Threads of Magic

Chapter one.

The corridor was quiet. Quiet and dark. There were no windows letting stray beams of moonlight illuminate the cold flagstones, and no candles lit to disturb the shadows hanging limply to the wall. There was only the darkness, and herself. It seemed that that's all there ever was these days. Ginny smiled as she walked towards the end of the corridor. She could just imagine their faces when they saw her. The Dream Team. Harry, Ron and Hermione, always together, happy. They'd always been separate from everyone, even her. Little Ginny Weasley. The unwanted tag-along sister who was only tolerated because she was so sweet, so innocent and so bloody pathetic. When she looked back she couldn't believe what she'd done, what she'd said. A crush on Harry Potter! She didn't want him any more. He was the savior of the Wizarding world. He did what was expected of him, blind to everyone and everything but himself. She'd been just the same. And Ron and Hermione. An over-protective brother with a temper and too many things to prove and an overbearing young girl needing an attitude and someone to tell her to shut up. And Ginny had wanted to be one of them. She shuddered. Well, they'd made it clear enough that they didn't need her two years ago, and she'd finally got the message. Her fifth and sixth years had been somewhat different to her previous ones. She'd stopped dreaming and woken up. She had no friends, she didn't need them. Any way, they didn't want her. She was tainted, evil, possessed. They couldn't understand that being possessed by a fucking memory wasn't contagious. Well, they'd learn sooner or later. Voldemort was back to strength. Harry would defeat him, of course. Hermione would tell him what to do and get him out of trouble, Ron would sacrifice himself pointlessly and Harry would yell, shout and point his wand a lot. It was amazing how all your thoughts cleared like this.

The corridor was shorter now, and a small amount of light could be seen at the end. The room was just ahead. This year would have been her last year at Hogwarts; she supposed it still would be, in a way. She rounded the corner and pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders. No one should realize she was missing until class, perhaps not even then. She was good at not being seen, at fading into the background despite her blood red hair and height. The room was just ahead. She reached out a pale, thin hand and turned the handle. In the blink of an eye she was inside, and the door was gone.

Ginny pulled off her cloak. The room was dark and empty. There was a knife on the table, jeweled and fancy. Typical of the room to show off. It was so dramatic! She walked over to the window, and picked up the knife. She walked over and stood at the window. It was funny. This would be the last time she would look at the moon.

Dumbledore awoke with a start. Something was wrong. The room of requirement was doing something incredibly strange, and there was trouble. He rushed down the stairs and was outside the room in an incredibly short amount of time. The door opened hurriedly, and Dumbledore found Virginia Weasley unconscious and bleeding on the floor.

It was the room's nature to provide whatever it was the present occupant needed. It had no sense of wrong or right, and was completely...subservient, for lack of a better word. He hadn't ever thought that something so seemingly innocent could result in something like this. Virginia Weasley. She was alright now, scarred but alive. He'd found her just in time, and Poppy had done the rest. But what was he to do now? She was dangerous to herself, and possibly to other students. He could watch her, keep an eye on her, but would it be enough? He wasn't a cruel man. He did what was needed, and tried to be fair, but he was too busy with the impending war and the ministry to spend his time watching over a young girl. What was he to do?

Ginny sat on her bed, staring at the mirror that rested upon her dressing table. She hadn't moved for hours, there wasn't any need. She'd been at home for a couple of days now, staying in her room, occasionally reading or drawing or staring. Her parents were... disappointed, really. They couldn't understand her, wouldn't understand her. She knew that they loved her, they probably always would. But that love was a given. It was a love that, while deep and certainly un-feigned, was reasonable. They were supposed to love her. If she'd been someone else's child they would have thought her moody and ungrateful, which, she reflected, she was. She couldn't be the happy, bright and uncomplicated little girl they wanted. She had been possessed by a being created by dark magic, a being who could have been said to be complete and utter pure black magic. She hadn't escaped unscathed. No young, impressionable and naïve young girl could have, but she hadn't realized just how much she'd been marked until much later. At first she had carried on with life as she always had, laughing, smiling, a happy little girl. But gradually she'd changed. And no one had noticed. She was always found wanting, by everyone, and she was sick of it. If they couldn't accept her for who she was, well, that was their fault. She wouldn't try to make them accept them. She would leave them alone. They wouldn't miss her. They had no right to miss her. They had never even known her.

Ginny shook her head slightly, dismissing her thoughts. She needed to concentrate. The threads were starting to come into focus again; they always came when she needed them. Coiling and weaving with each other, they seemed to make up everything, as if she were looking at the essence of...everything. It was soothing and relaxing. She stared intently at the mirror. The threads here were different in some way. As if they were being manipulated. She continued to stare, peering intently, following the threads and trying to find the source of the strange disruption in the familiar pattern. Soon her entire world was a mass of swirling, snaking threads of magic, and she followed them to a center...