Ginny Weasley and the Memory of Power" by Jedi Amoira
******
Disclaimer--If you see something you like just assume I don't own it, and you'll be fine. I hope JK Rowling, the movies, and my fellow fanfic writers take my imitation in the manner in which it is meant--sincere flattery of their skills. The Hufflepuffs conversation and Harry's responses are taken directly from the book, while the idea of Ginny overhearing them is from the extra scenes on the dvd. No copyright infrigement is intended by this, and no money is being made.
A/N--I have some great reviewers, but an author writes for praise. If you like it, please say so. And please respect my work and don't print or post it elsewhere without my knowledge. Thanks!
EEDOE--I'm glad you enjoyed the way I handled the Parseltongue and Ginny's conversation with Hagrid. I think they're both pretty significant...especially since, as you say, whether Ginny wanted to tell and couldn't or didn't want to tell is an important distinction that says a lot about her. I hope you enjoy this installment, too, and that you keep up the good work on your on story as well. :-)
Bill--You've hit on what I find the creepiest part of this story myself--the idea that everything you know...everything you remember...everything you even think is suspect and not even stable...not to be relied on...that's truly terrifying, and has nothing to do with outside evil (well, maybe in this case it does..) or the threat of an ancient monster. I can only imagine what such fear can feel like, and I have the greatest compassion for people like Ginny, who have to experience it first hand...I hope I can treat it with empathy and respect in my writing. I'm touched and amazed to have my fic called compelling...yet another compliment I will remember whenever I begin to feel discouraged. I have to admit, I would love a wider audience, but a reader like you is worth a dozen who don't love what they read. I'm going to hug you again! *hugs*
*****
The ground was covered in white the next morning. At least, Ginny thought it was-it was hard to see anything from the windows, they were so clouded with a thick flurry of flakes. Ginny loved snowstorms; the pristine blanket of snow over the earth, the veil of white that fell over the sky, draping everything it touched, the crisp, clean scent of the air...it was as if the whole earth were pure and untouched. It was a shame to waste such an enchanting day in History of Magic; Ginny hated to spend it studying at all-it was a day to dream-but short of asking Hermione, there was only one way Ginny was going to find out about her unexpected ability to understand Parseltongue-the library.
She was curled up in a corner, pouring over a volume two-thirds as tall as she was entitled Powers You Never Knew You Had, and Don't Know What to Do With when a whisper, hurried and insistent, snagged her attention. "I told Justin to hide up in our dormitory. I mean to say, if Potter's marked him down as his next victim, it's best if he keeps a low profile for a while." Ginny frowned, an unpleasant feeling pacing her bones. /He can't possibly be suggesting-/
"Of course," the boy continued in the same tone of urgent conviction, "Justin's been waiting for something like this to happen ever since he let slip to Potter he was Muggle-born. Justin actually told him he'd been down for Eton. That's not the kind of thing you bandy about with Slytherin's heir on the loose, is it?"
/Eaten?/ Ginny wondered, momentarily distracted. "You definitely think it is Potter then, Ernie?" Ginny fell back to earth with a jarring thump. The girl's anxious whisper seemed to linger in the air like fumes from a skunk.
"Hannah," the first voice was final as the grave, "he's a Parselmouth. Everyone knows that's the mark of a Dark wizard."
The pit of Ginny's stomach seemed to drop. She could feel it lodge somewhere between her toes as she swallowed violently against the sudden lump of bile in her throat.
"Have you ever heard of a decent one that could talk to snakes?," the boy added sanctimoniously.
Like the other girl, Ginny had to admit she couldn't. There was no denying Harry could ...and no denying she understood him...But, she thought in desperate confusion, Harry isn't Dark. He's so kind...and sweet...and good. He's a hero... A broken fragment of her mind-sharp and separate-was laughing and she didn't know why; she could hear the sound-high and cold-like a shadow falling in her mind. Ginny stared at her book so intently she couldn't really see the page at all, as if all she had to do was look through the page to see what everything really meant and read the answer. The letters twisted and wriggled, slithering into new shapes, as if refusing to be read.
"Potter had some sort of run-in with Filch," the boy pointed out, unyielding. "Next thing we know, Filch's cat is attacked. That first year, Creevy, was annoying Potter at the Quidditch match, taking pictures of him while he was lying in the mud. Next thing we know-Creevy's been attacked."
It made sense. It makes sense, but Harry would never do anything like that. It made sense, but...it didn't explain the paint on Ginny's robes, or the feathers. It didn't explain the face she dreamed about seeing in Moaning Myrtle's mirror. And it didn't explain the slow trickling loss of Ginny's memories.../Not Harry...but if we both speak Parseltongue...what else do we have in common?/
"He always seems so nice, though," the girl protested. "And he made You-Know-Who disappear. He can't be all bad can he?"
Fitting neatly into place, Ginny's own thought finished in a burst of intuitive lighting-/What if you can do something horrible and not even know you did it? What if Harry understands that? What if he's having the same problem I am?/
Far later than he should have, the boy had lowered his voice to an incomprehensible murmur, but Ginny hardly noticed as she shoved the book off her lap and started to stand up. She had to find Harry-
She was lost in the depths of his stricken eyes. Without thinking, she reached out to touch him, to wipe away the smallest measure of the pain she saw in his face...and realized belatedly he was completely focused on the little group of whispering students clumped around the table between them and hadn't even seen her. Cheeks burning with the foolishness of her gesture, Ginny hastily dropped her arm.
Every one of the Hufflepuffs was rigid with shock. "Hello," Harry said, sounding surprisingly calm and friendly, with only the slightest edge of smoldering anger in his voice, "I'm looking for Justin Finch-Fletchly"
Ginny smiled slightly, darkly satisfied with Harry's poise...and the effect it had on his accusers. The group moved in near-unison to stare at a short, stocky boy, who had obviously been the main speaker. "What do you want with him?" The boy wasn't so brave when faced with the subject of his speech-his voice was wavering. Ginny nearly snorted in derision. The laughing shard in her thoughts grew louder, making her head ache.
"I wanted to tell him what really happened with the snake at the Dueling Club," Harry said matter-of-factly. He wasn't going to cower in shame or try to pretend it hadn't happened. Not Harry...he faced the worst head-on and never let it win. Ginny nearly cheered.
The boy squared his shoulders. "We were all there," he said defiantly, and while Ginny would have liked to slug him, she had to admit what he was doing showed pluck. "We saw what happened."
"Then you noticed that after I spoke to it, the snake backed off?" Which, of course, had been exactly what he had insisted it do. If Harry could consciously use his gift, maybe he could teach Ginny to control hers, too...Without really meaning to, Ginny pictured herself alone in a darkened classroom, leaning over a piece of parchment, her face close to Harry's, the look in his green eyes as his attention slowly shifted from what they were doing to her...the sound of her own dreamy sigh slapped in her the face like a wet towel, and she made a face.
"All I saw," the other boy retorted, looking like he'd gotten hit with a Tremor Jinx, "was you talking Parseltongue and chasing the snake toward Justin."
"I didn't chase it at him!" Harry said, shaking slightly. Ginny didn't know how she knew-you couldn't tell just to look at him-but somehow, she just knew; Harry was on the verge of impossible anger and hopeless tears. "It didn't even touch him!"
"It was a very near miss," the boy insisted tightly, "And in case you're getting ideas, I might tell you that you can trace my family back through nine generations of witches and warlocks and my blood's as pure as anyone's, so---"
"I don't care what sort of blood you've got!" The truth of Harry's soul burned bright through his green eyes, and was written in the sharp line of his usually expressive mouth. "Why would I want to attack Muggle-borns?" There was a note of pleading confusion in his voice the group at the table seemed to miss, but it tore at Ginny's heart.
"I've heard you hate those Muggles you live with."
Ginny thought of the scene Ron and the twins had painted for her parents when Harry wasn't in the room to listen or be embarrassed...Bars on the window, a cat flap in the door. Cold soup. His books locked away in a cupboard so he couldn't even read. Sorrow, cold and bitter, somehow more scorching than anger, burned through her.
"It's not possible to live with the Dursleys and not hate them," Harry said simply, his voice very calm and quiet. "I'd like to see you try it."
Tears pricked painfully at the back of Ginny's eyes, and the inside of her nose began to burn. Even the laughter in her mind seemed significantly quiet, as if contemplating the enormity of what Harry had been through.
Harry thundered through the book stacks. More than anything, Ginny wanted to talk to him. To comfort him and encourage him and tell him everything was going to be all right. And...eventually...after he no longer looked like the world had come to an end...to confide her fears to him, to ask if he understood... She was ready to vault over the table and rush to his side, but she knew he wouldn't thank her for embarrassing him further, or even for surprising him before he'd managed to regain a little balance, so, forcing a calm she didn't feel, she walked slowly and deliberately to the table and looked the short, stocky boy directly in the eye.
"That was Harry Potter," she said, her voice trembling. "The Boy Who Lived." The people at the table, still stunned by Harry's dramatic exit exchanged looks. Ginny knew it was melodramatic. She knew she wasn't helping herself-defending him so openly was sure to make her crush on him even more of a school joke than it already was. She didn't care. "You said your blood's as pure as anyone's-so you've heard the stories," she said flatly. "We all have. You have some tiny inkling of what his life must be like... what he's suffered."
The boy opened his mouth to say something. The blonde girl sitting next to him was nodding slightly. A couple of the others were wearing looks of stunned amusement. Ginny ignored them all. "But you belittled that suffering...and managed to add to it." She shook her head, disgusted. "How dare you do such a thing? Everyone deserves a little common courtesy, a little respect for their pain; Even-not that you have the slightest proof-the Heir of Slytherin."
Calmly, quietly, deliberately, Ginny walked away.
******
Disclaimer--If you see something you like just assume I don't own it, and you'll be fine. I hope JK Rowling, the movies, and my fellow fanfic writers take my imitation in the manner in which it is meant--sincere flattery of their skills. The Hufflepuffs conversation and Harry's responses are taken directly from the book, while the idea of Ginny overhearing them is from the extra scenes on the dvd. No copyright infrigement is intended by this, and no money is being made.
A/N--I have some great reviewers, but an author writes for praise. If you like it, please say so. And please respect my work and don't print or post it elsewhere without my knowledge. Thanks!
EEDOE--I'm glad you enjoyed the way I handled the Parseltongue and Ginny's conversation with Hagrid. I think they're both pretty significant...especially since, as you say, whether Ginny wanted to tell and couldn't or didn't want to tell is an important distinction that says a lot about her. I hope you enjoy this installment, too, and that you keep up the good work on your on story as well. :-)
Bill--You've hit on what I find the creepiest part of this story myself--the idea that everything you know...everything you remember...everything you even think is suspect and not even stable...not to be relied on...that's truly terrifying, and has nothing to do with outside evil (well, maybe in this case it does..) or the threat of an ancient monster. I can only imagine what such fear can feel like, and I have the greatest compassion for people like Ginny, who have to experience it first hand...I hope I can treat it with empathy and respect in my writing. I'm touched and amazed to have my fic called compelling...yet another compliment I will remember whenever I begin to feel discouraged. I have to admit, I would love a wider audience, but a reader like you is worth a dozen who don't love what they read. I'm going to hug you again! *hugs*
*****
The ground was covered in white the next morning. At least, Ginny thought it was-it was hard to see anything from the windows, they were so clouded with a thick flurry of flakes. Ginny loved snowstorms; the pristine blanket of snow over the earth, the veil of white that fell over the sky, draping everything it touched, the crisp, clean scent of the air...it was as if the whole earth were pure and untouched. It was a shame to waste such an enchanting day in History of Magic; Ginny hated to spend it studying at all-it was a day to dream-but short of asking Hermione, there was only one way Ginny was going to find out about her unexpected ability to understand Parseltongue-the library.
She was curled up in a corner, pouring over a volume two-thirds as tall as she was entitled Powers You Never Knew You Had, and Don't Know What to Do With when a whisper, hurried and insistent, snagged her attention. "I told Justin to hide up in our dormitory. I mean to say, if Potter's marked him down as his next victim, it's best if he keeps a low profile for a while." Ginny frowned, an unpleasant feeling pacing her bones. /He can't possibly be suggesting-/
"Of course," the boy continued in the same tone of urgent conviction, "Justin's been waiting for something like this to happen ever since he let slip to Potter he was Muggle-born. Justin actually told him he'd been down for Eton. That's not the kind of thing you bandy about with Slytherin's heir on the loose, is it?"
/Eaten?/ Ginny wondered, momentarily distracted. "You definitely think it is Potter then, Ernie?" Ginny fell back to earth with a jarring thump. The girl's anxious whisper seemed to linger in the air like fumes from a skunk.
"Hannah," the first voice was final as the grave, "he's a Parselmouth. Everyone knows that's the mark of a Dark wizard."
The pit of Ginny's stomach seemed to drop. She could feel it lodge somewhere between her toes as she swallowed violently against the sudden lump of bile in her throat.
"Have you ever heard of a decent one that could talk to snakes?," the boy added sanctimoniously.
Like the other girl, Ginny had to admit she couldn't. There was no denying Harry could ...and no denying she understood him...But, she thought in desperate confusion, Harry isn't Dark. He's so kind...and sweet...and good. He's a hero... A broken fragment of her mind-sharp and separate-was laughing and she didn't know why; she could hear the sound-high and cold-like a shadow falling in her mind. Ginny stared at her book so intently she couldn't really see the page at all, as if all she had to do was look through the page to see what everything really meant and read the answer. The letters twisted and wriggled, slithering into new shapes, as if refusing to be read.
"Potter had some sort of run-in with Filch," the boy pointed out, unyielding. "Next thing we know, Filch's cat is attacked. That first year, Creevy, was annoying Potter at the Quidditch match, taking pictures of him while he was lying in the mud. Next thing we know-Creevy's been attacked."
It made sense. It makes sense, but Harry would never do anything like that. It made sense, but...it didn't explain the paint on Ginny's robes, or the feathers. It didn't explain the face she dreamed about seeing in Moaning Myrtle's mirror. And it didn't explain the slow trickling loss of Ginny's memories.../Not Harry...but if we both speak Parseltongue...what else do we have in common?/
"He always seems so nice, though," the girl protested. "And he made You-Know-Who disappear. He can't be all bad can he?"
Fitting neatly into place, Ginny's own thought finished in a burst of intuitive lighting-/What if you can do something horrible and not even know you did it? What if Harry understands that? What if he's having the same problem I am?/
Far later than he should have, the boy had lowered his voice to an incomprehensible murmur, but Ginny hardly noticed as she shoved the book off her lap and started to stand up. She had to find Harry-
She was lost in the depths of his stricken eyes. Without thinking, she reached out to touch him, to wipe away the smallest measure of the pain she saw in his face...and realized belatedly he was completely focused on the little group of whispering students clumped around the table between them and hadn't even seen her. Cheeks burning with the foolishness of her gesture, Ginny hastily dropped her arm.
Every one of the Hufflepuffs was rigid with shock. "Hello," Harry said, sounding surprisingly calm and friendly, with only the slightest edge of smoldering anger in his voice, "I'm looking for Justin Finch-Fletchly"
Ginny smiled slightly, darkly satisfied with Harry's poise...and the effect it had on his accusers. The group moved in near-unison to stare at a short, stocky boy, who had obviously been the main speaker. "What do you want with him?" The boy wasn't so brave when faced with the subject of his speech-his voice was wavering. Ginny nearly snorted in derision. The laughing shard in her thoughts grew louder, making her head ache.
"I wanted to tell him what really happened with the snake at the Dueling Club," Harry said matter-of-factly. He wasn't going to cower in shame or try to pretend it hadn't happened. Not Harry...he faced the worst head-on and never let it win. Ginny nearly cheered.
The boy squared his shoulders. "We were all there," he said defiantly, and while Ginny would have liked to slug him, she had to admit what he was doing showed pluck. "We saw what happened."
"Then you noticed that after I spoke to it, the snake backed off?" Which, of course, had been exactly what he had insisted it do. If Harry could consciously use his gift, maybe he could teach Ginny to control hers, too...Without really meaning to, Ginny pictured herself alone in a darkened classroom, leaning over a piece of parchment, her face close to Harry's, the look in his green eyes as his attention slowly shifted from what they were doing to her...the sound of her own dreamy sigh slapped in her the face like a wet towel, and she made a face.
"All I saw," the other boy retorted, looking like he'd gotten hit with a Tremor Jinx, "was you talking Parseltongue and chasing the snake toward Justin."
"I didn't chase it at him!" Harry said, shaking slightly. Ginny didn't know how she knew-you couldn't tell just to look at him-but somehow, she just knew; Harry was on the verge of impossible anger and hopeless tears. "It didn't even touch him!"
"It was a very near miss," the boy insisted tightly, "And in case you're getting ideas, I might tell you that you can trace my family back through nine generations of witches and warlocks and my blood's as pure as anyone's, so---"
"I don't care what sort of blood you've got!" The truth of Harry's soul burned bright through his green eyes, and was written in the sharp line of his usually expressive mouth. "Why would I want to attack Muggle-borns?" There was a note of pleading confusion in his voice the group at the table seemed to miss, but it tore at Ginny's heart.
"I've heard you hate those Muggles you live with."
Ginny thought of the scene Ron and the twins had painted for her parents when Harry wasn't in the room to listen or be embarrassed...Bars on the window, a cat flap in the door. Cold soup. His books locked away in a cupboard so he couldn't even read. Sorrow, cold and bitter, somehow more scorching than anger, burned through her.
"It's not possible to live with the Dursleys and not hate them," Harry said simply, his voice very calm and quiet. "I'd like to see you try it."
Tears pricked painfully at the back of Ginny's eyes, and the inside of her nose began to burn. Even the laughter in her mind seemed significantly quiet, as if contemplating the enormity of what Harry had been through.
Harry thundered through the book stacks. More than anything, Ginny wanted to talk to him. To comfort him and encourage him and tell him everything was going to be all right. And...eventually...after he no longer looked like the world had come to an end...to confide her fears to him, to ask if he understood... She was ready to vault over the table and rush to his side, but she knew he wouldn't thank her for embarrassing him further, or even for surprising him before he'd managed to regain a little balance, so, forcing a calm she didn't feel, she walked slowly and deliberately to the table and looked the short, stocky boy directly in the eye.
"That was Harry Potter," she said, her voice trembling. "The Boy Who Lived." The people at the table, still stunned by Harry's dramatic exit exchanged looks. Ginny knew it was melodramatic. She knew she wasn't helping herself-defending him so openly was sure to make her crush on him even more of a school joke than it already was. She didn't care. "You said your blood's as pure as anyone's-so you've heard the stories," she said flatly. "We all have. You have some tiny inkling of what his life must be like... what he's suffered."
The boy opened his mouth to say something. The blonde girl sitting next to him was nodding slightly. A couple of the others were wearing looks of stunned amusement. Ginny ignored them all. "But you belittled that suffering...and managed to add to it." She shook her head, disgusted. "How dare you do such a thing? Everyone deserves a little common courtesy, a little respect for their pain; Even-not that you have the slightest proof-the Heir of Slytherin."
Calmly, quietly, deliberately, Ginny walked away.
