A/N: TA-DA! That was as quick as I could possibly be, I hope it wasn't too long and I hope you enjoy it. Also, don't mind my indecisiveness about what you should listen to during this. I couldn't make up my mind.
Listen To: Stranger In A Stranger Land by 30 Seconds To Mars OR Losing You by Dead By April for one part and then The Only Exception by Paramore; OR Love The Way You Lie Part 2 by Rihanna ft. Eminem for the whole thing.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Fast-Forward
Chapter Forty-Eight: Puppetry
A thousand thoughts battled within in, each as powerful as the others and all bitterly conflicting. She pushed her hand back from her brow and raked her fingers through her tangled hair, digging the nails in deep. If he was lying and she walked away, Tom would die; in which case, she should turn back and save him. However, if for once Dumbledore had a single good honest bone in his body and was telling the truth, then doing so would kill them both... and if she walked away then he might survive, but he might still die anyway.
She stood for a moment silent and still, trying to ignore all the fake projected voices of Tom's victims. She tuned out Myrtle and Bernard and Amaris Malkin and poor lovely Philippa – blocked them all out and only listened to the one voice. Tom. His seemingly infinite pain was a note that carried on forever, stretching and twisting and filling the room and threatening to drag it down with him.
There was no moment of conscious decision-making, nor a split-second in which reconsidered her options – she merely listened, heard, and felt Tom's scream, and spun back to face the far end of the room from which she had come.
xxx
There was an explosion of darkness.
It was like she was the catalyst that everything else had been waiting for, the fuel to the flame. She never even laid eyes on Tom or the monster or anything else that had been happening as it was immediately overcome by a black so thick that through it nothing at all could be seen or heard or even felt. It brought with it a cold like the first blast of icy air in opening a door to the waiting blizzard; her teeth snapped together and her hair flared behind her.
Finally, all was silent.
Ginny stared out into the great span of emptiness before her in a mixture of horror and confusion. Her initial thought was that Dumbledore had in fact been telling the truth, and that having disobeyed the one rule he had set, she was now dead. This seemed unlikely though, as she expected afterlife to be brighter and fluffier and several degrees warmer. She also expected Tom to be there with her.
"Tom?" she called out nervously. However, her voice was but a faint echo, as though she was hearing herself from underwater, or very far away. She tried again and again, but no matter how she shouted, she made no more impact on the impenetrable darkness that had swallowed everything. In all her life she had never felt so insignificant.
Fear trembled up her spine; she clenched her fists so tight she drew blood as she felt herself growing tearful again. With the back of one fist she viciously swiped away the tears that still lingered on her skin, and took a hesitant step forwards into the dark. Then another, and another after that, more confidently now that she knew she wouldn't fall into some kind of eternal black hole. One more step. And another – and then she was running, slowly at first, and then later sprinting. Her desperate feet ate up the ground before her. She was running as though her life depended on it, and hell, maybe it did. Tom's certainly did, and that was near enough to the same thing.
Her heart felt so full it could burst in the knowledge that she was only a few hundred metres from him and she had defied Dumbledore and she was going to save him and everything would finally, finally be okay-
Then abruptly she stumbled; her feet were caught from beneath her as she dropped into water that surged up to her knees. It was icy cold and some of the air was punched from her lungs in shock. She kept running as best she could, pushing clumsily through the thick and slimy water, but her progress was somewhat impeded by her full-length skirt tangling damply around her legs. She struggled to her feet again, kicking the material away, and stumbled onwards.
There was a scream – Tom - several screams – she couldn't identify any voices then, just the general howling of someone in pain, either echoing or joined by several others – tangled around and around each other in a great confusing din of noise. It seemed to surround her and come from everywhere. She had no idea where it was coming from, and where consequently she should be going. Rather than spinning in helpless circles trying to figure it out, she decided to keep heading in the direction she had already chosen.
This decision was made useless about eight seconds later when she ran into a wall. Her knuckles hit it first, coming away aching and bloody, and her brain didn't work fast enough to deduce that she had come to a dead end, so she continued into it with all her weight and momentum and bounced back with some surprise. For a few seconds she merely stood there, blinking in shock and wondering what had happened. Then she realised that she must have gone off her original path back to the dais and must have reached the far wall of the Chamber.
She shook herself, feeling idiotic – she didn't have time for this – she didn't have any time – and she turned to go back the way she had come. Within a few steps however, she found herself at another wall. She stuffed two knuckles into her mouth, which were by now bleeding quite profusely, and took a few bewildered steps back. This shouldn't be possible. She couldn't have come this far off the correct route.
Stop. Slow down. Where are you?
She twisted left and right, but staring into the darkness on either side of her, all she could see was just that – darkness. She squinted, furrowing her brow into strange shapes, hoping that she could miraculously give herself night vision, but had no such luck. She returned to facing the wall straight ahead, and took a few steps towards it again until she could reach out one hand and brush around the slimy uneven rock with her fingertips. From there, she turned right and followed the wall.
The stone ran beneath her fingers with a sensation upon her hand similar to how she imagined it would feel to stroke the wall of a decomposing sewer. She tried to make her imagination stop creating horrific scenarios for herself and focused on hurrying along the length of the wall without falling over.
A sense of stifling claustrophobia was slowly building upon her as she felt the other tunnel wall closing in and bumping occasionally against her shoulder and back, scratching her skin and dampening her dress. She pressed closer to the wall she was following, trying not to panic. She hadn't walked very far on the way into the tunnel... she shouldn't be far from getting out now.
Then the walls abruptly fell away. Her fingers snagged on a stone corner and then dropped away into air, and she found herself in an open space. She took one wary step forwards. It was then for the first time that she realised that the water had been growing more shallow for quite some time; by now it was a thin wet sheen across the floor, reflecting a dim green light from where it was cast through a translucent rock ceiling. She had entered some kind of antechamber from the rest of the labyrinth, and though she knew she was in the wrong place and should turn around and leave, she was hugely relieved not to be in pitch-darkness. She took a deep breath to still her wild nerves before she turned back into the all-enveloping darkness-
"Don't turn back."
Ginny froze. Every muscle tensed, twitching beneath her skin as her body's natural instincts screamed at her to run. She swallowed, hard. "...Who is that?" she asked quietly. Now, unlike in the Chamber some minutes ago, her voice was audible and clear.
No-one answered. She stood stock-still for several seconds, listening to a silence stretch out all around her. She couldn't hear a voice, she couldn't hear breathing, and she couldn't even hear the disturbance that feet caused in the sluggish water on the floor. There was nothing. Very slowly, she began to turn.
"Don't turn back." The voice behind her was cold and unfriendly. It had no discernible accent. It was just icy and soft in pitch and yet it filled the whole room.
She stood still and stared sideways, her head still twisted to the left from beginning to turn. She did not move. She could only come to one conclusion that made sense given the circumstances. She opened her mouth to speak but had to spend a moment gathering courage before words formed. "...Are you Marvolo?"
The question was left hanging. A hush crept on and on, thinning and twisting until she began to doubt her own sanity. Then:
"I was never given a name." The voice was completely flat, apathetic. "I was never born."
A chill slithered down Ginny's spine. She slowly turned back to face forwards, staring into the dimly-lit antechamber before her. Her mind had been filled with memories of the War, ways of overcoming her assailant, personal weaknesses; now that had all evaporated. She recalled everything she had ever encountered of the parasite – Horcrux – whatever it was – remembered the fights, the strength, the brutality, the sheer power. She couldn't overcome it. She wasn't sure it was even human. She had only met it encased in Tom's body, occasionally fighting to get out. She had no idea what she would be facing now.
"How can I talk to you then?" she asked.
"I am a part of you." For the first time now the voice showed a hint of emotion; it almost seemed as though it was laughing at her.
Ginny's breath caught halfway in her throat.
She was so stupid. So stupid, stupid, stupid –
"It will feed upon whatever it can to survive, and if you turn back, you will die."
Her blood ran cold beneath her skin. She should have realised the consequences of turning back. She should have listened – she never listened – she had even been through this before.
No – don't think-
"Tom, where are we going?" asked Ginny childishly as she walked down the long, narrow chamber. She was scared and she didn't like it down here. What was going on?
The tall, handsome fifteen-year-old ahead of her turned and flashed her a comforting smile. "Don't worry," he said, his voice soft and soothing. "It's safe. You're with me, remember?"
Oh yes. Ginny had forgotten. With her amazing friend, Tom, this older boy with an interest in her, and the answer to all of her problems with Harry – he'd never hurt her. He'd never let her be hurt. She would safe with him. Smiling still, Tom extended a hand. Blushing, Ginny slipped her thin fingers into his palm – she felt safer already-
Ginny couldn't block them out. She couldn't stop them. Her eyes flashed from side to side, taking in the cold stone walls of the antechamber and it seemed to her as though they were closing in on her – trapping her – she couldn't breathe – there was no way out – she was trembling –
"We're here," said Tom. He turned to her, letting go of her hand. His eyes were suddenly cold. "I'm sorry, Ginny."
"Sorry for what, Tom?" Ginny asked. She didn't like this chamber that Tom had brought her to, and was frightened by how Tom was looking at her. "Tom? Tom?"
She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head back and forth to make it stop-
His mouth snarled foreign words, and then pain was tearing through her. She was crying harder than she'd ever cried before, and screaming, "TOM!" – but then it was too painful, and she couldn't speak at all. The tears poured silently down her face, and she just stared at him, trying to talk, mouthing "why – please – help me – help me". She couldn't understand, and then her vision was fading and she couldn't stand and she was falling-
"Why?" Ginny spat out. She forced her eyes open and hated the tears that filled them. She fixed her eyes on a spot on the wall ahead of her in the middle distance. "Why me? You're a part of Tom – what do you want with me?"
"The other one was weak and useless. I didn't need him anymore. I cut him out." The voice spoke simply, as though it was common knowledge, and nothing out of the ordinary, but there was a level of ice lurking beneath its words that spoke of a loathing that had been hidden for decades. "No-one likes a broken puppet."
Ginny thought of Tom, fighting so hard to live but crumpling on the floor like he meant nothing, and she felt as though she had been punched in the stomach. The air rushed out of her lungs and she cried out, "Tom!" before she could hold back that moment of vulnerability. She spun on her heel to face the darkness that lay behind her, knowing that it would be only darkness, and nothing more. Marvolo wasn't real. It was a Horcrux. A memory. Intangible. He did not exist.
However, it was not only darkness. She was correct in assuming that Marvolo would not be standing behind her, breathing ticklishly in her ear, but her eye was then caught by a doorway off to the right; a door through which she saw a dim golden glint that drew her in and make her take unconscious steps towards it.
"Don't turn back," the voice whispered. "I told you – but of course, you didn't listen. You wouldn't ever listen. You never know what's good for you, and that's what makes you so easy..."
She heard this, dimly, in the back of her conscience, but didn't react. She barely registered what the words meant. She had reached the doorway and was looking through it at the outline of a golden mirror. Vaguely, the tiny part of her brain that was paying attention and that was still sensible recalled a story that she had heard from Ron about Harry's adventures in their first-year, back when she idolised them both and begged for every detail. A tale about a mirror which had been consistently moved from place to place where it was thought to never be found – a mirror that showed no ordinary reflection, but that of what a person desired more than anything in the world.
One step after another led her closer to it until she could identify her own reflection. She found no horror in her bedraggled and muddy appearance, bloodstains thick all down the front of her new dress, tears and slime smeared across her cheeks until her freckles were almost invisible; she was distracted instead by the image of Tom beside her. He was smiling that precious smile that she had not seen in so long. He looked happy, he looked healthy... and most importantly of all, he was alive. The reflected image of her was looking down with a smile and a blush, not meeting the eyes of the real Ginny, who remembered with nostalgia and warmth how it used to be to feel so shy, butterflies-in-stomach shy with everything that had made her love him.
Far, far away within her own mind she knew that she should keep going. She had to save Tom. She was running out of time, but who cared? What was she working towards? Saving Tom? It was a ridiculous concept. She couldn't save him. He was going to die, and she would probably die as well struggling against what could only be fate. The real Tom was almost certainly dead – but this one... this Tom, the mirror-Tom, he was alive and wonderful and it made her heart so full she could burst into the same pretty fireworks she had seen as New Year's Eve struck – she couldn't just leave him. She should stay with him forever, just watching him as he always should have been. What did she want with an ill husband anyway? This health and vitality in him was what she had loved.
Dumbledore's words were playing on repeat, a very quiet reel whispering behind her starry captivated eyelids: it will feed upon whatever it can to survive and if you turn back you will die it will feed upon whatever it can to survive you will die you will die – but she didn't even care. True, she could die here, and now that it entered her thoughts, she considered that she already felt slightly dizzy and light-headed. Maybe that was how it felt to die. She shook these bad ideas away and, with a silly smile across her bloody lips, stretched out her fingers towards his reflection to touch his face – he wasn't just a reflection, she realised. She was the reflection of the real life, the real life within the mirror, and if she just touched him then she would return to reality and-
Her fingers collided with glass.
And at the same time, her reflection looked up to meet her eyes.
She wasn't blushing or smiling anymore, and she certainly didn't feel butterflies-in-stomach shy with everything that had made her love Tom. Her face was cold and hard and mocking, and she had no eyes – instead replaced with gaping dark holes that seemed to try and swallow everything they saw. Her lips twisted into a smirk, and then the image in the mirror began to distort. Ginny tore her eyes from those of her doppelganger, and suddenly realised that Tom was fading. Not just from sight, disappearing backwards, but withering-
"No," she gasped, pressing her hands flat against the glass as though she could shatter it and break through and get him back, "no – no, no, no – give him back-"
fading – withering – growing smaller and thinner and weaker, his clothes becoming loose on his frame as he grew skeletal, his eyes darkening and hollowing as he was consumed by disease –
"Give him back," Ginny yelled, her voice cracking under the strain.
Tears blurred her vision – she was losing sight of him – he was slipping away – again – she couldn't lose him – the voice inside her was laughing and laughing-
"Give him back," she screamed, pounding on the surface of the mirror as hard as she could. It was only glass; she could break through – break through and get him back safe to her – couldn't she? She smashed at it, lowering her head so that the creature, Horcrux or parasite, whatever it may be, couldn't see her tears. "GIVE HIM BACK."
"You're so naive," the voice said, soft and chilling. "You really don't get it, do you?"
Ginny stopped hitting the mirror and stood there motionlessly, almost pressed against the frame, her head tipped forwards to stare in despair at the ground. "What?" she said in a low, shaky voice.
"It's over. We've already won."
A spinning sense of helplessness overcame her, and she realised just how dizzy and weak she was beginning to feel. She slowly raised her head to stare back at her own reflection, staring right into the empty black eyes. "What do you mean?"
Every breath was bringing less and less oxygen. She balled her hands into tight fists but it didn't help her to keep control. It was becoming difficult to focus.
"It's over," it whispered again, "He's dead."
Ginny's jaw tightened. "He's not dead," she rasped out, shaking her head repeatedly. "He's not dead – he's not dead-"
"It's over. Exactly as I knew it would be."
"Shut up," Ginny forced out through gritted teeth, squeezing her eyes shut. One hand came up to push through her hair, knot in a fist around a clump of it, and press hard against her head. She could make it stop. She could make it stop. She was better than this. "Shut up, shut up..."
"He's died already. And then you're going to die with him, and I will be free to inhabit your pathetic little body myself."
Realisation struck her like a slap that made her head spin. It was going to take her over fully. It wasn't just going to use her to get back to strength, as the Horcrux of the diary had done when she was eleven. This Horcrux didn't have a body. It needed hers.
Images flashed through her brain of her empty thoughtless body being dragged back through the Hogwarts ground like a humanoid puppet – Disapparating back to Grace's party – talking to her friends – living in her house – looking after her daughter-
her daughter-
Her mouth fell open, dragging in air as a thousand horrifying possibilities filled her head. "Marianne," she choked out, feeling her chest constrict as though being physically crushed.
No answer came – her head was simply filled with screams of high-pitched manic laughter – but then it wasn't screams of laughter – it was screams of pain – high, childish screams of pain – Marianne-
"No," she snarled – smashing her palm against the glass again – "if you touch her – I swear to God if you touch her – if you even look at her-"
still laughing – still screaming – she was screaming too but she couldn't even herself past the ringing and echoing filling her head until she almost felt she could feel her skull rattling - she had to get away – get back to Tom – save Tom – save Marianne – save herself –
She threw herself forwards with all her weight, fist-first, and didn't even flinch as the glass shattered beneath her knuckles, slicing up her hands – and then she turned and ran back the way she had come, not wasting a single second in sprinting back to that labyrinth of tunnels, fingers grating bloodily over the walls to find her way back – once getting lost – breathing heavy, heartbeat fast - tripping and twisting her ankle – hobbling – getting lost again - lost – spinning, fumbling – lightheaded - and then she was out and she could see the dim green glow of the Chamber opening before and it wasn't far now.
Ginny was running blindly, she couldn't see through her eyes streaming with tears – couldn't hear over the endless screaming in her head – or maybe it was real screaming – maybe Tom was screaming – maybe she was screaming – and the pounding of blood in her head and her veins – and the ragged uneven snatches of breath between each step – and the walls suddenly shaking, crumbling, the loud roaring crunch of rock on rock - and the pain exploding up through her twisted ankle with every step – but none of it mattered as long as she kept running, if she kept running it would all go away, everything would go away, the voices and the screaming and the crying and the pain and the never knowing, oh God, the never knowing – knowing if he was okay, if he was alive, if any of this was worth it – she just kept running.
Stumbling up from the water, climbing on her knees for a second to get back on the slightly raised path through the centre of the Chambers, then staggering to her feet. Staggering, trying to run, but it was so difficult – breathing was so difficult – everything – was so –
Her head was reeling - she felt as though her brain was going to explode out of her ears any second now, throbbing and aching behind her eyes. She was dizzy. Her feet hurt. Her knees were wobbling. She could barely stand up. Her eyes couldn't focus.
She force herself to look forwards, and her gaze fixed on a body at the far end of the Chamber – a thin body, almost disappearing – he looked so very small – and so very still – and a convulsive sob tore out of her, so aggressively that she could not have expected it, and it almost took her to the floor. She wrapped an arm as tightly as she could around her waist, squeezing in everything that hurt – it was just one foot after another, one step after another. Those steps were slower now. She was vaguely aware in the back of her brain that she was slowing down but she couldn't remember how to go faster. Everything was very confusing. Everything was very, very slow, very slow and she couldn't remember things...
Tom's body was closer now. She could see him, could see the stillness and the paleness and the lack of chest going up and down rising falling it should have been... should have been... it wasn't. Why wasn't it why wasn't he moving why why why her head was spinning she couldn't see she couldn't breathe she was going to throw up going to
She stumbled and doubled over and vomited onto the stone floor. She tried to be sick again but there was nothing left no air just dry heaving and it hurt and she just stood bent over head spinning feeling ill and empty and so very tired. She had to keep going. She didn't want to. She wanted to lie down here and sleep until she felt better. But then she would die, but she didn't mind that so much anymore. She wanted to lie down here and sleep until she died. She wanted to die.
Marianne.
It was a name that floated into her head unbidden and for a moment it was just a word, just a collection of meaningless letters – and then an image came with it and Ginny remembered. A little girl. Hers. Her little girl, her Marianne, Tom's Marianne, their Marianne, their – little – girl – and she didn't really want to die anymore. She could see that whether she survived might not be her choice after this but she was not going to lie down and sleep and wait to die because for every second that ticked by while she would lying on the icy wet floor waiting to give up and waiting for her heart to stop, Marianne would be sitting in Grace's house in Eleanor's arms waiting for her parents to come back. And they never would.
She took another step forwards. Her leg nearly buckled beneath and she stumbled and pitched forwards and nearly ended up lying on the floor on her face waiting to die anyway but she caught herself, picked herself up and kept going.
Not far now.
The body of a serpent stretched between her and Tom's body, twisting inelegantly across the floor. Her spinning blurry pixel eyes caught its head and she saw the trickle of blood coming from its head, dripping from its eyes and gaping toothy mouth. Ginny saw the gaping toothy mouth and the bloody black teeth inside and she knew.
She dropped to her knees beside its head. Tears coursed down her face and diluted the blood on the floor, leaving little droplets of clear amidst all the thick stringy scarlet. It suddenly struck her how heavy her head was and she tipped forwards and nearly just slumped on the Basilisk's body and lay there so very tired she couldn't concentrate
Remember why she shouted at herself remember why remember why remember Marianne remember why
But then shouting was so exhausting and the shouting in her head was quieter and less important but she had to concentrate and not let it get away from her and she had to remember. She wrapped a hand around a tooth, then both hands because it was large and slippery and not very conveniently-shaped, and she ripped it out.
Tore a tooth straight out of a monster's head.
Stood up.
Walked.
Knees buckled.
Remember why.
Pushed herself. Forwards. Still.
Then crawled.
And then she was there and she remembered why.
Ginny pulled herself with exhausted aching arms towards Tom and knelt there beside him, looking at him. Just looking. He was totally still. His skin was white and stretched palely across his bones like a withering broken skeleton who had fallen apart long before his time.
He was gone.
For the longest time she was numb. She couldn't feel a thing.
She didn't know why she had hurried so much, why she had put herself through so much pain, when the end result was always going to be the same. What had she been doing, pretending that her efforts were going to have any effect at all? She wasn't God, she wasn't Dumbledore, she wasn't anyone. More than that, she was no-one. Tom was no-one. None of it was important. The world would go on. There would be sunny days and rainy days and days when the sky was that uncertain tone of overcast. Couples would go for walks with umbrellas and argue about whose turn it was to make dinner. Couples would read their children fairytales and they would grow up believing that if you really, really tried – if someone meant everything to you and you gave them absolutely everything you had – then you could save them.
You could never save them.
She began to tremble – first, little shivers that jostled her hands and made it difficult to focus; then full-scale shaking that she couldn't control, breath coming out in shuddery gasps. She clenched the Basilisk tooth tighter in both hands and looked down. She didn't want to look at him a second longer. If she looked away and acted as though she couldn't see him, then maybe he wasn't there. Maybe he was somewhere else – back at Grace's party, perhaps, holding Marianne on one hip and dancing her about like a fat ballerina – or standing just behind her, with that hint of an almost-smile twisting the corners of his lips-
Then it hit her, like a solid rock fist to the stomach, that he wasn't going to come back, ever, and that this was the end, and that she'd failed, and she cried. Cried as she couldn't remember crying for the longest time – or even ever – because it was over it was over it was over
Sobs tearing out of her like knives being dragged through her backwards, clawing through her chest and leaving her breathless, each breath a kick in her stomach her chest her heart and everything hurt and she was screaming and crying andher hands were shaking uncontrollably and the tooth had clattered to the floor and rolled away and she panicked for a moment because she knew that she needed it. She groped blindly on the floor for it, her bruised and bloody fingers scratching the stone until she had it back safe in her hand, the slimy weight of it straining her wrist.
She rested it on his chest. Blood and slime from the base where it had been ripped free of the Basilisk's head dribbled down onto his shirt leaving thick gristly stains. She looked back at his face, and he didn't look peaceful at all. Serene, quiet, at peace – none of it – he just looked very young, and very thin, and very afraid.
"I'm sorry," she choked out, lifting her free hand to his face. Her fingers curled over his cold damp skin, shivering against his cheek. "I'm sorry – I am so... so sorry – I can't – I wish-" She brushed her thumb shakily across his cheekbone. She considered kissing him, but that would have felt wrong. She recalled how she hadn't kissed him before she left – when he was still here – still alive and so terrified of what the next few minutes would bring and the way that his hand had felt on hers and she felt sobs building up in her throat again like rocks stacked tight in her windpipe. She bent low and touched her lips briefly to his eyes, the thin purple-grey lids and the dark circles beneath, like cold hollow bruises. She wanted more than anything just to lie down here and die with him – press herself against him and pretend that he was asleep and then sleep as well and give up.
Instead, Ginny tightened her grip on the Basilisk tooth and held it straight. Her face still mere millimetres from his, breathing trembling, rapid, choked breaths over his skin, lips almost touching, she aligned the tooth over the softer dent of muscle between Tom's ribs. She gathered up all her courage and determination and every last ounce of strength she had in her tiny body, so weakened by the parasite – she gathered her strength and held steady.
"I'm so sorry," she cried, squeezing her eyes tightly closed and pressing her forehead against his. "I am so sorry – I wish I could just – but – I can't, you know that I can't – but I'm sorry and I love you and I should have let you say it and I should have said goodbye and I didn't get back in time – and I can't let you – I can't – oh God, I'm sorry-"
She bit her lip so hard that she drew blood, and buried the tooth between his ribs.
xxx
A/N: Not going to lie, I was so tempted to finish the fic here and just let you imagine your own endings. However, I'm not that douche-y. There's more yet to come, which will hopefully follow very very soon. I love you all for following me so far if you're still here! (:
