Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction ❯ Taking Over Me ❯ Taking Over Me ( Chapter 1 )

[ P - Pre-Teen ]

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and the world of wizardry belong to J.K. Rowling, but a few of the characters in this chapter are all mine.

A/N: This story focuses on Ginny Weasley, beginning with her first year of Hogwarts. While the plot bears some resemblance to the books, nothing will go as you'd expect. There will be a few original characters in this story, but I promise I will do my best to make them interesting.

Anyway, please give the story a chance. I've worked really hard on it, with some input from my trusty beta, SpiderLily, and I'm very proud of how it's come out so far.

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Mallain, May, around the end of Harry Potter's first year at Hogwarts:

In a dilapidated, dusty manor located in the western reaches of Scotland, a young boy of eleven lay still and silent on his creaky bed as he listened to his uncle rage in the foyer downstairs. As per usual, mumbled rants of how life just wasn't fair, and that all Muggles were scum, drifted up through the floorboards to interrupt his thoughts.

'The old man is at it again,'Alex thought bitterly, rolling over onto his stomach to get more comfortable as he read through a used copy of Standard Book of Spells, Year 1He tried to ignore the musty smell of his pillow, and the way it was slightly damp from the chill outside. The bare plaster walls of his room were never enough to keep out the draft.

A loud crash from below heralded the end of his uncle's drinking binge as the bottle of rum was thrown half-heartedly at a wall. It just meant more work for Alex later that day. The family of two did own a house-elf, in accordance with most pureblood families, but it was perhaps even more pathetic than the manor itself. Dinkins was so senile that Alex doubted the elf could remember his own name, let alone those of his masters. He was too frail to ever clean properly, and his cooking was absolute rubbish, as Alex's sickened stomach could easily attest to.

"BOY, COME DOWN HERE!"

Groaning, Alex dog-eared his page and rolled off the bed, flinching as his bare feet came into contact with the icy hardwood floor. Once again longing for time to leap forward to September first, he opened the bedroom door and stomped down the stairs, no longer bothering to keep the noise to a minimum. His guardian would be completely hung over in an hour or so, so why shouldn't Alex make every effort to further his pounding headache? It wasn't like his uncle had ever gone to the trouble of sparing him a little pain, so why not return the favor?

He finally reached the spacious first floor, which was devoid of the normal comforts of any other home that size. Most of the antique furniture had been pawned off years ago, and anything that remained was stained and moth-eaten. Alex found his uncle reclined on the sole couch, his bony limbs engulfed by frayed wizarding robes.

The old man glanced up with bloodshot eyes as his nephew shuffled inside, and neither attempted to greet the other. He kept one hand draped across his distended stomach, while the other hung limp near the floor. It would clench every now and then, feeling strangely empty without the slender bottle, which now lay in shards embedded in the dirty carpet.

Mortimer Draper examined the boy from head to toe, taking note of how little had changed over the years. The whelp was still a near carbon-copy of his late brother, from the thin, almost emaciated figure to the straight, wheat-colored hair. The only difference was the pair of almond-shaped eyes, too dark for blue, almost violet. Merlin knew where he got those bloody things- probably from his Mudblood mother. At that moment, the boy's eyes glared challengingly at the old man, as though daring him to criticize something.

"What do you want now?" Alex asked, not bothering to hide his disgust at the old man. His salt and pepper goatee looked as greasy and unwashed as the rest of him, and Alex cringed at the sharp smell of sweat of alcohol on the man who was supposed to be the last of his blood kin.

Mortimer sneered in reply, "Watch your tone, boy. Is that any way to treat your betters?"

Alex barely restrained an eye roll as he muttered, "Sorry, haven't met any of those yet."

"Enough, brat!" Gnarled hands shook as he lifted himself into a less slumped position. "A little gratitude would be nice after I went to all the trouble of getting you a birthday present..."

"What?" the boy blurted out in shock, not only amazed that his uncle knew what day it was, but that he had even bothered to acknowledge it. Alex knew it must be too good to be true.

"Yes, I brought home a little gift- a family heirloom, in fact!" Mortimer seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself as he teased the boy. Reaching into a pocket in his grubby robes, he pulled out a dull silver locket.

Alex was stunned by the necklace. It looked quite elegant for something that had come out of their family history, and it was a miracle in itself that the locket hadn't been sold to pay off his uncle's debts ages ago. He obligingly held out a hand when his uncle dangled the treasure before his eyes. Its momentum carried it from side to side gently, and Alex caught a glimpse of an engraved letter on the front. It glittered in the weak candlelight.

"Well, don't just stand there gawping!" Mortimer rasped impatiently. "Put it on!"

With a brief moment of hesitation, Alex brought the chain up to his pale neck and fixed the clasp. As he did so, his uncle elaborated on its origin.

"That little beauty has been in the Draper family for quite some time. It was part of a dowry the came with a lass in the eighteenth century. It went missing fifty years ago, and ended up in the grubby hands of some shopkeeper, but your grandmother managed to swindle it from that sniveling idiot, Burke. The fool actually had the gall to try and sell it back! I got it out of the old vault in Gringotts this morning. Figured you ought to have something to show people when you go off to school in a few months. It's up to you to bring back honor to the name Draper, and show those other pureblooded popinjays what we're made of!

"Always lookin' down on us just because we don't have the gold to spread around without a care in the world," Mortimer hissed under his breath. "But I know where Lucius' fortune comes from...! The Drapers are of the old blood! We deserve more respect...!"

Alex ignored his uncle's ramble as he examined the outside of the locket. It was held together by a thin clasp that wouldn't budge no matter how hard he pried with his fingers. Shrugging, he settled it back on his chest and made the return trek to his room.

As he climbed around one of the stair corners, Alex passed a familiar painting hung on the wall. It was of a solemn-looking couple, sitting on a bench in what had once been a flourishing rose garden outside. The man sat up straight, with all the dignity of a true pureblood. The only flaw in his pose was the arm held loosely around a delicate-looking woman. The two watched with serious eyes as Alex passed, but the woman gave him a small smile that most would have missed. Just next to the painting, a gilded portrait of an older man with a heavy jaw frowned disapprovingly. Alex snorted at his grandfather and waved good-bye to the couple before continuing.

Seeing all the faces of his past family adorning the walls, Alex thought more on the heirloom he had received. He understood perfectly why the old man had given the necklace to him. He just wanted something to show off when Alex got to Hogwarts. Then he would be under the scrutiny of some of the British Isles' most influential wizarding children. Alex was expected to uphold what little family honor they had left- which really wasn't much since his mad uncle was a laughingstock among many.

But he had his own ambitions once school started. Alex wanted to make something of himself, and he planned to work hard at his studies. He was going to be a proper wizard, and maybe then he could escape this dreary life, and make his parents proud...


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< br> Liverpool, June of that same summer:


Dear Mum and Dad,

I hope you are both well. How has your trip in Cairo fared? Find anything good? I hope Mum hasn't locked herself in another tomb. Has Dad put down his books long enough to eat?

Well, things here are the same as always. Nancy is making sure I go to bed on time and eat all my vegetables, as much as I protest to each.

Samantha Baker from next door has come over quite a bit. She's even teaching me to fly a broom. I daresay I could give any first year at Hogwarts a run for their money now. Samantha insists I still need practice, but I know better. I've become excellent at keeping my balance while in the air. I've only fallen off twice since! And don't worry, Mum, Nancy caught me with a levitation charm the second time!

Oh, and I've nearly forgotten the best news of all! I've finally gotten my Hogwarts invitation! I thought it would never come! I know you are both as excited as I am. I just can't wait to start learning magic! Perhaps I could show you some tricks during winter break? You will be stationed in Britain by then, won't you?

I hope you both have a successful trip. Bring me back something interesting! I miss you both terribly.

Love Always,
Emily

P.S.- Is there any chance you could come back home for a few days at least? Maybe purchase an international portkey? It would make me so happy if you could be here to see me off from the train station. If you can't find the time, I'll understand. Just promise to write me at Hogwarts!

Sighing, Emily placed down her eagle feather quill and blew to dry the ink on her page. Despite the upbeat tone of her letter, she was feeling rather forlorn. She knew that her request at the end was nothing but wishful thinking. Her parents would never willingly leave their work, even if it was to wish their only daughter luck.

On the outside, Emily was one of the most cheerful young witches you could meet. Some of her acquaintances had even gone so far as to call her happy. But on the inside, Emily often felt like screaming life's injustices to the world for all to hear. Unfortunately, no matter how loud she screamed, pleaded, or even asked politely, her parents never gave her the attention she so craved.

So Emily hid it from the world, the sadness in her olive-colored eyes, and put on a mask so bright and sunny that even her beloved nanny couldn't tell the difference anymore. It killed Emily to know that no one took the time to really see her. She just hoped that things improved once she started school. She had meant it when she said she was anxious to go. Life in her family's home was very boring, especially when none of the neighbors had children her own age. Samantha Baker was the closest at fourteen, and Emily often felt like she was more of a burden to the kind girl.

But at least at Hogwarts Emily would be able to meet new people, children just like herself, all looking for a fresh start and acceptance from their peers. It was everything she'd ever wanted, and with still two months to go, Emily felt like just turning up at the castle on her own and begging for early admittance.

'No chance there, either,'she admitted to herself, rolling up her parchment and tying it securely with a white ribbon.

Emily stood up from her desk, intent on finding the family owl. He was probably lazing about in one of the towering trees behind the house. Just as she reached her bedroom door, a puff of smoke stopped Emily short and her childhood nanny and dearest friend appeared.

"Is the Little Miss needing Nancy's help?" The matronly elf shook out her tea towel skirt as she stepped forward.

Emily smiled at Nancy, always surprised by how quick she was to know when anyone needed something. "Yes, thank you. I was just about to send this off to Mum and Dad."

"Ah," the elf nodded sagely, apparently catching onto Emily's mood. She made a mental note to turn up the corners of her mouth a notch. They obviously weren't reaching her eyes.

"Nancy will do it, Miss! Then Nancy will be needing you's to help out in the kitchen. I is baking peanut butter cookies!"

"Sounds fantastic, Nance!" Emily said, bouncing as she handed over the scroll. Her stomach grumbled at the mere mention of her favorite sweet. She supposed a few more months at home wouldn't be so bad, as long as there were more of Nancy's cookies!


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Aberdeen, July, still summer:


"Ahh! Someone, save me!" A shrill voice squealed before falling into uncontrollable giggles.

"Don't worry, I'll protect you, fair maiden!" A masculine, yet boyish voice called in what he thought was a heroic tone. It didn't last when followed up by a whining, "Aww, do I have to?"

"Yep! Now hurry up, Ian! The dragon's gonna eat me!"

There was a resigned sigh. "Fine."

As he crawled around the tower of pillows, wand held at the ready, Ian Zabini swore to himself that this was the absolute last time he let his baby sister talk him into playing one of her games. Funny how he had made that exact same promise not even a week ago...

Rosalie, or Rosie, as her siblings called her, screamed in pretend fear as the 'dragon' prepared to let loose a stream of fiery death. Puff the purple stuffed dragon gave a tiny burp of magical sparks and sat back down on his patchwork haunches.

Jumping from behind the sofa and tucking into a roll on landing, Ian whipped out his wand and shouted a gibberish hex at the stuffed toy. Nothing happened of course, but Rosie clapped in glee as her brother finally carried her down from her prison atop the pillows and bed sheets.

"My hero!" The five-year-old gave her brother a sloppy kiss on the cheek as he held her, prompting him to make disgusted sounds and dump her in a chair as he tried to wipe the drool off his cheeks to no avail.

"Don't tell me," a voice drawled from behind the two, "that you're playing Harry Potter saves the princess again? Do you have any idea how disturbing that game is for those of us who actually know the royal idiot?"

Rosie shot an angry pout at her eldest brother. "Bad Blaise! Don't say mean things about Harry Potter! He's the bestest wizard ever!"

"And yet, I'm the one stuck saving you from dragons," Ian mumbled sourly.

"My own sister is besotted with Potter!" Blaise moaned dramatically. "How can I ever live down the shame? I swear, if Draco knew what blasphemy went on in this house... Little Rosie's got her heart set on marrying his arch rival!"

"I think he'll survive," Ian said in a dry tone.

"Of course he will! I'm the one who'll have to suffer the consequences! It's a betrayal of everything my house stands for! Kissing up to the Boy-Who-Just-Wouldn't-Go-Ahead-And-Die-"

"Give it a rest, Blaise!" Ian shouted over his brother's agonized proclamations. "Besides, I'm sure half the Slytherin girls are already part of his bloody fan club."

Blaise winced. "Don't remind me, please."

Just then, hurried footsteps coming down the curved staircase announced the arrival of the last Zabini child. A teenaged girl with long, dark hair charmed into ringlets appeared, increasing her pace as she spotted her target. A face that would normally be considered breathtakingly beautiful was screwed up in rage. Her searching eyes finally landed amidst the huddle of children, and Marillia gave a shriek.

"YOU!" She jabbed a painted fingernail in Ian's direction.

"Wha-" Ian looked around the room nervously until he came to the sad realization. "Oh... me."

Blaise snickered.

"Yes, you!" Marillia growled, stomping toward the cowering younger boy. Reaching him with little trouble- so much for sibling loyalty- she hauled him up by his shirt with surprising strength. "I know you have it, now hand it over!"

"Have what?" Ian squeaked hesitantly through the strangling grip on his collar.

"You know precisely what, you little pest! Give me back my wand!"

Ian froze at that, and the hand gripping his sister's missing wand stopped inching towards Rosie behind his back. The little girl gave him a guilty look for not being able to help, but Marillia was sometimes!

"What would ever make you think I'd take your wand, Rilli?" Ian asked with a blank face.

Marillia shuddered at the distorted version of her name. Maybe he shouldn't have pushed it... She recovered soon enough and glared down her nose at him.

Her height advantage was so unfair. She was only a few years older than him!

"Don't give me that, you little blighter! I know you have it! You're the one who's always borrowing someone's wand to practice spells you can hardly pronounce-"

"Hey-" Ian was slightly offended by that. It wasn't his fault wizards came up with the most complicated ways to say a simple charm!

"Now, this is your last chance," Marillia hissed. "WHERE IS MY WAND?"

"No idea," Ian shrugged, grinning as he held up two perfectly empty hands.

Marillia seemed a bit less murderous when she realized he wasn't the one in possession of her wand. That didn't mean he was off the hook, though, not by a long shot.

"Well, if you don't have it," she began in a calculating tone as she released her brother, "then who does?"

Ian kept his mouth shut and his eyes wide and innocent. He had that facade down to an art, although Blaise claimed it made him look like an owl caught in wandlight. Not quite was he was going for...

Speaking of Blaise, the soon-to-be-second-year was taking careful steps toward the doorway, and ever further from their crazed sister. Her temper could spark again at a moment's notice. Ian and Blaise sometimes wondered at her bipolar tendencies. Rosie had overheard them and asked if it had anything to do with the North Pole, and if that meant Marillia was one of Santa's house-elves. Thank Merlin their sister wasn't around to hear the long bout of laughter that had followed.

"Where do you think you're going?" Marillia snapped, not missing Blaise's suspicious actions.

"Um, I... have a previous engagement. People to see, plans to make, you know how it is," he lied smoothly.

Marillia raised a delicate eyebrow. "What's that in your pocket, Blaise, dear?"

"My wand, of course," he said and casually held up a twelve-inch piece of wood before tucking it away again.

"Nice try."

"RUN, BLAISE!"

He did so without hesitation, saving himself from what would have been a very painful tackle by the raging girl. Blaise gave a small scream when he was nearly caught by her clawing hands. Ian and Rosie watched, stunned, before the pair hurtled towards them, and Blaise shoved the sparking stick into his hands before leaping over a footstool. Ian didn't start off quick enough, and was nearly choked when his shirt was grabbed roughly. He managed to slip his head out of the T-shirt before he really did pass out from lack of oxygen.

"BLOODY WOMAN, ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME?"

"I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!" she roared as if she hadn't heard him.

Well, he guessed that answered his question.

Taking a sharp turn, and grabbing onto a tall lamp for balance, Ian tossed the wand to Rosie. Yes, it was a bit cowardly to leave a toddler in the grips of a hormonal killing machine, but he was desperate. Besides, Marillia had always liked Rosie more.

The little girl took one look at the wand and giggled before clutching it tightly and running, albeit clumsily, to safety. It was the wide, low-lying coffee table that finally saved her. Even with magical space expansion, Rosie was still the only one short enough to fit under there. Marillia had finally toned it down, not wanting to hurt the only sibling she could still tolerate. She was spread out on her stomach at that point, beckoning to Rosie and trying everything from begging to bribing to get the little girl loose.

Ian and Blaise sat back comfortably on a two-seater, the former having recovered his shirt that was sporting a new arm hole thanks to Marillia, and were just reveling in their sister's annoyance. Ian was finally torn away from the sight of the pleading teen by a tap at the window. He stood up to unlatch the window, letting in a large tawny owl. The others gradually stopped what they were doing as well to watch as he untied a thick envelope. The owl flew off as soon as it was freed of its burden.

"Who is it for?" Marillia asked nonchalantly, trying to act as though her hair wasn't a frizzy mess and her her arms weren't streaked with carpet burn.

"Oh, yes, Ian, who's it for?" Blaise grinned mockingly at the girl. "Maybe it's from Marillia's What was his name? John-Peter?"

"That's Jean-Pierre!" Marillia flushed red. "And he's not my boyfriend!"

"Yeah, right, keep telling yourself that... and I'm sure it's completely normal for friends to send each other flowers-"

"And chocolate," Ian added, catching on.

"And perfumed letters in return-"

"He is not-" she began angrily.

"Or expensive tickets to see the Weird Sisters-"

"And just how often does he write?"

"Like three times a week-"

"He does not, and he isn't my-"

Rosie finally poked her head out from under the table, covered in dust bunnies, and asked, "Is Marillia going to get married to J.P.? Are they going to have a baby, too?"

Marillia screamed, tearing at her curls in the process, and Blaise burst out laughing. Ian was about to join them when he glimpsed the seal on the envelope still in his hand.

It couldn't be...

Could it?

It was.

Ian Zabini's Hogwarts letter had just arrived.


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London, August, one week until school starts:


Ginny stumbled out of the Floo and clipped her elbow sharply on the brick opening. She gagged on the harsh taste of ash in her throat, and wondered why they couldn't have chosen any other method to get to Diagon Alley. Even that nausea-inducing bus was preferable to this!

Rubbing soot out of her eyes, Ginny glanced around for her mother, wondering why no one had bothered to help her up yet. She stopped dead at the sight of a yellowed skull sitting on display not two feet from her. If that wasn't her first hint that something was wrong, then the foul-looking man behind the store counter was enough to send Ginny quietly groaning in dismay.

Of all the days to get lost in the Floo, why did it have to happen day? It wasn't as if she hadn't done this a hundred times, so how in the name of Merlin did she screw up now?

'Fred and George are never going to let me live this down,'Ginny thought unhappily. Then she was hit by a sudden realization. žm is going to kill me!'

Her mother had always been a bit overprotective when it came to Ginny, ignorant to the fact that she could take care of herself just fine. By now she was sure her mother would be tearing into her brothers 'for losing their poor, defenseless sister.' As if they could help such a twist of fate.

Where was she anyway? They certainly didn't sell the kinds of items Ginny was seeing in any shop she knew of. She just hoped she hadn't gone too many grates ahead...

'It would by just fantastic if I ended up in Hogsmead instead of Diagon Alley. I can just imagine explaining that to Mum. But I'm sure it's not that bad. I certainly wasn't in the Floo long enough to go that far... Maybe this is just the wrong store. Yeah, The Leaky Cauldron can't be the only one with a fireplace... Although, I've never seen any others... Maybe it's the Apothecary?'Ginny wondered, as she spotted several liquid-filled jars in a case directly across the room. Then her eyes focused more clearly on one of the items nearer to her. Ginny gulped. Ġdon't remember the Apothecary selling human hands...' eyed the dried up limb that sat displayed on a silk pillow. Nope, nothing like that had ever come up while they were buying Ron's potions ingredients last year.

Wincing as she got to her knees, Ginny decided to leave the strange store as soon as possible, hopefully without being seen. She was lucky that there were no other customers at the moment. Now she only had to worry about the shopkeeper. Ginny was made a bit nervous by the way he kept twitching and checking a clock on the wall, then glancing at the door as though he was waiting for someone. He also seemed to be in a very irritable mood. If Ginny didn't know better, she'd say the wizard looked

'Time to go!'Ginny's inner voice was falsely bright. She was not about to admit to herself that she wanted her mum. Even her stupid brothers would do right now.

Ginny checked to see that the man was still preoccupied before she moved. He was muttering under his breath. Then he finally threw up his hands as though coming to a decision, and the man turned and walked through a door behind the counter.

As soon as his back disappeared from view, Ginny jumped into action. Bent almost double, she scurried off into the musty aisles, eyes set determinedly on the front door. Crawling past the fully-stocked shelves, Ginny found her gaze invariably drawn towards the objects out. It would have perhaps been better if she had held off the temptation. Ginny was now positive that this was no store in Diagon Alley. After all, there were sinister-looking masks decorating the walls, and sharp, rusty hooks dangling from the ceiling... An assortment of jewelry sat nearby, and Ginny found her vision blurring every time she tried to focus on the string of pearls or the obsidian ring. And that pack of cards over there seemed to be stained in...

Distracted as she was by the ominous store goods, the gentle creaking of the chains overhead, and a giant glass eye that was staring at her, Ginny never noticed the soft pattering against the stone floor that came from behind her. The muffled taps paced themselves with her own light footsteps, making it impossible to distinguish one set from the other.

Only feet from the storefront, Ginny frowned in worry. The view outside the darkened windows was completely unfamiliar. The glass itself was dusty enough that her vision was impaired, but the street actually seemed to emanate darkness, if that were possible. For such a sunny day, as she recalled it being when she had woken up that morning, the world outside was rather shadowed. Even if she managed to leave this bloody place, Ginny had no clue as to how she would get to her family. She pushed that thought away, preferring to take one step at a time.

One more problem was added to the list of reasons why Ginny absolutely hated her luck that day. She had unconsciously stopped her progress at seeing the outside world, and the sounds of approach from behind now reached her ears. Ginny panicked, thinking the shopkeeper had come back and seen her. She twisted around, face pale and an excuse on her lips... but it died when she confronted the very thing that had been stalking her.

Ginny was hard-pressed not to scream when the mummified hand from earlier sat on the floor, balancing on five wrinkled digits like some kind of mutated spider. For a minute, Ginny's mind flashed on how Ron would react at such a sight, him having the greatest phobia of spiders. All thoughts of her brother's fear flew away when her own terror doubled as the creeping hand pounced, aiming straight at her face.

She really did scream that time, a sort of strangled cry, as she fell backwards, the hand clinging to the front of her jacket. Ginny hit the stone floor with a painful thump, but jumped up again immediately, flinging her arms around and trying to shake the foreign limb loose. The hand was unperturbed as it scuttled up her chest and over her shoulder. Ginny shook her head wildly, red locks stinging her face, and ran her hands up and down the area of her throat, trying to knock it off.

She was a bit off balance, too startled by the sensation of bony fingers tickling her throat, to pay attention to her footsteps. Stumbling around, all thoughts off secrecy abandoned in the moment, Ginny crashed into a tall bookcase filled with ancient tomes. The entire structure teetered unsteadily, then toppled over with a resounding crash. Ginny dove forward just in time to miss being crushed by the enormous weight, although a few books managed to hit her, and she was sure that one the size of a magical encyclopedia had given her a concussion.

The falling books did have the added bonus of detaching the dismembered hand, which Ginny noticed with no small amount of relief as she crawled out from under the mess. Then she realized just how much of a disaster it was. The heavy oak shelf was lying on its side, books scattered everywhere, and another shelf nearby had been knocked into as well. There were also items all over the floor, jolted from their spots by all the shaking. Many of those things seemed to be broken, including the heavy jars of potions ingredients that were now seeping unidentifiable liquid across the texts. All in all, the store was a reck. It actually looked like something the twins had gone rampaging through.

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS GOING ON OUT THERE!"

Ginny blanched.'I am so dead...'

Ginny ran the rest of the way to the door, leaping over any objects rolling across the floor. She slipped outside not a moment too soon.

Mr. Borgin panted as he came upstairs, having run up from the supply cellar he was sorting through. He gasped at state of his store. Half of his stock was ruined... Who could have done such a thing...? He had seen no one come in... The wards over the front door should have warned him if someone had... Could it have been an Auror? But, no, they would have just confiscated the lot. Any sane dark wizard would have done the same. So, then why...?

Borgin's face began to take on a deep violet hue. Some of those things had take years to procure! The cost of repairs alone was going to set him back years! Oh, when he found out who had to-

Just then, the bell hanging over the front door chimed, and Borgin felt an echoing tingle alerting him that the wards had been breached. Gazing up at the new arrival, Borgin paled.

"Borgin, what in the name of Merlin have you been doing?" Lucius Malfoy stepped into the room, black robes sweeping behind him and his silver serpent cane tapping against the floor. An expression of disgust crossed his aristocratic features as he nearly stepped into a puddle of armadillo bile. His silver eyes gazed around the room, taking in the obvious signs of disarray.

Lucius looked vaguely displeased as he met Borgin's fearful gaze. The shopkeeper wrung his hands nervously and tried to halt his own trembling.

"H-how, can I help you, Lord Malfoy?" He smiled falteringly, as though he wasn't standing amidst the destruction of his livelihood.

"You know what I'm here for, Borgin," Lucius replied in a sharp tone. He arched a blonde eyebrow when the other man's quaking increased. "I trust nothing has happened to it?" The way he emphasized the word 'unfrotunate' clearly said that Borgin would end up in similar circumstances if that were so.

Borgin's beady black eyes widened, the whites showing all around, and he licked his lips nervously. He darted a glance toward the mound of contaminated books. for him, Lucius did not miss the gesture. His silver eyes narrowed burningly, and he ground the tip of his cane into the floor as stalked forward.

The denizens of the alley outside would later hear Borgin's screams, but as such a thing was not unusual, no one would bother to help him.

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Further away from the store proclaimed Borgin and Burkes, Ginny halted at another fork in the road, trying to choose yet again which way would provide an exit to this hellish place. She had already deduced that wherever she was, that store was not the only one of its kind. Most of the shops around her seemed to follow the trend of being unusually creepy, and the few people wandering about weren't much better. Most of them kept their faces cloaked and strode by quickly, with their hands never straying far from their pockets. She had no idea if they were even human, and Ginny was almost sure that the woman settled behind a booth to her left was some kind of hag. It didn't help that she had tried to sell Ginny a tray of various species of fingernails while grinning with a mouth full of pointed teeth.

"Hmm, let's see," Ginny muttered aloud to herself as she picked a path. She had figured out that no one would care how much she talked to herself there, and at least the sound of her own voice was comforting. "Do I take the long, dark path on the left... or the long, dark path on the right?" Ginny snorted at the choices and wondered if it was just better to wait until someone found her.

Then the hag nearby hacked wetly, reminding Ginny that it might not be in her best interest to be found by any of the people here.

"Okay, scary path on the right it is!"

So saying, Ginny marched off, head held high, although she couldn't help but glance over her shoulder every now and then. It might have helped if she'd had some way to defend herself. And to think, she should have been purchasing her wand at that very moment...

And so Ginny wandered off down the silent street, lost in both her way and her thoughts. At the same time, she never noticed the added weight to her person, centered in the hood of her jacket. There, hidden from view amongst the folds of material, rested a small black diary that had fallen from its shelf not too long ago...

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REV IEW because you know you want to! The mouse is just begging to be clicked... You wouldn't want to disappoint him, now would you?

OH MY GOD! I ACTUALLY WROTE SOMETHING! I started this so long ago... and it's finally ready for posting! YES! Please tell me what you guys think.