Watching for Wolves
Rated PG
An Alternative Point of View by Starsea
~*~
The small girl
smiles
One eyelid flickers
She whips a pistol
from her knickers
She aims it at the
creature’s head,
And bang, bang,
bang!
She shoots him
dead.
A few weeks later
in the wood,
I came across Miss
Riding Hood.
But what a change!
No coat of red,
No silly hood upon
her head!
She said, “Hello,
And please do note,
My lovely furry
wolf-skin coat!”
Roald Dahl
“Little Red Riding Hood” from “Revolting
Rhymes”
~*~
PART
ONE: Ears
----------------------------------------------------
“Grandma, what big ears you have!”
“All the better to hear you with, my dear.”
----------------------------------------------------
It’s in the book, it’s in the book, he’s in
the book-!
She
walked along the corridor, watching her feet take one step after another. The
carpet had once been red, but it was now dull and faded to almost raspberry
pink. Dust was entrenched between the fibres, and holes appeared now and again,
showing the old floorboards beneath. She looked up. The door was there. The
door was always there. It was the only thing which was clean. Its wood was dark
and shiny, the latch – why a latch, not a handle? – was polished so thoroughly
that she could see her reflection in it, drawing closer and closer. There was a
number on the door. Was she in a hotel? Was she in the Leaky Cauldron?
This
didn’t feel familiar. This didn’t feel safe. She didn’t want to be here. She
wanted to go home. But she couldn’t turn around. Her feet just kept on walking,
walking towards the door, and there was no sound, no sound at all.
Someone
was in there.
Someone
wanted to see her.
Don’t go in.
She
reached out for the latch. There was no light under the door, but someone was
in there. He wanted to see her.
Don’t go in, don’t go in, no, don’t-!
The door
opened, swinging inwards into the room, and her heart stopped as she saw what
was in there. She opened her mouth, and began to scream, silent, her voice
stolen, her will stolen, everything stolen–
She woke
up, her mouth open, and sat up, her gaze travelling at light speed around the
room. She knew this room. She’d slept here ever since she could remember. Up
until last year, she had been sharing it with her elder brother, but now it was
hers alone, because she was a big girl.
Big
girl.
Ha.
Ginny
put her hands over her face. Her throat was sore. She’d obviously been trying
to scream but no sound had come. She’d been too scared. As always, she couldn’t
remember what had been behind that door. She wasn’t even sure if there really
was someone there, or if her mind simply reacted to the fact she’d opened the
door, but she knew what the dream was about all right. That was one thing she
couldn’t forget.
It’s in the book, it’s in the book, he’s in
the book-!
Someone
knocked on the door and Ginny almost leapt out of the bed, swallowing back a
cry of fear.
“Ginny?”
whispered an anxious voice. “Ginny, are you okay?”
Ginny
remained frozen in her crouch for a moment and then recognition came. She got
down and slowly opened the door. Ron stood there, familiar and deeply
reassuring: pyjama bottoms showing his ankles as usual, the arms of the top
nearer his elbows than his wrists, eyes almost shut, swaying slightly. Ron
never woke up quickly.
“Hey,”
he said, turning the word into more of a “hi” because he yawned so widely.
“What is
it?”
“I heard
you cry out.”
“Did I?”
Ginny asked, as if this were news to her.
“Yeah…
you sounded scared.” Ron looked worried.
Ginny
shrugged. “I just woke up. Heard you calling my name. Wondered who it was for a
second.”
Ron gave
her a shrewd look. He didn’t believe her. Ginny was good at lying now, but Ron
could still see through her sometimes, especially when they were talking about…
this.
“So
you’re okay.”
“Absolutely,”
she said, both of them knowing she was lying. “Go back to bed, Ron. I’m fine.”
He
nodded. “Right,” he said. One word which
somehow expressed all his disbelief and his sadness. Ginny wanted to tell him
not to be so sensitive, but this was Ron. He always reacted with his emotions,
just as Percy always reacted with his head, and the twins always reacted with
humour.
“Go,”
she repeated.
Ron
nodded, but he still stood there, his mouth twisting. “Ginny…”
Ginny
shut the door and wandered back to bed, collapsing onto the mattress. She
buried her face in the pillow. The tears which she had kept back so easily
after waking up from the dream forced their way down her cheeks. She never
cried about her nightmare, but she did cry for Ron. She cried for the way he
had immediately jumped awake on hearing her voice so early in the morning. She
cried for the way he’d come running to her door to check on her. She cried
because of the sadness in his eyes, because Ron hadn’t changed at all. He was
still her sweet gangling elder brother, still the same. She cried because she
was the one who had changed. She was the one who would never be the same again,
and nobody knew how to handle it. Nobody knew what to do.
I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Ron. I wish I could
talk to you. I wish I could tell you the truth. I hate lying to you. But you
can’t help me. Nobody can help me. Nobody can make this better.
All the
vigilance in the world would not make up for the one time they stopped
listening for her, listening to her.
And they
all knew it.
Ginny got
up, reached under her bed, and took out her old storybook. She’d read the old
tales over and over this summer. Their simplicity and stark cruelty soothed
something inside her.
Once upon a time, there was a little girl,
so sweet that everyone who saw her loved her. Her grandmother had made her a
little red cap, which she wore everywhere she went, and because of this, she
was called Little Red Cap…
Ginny
settled down against her pillows and waited for the sun to come up. Gradually,
her grip on the book loosened and her eyelids drooped. She was fast asleep when
Ron, the twins and Percy all peeped in on her, her head tilting towards her
right shoulder. They all glanced at each other, and then Percy jerked his head
towards the kitchen. Ginny was so fast
asleep that she didn’t hear the rumpus which erupted from there almost
immediately as they found out that morning’s news.
When she
eventually opened her eyes, the sun was already high into the sky. She
estimated it was around ten o’clock, but nobody had come to wake her
up. They’d all been very gentle with her this summer, careful and considerate,
and sometimes their behaviour made her want to scream, and sometimes it made
her want to cry. At that moment, however, she was just grateful they’d allowed
her a lie in. She stretched and the book slid off her lap and fell onto the
floor with a thump, the pages flipping over until they came to rest on the
picture. Little Red Cap stood blinking up at the wolf, who leered down at her,
tongue lolling out as he silently moved his lips.
Where are you going, little girl?
“Mind
your own beeswax,” Ginny muttered, reaching down and slamming the book closed.
“That’s what she should have said.” She closed her eyes tightly for a moment – What’s your name, little girl?
Ginny. Ginny Weasley. What’s yours?
Tom. Tom Riddle.
“Mind
your own beeswax…” she repeated, squeezing her eyes tight. “That’s what you
should have said, Ginny.” She put the book on the bed and grabbed her
threadbare blue dressing gown, then slid her feet into her slippers. They were
falling apart, but they were also old
and comfortable. She pattered down the staircase. The house seemed quiet, which
meant the twins and Ron were probably doing all the homework they’d left in
their trunks. Ginny sighed: August already. This time last year she’d been so
excited about Hogwarts and the fact that Harry Potter was staying in the same
house as her…
“Morning,”
she murmured as she entered the kitchen. Mum was frying some bacon. Ron and
Percy were playing a game of chess by the hearth, and the twins were poring
over The Daily Prophet. They all
looked at her.
“Ginny!”
Ron said, his eyes widening. “Listen –”
“There’s
no need to frighten her –” Percy began.
“Wait
until you hear what happened to Harry!” the twins chorused, grinning at her.
Ginny
stopped dead in the doorway, the smile wiped off her face. Her legs felt
strangely cold and wobbly all of a sudden. “Harry?” she repeated blankly.
“What’s happened to Harry?”
“Nothing!”
Mum said sharply, taking her arm and making her sit down. “He’s fine, dear,
just fine!”
“He blew
up his aunt last night,” George announced.
“Apparently
it took them three hours to get her
down.” Fred grinned.
“And
then he ran off!”
“All on
his own!”
“Ran
off?” Ginny said, panic choking her. “But – Sirius Black-!”
“Harry’s
fine!” Ron said quickly, glaring at the twins. “He’s at the Leaky Cauldron. Dad
found out.” Then he looked at her and grinned. “It’s all right, he hasn’t been
expelled or anything, Ginny, you’ll see him again.”
Ginny
deliberately ignored him and sat down at the table, waiting for her breakfast,
knowing that her red cheeks probably gave her away.
“Blowing
up his aunt is a serious infringement of the rules for Under Age Magic,”
muttered Percy, prodding forward one of his knights. The white knight shuffled
forward nervously. He was being eyed by his black counterpart on Ron’s team,
who slowly and carefully drew his finger across his throat.
You’re dead.
“I bet
she deserved it,” Ron objected. “If she’s anything like the Dursleys, she
probably provoked him. Do you want
Harry to get expelled?”
“No, of
course not,” Percy snapped, watching as Ron’s knight smashed his own down. “And
I’m just as glad as anyone that he managed to avoid Sirius Black, but honestly,
Fudge should have known that Harry was safe for the moment. All Black knows is
that Harry goes to Hogwarts. He has no idea of Harry’s whereabouts when Harry’s
not there – we are the only people who know exactly
where Harry lives. The rest of our world knows that he lives ‘with Muggles’ and
that’s it. Fudge overreacted by
having all those Aurors looking for Harry, and then he waved aside a basic and
fundamental rule when he discovered the boy was safe.”
“Maybe
that’s because last time they threatened him with expulsion simply because a
house elf blew up a pudding in his lounge,” Fred remarked. “Fudge probably felt
guilty.”
“Plus,
it’s Harry Potter,” George added. “Even Fudge probably felt a bit awed in his
presence.” He winked at Ginny, who couldn’t help grinning back. It was impossible
to stay angry with the twins for long.
“The law
isn’t supposed to have favourites,” Percy argued. “It’s supposed to be
impartial, objective and, above all, fair.”
“Hate to
burst your bubble, Perce, but that hardly ever happens, this is the real world,
and Fudge doesn’t exactly have the best record when it comes to impartiality,
look at the way he cosies up to Malfoy,” George pointed out, folding his arms.
“But
Fudge is always asking Dumbledore for advice too,” Ginny objected as her mother
put down a plate of bacon and eggs in front of her. “You make it sound like all
he’s impressed by is power.”
Her
brothers looked at her. Fred and George raised their eyebrows as if to say “well,
obviously”, Ron made a rueful face and Percy sighed.
“Cornelius
Fudge is a politician,” Mum replied, sitting down opposite Ginny with the
latest copy of Witch Weekly. “He
needs support and he tries to get it wherever he can.”
“I’d
rather have no support at all than have the support of someone like Lucius
Malfoy,” Ginny said fiercely, sawing a piece of bacon off from the main rasher.
Mum
looked sad for a moment, then reached across and brushed back a lock of Ginny’s
hair. “I know you would,” she said. “But not everybody’s as principled as you,
Ginny. Especially if they’re involved in politics. A lot of politicians are
wolves in sheep’s clothing.”
“Then
why does Dad work at the Ministry?” Ginny asked with her mouth full.
“Because
if we want the government to change, we have to work with it, not against it,”
Percy answered, managing to take one of Ron’s pawns.
Ginny
looked down at her plate, thoughts whirling in her head. It was all very
confusing, but Harry hadn’t been expelled, and he was alive. That was the
important thing.
DISCLAIMER:
Ginny Weasley, the entire Weasley family and all things Harry Potter belong to
J.K. Rowling, not me. They just tend to invade my head every so often.