A/N: Hi! I'm trying something a little different with this story so I would really appreciate some support. *Cough*Reviews*Cough*! :)
Also, JKR owns everything. Except, not my original characters and the plot.
A Demon From The Past
My first day working for Ginny Weasley. Can life get any better than this? Ok, it can. But, bottom line, I’m very happy being right where I am now.
Well... At least I thought so.
* * *
When I was a child, my goal was to become famous. Just that. It didn’t matter how. I was sure I’d find a way.
It all began with a dream, actually.
It was me, standing on a big shiny platform, and in front of it-masses of people. They were all screaming, their faces glowing from a sense of respect and admiration. And I thanked them. I thanked them for, I quote, ’knowing my name’.
It was bizarre. But what was even more strange was the fact that it felt perfectly normal to me.
From that moment on, it slowly grew into an obsession.
And I was fascinated with people that were already famous, too. I wanted to get near them, just in case popularity was somehow contagious.
I was just a child, ok? Children believe in all kinds of shit. So, don’t judge me! I’m sure you believed in Santa and in fairies, too.
And then, one day, I discovered my future heroine.
It was worshipping at first sight.
The seventeenth of April, 2010
"Mum, who is this?" I pointed my tiny finger at a ’Daily Prophet’ picture of a beautiful young woman with fiery red hair.
She was holding a Quidditch cup and smiling broadly into the camera.
"Oh, that? It’s an old picture of Ginny Weasley."
The name rang trough my ears, leaving me with a sense of wonderment and curiosity.
I couldn’t stop then. Questions just poured out, like I always had them somewhere in the back of my mind.
Wife of Harry Potter. Mother of James, Albus and Lily Potter. The senior correspondent for the Daily Prophet. Ex Holyhead Harpies player.
She was just about everything I dreamed of becoming. Not that I wanted to marry Harry Potter. I mean, he was old. ( Not old
-old. Just too old for me. ) But, I wanted to be a good wife, mother, have a sizzling career and be-well, famous, of course.
For the rest of my life.
As a result of my worshipping, I tried to befriend James Potter back at Hogwarts, ’cause he was in my year.
Let’s just say it didn’t really work out.
* * *
The twenty first of December, 2022
"You-you-you poor excuse for a boy!" I yelled at a confused James, who was standing in our living room and trying to get away safely.
Or at least remotely safe.
"What are you on about?" He lifted his hands in attempt to shield himself from my sudden physical attack.
That’s when I bursted into tears.
never understand, James Potter! ’Cause you are
that self-absorbed and dense!"
I stormed off to my Head Girl dorm, shutting the door behind me very loudly and very aggressively.
At that point, my wish to be James’ friend turned into this wild desire to destroy him.
Ok, it wasn't
What I really wanted to do was to have my little revenge. And I thought, what a better revenge than beating him in the one area he so dominated.
So ok, I was the biggest anti-talent for playing it. But I figured, I had another way.
So, my fascination with Ginny Potter, my new-found hate towards her first-born son and my talent for the written word suddenly combined themselves and drew out my future perfectly.
And I knew just where I was headed.
And I knew I would succeed.
* * *
The twenty fifth of August, 2028
"Jill, you got a letter!" My dad yelled from downstairs.
My heart stopped pounding. Or was it really pounding too fast for me to comprehend it?
When I gained back my ability to walk or even think, I ran downstairs furiously. I snatched the letter from my father and ripped the top of in a split of a second.
"Sweetheart, calm down. You’re going to get a heart attack."
My dad’s the kind of person everyone should have in their lives. He’s a calmer. The quiet and wise guardian. An oracle.
So anyway, I focused my attention on the note, all feelings gone but anticipation.
And there, written in very ugly English handwriting, was presented the course of the rest of my life.
I dropped the paper, face blank, hands shaking.
"What is it, Jill? You’re scaring me."
I turned my head towards the man who gave me life and, at the same time, the very stupid name Tatum Jillian Kenward... And I realized I adore him for everything.
But mostly because he was there so I could trow myself at him.
"I got it!"
"You did?" He said loudly, even though I had a feeling I was suffocating him.
But I had no intention of letting him go.
I was happy.
I was so happy.
too happy for someone who wanted to become the next Queen at some point in her life.
But I didn’t care. Somehow, I thought, this was perfect. This was supposed to happen. This was my
Even though it started out as my wish for the ultimate revenge, it ended up being my ultimate goal.
I wanted to work with Ginny Weasley.
I wanted to write about Quidditch.
And I wanted to forget about the prick that James Potter once was.
But, of course, Merlin didn’t want to give me the pleasure of just being god damn happy!
Merlin apparently wanted me to meet my worst nightmare. Not once. But, all of the time.
I mean... I’m just wondering...
Why freakin’ me?!
* * *
The first of September, 2028, Today
"Jill. Wake up. Wake up, Jill."
I turn on my side, just so my ears aren’t that close to the sound that I imagine is a buzzing and highly annoying fly.
But then the sound suddenly gains a body and shakes me with it’s hands. Too harshly, may I add.
If you can't follow, I just asked-"What do you want?"
"For you to get your sweet arse up!"
"For the love of Merlin, just get up already!"
The body with the annoying sound for a voice lifts my blanket from underneath and above me, which results in my oh-so-graceful fall to the ground.
Finally, I open my eyes, turn around and see my angry looking room-mate Ash squeezing the blanket.
She takes my life more serious than I
do. Really. It's kind of sad, when you think about it.
"How much?" I yawn.
"Are you kidding
me?! Dress up! And no breakfast for you, lazy-arse! Go!"
I moan, as I get up from the floor.
Ash, who is by the way so lucky to have such a simple, common name, works in the Gringotts bank, but the night shift. So, even though she has the mornings completely free she gets up in the dawn, for Merlin’s sunglasses!
I really don’t understand her.
With her black hair all over her face and her piercing gray eyes, she looks quite scary most of the time. And especially when she’s angry at me. Which actually is
-most of the time.
I don’t remember why I choose her for my roommate in the first place.
Oh, right. She cooks and I absolutely don’t.
Well, something’s gotta give.
Luckily, I already picked out what I’ll wear, yesterday. So, here's to hope I won't be that
Yes, I’m excited.
I have the right to.
It’s been five years since I started working as a journalist. I went from 'Daisy’s Daisies' to 'Witch Weekly'. And, trust me, it was not
a delightful ride.
It was horrid.
To say the least.
But I’m finally here. And that’s all that counts.
When I dress up, I take a look at the mirror.
If you happen to see me on a street, I’m pretty sure you won’t remember me.
My dark-brown hair falls down my back in loose curls, my slightly big forehead covered with straight bangs, almost black eyes hidden behind modern glasses and my plump lips the only thing that really stands out.
Even my figure is forgettable. I have boobs but not big ones, my legs are not model-long, but not short either. I’m curved but not in that awesome-hot-mega-foxy way. Just... ordinary.
Yeah, that’s a way to describe me.
Well, at least physically.
I may or may not have some issues that are in no way
But, I’ll get to that later.
I frown as Ash comes back into my room and gazes at me, crossing her arms and leaning against the door-frame.
"You can say that again." She nods.
I’m actually a little offended she doesn’t even pretend to protest.
But then again, it’s Ash I’m talking about. Why do I even expect that from her?
She goes to pat my back.
"Don’t worry, it’s not the looks that count. It’s the brains."
"Yey, I’m so happy about that." I fake my enthusiasm.
She rolls her eyes.
"Will you leave already!? You are seriously slower than a sick slug! You should consider casting a permanent accelerate spell on yourself."
I gape at her.
"Just think about it. That's all I ask."
She then shoves me outside my room so she can get her love life frustrations out by maniacally cleaning our flat.
Probably, more times than one.
Yes, I’m not the only one with issues here. Ash is the 'likes bad boys but doesn’t know why' type of girl. I pity her.
Yeah, like I
was never in love with the
bad boy himself.
I apparate myself in front of the Daily Prophet building. Over the years, it has gotten bigger and shinier. Meaning, perkier. They really need to find a new architect and rebuild this place. Like, immediately.
The crowd, the hast, the noises. Now, this
is what I live for. Adrenaline.
I put on my brightest smile and marsh to the glass doors that open up even before I near them completely, saying in a seemingly happy voice-"Welcome to the Daily Prophet."
I am sure the day can’t get any better.
And almost at the exact same moment, I am shown it really can’t, when someone pushes me to the floor, forcefully.
I moan. But unlike with Ash, nobody yells or says anything. I lift my head up only to see a tall male figure disappearing down the hallway in a hurry.
I look at my watch. Uh-oh. This is not
good. I get up and start running myself, all the way hoping that my luck will turn around.
I have a feeling I’m running for a decade, when I spot it. The door of Ginny Weasley’s office.
Ok, it’s not that bad. It’s only seven minutes. It’s bearable. Right?
I walk closer to the black door, the color making them look even heavier than they really are. I feel like they're pressing down my soul
As I nervously take the lock in my shaking hand, I hear her powerful voice echo inside.
"I can’t believe
you’re late for your job! How irresponsible is that?!"
I gulp, believing that my life is finally and rightfully over.
Stupid comfy pillow! I swear, I’m going to sleep on a piece of wood, from now on. So I won’t be able to oversleep. Ever again. But when I look at how this situation is developing, maybe it won't even matter.
I can’t get in. I’m going right back to Witch Weekly. To Blossom White and her pink nails.
, no. I’m not that
I put on a brave face not feeling brave in any way, though, and knock on the door shyly.
The yelling immediately stops. And I am met with dead, cold silence. There's just me and my pounding heart.
I take one deep breath and step in, hoping for some miracle or something.
I don’t know!
It can happen!
The office is spacious and filled with golden-like cups and piles of old 'Daily Prophets'. There are tons of wonderful ways to describe this glorious place. But, sincerely, at this moment all I see is her
I was already here once, when I had my interview. But it still impresses me. This is where I want to work, too. But judging from the look on my boss’ face, I’m beginning to doubt that will ever happen.
"Yes?" Ginny Weasley asks, her right eyebrow raised.
I’m too nervous to take a better look at the figure standing in the shadowy corner, so I just focus on her.
"I’m..." My voice sounds like a rusty machine trying to break trough a very thick piece of wood. "I’m your new assistant."
I finally succeed to splutter.
What a surprise. She’s still frowning. Oh, dear Merlin. Save me!
"Um... Tatum Kenward." I offer.
Just then, the dark figure starts to laugh and almost squeals.
you looked familiar!"
that voice. I have had nightmares about it. It is buried deep into in my mind. Even thought I tried to erase it. It never worked. I was even thinking about some potions...
desperate I was to forget it.
My throat is sore.
"You know her?" My boss doesn’t seem angry any more, but looks slightly intrigued.
I celebrate this fact with a little dance inside of my mind, in spite of him
The figure finally steps out of the dark and I feel a pair of strong arms griping me tightly.
And by the time he steps back to have a better look at me, I know this is probably the worst day of my life since I saw him kissing Juliet Watson on our seventh year Pre-Christmas Ball.
"What’s up, Tatum?"
I force a smile, sensing all of the anger I repressed somewhere deep down for so many years surfacing back again in those two words I spurt out.