AN at the end of the chapter
Chapter 8
It Began With The Dwarfs
"I"
I don't understand what his deal is. He's always so broody. Like what does he have to brood about. Not that I even care.
"III"
February 15, 2008
The cavern is filled with the stark brilliance of spell-light. The jagged edges of the walls are thrown into contrasting relief, sharp shadows scraping over the surface like deep river weeds. A pile of rubble stands in the middle of the floor, reaching a peak at the gaping mouth of the yawning hole in one wall.
Across from the hole stands a woman, her back against the rough wall, a circle on the ground around her void of any of the strewn stone. She stands tall and straight, but if one were to look close enough, they would sense her uncertainty. For it is there — rupturing beneath her proud exterior.
Atop the pile of blasted rocks, stands two men. One old, one young. One with white hair, one with black. They stand deep among a long silence. Their faces are cast in long shadows and their silhouettes outlined in silver. The spell-light turns their black clocks to grey and hides their features in shadow.
Ginny clears her throat.
"So… come here often?" she tries.
They ignore her abysmal attempt at levity.
"Ginevra— Ginny Weasley? Is that you?" comes the question from the old man, in a gravelly gruff tone.
She sighs.
"Yes, sir, it's me."
"You're— you're supposed to be dead."
"III"
July 7, 2001
The stream burbles and bubbles as it moves slowly through the forest. It flows past mossy logs and worn stones with no comprehension for that which it passes. It moves without sense or reason, it moves only with purpose. These are the thoughts that occupy Ginny as she stands ankle deep in the cold water.
The water calms her, pulling tension out of her.
She sighs.
She's been back in England for only a day and already she is feeling quite tired.
She's never felt like she fits in with her family. Not that she doesn't get along with them — she even shares a lot of similar interests with them — but it's never been about their interests; she has always felt separate, different.
It started when she came back from her first year at Hogwarts. She had been carrying around Tom's diary for almost a full year:
"I"
It's pretty strange to be writing in the diary and not hear back from Tom now. I had gotten so used to him writing back. But dad always did say "Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can't see where it keeps its brain." So it's definitely a good thing he's gone now.
And anyways, Tom was a whiny boy, gosh he says he was 16 but he acted like a child! Mum always says I'm precocious and I guess that comes with a certain maturity, but I'm still 5 years younger than he was. Yeesh. He was like a petulant child. I guess if any sense of Tom was left in the diary, he'd be getting pretty mad right now at my words.
But I can tell he's not. The diary feels empty now, lighter in a way. Who knows what that means.
It's nice to be back home now, I missed the Burrow and my room and the pond. And of course my parents! I missed them frightfully. And Ron and the twins are much friendlier to me again now that they don't have all their friends distracting them. Ron has been a bit mopey though without Harry and Hermione near, you'd think they died the way he's been acting.
But the twins actually asked me to help them prank him! I definitely missed this. And I think it will help get Ron out of his funk.
They still won't let me fly with them... I think mum threatened them if they allowed me to play quidditch with them. She still thinks I'm a baby! Hah. They don't know I've been flying since I was 8.
Anyways, I hear mum calling for dinner.
—
Ugh.
I actually felt happy to be back here. I was actually excited to be around everyone again. I'd actually convinced myself that it was going to be great, that I'd be friends with Ron and the twins again. Percy has always been stuck in his room. Who cares.
This family makes me so angry! I feel so angry all the time and they really bring it out.
I feel so angry all the time. It's like this scratch, this digging feeling under my skin. It feels like it's pressing out from behind my eyes. Sometimes it's so great I feel like my chest will explode.
Cordelia and Maeve never talk to me, they don't even try to anymore, the bints.
I don't like feeling so angry.
But I can't help it.
My hands are shaking right now I'm so mad.
"III"
July 11, 1992
A soft explosion comes from the side of the twisty-turny home, a wall on the second floor exploding outwards in a patter of wood and dust. A little red-headed girl is left standing in the hole left by the eruption, black scorch marks emanating out from her around the room. Tear marks track through the dust on her pale face.
In the silence after the detonation, her door bangs open as her parents come running into the room. Her mother cradles her to her body, with loud, worrying noises. Her father looks her over carefully, ensuring she isn't hurt.
They ask what happened in quiet reassuring tones. Hands gently patting down hair in soothing gestures.
But the girl quickly goes from pale to red-faced as she screams her confusion at them, her anger getting the better of her again. She is shaking, vibrating with her rage. The air in the room hums and crackles.
There are faces in the bedroom doorway — boys faces — looking in, called to the commotion. As the air spits and sparks with a fuzzy energy, the faces withdraw, scared and startled.
The father mutters a quick spell and the little girl falls asleep, mid scream, collapsing in her mothers arms.
She looks up at her husband, inquiring desperately for what to do, for any sense behind what is happening to her little girl.
"III"
July 7, 2001
She sits on the side of the stream, dragging her feet through the water, her mind drifting to the past as the water drifts by her.
Hello Ginny, it's been a while, hasn't it.
She jumps clear out of her skin, leaping to her feet in a great splash.
"Who said that!?" she near shouts, whirling around in a spray of water, wand out and ready.
But she's alone in the stream, alone in the glade. Completely alone.
The wind rustles through the green leaves, stirring the dappled shadows that cover the forest floor. The sunlight is golden — rays alighting upon the curved ferns that cover the stream bank. Birds chirp faintly, their melodies like a distant choir.
And the stream burbles and bubbles as it moves slowly through the forest.
Did you really think I'd gone, Ginny?
No, no, no! This cannot be happening.
Did you really think you'd be free of me? he scolds.
No! You're gone. I DESTROYED YOU! Ginny screams in her mind.
You can't destroy me, his voice sounds smug, at the edge of laughing, even inside her own head, even the dwarfs weren't able to help you. I am eternal, I am forever, I am—
Whatever else he was going to say was cut off abruptly, as, with a harsh scream, she sinks her power into a new bind rune. It sets with nothing but her intent.
She presses her wand against her thigh, "Fulcio."
And with that spell, she pours her strength into the four-way bind rune, pouring her power into it until it burns within her skin like frozen lightning — until she's left panting.
She is on her knees in the stream, not even knowing when she fell there, no longer noticing the iciness of the water. The back of her throat hurts. There's a pounding in her head.
And her mind is stuttering — memories fluttering across her consciousness. She has no sense of place or purpose. Only a girl with a shattered mind swimming in a universe of thought and emotion.
A twisted four poster bed, bent like a demented creature, stands in a stone room as three young girls look at it horror.
An incredible pounding noise shakes the flames of candles within a dark severe cavern bathed in orange.
A field of twilight strewn stars in a bed of violet spins too fast overtop a black sea.
A boy looking at a girl in a crowded mess hall.
The dark lines of words covering thick pages of a diary.
A girl, alone among her peers.
A piece of thread, red, thin, and taut, stretched across a cavern.
With a lurch, Ginny's mind rights itself, falling together with the click of a locking door; her sense of self returns — the keystone for her mind.
Her breaths come in huge shuddering gasps. She collapses in the stream, lying on her back, eyes squeezed shut against the sun.
The flowing water anchors her, its iciness cooling down her feverish skin.
She can feel the cage she built in her mind; she can feel it — alien and cold.
She sits up — pushing herself to her feet, her wet shirt clinging to her, her head aching — and examines her new tattoo. Her pant leg is burned away where she set it into her thigh, leaving a scorched ring in the black cotton.
Uruz, algiz, isaz, and ehwaz.
She had set it with pure intent, creating the four-way bind rune on instinct alone. It will work, for now. She is an Ancient Runes master after all.
She has to get out of here. She has to fix this.
With a quick healing spell she fixes the burnt skin around the tattoo. Setting a tattoo isn't usually such a brutal process, but she severely over powered the rune in an effort to lock him away.
No one can know she's still alive, she's a danger to everyone around her. She has to fix this.
She summons a squirrel to her, it squeaks and twists in her hands, trying to escape.
"Thank you for your life," she says with truth, before casting a joyless Avada Kedavra. The spell leaves traces, and she needs no one to question the fact that she is dead.
She pulls off the bronze coin hanging around her neck and with a quick spell embeds it into the squirrel's body, hiding it within the poor creature. Wizards don't perform the same sort of autopsies that muggles do, and once they detect the killing curse, they won't have any reason to look into her death any deeper.
With quiet efficiency, she grabs a stone from the bottom of the stream and etches three runes into it. Closing her eyes to concentrate, she breaks the powering links between the coin to her tattoos and links them all to her own magic instead. Then, she links the rune stone to the coin and sends it inside of the squirrel as well.
As soon as she does, the little body of the squirrel shimmers and shakes until a perfect copy of herself is lying dead in the stream. The coin will keep the rune stone powered long after the body gets examined and buried.
She stares down at it. She stares down at the facsimile of her body lying half in and out of the stream, the current pulling its hair like a flag fluttering in the breeze. The copy's face is blank, its eyes lifeless and empty.
Should she feel perturbed? Depressed? Remorse? She doesn't know. All she feels is anger, stirring like a foaming pit in her chest.
She turns away, ready to leave, to get as far away from here as she can. But she stops after only a step beyond the stream. She pulls her wand out and with a small hesitation, snaps it in two.
A wand in pieces cannot have Priori Incantato cast. And no one will be looking for a broken wand either.
And with that, she strides away; placing her hand against her chest as she does, muttering, "fulcio."
And with that, a much shorter, brown-haired green-eyed girl walks away into the forest, disappearing in the shifting shadows of the leaves.
"III"
February 15, 2008
"You died. I saw your body! I— we buried you!" The young man is almost shouting at the end. He seems inordinately angry.
Why is he so upset?
"I know, Harry, I know," Ginny sighs, "Look, let me explain myself, alright?"
Harry huffs, crossing his arms. The old man looks gruff and stern, exactly as he has always looked.
Ginny sighs again. I guess this is happening.
She steps away from the wall, waving her wand at the spell-light. It splits into three and grows to a much warmer, softer hue, filling the space with a comforting glow instead of the harsh brilliance it was before.
They gape at her a bit. She shrugs.
"Come down from there, alright? And we can have a conversation," she states, gesturing at them.
They both grumble a bit, but they climb down with ease.
"What are you both even doing here?" she demands, "what are you here for?"
The professor looks at her a bit strangely, "You first girlie, then we'll go."
Harry waves his wand at two boulders, dragging them over for him and the professor to use as chairs. They sit and turn to look at her, both scowling.
She sighs yet again, organizing her mind.
And then begins her story.
She tells about the squirrel and charming it to replace her body, and then leaving the country for a couple of years. She tells them about coming back to england and how she found a job working among muggles. She tells them about coming here to follow a lead, and how she was just about to give up when they burst in.
She is careful with her story, giving enough for them to feel as if their questions are answered, but withholding her reasonings.
She stops talking. And the cavern echoes a bit with the hollowness of her words.
"Well," grunts the professor, "what a load of crock."
"Moody," Harry mutters, admonishing him.
"Hmph. You know it is, boy. If you don't want to tell us your business you don't have to girlie. But then we aren't sharing either."
She glares at him. She knows what her glare can do. She's used to men — soldiers even — jumping to when she glares at them like that. But Moody just sits there, arms folded obstinately across his chest, returning her glare with ease.
"Fine!" she growls, throwing her hands in the air, "fine."
She rubs a hand over her face.
"Well, it really starts with the dwarfs…"
Oof - this one took me awhile, though I am happy with how it turned out.
I love each and everyone of you for reading, you make me happy.
Scrappy8: Yes! I can't wait to find out either!
Mat94fH: I love a good cliffhanger, in case you can't tell. Gotta keep you on the edge of your seats!
I'd love to hear anyone's theories on where they think I'm going with things. There are a lot of story lines, a lot of loose ends, and a lot of things happening. Tell me your theories!
Or if anyone can tell me what her tattoos mean, remember, you'll get a ~Gold Star~! I'm especially proud of the two that were used in this chapter.
As always, read rate and review!
-upstater-