(Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters in the series)
It had been three weeks since Harry had gone back to the Dursleys; three weeks without any communication with him whatsoever. Ron had tried. They all had tried. Even Hedwig, whom Pig had just grown accustomed to sharing his cage with- she often stopped at the Weasleys' during her night hunts- had yet to grace the Burrow's windowsill.
And they knew Harry would never coop her up on his own accord.
It didn't bode well. They had enlisted Bill and Charlie to battle for Harry's release at Order meetings, but despite their efforts the outcome was always the same: The Dark can't touch Harry at his relatives. He stays; he'll be removed in time.
In time? The Weasley siblings had had enough here and now. If nobody was going to rescue their friend, they were going to do it themselves.
Number four, Privet Drive was eerily quiet. The muffled thump of Ginny landing in the fireplace seemed to reverberate throughout their living room.
"Hello? Harry?" she called out tentatively, stepping over the fireplace grating. The ash clinging to her clothing fluttered down to leave gray smudges on an otherwise immaculate white carpet, which echoed the perfect white furniture and walls. It was reminiscent of a hospital ward, only not really. Hospitals were bustling with life, and the struggle for it. This… was a void.
"Hello?" she cried out again, louder this time. Clutching her cardigan closer to her, she half-wished she hadn't fought so tirelessly to be the one to come here. Standing in this unnaturally sterile room was giving her goosebumps.
It had seemed so right back in the familiar disarray- a chance to prove to Harry she was more than his best friend's sister, to her brothers that she was more than the weak link of the sibling bond, to herself… to herself that she was more than more than the crumbled figure at Tom's feet. Her soul had once given him his strength, but no longer. She would never let anyone be that close to her again.
Her soul was her own.
She scoffed half-heartedly. What was she even afraid of? This was a muggle dwelling, for Merlin's sake. She had her wand.
Somewhat reassured, she strolled around the Dursley living room, running her fingers over the surface of a white leather armchair. Nothing strange: She was just used to living in chaos. After all, it was impossible to live in the same house as Fred and George and know the meaning of the words "clean" or "organized".
But there was still something wrong about this place… Ginny wanted to say sinister, but realized how melodramatic that sounded.
Down to business. The twins had bribed a family friend who worked in the Floo Regulation Panel (Ginny had thought it wise not to ask where the money had come from, even though the two swore it was from legal means) for fifteen minutes of connection with number four's fireplace. Much more time than necessary, of course, but they had thought it wise just in case a freak fire or earthquake or whatever caused a delay. Wouldn't it be sad if they were out? Ginny thought ironically. After all this planning Fred and George would have a fit. Not to mention Ron…
She turned a corner and walked into the hallway. Thank Merlin the white carpet was replaced with wood-paneled floors out here, but everything else was still as freakishly neat as ever. The stairwell was gleaming, the photos on the wall were perfectly symmetrical. She smiled despite herself when she saw them. Still photographs! The poor muggles; at least in wizarding ones the people inside could move around a bit.
The pictures were as painstakingly framed and posed as she had expected them to be, even if the people themselves were… unattractive, to put it politely. They seemed to be arranged on the wall in chronological order. There was a chubby blond baby with both parents looking on adoringly in one frame, a fat toddler playing with an electric train set in the next, and so on. Her eyes focused on one near the middle, showing a couple matched for muggle sitcoms- one nearly bursting out of his trousers, the other rail-thin with buckteeth- decked out in holiday garb with that obnoxious kid sneering at the camera. Merry Christmas from the Dursleys! ran the bottom of the card. Ginny leaned forward, confused. The kid had to be Harry's cousin, and he looked like he was about seven in the picture. From what she recalled Harry and his cousin were about the same age. If this was their Christmas card, where was
A dark shape in her peripheral vision shot at her, flinging a drawn butterfly knife around her neck. "Drop the stick or I cut open your throat," he hissed.
Ginny froze; her eyes darted around the room for some escape. He applied a little more pressure to the blade. "Now."
Harry had mentioned this once. His cousin. Leader of a neighborhood gang, right? Called himself Big D. Vandalized playgrounds, beat up little kids. She remembered the weary look in Harry's eyes- more violence he was powerless to stop. It had been so quick, a piece of his outside life Harry had inadvertently revealed.
Ginny had never forgotten.
She shuddered as her fingers uncurled; time itself lengthened her wand fell to the ground. She could hear the satisfaction in his voice as her wand clattered against the floor. "Good girl," he said, then paused before asking, "Know Harry?"
He didn't wait for her answer. "Stupid. Of course you do," he muttered under his breath, "You're a freak like him, probably from that freak school of his…"
Normally she would have hotly interjected here to tell him she was a witch, thankyouverymuch, and that was more than he could say. But even if her intelligence wasn't equal to Percy's she was smart enough to realize there was no point in pushing him over the edge.
"DAAAAD!" he called up the stairwell. A fleshy, balding man thumped down from the second floor. Ginny instantly recognized him as the man in the Christmas picture. He managed to look both contemptuous and surprised he surveyed the scene below him. It was an expression strangely reminiscent of Professor Snape.
"Harry has a visitor," the person holding the knife said maliciously.
The man broke out into a horrible, ominous smile. "And why keep the girl waiting, son?" he asked with the same tone of venom and pleasure.
He knelt down in front the cupboard built into the stairs and began fishing through his pockets. Finally he produced a key. He chose a lock on the door and inserted it, twisting the key and then yanking the lock off. For two other locks he twirled a dial. Those locks were tossed behind him, too. He pushed the door open fiercely with the flat of his palm, making it slam into the wall and swing back.
Ginny fought the rising panic in her throat. What were they doing? And how could she ever been stupid enough to let her guard down, to let that… beast… sneak up from behind, get her to release her wand? "CONSTANT VILAGANCE!" Moody's voice roared in her head. But a muggle! A muggle!
The man stood up now, dragging some load with him; the door blocked her view. The fingers of his left hand momentarily left the load and grasped the top of the door, let it slowly swing back before regaining a firm hold …on the other arm… of a boy with raven-dark hair…
Ginny staggered in her captor's grasp, swallowed her shock and the bile rising in her throat. No. The Boy Who Lived… he wasn't this fallible. This human.
Harry was limp in his uncle's grip, his face ashen gray. Both legs were hanging in unnatural directions- broken, she realized. Blood was creeping down his calves and twisting around his ankles. The hardwood floor was gradually turning a thick, lazy scarlet.
One of the arms of his Hogwarts regulation dress shirt was slit all the way from the wrist to the shoulder. The bare arm was charcoal black, purple, a sickening green…colors made up of livid bruises in various stages of recovery. Sprawled across his arm were letters carved into the skin, the scars crimson red and swollen, making the word bastard. The writing faced his uncle's direction.
And his eyes… his eyes, once a beautiful emerald, were now blackened hollows, too jaded to betray emotion. When he looked out he saw nothing, murmuring almost to himself, "what now, sir?"
She wanted to cry. What was her pain to his?
"Look up, boy" he growled harshly into Harry's ears. Ginny paled at it; the voice was tinged with suppressed excitement.
Bleary eyes finally focused on her, and the recognition was apparent as the listless expression on his face morphed into one of horror. She shivered as he seemed to look beyond her, through her, to dreams she never witnessed and events only he could foretell…
"No" Harry whispered hoarsely to the room.
The boy who held her's voice rung with glee. "Something finally gets a response out of you, eh? Can't believe she just wandered into our living room." His chin touched her neck as he breathed into her ear, "thanks, sweetheart." She could taste the lewd desires lingering in his voice and it disgusted her, filled her with a sense of fear and violation she hadn't felt since her second year, when she's been lying in the lair of the basilisk…
"This doesn't have to do with her," Harry begged softly, voice wheezing. His windpipes had been damaged, Ginny shuddered as she deduced how. "What more do you want?… What more is left to take?"
"That's right," his uncle grinned savagely. He began ticking off fingers as he recited:
"Trunk packed with all your freak stuff- locked in the basement. You're not worth…
"The money for food." Harry completed wearily, as if he had heard this sentiment many times before.
Ginny stared, horrified.
"That stupid bird of yours is gone- do you remember, Harry?" he breathed, leaning in so he was inches away from Harry's ear. "Wrung her pretty little neck, didn't I? Of course you do, you had to clean up the blood that soaked into the carpet. Couple hours with stain remover, I think?"
Harry was repressing trembles; his eyes had glazed over.
"Was your own fault, wasn't it?"
silence.
"Boy?!?"
a small, choked, "Yessir".
His uncle straighten, satisfied. "You deserve everything, you know."
"Yes, sir." A soft, mechanical reply.
"We give you a roof over your head, the bones off our plates… all out of the goodness of our hearts…"
If there was good in his heart, Ginny roared silently, then He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was a model philanthropist.
"and what do we get for it? Nothing, you ungrateful bastard. Your freak lot keeps dumping you back here every summer- but then, it's not like they'd want to deal with you any more than we do.
"And you know why?"
"Because I'm a inconvenience no one wants to bother with, and if I'm not going to die with my parents I should hurry up and do it alone," Harry recited faintly.
His uncle smiled to himself.
"Sadist," she hissed at him. The man turned to stare at her, mildly surprised. This wasn't about her… she wasn't part of the battle of wills playing out before her, only a leverage to break one of them. He had forgotten she was even there.
"Don't insult my father," his cousin smiled cruelly. She gasped as felt the knife press into her skin. A line burned like fire on her throat and she could feel a thick liquid just trickling down her neck. "Hope she's not your girlfriend, PottARRGH!!"
His scream pierced her ears- Harry had slipped free of his uncle, threw himself upon his cousin to break his grasp on her. The boy flailed the knife in his hand desperately, slashing into Harry's back, flinging blood on the walls and those horrid photographs.
"Run, Gin…" Harry called to her weakly.
His uncle, recovering quickly from the shock, was bellowing like an enraged animal. "HOW DARE YOU ATTACK A MEMBER OF MY FAMILY!" he roared, swinging his foot savagely into Harry's side, forcing Harry to flip over twice before crashing into a wall…
She was a liability without her wand, she knew, but how could she abandon him?
"Go…" he implored faintly. "Won't…your blood… my… hands…"
He slid down the wall, unable to support his weight, using his last strength to whisper, "Don't grieve… not …worth…"
Crack.
A steeled toe boot connected with Harry's skull.