Chapter IV: Deathworlds
A/N: This chapter contains what one may or may not choose to interpret as hints of homosexuality. I have my own ideas about what, exactly, it is (hint: Mercedes Lackey. Firesong. Silverfox. Really, really old.) and I don't really care if you have a problem with it or not. I might decide to expand on it in upcoming chapters, but whatever. Flames welcomed, thank you very much! Also, it brings God and whatever in, as well- not very well, but it does. If you're not Pagan and have problems with multiple Gods, or if you're Pagan and have problems with stuff that could be considered Christian, that's not my problem, it's yours. Thus warned, thou mayest continue reading.
* * *
Ginny paled, staring at the Headmaster. "I have to what?"
"Save him. I can help you, of course, but for the most part, you're on your own. I think I know where he's gone, but you're the only person who will be able to go from there. If you're lucky, he will have left some trace of himself there. You'll have to follow this trail to get to the Deathworld he's gone to. You, as the one who sent him there, will have the rare opportunity to venture there yourself. Unfortunately, you won't be able to bring your body, of course, and there are plenty of minds who are going to want to prey on your life..."
Ginny coughed, opening her mouth to say something. Before she could, however, Dumbledore raised a finger, the wrinkles of his face growing deeper as he spoke. "Now, I really wish I could teach you a bit more, but this is a matter of extreme urgency." With that, he withdrew his wand from a fold in his sleeve, pointed it at Ginny, and yelled "Excorpus!"
Gracefully, and with more strength than he should have had, he caught her as she fell.
* * *
There was a flash of nearly tangible darkness, a sense of rushing, and then she was There. It was like breaking through from air into water into this, the greyest of worlds, the vastest, the most subjective. Overworld, she whispered, thrilling at the sense that her voice was somehow more real than anything around her. In a moment, there was another figure on the horizon, and then the same was next to her, somehow having walked all that distance in an instant. A man: He could not have been called handsome, she supposed, but there was an air of intimacy about him, something that made her feel as if he was a long lost friend. She couldn't quite pinpoint his age- it seemed to fluctuate between old and young, without him ever changing. There was something familiar about him, as well...
'Ginny?' he asked, smiling at her.
'Do I kn- Of course! Professor Dumbledore!' Ginny cried delightedly, smiling back. 'But why do you look so- different?'
Grinning broadly, the headmaster pointed at her form. Puzzled, she looked down, and then uttered an exclamation of surprise. The body that met her eyes was quite different from her earthly one. Tall and somehow misty, she had an expanse of not-quite-palpable energy springing from her shoulder blades and flowing outward, forming the impression of wings. Her hair was, for once, mildly under control, and red-gold waves hung down her back, which was, incidentally, quite a bit narrower than before. She was dressed in some sort of silken robe, through which a silvery-gold cord emerged from the level of her navel. 'Next time,' Dumbledore said, a twinkle in his young-old eyes, 'you're going to have to imagine up the robe for yourself.' While Ginny stuttered and blushed, the twinkle and smile fell from his face, and he looked very grave again. 'Now, I just did the Excorpus spell on you. It's illegal, in most cases, and performing it on Muggles is right up on the level of Avada Kevadra, because many don't know how to return to their bodies. However, the Ministry- before that pathetic Cornelius took over- gave me permission to use it as I see fit, which I did in this case. Now that we're up here, there are two things you need to know. First off, never let that cord be broken. It's your tie to your body. Some very- egotistical, if you'll pardon me- wizards break it when they feel they have attained the immunity necessary to venture into the Overworld without being harmed and the intuitive connection to find their body again. Tom Riddle wasn't the kind who would do that. He must have been nervous, sick, or otherwise addled when he came up here...' Again, Dumbledore stared with those piercing eagle-eyes of his at his student, who blushed a third time. 'Secondly, anything you tell yourself is true will be true here. You are able to transform your body into whatever shape you wish, and it was your deepest wish and truest essence that created the form you carry. Again, you really want to make sure to imagine clothes on yourself. It can be a bit embarrassing if you don't.
'Anyhow, I'm going to move us to the place where Riddle may have gone. Don't get scared. It will be quite sudden.'
Sudden it was. That was when the world- or Overworld- disintegrating. Or, at least, Ginny had a sense that it had disintegrated. It took only an instant, and they were There. There...
The place, she reflected, definitely deserved a capital T. It both welcomed and repelled her, somehow, the blue glow of the stone circle casting a strange light against her face. It had an air of wisdom, of age, and Ginny seemed to hear voices chanting somewhere deep beneath the surface of her mind, even below her innermost consciousness. It soothed her, although Dumbledore went on as if he heard it not at all.
'Eya?' She heard the call echoing outwards, and with a start, realized that it was unspoken. 'Eya, it's Purple Moose.'
'Oh, you again,' came the reply, and a shadow began to form in the direct center of the circle. Slowly, it gathered darkness and light from some unknown source, and features were discernable. A man, and an old one at that, Ginny thought, but after a moment she couldn't be sure- like the Headmaster's, Eya's age was indiscernible, seeming at one moment to be quite a bit younger than at the next. He was tall, with wide blue-green eyes and blond hair that fell to his shoulders, and, at the moment, had a smirk on his face. Grinning at his former student, the teacher transformed into a shorter, white-bearded man dressed in some sort of coarse, brown, hooded robe. Looking far too grave for the smirk that had been on his face just a moment before, he bowed, drawling the words 'Luke, I am your father.'
'Oh, Gods,' moaned Dumbledore, rolling his eyes. 'Been watching too many Muggle movies, have we? That's Darth's line, anyway.'
'Hey, I never said my brand of humor was sense-laden. Or humorous, to think of it. Now, who have we here? Please say it's not another student. I'm so nicely retired...'
'No, not a student, I'm afraid. It's something much worse. This is a student of mine, Ginny Weasley. She needs to rescue Riddle. He's disappeared, and-'
'Oh, so she was the one who disturbed him? He just showed up a few minutes ago, which was rather surprising, of course, considering his nature, and we were having a conversation about some girl he seems to have a crush on. He faded in the middle of a sentence. Quite rude, I thought it. Never should have taught that boy. He couldn't learn to respect his elders, in all the time I was his teacher! You'll want my help, I presume?'
'Of course. You're the greatest, are you not? Since this is your beloved circle of stones, we'd like you to trace Riddle for us. You still have the Gatherstone, correct?'
'The greatest, yes. Gatherstone, yes. It's that one, right there, with the runes-'
Albus quickly located the stone, which was engraved with odd, pink-glowing symbols. 'Keystones, please?' he asked, and was handed a large, silken pouch which clacked as it exchanged hands. Touching the Gatherstone with his wand, he yelled 'Energis!,' upending the pouch. Hundreds of fingernail-sized glass orbs fell out of it, bouncing soundlessly around the circle for what seemed like ages. When they settled, covering most of the area around the three shades, Dumbledore sighed, rolled his eyes, and, still with the tip of his wand against the stone, dryly instructed the Gatherstone to 'show only the last day, dolt!' Reluctantly, most of the marbles rolled back to the Gatherstone and then up, back into the pouch the Headmaster held open. Left were only five of the glass orbs: Beneath Ginny's feet was a silver-glazed one, engraved with a symbol Ginny couldn't quite make out, for all she bent down and squinted at it. Next to it had rolled a second, black with a hint of gold, one which made Ginny shiver, and it was not all unpleasant. She could see the etching on this one, a sort of angular P- shape that glowed faintly green. Two more lay near the rock which Eya lounged against, and the fifth Dumbledore rolled in his hand, squinting at the purple symbol like an inverted Muggle peace sign without the circle drawn around it. Ginny had the sense that he couldn't see his, either.
'Where's Riddle's?' Dumbledore asked, looking up from the sphere rolling lazily in his hand. He didn't have to look far, however; Ginny stood right next to him, and the black marble was, of course, Tom's. Dumbledore picked it up gingerly, careful not to touch the engraving, and shivered. Again, he seemed unfathomably old and weary. 'You gave him Thurisaz,' was all he said, voice worn and cracking. Ginny, wide-eyed, watched as Eya closed his eyes, touching his fingertips gently to his forehead. After a second or two of this uneasy silence, Eya creaked to his feet and moved to embrace Dumbledore, the two men almost holding each other up. They swayed gently, at the mercy of some wind felt only by the two, and as untold
minutes passed, Ginny grew more and more uncomfortable. She was watching something utterly private, something with years of emotion shielding it. She crouched down and began to examine the marbles, taking an embarrassed peek at her headmaster and his- whatever- every now and then. Finally, she heard the rustle of parting, and, stretching as if she'd been crouching for quite some time, stood.
'I may have given him Thurisaz, but you're Elhaz,' Eya said, a shadow of a grin curling on his face. 'What's done is done. Our only fault is not having realized that such a thing could happen, Albus. It was horrible, but Voldemort chose his own path. We had no way to stop him.'
* * *
'Thurisaz?' Ginny asked, confused. 'What's Thurisaz, and what does it have to do with Tom?'
'Thurisaz. The rune of deceit and painful messages,' Eya, who now had a long white beard, replied. 'Each Keystone symbolizes a person. There should be billions in that pouch, but it only dumps out the ones who have been here. They act as Portkeys to where the person is at the moment. That's why you can't see yours- you're already where your soul is, and Keystones can't lead you back to your physical body. I have two because I've been here twice in the past day. One represents my body, and one, my soul. When you're ready, touching the rune on Riddle's Stone will take you to the Deathworlds.'
Ginny closed her eyes, the world reeling. The Deathworlds- she'd heard of them before. Professor Binns had mentioned them once, in a lecture about Enara the Innocent, who had been banished to them by a corrupt Minister of Magic. Fear stirred somewhere deep inside her, but she pushed it away. This was Tom she was going to find. This was Tom, and she was going to find him. There was no time to be scared. No time, none at all. With a flash of foresight, she knew. She had to leave. Now.
"Goodbye," she whispered, and touched the stone.
* * *
Something is coming. Something, or someone. Life. The Unnamed know it, and they are hungry. They are always hungry. They swirl in spirals, howling, a tornado of faceless smoke. Pale fire sparks between them, cold, white, and their shrieks of anticipation grow louder and louder-
And then they are still. Still. It is coming closer, she is coming closer-
Out of the darkness pours a soul.
With a screech, they crowd about her, obscuring her sight. reaching into the pillar of light at the core of her soul and twisting it, in some nameless way. They reach to make it dark, dark as death and death and blood and death but darker, and maybe maybe then their hunger will wane, will fade…
But through the Nothing they dwell in, a sound breaks in ripples. Bells, tolling away all vestiges of darkness, as they do once each season, four times each year… The Unnamed flee, shrieking anger that tears through the worlds from end to end. But they flee.
* * *
Ginny closer her eyes, willing herself to breathe again- normally. Those Things that had attacked her were gone, at least- at least she hoped they were- but the still-echoing bell-like sounds were oddly comforting, oddly reassuring. They reassured her. That and the thin golden cord stretching back to her body… So she pulled those comforts around her, armoring herself against the Unknown, and opened her eyes.
Grey. Grey, and grey. The expanse of paleness stretched in all directions, a colorlessness that was just a shade away from white, like old spiderwebs. So blank it hurt her eyes. Ginny glanced down, making sure she was fully clothed, still, and then cried out into the blankness.
'Tom? Tom! Come here! Tom!'
A note of barely-controlled desperation tinted her words. And then she was afraid, even more- her words lay still. Her voice did not carry through the empty space of this space. Panic quickened her breath, thudded in her heart. 'Tom! Please!' But the Nothing of the Deathworlds was just that- nothing. Not the familiar air it replaced, just nothing. Her voice was still, was dead.
She shut her eyes, once again. Tom, she thought out into the darkness of her mind. I'm sorry. I don't know how to do this. Please, Tom, help! Come back! Dread washed over her, pound her to the ground. Oh, God, I knew I couldn't do this- I knew… I'm just a child. Just a child! I'm not strong enough, you know I'm not! Crying tearlessly, Ginny summoned up a vision of Tom as she'd known him, filling each detain in. Trying to understand. Why she loved him. Why he'd done this, done such an idiotic thing as to snap his link to his body. Why she's been so bloody stupid as to try to wake him! She filled in the color of his eyes- green, but with those strange little slivers of yellow and brown and blue all shot through. The way he'd keep pulling at the cuffs of his shirts, trying to make himself look as immaculate as possible, as much as possible, only he could never pull it off 'cause of how his boot laces would always come untied unless he double-knotted them, and he didn't like the way that looked. The exact sound he'd make when he was annoyed with her. A kind of quiet snigger that never failed to annoy her. In retrospect, it was almost endearing. Now that she seemed to have lost him. Forever. Because just thinking about it wasn't going to help her. Not in the least.
Or was it? Because when she opened her eyes, looking for the cord to pull her back to Dumbledore to admit failure, there was more than just a cord there. There was more- a thread, so thin it barely deserved the name, reaching out from her navel to disappear into the whiteness. Translucent, fragile. Hope seized her. Tentatively, but hope was there. Without stopping to think about the danger of the Deathworlds- she was already there, was she not?- Ginny followed it. 'I hope you gave up way too soon, Ginny, love, because this looks like it's going to be your only hope,' she whispered into the Nothing.
'Anything you tell yourself is true here.' Thanking whatever God or Gods were Up There, Ginny closed her eyes for a second or two. 'Okay, girl, you can see really, really well. Starting… now,' she told the empty space in front of her. The world seemed to drop out from underneath her, and then, suddenly, jolted back. Not that everything was the same- Ginny's eyesight was now so strong she could, in some way she'd previously thought impossible, see the spaces between atoms. 'Right. Um, tone it down little?' she told the Nothing again, giving a sigh of relief when the world got a little closer to "normal," in terms of detail. She could see the second thread, like a diamond-shard, stretching off and off… She followed it.
It ended in nothing.
Nothing. And not quite nothing- she could see something there, sort of, like the things you think you see out of the corner of your eye, but aren't there when you turn to give them a good look. It scared her, because either this was Tom or it wasn't, and if it was how would she get him back? and if it wasn't what would she do then? She prodded at the something-nothing, and her hand just went through like it was going through the Nothing. But she could see it, it was something. Slightly darker than the Deathworlds, but not much- washed out. And there were things beating at it, other not-quite-nothings, beating and beating at this thing. And she knew, whether or not it was Tom (Oh, please, please, Tom, let it be you-) she knew, whether or not it was Tom, it was in trouble. And she didn't know what to do.
* * *
White, white. And Gods help him but he was fading- oh, Gods. Whomever. Anyone who could help. Help.
Help was getting nearer but he didn't know if Help could do anything because the minds were tearing tearing like he was food and it scared him and maybe if he was saved (oh please please) he would take all the chances he had missed things would be different if he lived oh God they would be different….
* * *
She kept trying to touch this thing that was Tom again and again, and her fingers kept passing through. She realized she was crying, nearly screaming, but she seemed almost detached from herself because yes, the diamond string was splintering, or if not splintering fading. And her harsh hard animal-cries rent the Nothing and she still did not know what to do.
There was a tiny weak spot in the second string. It was there. She could see it. The diamond-light around it was unraveling, fading, and soon he would be lost and so would she. Because she knew it was Tom now- she felt the knowledge seeping through her fingers, and somehow it just made things worse. Because she still could not reach him. Her hand, seemingly of its own accord, drifted down to the string, settling just near the break, but so lightly. And it took a second for her grief- stricken mind to comprehend, but her hand had not passed through. It was there. It had settled there. She could feel the string as something physical. Oh, please- she thought again, and closed her eyes.
She was envisioning the string growing stronger, brighter. She was praying, louder and louder in her own mind and in her thoughts, to every God she'd ever heard of, every Goddess, every power in hopes that somebody would hear and help. 'Oh, dammit, dammit!' she whispered, feeling frantic, knowing that this was her last chance- not just was she thought was her last chance, but The last chance. And so she prayed and prayed and tried to burn the weakness away with the light of her mind.
And a hand touched her shoulder.
She opened her eyes. Blinked. Her heart skipped a beat, or two or three- she had succeeded. Tom was there. Tenuous, thinner than she'd ever seen him, pale, even for him, but her was there. With a startled cry, she jumped up and grabbed him round the shoulders, shaking him and hugging him both at once, too tired and scared to be embarrassed. 'Bloody hell, I thought I'd lost you, you idiot!'
'Oh, taken to cursing, have we? Little Ginny's only a Goody One Shoe, now?' But there was something suspiciously like a tear gathering in a corner of Tom's eye. Discreetly, Ginny ignored it.
'Um, Tom? How do we get back?'
* * *
If the Overworld had been as susceptible to humanity's smudges and fingerprints as the material world, Eya's Circle probably would have had tracks worn in it by the time Ginny got back from her ordeal. As it was, both Dumbledore and his teacher seemed to have aged a few decades. The minute Ginny popped back into the circle, toting Tom, those years dropped off so quickly Ginny found herself listening for the thud of them hitting the ground. Uncharacteristically, the first thing both Dumbledore and Eya did upon the return of their respective students was to give them hugs that produced a bright red flush on Ginny's face and drained Tom's of whatever color there was left to drain. That is, the hugs came right after Tom had safely re-established his link to his body, relieving Ginny of the burden of extra years she carried. Dumbledore cleared his throat, then, a little awkwardly. For a second there was silence, the pause of a person with so much to think and say there was nowhere to start, and then, with a glance at Eya, Dumbledore flicked his wand and Ginny and Tom disappeared from the Overworld, gone back home.
Needless to say, it was a relief.
* * *
The cold stone of the Chamber of Secrets welcomed Ginny as she opened her eyes, half-expecting to see more of that horrible washed-out grey. But the colors were safe, bright and good, and she was home.
Home. And for a second a glitter caught her eye, like that of a diamond thread, reaching between her and the newly-awakened wizard. She smiled, reached for him. Just touched his skin. And for a second, everything was all right.
