Author's Note: This story is the result of a conversation that took place in the Teachers' Lounge forum. I hope this does our discussion justice.
The Chronicles of the Dark Lord Ginnymort.
Thursday, 3 June 1993
It was so simple, really. In her weakened state, the Weasley child was unable to fight off my possession, and I was able to release myself from the Horcrux and once again gain control of her soul. From there it was simply a matter of keeping the projection of my 16 year old shadow alive, only to "kill it" when Potter stabbed the diary, and none was the wiser.
Now I am in hospital, being fussed over like the young girl I appear to be. This is, of course, the most difficult part of the plan: maintaining the façade. I have access to the girl's thoughts and memories, so the language differences in our 50 year age difference should not show, and I am aware who her friends are and from whom I should steer clear, but lest I become complacent, I must remember that the difference in mannerism and affectation between a 63 year old man and a 12 year old girl is more than just the use of vernacular and knowledge of the latest trends. But, should I be able to successfully convince these simpleton blood-traitors that I am, in fact, their pre-teen daughter, then I will have the kind of access to Potter that I could only have dreamed of before. Curses! Here comes that swotty mudblood to my hospital room, undoubtedly for a heart-to-heart conversation over something or other. I shall endure. I am Lord Voldemort.
"Ginny! Oh, I am so sorry – Harry and Ron told me everything, you must have been terrified!" Hermione said, embracing her friend in as tight a hug as she thought appropriate for a girl in a hospital bed.
"To be honest, Hermione, I don't remember much of it," Voldemort answered. "I would wake up from the visions occasionally, and then become terribly afraid once I became aware of what I had done. But the actual possession is nothing more than a fleeting memory."
"Oh, I can only imagine. When I was paralyzed, I could hear and see everything that was going on around me, until my eyes were shut for me, of course, but it was so difficult not to be able to explain what I had found. Thank Merlin that's over with now, what?"
"Oh yes, you are free from your paralysis. Excellent – I mean, how wonderful for you," Voldemort replied, trying hard not to rub Ginny's hands together. "Have you seen Pott- er, Harry and Ron yet? They must be so glad to see you up and about."
"Oh, they are," Hermione said. "But I think they are happier that end-of-year exams have been cancelled. But never mind that – you were rescued by Harry! How much did you see? That must have been at least one bright spot to all this – getting carried out of the Chamber by your very own Knight in Shining Armor?"
"Harry was quite gallant, indeed. Alas, there was no kiss for this fair maiden upon rescue. This time," Voldemort replied.
Hermione chuckled. "Oh, Ginny. What did I tell you? You just stick around and be present in his life. He will come to you."
Sage advice indeed. To ingratiate myself to Potter and become part of his inner circle, I should not force myself upon him, but rather simply maintain myself as a fixture in his life. Truly a cunning plan, even from a simpering Gryffindor such as the mudblood. Excellent.
Sunday, 20 June 1993
And here I am in the heart of blood-traitor headquarters. Molly Weasley, née Prewett, has been hovering over me like a mother hen would her littlest chick, allowing me precious little time to continue planning my revenge and rise to power. I have seen the traitorous sycophant Pettigrew in this house as well, in his Animagus state – how terribly clever of him. This morning I entered Percy's room, telling Wormtail I know who he is, I know his heart, and that he shouldn't worry - I shall have my revenge anon. Hopefully he can tell me much about the power structure of this brood, at least insofar as the siblings are concerned. From the top, it is plain to see that this is a clearly matriarchal household, as Arthur Weasley is so often at work.
What is that infernal screeching? Salazar, but these children can raise a tremendous racket. I should investigate.
Alas, it seems Pettigrew has hanged himself. Curses.
Friday, 9 July 1993
The horror. I will never outlive the horror. I have tortured muggles to with inches of their lives, killed them, and brought them back to life just to torture them further. I have fed my own supporters their entrails and branded their eyeballs for cracking wise. But none of this – not the worst moment of the most debauched reverie – would have prepared me for what I experienced today.
I should have anticipated some devilish workings were afoot when the broodmare to this household asked me about my plans for today. When I told her I would be in my chamber for the bulk of the day (not mentioning I would be planning the demise of Potter and the overthrow of the blood-traitor-infested Ministry), she said she would be by later for some "long overdue girl talk," as she put it. This statement alone put a chill to my blood. I retired to my chamber to await my fate.
The terror of what was before me paled in comparison to the reality. She arrived at my door with a knock, and I had no choice but to allow her entrance.
"Now then, dear, you're coming up on your twelfth birthday. My big girl – almost a woman you are."
Voldemort gulped and nodded Ginny's head, sheepishly.
"This will be the beginning of a whole new chapter for you, you know. Your body will be going through some wonderful and miraculous changes. Now, I'm sure some of the other girls at school have mentioned this, but if you have any questions, let's get them cleared up now, shall we?" Molly said, with a smile that sent a cold shiver up Ginny's spine.
"Yes. Yes, of course. The other girls, they've told me all about this," Voldemort replied. "Really. No need to –"
"Of course they did, dear," Molly interrupted. "Why don't you tell me what you know, and I'll fill in some of the details for you, okay?"
Of course, I was only able to maintain the charade for so long, and there was plenty for the screeching harpy I was forced to have mother me to 'fill in,' as she put it. I was able to suffer through her descriptions of the outward changes in body shape, but far too quickly she quickly from there to the details of conception and the menstrual cycle, which is where I grew pale and began to clutch my knees to my chest, rocking back and forth. Somewhere about the time she began to describe the shedding of the uterine wall, I blacked out completely, only to emerge from my catatonic state with her advising me that my mood was going to fluctuate during this time, and that I should try to remain vigilant for these shifts.
Perhaps I can use this to my advantage after all. Excellent.
Wednesday, 1 September 1993
Apparently, whilst I was stuck in Egypt with that raving brood of paupers I am forced to call 'family', nearly the entirety of the political structure of Magical Britain was overhauled. According to the Prophet, as a result of the 'terrible injustice' done to Sirius Black, the Fudge government have been sacked, and with former DMLE head Amelia Bones as Minister for Magic, the Malfoys have few allies left in the upper echelons of power. Lucius was unable to regain his seat on the Hogwarts board, and it seems that I am completely without followers in this new government. How dark it is before the dawn. If they only knew I was but a seat away from Potter, on the Hogwarts Express, on my way straight into Hogwarts for the first time in nearly a half-century, the True and Pureblooded families would hail me like a returning hero, sing my praises, and once again fall in fealty to me. Alas, for now I am merely content to continue flipping through today's Daily Prophet while Potter carries on about the 'brilliant time' he had carousing around magical Europe with his blood-traitor godfather. Curses.
Friday, 3 September 1993
With so few allies left in government, perhaps, given my current station and appearance, it would be prudent of me to seek out allies at Hogwarts. Young master Malfoy would, of course, be my natural choice. From what I can read of this girl's memories, he has no small bit of intelligence, and from what I have seen in his interactions with members of Gryffindor house, he is also possessed of a certain stubbornness to his beliefs, undoubtedly to gain favor with his father. This sense of filial piety will serve me well, when I make my triumphant return. I do need to approach him alone, however, as those two buffoons he surrounds himself with will be nothing but a liability to my noble cause.
I have done it! Malfoy was walking to Arithmancy – a class his two cartoonish minions have no business attending, when I saw him. I told him calmly and coolly that I know where his loyalties lie, and how the diary came to Hogwarts. This time I also told him that I would make it my life's work to ensure that he and his family were repaid for what they had done, with interest. He seemed a little frightened, but that is, after all, how one should leave a meeting with the Dark Lord, is it not? Excellent.
Monday, 6 September 1993
Word came in today from Dumbledore that young master Malfoy's family have decided he would be better off at Durmstrang. Crabbe and Goyle have, quite naturally, followed suit. Curses.
Saturday, 13 November 1993
Perhaps I am going about this all wrong. Certainly being cloistered here in the library Saturday after Saturday is accomplishing nothing toward my ends of regaining my stranglehold and reign of terror over Magical Britain. If I am to recreate the series of allies and champions I had twenty years ago, I will need to begin those alliances here. Alas, none from Slytherin house will speak with me at this point – they must be worried that their parents, too, will remove them from Hogwarts for consorting with the blood-traitor I appear to be. I must use the tools I have been given, and I have so much more to work with this time! How could I, a pauper's orphan, left to rot in some anonymous child-warehouse, come to be the most feared and admired wizard of his day? Certainly starting with friends, a pure-blooded family and regular meals, I shall be able to rise to even greater heights!
Let me now take stock of what this situation has provided me:
A solidly pure-blooded household (the blood-traitor thing can be worked out later).
A network of friends, most of whom are from magical blood, and even the mudblood is, admittedly, brilliant.
A body with a very strong natural ability to perform magic, and the mind of the most powerful wizard since Salazar.
Direct access to Harry Potter.
In order to best exploit these assets, I must make some significant changes to my behavior.
The mudblood is constantly prodding me to 'open up' about my experiences under the Horcrux's thrall. Perhaps I should indulge her.
I have been trying to keep my marks average, so as not to attract attention. If I were to begin to excel, I would certainly only attract the right kind of attention, and my new contemporaries would certainly flock to me for guidance with their own schoolwork.
They would then, naturally, see me as their leader. Excellent.
I should make an effort to be more of a sister to Ronald. Were he to experience love and admiration from a younger sister, he would naturally begin to mature, and perhaps even come to regard my presence as a boon, rather than a burden in his life. This will also help my access to Potter.
Quidditch. I feel compelled to write Quidditch by the last vestiges of this meddlesome tart's soul. Would that I could completely control her influence… But yes, Quidditch would allow me both access to Ronald and Potter, as they both seem to be enamored of that complete waste of time.
I have not been taking the Mudblood's sage advice well regarding Potter. Perhaps if I work on Ronald first, this will come naturally. Excellent.
Sunday, 26 December 1993
Christmas was necessarily tedious, I suppose. Yet again, a hand-knit jumper with a G, followed by a few baubles and trinkets. Some of the baubles were of a decent quality, and it was easier to manage the appearance of gratitude for these – especially the ones that accent my slender neck. Potter received a broom from Black, which was as predictable as it was nauseating. Ronald and the mudblood seemed a bit cozier than usual, which seems to be an unanticipated consequence of my efforts to improve his self-confidence. Potter, too, seems to be in better spirits, and as I've deigned to make myself more available to him for conversation, his spirits have also improved. I think, perhaps, I should maintain this level of access to Potter, as knowing the depth and breadth of his hopes and fears will serve me well as I look to secure every possible advantage in our inevitable duel for control of Britain.
And there is still no rest in this house. Yet again I am being called on to scrub dishes like a common house elf. I have pleaded my case – 'twas but two days ago I did them last, but I am not heard. I am never, ever heard. One day, they shall hear me. They shall all hear me. But now it seems I must scrub dishes. Curses.
Saturday, 16 April 1994
While I did not see any time in the air this Quidditch season, Oliver Wood saw to it that the reserves were suitably rewarded with praise after a Quidditch Cup winning season for Gryffindor. Wood specifically said that I should continue to put pressure on Johnson, Bell and Spinnet to challenge them for their spots, and that they had better watch their backs. How right he was about that, he had no way of knowing.
Potter was similarly profuse with his praise, even taking a moment to envelop me in an embrace that lasted far longer than either of us ought to have been comfortable with. I was left with a disturbing sensation; rather a combination of anxiety and exhilaration afterwards, and my eyes neither could nor would leave his. Curse these wretched pubescent hormones! Oh, but he then brought me a fizzy drink, which was as refreshing as it was unexpected. Perhaps I could use this situation to ensnare Potter further, keeping his attentions elsewhere while I make my inevitable ascent to power! Excellent.
Saturday, 18 June 1994
Potter is crowing about how this is the first time since he began his Hogwarts education that his life has not been in imminent danger in June. He seems to hope this may be the beginning of a trend. Little does he know exactly how much danger is sitting right next to him, wondering whether or not to grab his hand.
Curses! No! This is my mortal enemy! I cannot, I will not grab his hand and sigh blissfully. I am Lord Voldemort! I do not sigh blissfully!
"Ginny, are you okay?" Harry whispered. "You seemed to zone out there for a bit - and my hand is starting to hurt."
"I, er," Voldemort stuttered, gazing longingly into Harry's emerald green eyes. "No, I'm, er - fine," he continued, pulling Ginny's hand back quickly. "Sorry about the hand."
Harry smiled. "Not a problem at all. You can hold it if you'd like. Just a bit more gently is all." Voldemort grabbed Harry's hand and sighed blissfully to himself.
Curses.
Monday, 25 August 1994
It's quite late, and I am just now getting back to my room in the tent. The mudblood is looking at me quizzically, and I understand why. Potter and I were out for a late-night stroll after the match (which went on for a glorious - no, insufferable - few hours), and my hair is a bit mussed and my jumper rather askew. And as I sit here scribbling furiously in my journal, her quizzical looks have turned to snickers and coos of delight. Merlin's beard, now she's making kissing noises - I am going to have to do something, lest I hurl an Avada Kedavra in her direction and ruin all of my plans.
"Ginny, you're killing me over here. What happened out there? Did he kiss you? How was it?"
"Yes, and it was lovely," Voldemort replied, most of his psyche trying hard not to let the other part burst out into song. "Harry is a very good kisser. He took me for a walk after the match, we sat for a bit on a bench, and then he kissed me. He was quite the gentleman about it, too."
"Oh, don't even start with the 'gentleman,' Ginny. You're a mess. Your hair's going in four different directions, your jumper's all rumpled, and - Ginny! What have you been up to?"
"We kissed. That's the big news of the night. Get some sleep."
My plan to ensnare Potter using everything at my disposal has gone smashingly well. And all I have to do is to act like a complete slattern and - no, it's called something different these days. Yes, I believe his hands under my brassiere counts as 'scoring right hoop.' Regardless, if I continue to allow him to do that, in short order he shall be within my thrall indeed. Excellent.
Tuesday, 24 November 1994
Viktor Krum, a fine, upstanding Pureblooded young man, took first place in the first task of the Triwizard Cup. Hogwarts's own Cedric Diggory took second, which should be expected from a Hufflepuff. That goblet must have been charmed to think a Hufflepuff could represent this fine institution. Potter and I spent a lovely day watching the events, and he seemed quite happy not to be out there himself. Why he would not want the adulation, the prestige? Perhaps, even after his unfortunate run of good luck as a babe, he is not worth my time. Perhaps I can retake my seat at the pinnacle of Wizarding society without so much as a thought given to the purposeless Mr. Potter.
If only he'd stop looking at me like that. Curses.
Saturday, 12 December 1994
Apparently there is to be a Yule Ball this year. Potter, naturally, asked me one day at lunch in front of Merlin and the Founders. There was cooing involved. I hate cooing. So today I venture forth to Hogsmeade, along with the Weasley girl's mad friend Lovegood (Honestly! This mooncow is the only pureblooded friend this girl has?!) to hunt down an appropriate frock. What a hideous twist of fate.
"It won't be so bad," Luna said. "I mean, you'll be Harry's date, so certainly every eye in the room will be on you, including the press, most likely, and perhaps the Ministry, and...
"And here we are," Voldemort said with a grumble. She and Luna walked into Gladrags, where they were immediately accosted by a saleslady who had been gearing up for the influx of Yule Ball business.
"Oh, I'm terribly sorry," the saleslady said. "We were expecting Yule Ball business today - we really don't have much that's appropriate for a funeral."
"Oh, she's here for the Yule Ball," Luna offered. "She's just not terribly happy about it."
"The poor dear," answered the saleslady. "Does she not have a date?" Then, to herself she muttered "(with that attitude, there's no wondering why, I suppose)."
"I heard that," remarked Voldemort. "And yes, I do have a date for the ball; none other than Harry Potter himself, if you please."
This seemed to perk up the saleslady. "Oh. Oh my. Yes, well we do have to get you into something fabulous, dear, don't we? Please, wait right here - I'm sure I have something."
Voldemort and Luna stood at the threshold of the store waiting for the saleslady's return. The silence became unbearable for Voldemort, who demanded an audience for his discomfort.
"Luna, why is it that you are not going to the ball? Were you not able to find a date?"
"Oh no," Luna replied. "Dean Thomas asked me, but I told him I'd much rather spend the evening with him exploring the wide variety of broomclosets the castle has to offer. A ball just seems too - stuffy, I guess."
"There you are, dearie," the saleslady said, coming back with an armful of dresses for Voldemort to try on. She transfigured a privacy screen and helped Voldemort into the first one.
"Oh dear. Well, looks like we're going to have to take this one in a little up top, aren't we?"
One Avada Kedavra and several Obliviates later, and I felt like my old self again. Excellent.
Friday, 25 June 1995
The third and final task was run yesterday. That Hufflepuff managed to eke out a victory, which is good for Hogwarts, but leaves common decency and the basic order of things in shambles. Hufflepuffs do not win. Final exams for the year begin on Monday, and I'm left with a certain melancholy. This is the second year in a row in which Potter has not had his life in immediate danger at any point, and somehow I feel as though I've failed thus far in my quest for revenge. Progress is so slow, in fact, that Dumbledore is letting Potter free from his muggle family after only two weeks this summer. His mood is improving - I believe I've seen him whistling in the halls, and he has been nothing but attentive and caring to me. Plus, the prior dysfunction betwixt him, my brother and the mudblood has been eliminated. It may be time for drastic action. And look, he's walking down the dormitory stairs with that look on his face - again. He's smiling. Curses.
Wednesday, 2 September 1995
I have seen that not only have my attempts at crushing Potter gone awry, but the hex I placed on the Defense Against the Dark Arts professorship has also been squashed. Auror Moody, the bane of my existence before my untimely demise, has returned to his position this year, and he also looks refreshed and ready for another year of instructing brats in the finer points of thwarting my minions' aims at overthrowing this corrupt, mudblood-addled excuse for a government.
Oh, he's instructing us in the unforgivables today - a lesson in which I will, undoubtedly, excel. Excellent.
Sunday, 4 July 1995
Success! No, I did not murder my family in a hail of cutting curses and Avada Kedavras (although should Ronald skip his turn again for table-setting duties, I may be forced to take action), but I have brought pain and sorrow to the source of my downfall fifteen years ago. I have ended it with Potter. Broke his heart into seven pieces. Moowhahahaha. And now he has nothing better to do than to stew in his own misery for two weeks. I shall always think of those emerald green eyes, so wide in shock, so plaintive in disappointment. That shall be a memory to keep me warm many a chilly night. Certainly much more appropriate a memory than when I accidentally walked into the boys' section of the locker room just in time to see his chiseled... Curses.
Thursday, 31 October 1995
Curses, curses and curses again! Not only has my plan to crush the spirit of Harry Potter failed miserably, it seems that he is happier than ever. He has been seen with no fewer than three girls at any one time (not including the mudblood), from multiple houses, laughing, flirting and carrying on. It is Hallowe'en, and even still he manages to celebrate the day, raising a toast to his dead parents rather than mourning their passing. Perhaps I shall have my revenge tonight. Perhaps I shall rise up from this condition and rain down slaughter and destruction upon the Great Hall. Perhaps I shall simply disembowel the Misses Patel and Miss Brown, strangling the three of them with their own intestines.
"Ginny?" Hermione said, sliding next to her friend at the Gryffindor tables, "Are you alright? You look a little perturbed."
"I'm sorry, Hermione," Voldemort replied. "Feeling a little off today. Think I'm just going to head back to the dormitory and plot m- er, rest for a bit."
Hermione chuckled. "Of course. And while you're 'plotting your revenge,' perhaps you can take a moment to remember that you're the one who broke up with him. But you should know that as jovial as he looks now, he still misses you bitterly. Go back to him. Take your time with it, but go back to him"
Again, sage advice from a mudblood. Unexpected, but sage. Perhaps I shan't bring unholy terror upon the fifth year Gryffindor girls' dormitory after all. That would probably turn Potter irrevocably away from me, as he enjoys their company. Excellent...
Saturday, 22 February 1996
Once again, success! Four months it took, four long months, but I did as the mudblood suggested, and renewed my "friendship" with Potter. That friendship blossomed, and turned into more on the Quidditch pitch as Potter celebrated catching the Snitch versus Hufflepuff by flying straight for me and enveloping me in a rather dramatically public display of affection. After cleaning up and changing, we spent the balance of the late-Winter day walking by the lake holding hands; long periods of silence interrupted by moments discussing sundry nonsense. Upon reaching the Castle, left and right were tallied, and here I lie, in my dormitory, emotionally sated and psychically exhausted. It occurs to me that the best use of my time at present is to continue to ingratiate myself to Potter through similar physical acts. Their energy-depleting effects on me notwithstanding, Potter seems simultaneously frustrated and eager for more. Come to think of it, so am I. Curses...
Wednesday, 13 November 1996
Silence! I must have silence in the infernal purgatory known as the 5th year Gryffindor Girls' dormitory! I could not shut up the incessant yammering of Romilda Vane about the "boys she finds dreamy" without an Avada Kedavra, and so I once again find myself in the unenviable position of having to procure a scapegoat for murder, lest I lose the ability to spy on Potter. In the broomcloset. By letting him score right hoop. Excellent...
Saturday, 20 June 1998
Five years! I had five years together with Potter at Hogwarts; the bulk of which was spent as his paramour, and yet today I found myself incredulously watching him disembark the Hogwarts Express for the final time, into the loving arms of my family and his godfather. Black and the mongrel Lupin are aiding him in the purchase of a cottage in Tutshill, which is where he will be playing Quidditch for Tornadoes. Preposterous, I say. Quidditch as a profession? For a man of Potter's stature? This world will certainly be better once I have disposed of him. Tutshill is also a very short apparition from Ottery St. Catchpole, which played no small part in his decision to play there.
He plans to visit every Hogsmeade weekend, provided there's not a game. I shall begin my plotting for the October weekend at once. Provided Ronald and the mudblood can learn how to properly use a silencing charm, that is. Curses...
Monday, 15 July 2002
At last, I once again enjoy the opportunity to pursue my revenge on Potter. I have moved into his cottage, unpacked my belongings, and am now responsible for cooking his meals. Poison would be far too easy to trace (and far too gauche), but a mild sleeping agent should help him off his broom at the first game of the season. The team will be stopping by Saturday evening for a housewarming party. A simple Imperius should convince Nolan, the second-string seeker, to perform this task for me. Excellent.
Sunday, 4 August 2002
The injury Potter picked up in training last week had him on the substitute's bench for today's match versus Portree. Nolan started the match, and as his Imperius told him to put the sleeping draught in the starting seeker's water bottle, he dosed himself rather than Potter. And he didn't even have the decency to scream as he fell to his death. Curses.
Saturday, 1 May 2004
I had always believed a Beltane wedding to be the height of sentimental claptrap, but with Potter's insistence that we finalize the contract in front of these miserable wretches I am forced to call "friends and family" before my pregnancy begins to show, Beltane presented itself as the most convenient option. Therefore, as of 3 o'clock this afternoon, this body belongs to Ginevra Potter.
Harry Potter: Quidditch Star, National Hero, and now married to his schoolboy sweetheart. This lunacy will end no more than a month after I am delivered of this child growing inside me. I have cached away bits of Potter's fortune, along with a portion of his salary that was allocated for groceries. These funds will allow me quick escape. Portkeys are on order, and these will be ready 1 October, lest I deliver early. At the first dark moon after delivery, I shall slay Potter in his sleep, torch the Burrow, and abscond with my child to the Carpathian hills, to raise him as the next Dark Lord. Upon his 17th birthday, he shall return triumphant to Britain, and take his rightful place at the seat of government. He shall succeed where I have failed. Truly, Lord Voldemort shall return!
Wednesday, 13 October, 2004
Delivering James had been particularly hard on Ginny Potter, and not two minutes after the child was born, she passed out in her bed at St. Mungo's. Four hours later she awoke in a panic, and immediately called for Harry.
"Harry, thank Merlin you're here. Quickly- I need silencing charms, the best you have!"
Harry, far too exhausted himself to question his wife's request, cast a significant Muffliato, as well as a privacy ward. "What is it, Gin? You look like you've seen a ghost," he asked.
"You're not that far off. Harry, I have something to tell you, and you're just going to have to believe me, okay? Do you remember, back in the Chamber of Secrets, how after you destroyed the diary, I was no longer possessed by Voldemort?"
Harry nodded nervously.
"Well, that wasn't quite how it happened. For the last eleven years, I've been possessed by Tom. Please, Harry. Please hear me out - this is important. So, Tom was inside me all this time. He directed my actions, and my thoughts. But I was there the whole time, too. I was. And I was so happy when we were together, and I've wanted nothing more than what we have now, a family. But Tom didn't. Tom was going to murder you and torch the Burrow at the next dark moon. He put away money and hired a portkey and was going to run away with James to Romania to train him to be the next Dark Lord. I can show you where all of that is, if you'd like."
"Breathe, Ginny," Harry said when she'd finished. "I just need to know one thing. All this - this marriage, this family - this is something you wanted, too?"
"More than anything," Ginny replied. "You're my whole world, Harry - well, you and James now. Please believe me!"
Harry smiled widely, and kissed Ginny solidly on the lips. "Of course I do. After your parents and the Marauders leave, I'm going to call a healer in to see if there are any lasting effects, besides the psychological ones. Meanwhile, a soul doesn't just leave like that. What do you think happened?"
"I don't know," Ginny said. "The pain was horrible, even with the potions they had pumping into me. Maybe there was just so much pain that it ruptured something. I really don't know. And honestly, Harry, I don't care. Today's the dark moon, so we'll just have to be extra careful four weeks from today, but once we get past that, this will be over as far as I'm concerned, and I can just live the life of a pampered Quidditch WAG."
Thursday, 14 October 2004
I am now possessed of a new body. I believe the name of the child to which it belongs is James. James Potter. How terribly poetic. Now, where in Salazar's name is that maternity nurse with my bottle? It's mealtime. And I've soiled myself. Again. This is not hospitalization, it's imprisonment! Lord Voldemort will not be ignored!
My wails have produced no bottle and no clean nappy. Curses.