Author's Notes: You're probably wondering why I've rated this as 'restricted,' since it's hardly worthy of the rating at the moment. No worries, though, for all you who like nice little r-rated fics. This will get graphic. For some twisted reason, it loves to be read.
And, while I only received one review, I shall continue with this fic for a little while at least. This is chapter one, and will be starting at the very beginning of the story – the prologue was sort of a quarter of the way through.
Enjoy!
She yawned.
It was her last first day of classes at school.
A bit of an oxymoron, that.
Dragging herself from the comfort of her bed, she pulled a dressing gown around her pajama-clad form and slid her feet into a pair of fuzzy slippers.
Exactly eight and a half seconds later, she was reveling in the feel of scalding hot water beating down on her bare flesh, and enjoying the knowledge that as Head Girl she didn't have to share her bathroom with a single person.
Being a bit on the brainy side, and not a little responsible, certainly had its perks, she mused, returning to her bedroom roughly thirty minutes later.
Pulling her robes over the pleated gray skirt and gray sweater-vest over white blouse that made up the rest of her uniform, she tucked her wand into a pocket and grabbed her book bag. Glancing once in the mirror on her way from her private dormitory, she was relieved to note that the faded blue- gray circles of worry that usually rimmed her eyes underneath had disappeared, and the slightly pinched angles of her face – from lack of nourishment – had filled out once again.
She looked normal once more.
Sighing at the thought, she left the room, well practiced unaffected façade in place on her heart-shaped visage.
No one knew the extent of losses suffered on both sides of the war.
No one knew how close the Order had come to losing Harry.
No one was aware of the cliff that was looming ahead, as the battles grew ever fiercer.
No one but her.
Quickly pushing the thoughts to the back of her mind, she swept through the common room and down the corridors, ignoring her peers and scarcely batting a long, ebon eyelash when Peeves the poltergeist deigned to make an appearance in the Entrance Hall, singing a discordant tune of insulting melody.
The doors to the Great Hall stood open, and she passed through with the regal grace of a Queen making her entrance to Court.
A perfectly feigned serene smile played across her lips, as she took her seat at the Gryffindor table, ignoring the glances and whisperings of her peers.
They thought her to be taking advantage of her appointment as Head Girl.
They thought her undeserving of her position.
They wondered exactly who she really was.
She was not the Virginia Alexandra Weasley they remembered.
Gone was the mousey, timid sixteen-year-old who had sobbed at the graduation ceremonies the previous June.
Gone was the slightly dumpy, obviously innocent youngest Weasley.
Gone was the girl who had blushed furiously at the sight of one Harry Potter.
Gone was the bouncy girl who was acutely and obviously afraid of any member of Slytherin house.
In her place was a confident, if slightly cold, young woman who seemed almost incapable of emotion – if not for the look of impassive serenity that graced her features. She was no longer an innocent bystander; she had been a mediwitch over the summer holidays, and the horrors of war had become all too familiar. Her figure had changed from the slightly over- curvy shape that she had gotten from her mother to the lithe and slender build of a very female athlete. The blush that had become almost a part of her lightly sun-kissed features had disappeared; anyone who knew anything was aware of the fact that Harry Potter was hardly the object of her desire any more. She was bouncy no more, instead holding herself with regal poise that was not entirely necessary, and should anyone dare to raise her ire or attempt intimidation, they would be greeted with the cool disdain of a Queen sending someone to the gallows.
Virginia Weasley had changed.
With a sigh, she pulled a pear from a bowl of fruit, and bit down, relishing the feel of her canines sinking into the flesh of the fruit, the taste of the juice flowing into her mouth and down her throat.
The post would arrive soon, she knew, and it was with a heavy heart that she remained at the breakfast table, fighting the urge to run.
She had agreed to return to school for her final year under one condition; that she receive notice if anything of importance happened in the war. Her parents, though slightly distraught that their youngest child and only daughter wanted to be part of the war in some way or another, had acquiesced, and Ginny waited with baited breath as the owls soared above her head in the morning ritual of delivering the post.
But no letter landed in front of her, and as she glanced at the table where the Headmaster sat chatting to the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, the wizened wizard shook his head in slight acknowledgement of her unspoken question.
No news, then.
She supposed it was a good thing, and a nod of her head that was undetectable to anyone not looking for it was her response.
Rising languidly from her seated position, she slid the strap of her book bag over her shoulder and left the Great Hall, the pear she had been eating laying forgotten on her plate.
More Author's Notes: There's chapter one. A little boring, I think, but it'll have to do.
I've heard several times that Ginny's name is actually supposed to be Ginevra Molly Weasley, but I don't personally like it. So. I've changed her name. It actually works best for this story, anyway.
And, while I only received one review, I shall continue with this fic for a little while at least. This is chapter one, and will be starting at the very beginning of the story – the prologue was sort of a quarter of the way through.
Enjoy!
She yawned.
It was her last first day of classes at school.
A bit of an oxymoron, that.
Dragging herself from the comfort of her bed, she pulled a dressing gown around her pajama-clad form and slid her feet into a pair of fuzzy slippers.
Exactly eight and a half seconds later, she was reveling in the feel of scalding hot water beating down on her bare flesh, and enjoying the knowledge that as Head Girl she didn't have to share her bathroom with a single person.
Being a bit on the brainy side, and not a little responsible, certainly had its perks, she mused, returning to her bedroom roughly thirty minutes later.
Pulling her robes over the pleated gray skirt and gray sweater-vest over white blouse that made up the rest of her uniform, she tucked her wand into a pocket and grabbed her book bag. Glancing once in the mirror on her way from her private dormitory, she was relieved to note that the faded blue- gray circles of worry that usually rimmed her eyes underneath had disappeared, and the slightly pinched angles of her face – from lack of nourishment – had filled out once again.
She looked normal once more.
Sighing at the thought, she left the room, well practiced unaffected façade in place on her heart-shaped visage.
No one knew the extent of losses suffered on both sides of the war.
No one knew how close the Order had come to losing Harry.
No one was aware of the cliff that was looming ahead, as the battles grew ever fiercer.
No one but her.
Quickly pushing the thoughts to the back of her mind, she swept through the common room and down the corridors, ignoring her peers and scarcely batting a long, ebon eyelash when Peeves the poltergeist deigned to make an appearance in the Entrance Hall, singing a discordant tune of insulting melody.
The doors to the Great Hall stood open, and she passed through with the regal grace of a Queen making her entrance to Court.
A perfectly feigned serene smile played across her lips, as she took her seat at the Gryffindor table, ignoring the glances and whisperings of her peers.
They thought her to be taking advantage of her appointment as Head Girl.
They thought her undeserving of her position.
They wondered exactly who she really was.
She was not the Virginia Alexandra Weasley they remembered.
Gone was the mousey, timid sixteen-year-old who had sobbed at the graduation ceremonies the previous June.
Gone was the slightly dumpy, obviously innocent youngest Weasley.
Gone was the girl who had blushed furiously at the sight of one Harry Potter.
Gone was the bouncy girl who was acutely and obviously afraid of any member of Slytherin house.
In her place was a confident, if slightly cold, young woman who seemed almost incapable of emotion – if not for the look of impassive serenity that graced her features. She was no longer an innocent bystander; she had been a mediwitch over the summer holidays, and the horrors of war had become all too familiar. Her figure had changed from the slightly over- curvy shape that she had gotten from her mother to the lithe and slender build of a very female athlete. The blush that had become almost a part of her lightly sun-kissed features had disappeared; anyone who knew anything was aware of the fact that Harry Potter was hardly the object of her desire any more. She was bouncy no more, instead holding herself with regal poise that was not entirely necessary, and should anyone dare to raise her ire or attempt intimidation, they would be greeted with the cool disdain of a Queen sending someone to the gallows.
Virginia Weasley had changed.
With a sigh, she pulled a pear from a bowl of fruit, and bit down, relishing the feel of her canines sinking into the flesh of the fruit, the taste of the juice flowing into her mouth and down her throat.
The post would arrive soon, she knew, and it was with a heavy heart that she remained at the breakfast table, fighting the urge to run.
She had agreed to return to school for her final year under one condition; that she receive notice if anything of importance happened in the war. Her parents, though slightly distraught that their youngest child and only daughter wanted to be part of the war in some way or another, had acquiesced, and Ginny waited with baited breath as the owls soared above her head in the morning ritual of delivering the post.
But no letter landed in front of her, and as she glanced at the table where the Headmaster sat chatting to the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, the wizened wizard shook his head in slight acknowledgement of her unspoken question.
No news, then.
She supposed it was a good thing, and a nod of her head that was undetectable to anyone not looking for it was her response.
Rising languidly from her seated position, she slid the strap of her book bag over her shoulder and left the Great Hall, the pear she had been eating laying forgotten on her plate.
More Author's Notes: There's chapter one. A little boring, I think, but it'll have to do.
I've heard several times that Ginny's name is actually supposed to be Ginevra Molly Weasley, but I don't personally like it. So. I've changed her name. It actually works best for this story, anyway.