The Seductress
Part I
Blood Stains
Tears poured vainly down her cheeks, leaving a trail of tearstains. Stop it, she scolded herself harshly. How many times had she cried all year? And now here, she was, on her birthday, actually crying. She had just turned fourteen, in mid October, and she was crying. On her own birthday. Ginny Weasley was not one to be fooled; however, she did sometimes act like a fool. She was clever, but everybody noted her shyness and lack of participation in class as stupidity. Well, what did they know? thought Ginny angrily. She was probably even smarter then Hermione Granger, her brother's ex-girlfriend! She could beat anybody; she just didn't have enough effort to do so.
Ginny Weasley was shy, sensitive, and clever. She was fourteen now, and had a slim figure, small chest, flat stomach, and auburn straight hair that swung over her shoulders, and that she often wore in a bun or ponytail or sometimes had it curled. Her eyes were a mix of chocolate brown, with a bit of hazel that highlighted against the sunlight. The only thing she liked about herself was her red flaming hair, which was sleek and shiny. She was not ravishingly beautiful, but she was not ugly either. Somewhere in between, she was plain. Sure, there were times that people thought her as adorable, but that all changed when she had turned eight years old.
------Flashback-----
There were lots of kids. Ginny remembered this clearly, because she could see the swarms of many redheads, blondes, and brunettes. Several black haired mothers were involved also, trying to control their overbearing wild kids. Ginny was not happy. She was wearing a small red satin gown, with two thin straps on her shoulders. It went above her knees, and she wore tiny little sandals and her hair was curled into a ponytail. Ginny looked very pretty, indeed. But there was one problem. She didn't like all these kids. She didn't even know who they were, for God's sakes! Her mother and father and brothers had invited them without any permission of her own. Ten or eleven of the kids were playing a stupid game, and Ginny had politely asked if she could play.
"How do we know you're brave enough?" a boy with a tousle of brown hair exclaimed. Ginny shrugged.
"I can be brave," Ginny protested. She was so lonely, she was desperate to do anything.
"Guys, let her play," said a silver-haired boy quietly.
"Fine. Mandy, you help her hide. And then all of us will try to find her. Alright? Everyone, it's counting time!" said the boy.
Mandy, was a petite little girl with a sulky face. "God, just because it's your birthday, do you always have to act like a queen?" she snarled.
Ginny felt a pang of hurt go through her. "I just wanted to play the game," she said, a lump in her throat rising.
"Whatever," Mandy said, looking around for a suitable place to hide. Then, she grinned devilishly at her. "Oh, this is perfect," she whispered, pointing to a big wooden closet, which had been placed against a smooth wall near the living room.
Ginny shook her head stubbornly. "That's where my Mum keeps all of her cooking materials. I can't hide over there," she started to say, but Mandy opened the door harshly and pushed her in. Ginny fell into darkness, and heard a small click.
Ginny waited for hours, for someone to find her. But after what it seemed like eternity, she finally gave up and pushed against the door. It did not open. Mandy locked me in, she thought, the lump in her throat rising higher. She placed her ear to the door, but all she could hear were soft cackles of laughter and festivities of her birthday party.
"Mandy! Please let me out!" she shouted, but more laughter. She reached around for some light, anything. Suddenly, her hand caught on something sharp, slicing her skin nicely. It was obviously a knife. She cried out, feeling a sudden sting in her right hand, and pain was numbing her flesh. Ginny cried out again, feeling liquid pour on her fingers. It was blood, of course. She proceeded to rub it against the satin of her dress, thinking the color would mix in with the red.
"Please! Someone let me out!" said Ginny again, going into sobs.
Suddenly, the door swung open, and Ginny reluctantly poised forward, and stepped out of the closet. She looked around and saw that the room was deserted, and looked up to see two wandering gray eyes above her.
"Thank you - nobody came and I," she started to say, but was in a trance of the boy. He was taller than her, and actually towered over her small, frail body. He had blonde hair, but it was so white that it was silver. He had a thin body himself, but Ginny admired his posture.
"Hush, it's alright," he said, and lowered his eyes onto her gown.
"Your gown. It has blood on it," he stated bluntly. She looked down, and saw that the faint color of the satin did not conceal the bright, shining blood that had been smeared onto it.
"Yes. I cut my hand on something sharp in the closet," she said softly. He didn't reply. He ran a finger across her right hand, and the pain went away slowly. The blood decreased and vanished within seconds.
"How did you do that?" asked Ginny in awe. Surely, she knew they were both wizards and witches, but she had never seen a wizard with such power standards! Why, she had only made things happen only once!
"I don't know," he muttered.
"Is your family close to mine?" she asked.
"A little. My father couldn't come, but my mother and your mother are very good friends."
"Oh."
Little Ginny turned around, and examined her dress. Maybe a little water would dry the creases of blood, she hoped.
"Hey, do you know where the other kids have gone?" asked Ginny, still looking at her dress. There was no answer. She turned around. The silver haired boy had vanished.
Ginny let go of the clutch of her satin dress, and the tears she had been holding down were now crawling onto her cheeks.
---- -- End ---- --
Ginny's tears were now dried, but as she blinked, new ones formed. She had never seen the boy again, and whenever she managed to even ask her mother about it, her mother changed the subject quickly. The memories of how the cruel children had made her suffer, with the blood still trickling down her hand, and smeared on her dress. She still had the scars on her hand, and the smears of bloodstains still remained on her small, satin red dress.