Ginny Weasley was now fifteen years old, and had just received all OWL's. She, however, didn't feel happy, or elated, or excited, or proud. All she felt was this emptiness inside her. She had expected a good result, and she had got it. There, people commented, she was different than Hermione. Hermione would constantly badger on about what she did wrong, fretting that she would fail, stressed out that she hadn't been good enough. Ginny was quite certain of her marks – the amount of studying she had done should have all but secured her the top spot. Now she had the opportunity to do whatever she wanted (almost) for her NEWT levels. But then...then she would be out in the real world. Hopefully she would secure a job which would allow her to focus hard, and on nothing else.
Maybe, she would finally get a chance to escape the faces, the reminders, and get a chance to run away from the memories.
She knew that she would never forget, unless she performed a memory charm on herself (which she wasn't inclined to do), and in a strange way she didn't want to. Over the years it had given her a stony resolve. She was used to it. But the reminders...those daily reminders...she didn't need those...
Her hate for Harry had grown ever stronger, for he was almost always the talk of the school. And those little charms she performed on herself to tune out just weren't working anymore – there were simply too many people, too many gossips, too many words, and she couldn't control it. Even being one of the best in the school, it didn't make the charms work any better. She was getting sick and tired of hearing Potter this and Potter that and the way people always seemed so fond of everything he did. They whispered about everything, and Ginny swore she heard some girls muttering about him going to the bathroom and smiling at them as he walked past. Harry was the only thing these days that elicited any emotion from her. It made her expression turn sour, her lips curl, and her eyes narrow. She almost looked like Snape did when he was at his most unpleasant.
But other than that expression, Ginny Weasley was a statue of a girl, barely there. If it wasn't for her hand raised in class, always ready to answer questions that had other students stumped, she might have been just another of the Hogwarts ghosts.
By now, the students were positively scared of her. She had been silent for so long now (they didn't count her utterances in the classrooms), and there were still no answers. Ginny represented the unknown to them, and everyone was scared of it. Even the teachers seemed...cautious of her. They never failed to be surprised when Ginny's hand was in the air, and she spoke to them. No one dared laugh while Ginny was around, in fact no one dare think anything remotely cheerful, in case Ginny gave them her death glare or jinxed them. She was one of the best students, and probably knew any number of hexes that others hadn't heard of because of her wide reading. Although no one had ever actually reported Ginny doing such a thing, the fact remained that Ginny was scary, even for a fifth year.
Ginny was worse than she ever had been, lost in the pit of emotions broiling within her. With exams over, and because she wasn't able to get next year's books (teachers had yet to be appointed, and Ginny had still not chosen her classes) she was left with nothing...but her thoughts. They came at her, in all their darkness, and followed her around everywhere she went. She caught herself staring out windows more often than not, thinking about death, the faces, of the boy from the diary, and how bad things could have gone. She saw blood on her hands out of the corner of her eye most days, but whenever she looked at them closely there was nothing but the pale skin with a smattering of freckles. But she kept seeing the blood, no matter how many times she told herself there was nothing there.
One day, during the holidays, Mr Weasley took Ginny into the Ministry of Magic with him. He knew she was incredibly bored, and had finally begun to notice that there was something different about her. Mr Weasley hoped that taking her to the Ministry might change things, make her a little more awake and alert. There were a many number of things there that were interesting – in fact, he had something to show her in his office, a thing he had collected from a muggle called a 'laptop'. Mr Weasley was fascinated by the muggles and their contraptions, and he wanted to see what Ginny thought of them. Maybe she shared the same interest as he did, but he was sorely disappointed. Ginny's expression did not change at all. She looked around her father's office, touched some of the artefacts, shrugged, and sat down in a chair once again gazing out the window (although they were miles below ground, they still had windows). Mr Weasley cleared his throat, uncomfortable with his daughter's reaction. A fifteen year old should have more life, he thought, should have more...just more...
"Ginny, why don't you wander around the Ministry and see what catches your fancy? Just make sure you know where you are going, and don't be afraid to ask questions if needs be. But only ask people you think you can trust, or someone that you know, as the ministry is in a right state these days..." he said to Ginny, watching her intently for her reaction.
With a simple nod, Ginny stood up and left her father's office. She was entranced by her thoughts, they clouded her ability to make informed decisions, and she headed towards an elevator without looking back. Her fingers pressed a button of their own accord. In the pit of her stomach, Ginny felt this draw. Something wanted her. She felt something for the first time, and she had to follow it.
The elevator when down, down to the ninth level apparently. Without thinking, Ginny stepped out. She didn't exactly know why she was doing it, but she knew she had to. Those faces...they wanted her to...she had to...
She walked down a plain corridor, nothing distinguishable about it, until she was faced with a black door. There was no choice but to open, for she had no inclination to turn around and go back. Some small voice in her mind told her that she shouldn't be here, that her father wouldn't want her to be here, but the faces were stronger. Faces tight with grief, pain, hurt, loss. She could have caused that. And she felt that opening this door would be the only way to help. She didn't know how it would help, but she knew it would. Somehow.
She entered a circular room with twelve doors, although curiously these doors had no handle. The floor was brightly polished and gleaming, reflecting the light (where the light came from, though, Ginny didn't know) brilliantly. Clearly, it was meant to confuse her, but that pull in her stomach directed her towards one of the doors and without hesitation Ginny said open.
And it opened.
And she walked through.
Now, she was in a large, square chamber that was dimly lit. Again, Ginny didn't know where the slight glow came from, but at the moment she didn't care.
In the middle of the room, on a raised platform in a pit, was a great stone archway with a heavy black curtain falling over it. The pull was ever stronger, and the black curtain blew slightly open even though the air in the room was completely still.
For the first time in 4 years, Ginny's thoughts disappeared. There were no thoughts, no feelings, no hate for Harry Potter, there was absolutely nothing but an entrancement with the archway. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Ginny registered that she was in the Department of Mysteries. She definitely should not be here. But that didn't stop her feet from moving forward, closer to the archway, closer and closer, down into the pit, up on to the platform...
She was face to face with it now, her nose so close to touching the black curtain. All of a sudden, like being punched in the stomach, feeling came back to Ginny.
The hate.
The guilt.
The shame.
The humiliation.
The stress.
The anxiety.
The hate.
The hate.
The hate...
She couldn't bear it anymore. She wanted to stop it. Stop it all. Tears sprung into her eyes – the first real emotion she had shown in years – and her teeth were clenched. With her fists in tight balls by her side, she stepped forward, through the curtain, and she was being pulled away, pulled away...
And she passed right through. But this time, it wasn't Ginny Weasley anymore. Ginny Weasley was left behind the curtain, her soul forever doomed to a whisper. It had taken her soul.
She was a dementor, a soulless dementor. And there was one thing that ran through her fevered dementor mind.
I want Harry Potter's soul, want Harry Potter's soul, want Harry Potter's soul...
Ginny Weasley had become dementor.
And she wanted to become a Soul Stealer.