She was gone, she was gone.
In her dream, Ginny was standing on the edge of a cliff, below her only blackness. Above her the sky, steel-gray, clouds dragging fast over her head. Wind, metallic and cold, pushing and pulling at her, making her unsteady. Under her feet the ground was made of flint, sharp splinters of rock that lifted in the wind and scratched at her skin. Far across the chasm she could see the opposite cliff top, a small figure there, hair tangling.
Hermione.
The chips of flint bit at her ankles, she looked down as small threads of blood coursed from the tiny wounds. The blood spilled down her skin, pooling crimson at her feet. She looked back at Hermione's silhouetted form, called out to her, the wind throwing her voice back in her face. The girl made no indication that she'd heard Ginny's shouts.
The iron smell of blood infiltrated the wind becoming sharp and heavy in Ginny's nose, in her mouth. Her feet were stained red, she looked down again, blood was rushing through the empty spaces between the bits of rock, making them islands in a glittering, malignant sea. It was spreading from behind her, racing forward, held trembling at the edge of the cliff.
Across from her Hermione's tiny body moved forward and plunged over the cliff.
Ginny tried to scream, but no sound came from her open mouth.
Hermione floated down, disappearing silently into the blackness.
Behind her, Ginny could feel the presence of another. The blood rushed faster, swirling around her toes, her ankles.
The wind wrapped around her, howling through the abyss, distorting as it rose to Ginny's ears, becoming low, becoming a pulsing whisper. That voice, her voice, Bella's voice.
The rocks crackled behind her, footsteps moving toward her. Ginny didn't turn, didn't move, only stared down into the heavy black, trying to see Hermione.
Coldness on her skin, prickling at her, but heat, heat deep in her body, flushing through her, blood pouring over the ground around her fast, fast, swelling rapidly, beginning to spill off the edge, the wind rising, the voice louder, agonizingly loud, screaming her ear, she turned then, she turned, blood choking her, her skin tight, an ice sheath around a raging flame, and it was her, she was there, her black cloak rippling in the wind, loose strands of hair fluttering around her face, her face, her beautiful, terrible face, full of death, her eyes the same glistening red-black as the bloodstained stone but deep, endless, the heat burst through Ginny's body, pulling her hips toward the woman, her head thrown back, Ginny's mouth open, eyes closed, wind tearing at her, she was moving close, close, so close, she was holding out her hand, Ginny losing her balance, the flint shifting under her feet, being carried off the edge of the cliff in that rushing red torrent, Ginny slipping as she tried to find purchase on the ground, Bella holding out her hand, her face blank, hard, frozen, her eyes blazing, she held out her hand.
You will suffer, little one.
It was Ginny's ragged, frantic breathing that woke her, skin slick with sweat, trembling, the hard familiar ache low between her legs.
Wind whistled through her open window, stirring the curtains. Ginny untangled herself from her sheets and crossed the room to close it. Her bridesmaid dress hung, pale and ghostly, from her closet door. As Ginny glanced at it, momentarily certain it was something else, someone, her hands brushed the windowsill and a hard object clattered to the floor. Cold tendrils of fear filigreed her body, she bit her lip and held her breath as she knelt down and felt on the floor for the object.
She could feel it before her fingers closed around it. It let off a faint heat, it seemed to hum to Ginny, guiding her hand. As she neared it the hum clarified, became distinct.
It was her.
In the frenzied rush of the interrupted wedding, the Death Eaters descending in a mad horde, Ginny had been too terrified and distracted to notice who they were. And then Hermione had vanished, taking Ron and Harry with her, without a word to Ginny. She had known it would be coming, had known it would be soon; her father's information had led them all to believe an attack at the wedding was possible. Hermione and Ginny had spent the days before it in a protracted farewell, stealing moments whenever they could escape Mrs. Weasley and Fleur. But it hadn't been enough, it hadn't made Ginny ready for the awful event. And now, sequestered in the Burrow without a whisper of news, everybody on edge, everybody waiting, cold fear mixing in with their breath, Ginny felt even more lost than she had feared she would. Hermione's absence had already ripped a hole in her, the light was slowly seeping out and being replaced by empty blackness.
Over the long nights since Hermione's disappearance her dreams of Bellatrix had come roaring back with overwhelming force. They were darker, crueler than they had ever been, they were more powerful and intoxicating, Ginny wasn't prepared for their staggering clarity, their intensity. Bellatrix's voice remained with her even when she was awake, pulsing through her veins, sometimes a faint whisper, sometimes a deafening shriek. She is nearby, she is watching me. Are you waiting for me?
Nobody at the Burrow had noticed that she had become withdrawn and pale. Her behavior wasn't out of place, everyone in the house spent their days in silent anticipation. Mrs. Weasley tried to speak with Ginny on several occasions, but the force of Bellatrix's voice in her made the world outside a silent film. She would nod, or shake her head, and Mrs. Weasley would sigh and leave her alone. Ginny was glad of their inattention; the secret burning for Bella was growing stronger and stronger, she was afraid someone might say something that would make it come spilling out. She hadn't even told anyone about Hermione—
Hermione.
Already the girl was becoming vague in Ginny's mind, like she was seeing her through smoked glass. Only the sharp pain of her absence was distinct, only pain made her remember.
There were moments when Ginny was aware of her treachery, her weakness, how quickly she allowed Bellatrix to infiltrate her mind, her skin. Knives twisted in her belly as she struggled to find Hermione's face, fading, lost behind the white, malicious beauty of Bellatrix.
But more often were the times like now, like her fingertips brushing across something hard, faintly hot, far under her bed. Times when Bellatrix was the only thing in her, when Bellatrix eclipsed Ginny herself, when she became a conduit for the woman's dark power, her devouring, drowning lust.
Ginny gasped and fell back when her hand closed around the object. Heavy, blinding bolts of fire rocketed to her center, black starbursts behind her eyes. The smell of blood, of orchids pressing down on her. Her thumb sliding over the irregular surface, here rough and sharp, here polished like glass, but glowing with heat, pulsing with Bella's heady voice.
After a moment she remembered to breathe, drawing air in deep, burning lungfuls. The object sat in the palm of her hand, a blood-red stone, clear, heavy, tingling on her skin, its aura seemed to be penetrating into her veins, carrying the awful aching sensuality to every corner of her body.
It is blood made stone, she felt without knowing. It is her.
"Yes, my pretty little bitch."
Oh god, it was her, yes, oh yes, Bella, yes, yes, Bella I love you.
Ginny turned slowly, the air slipping visibly around her as though she were still dreaming. Her body felt warm and heavy, she was watching herself from a far-off place, her senses, her mind sublimated into a dark, glittering mist as she saw herself turn, saw herself turn, saw—
Bellatrix stepped out of the shadows.
"Very good," she purred dangerously, crossing to Ginny. "I knew you would figure it out."
"How did you—how are you--"
Bellatrix sneered, coldly amused.
"We're supposed to be safe here, nobody can get in," her voice faraway, tremulous.
"Nobody?"
"No--" Ginny's voice faltered. "That's what they said."
"Is that what they said?" Bellatrix moving ever closer to her, the air compressing between them, Ginny was swaying slightly, the stone clenched tightly in her fist. "Well," Bellatrix breathed, her face a hairsbreadth from Ginny's, her cool breath drifting across her cheek, Ginny wavering on her feet, Ginny's eyes closing, the fires exploding, raging higher in her body, "there are stronger things than spells and hexes. Surely you know that."
"How . . . how . . ." Ginny couldn't speak, couldn't form words, couldn't form thoughts.
"Don't they teach you anything at that school? No, I suppose they wouldn't," she said, icy distaste clipping her speech. "Love," she hissed, the word twisting in her mouth, "is so much more efficient than a wand."
"No," Ginny whispered, "I don't."
"You do," Bellatrix said, perverse amusement lighting up her eyes. Her voice bubbled with high, mad laughter. "You love me, don't you! Filthy cunt."
"No . . . please, no."
"No?" Bellatrix's voice suddenly low, sensual. She reached up and stroked Ginny's cheek with one long white finger, dragging it down the girl's throat, then sliding her palm across her breasts, her stomach. Ginny stifled a cry as she shook, shuddered, as she came hard.
Tears burned at the corner of her eyes as Bellatrix lifted Ginny's clenched hand and slowly extended each finger. "Imagine," she breathed, "imagine how it would have felt if it had been your blood, girl."
"What--"
"But it isn't, is it?" Bella sighed, her eyes sliding closed, her lips parting as her fingertips brushed the stone, now glowing like an ember. She leaned in to Ginny's body, her head tipping back, a faint moan escaping her lips as she stroked the glassy surface. "It is not yours."
"I don't . . ." The tears spilled down her cheeks. Her chest was still heaving from Bella's touch, from the pressure of the woman's body on hers, from the scent of blood, of clay that drifted heavy from her skin.
"I'm so pleased that you found my little present," Bellatrix breathed, undulating softly against Ginny. Her free hand ran up Ginny's back, Ginny arching uncontrollably against her touch, Ginny whimpering as Bella's hand clasped around hers, the stone burning her flesh, making her body ache, filling her with desire. Bella's lips drifting across Ginny's skin, whispering to her, dreamlike, her hand twisted in Ginny's hair, whispering to her about deep magic, Dark magic, whispering to her about a girl's blood tied up with her own, squeezing the stone hard in the palm of Ginny's hand, making her weak, making her want Bella so badly, so badly, still whispering to her, strange words about bonds, about blood, Bella's skin cool against her cheek, Ginny was faint against her.
"He will be pleased," Bella whispered rapturously. "He will remember the girl, he will remember our sacrifice, he will stand on your filthy body and he will reward me."
This is how I die.
"Our blood, our sacrifice," Bella murmured. "She calls, girl, she brought you to me."
The stone flared with searing heat. Ginny gasped and fell backwards heavily on the bed. Bellatrix did not release her hand, Bellatrix falling with her, Bellatrix's body crushing hers, Ginny's mind swam between consciousness and dizzying blackness, her blood throbbing through her veins, Bella's mouth finding hers now, devouring her, Bella's tongue flicking over her teeth, Bella's teeth biting her lip, Ginny could taste iron blooming on her tongue, Bella gasping as it flowed into her mouth, Bella pushing hard against Ginny's body, Ginny's fingertips beginning to skim Bella's waist, across her back, Ginny kissing Bella hard, sucking at her mouth, hungry groans escaping her throat, wanting Bella, needing her, bucking under her, her leg up and around Bella's body now, thrusting against her, and Bellatrix whispering through the kiss, their fingers entwined, the stone melting into their flesh, oh yes, yes, yes, yes—
Ginny cried out as Bellatrix thrust her hand inside her. Her knee forced between Bella's legs, she grasped tightly at her waist and pushed her down, down, rocking the woman against her. Bella's fingers twisted painfully inside her, fast and hard, Ginny tried to suppress her screams, Bella was splitting her open, was breaking her, the pain sharp, constant, mixing with dark, violent pleasure, she tasted blood, she tasted Bella, her orgasm a black supernova, the pain unbearable—
Only pain made her remember.
And Hermione was there, she was standing next to the bed looking down at Ginny, her face blank.
Ginny screaming, unable to stop herself.
Bellatrix writhing, her mouth at Ginny's throat.
Hermione flickered, and vanished.
Ginny fainted.
When she awoke the taste of blood was sharp on her tongue. There was a heavy pounding at her door, the sound of loud voices shouting unintelligibly. Bellatrix was gone, her body ached, a vast ache that transcended her flesh, tears streaming down her face, her palm burning, her palm bloody, a glittering stone digging into the soft skin.
"Ginny!" Her mother's voice, frantic. "Ginny, what's going on? Are you all right?"
The curtains fluttered around the open window. She choked back her sobs and stood carefully, pain coursing through her. She glanced around for something to clean the blood from her mouth, her hand, her legs. She wrapped a blanket around herself, wiping her lips with the corner and tucking the bloodstain carefully under her arm. She cracked the door. Her mother's face, eyes wide, looking more frightened than Ginny remembered. Behind Mrs. Weasley her father, ashen.
"Ginny, what's happened? You were screaming," he said, barely controlling the fear in his voice.
"Nightmare," she whispered hoarsely. "Just a nightmare."
Her parents did not look placated.
"I'm all right, honestly," she lied. "Please, it was just a bad dream."
Worry darkened their faces, but they made no move to stop her from closing the door gently.
When they were gone she sat back down on the bed, shaking. She stared at the stone still slick with her blood, glowing malevolently from her nightstand. Throw it out the window, throw it away, the pieces of her rational mind whispered. She reached tentatively toward it but shied away before her fingers brushed it. She'll come back if I touch it.
Ginny wept silently, shattered, unsure of what she wanted. The stone glimmered faintly, patient.