The Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition- Season 2 Round 7
Team: Falmouth Falcons
Author: MaryRoyale
Position: Beater #2
Round 7 Challenge: The Horcrux Round—Beater #2 was assigned the diary of Tom Riddle.
Prompts: Consolidate, freedom, "We accept the love we think we deserve" -Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower
Title: Aftermath
Official Disclaimer: The original characters of this story are the property of the J.K. Rowling. No infringement of pre-existing copyright is intended. It is my contention that this work of fan fiction is fair use under copyright law. No monies received for receipt of this work.
Pairing: None
Rating: T
Word Count: approx. 2600
No one who had ever been affected by a Horcrux willingly spoke about them. It was too private, too painful, to share with anyone else. After the war, Hermione said that it was imperative that they keep the Horcruxes a secret, and Harry backed her completely. Ron threw a bit of a fit because it meant that no one really knew what he and Hermione had done to help Harry. Hermione had rolled her eyes and said that war was like that—tons of people behind the scenes doing important, secret work that no one would ever know about, but that had been vital to their victory. In addition, Hermione pointed out that if they talked about Horcruxes all the time someone might get it into their head to try and make some of their own. Ron had blanched at that, and quickly agreed.
A shudder always went down Ginny's spine at the thought of someone out there making Horcruxes. Harry and Ron tended to forget sometimes that she had dealt with a Horcrux, but occasionally Hermione would watch her with a slightly pensive expression and Ginny knew that she remembered.
The worst part, the part that the others didn't seem to understand, was that her Horcrux had been with her for months. For almost a year she had carried it with her everywhere as Tom Riddle had slowly, carefully seduced her. She had only been 11, and it had been the first time in her life that anyone had ever listened to her. His words had been like honeyed wine: so sweet that she was in too deep before she'd realized it. We accept the love we think we deserve. Perhaps that was the answer, or perhaps she'd been taken advantage of by an opportunist. It depended on the day which she was more likely to believe.
It wasn't as though her family had ignored her. Quite the opposite, she had been petted and adored as the first Weasley girl in generations. All of her brothers were overprotective, and her parents were even worse. However, that didn't mean that they listened to what she had to say, or gave her words credence. Tom had. Or… well… he had read what she had to say. He had always replied promptly, and he had always agreed with whatever it was she told him.
Looking back she felt a proper fool. She should have suspected there was something wrong when he had seemed so interested in Harry Potter. At 11 years old the Boy-Who-Lived had been one of her favourite subjects, and it hadn't seemed odd to her at all that Tom was just as interested. Instead she had answered all of his questions about Harry eagerly. She flushed with shame at the memory.
"Ginny?" Mum's voice drifted up the stairs and Ginny shook herself.
"Coming Mum!" She moved out of her room and clattered down the stairs with her kit bag slung over her shoulder.
When Ginny entered the kitchen she noticed that Mum was trying to surreptitiously dab at her eyes with the corner of her apron. She grinned at George and rolled her eyes. He gave her the slight curl of his lips that passed for a smile these days.
"Mum, it's just Wales," Ginny reminded her with a sigh. "Charlie's at the Welsh reserve now. I'm sure he'll come check up on me all the time." She fought another eye roll at the thought of her family checking up on her constantly. "I can still Floo home for dinner on Sunday."
"I know, I know," Mum agreed in a distinctly watery voice.
"Be careful," George warned her solemnly. "When your team wins and they drag you out to bars don't forget to spell-check your drinks."
"I will," she promised.
"Bars! She won't be going to bars, will you Ginny?" Mum protested.
Ginny sighed. She honestly wasn't planning on drinking anything stronger than a butterbeer. She'd had one binge drinking session during the war when a Muggleborn friend had been killed. It had taken just the one time and its resultant blackout for her to swear off of anything stronger than butterbeer. Waking up disoriented, not being able to remember the previous night, had terrified her like nothing else could—not even a discipline session with the Carrows. It had reminded her too much of the Horcrux. She had half-expected to turn to her bedside table and see the diary sitting there, taunting her with its presence.
"I promise I'll be fine, Mum," Ginny told her mother.
"Come give us a hug before she locks you in your room forever," George muttered with another ghost of his former smile.
Gratefully, Ginny moved into the circle of George's arms. He gave out hugs sparingly these days, and she relished the brief moment.
"Promise you'll write when you get there," Mum ordered.
"Yes Mum," Ginny agreed. She hugged Mum tightly and then stepped back. "Well… I'm off then."
Mum and George stared at her with sad eyes. Ginny gave them a weak smile and stepped into the Floo.
"Holyhead Harpy Offices," Ginny called out clearly. With a poof of green smoke she was gone.
/\/\/\/\
Every professional Quidditch player is approached at some point for a signature. It was part of the game that they all accepted. They had to get used to people shoving whatever was handy at them, and signing with whatever was handy. Ginny knew that the other Harpies thought she was a conceited git because she carried around little note cards and a little mobile ink pot and quill. She refused to write in anything given to her by anyone else, and she refused to use a quill handed to her by anyone else. So it only made sense to carry around the little cards and mobile quill set. She liked to think that her choice to consolidate all of her needed supplies in a little carry-kit showed planning and forethought. Otherwise she had to tell some little kid that she wouldn't sign their autograph book, and she always felt like the worst sort of person when she had to do that.
Then there were the older fans who liked to collect players like notches on their bedposts. There were flattering letters sent by owl, requests for dates or more. Ginny was wary of them as well. Perhaps she had Tom and the diary to thank for that. No one could be as flattering as he had been. He had been masterful with his praise and his subtle suggestions. Most of her fans couldn't hope to match him. It felt wrong… that she was grateful to him, to it, for that, but she was. Better safe than sorry was her motto.
Unfortunately, whether she liked it or not, the Horcrux had shaped her and bent her to its will, and she was forever marked by it. She used to believe that she was tainted… unclean, but Mum and Dad and the rest of her family had helped her to realize that wasn't true. She would be different than if she'd never come in contact with it, but she wasn't dirty or tainted. There were just some things that made her remember, and some things that she was leery of doing because they might, maybe, turn out to be the foci of Dark Magic that might or might not try to suck out her life essence and kill her. She knew that made her a little paranoid, and that a lot of her team mates thought she was odd, but she couldn't bring herself to care.
/\/\/\
"Well hello there," a smooth, dark voice purred in her ear.
Ginny turned to eye the handsome, polished wizard who was leaning against the bar next to her. His dark hair was coiffed just so, and his robes were pressed neatly. She suppressed the urge to roll her eyes turned back to her butterbeer. She was tired of the other Harpies just assuming that she'd be there and sober to make sure no one ended up hurt or in trouble. It would save her from nights like this one.
"What's your name beautiful?" He tried again.
Ginny sighed. "Not available," she bit out between clenched teeth. That wasn't exactly true. She wasn't technically dating anyone at the moment. Still, it was best not to give this bloke the idea that he might, possibly, maybe have a shot at getting in her knickers.
"Mine's Tom," he said with a toothy smile.
All the blood drained from her face. Hello, Ginny. My name is Tom. Distantly, she could hear a roaring sound in her ears and then the loud pounding of her heartbeat. She knew that politeness required some sort of a response, but she was frozen in place. A sudden tightening in her chest made it difficult for her to breathe; small pants, little, broken gasps for breath, were all that she was able to manage. Black spots began to dance before her eyes, but she fought to stay conscious. Through the haze of her panic she could hear the frightened, angry voices of her teammates. She fought for control over her own body.
"What did you do to her?"
"Piss off, you wanker!"
"We'll call the Aurors, see if we won't!"
"Weasley, are you okay?"
"How many fingers am I holding up?"
"Three," Ginny managed to gasp out. Her teammates visibly relaxed around her.
"Merlin, Weasley, you scared us," Glynis Price complained.
"Sorry," Ginny whispered.
"Don't worry about it," Gillian Powell retorted with a tight nod. "You always have our back when we go out—it's only fair that we watch out for you as well."
"Thank you," Ginny muttered. She pressed a hand to her suddenly aching head. "I think I'd like to go back to the motel."
"We'll help you," Glynis stated with a flinty look in her eye that reminded Ginny vaguely of Mum.
"All right." Ginny allowed her teammates to drag her out of the bar and back to their motel.
/\/\/\/\
Christmas was something that Ginny alternately cherished and loathed, and for the same reason. She loved her family, but there were times when she wanted to throttle all of them. This Christmas was no different. Mum was long past the point when she considered Harry and Hermione family and she expected them to show up just as she expected any of her natural-born children. Ron had brought along his latest girlfriend, and so had Harry.
"How are you doing?" Hermione asked with gentle concern.
Ginny shrugged. "How are you doing?" She countered.
Hermione flushed. "It's fine," she replied. "You're supposed to explore and figure out what you want when you're young." She glanced towards Harry's date and Ron's date with a wry grimace. "I could have brought someone, but he had family obligations and we're not really at a place where it's appropriate for either one of us to bring the other home."
"Oh really?" Ginny asked archly. She could feel a grin stretching across her face. "And just who might that someone be, Miss Granger?"
"It doesn't matter." She shook a finger at Ginny. "It's early days yet. We'll see if anything happens."
"Hmmm." Ginny smirked at Hermione. It felt good to tease her again.
After an unbelievable meal put out by her mum with a little help from Fleur and Audrey the entire family retreated to the sitting room. Bill's Victoire was just big enough to crawl into Arthur's lap and lisp to him about presents. The adults all exchanged fond smiles and Charlie got up to pass out presents.
"Here, Ginny, this one's yours. Must be from Hermione, yeah?" He teased as he passed over a book-shaped parcel.
Hermione frowned at Charlie. "I never give Ginny books," she protested.
It was true. Hermione had never given Ginny a book for Christmas. She had never really wondered why that was, but now she suspected that Hermione was worried about the repercussions. Ginny's pulse sped up and she knew that sweat was beading on her brow. She shot a panicked look at Hermione who was trying to appear encouraging. With shaking fingers Ginny undid the wrapping and slid out a small leather-bound volume. Her fingers caressed the leather against her will; the soft, supple slide of leather against her fingers felt disturbingly familiar.
"It's from Ron and me," chirped Ron's girlfriend Jill. "It's a diary."
The smack of the blank diary hitting the wall was obscenely loud in the suddenly silent room. Ginny had flung it away from her reflexively with no forethought. She blushed painfully as her family stared at her in surprise. Understanding dawned in their eyes almost immediately following the surprise except for Hermione, of course. She had already known somehow. She had already stood up and moved to Ginny's side.
"Let's go take a turn by the lake," Hermione said in a determinedly cheerful voice. Despite the fact that it was Christmas and snowing outside. Despite the fact that they were in the middle of unwrapping presents.
Ginny stood on nerveless legs and followed Hermione from the room avoiding everyone's worried glances. Hermione quickly conjured cloaks for the both of them, and she dragged Ginny outside into the snow and toward the lake. This was ridiculous! She was twenty years old, an independent witch! She had been living on her own for almost three years. When would Tom Riddle and his poncy Horcrux stop affecting her life? Would she ever have any kind of personal freedom again?
"I still have nightmares about Bellatrix and Malfoy Manor," Hermione announced as they walked.
Ginny blinked slowly. "I didn't know."
"Of course you didn't," Hermione chided gently. "It's not as though we still share a room, is it?"
Ginny snorted. "No we don't, thank Merlin."
"Hey! I wasn't that awful," Hermione protested.
"You used that stupid bluebell light to read until two or three in the morning," Ginny reminded her.
"They were bluebell flames," Hermione corrected automatically. Then she laughed. "Merlin, I was a little terror. Why didn't you say something?"
"It was comforting," Ginny admitted. "The boys all had to share, but I never did. After… well, it was nice to know that you were there. Every time I saw that soft blue glow I knew that I was safe and that you were nearby."
"Oh, Ginny," Hermione sighed.
"When will this end?" Ginny demanded. "When do we get our lives back? When will I stop flinching every time I meet someone named Tom? When will I be able to walk past an Easter display without feeling incredibly guilty? Or use a quill that isn't mine?"
"I don't know," Hermione admitted unhappily. "Maybe never."
While it wasn't comforting Ginny recognized it as the truth. That stupid Horcrux was an unwelcome part of her—a part that she just couldn't seem to eradicate no matter how much she wished otherwise. No matter what she did, no matter what happened to her, the Horcrux's imprint remained. It was the reason she couldn't bear to eat chicken. It was the reason that she was wary of strangers. It was the reason she never accepted gifts from people she didn't know, and even then she used every scanning spell she could think of, and a few that Hermione had shown her.
"Thank you," Ginny muttered.
Hermione bumped their shoulders together. "Anytime," she promised. She grinned cheekily. "We're family according to your mum."
"Well you definitely inherited the Prewett temper," Ginny teased.
Hermione stuck out her tongue. "You did too."
"Race you back to the house!" Ginny called over her shoulder to Hermione. She turned and ran through the snow, skidding slightly as she drew close to the Burrow.
A shadow moved near the house and George moved into Ginny's view. He looked her up and down. "All right?"
Ginny looked back at Hermione who was huffing to catch up. "I think I will be?" She offered.
His lips curved slightly. "Good enough," he allowed. "Best we can hope for these days."