there - rumors spoke of the unspeakable evil that lurked in the hidden corners, in the abandoned buildings. It's not safe anywhere, anymore. That taken for granted feeling of security was forgotten.
Except for Hogwarts. Uneasy as the circumstances were, Hogwarts thrived as best as it could. After all, were they not all under the all-seeing eyes of Albus Dumbledore? Did they not have Harry Potter to extract hope from? Even those that have lost a family member or a dear friend placed their hope in Harry, still the hero he was. Consistently strong, forevermore handsome, a sign that Voldemort was not all powerful, living proof that He Who Must Not Be Named could be (and was once, for that matter) defeated. There was much pressure on our hero, and there still is, and he has been at the point that he can't handle it. I know how the famous Harry Potter feels, he is weakening. I can sense it. After the tragedy of Cedric Diggory and his godfather, Sirius Black, he was never able to recover fully. Hermione, the astute girl she was, could understand it too, from her rational understanding. Ron, of course, was Ron, which ultimately implies that he is an inept bungler when it comes to tactfulness, and mainly tried to be the same to make Harry feel better as if nothing was wrong.
But you can't go on pretending forever. I know I can't.
Times have changed drastically, you must change with time, alter yourself with the circumstances, be shrewd and play the game of life with skill. However, there are some things that remain timeless, there are some things that never change. Perhaps it's due to the fact that people don't want them to change, what with all the other chaotic matters at hand. Shall I take into example the infamous Weasley and Malfoy feud? Why, it's so ancient that parts of it are even recorded in the old annals of Hogwarts libraries and hidden, outdated Ministry records. Of course, nobody today knows how that feud originated, and yet, nobody seems to care. Bottom line was, Malfoys don't associate with "low class" Weasleys. It was a rule. The rule had several commandments - a Malfoy cannot have civilized conversation with a Weasley (if they are capable of civil conversation, if you get my drift). In fact, they must abash them and debase them, make their lives a living hell by informing other Ministry officials of half-truths about Weasleys in general, making the public look at them with disdain evident in every line in their faces. Belittling their efforts is also high on the list. Constant referrals to their less-than-rich wages also seem to be popular insults, according to the Malfoys. Those of the Weasley clan, on the other hand, are influenced in a way that makes them believe all Malfoys are Death Eaters, all Malfoys are evil, evil, evil. Malfoy. Noun. In the Weasley dictionary, it is the best definition for all things unpure, evil, bad, dark, things like that. Right there, next to Voldemort (who is also listed as You-Know-Who, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, Dark Lord, etc.) and Severus Snape. Snape, of course, was mischievously added by Forge and Gred, crossed out by an incensed Percy, and rewritten by Ron in his first year.
War changes everything. I have seen much of war, much of its effects. But there was a time too, when it was calm and happy and peaceful. There did once exist an era that rejoiced in the downfall of Voldemort once. Yes, it was real tranquil at one time. But it was only the ominous calm before an unrelenting storm. This storm brought with it hurricanes of torture and death, clouds of doom, and pelting showers of curses. The silence before it, however, is where winds of change happened to me.
I remember parts of it like it was just yesterday. The Sorting Hat called my name. Oh, how I hated that name. I wanted a name like the girl before me; Adela Oleander Vanliese, something beautiful and exotic-sounding. My name sounded sordid next to hers. I remember groaning inwardly at the injustice of it all.
"Weasley, Ginny!"
I stepped up and plopped the Sorting Hat onto my flaming head and closed my eyes, hoping, praying…my mind was an intelligible mess of fret and worry. What if I didn't get into Gryffindor? I kept on imagining all sorts of horrible consequences. What if I was sorted into (heaven forbid), Slytherin? Oh, I'd never live it down. Oh, and what would Harry think of me then? I glanced around the tables, scanning them for a sign of familiarity. Oh, there was Percy, and Fred and George…their hair, not unlike my own, made it hard to miss.
"Another Weasley, eh?" The hat was talking to me, and I nearly jumped out of my seat. " I'd be wealthy if I had a knut for every Weasley I've sorted. Alas, a female…haven't had one of those in awhile…Hmm, let me see here. Ah, very difficult, very difficult. I see a potential to be great, a power, a sense. You would be good in Slytherin, you know, no doubt they'd have good uses for you."
I did not like the sound of that.
"Please," I pleaded silently, "Let me be in Gryffindor. I want to be like my brothers!"
"Your brothers, you say? Well, you're very different from your brothers. Special, yes, I haven't seen one of you in many, many years." The Sorting Hat made a sort of grunting noise that indicated that he was in deep thought. "Peculiar, indeed."
My heart sank as I sat there, it seemed to take forever for that blasted hat to decide.
"Yes," I heard it muttering, " I see power, I see many things."
But I did not hear what the rest of what the hat saw, as it cried, "GRYFFINDOR!" Brimming with joy and relief, I nearly toppled over myself scurrying to the Gryffindor table to join my siblings, feeling more confused than ever. I glanced surreptitiously at the small black book in my dingy robe pocket, the Sorting Hat's words echoing painfully in my mind. But I soon forgot it, like children often do. I put it in the back of my mind and let it sit. But after my first year, everything around me became harder and harder to ignore.
- Extracted from the diaries of Ginny Weasley
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Next Chapter:
- More of Ginny's life during Hogwarts is revealed through her diary, and something is slipped.
- Enter Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter. Their jobs and relationship becomes a bit more evident.
- Someone new strikes a blackmail deal with Blaise Zabini.
- The Three Broomsticks is the place to see and the place to be. Something fishy is going on there.
Author's Notes:
I'd really like feedback and constructive criticism. Please, tell me what you think!