Chapter Three
"The Darkness Within"
Fleeing . . .
Empty corridor, but patrolled just beyond. The humpback witch . . . someone coming . . . the other tunnel, the one to the willow. Darkness, echoing footsteps, gasping breathes. Not true! Not true! Oh, but it is true, it is! Must escape . . . air! No moon . . . no wind . . . so quiet, so peaceful. Hagrid's hut-
"STUPEFY!"
Pain-darkness.
Cold. So cold. Aching. Everywhere it's cold and aching. Drip, drip, drip. Metallic water. Dark shadows with shifting rats, no humans. One man. Scabbers. Pettigrew. More beyond the solid stone walls.
So cold!
The distinction between dreaming and consciousness blurred as Ginny's eyes fluttered open. The gloomy, sickly yellow light emanating from somewhere beyond the inky blackness enveloping her meant she was awake. She moaned, but no sound escaped her parched, scratchy throat. Her mouth was thick, her tongue languid and dead. An excruciating beating pounded in her head- or was it her chest? She couldn't tell.
I must do something, she thought vaguely as her eyes sought anything comforting in the gloom. I can't just lie here. I'm captured.
Captured. She'd been a hostage before. Captured, for a year, completely captive by an evil being's memory. Used. Bait. Again?
The instinct to panic, to succumb to the hysteria lurking just beyond her peripheral sense, almost overwhelmed Ginny. Gasping, she physically evaded the danger, allowing the deep ache of her protesting body to control her thoughts. Mustering her wavering strength, she uncurled her shivering body and sat against the icy stone wall. Every limb screamed for rest, but she gritted her teeth and forced every joint to bend.
Good, I haven't broken anything. So this is what it feels like to be Stunned.
Physical pain was liberation, and Ginny kept her mind from straying by carefully reexamining her clammy body. She had scratches, no doubt from the scraping of stone, and her cheek felt swollen and sticky, but otherwise there wasn't a trace of visible physical harm. At least, not that she could detect in the weak light.
At least it isn't total darkness. I'd go mad.
But if only I had something to drink! she thought, regretfully reaching for the empty cup Pettigrew had given her earlier. How long ago had that been? she wondered. How long had she slept and wallowed in those dark thoughts? Hours? Days? She was thirsty, hungry, and so cold. Already her mind was losing focus on any single thought. A mere blur of pain, tears, night skies, dark chambers, diaries, and Tom Riddles.
"Oh, help," she croaked thickly, feeling her eyes itch and sting. "Oh, help!"
And then there was a noise from beyond the shadows. Ginny's head snapped towards the door, invisible in the shadows, watching her. The sound of a lock, a faint whisper of a spell, heavy iron being moved, and the door creaked open.
It was Pettigrew.
Ginny tensed, a dark emotion stirring within her. Yet she couldn't focus on it as the pathetic man shuffled into the cell, a bucket of water sloshing invitingly towards her. His tiny, beady eyes glistened in the torchlight, the silver hand glittering from within the folds of his tattered cloak.
"Ah, awake?" he inquired in that tremulous, warbled voice. He paused, just within the stained glow, as if anticipating an answer. When she offered him none, he licked his lips fretfully and fidgeted with the bucket. After a moment of worrisome behavior, Pettigrew shuffled forward again, wincing as Ginny flattened herself against the wall and glared defiantly at him.
It was agonizing to watch this man who could have been Neville Longbottom with all of his insecurities and nervousness, yet Ginny knew exactly what he was capable of doing. Betrayal. Murder. She was repulsed.
The sound of the water in the bucket as he set it down was unbearable. She licked her parched, cracked lips as Pettigrew reached for her empty cup and dunked it into the bucket. Musical trickling reverberated in the cell as the water cascaded back into the bucket. Pettigrew had barely offered it before she snatched it out of his one fleshy hand and held it up to her begging, trembling mouth.
The cup tasted like rotting wood and the water was stale, but Ginny drank thirstily in loud gulps, vaguely shuddering as the liquid dribbled from the corners of her mouth and down her neck. It was gone too quickly, and she looked up at her hunched jailer.
"More," she croaked pleadingly. To her amazement, he refilled it twice more until she ached from the shock of it. "Thank you," Ginny gasped before she realized it, her body reeling with gratitude.
Blissfully, she closed her eyes, drowning in the sharp ache of her stomach. Everything was peculiarly acute and dull all at once. She could focus, or she could float. The biting cold was prickling, yet it didn't seem quite so uncomfortable as before. The stone dug into her back, but it was almost tender. If she could just keep her eyes closed . . .
But then Pettigrew was moving again. Moaning softly, regretfully, Ginny lifted her eyes to find the hapless man unfolding a very thin, roughly-spun woolen cloak.
"H-here," he stuttered, shuffling forward. "M-master . . . Lord V- Voldemort doesn't want you sick."
Ginny stared at him, unable to comprehend as Pettigrew knelt down and draped the shabby cloak over her shivering body. She flinched at his touch, and he drew back hastily.
Voldemort . . . here . . . Tom . . .
"What does he want with me?" she demanded. Something was moving inside her . . . deep down . . . restless, urgent! Ginny's hysteria, her panic, began to mount desperately over the presence buried beneath. "Does he want to kill me, is that it? Torture me? What does he want with me?"
Pettigrew's hands were fluttering around him, his lip was trembling, beads of sweat appearing on his wrinkled, sullen brow. "I-I cannot tell you, Miss Ginny-"
"Don't call me that!"
Pettigrew silenced. He bent down and withdrew the bucket, shaking his head and shuffling backwards. "Soon. He will see you soon."
And then he was reclaimed by the inky, thick shadows. The door opened and closed, the lock thudded forebodingly, and the soft, final casting of a spell sent Ginny's heart pounding. The darkness pressed in again, but its despairing effect was lost on Ginny. The darkness, the pain, the cold-it didn't matter. What mattered was what was moving inside her, wakening, beckoning, coercing . . .
Pettigrew had told her nothing, yet she knew everything. Voldemort wanted her for an evil purpose, and she didn't believe it was a mere prize exchange or strike against **the** Order. As she pulled the rough cloak tightly around her shivering body, she steeled herself. It was moving, growing, that presence she'd locked away deep inside.
It-he-wanted to be released.
"No," she whispered into the emptiness. The ache in her stomach had subsided, and her mind was becoming focused and aware. With sudden clairvoyance, Ginny felt a calm determination settling over her, resolutely forcing him into her deepest recesses. She was afraid, but determined. If she were to die or be tortured or aid Voldemort in any way-she was going to fight.
"I can fight," Ginny Weasley spoke defiantly to the lurking presence. "And I will!"
Although silence was her only audible answer, she heard a terrible, quaking laugh, deeper than the silence, that permeated the impenetrable stone walls.
"I will fight," she whispered. "I will."
~*~*~
After hours of the dank cold, Ginny felt herself grow numb to her hysteria. She felt too weak to tremble;her body ached dully from the hard stone, but her mind drifted languorously away from her body. Hours passed, she knew that, but could neither sense it nor feel it. She could only feel her weakness brushing against her resolve. And him.
She knew precisely when he'd arrived. Although far below the ground, she could almost hear the delicate pacing of his contemplative steps as he moved above her. That place in her mind seemed to sway, like a snake following its charmer's tune, making her nauseated and dizzy.
I just want to float away. From here, from him.
The swaying continued for hours, lulling her into a daze. And then it stopped. That presence reared excitedly, and Ginny cried out against it.
Her eyes flew open to the darkness, her breathing came in short gasps. Only silence surrounded her, yet she sensed the commotion above and around her, drawing nearer, the hunger, the thirst! It would not be long, it hissed in her ear, not long now.
The creaking of the cell door grated loudly in Ginny's ear, and she fought the urge to scream. Cloaked figures were filing into the cell, tall and foreboding, the air thick with malicious anticipation. Panic swelled inside her, and as three masked figures swooped down upon her, she grasped desperately for her resolve.
Cold, hard hands grabbed her forearms and roughly hauled her to her feet. Ginny gasped as her frozen muscles protested. "L-let go of me!" she croaked, her throat closed and dry. Her captors ignored her protests, dragging her through the shadows and under the sickly glow from the doorway.
Too weak to fight, Ginny was dragged into a dimly lighted dungeon corridor, and she could see other closed cells along the twisting passage. Flickering torches cast dancing shadows against the damp stone every few meters. She wondered if any other prisoners were behind the heavily barred doors they passed. The corridor seemed to curve and twist forever, and she knew she'd never find the way back to her cell, if she ever had the notion to return of her own accord.
Even as her head swam with dizziness, she felt something within her growing stronger, and she knew she didn't need to be dragged to her destination. She could follow that burning sensation coursing through her. It was excited, filling her body with anticipation and fear.
The Death Eaters clutching her arms spoke not a word, nor did the one leading them through the dungeon. She sensed the heavy footsteps of the Death Eater behind her and shuddered. Her skin prickled, and her eyes turned upwards, morbidly curious. Who were behind those hideous skull masks of death? The cowls of their heavy black cloaks were eased back, and eyes glittered whenever they passed a torch.
And suddenly, without any warning, the four Death Eaters halted. The leader pulled out his wand, held it straight over his head, and murmured an incantation. Faint green light emanated from its tip, and suddenly a burst of brighter light illuminated the wizard. Another flick of the wand, and a small stair unfolded from the stone edge of the gap. Blinking in the unaccustomed light, Ginny realized it was a trap door.
The Death Eater started up the steps. When the hem of his cloak swished out of sight, one of her captors released her and followed. It occurred to her now was the time to free herself, but there was nowhere to run. Up led to waiting Death Eaters, and behind her was only the dark maze of dungeons.
"Up with you now," said a deep, cold voice from under the mask.
Ginny glanced at the Death Eater, wondering again who it might be. Any of them. Harry knew the names of many Death Eaters. This one towered over her, the black cloak concealing extremely broad shoulders, and most likely thick, powerful arms. She shuddered and stepped forward, feeling the Dark wizard press close behind her, bodily moving her up the small steps into the light.
Instantly warm light bathed and soothed her, and she blinked rapidly in the brightness. She could hear a fire crackling somewhere nearby. Hands grasped her forearms again, but she felt less afraid in the light. When the spots cleared, she saw she was standing in an ornate study or parlor of some sort. The ceiling was sculpted, the walls lined with impressive shelves of old tomes. Dark furniture of antique or foreign origin, crafted to the tiniest detail and utmost skill, absorbed the light from the silver and crystal chandelier. The fireplace roared to her right, and she saw a hearth that rivaled Hogwarts' best. The marbling was neither green nor silver, but both, so it seemed to ripple if she looked at it too long. Sculpted serpents slithered up either side of the hearth, their black jeweled eyes glittering fixedly at her.
"Welcome, Ginny Weasley," said a smooth, greasy voice before her, "to Malfoy Manor."
Ginny felt an icy chill run down her spine as she wrenched her eyes from the hearth to the wizard standing before her. She felt anger boil inside her as she looked upon the gloating, icy blue gaze, the pale, smooth face and silvery blonde hair. An irrational urge to tear her fingernails through Lucius Malfoy caused Ginny to pull against the iron hold of her captors.
Lucius smirked at her attempt. "I can see you're not a very gracious . . . guest." He laughed at his own joke, that cruel curl of his lips snaking over his thin mouth. "I saw you admiring my hearth," he said conversationally, gesturing towards the fireplace. "No doubt finer than anything you've ever seen."
"I think it's ugly!"
Malfoy snapped his head around. He stared angrily at her for a moment, then smiled indulgently. "Of course, why should I expect a Weasley to have any appreciation for fine art?"
You are ugly, Ginny thought, but did not say. She glared furiously at Mr. Malfoy, thinking how very much Draco was like his father. It suddenly occurred to her how she'd yelled at Draco, he'd embarrassed her, and Harry had said nothing . . . And somehow Malfoy had slipped Tom's diary into her cauldron. This man had ruined her first year at Hogwarts, her chance at everything!
Let me rip, let me tear!
"No!" she gasped. "Stop it!"
Around her the Death Eaters laughed at her outburst. Ginny sucked in a trembling breath and looked down at her bare feet, away from Lucius' calculating gaze. Her heart hammered against her chest, and she heard the soft, high cruel laughter of her nightmares. She closed her eyes, feeling tears burn behind them. Let me rip . . . let me tear!
"Come now," said Lucius, clapping his hands together as if summoning a servant. "Macnair, escort our impertinent guest to her quarters. Send Wormtail up with some food. Our Master does not want her ill for the examining."
Macnair . . . Ginny recognized the name, but couldn't precisely remember where from. As she was propelled through the threshold into a lighted corridor with crimson holders for the torches, Ginny suddenly heard Ron's furious and sickened voice. Macnair almost executed Buckbeak!
And then she was distracted from her horror as Macnair led her on a rough tour of Malfoy Manor. Despite her terror, she was awed by the cold, austere grandeur and opulence of the manor. She vaguely wondered if she were indeed inside a medieval castle, and not merely a manor house. The few enormous portraits were clearly of Malfoys long dead and gone, but determined to cast their conniving eyes upon her as she was pushed past. She shivered, not for the first time, as she passed through the corridor, not at all comforted by the knowledge of her whereabouts.
With an unceremonious shove, Macnair pushed Ginny into another chamber, which she guessed to be towards the back of Malfoy Manor. It was darker in this room, despite the blazing fireplace, and a definite, clammy chill seemed to wrap itself predatorily around her. She squinted into the darkened corners of the room and sensed something . . . an eerie presence, something sinister in repose.
The door slammed behind her. Ginny whirled around to find MacNair gone. She didn't need to twist the ornate knob to know she was locked inside. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she slowly faced the room, and stifled a cry of terror.
A shadow was moving, undulating slowly, luxuriously from the side of the crackling hearth. Jewel-like eyes glittered inquisitively from the reptilian head that arched gracefully against the flames. A forked tongue flicked, tasting the air, tasting her.
It's a basilisk . . . she first thought, but as she stared, petrified, into those intelligent, gleaming eyes, she realized her lungs were begging for air, and that she was conscious. The compulsion to scream overwhelmed her, but when she opened her mouth, no sound came out.
The great snake's head rose higher, its powerful body uncoiling as it slithered towards Ginny. She choked on another scream and stepped back she hit the door.
"Oh . . . oh please no!" she gasped, grappling for the doorknob. The snake's tongue flicked again as it weaved around the commanding armchair facing the fireplace. She saw that it was an acid, poisonous green, the large scales catching the light. A deadly beauty.
"No . . . no!" Ginny pleaded, pressing herself hard against the door. She was trapped, the snake was going to kill her, all she wanted to do was scream-
And then the snake recoiled, its tongue tasting the air again. Then Ginny heard it-a fumbling outside the door. Unmindful of the snake, she backed away from the door, her heart pounding. Eyes wide, panic ready, she watched as the knob slowly turned, and Pettigrew shuffled into the room carrying a tray with covered dishes and a glass of water.
The snake hissed disdainfully, and Ginny shuddered, fervently telling herself she'd imagined the coherent syllables. Snakes did not mutter.
"Nagini, y-you behave," Pettigrew said to the snake, his voice just as tremulous as down in the dungeons.
Ginny glanced unwillingly at the enormous snake, whose eyes were fastened on the wizard with contempt. Its head weaved contemplatively, and Pettigrew gave a nervous fluttering sound and quickly stepped far to the furthest wall, where a small reading table rested under a shuttered window.
"Ah-er, Miss Ginny-" Pettigrew paused, as if waiting for Ginny to rebuke him, but she was too frightened and bewildered. He coughed, swallowed, and gestured awkwardly at the tray. "Some soup, bread, and water. Y-you'd better eat it."
"I'm not hungry," Ginny lied, frozen near the door. She could feel Nagini's gaze fixed on her again. Although her stomach seemed rather unaffected by her fear, she couldn't bear to cross the room under that nefarious gaze.
"Oh," said Pettigrew, a deflated look on his face. He seemed incredibly old and shriveled, his cheeks seeming to droop off his skull. "B-but you must keep your strength up."
A ridiculous urge to laugh welled up in Ginny's throat. Were the Death Eaters really so concerned with her welfare? How long had she been in the dungeon cold, thirsting and starving? The soup was probably poisoned, anyway . . .
"Why?" demanded Ginny, once her throat began working. "Why should I eat? You're only going to torture or-" she swallowed, and her voice shook, "kill me."
"N-not if, if you . . ." but Pettigrew trailed off and cast his eyes away from her. He clamped his mouth shut and nervously stroked his silver hand. "Eat," he squeaked. "Master will . . . be here soon."
And then he was shuffling past her, giving Nagini a wide berth. The snake let out a sharp, mocking hiss that sounded eerily like laughter. Then Pettigrew was gone, and Ginny was alone with the snake.
Yet she didn't feel endangered. Frightened out of her wits, oh yes . . . but endangered, no. Those jeweled eyes gleamed with knowing, and then the head turned away. The green body slithered across the study to the little table.
"Come."
Ginny gasped.
"Eat."
No, she thought desperately, feeling an icy chill freeze the blood in her veins. I'm not hearing this, I'm not understanding! I don't speak Parseltongue! Yet a nasty little voice in her head said, Oh no? Then who opened the Chamber of Secrets and set a basilisk on the school?
"I didn't mean to," she whispered, feeling ashamed. Why did she feel twelve again? She'd almost silenced the inner battles; just a whisper that she could quell with her will. But It was rising within her, excited by Nagini's presence, by that other power prowling nearer and nearer.
"Do as the rat man says."
Nagini had turned her head reproachfully as Ginny cowered near the door. It seemed impossible that such a noxious creature could remind her of her mother. When she didn't move, the snake seemed to sigh, and it slowly withdrew from the table, returning to its spot by the fireplace.
The last thing Ginny wanted to do was obey Pettigrew or Nagini, but her thirst overpowered her fear. On trembling knees she crossed the darkened room to the table. Dizzily she drank from the goblet, rejoicing in the cold, refreshing water. It punched through her stomach, but she gulped unmindfully. The physical ache was welcome.
When the goblet was empty, she eyed the other dishes uneasily. Curiosity nagged at her, but she refused to succumb to it. Water was necessary, but she could survive without anything else for awhile. Part of her knew she should keep her strength, as Pettigrew said, regardless of what plans the Death Eaters had in store for her. Weakened, she had less of a chance. Yet she couldn't bring herself to lift the silver soup cover. Her stomach ached, her head swam, and she slowly realized the snake was saying something . . .
" . . . Master is coming . . . you smell of him."
"I'm not hearing this, I'm not hearing this!" Ginny chanted, clamping her hands over her ears. She squeezed her eyes shut, now chanting in her head to drown out her wild thoughts. Smelled of Voldemort?! How could she carry his scent? And he was coming!
Then something dry yet smooth brushed her bare feet and Ginny cried out, jumping away from the snake curling around her feet.
"You're not for me," Nagini hissed, circling her long, fourteen-foot body around Ginny as she shook, gripping the armchair's back. "Not yet." A cold promise.
Too weak to stand, Ginny sank to the floor, sensing rather than seeing the poisonous creature encircling her without touching. The dry scales brushed along the ornamental rug, seeming to hiss along with the snake's whispering words. "There is a boy who speaks, but yet he does not. You smell of him too." A strangled sob escaped Ginny as she tucked her knees under her chin and locked her arms around her legs. She rocked back and forth as Nagini circled and circled her, filling her ears with her hissed words.
"This is a nightmare, just a nightmare, I'll wake up soon, just a nightmare," she mumbled into her knees, desperately trying to ignore the sounds around her. She knew not how long she sat there, hunched and rocking, when Nagini seemed to quiver with anticipation. Noises out in the corridor, and then an excited, loving hiss.
"Master's here."
"The Darkness Within"
Fleeing . . .
Empty corridor, but patrolled just beyond. The humpback witch . . . someone coming . . . the other tunnel, the one to the willow. Darkness, echoing footsteps, gasping breathes. Not true! Not true! Oh, but it is true, it is! Must escape . . . air! No moon . . . no wind . . . so quiet, so peaceful. Hagrid's hut-
"STUPEFY!"
Pain-darkness.
Cold. So cold. Aching. Everywhere it's cold and aching. Drip, drip, drip. Metallic water. Dark shadows with shifting rats, no humans. One man. Scabbers. Pettigrew. More beyond the solid stone walls.
So cold!
The distinction between dreaming and consciousness blurred as Ginny's eyes fluttered open. The gloomy, sickly yellow light emanating from somewhere beyond the inky blackness enveloping her meant she was awake. She moaned, but no sound escaped her parched, scratchy throat. Her mouth was thick, her tongue languid and dead. An excruciating beating pounded in her head- or was it her chest? She couldn't tell.
I must do something, she thought vaguely as her eyes sought anything comforting in the gloom. I can't just lie here. I'm captured.
Captured. She'd been a hostage before. Captured, for a year, completely captive by an evil being's memory. Used. Bait. Again?
The instinct to panic, to succumb to the hysteria lurking just beyond her peripheral sense, almost overwhelmed Ginny. Gasping, she physically evaded the danger, allowing the deep ache of her protesting body to control her thoughts. Mustering her wavering strength, she uncurled her shivering body and sat against the icy stone wall. Every limb screamed for rest, but she gritted her teeth and forced every joint to bend.
Good, I haven't broken anything. So this is what it feels like to be Stunned.
Physical pain was liberation, and Ginny kept her mind from straying by carefully reexamining her clammy body. She had scratches, no doubt from the scraping of stone, and her cheek felt swollen and sticky, but otherwise there wasn't a trace of visible physical harm. At least, not that she could detect in the weak light.
At least it isn't total darkness. I'd go mad.
But if only I had something to drink! she thought, regretfully reaching for the empty cup Pettigrew had given her earlier. How long ago had that been? she wondered. How long had she slept and wallowed in those dark thoughts? Hours? Days? She was thirsty, hungry, and so cold. Already her mind was losing focus on any single thought. A mere blur of pain, tears, night skies, dark chambers, diaries, and Tom Riddles.
"Oh, help," she croaked thickly, feeling her eyes itch and sting. "Oh, help!"
And then there was a noise from beyond the shadows. Ginny's head snapped towards the door, invisible in the shadows, watching her. The sound of a lock, a faint whisper of a spell, heavy iron being moved, and the door creaked open.
It was Pettigrew.
Ginny tensed, a dark emotion stirring within her. Yet she couldn't focus on it as the pathetic man shuffled into the cell, a bucket of water sloshing invitingly towards her. His tiny, beady eyes glistened in the torchlight, the silver hand glittering from within the folds of his tattered cloak.
"Ah, awake?" he inquired in that tremulous, warbled voice. He paused, just within the stained glow, as if anticipating an answer. When she offered him none, he licked his lips fretfully and fidgeted with the bucket. After a moment of worrisome behavior, Pettigrew shuffled forward again, wincing as Ginny flattened herself against the wall and glared defiantly at him.
It was agonizing to watch this man who could have been Neville Longbottom with all of his insecurities and nervousness, yet Ginny knew exactly what he was capable of doing. Betrayal. Murder. She was repulsed.
The sound of the water in the bucket as he set it down was unbearable. She licked her parched, cracked lips as Pettigrew reached for her empty cup and dunked it into the bucket. Musical trickling reverberated in the cell as the water cascaded back into the bucket. Pettigrew had barely offered it before she snatched it out of his one fleshy hand and held it up to her begging, trembling mouth.
The cup tasted like rotting wood and the water was stale, but Ginny drank thirstily in loud gulps, vaguely shuddering as the liquid dribbled from the corners of her mouth and down her neck. It was gone too quickly, and she looked up at her hunched jailer.
"More," she croaked pleadingly. To her amazement, he refilled it twice more until she ached from the shock of it. "Thank you," Ginny gasped before she realized it, her body reeling with gratitude.
Blissfully, she closed her eyes, drowning in the sharp ache of her stomach. Everything was peculiarly acute and dull all at once. She could focus, or she could float. The biting cold was prickling, yet it didn't seem quite so uncomfortable as before. The stone dug into her back, but it was almost tender. If she could just keep her eyes closed . . .
But then Pettigrew was moving again. Moaning softly, regretfully, Ginny lifted her eyes to find the hapless man unfolding a very thin, roughly-spun woolen cloak.
"H-here," he stuttered, shuffling forward. "M-master . . . Lord V- Voldemort doesn't want you sick."
Ginny stared at him, unable to comprehend as Pettigrew knelt down and draped the shabby cloak over her shivering body. She flinched at his touch, and he drew back hastily.
Voldemort . . . here . . . Tom . . .
"What does he want with me?" she demanded. Something was moving inside her . . . deep down . . . restless, urgent! Ginny's hysteria, her panic, began to mount desperately over the presence buried beneath. "Does he want to kill me, is that it? Torture me? What does he want with me?"
Pettigrew's hands were fluttering around him, his lip was trembling, beads of sweat appearing on his wrinkled, sullen brow. "I-I cannot tell you, Miss Ginny-"
"Don't call me that!"
Pettigrew silenced. He bent down and withdrew the bucket, shaking his head and shuffling backwards. "Soon. He will see you soon."
And then he was reclaimed by the inky, thick shadows. The door opened and closed, the lock thudded forebodingly, and the soft, final casting of a spell sent Ginny's heart pounding. The darkness pressed in again, but its despairing effect was lost on Ginny. The darkness, the pain, the cold-it didn't matter. What mattered was what was moving inside her, wakening, beckoning, coercing . . .
Pettigrew had told her nothing, yet she knew everything. Voldemort wanted her for an evil purpose, and she didn't believe it was a mere prize exchange or strike against **the** Order. As she pulled the rough cloak tightly around her shivering body, she steeled herself. It was moving, growing, that presence she'd locked away deep inside.
It-he-wanted to be released.
"No," she whispered into the emptiness. The ache in her stomach had subsided, and her mind was becoming focused and aware. With sudden clairvoyance, Ginny felt a calm determination settling over her, resolutely forcing him into her deepest recesses. She was afraid, but determined. If she were to die or be tortured or aid Voldemort in any way-she was going to fight.
"I can fight," Ginny Weasley spoke defiantly to the lurking presence. "And I will!"
Although silence was her only audible answer, she heard a terrible, quaking laugh, deeper than the silence, that permeated the impenetrable stone walls.
"I will fight," she whispered. "I will."
~*~*~
After hours of the dank cold, Ginny felt herself grow numb to her hysteria. She felt too weak to tremble;her body ached dully from the hard stone, but her mind drifted languorously away from her body. Hours passed, she knew that, but could neither sense it nor feel it. She could only feel her weakness brushing against her resolve. And him.
She knew precisely when he'd arrived. Although far below the ground, she could almost hear the delicate pacing of his contemplative steps as he moved above her. That place in her mind seemed to sway, like a snake following its charmer's tune, making her nauseated and dizzy.
I just want to float away. From here, from him.
The swaying continued for hours, lulling her into a daze. And then it stopped. That presence reared excitedly, and Ginny cried out against it.
Her eyes flew open to the darkness, her breathing came in short gasps. Only silence surrounded her, yet she sensed the commotion above and around her, drawing nearer, the hunger, the thirst! It would not be long, it hissed in her ear, not long now.
The creaking of the cell door grated loudly in Ginny's ear, and she fought the urge to scream. Cloaked figures were filing into the cell, tall and foreboding, the air thick with malicious anticipation. Panic swelled inside her, and as three masked figures swooped down upon her, she grasped desperately for her resolve.
Cold, hard hands grabbed her forearms and roughly hauled her to her feet. Ginny gasped as her frozen muscles protested. "L-let go of me!" she croaked, her throat closed and dry. Her captors ignored her protests, dragging her through the shadows and under the sickly glow from the doorway.
Too weak to fight, Ginny was dragged into a dimly lighted dungeon corridor, and she could see other closed cells along the twisting passage. Flickering torches cast dancing shadows against the damp stone every few meters. She wondered if any other prisoners were behind the heavily barred doors they passed. The corridor seemed to curve and twist forever, and she knew she'd never find the way back to her cell, if she ever had the notion to return of her own accord.
Even as her head swam with dizziness, she felt something within her growing stronger, and she knew she didn't need to be dragged to her destination. She could follow that burning sensation coursing through her. It was excited, filling her body with anticipation and fear.
The Death Eaters clutching her arms spoke not a word, nor did the one leading them through the dungeon. She sensed the heavy footsteps of the Death Eater behind her and shuddered. Her skin prickled, and her eyes turned upwards, morbidly curious. Who were behind those hideous skull masks of death? The cowls of their heavy black cloaks were eased back, and eyes glittered whenever they passed a torch.
And suddenly, without any warning, the four Death Eaters halted. The leader pulled out his wand, held it straight over his head, and murmured an incantation. Faint green light emanated from its tip, and suddenly a burst of brighter light illuminated the wizard. Another flick of the wand, and a small stair unfolded from the stone edge of the gap. Blinking in the unaccustomed light, Ginny realized it was a trap door.
The Death Eater started up the steps. When the hem of his cloak swished out of sight, one of her captors released her and followed. It occurred to her now was the time to free herself, but there was nowhere to run. Up led to waiting Death Eaters, and behind her was only the dark maze of dungeons.
"Up with you now," said a deep, cold voice from under the mask.
Ginny glanced at the Death Eater, wondering again who it might be. Any of them. Harry knew the names of many Death Eaters. This one towered over her, the black cloak concealing extremely broad shoulders, and most likely thick, powerful arms. She shuddered and stepped forward, feeling the Dark wizard press close behind her, bodily moving her up the small steps into the light.
Instantly warm light bathed and soothed her, and she blinked rapidly in the brightness. She could hear a fire crackling somewhere nearby. Hands grasped her forearms again, but she felt less afraid in the light. When the spots cleared, she saw she was standing in an ornate study or parlor of some sort. The ceiling was sculpted, the walls lined with impressive shelves of old tomes. Dark furniture of antique or foreign origin, crafted to the tiniest detail and utmost skill, absorbed the light from the silver and crystal chandelier. The fireplace roared to her right, and she saw a hearth that rivaled Hogwarts' best. The marbling was neither green nor silver, but both, so it seemed to ripple if she looked at it too long. Sculpted serpents slithered up either side of the hearth, their black jeweled eyes glittering fixedly at her.
"Welcome, Ginny Weasley," said a smooth, greasy voice before her, "to Malfoy Manor."
Ginny felt an icy chill run down her spine as she wrenched her eyes from the hearth to the wizard standing before her. She felt anger boil inside her as she looked upon the gloating, icy blue gaze, the pale, smooth face and silvery blonde hair. An irrational urge to tear her fingernails through Lucius Malfoy caused Ginny to pull against the iron hold of her captors.
Lucius smirked at her attempt. "I can see you're not a very gracious . . . guest." He laughed at his own joke, that cruel curl of his lips snaking over his thin mouth. "I saw you admiring my hearth," he said conversationally, gesturing towards the fireplace. "No doubt finer than anything you've ever seen."
"I think it's ugly!"
Malfoy snapped his head around. He stared angrily at her for a moment, then smiled indulgently. "Of course, why should I expect a Weasley to have any appreciation for fine art?"
You are ugly, Ginny thought, but did not say. She glared furiously at Mr. Malfoy, thinking how very much Draco was like his father. It suddenly occurred to her how she'd yelled at Draco, he'd embarrassed her, and Harry had said nothing . . . And somehow Malfoy had slipped Tom's diary into her cauldron. This man had ruined her first year at Hogwarts, her chance at everything!
Let me rip, let me tear!
"No!" she gasped. "Stop it!"
Around her the Death Eaters laughed at her outburst. Ginny sucked in a trembling breath and looked down at her bare feet, away from Lucius' calculating gaze. Her heart hammered against her chest, and she heard the soft, high cruel laughter of her nightmares. She closed her eyes, feeling tears burn behind them. Let me rip . . . let me tear!
"Come now," said Lucius, clapping his hands together as if summoning a servant. "Macnair, escort our impertinent guest to her quarters. Send Wormtail up with some food. Our Master does not want her ill for the examining."
Macnair . . . Ginny recognized the name, but couldn't precisely remember where from. As she was propelled through the threshold into a lighted corridor with crimson holders for the torches, Ginny suddenly heard Ron's furious and sickened voice. Macnair almost executed Buckbeak!
And then she was distracted from her horror as Macnair led her on a rough tour of Malfoy Manor. Despite her terror, she was awed by the cold, austere grandeur and opulence of the manor. She vaguely wondered if she were indeed inside a medieval castle, and not merely a manor house. The few enormous portraits were clearly of Malfoys long dead and gone, but determined to cast their conniving eyes upon her as she was pushed past. She shivered, not for the first time, as she passed through the corridor, not at all comforted by the knowledge of her whereabouts.
With an unceremonious shove, Macnair pushed Ginny into another chamber, which she guessed to be towards the back of Malfoy Manor. It was darker in this room, despite the blazing fireplace, and a definite, clammy chill seemed to wrap itself predatorily around her. She squinted into the darkened corners of the room and sensed something . . . an eerie presence, something sinister in repose.
The door slammed behind her. Ginny whirled around to find MacNair gone. She didn't need to twist the ornate knob to know she was locked inside. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she slowly faced the room, and stifled a cry of terror.
A shadow was moving, undulating slowly, luxuriously from the side of the crackling hearth. Jewel-like eyes glittered inquisitively from the reptilian head that arched gracefully against the flames. A forked tongue flicked, tasting the air, tasting her.
It's a basilisk . . . she first thought, but as she stared, petrified, into those intelligent, gleaming eyes, she realized her lungs were begging for air, and that she was conscious. The compulsion to scream overwhelmed her, but when she opened her mouth, no sound came out.
The great snake's head rose higher, its powerful body uncoiling as it slithered towards Ginny. She choked on another scream and stepped back she hit the door.
"Oh . . . oh please no!" she gasped, grappling for the doorknob. The snake's tongue flicked again as it weaved around the commanding armchair facing the fireplace. She saw that it was an acid, poisonous green, the large scales catching the light. A deadly beauty.
"No . . . no!" Ginny pleaded, pressing herself hard against the door. She was trapped, the snake was going to kill her, all she wanted to do was scream-
And then the snake recoiled, its tongue tasting the air again. Then Ginny heard it-a fumbling outside the door. Unmindful of the snake, she backed away from the door, her heart pounding. Eyes wide, panic ready, she watched as the knob slowly turned, and Pettigrew shuffled into the room carrying a tray with covered dishes and a glass of water.
The snake hissed disdainfully, and Ginny shuddered, fervently telling herself she'd imagined the coherent syllables. Snakes did not mutter.
"Nagini, y-you behave," Pettigrew said to the snake, his voice just as tremulous as down in the dungeons.
Ginny glanced unwillingly at the enormous snake, whose eyes were fastened on the wizard with contempt. Its head weaved contemplatively, and Pettigrew gave a nervous fluttering sound and quickly stepped far to the furthest wall, where a small reading table rested under a shuttered window.
"Ah-er, Miss Ginny-" Pettigrew paused, as if waiting for Ginny to rebuke him, but she was too frightened and bewildered. He coughed, swallowed, and gestured awkwardly at the tray. "Some soup, bread, and water. Y-you'd better eat it."
"I'm not hungry," Ginny lied, frozen near the door. She could feel Nagini's gaze fixed on her again. Although her stomach seemed rather unaffected by her fear, she couldn't bear to cross the room under that nefarious gaze.
"Oh," said Pettigrew, a deflated look on his face. He seemed incredibly old and shriveled, his cheeks seeming to droop off his skull. "B-but you must keep your strength up."
A ridiculous urge to laugh welled up in Ginny's throat. Were the Death Eaters really so concerned with her welfare? How long had she been in the dungeon cold, thirsting and starving? The soup was probably poisoned, anyway . . .
"Why?" demanded Ginny, once her throat began working. "Why should I eat? You're only going to torture or-" she swallowed, and her voice shook, "kill me."
"N-not if, if you . . ." but Pettigrew trailed off and cast his eyes away from her. He clamped his mouth shut and nervously stroked his silver hand. "Eat," he squeaked. "Master will . . . be here soon."
And then he was shuffling past her, giving Nagini a wide berth. The snake let out a sharp, mocking hiss that sounded eerily like laughter. Then Pettigrew was gone, and Ginny was alone with the snake.
Yet she didn't feel endangered. Frightened out of her wits, oh yes . . . but endangered, no. Those jeweled eyes gleamed with knowing, and then the head turned away. The green body slithered across the study to the little table.
"Come."
Ginny gasped.
"Eat."
No, she thought desperately, feeling an icy chill freeze the blood in her veins. I'm not hearing this, I'm not understanding! I don't speak Parseltongue! Yet a nasty little voice in her head said, Oh no? Then who opened the Chamber of Secrets and set a basilisk on the school?
"I didn't mean to," she whispered, feeling ashamed. Why did she feel twelve again? She'd almost silenced the inner battles; just a whisper that she could quell with her will. But It was rising within her, excited by Nagini's presence, by that other power prowling nearer and nearer.
"Do as the rat man says."
Nagini had turned her head reproachfully as Ginny cowered near the door. It seemed impossible that such a noxious creature could remind her of her mother. When she didn't move, the snake seemed to sigh, and it slowly withdrew from the table, returning to its spot by the fireplace.
The last thing Ginny wanted to do was obey Pettigrew or Nagini, but her thirst overpowered her fear. On trembling knees she crossed the darkened room to the table. Dizzily she drank from the goblet, rejoicing in the cold, refreshing water. It punched through her stomach, but she gulped unmindfully. The physical ache was welcome.
When the goblet was empty, she eyed the other dishes uneasily. Curiosity nagged at her, but she refused to succumb to it. Water was necessary, but she could survive without anything else for awhile. Part of her knew she should keep her strength, as Pettigrew said, regardless of what plans the Death Eaters had in store for her. Weakened, she had less of a chance. Yet she couldn't bring herself to lift the silver soup cover. Her stomach ached, her head swam, and she slowly realized the snake was saying something . . .
" . . . Master is coming . . . you smell of him."
"I'm not hearing this, I'm not hearing this!" Ginny chanted, clamping her hands over her ears. She squeezed her eyes shut, now chanting in her head to drown out her wild thoughts. Smelled of Voldemort?! How could she carry his scent? And he was coming!
Then something dry yet smooth brushed her bare feet and Ginny cried out, jumping away from the snake curling around her feet.
"You're not for me," Nagini hissed, circling her long, fourteen-foot body around Ginny as she shook, gripping the armchair's back. "Not yet." A cold promise.
Too weak to stand, Ginny sank to the floor, sensing rather than seeing the poisonous creature encircling her without touching. The dry scales brushed along the ornamental rug, seeming to hiss along with the snake's whispering words. "There is a boy who speaks, but yet he does not. You smell of him too." A strangled sob escaped Ginny as she tucked her knees under her chin and locked her arms around her legs. She rocked back and forth as Nagini circled and circled her, filling her ears with her hissed words.
"This is a nightmare, just a nightmare, I'll wake up soon, just a nightmare," she mumbled into her knees, desperately trying to ignore the sounds around her. She knew not how long she sat there, hunched and rocking, when Nagini seemed to quiver with anticipation. Noises out in the corridor, and then an excited, loving hiss.
"Master's here."