Chapter Five
"Voldemort's Pensieve"
"Master's here."
Such an excited, reverent hiss. Had she the control over herself, Ginny might have shuddered at Nagini's obvious devotion, but she felt her body and mind freeze. Time would have stood still, if not for the venomous monster coiling with anticipation at her feet, and-him. A feverish convulsion sent Ginny gasping to her knees.
The room spun, Nagini circled.
Voices, noises . . . out in the corridor. A frosty breath, rattling like death itself.
"No," she moaned pleadingly. "Please . . ."
"You silly girl! Stop your sniveling!"
"NO! I will fight you, I will FIGHT you!"
Cold, high laughter. "You really are a stupid, foolish girl. I've had you in my possession for almost a year. What makes you think you can fight me now?"
"T-Tom . . . I c-can't . . ."
"That's right, Ginny Weasley. You can't."
"Y-yes I can!" Get back, you brute, she silently screamed, using all her will to shut out the chilling memories, that mocking voice, the restless presence moving inside her, trying to break free. Gulping down terrified sobs, she rose shakingly to her feet as she heard a lock turning in the door.
A thunderous pounding drowned out Nagini's delighted whispers. Bright and dark colors swirled and twisted at the edge of her vision, making her dizzy as she stared painfully at the slowly turning knob. A bloodcurdling scream rose in her throat, but she couldn't take the breath to release it.
Then the door opened-and everything stood perfectly still.
Not a breath later, Pettigrew shuffled into the small study, perspiration dotting his bald forehead, carrying a round basin. His inept entrance was painfully obvious as Lucius Malfoy, resplendent in velvet black robes, swept through the threshold like an overenthusiastic king at his enemy's beheading. He sneered smugly at Ginny, his icy eyes sweeping belittlingly over her dirty, shivering body. Had she the nerve or foolishness, she would have kicked him hard in the shin.
The image brought a small smirk to her face, but then a high, cruel voice shattered her brief moment of amusement.
"I cannot begin to describe my delight in presently meeting you, Ginny Weasley."
A long, formidable shadow stretched across the light from the doorway. Seeming to grow from the black silhouette, a tall, slender figure emerged, dressed in fine robes that were neither black nor gray, but somewhere in between. Spider-like, pale hands splayed out from the efficiently cut sleeves, invisible stains of blood tarnishing the porcelain white. The figure did not glide so much as slither into the room, turning with grace and snapping its fingers.
Torches lighted with a roar, and Ginny saw with a horrible flash the face of Lord Voldemort.
She choked on her scream. This couldn't be human, not even remotely related to anything considered close to human. Reptilian . . . a monster! A serpent's head mounted on a skeletal body dug up from a grave! Even as her very soul was repulsed, she felt an overwhelming sorrow wash over her as she stared, horrified, at this creature of evil.
Tom? How could this be Tom Riddle? He had been so handsome, his features taking a likeness to Harry, so close that she had often shamefully wondered if part of her attraction had not been to Tom because he'd been so much like Harry, but that Harry had been so much like Tom.
Tom . . .
"Reunions are always touching," said Lord Voldemort. A cruel smile cut through his lipless mouth. "Is it not funny how we have only just met, Ginny Weasley, yet we have known each other since you were twelve and I was sixteen?"
Ginny could not respond. Instead she quavered under the calculating serpent eyes that raked hungrily over her, as if able to see straight into her soul. Perhaps he can. She shuddered violently, her stomach jerking with nauseating ferocity, as if something-someone-was jumping out of her. Then it slammed into something invisible, just within her, and stumbled angrily.
Swaying and clenching at her thin nightgown, Ginny gulped and sucked in a deep breath. I will fight, she told herself, fighting the conflicting revulsion and attraction roiling inside. Sick and dizzy, she felt her knees weaken as Voldmort's serpent eyes suddenly flashed and glowed, a slow, calculating smile stretching thinly across his deathly pallor.
"Excellent," the dark lord whispered, taking a step closer. With that deadly grace, he reached up with one long, skeletal hand and brushed his fingertips along her cheekbone.
Ginny cried out and flinched. Voldemort's fingertips were ice cold. A burning pain seared through her skin, as if the sharp tip of a knife. He slowly stroked down the side of her face, caressing her. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes as she felt that eager presence rise again within her, summoned to Voldemort's touch.
"S-stop," she pleaded, quavering and struggling for control.
Voldemort smiled cruelly, bringing his fingers under her chin, his glittering red eyes piercing through her. "Yes, I do believe this will be even quicker than I anticipated." Continuing to stare her down, he spoke to the two wizards gathered behind him. "Lucius, I had questioned your choice of lending my diary to, but now I see it was an excellent choice. She will not be difficult to persuade."
Had Ginny not been paralyzed with fear, she would have spit in Voldemort's snake-like face.
"Meekly spirited," Voldemort commented mildly, sounding absently amused. He withdrew his hand from her face and took a step back, turning slightly to include Pettigrew and Lucius Malfoy. "Lucius," he commanded. "I see no cause for more delay. The diary."
Lucius stepped forward and withdrew from the rich folds of his robes a very tattered and ruined book. For just a second, Ginny wanted to laugh with relief. It wasn't Tom Riddle's diary at all, but a severely damaged fabrication. After all, she would have never allowed for such a hole to rip through the cover and pages, nor for its pages to browned and blackened by whatever stained it.
"My lord," Malfoy whispered gravely, presenting the diary to Voldemort in his opened palms.
However, Voldemort merely peered inquisitively, fondly, at the decrepit object, and Ginny sensed an underlying anger that stirred the entity within her. And a fear. With a flash, as if she were back to the nightmare in the Chamber of Secrets, she saw the diary laying in a pool of blood, the basilisk blood, dripping with venom and Harry's own blood, resting beside it. The diary that had been passed from Harry's hands to Dumbledore, where she had believed it safe until Harry had confessed to returning it to Lucius Malfoy . . .
"What do you think Mr. Malfoy did with it?"
"Burned it, hopefully."
"I wish Dumbledore had kept it."
"I'm sorry, Ginny."
"Oh well. Nothing will probably come of it, anyway."
"Does it still affect you, Ginny Weasley?" Voldemort asked suddenly, swiveling around to stare hard at the trembling girl. His lipless mouth stretched thinly again. "Does it torment you to know that my simple memory- a mere trifling of my power-could possess you, make you set a basilisk on other students? How could a Gryffindor-so brash and brave and strong-be so weak? Very shameful, indeed."
Ginny lifted her chin and bit down hard on the inside of her cheek as Voldemort slithered towards her again, taking delight in her obvious pain. Stern and exasperated voices swirled around her head: Dumbledore telling her that far great wizards had been hoodwinked by Dumbledore, Ron and Hermione elaborating on their inability to resist Imperius, Harry defending her, Ginny's elation at triumphing and resisting Tom Riddle in her dreams . . .
"Very shameful, very weak," repeated Voldemort, cutting through the comfort of the voices.
"I-I'm not weak," she croaked. But she felt it. Whatever anyone said, Voldemort was right.
"You are, Ginny Weasley," said Voldemort almost soothingly, as if coaxing a toddler. "When my memory was possessing your soul, I was mere vapor. Vapor. And you still could not resist my power." Another slow, calculating smile crawled across his face. "Nor can you resist it now. I can feel it, just as you can," he said in a lower voice, circling her. "When I was only a presence, I attached myself to another life form, like a leech. Animals, snakes, a Hogwarts professor . . . all very easy prey, easily manipulated and drained. With each I grew stronger, just as my embedded youth consumed you, Ginny Weasley."
The dark lord came around to face her again, so close that her skin scintillated, as if reaching out for him. Voldemort lowered his serpent head down to hers. "And if I'm not mistaken, my own Ginny, you are still very much possessed. Tom Riddle's captive, his prey. My captive, my prey."
"No!" Ginny jerked violently away, nearly tripping over Nagini. The great snake hissed warningly and recoiled, but Ginny barely noticed as a sharp, fiery pain shot through her body. With a cry, she fell to her knees, gasping for breath as the pain resided.
A high, cold laugh reached her ears, as if an echo from the past.
"Oh, I do appreciate a show of rebellion," chuckled Voldemort, looking down at her condescendingly. "Come now. Stand."
Before she even realized it, she'd risen to her feet. Only then did she consider disobeying, but it was too late: Voldemort and Malfoy were enjoying the satisfaction of her unchallenged servitude. Not again, she swore herself, Next time I'll resist. Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself and raised her chin. Strangely, she felt her inner wards against the shadow enforced, as if the shock of pain had stiffened her determination.
"What do you want?"
Voldemort's smile slithered away, and he narrowed his eyes to slits. "You, Ginny Weasley. And what you hold captive inside you." He stepped forward and Ginny recoiled, bumping into the small table with the tray of soup Pettigrew had brought.
"Why?" she asked before she could stop herself.
Again, that awful stretch of the lips, so scathing and merciless. "It is common knowledge, Miss Weasley, that Lord Voldemort's ultimate ambition has been to seek immortality. A commendable career goal, you must admit. I have used various methods, from unicorn's blood to the oldest of Druid myths, but each of those required incessant repercussions or were unstable.
"I soon realized that the old methods were useless. If complete immortality had never been achieved before, there was no method or spell- yet created-and I would have to devise my own."
The Dark Lord paused and strode over to Lucius, nearly touching the poisoned diary covered in dried blood and venom. "Although confident in my theory and ability at sixteen, I had not been able to test the first step," said Voldemort, as if telling Ginny a bedtime story. "I did not even know about my diary's success until a little less than two years ago, when Lucius here regaled me with his fouled but commendable attempt to return me to power.
"But-there was much missing in his witness."
Ginny was again assaulted by Voldemort's closeness as those nefariously glinting eyes raked over her weakening body.
"Now," he said slowly, "for your account."
He snapped his fingers and a wave of cold despair swept over Ginny in a surging wave. A fog of pain and disbelief, shock and betrayal, closed around her. Voldemort disappeared from her view and a shadow of desolation blocked the torchlight and something unearthy and ghostlike glided into the small study, its raspy breathing rattling within Ginny's very soul.
A dementor.
"You know what I'm going to do for you, little Ginny? When your Harry Potter finds you here, dead, I will tell him everything."
"No! Please!"
"Everything. What will he think of sad little Ginny when he knows it was she who set a monster on the little Mudbloods? When he realizes it was you who helped bring the murderer of his parents back to power? Tsk, tsk . . . At least you won't be alive to see it."
"Dementors have such a wonderful affect on people, do they not?" Voldemort's merciless voice brought Ginny sluggishly from the fog and chill, but she seemed to hover just behind a thin veil of grayness. "Since it can be assumed that you wouldn't be willfully obliging to my little experiment, I decided to bring a little persuasion for you."
Ginny swayed on her feet.
Tom's diary in Harry's hand. Harry soaked in blood and grime. His awkward hands fiery hot on her frozen body, helping her to her feet as she blubbered. The whispering snaking after her as Harry urged her out of the chamber.
"Wormtail, the basin."
Pettigrew stumbled forward with the basin, ashen gray as if affected by rattling despair in the air around the Dementor. Ginny vaguely wondered how anguished the man was, now undoubtedly reliving the moment he'd betrayed Lily and James Potter to Voldemort. The diminished man convulsed as he settled the large basin on the table beside Ginny, withdrawing as quickly as possible, a sniffle reaching her ears.
Curious despite the cold and herself, Ginny peered through the fog into the basin, marveling at the liquid content. It was silver with the appearance of mercury but lighter, swirling as if propelled by a gentle wind.
"Do you know what a Pensieve is, Ginny Weasley?" said Voldemort from beside the Dementor.
She glanced unwillingly at the Dark Lord. While everything in the room seemed to wilt and shrivel, Voldemort appeared to be glowing with the depleting power. Red slits penetrated the thickening fog, keeping her from drowning.
"I've read about them," she said thickly, "but I've never seen one."
The red slits began to glow, gliding through the fog, nearer and nearer, until Voldemort's white face seemed to be made of the fog itself, the gray wisps licking his sharp, hollow cheeks. Then white spiders appeared on either side of her peripheral visions, closing in. She felt a brief touch of cold on her temples, followed by an intense pressure.
She screamed. An unearthly scream that filled her ears, mind, and body-the scream she had been holding ever since Voldemort entered the room. Blood flowed down her throat from the sheer rawness of it, coating her lungs as pure agony ripped through her, shattering any trace of thought, reason, or sense. Black, searing pain. Carving, white-hot stabs of pain.
And then she knew nothing.
~*~*~
Gradually, the excruciating pain began to abate, fading to a dull throbbing in her every nerve. Vaguely, through a dim, nauseated haze, Ginny was aware of muffled voices and movements around her. Eyes squeezed tight as she gasped for breath, she knelt, clutching her stomach as her head bowed, forehead touching the rough tapestry rug. A faint scratching circled her, and the practical, unfazed portion of her mind carefully noted Nagini's circling.
"Brilliant," the high voice breathed from somewhere above and within her. "How . . . extraordinary-and so convenient."
"What is it, my lord?" Sleazy, curious.
Voldemort did not answer, but Ginny and Nagini felt his scintillating excitement and sick delight. The air crackled with it, causing the hairs on the back of Ginny's neck to raise. Her head pounded against the floor, and she wanted desperately to retch, but she felt too weak to move. She felt raped, as if someone had forced himself inside her and taken something.
"No," she croaked suddenly, panic rising in her throat with the bile. Nearly sobbing with pain and fear, she groped desperately inside, searching for that stalking presence. It jerked through her, and she felt both relieved and sickened.
Voldemort had not taken her Tom.
"Most interesting," Voldemort's voice floated down to her, curling itself around her shrunken body. "My my . . . I love picking your brain, Ginny Weasley, it's so enlightening."
"May I see, my lord?"
"Not now, Lucius."
Ginny sucked in deeply, smelling the earthy, cold scent of the stone beneath the rug. The fibers scratched at her face, but she paid no heed. The dull throbbing continued to torment, but she was suddenly acutely aware of everything around her and what had just happened.
Nagini circling around her, just below her master's feet; Voldemort was standing at the small table, searching the silvery strands of the Pensieve, where he had just ransacked Ginny's mind for her memories of Tom Riddle and- no doubtly-Harry.
"Harry," she whispered into the rug. All of her memories, thoughts, and emotions for Harry were swirling, stolen, in the basin under Voldemort's rapacious eye, defenseless against his voracity. Her love and her sorrow . . . their one kiss . . .
"A most intriguing revelation, but . . . you are withholding the information I had requested, insolent girl." Voldemort's inquisitive muttering suddenly turned ice cold. "Lucius! Get her off the floor!"
Instantly Ginny was yanked up from her crouch by a cold, stiff pair of hands. The darkened world tilted around her, blurred, and then came slowly into focus. She blinked and gulped for air, trying to collect herself as Voldemort's sinister face became her whole vision.
"Would you like to know what just happened, Ginny Weasley?" asked Voldemort with controlled calm. "I just searched your mind. As I told you before, I wanted information on the diary, on my youthful self. What do you supposed I found?"
Ginny said nothing, but felt part of her sigh with relief. It worked, she realized, holding back a gratified smile. Dumbledore's barrier charm had succeeded, and Tom Riddle and the Chamber of Secrets were locked safely away inside her, unreachable.
"You smile, so you must know," spat the dark lord. His blood red eyes narrowed. "No doubt that meddlesome wizard Dumbledore suspected you might become useful to me. Whatever magic he worked on you, Ginny Weasley, will not last!" Voldemort lifted an emaciated hand to her face, then slowly drew in back into a fist. "I know how to break a being, twist and crush it until it begs, pleads, and blubbers every sin, every secret . . . until they plead for death!"
Behind her Wormtail whimpered, and Ginny fought the urge to turn away from Voldemort's twisted, gleeful face. He burned with fervor before returning to his deceptive calm.
A queer smile spread his lips. "Nevermind, you will tell me soon enough. I may not have seen my beloved Chamber, but I did see your beloved."
"You-" she jerked against Lucius Malfoy's hold, but the wizard held firm.
Voldemort's smile widened as he pressed his spider-like fingers together at the tips. "Oh yes, Ginny Weasley, I saw everything."
"What did you see, my lord?" inquired Malfoy, a grinning sneer in his greasy voice.
"Why, who our dear captive has been in love with for six years, Lucius!"
Ginny almost vomited. That jeering, teasing tone sounded sickeningly like Fred or George at the dinner table, flicking beans at her while she blushed furiously and tried to avoid Harry's gaze. Anger boiled inside, filling her blood with adrenalin so that she might leap in hot rage at Voldemort's gloating face, but she was frozen in Malfoy's iron grasp.
"And who may this be, my lord?" Lucius played along, clearly enjoying the game as much as Voldemort.
"Why, none other than Harry Potter!" But he didn't stop there. Stepping back, Voldemort suddenly whirled his long, slender arms around, gesticulating in mockery. "He's so brave, so courageous and modest. Not only that, but he's a talented Seeker, and never teased her even though her numerous brothers did! His eyes are beautiful, and when he smiles -Lucius, did I tell you about his smile?"
"I believe not, my lord," encouraged Malfoy.
"It reaches his eyes-but no, Harry Potter hasn't truly smiled in ages."
"How tragic."
"Poor famous Harry Potter," Voldemort continued, not at all contrite or regretful. "It is not his fame that makes him so deserving of Miss Weasley's undying love, but his kindness, his humor, and his loyalty! Lucius, she does not love him for being Harry Potter, but for being Harry-"
"Stop it!" cried Ginny, unable to stop herself. "Stop it!"
She was viciously jerked back by Malfoy, and Voldemort was suddenly pressing his hideous face near. Ginny fell silent, unable to speak even if she'd had the nerve. Silent tears cascaded down her face as Voldemort reached up and brushed her tangled locks of hair almost tenderly away from her face. She gasped at the icy, painful contact and turned her face away.
The dark lord chuckled, and she felt one single fingernail tip trace from her cheekbone and along her jawline. "You are a foolish girl to fight Lord Voldemort," he whispered. "Your love for your beloved Harry will not save you, nor him. Soon I will be immortal, and all those who fail to worship me will die.
"You have a choice, Ginny Weasley," Voldemort continued in an almost soothing voice, touching one of her long coppery locks. "You can feebly and fatally remain obstinate, or you can give me what I want and live prosperously."
With courage she didn't really feel, Ginny turned to gaze the dark lord in the eye. "I will give you nothing. I'm not a traitor."
Voldemort smirked. "Brave words. But you forget-you set the basilisk on the school, you gave yourself to the Heir of Slytherin."
The dark lord stepped away from her, drawing his wand from within the folds of his robes. He stood erect and formidable above her, glowing with anticipation. "Crucio."
Everything exploded in white-hot pain worse than anything Ginny had ever felt. Every nerve screamed from the torture, as if uncomprehending the excruciating agony.
Then, quite suddenly, it stopped.
Ginny sagged against Lucius Malfoy, held up by his hard grip. The explosive pain resided quickly, but it left a prickling heat behind, reminding her exactly how it felt. Her vision was blurred by tears, but she saw the luminous eyes very clearly.
"You have not yet begun to imagine the ways I will . . . persuade you, Ginny Weasley," said Voldemort, his voice harsh and high. "The pain you just felt was mild to what I can do. Remember it, feel it, revel in it."
She sensed him draw nearer, and his voice was much closer and only marginally softer. "You can save yourself the torture now. Give me what I want, and you will be free. You do not want to feel the full blast of Cruciatus, as your beloved Harry Potter did."
Ginny stared down at her feet, trembling in her misery, sucking in small, shallow breaths, wanting to fall to the hard floor and never rise again. Hot tears poured down her face as her starved body quaked with the remnant of the curse.
"I can feel it, you know I can. It is pointless to hide it from me. All you have to do is say yes, and I will relieve you of the torment. You will be free."
Free. The word hung in the air between them, waiting for Ginny to grasp it. She stared unblinkingly into space, fighting the temptation. No, she could never betray Harry, it was him talking inside her, and her ravaged body begging for mercy. She could never be free of Tom Riddle, no matter what Voldemort said, because part of her was now Tom Riddle. If she gave Tom to Voldemort, she would be surrendering herself.
I surrendered once, I will not do it again!
Ginny slowly lifted her head, placing her weight firmly on her feet, standing on shaky lands, pretending Malfoy was preventing her from collapsing.
"No."
For a moment, Voldemort said nothing. Then he raised his wand and Lucius released her.
"Crucio!"
Ginny never felt her body hit the stone floor.
"Voldemort's Pensieve"
"Master's here."
Such an excited, reverent hiss. Had she the control over herself, Ginny might have shuddered at Nagini's obvious devotion, but she felt her body and mind freeze. Time would have stood still, if not for the venomous monster coiling with anticipation at her feet, and-him. A feverish convulsion sent Ginny gasping to her knees.
The room spun, Nagini circled.
Voices, noises . . . out in the corridor. A frosty breath, rattling like death itself.
"No," she moaned pleadingly. "Please . . ."
"You silly girl! Stop your sniveling!"
"NO! I will fight you, I will FIGHT you!"
Cold, high laughter. "You really are a stupid, foolish girl. I've had you in my possession for almost a year. What makes you think you can fight me now?"
"T-Tom . . . I c-can't . . ."
"That's right, Ginny Weasley. You can't."
"Y-yes I can!" Get back, you brute, she silently screamed, using all her will to shut out the chilling memories, that mocking voice, the restless presence moving inside her, trying to break free. Gulping down terrified sobs, she rose shakingly to her feet as she heard a lock turning in the door.
A thunderous pounding drowned out Nagini's delighted whispers. Bright and dark colors swirled and twisted at the edge of her vision, making her dizzy as she stared painfully at the slowly turning knob. A bloodcurdling scream rose in her throat, but she couldn't take the breath to release it.
Then the door opened-and everything stood perfectly still.
Not a breath later, Pettigrew shuffled into the small study, perspiration dotting his bald forehead, carrying a round basin. His inept entrance was painfully obvious as Lucius Malfoy, resplendent in velvet black robes, swept through the threshold like an overenthusiastic king at his enemy's beheading. He sneered smugly at Ginny, his icy eyes sweeping belittlingly over her dirty, shivering body. Had she the nerve or foolishness, she would have kicked him hard in the shin.
The image brought a small smirk to her face, but then a high, cruel voice shattered her brief moment of amusement.
"I cannot begin to describe my delight in presently meeting you, Ginny Weasley."
A long, formidable shadow stretched across the light from the doorway. Seeming to grow from the black silhouette, a tall, slender figure emerged, dressed in fine robes that were neither black nor gray, but somewhere in between. Spider-like, pale hands splayed out from the efficiently cut sleeves, invisible stains of blood tarnishing the porcelain white. The figure did not glide so much as slither into the room, turning with grace and snapping its fingers.
Torches lighted with a roar, and Ginny saw with a horrible flash the face of Lord Voldemort.
She choked on her scream. This couldn't be human, not even remotely related to anything considered close to human. Reptilian . . . a monster! A serpent's head mounted on a skeletal body dug up from a grave! Even as her very soul was repulsed, she felt an overwhelming sorrow wash over her as she stared, horrified, at this creature of evil.
Tom? How could this be Tom Riddle? He had been so handsome, his features taking a likeness to Harry, so close that she had often shamefully wondered if part of her attraction had not been to Tom because he'd been so much like Harry, but that Harry had been so much like Tom.
Tom . . .
"Reunions are always touching," said Lord Voldemort. A cruel smile cut through his lipless mouth. "Is it not funny how we have only just met, Ginny Weasley, yet we have known each other since you were twelve and I was sixteen?"
Ginny could not respond. Instead she quavered under the calculating serpent eyes that raked hungrily over her, as if able to see straight into her soul. Perhaps he can. She shuddered violently, her stomach jerking with nauseating ferocity, as if something-someone-was jumping out of her. Then it slammed into something invisible, just within her, and stumbled angrily.
Swaying and clenching at her thin nightgown, Ginny gulped and sucked in a deep breath. I will fight, she told herself, fighting the conflicting revulsion and attraction roiling inside. Sick and dizzy, she felt her knees weaken as Voldmort's serpent eyes suddenly flashed and glowed, a slow, calculating smile stretching thinly across his deathly pallor.
"Excellent," the dark lord whispered, taking a step closer. With that deadly grace, he reached up with one long, skeletal hand and brushed his fingertips along her cheekbone.
Ginny cried out and flinched. Voldemort's fingertips were ice cold. A burning pain seared through her skin, as if the sharp tip of a knife. He slowly stroked down the side of her face, caressing her. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes as she felt that eager presence rise again within her, summoned to Voldemort's touch.
"S-stop," she pleaded, quavering and struggling for control.
Voldemort smiled cruelly, bringing his fingers under her chin, his glittering red eyes piercing through her. "Yes, I do believe this will be even quicker than I anticipated." Continuing to stare her down, he spoke to the two wizards gathered behind him. "Lucius, I had questioned your choice of lending my diary to, but now I see it was an excellent choice. She will not be difficult to persuade."
Had Ginny not been paralyzed with fear, she would have spit in Voldemort's snake-like face.
"Meekly spirited," Voldemort commented mildly, sounding absently amused. He withdrew his hand from her face and took a step back, turning slightly to include Pettigrew and Lucius Malfoy. "Lucius," he commanded. "I see no cause for more delay. The diary."
Lucius stepped forward and withdrew from the rich folds of his robes a very tattered and ruined book. For just a second, Ginny wanted to laugh with relief. It wasn't Tom Riddle's diary at all, but a severely damaged fabrication. After all, she would have never allowed for such a hole to rip through the cover and pages, nor for its pages to browned and blackened by whatever stained it.
"My lord," Malfoy whispered gravely, presenting the diary to Voldemort in his opened palms.
However, Voldemort merely peered inquisitively, fondly, at the decrepit object, and Ginny sensed an underlying anger that stirred the entity within her. And a fear. With a flash, as if she were back to the nightmare in the Chamber of Secrets, she saw the diary laying in a pool of blood, the basilisk blood, dripping with venom and Harry's own blood, resting beside it. The diary that had been passed from Harry's hands to Dumbledore, where she had believed it safe until Harry had confessed to returning it to Lucius Malfoy . . .
"What do you think Mr. Malfoy did with it?"
"Burned it, hopefully."
"I wish Dumbledore had kept it."
"I'm sorry, Ginny."
"Oh well. Nothing will probably come of it, anyway."
"Does it still affect you, Ginny Weasley?" Voldemort asked suddenly, swiveling around to stare hard at the trembling girl. His lipless mouth stretched thinly again. "Does it torment you to know that my simple memory- a mere trifling of my power-could possess you, make you set a basilisk on other students? How could a Gryffindor-so brash and brave and strong-be so weak? Very shameful, indeed."
Ginny lifted her chin and bit down hard on the inside of her cheek as Voldemort slithered towards her again, taking delight in her obvious pain. Stern and exasperated voices swirled around her head: Dumbledore telling her that far great wizards had been hoodwinked by Dumbledore, Ron and Hermione elaborating on their inability to resist Imperius, Harry defending her, Ginny's elation at triumphing and resisting Tom Riddle in her dreams . . .
"Very shameful, very weak," repeated Voldemort, cutting through the comfort of the voices.
"I-I'm not weak," she croaked. But she felt it. Whatever anyone said, Voldemort was right.
"You are, Ginny Weasley," said Voldemort almost soothingly, as if coaxing a toddler. "When my memory was possessing your soul, I was mere vapor. Vapor. And you still could not resist my power." Another slow, calculating smile crawled across his face. "Nor can you resist it now. I can feel it, just as you can," he said in a lower voice, circling her. "When I was only a presence, I attached myself to another life form, like a leech. Animals, snakes, a Hogwarts professor . . . all very easy prey, easily manipulated and drained. With each I grew stronger, just as my embedded youth consumed you, Ginny Weasley."
The dark lord came around to face her again, so close that her skin scintillated, as if reaching out for him. Voldemort lowered his serpent head down to hers. "And if I'm not mistaken, my own Ginny, you are still very much possessed. Tom Riddle's captive, his prey. My captive, my prey."
"No!" Ginny jerked violently away, nearly tripping over Nagini. The great snake hissed warningly and recoiled, but Ginny barely noticed as a sharp, fiery pain shot through her body. With a cry, she fell to her knees, gasping for breath as the pain resided.
A high, cold laugh reached her ears, as if an echo from the past.
"Oh, I do appreciate a show of rebellion," chuckled Voldemort, looking down at her condescendingly. "Come now. Stand."
Before she even realized it, she'd risen to her feet. Only then did she consider disobeying, but it was too late: Voldemort and Malfoy were enjoying the satisfaction of her unchallenged servitude. Not again, she swore herself, Next time I'll resist. Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself and raised her chin. Strangely, she felt her inner wards against the shadow enforced, as if the shock of pain had stiffened her determination.
"What do you want?"
Voldemort's smile slithered away, and he narrowed his eyes to slits. "You, Ginny Weasley. And what you hold captive inside you." He stepped forward and Ginny recoiled, bumping into the small table with the tray of soup Pettigrew had brought.
"Why?" she asked before she could stop herself.
Again, that awful stretch of the lips, so scathing and merciless. "It is common knowledge, Miss Weasley, that Lord Voldemort's ultimate ambition has been to seek immortality. A commendable career goal, you must admit. I have used various methods, from unicorn's blood to the oldest of Druid myths, but each of those required incessant repercussions or were unstable.
"I soon realized that the old methods were useless. If complete immortality had never been achieved before, there was no method or spell- yet created-and I would have to devise my own."
The Dark Lord paused and strode over to Lucius, nearly touching the poisoned diary covered in dried blood and venom. "Although confident in my theory and ability at sixteen, I had not been able to test the first step," said Voldemort, as if telling Ginny a bedtime story. "I did not even know about my diary's success until a little less than two years ago, when Lucius here regaled me with his fouled but commendable attempt to return me to power.
"But-there was much missing in his witness."
Ginny was again assaulted by Voldemort's closeness as those nefariously glinting eyes raked over her weakening body.
"Now," he said slowly, "for your account."
He snapped his fingers and a wave of cold despair swept over Ginny in a surging wave. A fog of pain and disbelief, shock and betrayal, closed around her. Voldemort disappeared from her view and a shadow of desolation blocked the torchlight and something unearthy and ghostlike glided into the small study, its raspy breathing rattling within Ginny's very soul.
A dementor.
"You know what I'm going to do for you, little Ginny? When your Harry Potter finds you here, dead, I will tell him everything."
"No! Please!"
"Everything. What will he think of sad little Ginny when he knows it was she who set a monster on the little Mudbloods? When he realizes it was you who helped bring the murderer of his parents back to power? Tsk, tsk . . . At least you won't be alive to see it."
"Dementors have such a wonderful affect on people, do they not?" Voldemort's merciless voice brought Ginny sluggishly from the fog and chill, but she seemed to hover just behind a thin veil of grayness. "Since it can be assumed that you wouldn't be willfully obliging to my little experiment, I decided to bring a little persuasion for you."
Ginny swayed on her feet.
Tom's diary in Harry's hand. Harry soaked in blood and grime. His awkward hands fiery hot on her frozen body, helping her to her feet as she blubbered. The whispering snaking after her as Harry urged her out of the chamber.
"Wormtail, the basin."
Pettigrew stumbled forward with the basin, ashen gray as if affected by rattling despair in the air around the Dementor. Ginny vaguely wondered how anguished the man was, now undoubtedly reliving the moment he'd betrayed Lily and James Potter to Voldemort. The diminished man convulsed as he settled the large basin on the table beside Ginny, withdrawing as quickly as possible, a sniffle reaching her ears.
Curious despite the cold and herself, Ginny peered through the fog into the basin, marveling at the liquid content. It was silver with the appearance of mercury but lighter, swirling as if propelled by a gentle wind.
"Do you know what a Pensieve is, Ginny Weasley?" said Voldemort from beside the Dementor.
She glanced unwillingly at the Dark Lord. While everything in the room seemed to wilt and shrivel, Voldemort appeared to be glowing with the depleting power. Red slits penetrated the thickening fog, keeping her from drowning.
"I've read about them," she said thickly, "but I've never seen one."
The red slits began to glow, gliding through the fog, nearer and nearer, until Voldemort's white face seemed to be made of the fog itself, the gray wisps licking his sharp, hollow cheeks. Then white spiders appeared on either side of her peripheral visions, closing in. She felt a brief touch of cold on her temples, followed by an intense pressure.
She screamed. An unearthly scream that filled her ears, mind, and body-the scream she had been holding ever since Voldemort entered the room. Blood flowed down her throat from the sheer rawness of it, coating her lungs as pure agony ripped through her, shattering any trace of thought, reason, or sense. Black, searing pain. Carving, white-hot stabs of pain.
And then she knew nothing.
~*~*~
Gradually, the excruciating pain began to abate, fading to a dull throbbing in her every nerve. Vaguely, through a dim, nauseated haze, Ginny was aware of muffled voices and movements around her. Eyes squeezed tight as she gasped for breath, she knelt, clutching her stomach as her head bowed, forehead touching the rough tapestry rug. A faint scratching circled her, and the practical, unfazed portion of her mind carefully noted Nagini's circling.
"Brilliant," the high voice breathed from somewhere above and within her. "How . . . extraordinary-and so convenient."
"What is it, my lord?" Sleazy, curious.
Voldemort did not answer, but Ginny and Nagini felt his scintillating excitement and sick delight. The air crackled with it, causing the hairs on the back of Ginny's neck to raise. Her head pounded against the floor, and she wanted desperately to retch, but she felt too weak to move. She felt raped, as if someone had forced himself inside her and taken something.
"No," she croaked suddenly, panic rising in her throat with the bile. Nearly sobbing with pain and fear, she groped desperately inside, searching for that stalking presence. It jerked through her, and she felt both relieved and sickened.
Voldemort had not taken her Tom.
"Most interesting," Voldemort's voice floated down to her, curling itself around her shrunken body. "My my . . . I love picking your brain, Ginny Weasley, it's so enlightening."
"May I see, my lord?"
"Not now, Lucius."
Ginny sucked in deeply, smelling the earthy, cold scent of the stone beneath the rug. The fibers scratched at her face, but she paid no heed. The dull throbbing continued to torment, but she was suddenly acutely aware of everything around her and what had just happened.
Nagini circling around her, just below her master's feet; Voldemort was standing at the small table, searching the silvery strands of the Pensieve, where he had just ransacked Ginny's mind for her memories of Tom Riddle and- no doubtly-Harry.
"Harry," she whispered into the rug. All of her memories, thoughts, and emotions for Harry were swirling, stolen, in the basin under Voldemort's rapacious eye, defenseless against his voracity. Her love and her sorrow . . . their one kiss . . .
"A most intriguing revelation, but . . . you are withholding the information I had requested, insolent girl." Voldemort's inquisitive muttering suddenly turned ice cold. "Lucius! Get her off the floor!"
Instantly Ginny was yanked up from her crouch by a cold, stiff pair of hands. The darkened world tilted around her, blurred, and then came slowly into focus. She blinked and gulped for air, trying to collect herself as Voldemort's sinister face became her whole vision.
"Would you like to know what just happened, Ginny Weasley?" asked Voldemort with controlled calm. "I just searched your mind. As I told you before, I wanted information on the diary, on my youthful self. What do you supposed I found?"
Ginny said nothing, but felt part of her sigh with relief. It worked, she realized, holding back a gratified smile. Dumbledore's barrier charm had succeeded, and Tom Riddle and the Chamber of Secrets were locked safely away inside her, unreachable.
"You smile, so you must know," spat the dark lord. His blood red eyes narrowed. "No doubt that meddlesome wizard Dumbledore suspected you might become useful to me. Whatever magic he worked on you, Ginny Weasley, will not last!" Voldemort lifted an emaciated hand to her face, then slowly drew in back into a fist. "I know how to break a being, twist and crush it until it begs, pleads, and blubbers every sin, every secret . . . until they plead for death!"
Behind her Wormtail whimpered, and Ginny fought the urge to turn away from Voldemort's twisted, gleeful face. He burned with fervor before returning to his deceptive calm.
A queer smile spread his lips. "Nevermind, you will tell me soon enough. I may not have seen my beloved Chamber, but I did see your beloved."
"You-" she jerked against Lucius Malfoy's hold, but the wizard held firm.
Voldemort's smile widened as he pressed his spider-like fingers together at the tips. "Oh yes, Ginny Weasley, I saw everything."
"What did you see, my lord?" inquired Malfoy, a grinning sneer in his greasy voice.
"Why, who our dear captive has been in love with for six years, Lucius!"
Ginny almost vomited. That jeering, teasing tone sounded sickeningly like Fred or George at the dinner table, flicking beans at her while she blushed furiously and tried to avoid Harry's gaze. Anger boiled inside, filling her blood with adrenalin so that she might leap in hot rage at Voldemort's gloating face, but she was frozen in Malfoy's iron grasp.
"And who may this be, my lord?" Lucius played along, clearly enjoying the game as much as Voldemort.
"Why, none other than Harry Potter!" But he didn't stop there. Stepping back, Voldemort suddenly whirled his long, slender arms around, gesticulating in mockery. "He's so brave, so courageous and modest. Not only that, but he's a talented Seeker, and never teased her even though her numerous brothers did! His eyes are beautiful, and when he smiles -Lucius, did I tell you about his smile?"
"I believe not, my lord," encouraged Malfoy.
"It reaches his eyes-but no, Harry Potter hasn't truly smiled in ages."
"How tragic."
"Poor famous Harry Potter," Voldemort continued, not at all contrite or regretful. "It is not his fame that makes him so deserving of Miss Weasley's undying love, but his kindness, his humor, and his loyalty! Lucius, she does not love him for being Harry Potter, but for being Harry-"
"Stop it!" cried Ginny, unable to stop herself. "Stop it!"
She was viciously jerked back by Malfoy, and Voldemort was suddenly pressing his hideous face near. Ginny fell silent, unable to speak even if she'd had the nerve. Silent tears cascaded down her face as Voldemort reached up and brushed her tangled locks of hair almost tenderly away from her face. She gasped at the icy, painful contact and turned her face away.
The dark lord chuckled, and she felt one single fingernail tip trace from her cheekbone and along her jawline. "You are a foolish girl to fight Lord Voldemort," he whispered. "Your love for your beloved Harry will not save you, nor him. Soon I will be immortal, and all those who fail to worship me will die.
"You have a choice, Ginny Weasley," Voldemort continued in an almost soothing voice, touching one of her long coppery locks. "You can feebly and fatally remain obstinate, or you can give me what I want and live prosperously."
With courage she didn't really feel, Ginny turned to gaze the dark lord in the eye. "I will give you nothing. I'm not a traitor."
Voldemort smirked. "Brave words. But you forget-you set the basilisk on the school, you gave yourself to the Heir of Slytherin."
The dark lord stepped away from her, drawing his wand from within the folds of his robes. He stood erect and formidable above her, glowing with anticipation. "Crucio."
Everything exploded in white-hot pain worse than anything Ginny had ever felt. Every nerve screamed from the torture, as if uncomprehending the excruciating agony.
Then, quite suddenly, it stopped.
Ginny sagged against Lucius Malfoy, held up by his hard grip. The explosive pain resided quickly, but it left a prickling heat behind, reminding her exactly how it felt. Her vision was blurred by tears, but she saw the luminous eyes very clearly.
"You have not yet begun to imagine the ways I will . . . persuade you, Ginny Weasley," said Voldemort, his voice harsh and high. "The pain you just felt was mild to what I can do. Remember it, feel it, revel in it."
She sensed him draw nearer, and his voice was much closer and only marginally softer. "You can save yourself the torture now. Give me what I want, and you will be free. You do not want to feel the full blast of Cruciatus, as your beloved Harry Potter did."
Ginny stared down at her feet, trembling in her misery, sucking in small, shallow breaths, wanting to fall to the hard floor and never rise again. Hot tears poured down her face as her starved body quaked with the remnant of the curse.
"I can feel it, you know I can. It is pointless to hide it from me. All you have to do is say yes, and I will relieve you of the torment. You will be free."
Free. The word hung in the air between them, waiting for Ginny to grasp it. She stared unblinkingly into space, fighting the temptation. No, she could never betray Harry, it was him talking inside her, and her ravaged body begging for mercy. She could never be free of Tom Riddle, no matter what Voldemort said, because part of her was now Tom Riddle. If she gave Tom to Voldemort, she would be surrendering herself.
I surrendered once, I will not do it again!
Ginny slowly lifted her head, placing her weight firmly on her feet, standing on shaky lands, pretending Malfoy was preventing her from collapsing.
"No."
For a moment, Voldemort said nothing. Then he raised his wand and Lucius released her.
"Crucio!"
Ginny never felt her body hit the stone floor.