“The fuck?” she asked again.
She tried to chain the Stunners again, only for the same thing to happen once again.
Ginny frowned, “Let’s try another spell.” She raised her wand at the dummy again, which now sported multiple scorch marks all over its body.
“Expelliarmus!” This time her magic behaved rather differently - it divided into two very distinct and contrasting rhythms - rhythms that felt totally out of tune with each other - as if one was a classical opera, while the other was EDM. To put it simply, the two rhythms felt like oil and water and were completely incompatible with each other. And the spell projected this very dichotomy towards the opponent and their wand, forcing each into very different states, so that the wand’s Magic and the wizard’s Magic repelled each other, not wanting to be connected.
She thought back to Snape’s Expelliarmus that he had used on Lockhart and realised that what he did back them was to both ‘Expel’ Lockhart from the stage and the wand from his hand. Meaning, Snape essentially layered two Disarming Charms in one. That was something she was entirely incapable of doing. Such mastery of magic was utterly beyond her current abilities - something that only extraordinarily talented Junior Aurors, those with the potential to become Senior Aurors, could achieve. Even Tom Riddle, who would later become known as Voldemort, mastered the art of Layered Spells after his 5th Magical Maturity at 17 years old.
Her tremendous physical and magical capabilities, which allowed her superiority against ordinary wizards, were not worth much against even Junior Aurors; Junior Aurors that wouldn’t fill the gaps in Voldy’s teeth. This was a world ruled by skill in Magic and not stats. This world revolved around skill and finesse in wielding magic, not just raw power. The thought of facing someone like Snape, let alone Dumbledore or Voldemort, left her feeling vulnerable and uncertain.
And the fact that Snape did it casually drove home just how enormously outclassed she was in terms of power against the most powerful Magicals like Dumbledore and Voldemort. Either of them - Dumbledore or Voldemort - could have Snape wondering which way was up in but a few rounds! And Snape could, in turn, do the same with her!
She shook her distracting thoughts away, once again focusing her attention on casting the spell in a chain, only to fail again. Even after trying all sorts of spells, she realised that she could not cast more than three spells in quick enough succession to call it a contiguous spell chain. And this inability persisted no matter what she did.
“Is there a limit of some sort?” Ginny frowned, her frustration showing itself on her face in a scowl.
No matter how she thought about it, she simply couldn’t come up with a way to actually lengthen the spell chain. Voldy had achieved it by sheer mastery in his control over his magic - and as talented as he was, it took him nearly 6 years of extraordinary hard work, slowly honing his skill in magic, practicing over and over and over to achieve what he did.
And Riddle’s understanding of magic wasn’t something she could use. The way a witch or a wizard controlled and understood their magic was very different from another, therefore her knowledge of the way Riddle understood his magic was a guide at best and a distraction from achieving her own understanding at worst.
And six years was a time frame she did not have. She had less than 5 years before shit hit the fan. And that was not even considering the fact that canon might as well be tossed out of the window by her actions as she didn’t intend to let Wormtail run free - there was no way she’d allow that.
Sighing in frustration, she decided to give up on it for now.
“Perhaps I can ask Flitwick for help?” she mused after a while. “Gotta figure out how to broach the subject…”
-x-x-x-
Once again, Ginny was in the Room of Requirement practising her Magic. She had decided that since she could not advance in her spell chains, she would try to improve her repertoire of magic. Which was why Ginny was currently holding a very thick tome on the Wind Branch of the Elemental Magic. This tome was one of the rewards that she gained from completing the Trial of Magic. Three of the other books were on other elements: Fire, Water, and Earth.
Rowena’s mainstay in battle was Elemental Magic. Therefore, her attainment in Elemental Magic was truly something to be marveled at. Her capability in manipulating the elements had gained her many a title. The Witch of the Storm was her most famous one. At least before she built Hogwarts with the other three.
Plus, Ginny needed to have at least a rudimentary grasp over the Elements to participate in the next trial, which was apparently called the Trial of Elements. She remembered the eagle’s baritone reverberating across the Room, “Inheritor, as you have passed the first Trial, you are eligible to participate in the second trial: The Trial of Elements. The Trial will involve several tests that will assess your understanding of the Elements. There will be no time limit.
“Do not rejoice, however, as none of the previous inheritors have gotten past this Trial.” said the eagle as it peered down at her proudly before it disassembled itself into stone bricks that returned to the wall.
Bringing herself out of her recollection, Ginny stood in the centre of the Room of Requirement, her wand raised and pointed at a dummy. She concentrated, imagining the air around her and in front of her, and willed it to move in a powerful gust that would cause the dummy to be pushed back.
“Ventus.” the incantation flowed smoothly from her lips as she felt her Magic surge through her wand, weave itself into the atmosphere around her, and generate kinetic energy in the sparse molecules that made up the air, causing them to form a gust of wind that blew towards the dummy.
But she wasn’t done yet. “Anemo Fluctus!” she called upon the wind that was generated indirectly as a result of her Magic, those molecules in which she did not generate kinetic energy but were set into motion by the collision with molecules in which she had induced motion. Her magic intertwined with the atmosphere, changing the direction of the winds and pushing them toward the dummy.
“Ventus Imperium!” her voice echoed through the currently extraordinarily spacious Room of Requirement. As her Magic enforced her will onto the wind, controlling more and more of it toward the dummy.
All of her Magic caused the initially lazy air to transform into a focused torrential stream of wind that lifted the dummy off the ground and slammed it into the wall. She continued to focus, trying her best to generate enough wind to keep it stuck to the wall. Unfortunately, despite her best efforts, the initial focus she had achieved began to waver, like water slipping through her fingers. It was as though the wind itself had a mind of its own, resisting confinement and yearning to roam free, the once orderly winds began to disperse, creating erratic gusts that playfully scattered objects in all directions, scattering things here and there.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Resigned, she let her control over the air slip, letting it scatter.
“Phew, this ain’t easy, at all. It’s so bloody hard to maintain a continuous stream!” she looked at the tome she held in her hands in frustration, “And you say this is only the lowest level of manipulation?! Screw you, Rowena!”
According to the tome left behind by Rowena, the continuous control over the Element was required to even begin the more complex magic involving the fine manipulation of it. Meaning, what Dumbledore did in his fight with the Inferi in the sixth installment, was a very, very far-off dream for her. His level was at the peak of elemental manipulation - creating almost life-like elemental creatures made purely from fire. His mastery seemed like an ethereal aspiration, hovering far beyond her current capabilities. His peak level of Fire Elemental manipulation was awe-inspiring to her - it was in a realm of its own, where magic transcended mere spells and stepped into the realm of Artistry.
And Dumbledore did it with fire that was notoriously hard to even maintain. Unlike the other three elements, plasma - which was essentially what fire was - was created under extreme conditions. Thus, the wizard also needed much greater skill to create and manipulate the Element of Fire. And he did this when he was basically half-dead from drinking that weird potion. From her understanding of Riddle, she was very sure that the potion was some sort of Magic inhibitor.
The more Ginny learned about magic, the better she understood the difference between her and the wizards at the peak of the world. Her initial goal of using five years to match them, to stand on equal footing seemed a joke, a naive jest, than an actually plausible goal.
She couldn’t imagine herself achieving that level in a mere half-decade - no matter how hard she tried. Dumbledore had honed his magic over his lifetime and her wanting to surpass him - even with her cheat - in that short duration would be spitting on the lifetime effort of someone so talented and powerful.
“Is it not possible?” she flumped onto the floor, laying down face up, her wand clattering to the side. She looked at the ceiling that was as tall as four storeys and whispered to it, “Is it really not possible? To reach that level of skill in 5 years?”
She felt the doubts in her heart grow, bringing even more turmoil to it. She closed her eyes, breathed in and out, and jumped up to her feet. “It’s the journey that matters, Ginny. The journey. It doesn’t matter if I don’t achieve it.” She clapped her cheeks, "Besides, it’s too early to decide whether it is possible or not.”
For now, she would immerse herself in the tomes, the incantations, and the arduous training.
-x-x-x-
‘They’ve grown even more, now. I need new undergarments.’ she closed her eyes, feeling her dread and embarrassment grow even more. She gritted her teeth and conveyed her desire for a place for her to vent to the wall next to the portrait of Barnabas the Barmy. And the Room supplied her with a large space with several dummies, looking no different from the times when she’d asked for a place to practise her Magic.
Ginny, however, was in no mood to notice that and stomped her way to a dummy. The dam she had mentally constructed to hold back her emotions was starting to crack under the pressure, and she knew she couldn't keep them contained. So she let go of it.
The anger, frustration, confusion, and a whole host of other emotions - all surged through her mind abruptly transforming into a torrent of destructive spells that inundated the dummy.
“It’s my body, dammit! It’s my body now! Why am I feeling like this?! I did not wish to be reborn in a little girl’s body! I never had the choice! I would definitely have chosen to become a boy if I did!” She vented her frustration and anger at the dummy, which was already sporting multiple scorch marks and cracks. She continued to unleash spell after spell upon the dummy, the physical aggression seemed to mirror the internal battle raging within her.
After her outburst and the cathartic release that followed, Ginny found herself physically and mentally drained. She sank wearily into the soft seat, allowing its comfort to envelop her. The echoes of her anger and frustration slowly subsided, leaving a sense of stillness in the chamber.
With her breath gradually steadying, she closed her eyes, giving herself over to introspection.
Even though the original Ginny was long gone and the body was her own now, she couldn’t help but feel guilty. Guilty that she was having new feelings about her body. No matter how she rationalized or reassured herself, the guilt lingered like an uninvited shadow, making her feel like she was betraying the original Ginny - even if she was no longer around.
She knew the original Ginny better than anyone, better than her brothers, better than Arthur, better than Molly, better than Ginny herself. She had watched her as she grew from a baby to a child, from a child to a young girl. A young girl who loved quidditch and was a braindead fan of her idol: Harry Potter. She had watched her joys, her sorrows, her anger; she had witnessed her love for her family, her frustration with Fred and George’s pranks, her amusement when they pranked Percy instead, her clinginess to Bill, her admiration of Charlie, her smugness at being paid more attention to than Ron and her adoration of Harry. She had felt them. She had lived and immersed in those emotions. She had practically lived the original’s entire life - and even if it was short one of barely more than a decade - it had left a profound impact on her: she understood the original Ginny in a way no one ever would.
In a rather morbid and sad way, the original Ginny was the person that she felt closest thing to a friend she’d ever had. The original Ginny was the only one who had, even if involuntarily, shared with her everything about herself; her struggles and triumphs, her desire and disgust, her joys and sorrows. Everything.
And this, along with the morality that was ingrained in her from her previous life was why she felt so guilty about her feelings, her wants, and her desires. It was why she felt like she was scum when she found herself interested in her own body and had locked away those thoughts using Occlumency - which was a very imbecilic thing to do, because when suppressing a part of her like that, it would fester and grow, becoming more and more twisted. And it could and would, inevitably, erupt - and not in a very healthy way. The state she was forcing herself into was not very different from the state before the formation of an Obscurus - they all suppressed a part of themselves. And she was already seeing the effects of doing so when some of the more perverted thoughts managed to slip out of their prison and invade her mind, causing her even more difficulty in accepting her current body.
Ginny sighed. Ginny’s memories were as much a curse as they were a blessing.
She sometimes wondered if she would be better off without Ginny’s memories. And the answer that always came to her was, “No, I would not. I would still be that guy who was betrayed and hurt, shutting off his heart to the world, doomed to die alone.” Through Ginny's experiences, she regained the capacity for love and connection. It had given her a chance to rewrite her story, to embrace the emotions she had once shut off, which she was doing wonderfully now. Through the young witch, she had rediscovered the warmth of friendship, and for the first time in both her lives, she experienced the unconditional love of a family. It was as if the memories of Ginny had breathed life into her heart once more, erasing the desolation that had previously consumed her. She had gained friends. She had gained a chance to live again, not merely survive.
“Heh, it is rather stupid that I let something like this bring me down. I have such a wonderful life ahead of me. The original would really be disappointed in me.” she shook her head. She would be eternally grateful to the original for leaving her such a precious gift and would not spit on what the original had left her, by allowing herself to wallow in the guilt and live her life to the fullest. She made up her mind, making a decision to work her hardest at overcoming this. She would try her hardest to embrace every facet of her new identity, even those that were incongruent with that of her previous life. A newfound determination took root in her heart.
Opening, her closed eyes, she breathed out, “Tempus,” only to realise that she had spent a great amount of her practice time. Getting to her feet, she gave the dummy that was lying in pieces a grateful look.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice filled with appreciation. She squatted next to it and patted its body-free disfigured head. “You may be just a dummy, but your sacrifice was not in vain. You helped me in ways you'll never know.” He had to be respected for his sacrifice! Ginny Weasley liked everyone who helped her!
“Tsk, Dumbledore would orgasm from all the ‘love’ in my thoughts.” she chuckled at the stray thought for a bit before the full weight of her words sunk in.
“FUCK! THAT IS NOT A GOOD PICTURE! FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, GET OUTTA MAH MIND! GET OUTTA MAH MINDD!!!”
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