Letters from a Nightmare

Dearest Whoever is Reading This,

My name is Ginevra Molly Weasley. I am 16 years old. I write this from my cell, miles under Malfoy Manor. I am a prisoner here. Kidnapped, tortured and starved. Men in black robes and white masks guard my door. They are Death Eaters and they torture me when they become bored. I recognize some of them. The tall man with the maniacal laugh is Rodolphus Lestrange. He tortured a friend's parents. The slim dark boy is Blaise Zabini. He's a year ahead of me at Hogwarts. Macnair, Goyle, Dolohov, and of course, the Malfoys. I have only been here a month, but some have suffered for almost a year in this nightmare. The hours go by so slowly. The minutes seem to stretch on for years. My robes are tattered and crusted with dirt and blood. The blood is from the many cuts that cover me. I have always been thin, but now I imagine, if I had a mirror I could see my ribs. I do not know what goes on outside these four walls. I do not know if my family is alive. If my friends have been kidnapped. When this war will finally end. Every night, I pray for victory. Freedom. Life. I pray that Harry Potter will succeed. May the gods watch over him. Yesterday, they brought in a new prisoner. Beneath layers of blood and grime, I recognized him as Seamus Finnegan. Another schoolmate. Seamus was always rowdy and smiling. Popular with the girls. Now he has been reduced to a skeleton of his former self. When he saw me, as they shoved him by my cell, he tried to speak, but could not. Now as I sit here writing, his teasing Irish brogue haunts me. I used to think you didn't go to hell until you died. Now I know I was wrong. I have not eaten in a month. I have no strength. I can see the bone through a deep cut on my ankle. This is hell. Be thankful. No matter how bad things are for you. Be thankful that you are not here. When I was a little girl, my brothers and I used to play what we called, 'Harry Potter and the Death Eaters.' I would be Harry Potter and my brothers would chase me around the house, while I 'killed' them, one by one. Now I am ashamed of that. We knew nothing of the pain and grief and darkness that war brings. We were innocent children and now, more than ever, I wish I had that back. Little children dream of the time when they are finally grown-ups, now I will be of age in a matter of months and I wish more than anything to be a child again. I suppose I should be glad that there are no dementors here. But I am not, because what is here is worse. Dementors are not human. The monsters that guard and torture me are. And it is wrong that humans should have fallen that far into darkness. Someone is coming. I must go. If they catch me with this, they will kill me. Please, I beg you, if you read this, contact my family and give them this. My parents are Arthur and Molly Weasley. Or if they are dead, please give this to one of my brothers. If you cannot find any of my family, please make sure Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom or Luna Lovegood gets it. Thank you. May the gods watch over you during this war.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart,

Ginny Weasley