Chapter 1 : Molly Weasley, Mother Of All
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Credits to Suzanne Colins for the brilliant idea of the Hunger Games. Also, I am not the owner of H.P, I am not Jo... :(
“No! Please no!” It was happening again. Ginny twisted and turned in her bed, crying out, thrashing wildly. But I could do nothing. This happened every night, Voldemort got into her mind, tortured her, and then hypnotised her to bring Harry to him. But she was strong. That was my Ginny. But Voldemort was stronger, but only managed to put her into a trance, that could, eventually, kill her. If she was left like that long enough.
I heard her stumble out of bed, and then she just stood there, swaying slightly, once in a while giving a pleading cry for help. So, I did what I did every night. I got up out of bed, walked over to her, and gently shook her. But tonight was different than other nights. For, as soon as I touched her, I collapsed to the ground, screaming and writhing in pain, pure agony. I saw horrors, horrors to dark and evil to repeat, and all the while, Ginny was still standing there, swaying. Suddenly, I heard a cold voice. Like chalk being scraped across a blackboard, and my strength kicked in. I pulled myself out of that horror filled black hole and sat up, panting, the images repeating themselves again and again in my head. Then I remembered. Ginny! I jumped up, and, more carefully this time, shook her. Nothing happened, I shook her again. Still nothing. Then I whispered in her ear. “Ginny. Please come back,” And she was back. She looked at me, and whimpered.
“Hermione,” She gasped and collapsed into my arms. I soothingly stroked her hair. Crooning words of comfort. Ginny Weasley was like a sister to me. And I loved her. Finally, her night of torture over, I put her back to bed. She slept soundly, but I couldn’t. I lay staring up at the ceiling. Why couldn’t things be different? We were all sure that Voldemort had been defeated once and for all. But oh no. Old Voldie was way too stubborn for that. He somehow came back to life. And now look at us. Ginny was being tortured every night. Harry was depressed. Ron was slowly wasting away, not eating anything, even though Molly tried her hardest to stuff the food in his mouth. Even she had not enough strength to force it in. Food was rare these days. Then I felt it, that overwhelming urge to sleep. And so I did, welcoming the darkness like an old friend as its dark, dark hand grabbed at me, pulling me into another dark place, but only one with no pain, no torture, no starvation, just black, just plain old black...
“Molly...” I groaned, “I’m not hungry...”
BANG! The house shuddered as the spell hit it. Immediately, I was up, running as fast I could downstairs. Arthur, Ron (who was thinner than ever), Ginny and even Harry had come out of his den upstairs at the commotion. I shivered. Why us?
We got out just in time to watch the demolishing of The Burrow. There were tears in Arthur’s eyes. Arthur Weasley never cried.
“Stupefy!” In my blind panic, I misaimed my spell and it hit the dining table. It shot across the room, shoving into me. I was knocked over, sent flying, then Dolohov caught up, instead of using a simple spell, he grabbed me by my neck, and began to squeeze. The air left me, I couldn’t breathe. I struggled, desperately trying to bite him, but he only squeezed tighter. The only oxygen in my body that was left disappeared; I struggled one last time for breath, and fell to the floor as Dolohov dropped me. But he was stupid, I grabbed at my last ounce of strength, and Apparated. And on that day, I, Draco Malfoy, left my home of Malfoy Manor for good, not ever looking back. And, for the first time in my life, I cried. Cried for the suffering and pain, cried when reflecting on memories of the past, cried because I was all alone, with nowhere to go. Malfoys never cry. But then, I don’t believe in that crap anymore...
I stared down at the ground, hoping that He would not notice me, that He would walk on, thinking that I had starved, and choose someone else. But Voldemort didn’t. He noticed me standing with my head bent, desperate not to be noticed, He took long sweeping strides towards me.
“I believe that it is you whom I have chosen, Ms. Granger.” I stared up into his cold, un-blinking eyes. My Gryffindor Pride kicked in.
“I believe so too, My Lord,” I was mocking him, and he knew it, I was treading on thin ice.
“Go ahead.” He told me then turned and snarled at a little girl of 7 years old. “What are you looking at, girl?” She quickly turned her head around and ran off to find her parents.
Harry was called. His head sprung up, and he winced in pain as his head collided with the thin post he had been sitting below. All traces of his depression disappeared as he climbed boldly up the wooden steps to join me. I grabbed his hand tight and squeezed, my grip loosened as soon as I heard the name.
"Let the team calling begin!” Dolores Umbridge waved a perfectly manicured finger in the air as she began to read the names off the list.
“Hermione Granger, Harry Potter and... err... yes, that’s it, Draco Malfoy.” There was no applause for this pairing. No, no way. Being chosen to have to fight to the death was bad enough, but being stuck with Draco Malfoy of all people...
“I’ll try, Mrs. Weasley.”
“Please come back, ‘Mione.” She whispered, tears rolling down her cheeks. I wiped them away.
“Ask your parents to sleep in your room, Gin. That way they can wake you up if Voldemort takes on another attack.”
We met Malfoy who looked as miserable as ever.
“Come on.” He mumbled and grabbed my hand and Apparated. As soon as we arrived to the gates of The Dark Games I wrenched my hand my hand free from his grip. He looked stonily at the ground as we passed the gates and stood on our starting post, backpacks on our backs. We performed a group huddle and I said fiercely.
“Let The Dark Games begin!” Dolores Umbridge’s high-pitched voice squealed. “Have fun, players!”