She looked around at the several people sat in the dark room. She was alone – not physically, but spiritually. Now, before and lather, she always had been and always would.
They didn't seam to notice her as she slowly lurked in the shadows around the room, observing them – always there, never quite part of it, but always watching.
But, then again, why would they notice her? She was tainted, she wasn't wordy of being noticed – they despised all about her, what she did and had to do.
The Mark on her left forearm, absently burning her soul as always – it was because of it, even if not taken truly, it set her apart from the others.
She was a spy, a double agent, a pariah. They didn't care weather she put her life on the line daily, they didn't care if she was pivotal for the Order. It was important what she did and, if one thought about it – which one never would – one would see it, but they didn't care.
She was despised, as Severus was despised, even if her reason and story couldn't have been more different from the ones of the Potions Master. She had never believed in what the Dark Lord had said – she hadn't received the Mark to serve him. She had done it all – sacrificed her life, her family and friends, her future – to aid in the fight against Tom. Severus had been the only one to hold the post and she knew Tom had not trusted her old professor for long.
Tom She'd be lying if she said Tom hadn't been a reason too. It had been her experience during her 1st year – it had been the "Tom" left in her – that was, or so the other Death Eaters saw it, the reason for a little girl of the goodie-two-shoes family to join them, all privileges included.
All knew of the head-splitting pain Harry felt when he touched anything impregnated with the Dark arts – no-one, however, seamed to know – or care – about the one she felt. The soul-burning sensation that didn't go away for the days, the physical scorches on her skin, the searing pain...
She constantly wore elbow-long black sleeves, which, unwillingly, had turned into her trademark. They anuviatted the pain, though never making it go away, nor end. It was always there – she could not touch Harry, or Dumbledore, or even Fawkes, without it being there. The pain was a reminder – as the gloves themselves were a reminder, despise her telling herself they were to numb the pain and hide the Mark from other people's prying eyes. No, it was to remember her, remember how she'd never belong, how she was despised. How she was separated.
She was different – one of a kind, apart from the others. No one she could quite relate to...
One would think Severus would understand her – but one couldn't be more wrong. He had been, and still was, in many ways, her mentor – he had taught her what she called jokingly, though she didn't laugh anymore, the D.E. etiquette and the fine art of Occlumency, without which, she'd have been caught long ago.
Nobody quite understand what was between the both of them – nothing sexual; being he was her mentor, her master, she, in some ways, looked up to him. She had never, in her whole life, not even as a student, hated him – as it had always been, what partially made her such a good spy, was that she saw the unseen. She had seen the imposed self-retreat of the Potions Master, the hate for the things he had done and the punishment he imposed himself.
But, despise it all, he could – would – never understand her situation – he was too trapped into his way to the redemption he needed so, to understand her.
And there was Draco, of course. He didn't understand, he never would, but she loved him, and he loved her.
Oh, yes, Draco.
She owed him so much. It had been trough him she had entered Tom's circle. She hadn't gone after the Death Eaters to become one – that'd have been too obvious. Draco had been her way in, though she hadn't got together with him for that reason – she hadn't, in fact, thought of it, until the opportunity presented itself and, when it did, she grabbed it and used him to get to Tom.
She was still with him – no-one knew, of course. He was a Death Eater, but Ginny knew that, apart from getting the Mark, Draco had never done anything that might get him in Azkaban. He didn't believe in none of it – not in wizard supremacy, not in Tom being the most powerful wizard, not in any of it.
During the meetings, he did nothing but pose as Lucius trophy, the proof Lucius had been able to produce what he considered a pride wordy heir. Tom not even sent him in missions – he just tolerated Draco's presence for he was the son of his right arm.
She had once, and only once, talked about him joining the Order – he had known about her all along and never opposed to it. But he had refused. He had refused, simply because he couldn't bring himself to care, the thing that had made him a Slytherin – for she had always believed there was just one main difference between Gryffindors and Slytherins.
Whilst Gryffindors would risk their lives for friends and ideals they believed in, a Slytherin would never do that. No, a true Slytherin'd do anything to keep their lives, as miserable as they could be, no matter what they truly believed. Draco even silently put up with the treatment Tom dispensed her, even if he hated it more than anything.
She was, along with Bella, the only female Death Eater – and Tom treated them the same way a sultan'd his favourite concubines.
He never did anything more than a touch or a cold kiss – sometimes she wondered whether he was still enough of a man to do more – but it was the way he did it. Like they belonged to him, soul and body, more than enough to hurt a man's pride. And yet Draco just swallowed his pride and watched.
She, for once, wasn't sure of what and how she felt about such treatment.
There was a thing line between love and hatred and, when regarding Tom, she found herself in the very middle of such line.
Her feelings went from utter disgust that made her want to scrub her body to almost raw skin at a slight touch, to almost erotic pleasure.
Either way, she did nothing to stop it – it conferred her privileges and trust and, as Tom liked to see them, Bella and she, they were summoned to every meeting, always by his side.
He had said that she, Virginia, represented the lost of innocence – light corrupted by darkness. Whereas Bella was the complete and undeniable malice, the sensuality of the experienced ones. He enjoyed seeing them together – caressing each other, or even just together, and it repulsed Ginny.
She hated Bella to unspeakable depths – and so did she. Ginny could not forget that she was the one who had killed Sirius, with who Ginny had been great friends. As for Bella, Tom had had eyes only for her before Virginia came along, as she had said once Ginny had been marked, and for that she envied the younger girl.
Tom knew of it, of course, but it didn't bother him – it incited him if anything. She could see it in the way he urged that hate – how he favoured Virginia sometimes, how he said he liked the way he called her Tom only to, when Bella tried it, cast the Cruciatus over her.
As she continued to lurk in the shadow, watching Charlie angrily rant with Severus about something she couldn't quite catch, she sighed.
Not that she was ashamed – never regret or look back and never, ever, be shamed had been one of the first things Severus had taught her – but she was, sometimes, almost grateful that Arthur Weasley had died, along with Percy, during the first D.E. assault on the ministry, when she was only 16.
Grateful she hadn't to see upon his always loving and tolerant face the look her mother's had bore the day that day when Severus, Harry and herself had flinched in pain during one of the Order's meetings, Severus and herself clenching their arms, Harry his scar.
Molly Weasley never looked at her daughter the same way after it.
None of her family did.
But, as much as it hurt her and she missed them, they had never been the greater problem.
The Weasley's, who, for the past few years included Hermione, lived in the Burrow still, so, as she lived in Grimald place, like many other in the order now did, she could avoid great part of the uncomfortable encounters.
No, Harry was. He, too, lived in the Headquarters and, though she was often out, she saw a lot of him – though he didn't see her. He didn't even take notice of her presence anymore.
Not since that disastrous autumn day.
Ginny inhaled the smoke thoughtfully, looking out the window. She knew many of the people of the Order who lived there hated her smoking but where too afraid to ask her to stop. She also knew that, as Severus, she was beginning to enjoy their fear – to almost feed out of it – but there was nothing she could do about it – she was a Death Eater, a dark creature, it was in her nature.
"Hello Virginia." She turned around surprised, to see Harry, causing her to be even more surprise "Can I have one?"
"Didn't know you smoked" she quietly said, handing him the package, holding it with the very tip of her fingers as he retried one, cautious not to touch her. She knew many people wondered where she had picked up the habit, but she'd never tell them. The truth was, Draco smoked and the smell helped her to remember him when she was sad or lonely and couldn't see him.
"Living and learning" he said, lighting it with a Zippo he skilfully flipped open and then close, after he was done, and pocketed. "It's not like I'm living enough to suffer the bad effects, so I thought, what they heck..."
"Don't speak like that" she coldly said, not looking at him "We'll defeat Tom in the long run."
"Why do you call him that?"
"Because I do. It pleases him at that gives me an advantage – he doesn't trust anyone, but it brings me closer to it..." she took in some smoke and then slowly let it out before continuing "You're not a innocent little lamb, Harry – nor am I. We both know how the game works, though you seam to have momentarily forgotten." When she looked at him he was surveying her with darkened eyes.
"I hate this Gin." He said bitterly, his green eyes searing trough her soul "I hate how you act now, I hate that we don't talk anymore – I hate how you went from my little sis to a almost stranger, I hate how I can't even tough you anymore!" When he ended, he was seething and his voice had gone several volumes higher and, by forms of an answer, she laughed . A joyless, stiff and cold laugh.
"You manage to be the self-centred and altruistic person I know, Harry. Bravo."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You say we don't talk – that I'm a stranger...but it wasn't me who pulled away, now was I?" She slowly walked closer to him, her arms folded over her chest, a smirk on "And you speak of the pain you feel – a headache that will go away, leaving no traces it was ever there." She took some smoke and let it out, forming a grey veil of mist between them. "Now, what about me? Did you ever spent a second of your time considering why I wear these gloves – do you seriously think it's because I think they're stylish? I hate them – but I have to wear them. They're the only think that stop me from screaming out in bloody pain sometimes." she slowly began to circle him, fully aware of what she was doing, of how startled he was, but she couldn't stop it. "Do you think I like that if I touch you – or anything impregnate with light – now without them, my skin will burn – my very soul will burn? It's a pain that comes from inside me, there's no way to stop it – only diminish it with these gloves – and even then, it doesn't leave. It lingers, for days – for it, like it happens with Remus when he touches silver, actually scorches my bloody skin!" the sheer thought of it was enough to make her shiver and she stopped both speaking and walking, facing the window
"I didn't..."
"Know? No I reckon you didn't – why would you – or anyone – care about it, anyway? We're just scum, why do anyone cares if we hurt?"
"We?"
"Severus. He and Albus, I reckon, are the only one that know it – because he also feels it, the burning, the never stopping ache that haunts us." She sighed "Wouldn't it be the fact that everyone despises us, I'd have wondered how no one ever noticed that he never touched anyone – he's kept to himself, sure, but, as I learned the hard way, that's not why." She once more shivered as she remembered a time when she had tried to hug Harry, a memory all the too livid for her, causing a tear to trickle down her face.
"Why did you do it, Ginny?" asked Harry sadly, coming closer and looking down at her. She angrily wiped out the tear, forcing her voice to come out cold and flat when she spoke.
"You speak as if I'd done it to torture muggles, Harry. I did it to help the Order – I've explained to you, to all of you. I needed to make myself useful – and I am. Half the information I bring in never came near Severus ears. "
"Well, even so, it's not worth it!" he shouted, to then take a few deep breaths to calm himself down. "You could have down something else – anything else. We begged you not to Ginny, but you wouldn't listen to us and after you did..." he rubbed his eyes "Ron, Ginny, he... cried. I'd never seen him that before way and I haven't ever since, but I won't forget it. He cried like a kid – so did I. It felt like we had lost you – like you had died." She bit into her lip as she heard it, forcing herself not to show any emotion. If they got close it'd only bring pain, she knew.
"I did, in many ways. The Ginny you knew, that it. I'm not the same anymore, as you said so yourself." Neither said anything for a long time, until Harry broke the silence.
"How did ever let you in, Ginny? You're – or were, I don't know anymore – my friend."
"I had connections."
"Who – just so I can't thank the proper way..." For a brief moment she considered telling Harry it had been Draco, just so she could see his reaction – her Slytherin side trying to take over, she knew – but she bit back the impulse.
"Nobody you know." He said nothing, just stood there by her side for a long time, watching the unaware muggles on the street.
"Harry, Remus need you." Came the voice from Kinsley Shackelbot at the drawing room door interrupting the quietness. Ginny did not even look, whilst Harry turned and said
"Be right there." She heard Kinsley close the door and Harry's feet turning on the hard wooden floor "Maybe after it's all over things will be normal again." She did nothing to show she acknowledged him speaking and, after a moment or waiting, she heard Harry walk towards the drawing room.
Just then she allowed the tears to run down her face.
The well-known searing pain in her arm brought her back to the reality of the conference room, several people looking at her as she clenched her arm. Nodding at Severus, she placed her smirk, her game-face, on and apparated to Tom's side.