This part of the story is very important because this is where the plot jumps in time and begins to evolve. The sections of the chapter are in chronological order with the exception of the last one (which happens more or less simultaneously with the first one). But just follow the dates at the beginning of each section and there will be no problem! =)
9 – Time and Tide Wait For No Man
August 11, 1998
Shell Cottage
Ginny was walking by the shore, feeling the waves of the sea crash against her bare shins. That was how she spent most of her time at Bill's house - her family's new hiding place. She had acquired that habit since the flight from Hogwarts, since her life had changed completely.
Once again.
The defeat of the Order of the Phoenix - Harry's death - had led to the inevitable loss of Hogwarts. Nobody else wanted to stay in the castle, terrified of Voldemort's fury after The Boy Who Not Lived had capitulated.
Ginny could not blame any of them: Harry's death meant the loss of hope, of perspective. And in some ways, that was the worst defeat one could have.
The Order tried to maintain its position for a time, but, outnumbered and hopeless, it was unable to stop Voldemort. The best alternative then was to dissipate the Order and its collaborators, protect them with Fidelius Charm and wait...
Waiting for what, Ginny was in no position to say. She sighed loudly thinking about the hard time and persecution that would befall upon her family and friends.
They would be hunted, that was for sure. They would be killed if they were not careful. They would be wiped out at the first opportunity. She felt like crying, but she could not; something inside her had been lost, others things had hardened.
She sighed again, crossing her arms over her chest. Ten people left that night, flying from the Astronomy Tower in a desperate attempt to end the most feared Dark Wizard of all times. Only seven of them were back. But, much more than human loss, their defeat had meant the loss of an ideal. The last hope of the Wizarding World had perished under Neville Longbottom's lifeless body.
Ginny remembered very little of the moments that followed the events in the Forbidden Forest. When her father's old Ford Anglia had taken them back to Hogwarts, the castle was in a colossal commotion. People were being evacuated, others were sneaking out at the chance of leaving that chaotic and terrifying scenario.
Some members of the Order of the Phoenix were there, supporting and taking care of those in need, however, when they saw the teenagers who had left on a secret mission (and suicidal, in Molly Weasley's opinion) returning defeated, tired, morally destroyed, they realised what should be done: protect the people who were there as much as possible and send the members of the Order and their collaborators away.
And so, all of them had dispersed.
Molly, Arthur, George and Ginny were sent to Shell Cottage, to live with Bill and Fleur. Charlie had returned to Romania, where he could articulate a resistance away from England.
Percy had refused to take refuge there and had remained in London; he said it would be easier to infiltrate and organise the resistance if he were in the city - and organisation still seemed to be the keyword which guided all Percy's actions.
George, at first, wanted to go with his brother, but somehow their mother had convinced him otherwise; Ginny strongly suspected that it had something to do with Fred, but she never dared ask to any of them.
Ron and Hermione showed up a few days after Ginny's family arrived at the Shell Cottage. During the Battle in the Forbidden Forest, they were unable to proceed to the castle given the number of Death Eaters who blocked the way and had to flee with the help of Kingsley Shacklebolt.
Evidently, they had stayed behind for Harry, in a devotion that remained even after his death; Ginny felt a hint of envy when she thought about the trio's union and how she had never been as close to Harry as Ron and Hermione were, even when Harry and her shared that night in the Hufflepuff dormitories.
They had stayed in the Forest until they were able to leave with the bodies of Harry and Neville. Ginny had learned later that they had gone to one of Longbottom's home in Spain, where Neville's grandmother had been born and where she could bury her grandson and Harry. Ginny agreed with that; even though Harry was so far away now, taking Neville home to his grandmother was the least they could do for him.
She often thought that one day she should go and visit Harry's grave, even if that particular desire of hers bothered Ron to no end.
She thought this was due to the fact that he was reacting very badly to the death of his best friend. She knew it instinctively, because it was the same with her, even if she let it show much less than Ron.
Ginny was taken out of her daydreams when she saw a figure with very long blond hair approaching, her trousers lifted halfway up her calf, mirroring Ginny's own look.
"Hello, Ginny." Luna greeted in her ethereal tone. She had also taken refuge at Shell Cottage, knowing that her father's house was no longer safe for either of them.
Her presence was one of Ginny's few consolations; the silences shared with her friend were natural and welcomed, not forced at all. And they understood each other.
"I knew I would find you here." She said softly, smiling to Ginny. "It's my favorite place too."
"I think I learned to value the beautiful things in life." Ginny sighed, avoiding thinking in everything she had lost.
The pair turned to eye the horizon and a summer breeze lifted their loose hair, red and yellow, reflecting the color of the sky at the end of that afternoon.
"It's time to go back to the house, I think." Luna said after a moment of contemplation. "You've been here alone all day and if it starts getting dark, we might come across angry Wrackspurts."
"We wouldn't want that to happen, would we?" Ginny replied good-naturedly.
"It'd be unwise." Luna agreed solemnly. "Besides, it's your birthday. I know we don't have a lot to celebrate, but at least we should try."
"Yes, you're right." Ginny sighed in resignation. "Do you think my mum made Cauldron Cake?" She asked trying to smile and starting walking towards the house, side by side with Luna.
"You bet!" Luna's smile was radiant. "George helped, too." She stopped talking suddenly, putting a finger under her chin. "Hm, your mother asked me to encourage you to come in and I suppose the fact that George put his hand on something you're going to eat isn't much of an incentive, since you'll most likely end up with some sticky substance over your hair." She seemed to ponder alone and then changed the subject in the best Luna Lovegood style and Ginny simply smiled at that. "What do you want to get for your birthday?"
Ginny stopped short at the unexpected question. There were so many distant things that she longed, now that she was finally an adult legally: The Burrow, peace, Harry.
However, despite so many doubts, despair, bitterness and sadness, the answer to Luna's question came to her easily, naturally. Facing her friend's questioning expression, Ginny said softly:
"I already have my birthday gift." She raised her hand and rested on her still flat stomach. "I guess I'm pregnant."
February, 1999
Shell Cottage
Molly Weasley was walking around the room beaming, as if the world had been reduced to Bill and Fleur's bedroom. Some magical adaptations were made in the house to accommodate that number of people, however, on that particular occasion, the main bedroom was used for another purpose.
She was cradling a little bundle wrapped in a white cloak while murmuring tender words to someone who certainly could not understand anything she was saying. Arthur Weasley, for his part, was sitting in an armchair with a smile that rejuvenated him for at least ten years.
Ginny was in the middle of the bed, her long red hair tousled and spilled over the white pillows. She struggled to get up on her elbows, after the effort that had been giving birth a few hours earlier. She smiled weakly when saw her mother cradling her baby.
"Have you already thought about his name?" Her father asked smiling, noticing his daughter's still sleepy movements.
"Yes." Ginny replied in a hoarse voice due to the lack of use. "His name is James."
A silence invaded the room after that and it was no longer necessary to talk about it for a long time.
"It's a beautiful name, dear." Her mother said condescendingly, taking her eyes off the baby boy for the first time. "I'm sure Harry would be very happy with your choice."
Her eyes watered, but it was no time for that. She shook her head to chase away those nostalgic feelings.
"Mum, dad..." Ginny started to speak hesitantly. "I know it's kind of a can of worms that has been avoided by everyone because you all didn't want to talk about it, but-" She took a breath, lifted her chin and gathered all the courage she had, despite her tiredness. "I need to go."
Her mother froze in the middle of the room and she felt her father stiffen in the chair, letting out a long sigh as if he knew that this very moment would come, sooner or later - and he would much rather it to be later. But it was Molly who first spoke up, much to Ginny's dismay: she knew her mother would be much more adamant than her father.
"It doesn't make any sense, Ginny. In the name of Merlin, you just gave birth to him! Besides, where would you go? No, this is silly." Molly shook her head, as if dismissing a trivial idea, her attention back on the baby.
"I'm not saying I'm going to leave now." Ginny said defensively, curling up on the bed a little bit. "I'm still going to wait a month or two, until the baby is strong enough to-"
"Ginny!" Molly interrupted stormily. "How can you possibly think about leaving your family with a newborn baby?"
Ginny lifted her chin belligerently and two pairs of bright brown eyes, so essentially equal, sent angry sparks at each other.
"Mom, I'm not asking for permission, I'm an adult now. You can't lock me up here and, most importantly, you shouldn't lock me up here."
Ginny looked suddenly more tired, sighing deeply before continuing.
"If they find me with you, I'm still going to be Ginny Weasley and it won't take much intelligence from a Death Eater to deduce who his father is." She left the answer in the air, making a vague gesture towards James with her hand. "Who has eyes in that shade of green…"
Molly, seeming to refrain an uneasiness, placed the child in a small crib in the corner of the room and went to sit beside her daughter on the bed, taking the Ginny's hand with affection; all the previous tension in her almost vanished, as if it had never existed to begin with.
Ginny could not help but wondering if she would ever develop the maternal ability to move from the 'I'll skin you alive if you disobey me' to the 'come here, my love' that Molly Weasley often exuded. "We can protect you, dear. They won't find us."
"What if they find us, mum? What's the chance of sparing our family? What's the chance of sparing the Weasleys?" Ginny did not wait for her mother's obvious answer. "And what's the chance of sparing a Harry Potter's child? I know that you're never going to abandon this fight and I wouldn't ask you for anything else. I'm proud of our family for this."
"And we're very proud of the woman you've become, Ginny." Arthur kindly conceded.
Ginny smiled faintly at her father, but did not back down. "The truth is: I can't expose myself now, exactly because James came into the world with everything to lose, from every side. If they knew about him, who his father is, the people on our side would start to expect more from him than a baby can give. And You-Know-Who…" She left the sentence in the air, suddenly afraid again to use Voldemort's name. "I don't want him to grow up torn between burden and dread."
As Harry did, she completed mentally.
What remained of the strength of Molly's argument seemed to crumble at the truth of Ginny's reasoning and she remained silent, immersed in her own thoughts.
"Ginny is right, Molly." Her father conceded, still sitting in the armchair in the corner of the bedroom. "The best chance for this baby to have a decent life is to be away from us, and preferably away from the wizarding world as well. We've already talked about it."
Ginny rested her tired head on the pillow and closed her eyes for a few moments. Her father's every word had been said with reserve and suffering she was not used to hearing from him. And the revelation that her parents had already come to the same conclusion as her did not ease her heart.
"Promise us we'll be able to meet every now and then, even if he doesn't know who we are..." Molly said looking at James and remained silent for a while before resumed talking, this time facing Ginny. "And, please, be careful. I wouldn't bear to lose another child."
"You're not losing me, mum." Ginny's voice was choked with emotion. "You're allowing your grandson to live."
And the two hugged each other tightly, tears impossible to be held back, under Arthur Weasley's teary gaze.
April 1999
Shell Cottage
"Have you packed everything you need?" Molly Weasley sounded concerned, surrounding her daughter to make sure all precautions had been taken.
Ginny rolled her eyes when heard the question for the seventh time in the past two hours. She definitely could not be mad at her mother for showing such worry, but the situation itself was already quite exhausting.
"Yes, mum. And I'm also taking groceries, every galleon we managed to get, James's belongings, some potion books that might be useful and some ingredients for more basic potions." She had memorized the entire list. Thanks to Hermione's help, she had managed to reproduce the Undetectable Extension Charm in her backpack and now everything was ready.
"You know when you arrive in London, Percy will have to charm you so you won't remember our location from now on. Are you still sure about that?"
They had also discussed that particular point before. As a touch of sadism from fate, Ginny knew that she could not have memories of the place where she had spent the last few months, leaving her only hazy memories of the period she spent at Shell Cottage.
"Yes." Ginny said firmly, looking away from her mother and gazing at every people she loved around her. "It's a price I'm willing to pay."
Her all family was there to watch her go: Ginny had spent considerable time with each of them since she had decided to leave - even with Fleur, who had become very attached to the baby - and had already said goodbye to everyone. It certainly did not make the task of leaving any easier.
The portkey that would take her to a safe meeting with Percy - and from there to the Muggle part of London - would activate at any moment and Ginny did not know what to do to ease the situation. She just wanted to say that she would stay and fight tooth and nail for her family, no matter what the consequences, but as soon as she looked down and saw James nestled in her arms, staring at her with those big green eyes, she knew she had no choice.
She embraced each of them one more time: her mother, her father, Bill, Fleur, George, Hermione, Luna. And Ron.
Her brother was a little more taciturn than usual, standing there holding hands with Hermione. He had been the one who had fought the most against Ginny's resolution and had not accepted completely her reasons for leaving, even though she had explained it to him hundreds of times.
Ginny approached him and lifted James to make him more visible to her brother.
"See? A piece of Harry is still with us." Ron's ears tinged red and Ginny could not make out the reason, although the sudden stiffness in Hermione's stance was a strong indication that this was still a forbidden subject to them. "Just like a piece of you will always be with me." She completed smiling to him, pointing to her own heart.
Ron said nothing - despite his teary eyes - he just pulled her and kissed her forehead, in a gesture that made Ginny very disconcerted.
The portkey was shaped like an old newspaper and began to shake in Ginny's hand, a clear indication that the time do leave was coming and she took a few steps back.
She saw her mother hide a tearful face on her father's shoulder, Bill smiling confidently and proudly next to Fleur. She saw George approach her, Ron and Hermione, with a casual gesture, as if they were at King's Cross.
"Don't worry, Gingin, we're going to keep an eye on you. And do teach this boy to behave like a real Weasley, or else I'll make constant visits and teach him myself." He said passing his index finger on the baby's cheek.
Afraid to break into tears and make it all even more difficult, Ginny held the illegal portkey provided by Kingsley firmly and, holding James in her arms, felt the uncomfortable feeling of a hook pulling her navel to a new location.
August 2000
London's Suburban Area
Ginny snorted loudly, blowing an annoying strand of red hair out of her face. She was definitely not good at that.
Sitting cross-legged on the floor of her small one room flat, Ginny had been trying to sew. It was her new endeavor, which at first looked promising - just like all the previous ones - but now it was probably doomed to failure - just like all the previous ones.
She had successfully placed the sewing thread in the eye of the needle and felt elated. After that, she did not really know what to do: she tried one stitch, then another, then another ...
As a result, she had a very strong guess she had ruined the shirt of one of her few customers.
She snorted again and held back a swear. How hard it is to do manual labor using only the hands!
She sniffed and laughed at the same time, amid the humor and dismay contained in that thought. When she moved to pick up another spool, she felt something press against her right thigh – a very familiar item. She stopped suddenly, pulling her wand out, as though she had not seen the object in years - in fact, she had seen it that morning, when she thought insistently about using it to get a haircut, since her hair was growing out of control again.
Ginny raised her wand to the level of her brown eyes. They glowed with greed when she thought she could fix the pile of clothes with just a simple spell. She touched the wand to her forehead, wanting to say just a few words and-
A high-pitched sound of something shattering on the floor broke her concentration: James stood up on his plump tiny legs trying to grab a bibelot from a shelf, dropping a glass in the process. He turned to her, falling on his diaper-protected arse and pouted as someone who was up to no good.
Ginny smiled truly and hugged the boy; she looked at his reddish-brown hair, his bright green eyes, and thanked Merlin for the fact James had claimed her attention before she could have cast any spell. There would be no way for the Ministry of Magic - entirely in Voldemort's hands - to ignore the fact that some spells were being cast in the Muggle part of London. For her son, she could not risk it.
"So young and already looking forward to protect your dumb mum, huh?"
James only giggled in response.
Hence, she continued to try every kind of Muggle job that she was qualified to do.
Unfortunately, the fact that she was undesirably clumsy had caused her to be fired when she tried to be a cleaner. Being a private teacher had also been ineffective when the parents dismissed her saying she had filled the children's heads with fantasies. After that, Ginny was sure she should have paid more attention to her Muggle Studies' classes.
The babysitting job was also not very long-lasting: she had a way with children, especially after James, but the problem ended up being just that: most parents had problems believing Ginny would take care of their children properly, having a child of her own to take care of.
Ginny knew things would only get worse from now on: she felt her skin practically itch in the face of the abstinence caused by the lack of magic and she sensed that James would soon be able to demonstrate his magical abilities as well. The week before, he had made his baby food fly to the opposite wall without even raising his hands.
And, obviously, Ginny had cleaned the mess without using her wand.
May her parents - and all the good values they taught their children - forgive her, but Ginny hated being a Muggle.
She had a very strong feeling that no matter how rational and prudent it was, she would not be able to live in the Muggle world for much long.
A quick knock on the door brought her out of her daydreams. She knew in advance that it would be Mrs. Carter, the neighbor who was the only person who visited her normally and used the door to enter.
On the few occasions that her relatives visited her, they used to adopt more illicit means, so to speak.
"Good morning, Mrs. Carter! You're early." Ginny said after putting James down, tidying up her wrinkled clothes and going to open the door. "James and I are not ready yet and-"
"Oh, Ginny!" The woman spoke hastily, darting in Ginny's small flat. "I know I promised I'd babysit James so that you could take the repaired clothes to your customers, but unfortunately I'm in no condition! I can hardly stand for a long time. My head is killing me!" She finished sighing dramatically.
"It's all right, Mrs. Carter." Ginny replied with a tired smile. "I haven't finished fixing some garments yet..." She pointed to the pile of clothes with a resigned gesture.
And I'll probably never finish fixing any of it.
"I'm so sorry, dear." Mrs. Carter lamented and Ginny watched her neighbor more closely.
The Muggle woman looked like she had not slept a wink the previous night, probably fighting a dragon. She was wrapped in a purple dressing gown that did not hide her sharp thinness and the dark circles in her eyes attested to a very bad night's sleep.
Her neighbor's migraines were becoming a habit and Ginny felt sorry for her, but there was not much she could do without using her wand. Suddenly, Ginny remembered the last time she saw her mother; Molly Weasley had delivered a series of potions that Ginny herself had made in the time they spent together into hiding. Maybe she already possessed something for a headache.
"Stay with James for a minute, will you? I think I have something that might help you."
She ran to her small room and riffled through a small box, looking for a little vial containing a whitish liquid. After finding it, she returned to the living room (which also served as a kitchen), with the happy expression of someone who had finally felt useful somehow.
"The taste isn't so good, but it's worthy." Ginny handed the flask over, giving her neighbor a friendly wink. "It'll help you."
Mrs. Carter looked at the vial with a spark of suspicion in her eyes, but was convinced by her pain. She turned the contents at once and swallowed with difficulty. The change in her countenance was almost instantaneous: she seemed to have rejuvenated a few years.
"Ginny, what did you put in here?" She said curiously, shaking absently the empty little bottle, unlabeled, unmarked.
Ginny immediately tensed and was sure if she opened her mouth, she would stutter like Neville in front of Snape. She was even more disconcerted by the tightness in her heart she felt at the memory of her deceased friend.
Luckily for her, Mrs. Carter continued to chatter, "Oh, never mind! I just have to thank you! You're an angel! I haven't felt that good in a long time. If you want, I can stay with James as long as you need to!" She took Ginny's hands effusively.
"It's not necessary, Mrs. Carter. I think I'm still going to keep these clothes for a long time." Ginny sighed at the knowledge that she had no ability to fix those clothes anytime soon.
"Even so, you know I'm right there across the hall if you need me." Her neighbor walked to the door smiling, enjoying her new wellness and Ginny could not help but smile back.
When she arrived at the door she stopped suddenly, looking at Ginny curiously.
"I had no idea you were an apothecary. You shouldn't waste this talent sewing clothes."
And she left, leaving Ginny with the seed of an idea in her mind, one that teased and scared her at the same time.
She went over to James and sighed one more time as she picked him up, hugging the boy tightly against her. He, in turn, played with the red strands of her hair, oblivious to his mother's concerns. It was not fair to deprive him of his own world, his true origins, but had not it been the most prudent action she could have taken?
However, how long would she still be able to hide among Muggles? How much time did they still have?
There was no denying that James and her overflowed magic from every pore and it would be very difficult – not to say impossible - to eliminate such characteristic from them. It was as if they were telling a healthy bird that it could not fly anymore.
And when James received the letter from Hogwarts, how would they continue to hide?
Questions, questions and more bloody questions ...
And in the next instant, smelling her son's scent so close to her, she knew the answer.
She should hide, it was true. But that did not necessarily mean hiding from the Wizarding World.
As much as that epiphany raised a red flag in her head, warning her that the desire to return was just selfishness on her part, she did not give due attention to it: lately Ginny had become an expert in being selfish. It was almost a question of survival at that point.
At that moment, the girl who had been Ginny Weasley was dead.
And the new woman who had just been born needed an identity.
September 2002
Diagon Alley
Ginevra, standing facing the generous window of her three-room flat above a store that sold second-hand items in the Diagon Alley, looked down at the profusion of shops and restaurants below. It was early September and the students were preparing to go to Hogwarts, buying the necessary school supplies.
The difference in behavior from her school days to now was striking: at that moment, everything was taciturn and dark, there were no colors, nor the excitement of going to school, even among those of pure blood.
Ginny shuddered at the political situation: it was really a dark time.
"Mrs. Woodcroft! More people have ordered your potions!" Flynn Midgeon burst into the living room of the small flat she had rented. "Everyone wants your potions! The fame about their quality is already spreading! And, this time, I didn't even need to start the rumors." He laughed contagiously.
Ginny, or rather, Ginevra of Woodcroft let out a relieved breath. She had spent every Sickle of her meager savings on the ingredients of the potions and was betting heavily on the wizards' new consumption pattern.
Potions related to people's safety.
Living within the muggle world only made Ginny confirm what her parents had taught her since she was old enough to balance on her own legs: whether they were witches or muggles, people's concerns were always the same.
Safety.
Safety for their family, safety for their property, safety for themselves. And with that idea in mind, she knew she could apply some little things she had learned from muggles. However, while they used technology, wizards, in turn, used potions. And Ginny knew some of the good ones.
"I've never seen so many galleons in front of me." Flynn whirled happily around Ginny, then he became suddenly self-conscious, feeling the need to assert his competence as her employee. "Of course, I've put everything in your vault at Gringotts."
Ginny smiled.
Flynn was a skinny 'boy' a few years younger than her, with brown hair that fell over blue eyes and a totally optimistic way of face his life. At the very beginning, when Ginny did not even have a sickle to buy spare ingredients, she had hired him as he had a certain talent with potions and enjoyed working with them.
It had been a successful bet.
As a matter of fact, at the time when she had hired him, he had not had much prospect of professional growth: he had come from Ireland and had been released by the Ministry commission that approved the Blood Status, but other than that, he had nothing else to do in England, neither a job, nor the end of his studies.
And ever since Ginny had returned to circulate among the wizards, he was her most faithful companion.
"I'm glad we're thriving, Flynn!" She winked at him knowingly. "Soon we can have our own space, if we dedicate ourselves to brewing more and better potions."
He saluted her good-naturedly. Ginevra of Woodcroft's dedication to work was already becoming known at Diagon Alley.
"The goblins will surely come to you to increase the size of your vault." He said it while spreading his arms, as if he could measure the amount of the wealth he would like them to earn. "And soon all London will know, 'if you want to protect your family from the Resistance and from You-Know-Who, get the potions that You-Know-That-Works: buy from Ginevra of Woodcroft'."
It was impossible for Ginny not to grin, despite eyeing slightly reproachfully at the young man. They lived in times when people had little sympathy for this kind of joke. Flynn had lived until over a year before in Ireland, where Voldemort's influence was not yet as latent, and Ginny thought he was still very innocent about certain aspects of his new life.
And about certain aspects of her life.
Immediately, she thought about her new life, her new name.
Ginevra of Woodcroft.
It had taken her a long time to decide and, at first, she was relieved to be able to get rid of her real first name - she had never been fond of it, after all. In her head, she has always been Ginny, not Ginevra.
To replace it, she had thought about Eleanor and Harriet, dismissing them for being too aristocratic and flashy; then she thought about Kate and Ruby, but they were not effective either as Ginny considered them very simple and showy because of that.
After discarding an endless list of possible names, she realised that none of them was appropriate precisely because no other name was… Ginevra.
Ginny simply could not get rid of her name, the remnant of her contact with her parents' world, the name they had given her.
She comprehended that whoever the Ministry was looking for, if it were really looking for, was a skinny, brash, temperamental and idealistic girl, whose name was Ginny Weasley.
Seeing her reflection in the window pane, she knew that a young widow in her early twenties - extremely reserved, cold and objective-, called Ginevra of Woodcroft, was reflected there.
Sometimes, she found it hard to recognise herself.
The surname that provided her anonymity deserved a little more attention. She needed an alibi to ensure that the Ministry would not need to investigate it further.
Percy worked with an undercover contact at the Ministry who provided false identities for Muggle-borns or for those who wanted a new chance outside the country. With his eternal ability to organise and document, he had helped Ginny to obtain documents and even a more robust family tree.
However, in order to do so, she first had to choose a surname.
She had resolved to disguise herself as a widow descended from one of the branches from Scotland of the Hengist of Woodcroft family - the Muggle-persecuted founder of Hogsmeade. An ambitious young woman who thought now that England was undergoing racial 'cleansing', it would be a more interesting place for 'real' wizards.
She was confident this would give her some stability regarding the Blood Status and, until now, after almost two years of living again in the wizarding world, she had only had to go through the initial registration, in an extremely tense situation, but one that had not been repeated since then.
And that was how she came back from the dead.
"Hey, Mrs. Woodcroft!" Flynn was snapping his fingers in front of her, trying to get her attention "You seemed to daydream, out of the blue."
"I was thinking about the bigger place we'll have to rent soon to continue producing our potions." She composed herself, smiling. "Come on, we have work to do!"
When they were getting ready to organise the cauldrons and books scattered around the small room, they heard a loud noise coming from her bedroom. Ginny walked over there, with Flynn on her heels, and stopped suddenly at the scene.
James, blatantly smiling and at the height of his three-year-old's vitality, was hanging by his foot by a house-elf, who was trying to balance a series of utensils in her other hand - from a cauldron to old boxes that should have been on a shelf above them. Ginny had a very strong feeling that James had something to do with the cause of all this.
"Sorry, ma'am, very sorry." The elf stumbled over the words and Ginny did not know if her hesitation was due to the fact that the creature felt the old impulse to self-harm or because of the very uncomfortable position she was in.
If Flynn was Ginny's right-hand man, Della, the house-elf, was all the rest. She had appeared as soon as Ginny coordinately tapped the brick wall at the rear courtyard of the Leaky Cauldron to enter Diagon Alley, with a baby of just over a year in her arm and a small suitcase with her belongings in the other. And, strangely, Della had looked at James with fascination, as if she were there for him.
Della served Orla Quirke's family, whose members were sentenced to Azkaban because their blood purity was not approved. In a last gesture before they left, they had given her an order - as Ginny later learned - to hide and look after herself until they could return.
In a surprising degree of autonomy, the elf had decided to be useful in a very unusual way.
Ginny remembered it like it was yesterday, when the house-elf came into her life:
"Ma'am," Della said, addressing Ginny, but bowing towards James, almost touching her nose to the ground. "Della's happy that you finally came back. There was a lot of trouble to find you among the Muggles."
"Er, hello." Ginny said visibly disconcerted. "You must be making a mistake. I don't have a house-elf and I'm sure the family you belong to doesn't know me either." She replied, just wanting to get rid of the situation as quickly as possible without drawing any attention.
"Della has no family to serve. Not anymore. They're under arrest." She spoke with so much sadness that alarmed Ginny. "But Della can use her time for something useful. To help someone who has helped Della. Someone who has helped the elves."
At that, Ginny seriously thought about sending Della to Hermione, until she remembered that she had no idea where her friend was. And, on top of that, she was getting very uncomfortable with the fact the elf did not take her eyes off James.
"Erm, Della, isn't it? I would love to help you, but can't let you stay with me. I can't pay you; I can't even offer you shelter and-"
"Dobby was my friend." Della's first impulse would certainly have been to punish herself for interrupting a human she was trying to serve, but she courageously continued saying. "He told me all about the kindness of Harr-"
"Shhh!" Ginny cut her off abruptly. "And what do you want from me? He's already dead, isn't he?" She could not help but take out her frustration caused by that wound still open on the creature in front of her. "There's nothing we can do about it, so you better go and-"
"All elves are grateful to him. Della owes him gratitude, she does, for everything he has done for an elf. And for that, Della wants to help his son."
Ginny's heart skipped a beat. How did she know about James?Could anyone else know as well?
Della seemed to read her frantic thoughts.
"Della had a lot of trouble finding you, ma'am. Only found you with the help of your brother who lives in London; he said an elf would be useful to you and the baby. He said a piece of Harry Potter survived and was with you. Della isn't very fond of being free, but she greatly appreciates Harry Potter's efforts to treat house-elves as beings with feelings."
And her bottom lip trembled visibly, in an expression that would have made Ginny laugh in another situation. But she was more concerned with thinking of ways to torture Percy for opening up his big mouth about James; life was difficult enough without crazy elves walking after her.
Undecided, she reached for Harry's belongings in the pouch she carried around her neck and felt her eyes water. James, for his part, reached out a little hand towards Della and smiled radiantly; and then immediately Ginny knew that the house-elf would stay with them from then on.
James made the decision that she had not had the courage to make.
James' laughter brought her back to the present abruptly.
"I got this, Della. I'll take care of this brat." Ginny took the baby and lifted him up until she was face to face with the boy's mischievous green eyes. "Enjoy it while you can. If you were a little older, you'd fix this mess by yourself, little man!" And James laughed, as he always did, feeling protected by his young age.
"I can keep an eye on him while you put everything back in place." Flynn said, certainly wanting to escape from the task of organising the objects scattered on the floor.
"It'd be nice, Flynn. Just assure me he won't break our stock of potion vials. Again." She replied, handing the baby over to Flynn, who left the room with the smiling James trying to jump on his neck.
Ginny began to stack the objects methodically. There were many things there because that was the place where she kept some of her 'payments'. Many people looking for her, especially in the beginning, were desperate for effective defense potions against the turbulent times they lived in, however, they had no galleons enough to pay her.
Then, Ginny decided she could try to help these people out, but found out that many of them refused to receive the charitable gesture. As a way of keeping things even, they ended up giving her various objects, as a symbolic reward.
On a cold night the week before, a man and his son knocked on Ginny's door sneakily, looking for Baneberry Potion for their attempt to cross the country and leave England.
It was the kind of situation she could not say no to.
"I don't have any galleons I can spend right now, Mrs. Woodcroft, but I'm extremely grateful that you gave me and my son a chance." Said the strong man with a prominent mustache, pointing to a boy, about fourteen years old. "While I can't pay you with cash, I can offer one of the most precious assets I have. I won't need it where we're going."
Then the boy came over and held out a box to Ginny, who took it more out of reflex; she had not noticed the object before. She had not even had time to say that it was not necessary and wish them luck. The two of them had already turned and disappeared into the fog of Diagon Alley while she eyed the box suspiciously.
Now she was in front of the same box, which she had not been careful to inspect properly that night. Dropped to the floor and opened, the box revealed a shallow metal basin, with runes and symbols carved on its sides. Inside, Ginny saw a silvery substance, neither liquid nor gaseous, it was something in the middle.
Where had this man gotten a Pensieve? She knew it was a rare object and that one did not seem to be the Pensieve that used to be in Dumbledore's office. The one in her hands was a smaller, less elaborate version of the one at Hogwarts.
Dumbledore.
Thinking about the Headmaster made her heart sink. She did not want anything to remind her of those times. No longer. It was hard enough to look at James every day and know where he came from.
She jumped up off from the ground.
"Della, can you finish packing these things for me, please?" The house-elf twisted her big potato nose at Ginny's kindness, but bowed her head slightly. The red-haired woman then pointed to the Pensieve. "I want to get rid of this thing as soon as possible. I don't need any more things to remember the past." She said and Della looked at her with wide eyes, as if she could not believe Ginny really meant to get rid of such a traditional object. "Anyway, I think we're going to get a fair number of galleons in exchange for it."
And Ginny left the room quickly, ready to drown her past in hours of brewing potions.
June 1998
Glastonbury
Voldemort tried to fly without the aid of any object, but failed, even after much concentration.
He would need to apparate and he did not want anyone to go with him; he was weak, but still was the most powerful living wizard. Showing any sign of weakness was inconceivable to him.
Having to move around like ordinary wizard consumed him by fury and anger, feelings that clouded his mind.
They should be his fuel, not make his reasoning difficult.
He cleared his mind to do what should be done. This was the time to be objective.
Harry Potter had succumbed and now nothing could keep him from mastery, from power, from immortality. There was no longer the shadow of a predestined boy to bother him, like an insistent fly diverting him from his goals for the past two decades.
But for now, he should be cautious; he was still weak, his soul depleted. More than once he wondered if he could, after having his Horcruxes destroyed by the damned boy, succumb to the need to divide his soul once more and what would be the consequences of that, even for him... It was a delicate matter that no one in the world, in that time or in the remote past, had managed to unravel.
He would be the pioneer, the first to cross that path, as in so many other situations where he forced the limits of magic and played with the boundaries of what was considered human. There was only one rule for him: Obtain unlimited power. And he also knew, in his heart, it would inevitably lead him to make another Horcrux.
He needed to create another Horcrux; it would make him feel invulnerable.
However, for that, he would have to wait until he was strong enough.
For now, he would be content to find an object to lodge his soul. And a victim to be up to his standard. Yes, it was important; he was sure this new horcrux would require a death full of meaning, symbolism.
For that, he was in no hurry.
Finding these two 'things' could take days, months, years. But it matters not: he was a patient man. He had to choose carefully to replace his Diary, his Cup, his Ring, Nagini...
How he missed Nagini, his most faithful companion.
He took pleasure in killing the useless Longbottom, remembering what he had done to Nagini. But his supreme pleasure, obtained that very night, had been killing Potter, after so many years, after the Battle of Hogwarts.
He had been afraid that something might go wrong. The Elder Wand's destruction had been a severe blow to him, but Potter had facilitated all the work later, by throwing himself into a suicide mission that almost worked.
Almost.
But it was not the time to think about it. First, he needed to get other obstacles out of his way.
He apparated in front of a decrepit building in Glastonbury where his Death Eaters threw the captured pure-blood people who fought alongside the insolent brat, before sending them definitively to Azkaban. He had plans to turn that place into another of the symbols of his regime: a prison that would serve as a halter for those who dared to step outside the rigid line he had stipulated for his pure-blood followers.
It was a symbol of power, as it testified he could imprison even the most powerful wizards in England. And yet, it represented his mercy by not sending the pure-blood straight to Azkaban.
It was perfect.
The doors opened for him and his Death Eaters went out of his way cowardly. He could smell those men's terror and he reveled in it
How sweet the smell of fear was, he thought intoxicated by it.
Some of the Death Eaters who were guarding Glastonbury survived the Battle in the Forbidden Forest and the dark wizard looked over them, analysing, feeling their eagerness to obey.
He stopped his cat-like slits pupils on Draco Malfoy; he had survived in the most hideous way possible: passing out and exempting himself from fighting for his Lord. But he had already paid for his vexing stance and for his successive failures, such as not having killed Dumbledore; Voldemort had to refrain a smile that threatened to break on his face when he remembered how the snob brat begged for his life, writhing in pain.
He watched Malfoy boy's face more carefully; he was more afraid than anyone and exuded it with an intensity that delighted Voldemort. His thin face was marked by purple spots and his eyes had dark circles that attested to his successive sleepless nights. Since his father's death a month ago, Draco had been rightly chosen to atone for his family's sins and failures. And his own.
"Are you sleeping well, Draco? You look so… worn-out, I daresay." He asked softly, giving the word a clear double meaning and feeling the boy tremble under his gaze. "Do you need a vacation? Go away for a little while?"
His insinuating threat was not lost on the young man, judging by the wariness in his grey, opaque eyes.
Draco looked down submissively, causing the hateful platinum hair that so much resembled his father's to fall on his face.
"I do appreciate the offer, my Lord, but being at your service is the only thing my family and I could wish for." He said in a weak voice and without eye contact, even though he knew how to defend himself from possible attacks on his mind.
This showed fear and respect, and the Dark Wizard could not help but appreciate the gesture.
The boy had been well trained, he could not deny it.
"I am glad to hear of your devotion." He gave Draco an encouraging pat on the arm and felt how the young man struggled to not recoil in fear. "I have plans for you."
"It will be a true honor, my Lord." Draco bowed deferentially, and as he got up, Voldemort noticed the gleam of something different in his eyes.
Something which, although he could not classify completely what it was, he did not like at all. He needed to remedy that little spark of ... persistence?
Yes, he would make an example of young Malfoy. The torture he had inflicted on the boy up to that point would be nothing close to what was to come.
If Malfoy did not bend completely then he would break. Voldemort would make sure of that.
"How is your mother, Draco?"
"She's..." Surprised by the unexpected question, Draco struggled to find a word. "Healthy."
"Let's hope she stays that way, shall we?" Voldemort said deceivably soft. "In such tumultuous times, we have to take extra care of our loved ones. Even more considering that she is the only family you have left."
If it were possible, the boy had become even paler and Voldemort smiled. "She is, my Lord."
Voldemort nodded darkly. "You would do well to remember that."
Then he left the Death Eaters behind, as he turned down dusty corridors and through decrepit doors, with his thoughts still on Draco Malfoy
He wondered how long that fine example of weakness and cowardice would endure. Yes, that would be a good hobby: testing the limits of someone terrified, someone who did not deserve to carry a pure blood and a traditional name.
He diverted his thoughts from Malfoy when a spark of envy crossed his mind. He had to concentrate on what mattered and not on a despicable child like him.
Voldemort stopped at the door of a cell, one of the many that were in the place, thinking again about how to solve all his problems, trim all the edges.
His Death Eaters had put the woman there after her premonitions began to manifest, to please him. He had appreciated that too.
He entered the room, feeling his bare feet hitting a worn and uneven floor.
A woman languished in a bed, sweating due to what he assumed be an overwhelming fever. He knew she had been injured at the Battle of Hogwarts thanks to a bite from Nagini. He could not contain a scornful sigh when he thought that every fool from the Order of the Phoenix had failed to heal her. It was dishonorable for anyone to carry the title of wizard when they could not escape certain situations or create solutions to the most critical problems.
He peered at the figure lying almost motionless on the bed, a draft of the person that once she had been.
Thick hair stuck to her dirty face, sweat gave her skin a shiny look, and her clothes gave off a putrid smell that displeased his nose. Smell of failure, of defeat.
Sybill Trelawney was being consumed by Nagini's poison and had been left behind when the Order of the Phoenix had to hastily abandon Hogwarts, captured while trying to be removed from Hogwarts by supporters of the Boy-Who-Not-Lived. Her companions had been killed; she, in turn, had not been so lucky.
He gave one of his rare true smiles, focusing a little more on the woman. She was delusional, saying disconnected things. About Dumbledore, Hogwarts, Harry.
The wait would be inevitable then; the Death Eater who captured her had said that the harbingers came and went.
He conjured a chair with a very discreet movement of his new wand and sat down to wait. Minutes, hours.
She slept, woke up, raved.
He meditated, speculated, plotted.
It was all a matter of waiting for the right moment.
Until her eyes, already blurred by the fever, widened. The voice that was once fragile and clipped, had become louder, clearer. Audible.
He got up and walked over to her.
"Sybill, say to me what must be said." He demanded in his constant, almost gentle voice.
She looked at him without seeing properly.
"…and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives..."
He remained motionless for a moment and deduced that this had been the old prophecy that had intertwined his future with that of Harry Potter.
Voldemort had fought - and had failed - so many times to achieve that prophecy and now it fell into his lap, obediently. But what good was it now? History had already demanded its outcome. He felt a flash of anger again. Had he been requested there because of that? Harry Potter was already dead. Prophecies that predict the past were of no consequence to him.
He waited a few more minutes, but the woman was still saying the same thing. He was wondering if he should put an end to that farce; seeing someone in that state of weakness disgusted and reminded him of a time when he was less than that.
Something he certainly did not want to remember.
Raising his wand, he would give her a quick and desired death. It would not be so effective to torture someone who was already with the mind distorted by the poison.
He knew he did not have to say the words, but he would say them nonetheless, just for the pleasure of feeling them roll over his tongue, the roof of his mouth, his teeth.
But Sybill Trelawney spoke first. And among disconnected words, Voldemort stopped the movement of his wand in the air, as if mesmerized.
"Neither can live while the other survives... The fruit originated in one has the power of damnation over the other. And everything that carries the fruit of one will be cursed and poisonous to the other..."
He stopped short.
Damn it, Harry Potter! Damn him even in hell where he should be squirming now.
He thought frantically, circling the room where the wretched woman was still moaning. It seemed quite clear the fruit originated in him - and that it would be poisonous to Harry Potter – were his horcruxes. And everything that came out of them was his soul, broken into several pieces.
Now, regarding the boy... It was all very foggy. What would be the boy's fruit?
A resistance composed by his followers? It could only be that.
He thought some more to support the idea. Obviously, the Resistance would be cursed and poisonous to him. But was it so powerful that it could destroy him?
He would not try to find out.
The boy had died, but his idea persisted. And Lord Voldemort knew the power of ideas; he knew that killing ideas was more difficult than killing people...
…Although they could also be killed in the end.
He raised his head, resolute with what he would have to do from then on: before he tried to divide his soul again, he would end the Resistance - the fruit of Harry Potter - and condemn everything that came out of it, starting with all his friends. Only then he could be strong again, really powerful.
Only then he could create another Horcrux.
He conjured up a small sphere, where he kept the prophecy with the meticulous care characteristic of his actions.
Then, in a quick gesture, he threw the Killing Curse on the woman, impatient with the sound of her weak moans.
He was very close to achieving his goals.
Forgive me for writing too much, I know this chapter got really big, but I needed the story to make these little jumps in time.
Your comments are what motivate me to write. Please, don't forget to leave your thoughts on the chapter. It makes my day! Thank you all.