Usual disclaimer, I don't own anything aside from this particular scenario.
Author's Note: This story was originally a sequel to another story (which will soon be up), so I think I'd better put a quick explanation in. Sangre is the basilisk from COS. In this universe, Sangre was NOT acting of her own accord when she petrified the students in that year of terror. She survived the strike from Harry's sword, and later chose to ally herself with Ginny with the intent of exacting vengeance from Voldemort for basically enslaving her in COS.Ginny also retains traces of that time period, most notably her gift of Parslemouth. This story takes place several years after Harry's seventh year at Hogwarts.
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The moon shone brightly over the ruined castle and the dead lawn surrounding it. Amid shadows from boulders cast down from the broken walls, moonbeams found the sparkle of shattered glass and the occasional gleam of a snapped wand.
It's beautiful...until the memories crowd back. So many lives lost...
Ginny shivered and moved closer to the stone cauldron that stood near to the protection of one of the castle walls. The flames warmed her hands, but it was the pale gleam from the potion within that warmed her frozen soul.
Our final chance. We were all but destroyed last time. But that's not going to happen. Not tonight.
Hermione added a brilliant liquid to the mess in the cauldron, then suddenly turned away as a coughing fit overwhelmed her. Ginny watched without showing any sign of the emotions that roiled within.
How many friends have died over the years? How many am I going to lose tonight?
Sangre nudged Ginny's shoulder and hissed softly. "How much longer, mistress?"
Ginny ran her hand over the basilisk's head and the massive serpent turned so that Ginny was rubbing the hard skin over one of Sangre's blinded eyes. "Soon. An hour at most." Ginny chuckled softly. "Are you so impatient for his blood?"
Sangre jerked her head restlessly. "As much as you are."
After so long, it's finally time. I wonder if Voldemort's blood runs as red as Harry's did.
At Ginny's side, Neville shook his head violently, as if trying to dispel something. Seeing her enquiring gaze, he flushed. "Sorry, it's just...I can't stop worrying. What if he decides to ignore us, or simply sends a squad of Death Eaters?"
In the silence that followed, Hermione's murmuring voice was heard as she recited the lines she long ago memorized. "...You will renew your son."
Ginny's smile held none of the warmth it had carried years before. "He'll come. He can't afford not to." She watched the now wildly sparking potion for a moment, then turned away to face the warriors who had once been her fellow students.
Harry, forgive us for the delay. Forgive me for becoming what I have.
Expressionless faces stared back at her. "I just wanted to say that I'm honored to have fought by your sides these past years. Win or lose...no, I'm not going to say that. We're going to win; there is no other option. Blood was shed on this lawn, and blood will flow on it tonight. It's too late for those who fell here, but we can at least avenge them! Tonight, we fight to win!"
A roar met the sky in response. Ginny had to swallow a lump in her throat. "To your places, please. You know the signal. May Merlin be with us." She lingered, watching, as her army finished camouflaging one other. They moved quickly, betraying their impatience, as they slipped into the woods or crouched behind the boulders that littered the ground.
Once the last stragglers had reached their places, she turned to a thin, young man who stood to one side. "Mr. Nott?" A slow incline of his head was the only sign that he had heard her. She glanced around once more, then gave the former Slytherin a nod. He offered her a savage grin and Apparated away.
The shield failed when the castle died. Or was it when Dumbledore was murdered? I can't remember anymore. I guess it doesn't really matter.
Ginny called to Sangre, "To me, please." A quick rap on the head took care of her familiar's disguise, then Sangre turned and moved, unbidden, to the shelter of a stone that had once been part of Griffindor tower.
Hermione's voice drifted over to them. "Ginny, Neville needs the basilisk's blood."
"Right here, Hermione." Ginny walked over to Neville and pressed a small vial into his hand. "Just take the stopper out and toss the bottle into the cauldron. The glass won't affect the potion and that way there's no chance of an accident." She started to turn away, then abruptly swung back. "Remember..."
He raised his hand to stop her. "Ginny! Between you and Hermione, the procedure's graven onto my brain. I know I was never that good at Potions, but even I couldn't mess this one up."
Ginny forced herself to relax. "Sorry, I guess I'm a little on edge." She held Hermione's and Neville's gazes momentarily and forced a smile. "Good luck, to all of us." She turned back to the potion as Hermione slipped into the shadows. The red glow from the cauldron lit everything in the surrounding area.
The castle looks just like it did during that final battle. Only then, the red was from curses...and blood.
Time ticked by and Ginny grew restless. Neville looked over at her with a questioning look on his face. Ginny gave a shrug to cover her growing unease.
It shouldn't be taking Nott this long. Merlin, please don't have let him have failed.
A torch which stood near the cauldron suddenly flickered and died. Ginny gripped her wand. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Neville's sudden swallow. He lifted the vial in a shaking hand, and held it above the red mixture.
A multitude of sharp pops rang through the air. Ginny glanced quickly around, counting heads. Perhaps fifty. Less than she'd prepared for.
Good.
Neville's voice sang through the warm night air. "You will resurrect your foe!" With a dramatic gesture, he flung the vial into the cauldron before him.
A thick steam rose and blanketed the lawn. Slowly, it settled to the ground and vanished. There was a uneasy silence as everyone waited. A minute passed, and then another. Voldemort laughed suddenly, the brittle sound shattering the hush. He strolled forward casually.
"Nice try, little ones. Did you truly think it would be so easy to resurrect young Potter? I do commend you for your efforts, though. Such research, such planning."
Come on, a little closer.
"But in the end, you failed. How unfortunate."
Ginny stepped out from behind the caldron, her movements slow and precise. A look of confusion swept across Voldemort's face, then he strode angrily forward, raising his wand.
Ginny smiled, hate transforming her features. "Did we?" she asked softly. "I don't think we did."
Voldemort stopped short in sudden unease.
"He will have power the Dark Lord knows not..." Ginny gestured with her free hand, taking in herself and Neville. "But my favorite is the next part. Do you remember it? And either must die at the hand of the other."
Ginny was gripping her wand so tightly she wondered if she'd break it. To one side, she saw the rippling motion that meant Sangre was creeping forward. Voldemort's eyes widened slowly, and he stared in horror at the ground he stood on. The ground where Harry had died...and where he now lay buried.
Harry? This for you.
Ginny leveled her wand at the Dark Lord. Two words slipped coldly from her lips. "Petrificus Totalus." Sangre lunged forward, mouth wide to strike. Blood splattered on the ground as the basilisk's jaws snapped shut on the body of her former enslaver.
The first curses shot through the air and the two humans hurled themselves to the ground. Ginny kept her wand trained on her familiar, recasting the Shield and Shunting Charms over and over again. She shouted to her hidden troops. "Now!"
Amid the Death Eaters, she saw Nott throw himself to the ground. Curses sped from the forest, from behind the boulders, from the holes in the castle walls. The air filled with screams. Death Eaters dropped even as they wildly returned fire, trying vainly to find their attackers. Sangre dropped the severed halves of Voldemort's body and hurled herself into the middle of the chaos.
Ginny took a second from fighting to aim her wand at Voldemort's body. There was no sense taking chances.
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Dawn came bright and clear over the mountain tops. Ginny counted heads as she walked through the midst of her troops. There had been losses, but most had escaped with only minor injuries. Spotting Hermione sitting propped against the overturned cauldron, Ginny walked over and knelt beside her.
Hermione glanced up at Ginny with a look of peace on her face. "You know, I never really thought this day would come. It seemed an impossible dream, something that you wish could happen, but know that it never would." A coughing fit seized her, and she gasped for breath. Once it had passed, she met Ginny's gaze unwaveringly. "Thank you. Thank you for giving me this chance, for giving all of us this..." Her voice trailed off as tears began rolling down her face.
Ginny laid her hand on Hermione's shoulder. "You were the one that managed to develope a potion that would fool even Voldemort. I just led the troops."
Hermione shook her head violently. "Just? Hardly. You were the one that kept us going when all hope seemed lost. You were the one who dreamed up the plan. And...Ginny, you were the one who looked at the prophecy again and realized we still had a chance."
'And either must die at the hand of the other.' Not how it would end, but where.
Ginny lifted her eyes to the rising sun to hide the tears that fought their way to the surface.