A/N: If you got this far – well done! You actually stuck with me! Thanks to reviewers, and enjoy this chapter!
I'd like a HUGE thank you to the anonymous reviewer named Ginny Weasley, who helped me when I really needed it. My summary was dodgy, and, to answer your question – no, 1958 is not a mistake. I know that according to J.K Rowling's website, Voldie was born in 1926, and that it would probably make more sense on a timeline for it to be set in the forties… but I already did loads of research on the fifties (what they wore, what music they listened to, etc) and also because I need Voldie to be a leetle younger than eighty in present-time, as it is crucial to the plot. Thank you again.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am not the one living in Scotland sitting on a million pounds. This is just for fun.
The Letter P
Chapter Two: P is for Portkey
She was in the library when Fawkes flew in. The library wasn't a place for study anymore, as most of the books contained biased opinions against He-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed, Mr. Ruler Of The World, so they were all burned. Only about seventeen books remained.
Hermione would be furious if she knew. The Army of Hogwarts was a mere warm-up to a book-destroyed Hermione Jane Granger, Mr. Voldemort, so look out.
Ginny was sitting in a corner, in what used to be the Restricted Section before everything was burned, staring at the ceiling and wondered how this thing called life had become this terrible hell so fast.
Within three months, the sixth-year's life was destroyed. Her best friends, her boyfriend, her entire family – all dead. Ron, Luna, Harry and Hermione she missed more than her 'best friends' in the sixth year – more, even than her beloved boyfriend, Seamus.
I was going to break up with him. I kept putting it off. He died thinking I loved him. He died, surrounded by a lie.
She sighed. And then the giant flaming bird landed in front of her.
The redhead blinked. "Um," she said to it, "Hello?"
It cocked its head sideways, and released a low, tuneful hoot. It lowered its magnificent plumed head and dropped a coiled piece of parchment from its beak, dark eyes twinkling.
Frowning, but curious, Ginny reached forwards from her arms looped around her tucked-up knees and picked up the paper. She unfurled it and read the words: Miss Weasley. Please come to my office. It is a matter of rather urgent importance. Bring Fawkes with you. Professor Albus Dumbledore.
She shrugged, and stood, stretching her cramped muscles briefly. "Are you Fawkes?" she asked the phoenix sitting on the ground at her feet. In response, it spread its wings and fluttered onto her arm, cooing softly. "Alright, then."
They headed out of the library. Ginny walked like a dream, floating, never really lingering in any one place for too long. She looked at every portrait – that which would once have been a feat to be proud of was no longer. Her beloved Fat Lady and even the annoying but lovable Sir Cadogan had been dismantled and set on fire. Few remained, and most were new images depicting the brave, powerful, and always very handsome Lord Voldemort.
You're not brave, nor powerful. You're a coward, and you don't deserve to have a painting of you. There should be paintings of Harry, Hermione, and Ron. They were the heroes, and even in death they're far more than you could ever be.
Thinking such emotional thoughts made the corners of Ginny's eyes sting, but she fiercely pushed it aside, and all sorrow to the very back of her heart, where perhaps she could forget that it existed.
As the girl and the bird arrived before Professor Dumbledore's office gargoyle-protectors, they stopped. Fawkes hooted once, and a door slid into view, opening to reveal winding stairs. He flapped his wings, creating a gust that buffeted Ginny's red hair around her once-full -and now painfully-thin - face. Wondering what awaited her, she stepped through the doorway.
…
Fawkes soared through the twin doors, both open, and landed gracefully on his perch to preen his golden and scarlet feathers carefully. "Hello," said Dumbledore, nodding at his faithful companion, and then redirected his piercing blue gaze to the doors as he heard someone approaching quietly.
And there she was.
Ginevra Molly Weasley was not the girl she once was. Much of the feisty, carefree attitude had slowly leeched away as everyone she cared for died or coincidentally 'disappeared' due to their blood status. It was quite a surprise that the little 'blood-traitor' female was not dead.
She used to be quite a stocky little female, inheriting the genes of her mother, Charlie, Fred and George; short and podgy. Now, however, her cheekbones stuck out rather prominently in her face and those once-glittering hazel eyes lacked the cheerful life they once held. Even her hair seemed to lose its vibrant bounce, and the spring in her step was springy no more.
A year's sorrow and loneliness had destroyed her.
"Sit down," Dumbledore said kindly.
She did so, dropping down quietly into the nearest chair in a subdued manner. Her hazel stare was directed at her feet in their chunky black trainers.
"Do you know what this is, Miss Weasley?" asked Dumbledore, placing a hand over the crystal ball lying on his desk. He waited for her round eyes to flicker to it, and then picked it up, balancing it in one long-fingered hand.
"Yes, sir," said Ginny. She was staring at it. "It's a prophecy, sir."
Sir, this, sir, that. Whatever happened to the all-attitude, 'Yeah, I know. S'a prophecy, isn'it?'
Dumbledore sighed. "Indeed it is. Would you like to know who its for?" he asked.
"No, but I think that you're going to tell me anyway," commented Ginny. It was an answer she would have given a year back, but the cheeky grin and the teasing tone was missing; her words were flat and soulless.
"I am," smiled Dumbledore, but before he could tell her, the glass ball lit up and began to smoke and spark, floating a few centimetres above his palm.
So it is true. The prophetic child is Ginny.
…
Her attention was caught; she seemed to have realized the same thing as Dumbledore, at approximately the same time. Ginny was watching it quite fixedly as it spoke, and she did not lift her gaze even when it was done. When Dumbledore cleared his throat, she snapped her eyes up to him.
"That's me," she said. There was a tone of surprise in her voice. She was so used to holding everything back and feeling nothing that her voice cracked. "I'm the one to save the world."
"Indeed." Dumbledore was observing her closely. "Are you aware of the whole Neville-Harry scenario, Miss Weasley?" he inquired, raising bushy eyebrows above his half-moon spectacles.
"Yeah," she replied absently. Ginny wasn't really paying attention. She really wanted to touch the glowing, pinky-green crystal ball, but she suspected that she wouldn't be allowed, and that it would seem rude. "A prophecy about two boys. Voldie chose the wrong one. Boom. Wizarding world destroyed." A tiny smirk quirked the corners of her lips. "It makes my daily choice of eyeliner seem rather unimportant."
Though I am quite pleased with my green eyeliner today.
Ginny! Pay attention to him. Pull out of La-la Land.
Oh fine.
"So?" Ginny asked, folding her arms across her skinny chest. "How do I save the world? How do I help mankind? Where do I sign the application form?"
"Miss Weasley," said Dumbledore. His voice was grave, and its solemnity spooked the redhead into paying the utmost attention, "this is not a time for humour. The lives of every witch and wizard on the face of the earth is with you now."
She nodded, an ashamed flush creeping across her cheeks. "What do I need to do?"
Professor Dumbledore sighed. "I have thoroughly contemplated every possibility," he informed the sixteen-year-old. "And only one remains… you must cut the roots for the tree to fall." When Ginny only looked blank, he leaned closer and said quietly, "Miss Weasley, I need you to go back in time."
Ginny's breath hitched in her throat. "H-how far?" she whispered.
"Far. 1958, to be precise," the elderly Headmaster explained. "His Lord and Master of the Universe will be seventeen years old. He will be in his final year at Hogwarts. Find him. Do not get close to him. And, in any way possible, destroy him."
The redhead gasped.
"I must sound a monster to you, Miss Weasley, but you must do this. Send him to Azkaban. Kill him. Even – as much as I shudder to think of it – torture him to insanity," Dumbledore said severely.
A horrified look graced Ginny's pretty face.
That's terrible!
"But – I couldn't!" she said. "As much as I hate him, I'm not going to kill him. He's a human being, and he has feelings, and when I get to him he won't even have transformed into the evil person he is now!"
"Please – listen to me. Do you remember what he did to you, five years? Do you remember how old he was? Fifteen, Ginny. Fifteen. This is two years later – he's already created the diary, created the Horcrux. He has already set something up that will, forty-eight years on, try to kill you," Dumbledore said sharply.
Ginny screwed her face up, blocking back painful memories that sprouted from his words.
"Tom Riddle has murdered, emotionlessly, cruelly, savagely, everyone you…and I – love and care for. He would not stop to consider the fact that you are a 'human being' or that you 'have feelings'. He will murder you, like he did to the rest of your family. May I remind you what he did to Mister Weasley… in front of you?"
"No!" Ginny cried. "Don't – I'll-"
Ron on the floor, squirming, screaming –
She grabbed at her head, squeezing her eyes shut until they started to water, digging her fingernails in, hard.
Blood, everywhere. It was pooling around Ginny's feet and staining her favourite trainers. His screams echoed.
Suddenly a hand was gripping her shoulder tight, and Ginny looked up, alarmed, thinking that it was Lord Voldemort. Tears were shining on her freckled cheeks, and she swiped them away fiercely. "I'm going," she said, standing, and shrugging Professor Dumbledore's hand away. "I'll do it."
A relieved and slightly worried look appeared in Dumbledore's blue eyes. "Thank you," he said softly. "I think I should, however, warn you very severely… the chance of you coming back is low. Lower than the chance of the Lord and Master of the Universe being struck by lightning."
Ginny nodded. "I don't mind. There's nothing left here for me." Her hand moved to a pendant that she had not taken off for precisely a year today. "Can I just ask… why me?" she inquired curiously.
"That," Dumbledore replied. "I cannot answer. Now, time is growing short. When will you be ready to go?"
"Now," said Ginny shortly.
The old Headmaster looked baffled. "But… don't you want to say farewell, or give it some time to think it over?" he asked, bewildered.
Ginny smiled humourlessly. "Who would I say goodbye to? And why would I think about it – it's not like a have a choice, is it? I want to go now," she replied.
With a sigh, Dumbledore nodded. "I suppose that you are right. You cannot bring with you anything except what you are wearing, but I'm sure you could ask Professor… Dippet, I believe was Headmaster at the time, if memory serves me well – to conjure you some clothes for the time period. And perhaps money, too, and schoolbooks. Whatever you need."
"Wait – won't Professor Snipped-"
"Dippet."
"-whatever – find it a little weird that a student forty-eight years into his future suddenly turns up and demands to be let in so that she can kill another student?" Ginny finished, holding her hands up.
"Well," Dumbledore said, moving to a cupboard. "Actually, you will completing your education in the fifties, so you will be a student there. At first, things will seem difficult, but I promise that it will get better. Also, I am going to write a letter for you, explaining the majority of the situation to Dippet – leaving out, of course, the part where you attack a seventh-year – and you will have to tuck that as closely into your clothing as possible, along with your wand. That way, it should hopefully remain with you through the time-travel."
The sixteen-year-old standing in front of his desk raised an eyebrow. "Do you really think that a letter will do the trick?"
Dumbledore picked up a quill, dipped it thoughtfully in a pot of ink, and then started to scrawl away on a piece of parchment. "Surprisingly, yes," he informed Ginny. "There is actually a section of Hogwarts Headmaster training – including a handbook, I may add – which teaches you exactly what to do should a student from the future, or past, arrive."
Her eyes boggled, but she hid her astonishment and stifled her astonished snort. There's a handbook
There was a moment's silence, only interrupted by Fawkes shifting on his perch, and for the scratching of Dumbledore's phoenix-feather quill. Then the Headmaster picked up the letter, blew on the words lightly to dry the ink, folded it, and stamped it closed.
"If you would care to tuck that into your clothing, as close to your body as possible, please, Miss Weasley," Dumbledore said, standing and passing her the letter, "I will sort together your mode of transportation."
He bustled away, and Ginny was left staring at the crisp white parchment. She considered opening it, but decided that it would seem impolite to turn up in 1958 and present a read letter. Shrugging and choosing to find out what it said later, she lifted the hem of her jumper and tucked it, and her wand, into the waistband of her jeans. Tugging down her fleece jumper again, she watched Fawkes quietly in contemplation as she waited for Dumbledore to return.
"Here we are," he said, coming back through the doors. From one hand swung a little circular disk on a thin string, and in the other he twirled an intricately-carved wand.
"Sir, what's that?" Ginny asked, pointing to the disk.
Dumbledore frowned in confusion, before saying, "Ah," and catching on. "This, Miss Weasley," he pinched the lower half of the string to hold the swaying circle on the end still, "is a Time-Turner."
"Oh," said Ginny, as if she understood – she didn't. "What do I do with it?"
With a smile, Dumbledore stretched the string out into a circle and looped it around Ginny's neck, before letting it fall against her chest. Once it was free of the Headmaster's long fingers, she picked it up and examined it. She had never seen one before, though apparently Hermione used to own one.
It was a pretty little copper circle, and inside the circle was another circle, one that spun in all directions, with a complicated Rune located in the middle filled with sand. Ginny, who had never studied Ancient Runes, did not know what it meant and suspected that she would not know it even if she had studied Runes.
"Miss Weasley, you will travelling by Portkey," said Dumbledore, still twirling the strangely decorated wand. "Please, hold still." He began to wave his wand in front of her, forming complicated patterns in the air.
What's he doing? I've been by Portkey a thousand times, and I've never done this
Finally he was finished.
The old man glanced at his pocket-watch. "Half a minute until you leave, Miss Weasley," he informed her, and began to bustle about with the Time-Turner, twisting the inside circle this way and that.
"Er, sir?" Ginny asked hesitantly. "Where's the Portkey?"
"You, my dear, are the Portkey," said Dumbledore simply.
Wow. Nice.
Dumbledore stepped back, finished. "You will be going shortly, Miss Weasley." He considered her over the top of his glasses, rather sadly, Ginny thought. Then he said, "I suppose that this is goodbye, then. Good luck, Ginevra."
This is it. This is the last thing I'll probably ever see of life as I knew it.
Feeling suddenly terrible for Dumbledore, who was now left alone with only Professor Sprout, and a scattering of under-fourteens in Hogwarts, she opened her mouth to apologize, thank him for everything he's done, and most of all: "Goodb-"
And then she was gone.
…
A/N: Like it? Let me know if you do! Please review, tell me if you don't understand or if you think that I should make something clearer. Thank you to my beta SilverXan, and enjoy the rest of the fic! Please review! PLEASE don't make me have to do the review dance.