Twenty-eight: Trinkets of the past
It was light as a feather. Somehow, that seemed wrong. She held the weight of a life, of a war in her hand, and still it weighed no more than any other letter. At least the location lent gravity to the occasion, here in the headmaster's office with all of Dumbledore's predecessors looking down on her. A frame for Dumbledore was already in place too, but he himself remained conspicuously absent. As if it would be possible to forget him, the shining white tomb visible from the window.
Just a pristine white envelope with her first name scrawled on it, in death they had finally moved beyond Miss Weasley. She wondered if that meant she should call him Albus from now on as well. As inappropriate as it was, she almost giggled at the thought.
Afraid to open it? Tom asked and for once she couldn't entirely disagree. A quick letter, McGonagall had said. It made her wonder what he had written down before striding into a battle he must have known he might not survive. What had been so important to warrant a letter to her of all people? It had to be about Horcruxes and even then she wondered why he had chosen her and not Bill or Fleur.
If only Harry had been able to write a letter as well before he died.
"Nice work, Gin. I'm glad you're here."
Had Dumbledore been glad she'd been there and survived? Is that why he had chosen her? Or had he solely sought to replace his star pupil by the best alternative on hand? A pawn to replace his bishop? Ginny had not been able to figure out their relationship before he died and now she feared she never would. The only thing she feared more was that this letter would settle it.
She ran her hands across her scars and wondered why she was even afraid of it. Why it mattered if Dumbledore had believed in her, or sought to use her as a convenient tool. There was a terrifying task ahead of them and she would confront it. If this letter helped her, so the better. If it didn't, she'd tear this office apart until she found something that could help her.
With a single clean cut, she sliced open the envelope, shredding the white paper. A letter comes tumbling out.
Dear Ginny,
If you receive this letter, that means I have failed yet again and I died before my work was finished. For that, I must apologise my dear girl, for the burden I leave you and the rest of wizarding Britain is an unfair one.
At the time of writing this, four Horcruxes remain. I uncovered the hiding place of one more, only to discover an enterprising youngster had beaten me to it long ago. A rather fetching facsimile of Slytherin's locket, as well as the note that came with it, lie in the upper drawer of my desk. Whether the original was destroyed, I do not yet know. I encourage you to find an answer to that question in the house of the Ancient and Noble House of Black.
The three others I have not yet found. In the cabinet you will find my, admittedly sparse, research on the topic, as well as several vials containing memories. They are all yours, as is my Pensieve. The two marked with notes in black ink will, I hope, prove useful on your journey. The three indicated with red ink are to be used in times of despair, in hope that a memory of happier days can bolster your resolve. The two with green ink are sealed by a spell. The counterspell will come to you in due time.
Do not wander this route alone, but are careful who you share these secrets with. I think Miss Greengrass has earned our trust, and I have also been so free as to take two other people in confidence, your brother Bill and his fiancée Fleur. They are conducting their own search. Include others as you see fit, but please, be careful. Honest souls are hard to find and even then can be broken.
I wish you the best of luck, Ginny. I am very proud of the strength you have shown in face of horrors unparalleled. I am sure Harry would share my opinion.
Yours,
A.P.W.B.D.
Ginny let out a long breath she hadn't noticed she'd been holding when she reached the last letters. There it was, the incontestable proof that the fate of the war had been entrusted to her of all people. She almost had to laugh, remembering Bill's horrified look on New Year's Eve when he discovered she knew of Horcruxes. This was so much worse. It made her wonder if Dumbledore had been expecting her to survive what was to come, or if it had been a final daring gambit. To that, the letter offered no answer. Nor did it matter, no matter what Tom's whispers were trying to tell her. She had to try.
As promised, she found Slytherin's Locket inside the drawer. Or something not quite unlike it. As she held it, Ginny knew why Dumbledore had pointed her to Grimmauld Place 12. He probably hadn't known it, but she'd seen it there before, as they fought a house that breathed resentment for their kind. It had been oppressive days of gloom, but Harry had been there. Harry who had radiated as much gloom and despair as the house on the surface, but if you looked at him long enough, you could still see the same light as always shining underneath, the light Ginny had never tired of seeing. And one day, he'd held a locket just like this one, one they had never managed to open. One, she realised with dawning horror, they had thrown away, still undestroyed.
The one thought that stopped her from succumbing to despair and combing the landfills of London, was that Horcruxes did not enjoy being discarded. The diary had slumbered in Malfoy Manor, but when awakened, it had never returned to the darkness. Ginny had sought to destroy and then discard it, but it had first found Harry and then her again. Slytherin's Locket would have been the same. It would have reached out to a vulnerable soul and filled its head with whispers.
There had been two of those at Grimmauld Place, trapped in both their own mind and the past. And while one had hated everything in green and silver, another had been more receptive to stories of blood pure and traditions old. Kreacher. The only problem was, the only person who could force him to cooperate, if he still lived, was that other broken soul. Sirius Black.
"This is going to be difficult," she whispered.
"I told Dumbledore, you know," Phineas Nigellus said, who had clearly been ready to pounce. "Told him he was a fool for putting his hope in a girl of such a family of delinquents."
"Yes, thank you," Ginny said, massaging her temples.
She would study the memories tomorrow, she decided. Astoria could come along then.
"No grit, the kids of today. Or of old really, it was just the same when I was headmaster. Not even the strictest punishments can make up for poor breeding."
With a bit of luck, Phineas Nigellus would be asleep then as well.
When she returned the next day, Phineas Nigellus Black was sadly still awake. Spite might have inspired him to stay awake, just to make sure he wouldn't miss them. Dumbledore, however, remained absent.
"Oooooh," Astoria said, standing in the middle of the room and unsure where to look first. Her eyes jumped from the portraits to the silver instruments to Fawkes' empty perch, a sight that still pulled on Ginny's heartstring.
"Impressive, isn't it?" she said, feeling a bit like a tour guide or a proud homeowner as she dropped down in Dumbledore's chair. She doubted he'd mind and that way, she'd at least done one thing at Hogwarts that no Weasley had ever done before.
"That's not your chair!" Phineas Nigellus was quick to shout. "Get out of it this instance, young lady."
"Is that-" Astoria began.
"The headmaster's chair, yes. Surprisingly uncomfortable, really," Ginny said.
Astoria raised an eyebrow, amused by her casual disrespect. It dawned on Ginny her robes were of even finer cloth than usual and those emerald earrings looked suspiciously new. She also didn't look quite as pale as usual.
"Did you dress up for the occasion?" Ginny asked.
"Well, yes." Astoria looked a bit shamefaced. "I thought, with the portraits and all that," she added with a vague wave of her hand that was somehow intended to explain everything.
"Good to see at least Slytherin house still has some manners," Phineas Nigellus sniped.
"Oh Tori," Ginny said, struggling not to laugh at her friend. "You even got the portrait from the last millennium agreeing with you."
"Yes, yes, hilarious. How about the memories?" Astoria said.
"I'll have you know, young lady, that I lived well into the twentieth century. But I suppose your kind could never quite stay awake during History of Magic," Phineas Nigellus muttered in the meantime.
Ginny paid him no mind, instead unstoppering the first vial and pouring it in the Pensieve.
"And that's an actual Pensieve and it's yours now," Astoria said, running her finger along the runes.
"Apparently," Ginny shrugged. "Guess it's true what they say about being nice to old people. These are rare, right?"
"Incredibly rare," Astoria agreed. "I'm not sure if anyone in Britain has another."
"The Unspeakables," Ginny said flatly.
A room with no floor or ceiling, walls or doors, not even the one they had come through. Just an endless white mist and at the centre of it, if this place even had a thing such as a centre, stone basin with odd markings on the side. Something she'd only ever seen in textbooks. A Pensieve.
"Where are we?" she says, her voice surprisingly loud in the void.
"In a memory? Or the memory, perhaps," Luna says in her usual airy tone that seems better suited to this place.
"After a fashion," a voice says, echoing from all sides. Impossibly loud, enough to make her teeth rattle. "This is the room devoted to the study of memories. I used to work here, you know."
She and Luna look around, but can't see anyone. They take a few more steps through the vast whiteness.
"Is that-" she begins but before she can complete her sentence, the voice beats her to it.
"The name is Augustus Rookwood, former Unspeakable and now Death Eater extraordinaire. I see the prophecy is not here, nor the Boy Who Lived, so I cannot tarry. I will, however, leave you with a memory of my own to keep you occupied."
The room is black and cold. The smell of salty air, the howling of the wind. The cold gets harsher and the dark darker. She'll never be happy again. Dementors, she thinks before a voice drifts to the surface. A voice telling her that he'll be her friend. Her only friend.
"Ginny?" She could hear her name, coming from far away. She tried to latch onto it, but failed.
The whispers turn darker and no longer promise friendship. They call her stupid, vain and lovesick. But she need not worry, he'll make sure her death will matter more than her life ever did. Besides, why be sad? It's not as if Harry Potter would ever love her. Who could love a stupid, silly girl like her? No, better to embrace death. That way, it will at least end. Don't you want it to end, Ginny?
An incorporeal mist drifts past her and the back of her mind briefly screams Dementor. But Tom is screaming louder.
And suddenly, the darkness is gone. A clatter and the Pensieve lies on the floor, silver memories dripping from it. Next to it stands Neville, shrouded in an incorporeal Patronus. Whatever magic operated the room has been disturbed. Now it's just a small square with a drain in the middle, a drain happily devouring the memory. It must have been Rookwood's memory, she realises. Rookwood's memory of Azkaban.
"Are you alright Ginny?" Neville asks, holding her. In his eyes there is so much love that she can forget the feeling of the Dementor. But Tom's voice, she still hears, even as she nods. Neville moves to an equally pale Luna, who has sunken to the floor, crying and whispering 'Mum' over and over again.
"Ginny? Are you alright?"
For a second, she expected Neville to shake her shoulders, but it was only Tori, standing before her. At her feet lay the Pensieve, fallen but mercifully undamaged as her hands shook and shook and shook.
"I'm fine. Just a memory. A memory," she repeated as she wondered whether she could rid herself of those particular memories with the Pensieve.
"Here, sit down," Astoria said, guiding her back to the headmaster's chair. A hundred eyes from fifty portraits studied her with concern as she breathed in and out.
"Weak," she could hear Phineas Nigellus mutter, followed by a strangled cry. When she looked at his frame, she could see a witch and wizard wrestling Hogwarts' least popular headmaster to the floor.
"Shall I bring you back to Gryffindor Tower?" Astoria suggested, pressing her palm against Ginny's head. She didn't need her friend to tell her it felt clammy. "We can do this another time."
"No, I'll be fine. It's just been a while since I had one of those," she said. "It took me a bit by surprise."
"Hmm," Astoria said, pressing her finger against her carotid artery. "Rather quick. Especially for a sportswoman such as you."
"It's fine, really," Ginny said. "Or maybe it's not fine, but I'm learning to live with it."
"Dolohov's curse?" she asked.
"Yeah," Ginny said, relieved that Astoria at least didn't speak of psychiatrists. Then again, she wasn't sure an insular pureblood such as her even knew what that was. "Just, give me another minute and I'll be fine. Can you-"
"Get the Pensieve? Yeah," Astoria said, handling it with such care and reverence Ginny felt even worse about dropping it. With a flick of her wand, the vial labelled '1968' uncorked itself and poured its contents inside. "So these are memories," Astoria mused.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Ginny said, leaning closer. Somehow, this particular memory seemed to shimmer in the light more than those that had become before. "Shall we?"
"What do I do?" Astoria asked, looking very clueless.
Ginny thought of Fred and George and dunked Astoria's face into the bowl, before diving after her.
She landed in the exact same office she had just left, only with one portrait less, a fallen Astoria scrambling up from the floor and – her breath caught in her throat – Dumbledore. Alive with two healthy hands and much less exhausted than he had looked during the last year.
"Oh, you're just hilarious," Astoria complained as she got up and dusted off her clothes, though what she was trying to brush off, Ginny wasn't sure. Memory dust maybe? "At first I thought I'd missed the bowl and then I saw him."
"It's strange, isn't it?" Ginny said, taking a step closer to Dumbledore.
"It is. And they can't see us?"
"No," she said. "I think it's his memory though."
"Enter," Dumbledore said and Ginny couldn't suppress a gasp as Tom walked in.
No, not Tom. What stood in the office wasn't fully Tom anymore. Perhaps not quite Voldemort either, but something in transition. His eyes weren't slits of scarlet yet, but they were turning red. His pale skin had gone paler, his hair thinner.
The price of power, Tom whispered. Maybe that's how you'll end up looking too. You'll have to if you ever wish to defeat me.
The Tom of the memory's eyes swept the office and passed over her before landing on Dumbledore. It felt like he had seen her, impossible as it was.
"Is that-"
"Voldemort, yes," Ginny said, not wanting to share the nuances of Tom Riddle with her friend.
I'd almost think you're ashamed of me, Ginny. I thought we were best friends.
She ignored him and focused on the memory, wondering what was so special about this particular one that Dumbledore had deemed it worth sharing with her. And still, as Voldemort and Dumbledore spoke and danced around each other, her heart skipping a beat when Dolohov was mentioned. Yet whatever she was waiting for, never came. Refused, Voldemort slammed the door shut behind him and the memory ended, throwing them back into present day's office.
"Merlin", Astoria whispered, looking ashen. It dawned on Ginny that Astoria had never seen Voldemort in the flesh before. "Did he really want to teach DADA?"
"That's the question you choose to lead with?" Ginny asked, incredulous.
"Yeah, of course, I mean, imagine a worse teacher than Snape."
"Fair," Ginny chuckled. "I'm not sure what that memory was supposed to convey though."
"That You-Know-Who's a creep?" Astoria said, biting her lip in the same way she'd seen Daphne do.
"Maybe," she sighed, returning the memory to its container.
"Do you want to see the other one as well?"
"Sure, maybe that will leave us with two mysteries to ponder," Ginny muttered as Astoria retrieved the second memory, this one labelled '1996'.
Once again, they landed in the same office, with Dumbledore seated in his usual chair. Opposite him, leaning against the wall, was Snape, twirling his wand between his fingers.
"You seem annoyed with me, Severus," Dumbledore said.
"Do not take too much credit, Dumbledore," Snape replied and Ginny was feeling mildly vindicated that even the headmaster did not receive much respect from Snape. "I find myself subject to the Cruciatus curse on a regular basis, Lily Evans' son is dead and we are losing the war. Not at all helped by the fact that you got yourself cursed and at most have a year to live," Snape said and then scrunched up his face. "So yes, I suppose I am irritated with you as well."
"And deservedly so, I confess to it being a mistake."
"Why did you even try it on?" Snape asked, waving at a cracked ring Ginny knew all too well. Next to it lay the sword of Gryffindor.
"I wondered-" Dumbledore started and then began anew. "Let us call it an old man's foolishness."
"Foolishness we can ill afford with our prophesised saviour buried at Godric's Hollow. How are you going to defeat the Dark Lord like that?" he snapped.
"I suppose it will fall to others. I can only try to even the path."
"Others? What others? Moody? Shacklebolt? Me? We might last a minute. Two if he feels like toying with his food. Merlin, Dumbledore-"
"Have you seen Nagini lately?" Dumbledore asked mildly, interrupting Snape's diatribe.
"The snake?" Snape echoed in confusion.
"Do we know any other Naginis?" he asked.
"The Dark Lord keeps her close most of the time. He has taken to feeding those who displease him to her."
"Charming," Dumbledore said. "If the time comes, use that sword on her, will you?" He gestured at the sword of Gryffindor.
"And why would I?" Snap crossed his arms.
"Maybe I will tell you next week," Dumbledore replied, inspecting his watch. "Now, I have an appointment with the Minister."
The memory ended abruptly, throwing them back into the office. That memory had been clear at least. But before she could share her conclusions, Astoria spoke up.
"Snape's on our side?!" she stammered.
"Oh, right, yes. He's a spy. Been for years, apparently. Please keep that to yourself," Ginny said, grimacing. Snape was going to kill her if he found out she'd let that particular secret out. Then again, technically Dumbledore had.
"But he's awful," Astoria said, shaking her head in shock.
"I'd say it's part of his act, but honestly, I think he's just a jerk," Ginny said, returning the memory to the vial. "Now, that wasn't really the point of the memory."
"Maybe not to you. Snape is a spy. Snape," Astoria repeated, still in disbelief.
"The ring you saw, that was a Horcrux. And I suspect the sword of Gryffindor was used to destroy it. Which means, we'll be liberating that," she said with a gesture at the display case in the corner.
"Shouldn't it be retrieved under circumstances of peril and in a display of great valour?" Astoria remarked. Ginny gave her a look. "Hey, I can't help it if most of Dad's bedtime stories came from an encyclopaedia."
"Well, in that case," Ginny said as she put a chair underneath the display case and stepped on it. "Phineas Nigellus! Black!" she shouted until a rather ruffled looking Phineas surfaced from underneath an overturned desk.
"Yes?" he asked, sounding distinctly worried and looking around his frame as if expecting his assailants to return any moment.
"I'm about to steal a priceless artefact from the headmaster's office. Any comment?"
"How droll. Would that be an example of Muggle humour?" he asked.
Ginny reached for the case and his eyes widened.
"Wait, you're serious? Do not touch that! That is a priceless artefact of one of our founders, admittedly the most insipid and boorish of the four, but treasured nonetheless and-"
"That should cover the peril. And this," Ginny said, hurling the case to the floor, sending glass and splinters of wood flying. "Should cover the valour," she declared.
Astoria looked at her slack jawed and then began to laugh.