The Might of the Siren

Monday, December 14, 1998: 2:00 PM

Ginny Weasley walked down the Charms corridor with a skip in her step. She had passed her Charms exam with flying colors! Not that she didn't expect it. As she looked about her surroundings, she couldn't help but think about the irony of it all. She was an anomaly. She was a Gryffindor, and her favorite classes were Charms and Potions. She smiled.

Her knack for charms was understandable. After all, Percy and Bill were both extraordinary at charming (Bill in more ways than one). Potions was a difficult class for all of her friends, including the 'Dream Team.' The only reason as to why she got along so well in that class was her love of making things.... as well as destroying them.

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.

"Weasley!" Malfoy shouted from across the hall.

"Yes?" She turned, walking toward him ever so slightly.

"I have something for you." He smirked and held out his hand. "It think you might find it rather interesting."

"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.

"Stop." He demanded. He grabbed her wrist, and forced 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 said. "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. 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.

She did, however. She ran up to her dorm in a fury. Her hair trailed behind her, her scarlet tresses 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!

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 it's loss. "No more chocolate for a long while," she told herself. She was stuck at Hogwarts due to the threats resulting from Voldemort's return, and she had just eaten her last bit of comfort. Personally, she thought it was ridiculous to just stay there and wait for him to attack. 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 herself. She fished out the note from her Transfiguration text. She had hidden it away so as to deal with it when it came time to do her homework.

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 proceeding 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, deceiving. The red haired Siren had 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...

Ginny stretched 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?