"You will have a different assignment. You will seduce the boy…"

The seduction had happened easily enough. He was ready for romance, it seemed, and romance is what she gave him. The candle-lit dinners and the late-night discussions were what kept him alive in those long nights of the war, and somewhere within her, she felt that it would have been easier to leave the boy to die. But the Master had given her orders, and she was expected to obey.

"You will make him love you."

Those three words had been uttered on a moonlit night in the middle of August, two weeks after the death of Albus Dumbledore and three days before her own brother was to be murdered by Nott. She had returned them, whispering them into the cold night air. They were swept over the hills and valleys that lay between them and the Cave, and somehow, Master knew. She was rewarded.

He handed her a small vile, filled with a clear potion. "Give him this potion on October 27…"

There was enough potion in the bottle to keep him in bed with a cold for several weeks, but she did what Master told her. It was slipped into the Butterbeer that was served for dinner, and the next day he Owled in sick. All according to plan.

"And on October 31st, you will make tea with this plant, and serve it to him when he complains of the pain."

At 7:03 exactly on All Hallows Eve, there came a moan from the stairs. "It hurts," the boy had mumbled.

"I'm bringing tea," she said, pouring the carefully-prepared drink into his favorite teacup. She slipped up the stairs, setting it at his bedside. "I'll stay here," she whispered, settling into the rocking chair.

The tea was gone at 7:05, and two minutes later, so was the boy. She kneeled next to him, red hair sweeping over his pale skin. Her hands carefully unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it over his shoulders. From her pocket came a pocket knife; a knife small enough to close in her hands when she had to run, but big enough to pierce his heart. Her other hand produced the vile that had held the potion.

She fingered the knife expertly, and slid it slowly between his ribs and into his heart. "For Lord Voldemort," she whispered, wiping the blood onto her robes. The wound was bleeding freely into the vile, filling it to the brim. She turned to leave, but as a last thought, placed her finger in the blood. She wrote on the blank wall over his head:

Harry Potter:

The Boy Who Died

Ginny Weasley had no regrets. On October 31, 1981, her Master had been destroyed. On October 31, 2001, her Master once again rose to full power.

Finally, she would be a Lady to Tom Riddle's Lord.