Ginny knows much better than the others what to do to reach her mindscape.

After all, she's been trapped in there before, while Tom took over her body for his own gain.

She didn't know what was happening back then, but now listening to Hermione's explanation she recognizes all too well what she should do.

And she doesn't want to.

She's never talked about Tom, not really. She's never told anybody how cold and dark his soul was, like a snake or a water dragon slithering in her mind.

She didn't realize it back then, but now she knows that her mind is a cold and damp place, and it is Tom's fault.

She doesn't want to reach her mindscape. She doesn't want to face the memories of the boy who seduced her and betrayed her and still lurks in the back of her conscience, whispering of cold dark caves and chilling humidity and a pond of evil still-water in the darkness.

But she must, and so she steels herself.

And when she goes to her mindscape, she does so with fire at her fingertips.

Warm, hot, burning fire, brightly lighting every corner, devouring every shadow.

Hotter and hotter, until darkness is pierced by blazing flames, until dampness and chilliness are chased away by the all-consuming blaze, until all water evaporates in steaming masses in front of the raging inferno she has created.

And the flames burn higher and higher and she is fascinated by the shapes she can liken them to, until she's not just likening anymore, she's seeing, for the flames have shapes, fierce looking monsters and chimeras and ferocious dragons, and her fire is now fiendfyre, and it's burning everything, smouldering, incinerating, purifying, and all her memories, her thoughts, are turned into fire clay figures glazed with coloured shines, and even the dripping lingering shadow of Tom is at last dried and reduced and exorcised by the unforgiving fiendfyre.

And she's at peace.

Let anyone try and rape her mind again. Her fiery dragons are ever-hungry.


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