A/N- Here's a new fic that I've been working on recently. It's all in Ginny's POV, and I'm really enjoying writing it. Hope you enjoy reading it! As always, thank you to my wonderful beta, Ginnygie, who got this back to me in record time!
Theories on How Danger Finds Us
I don't really know why, but I seem to have this annoying penchant for getting myself into trouble.
Case in point, my very first year at Hogwarts. You know, that whole Chamber of Secrets fiasco - I came to school all bright-eyed and bushy tailed only to find my little eleven year-old self possessed by a very attractive, megalomaniacal sixteen year-old hell-bent on eradicating the world of a boy who just refused to lay down and die. Needless to say, I'm pretty sure you know how the rest of that story goes; the greater part of Wizarding England does.
I've had heaps of other troubles, though, most of them entailing Harry Potter and his skills, but you'd think that at this point in my life, I would have gotten used to it. No, no; not so much.
I guess I should warn you right now that this story, like many of my stories, involves me getting myself into a right jam.
It features a large cast of characters, many of whom you are familiar with. There are some, though, that are making their appearance for the first time. In my life, that is.
This story also features romance, adventure (sort of), and some instances of death. The last bit is the unfortunate reminder that, as is the case in life, every being on this planet must meet its end. In this case, though, the ends do not justify the means.
I should also warn you that I am a huge fan of being purposefully elaborate and vague when it comes to describing things. I don't know; the ambiance formed by depicting things in such a manner has always appealed to me. I became hooked on the style the first time I read E.M. Forester's A Passage to India - I had no idea what the hell was going on half of the time and decided I liked it that way. Don't get me wrong, though, it's one of my favourite books; the imagery used throughout is absolutely orgasmic. In the best way possible.
But enough about that, you didn't decide to read about my love of vague imagery, you came here (metaphorically speaking) to hear about my first year out of Hogwarts.
And like I said earlier, I do have this knack for getting my pasty, freckled arse into trouble. The twins call it a gift; I call it a damn nuisance.
My tale begins like many of life's tales and great works of fiction: at a home, my home, lovingly called The Burrow.
I stood on the vast front deck, contemplating the days ahead of me, contrary to the massive amounts of fleeting thoughts, or lack thereof, I normally have when I stare out at my mum's garden. It was a big day for me, after all; right up there with getting my wand, first broom, going to, and graduating from Hogwarts - I was going to school, again. This time around, though, I was going to a wizarding university in Glasgow, majoring in English Literature.
I know; I know. What in the name of all that is good and holy in this world is a witch doing at a university? You'd be surprised, though, a good bit of wizarding kind has decided that they wanted to branch out into fields other than professional Quidditch or working for the illustrious Ministry. Gone are the days where almost every wizarding family followed the credo of "a single man in possession of a large fortune must be in want of a wife." (Pride and Prejudice, Austen, pg. 1) I think the only person who still wishes that unofficial motto was in place is Narcissa Malfoy; Merlin knows the amount of times that woman's tried to marry off poor Draco. But back to me contemplating my future.
My mum walked out to stand beside me, wrapping her arms around my shoulders, squeezing me into an awkward side-hug. For my leaving for another four years of higher education, she was handling the whole situation rather well.
She leaned up to give me a kiss on my temple, pulling me back into the house to grab my trunks.
Safely stowed away in two incredibly large trunks was every gram of whatever I considered relatively important in my life up to that point; my clothing, books, my broomstick (a brand-spanking new Firebolt, thank you very much), and anything else that I could shrink down and cram in. Mum had to come in my room at one point to prevent me from just packing my entire room.
I don't know what it is, but my room at The Burrow has always been a safe-haven for me. It means comfort, security, a routine. But then again, I'm sure a majority of people feel that way about their rooms. So in an effort to keep this feeling of security even at college, I tried to pack my entire room. I began laughing when Mum told me to stop because I had tried to do the same thing when I first went to Hogwarts. It was okay when I was eleven; cute, even. But at eighteen, well, it's slightly more than disconcerting.
I tried not to cry that day, I really did, but this time I was completely on my own - no Mum and Dad to bail me out of the stunts I had pulled, no Dumbledore to look at me with that twinkle in his eye and tell me that I was forgiven, even when I royally fucked up. The only thing Mum and Dad took care of was my books. I would be the one paying for my housing and any other superfluous expenses.
After five minutes, I was able to compose myself; my tears being reduced to nothing more but the occasional hiccup.
Mum took her hand in mine, squeezing it in support and reassurance that I would do just fine on my own. She glanced at the non-magical clock in the living room, handing me the Portkey that would take me to the front of the school grounds.
This was the one thing about the school that I wished was more like Hogwarts; the train ride. The train ride up was a fantastic time to do just about anything one pleased - catch up with friends, make new friends, or just revel in the quiet in a rare empty compartment. But, alas, the university I was to be attending found the train ride to be inefficient and a trifle bit elementary (which it is, but it's the experience that counts).
The clock struck twelve and Mum squeezed my hand once more, letting go to wave good-bye as I was pulled by my navel; my trunks shrunken down and stowed safely in my coat pockets.
That was the last time I saw my mum that year.
Of course I wouldn't know that at the time, but if I had, I might have stayed at home and, well, I wouldn't have my story, now would I?
I landed on the ground outside of the wrought-iron gates of the university campus rather gracelessly; for all the experience that I've had with Portkeys, I've never been able to get the knack of landing.
I stood up, brushing any dirt off of me, before pressing my hands against my coat, making sure that none of my trunks fell out in the landing. Safe with the knowledge that my luggage was intact, I approached those imposing, gigantic gates, sucking in a breath at the expanse of land before me. The brochure that the university sent me was pretty modest, I must say; they mentioned practically nothing about how large the campus was. There were pictures of course, but there was not one sentence regarding the grandiose beauty that was The Artemisia Lufkin School for Higher Wizarding Education. But anyone who goes there refuses to suffer through the ridiculousness of saying the name, so for future reference, the school shall now be referred to as the Lufkin School.
Now, I may have said that the Lufkin School was modest when it came to describing their place of higher wizarding education, but it had to be one of the most ostentatious campuses I've ever seen. But come on, though, the place was named after the first female Minister of Magic and, in her defense, if I were the first female Minister for Magic and decided to build a school, I would make my school as pretentious and brazen as possible. Yet, in all its pomposity, the place really is quite beautiful.
The administrative building's front is composed of traditional Doric columns, weathered slightly by age, "with exactly 78 steps leading up to its front. Much like this main building, the rest of the academic buildings are heavily influenced by early Roman and Greek architecture, as it was the school's founder and most generous patron's favourite form of architecture." (The Artemisia Lufkin School for Higher Wizarding Education, a Guide, Goshawk, pg. 53)
The dorms are more Victorian in structure as the Dean near the turn of the 20th century felt the need to give the living quarters an upgrade. Each dorm has its own Victorian colour scheme, ranging from blues to shades of red. Like many wizarding universities nowadays, the dorms are co-ed, although with the amount of shagging that goes on in those rooms, they might want to keep separate dorms like Hogwarts does.
The grounds are spacious, consisting of a small lake, a Quidditch pitch, and various greenhouses, amongst other things. All in all, the layout of the grounds and what they consist of are very similar to that of Hogwarts'.
Truthfully, I'm rather against making all of these comparisons to my former school; I want the Lufkin School to stand out on its own, but after spending seven years of my life at Hogwarts, it's kind of hard to not compare everything else to it.
After the shock of seeing my new school in the flesh for the first time, I made my way toward the administrative building to check in and get the password to my dormitory.
It is at this point that I must make mention of how truly frightened I was as I approached the building. It was then that it hit me as to how self-sufficient I had to become - I had to make sure that any expenses I had were to be paid on time; going late to a class was pretty much a big, fat no; I had to be wary of the occasional awful roommate that might do crazy shit in the middle of the night; I had to get a job. Oh, Merlin, I had to get a job. It's not that I haven't worked anywhere before, but well, I hadn't a clue as to where I should start, or what type of job I should look for. While it's great that I'm majoring in English, what does that mean in terms of a job, both during my years at school and afterward?
I stopped for a moment as I trekked up the stairs, trying to figure out the answer to the previously posed question. I must admit that I wasn't particularly imaginative at that exact moment. I think the only answer I came up with was to be a teacher.
I scrunched up my face in disgust; while I credit the teachers that I've had for helping me out a hell of a lot more than was probably legal, or appropriate, I've never really fancied being one. Just thinking about having to teach someone like me or the twins day after day put a damper on those plans.
As I continued up toward the entrance of the building, I began to notice the people around me. Imagine to my surprise seeing people like Pansy Parkinson or, to my displeasure, Michael Corner trotting up the steps ahead of me, the former making the ascent in ridiculously high Christian Louboutin stiletto boots with a metallic gold Burberry trench coat to block out the oncoming September chill.
Shaking my head, I climbed the last few steps and walked through the imposing oak double doors, walking in the direction of the "New Students" area. Apparently, the Dean of the school liked to give a welcoming presentation to all of the incoming students each year in one of the lecture halls. Upon reaching said lecture hall, I realized that I had probably dawdled what was considered more than appropriate just staring at the school and rushed inside, taking a seat near the back, cast in shadow.
The Dean was a plump sort of woman. Of about an average height, she was in her early forties with a voice that boomed out across the hall sans the use of a Sonorous charm. She was wearing a knee-length brown skirt that flared at the edges with an olive green long-sleeved wrap shirt, effectively covering whatever tummy she had. Her hair was a sort of reddish-brown, a colour only achieved through years of hair dye, while her skin was that of a clear, peachy complexion. She wasn't exactly horrid-looking, and she wasn't the most gorgeous of women, but for a woman of her age and body type, she had aged well.
Immediately upon sitting down in my padded chair, I tilted my head back, attempting to drone out any and all forms of communication going on around me. Unfortunately, though, the guy next to me didn't have the same plans in mind.
"Hi, I'm Gareth Van der Eems. What's yours?" the sandy blond next to me asked, flashing me a smile.
"Pardon?" I asked, irked at this sudden intrusion.
He gave a little laugh, turning in his seat to face me. "The Dean just asked us to introduce ourselves to the people sitting near us as a way jump-start us making new friends. I guess you weren't paying attention."
"No, not really," I replied with a smile of my own. "I'm Ginny, by the way. Ginny Weasley." I stuck my hand out for him to shake, relieved when he provided a hand of his own.
"Where are you from, Ginny?"
"Ottery - St. Catchpole. I went to Hogwarts for my initial education. You?"
"Vienna, Austria. But I kind of lost my thick accent when I went to Durmstrang. I have this tendency to pick up accents rather quickly, so my accent's been rather neutral these past few years. But moving to Scotland has given my voice the slightest of brogues." He was right, you know. When he spoke to me, he stressed different syllables, similar to my manner of speaking. If he still had an Austrian accent, well, you can figure it out.
"So what are you majoring in, Gareth?"
"Economics, with a minor in Wizarding Governments."
"What is it that you want to do after school?"
"I plan on working for Gringotts in Austria as an economist. Many members of the wizarding community don't realize that not all of the nations are on par economically. The British Isles are better off than most because of the amount of pureblooded families living here. Austria and the Baltic nations are still developing nations in the wizarding world. We've always had wizarding families, but we've never had the economic prowess that England or Japan does."
"My brother, Bill, works for Gringotts as a curse-breaker. Did you get a job offer already?"
"No, but I hope I can work for them."
"If you want, I can talk to my brother later on in the year. And depending on your grades, maybe they'll keep tabs on you." I don't know why I said what I just said. I mean, I had just met the guy, but maybe I just felt this need to help him out. Even now I can't explain it. I call it charisma.
"Really? Are you serious? But I just met you." See! Even Gareth didn't understand my sudden mental lapse.
"Sure, why not? You seem like a nice guy, you know what you're talking about, and I'm feeling rather generous right now," I responded with a wry smile.
"Thanks, Ginny! Oh, wow. If your brother can get me a job with them, wow. That would be amazing."
I laughed at Gareth's enthusiasm; charisma's contagious apparently.
"But enough about me," Gareth began once he calmed down. "What are you here for?"
"English. I'm a bit of a literary freak. Literature is one of my great loves. But I also enjoy writing. Expression is such a wonderful thing." I guess I had given a little romantic sigh for Gareth began laughing.
"What?" I asked, slightly irritated. Remember, I didn't realize that I had sighed.
"Nothing. You just gave this little sigh after you finished talking. It was cute."
Ah. Realization came upon me.
And he said I was cute, too. Technically, though, he said my sigh was cute, which through the Transitive Property, means that he was saying that I was cute.
But more about that later.
"Do you know what House you're in?" I asked once my Blush of Realization had faded sufficiently enough.
"My room's in the Poseidon dormitories." Oh, quick trip to the land of back story - Artemisia Lufkin loved anything remotely related to Ancient Rome and/or Greece, as stated previously. So, all of the dorms are either named after a Greek god or goddess, or a Roman god or goddess. There. We may continue. "Apparently, Poseidon's near the School of Business, where most of my classes are supposed to be. Do you know where you'll be staying?"
"I'm in Juno."
"Juno? Which one was that?"
"Juno was her Roman name, but her Greek name was Hera, Zeus's wife. And as is the case with your dorm, a lot of the classes I'll be taking are near my dorm."
"Maybe we'll --" But, of course, a bell rang signaling the end of the Welcome Lecture, cutting off Gareth's last phrase. We both stood up to leave the hall, attempting to continue our conversation, but ended up losing each other in the maddening crowd like two wartime lovers; each being pulled away, arm slightly extended, reaching out for an invisible hand.
In my case, though, my hand was grabbed by someone I really wished hadn't, for, from that point on, whether I liked it or not, they would forever be a part of my life.
"Why, Weasley, I didn't know you were attending the Lufkin School."
I turned to where I had heard the voice, my eyes trailing up his arm, making eye contact with a less-than-savory character. Yes, I am referring to Draco Malfoy.
Are you surprised that out of all of the people I had to encounter, that it would be him? No, probably not. If you are, then I commend you because I sure as hell was.
"Are you a first year student?" came my not-so-witty rejoinder. Now, in retrospect, I can think of a dozen responses to that simple statement of his; many of them snarky and insulting. In my opinion, making a biting comeback off the top of one's head is pretty damn impressive. No, seriously; that takes some skill, and probably years of verbal abuse.
"Yes, well, being on the run the entirety of one's last year of Hogwarts does put a bit of a damper on when one graduates," he replied with a charming, sarcastic smile. Damn him and his witty repartee.
"Right. About that. Well, it was kind of nice seeing you. Maybe I'll see you around campus," I nearly stuttered out, trying to break away from him, noticing right then and there that he still had his hand latched onto mine - a situation that screamed awkward moment.
I tore my hand free, making a beeline in the opposite direction, afraid to turn back in case he just stood there looking after me with a pensive, almost wistful stare. I did not need to be more uncomfortable in that moment than I already was, thank you very much.
And, I'm sure you guessed it, but I did turn back; curiosity getting the better of me.
What I saw will forever be ingrained into my memory as one of the most unassumingly beautiful moments some of us are only so fortunate to witness in our rather insignificant lives. There he stood, hands in his coat pockets, just staring after me with his mercurial eyes, completely oblivious to the herd of students around him pushing and pulling their way out of the lecture hall. It was a moment out a movie, but happening before my eyes, and I couldn't help but stop and stare right back; in total awe of the simplistic beauty that was Draco Malfoy in that moment.
If it were any other guy, I might have gone back and struck up a conversation filled with flirting and just the slightest hint of sarcasm, but because it was Malfoy, I refrained. The urge to hold up a petty family feud was too strong for my feeble mind.
After a good thirty seconds of unabashed gawking, I made my way toward the front desk, getting the password for my room, as well as my class schedule. I glanced at it, and really, it wasn't that tragic: one English Composition class, an English Literature class, European Magical History, and Advanced Arithmancy. I could handle that. Out of all of them, though, the English classes excited me the most. What novels would my professors have me read? What types of essays would I have to write? How would I do?
We'll learn about the answers to those questions later on. For now, though, let's focus on me going to my dorm for the first time.
Weaving my way through a copse of trees and various other flora, I had found the Juno dormitories. The outside was nice enough - a five-story Victorian-style building, composed of shades of blues and grays, with a sizeable deck out in front. It looked welcoming, almost quaint. Suddenly living there began to seem less and less formidable.
I found my room on the second floor, number 204, near the end of the hallway. Inside I found a rather spacious room, contrary to small, cramped space I was expecting. Magically enlarged rooms are a beautiful thing. There was a sizeable kitchen near the very front, enough for three people to stand in, before it led into a sitting area, replete with furniture - a sofa, love seat, coffee table, standing lamp, and a small fireplace. A fire was already burning away in said fireplace, casting a soft glow on the entire area. To either side of the sitting area were rooms, for I was to have a roommate, you see. Both doors were open, so I assumed that my roommate had yet to find our room. I walked into the room on the left, noticing that the door had my name written on it in a large flowing script.
The room was of a good size; again, bigger than I had originally thought. There were two doors on the right side, one leading to a closet, the other leading to my bathroom. After checking everything out, I pulled my trunks out of my pockets, enlarging them to being the mind-numbing process that is unpacking.
About an hour later, I had gotten through one trunk and had made headway in the other when I heard the door slam shut from the front of the apartment, I guess you could call where I was staying.
I poked my head out of the door to my room, wondering who made the noise.
Strewn across the sofa, with one leg dangling off the arm of the couch, the other resting against the floor, hand covering her eyes, was, to my misfortune, Pansy Parkinson. Still clad in her Burberry trench and Christian Louboutin boots.
A/N- Hope you enjoyed this! I'm really excited about this particular fic. I'm already working
on chapter two, so hopefully it'll be out soon! Oh, and many of the literary references throughout this will more
than likely be noted, in parenthesis, unless written otherwise.