A/N: I suppose this story should be rated PG-13 due to all of the darkness
and torture. Again, Ginny, I'm sorry for all of this. I wish I could say
I'd make it up to you in the end, but I know you won't be pleased with me.
I'll write a small, fluffy fic to make up for it.
And now, on with the story.
Chapter Seven
"Strength of Will"
It was just like before. Waking to the dark, cold chamber. Except that Ginny's body was not numbed. It ached excruciatingly with the remnants of Voldemort's prolonged administration of the Cruciatus Curse. She felt raped; empty, brutally bent and used against her will and then abandoned. She lay very still, breathing shallowly, keeping her eyes squeezed shut.
As her consciousness slowly began to collect itself, she became aware of her surroundings. She wasn't in the cold cell underneath Malfoy Manor. At least, not the same cell. The soft, echoing trickle of dripping water hitting stone was gone, and the wall she was rolled against felt different, as if the stone had been cut at a different time. She wasn't lying directly on the icy stone floor, but on a very thin, itchy blanket that tormented her bruised nerves. After some tentative touching, she realized that she was completely wrapped in the blanket.
Ginny took a deeper breath, wincing at the pain in her chest. Had she cracked her ribs? Could Cruciatus do that to bones? Or had her twisting and retching caused the injury?
There was a rattling breath, and Ginny felt an icy prickle travel down her spine. Reaching tendrils, like specters, began crawling around the edge of her mind. She shrank away from the approaching grayness. A corner of her mind realized what was happening, but the rest of her desperately wanted to not believe it.
"No," she gasped, curling herself into a tight ball, pressing her protesting back against the hard wall.
It was all rushing back to her. Everything. Flashes of screams-her own- that high, cruel laughter, Harry's apology, his disappearance in the Third Task, Nagini circling, Voldemort caressing her face, laughing mockingly before drawing his wand.
"Stop it!" she screamed, wrenching her eyes open and unfurling her body. She cried out in agony as her body exploded in sharp bursts of pain.
Ginny stared unblinkingly upwards at the towering figure just feet from her, unable to breathe for the horror that affixed her. The Dementor stood above her, part of the darkness and shadow, the fathomless hole of its hood the source of the darkness, like a black hole sucking in all of the light. It drew in rattling breaths that echoed horridly in the stone chamber, a second entity of its own. Although she couldn't see its face, she knew the empty sockets of its eyes were fixed hungrily upon her, feeding off her fear.
"I don't feel that way about you."
"Look, Potter! You've got yourself a girlfriend!"
"I don't think Potter liked your Valentine, Weasley!"
"Will you-I mean-Ginny? Will you-"
"Sure, Neville."
Ginny shook her head furiously against the barrage of memories that swirled around her in a vicious, random cyclone. She forced her eyes to stay open, staring up at the Dementor, and quickly checked herself-Good. It was still there.
But was that really a good thing? Ginny wondered, as she stared at the unmoving figure that seemed to seep out of the inky blackness. Tom Riddle may still be trapped within her, but she was still here, hostage and helpless. If she even tried to escape, surely the Dementor would-
Ginny choked.
What if it Kissed her?
What if Voldemort simply tortured her for a little bit, then ordered the creature to steal her soul? She shuddered and a wave of deadly chill swept over her, powered by Tom Riddle's gloating face and cruel eyes as he emerged from the pages of the diary. Her sobs echoed and her knees surrendered to collapse as Tom Riddle traced the line of one of her tears. Then he forcefully willed her to stand and then fall to her knees again.
"You are in my power, I am your very will. How does it feel to have no control over even your very breath? I can stop your breathing, Ginny Weasley."
From down on her bleeding knees, Ginny suddenly clutched her throat as she felt it close. She opened her mouth, fighting to even gasp as Tom, her handsome, caring Tom, grinned in delight. Her lungs were screaming, her head pounding, spots were appearing before her eyes.
"Enough."
Ginny fell to the floor, gasping and coughing spasmodically. She felt dizzy with the sickening pleasure of sudden air. Sputtering, she tried to wipe tears from her eyes and find the Gryffindor bravery that Ron had shown last year, but then her spinal cord was straightening and she was again standing at Tom's order, unable to escape.
"You are very weak-"
"N-no! This isn't . . . happening." With a tremendous effort, Ginny wrenched herself away from the memory, grappling for a pleasant thought. Hot chocolate in the infirmary with Madam Pomfrey gently rubbing soothing circles on her back. She loved chocolate, and chocolate was a weapon against Dementors.
Blinking, Ginny reached out a steadying hand to brace herself. Slowly, she sat upright and wrapped the thin blanket tightly around her shivering body. The Dark creature's breathing grew louder, expressing its rage for her defiance. Then it sharply turned its head.
Ginny followed the unseen gaze. Narrowing her eyes, she could make out another heavy door braced by iron. Her stomach turned with trepidation. Someone was on the other side.
There was a heavy scraping of metal, and then the door creaked ominously open. Cloaked Death Eaters entered, each giving the Dementor a nervous look from behind their masks. Ginny shrank away but had no strength or will to fight as hard hands grasped her forearms and hauled her to her feet.
"Master requests your presence," hissed Nagini out in the corridor.
Does she expect me to respond? Ginny wondered, staring down at the enormous snake as she was hauled into the dancing torchlight of another stone corridor. She knew she was under Malfoy Manor, but it was a different level or wing than before. Clearly they wanted to disorient her.
It was another exhausting march through Malfoy's twisted maze of dungeon. With each step, Ginny felt weaker and weaker. The very center of her bones throbbed and she could barely lift her head. Nagini seemed eager to speak to her, as if unaware of her denial, and the Dementor that trailed her Death Eater escorts.
They emerged from a wall rather than a trap door. No, not a wall. A fireplace. Ginny found herself in the same study as before, but the furniture had been pushed against the walls, leaving space for-
Ginny trembled.
"Wait here," said the voice of Macnair. He shoved Ginny into the armchair, waved his wand, and magical ropes appeared around her wrists, legs, and chest, binding her. She wanted to push against the constraint, but didn't want to give the Death Eater the satisfaction of seeing her struggle. Instead, she glared defiantly at him.
"Don't worry, the Dark Lord will be here soon enough, little one," Macnair mocked, earning a chuckle from his fellow Death Eaters. "Meanwhile, these two will keep you company." He gestured to the Dementor and Nagini, then jerked his hood at the other Death Eaters, and they quickly exited the room through the door.
"You are trying to be brave," Nagini murmured, curling her body at Ginny's feet and raising her long, slender body until she was eye level with the girl. Her ruby eyes glittered. "I do not understand that sort of bravery. It is pointless."
Ginny sucked in a deep breath. She wanted to ignore Nagini, wanted to pretend she couldn't understand the hisses and flicking tongue, but neither did she want to succumb to the Dementor's rattling breath. But what if talking to the snake only increased the hold of the presence inside her? She felt it growing despite her efforts to shut it away.
"I hate that thing." Nagini's tail twitched irritably. "It only gains power from others. It does not use it for any other purpose. It is wasteful."
"Oh." Ginny was at a loss for words. After a moment of gaping, she said, "I hate it as well."
"So you will speak. Good. The other one will not. It offends me."
"Offends you?" repeated Ginny, incredulous.
Nagini flicked her tongue, almost sulkily. "Yes. Speakers are very rare. It is an honor for a human. The other one committed a sacrilege. The common garden dweller would be indifferent to the other one's refusal to speak, but I am of the highest breeding. I assure you, I do not take this lightly."
It suddenly occurred to Ginny that Voldemort's pet snake was a snob. "I doubt Harry meant to hurt your feelings," she said carefully, hoping the snake couldn't read thoughts as well. "And he has talked to snakes before. He set a boa constrictor loose from a zoo, told another snake to back off of Justin, and he used one to fight off Death Eaters-"
Ginny stopped. What was she doing? Next thing she'd be telling Nagini all about the Chamber of Secrets and how Tom Riddle, the younger version of her master, used her to set an even greater snake loose on Hogwarts students. She shuddered and squirmed underneath the tight ropes and Nagini's inquisitive gaze.
"He has not spoken to me," the snake seemed to sniff. Nagini raised herself even higher, opening her mouth to reveal her fangs, which dripped with her venom. "When Master has killed the other one, I will feast upon him. Master promised me."
Had her legs not been bound to the chair leg, Ginny would have kicked the snake. She let out an angry cry and wrenched her face away from the hungry fangs, squeezing her eyes shut. Nagini sounded as if she were chuckling at Ginny's revulsion, and Ginny sensed the snake's body moving around and around the chair, brushing against her legs.
It was almost enough to make her wish Voldemort would arrive soon, just to end it. Almost.
As if reading her mind, the Dark Lord entered following his league of Death Eaters.
"Ah. I see you have made friends with Nagini," said Voldemort in his cold, smooth voice. "Excellent. She has revealed to me that you speak Parseltongue? A wonderful gift, courtesy of myself. You really should be more grateful, Ginny Weasley."
Ginny kept her eyes shut, hoping desperately for a nightmare she would shortly wake from. Then she could sneak down to the common room, where Harry would already be, staring bleakly into the fireplace, absently rubbing his scar. She would lean her head against his shoulder and pat his hand, knowing that words were not necessary. He would smile that smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, turn towards her, and ask if she was all right. Instead of answering, she would suggest a chess match. She might let him win, or she might not. Then, when the sky began to lighten, they would say their good nights and return to their dormitories. At breakfast they would exchange a knowing look and then pretend as if nothing had happened.
"Ginny."
A whimper escaped her as she felt Voldemort's cool fingertip trace her left cheek, drawing her buried face away from the armchair and to him. She felt her eyelids lift.
"I am your will."
"No." It was so soft, so quiet that Ginny thought she'd imagined it.
"No? Do you still persist with your foolish 'bravery'? Gryffindor, a thoughtless and incompetent house. I believe your entire family consists of Gryffindors?"
Ginny bit her lip to keep from retorting angrily. She was not going to fall for Voldemort's taunting. Yes, I am a Gryffindor, and we're brave, just, and good. Unlike you!
"I see you are not in a conversational mood today," said Voldemort, pressing his palms together in a steeple. "Very well, we will dispose of the preliminaries. Will you or will you not be cooperative?"
"I will not."
Voldemort's slit eyes narrowed, but he did not seem at all surprised. "Very well. Crucio."
Ginny hadn't even seen him raise his wand before she arched in agony against her binds. She was vaguely aware of her screams, but they were inhuman, they couldn't be her. She was engulfed in excruciating pain as her nerves threatened to splinter and shatter.
When it abruptly faded away, she was left limp and ragged.
"How did that feel?"
Let me rip, let me tear!
Ginny raised her chin. Tears blurred her eyes.
"If I were to prolong the Cruciatus Curse, I would damage you beyond repair," Voldemort continued, as if unaware of her agony. "Even a short experience will destroy a Muggle's mind and body. With a witch, like yourself, it takes much longer. However, even magical bodies and minds are easily destroyed. I need your body and your mind fairly intact, my little Ginny."
"So why are you doing this?" she asked before she could stop herself.
Voldemort smiled. "You know exactly why. You see, I could simply ask the Dementor to offer you a little Kiss and then extract your soul for my use. Of course, no spell can perform such magic; the Dementor must return it freely of its own will. However, this is not a difficulty. My subjects are very loyal." He paused to cast his eyes over the lurking shadow, and then returned his eager, hungry face on Ginny.
"Only . . . truly great achievements are never done so easily. The greatest achievement has not been conquered as of yet, but soon," Voldemort let his thin mouth spread across his narrow face, "soon, my Ginny.
"Immortality! To bind life, stop death, forever restore youth and power! That is the greatest achievement, the most ambitious and powerful goal! And you, my Ginny, will be a part of it! Turn aside your naïve 'bravery' and realize what your sacrifice will become."
Ginny retched, jerking against the ropes. The excitement buried deep within her crashed against the special barrier. The barrier was still there, strong with Dumbledore's magic. It wrapped around her like strong, comforting arms. But what if Dumbledore hadn't had the foresight to protect her? Would she have given in to Voldemort? How truly weak was she? The courage she had felt from the steady protection eroded under the cascade of self-doubt.
"Your element requires your willing surrender," Voldemort was saying as he paced the room. "I could simply use the Imperius Curse on your weak mind, but it would not strengthen the spell or provide a sacrifice. Dumbledore was clever enough to provide a thin layer of protection for you, but it will not matter. When your will breaks, so will his charm."
I've got to hold on, she told herself, searching for the valor she had found when she'd first woken in the lonely chamber. I just don't know if I can.
Voldemort pivoted and faced Ginny, his gaze calculating. "You can save yourself much pain, Ginny Weasley. Surrender now. I will break you."
Ginny wanted to scream, plead, and beg. Not for his mercy, but for all of this to end. Riddle scratched incessantly inside her, like a cat sharpening its claws on a chair leg. He had always been too weak to escape before-if indeed he had wanted to escape. But now Voldemort was here, and his presence was feeding the shadow inside her. What if she couldn't withstand the attack from either side?
She was being eaten inside and out.
"All you have to do is say yes, and it will all be over."
"No!" It was an automatic response, given without thought. Ginny swallowed hard as Voldemort raised his wand again.
"It is your choice. Crucio!"
~*~*~
Time lost all meaning. Ginny knew not how long she writhed and screamed, or how many times it subsided long enough for her mind to wheel around, drunken with pain as she tried to pick up pieces of her scattered thoughts. Whenever Voldemort dropped his curse and she surfaced from the torture, she was engulfed by the Dementor's overwhelming power to torment her with dark visions and deadly cold.
"You are weak, Ginny. Why do you think Dumbledore placed that protection charm? He knew you would not last without it. You would have surrendered at the first burst of pain."
She could never tell if it was Voldemort or Tom Riddle, the present or the past, that taunted her. When she was able to think clearly, she tried to fasten on a single thought or memory, something to ease the pain. She thought of Harry, of his eyes, his smile, his troubled frowns, the exaltation when he flew around the Quidditch pitch.
Most of all, she thought of his touch. How carefully, hesitantly, his lips had found hers . . .
Then there was another blast of agony, and Harry was gone. All that existed was pain.
And then it stopped. Ginny reeled, unable to comprehend anything but her anticipation for an onslaught of cold darkness and taunts. A long moment passed, but it could have been a second. The pain continued to recede, but Ginny barely had the strength to realize it. She lay on the floor, curled, struggling to breathe. It hurt! Everything hurt!
"Lucius! The potion!"
Ginny felt the vibrations of someone's footsteps and she whimpered against the pain in her eardrums. Then she screamed as she was suddenly yanked up on her knees. Her eyes reflexively flew open, but they blurred and remained unfocused as hot tears burned through them.
"I think our little Ginny has had quite enough," said Voldemort chillingly. He was so close, but yet so far away. She wanted to step away from her captor, open her arms wide, and shout "Take me!" Then she would be filled with power, more power than ever before!
Ginny twitched. She wanted to kick and scream, but her body refused to obey and her mouth would not move. Tom Riddle was stronger. She felt an inner anger at her body's complete immobility. Not even Riddle could make her move.
"Now that you have had time to dwell on it, will you be reasonable?"
She knew she had to respond, but not even her mind could silently answer. All that she was aware of was the glowing presence that seemed to burn like a hot coal. It was draining her, just like before, only everything was being pulled further inside.
"Very well. Lucius, Wormtail." Ginny felt a hand grip her jaw and someone mutter an incantation. The immobile state of her mouth was suddenly released, and she opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. The grip was too strong.
"I am giving you a Restorative Draught, my little Ginny," said Voldemort. "It will restore your strength and mind . . . so we can continue with our little discussion. You will continue to receive these draughts and experience pain until you agree to the sacrifice. Once you are submissive, you will receive another draught, and the pain will end."
Ginny felt something foul but familiar fill her mouth. She choked on the thick substance as it burned her aching mouth and throat. Jerking against the hands that held her, Ginny tried to vomit, but her mouth was clamped shut. Her stomach retched, rejecting it even before she thought, I won't take this! I'll be left to die, and then he can't have his sacrifice! But her throat refused to allow the potion to pass again. It lodged itself there, blocking her air passage as she convulsed and tried again to vomit. Sour, stinging pain prickled inside her nose and behind her eyes. Then her lungs began to scream for air and a roaring filled her ears.
She swallowed. Her stomach tried to reject it again, but she felt a spell fasten the potion inside, and she fell, coughing, to the floor.
The potion was strong and fast-acting. She tried to vomit again, but her body only jerked with the convulsion. The pain and ache began to ease and her thoughts were becoming less scattered and more coherent. As someone lifted her off the floor and into the armchair (when had she been removed from the chair?), her vision began to clear. Only Voldemort, Lucius, and Pettigrew were in the room. The other Death Eaters and Dementor were gone, and even Nagini had left her vigil by the fire.
"I sent Nagini on the hunt," explained Voldemort, noticing Ginny's glance at the empty hearthrug. "She can become bored with my procedures."
Ginny stared dully at the skeletal remains of Tom Riddle. Although the Restorative Draught was quickly reviving her, she could still feel the affect of Cruciatus. Sluggishly, she checked the defensive barrier that surrounded the burning center, and found it still erected. But Riddle was stronger. What would it matter, if he would soon be strong enough to break it?
That would depend on you, a voice whispered. It almost sounded like Dumbledore.
If it depended on her, Ginny thought, then she was probably doomed. I can't think like that. But it was so easy to. How could she possibly hold out against Voldemort?
Harry, I need to think about Harry. Laying her head back against the chair, Ginny closed her eyes, thinking as far back as Ron's first day of Hogwarts. An image of a tiny, messy-haired boy in rumpled, too-large clothes stood uncertainly at King's Cross, a snowy white owl his only companion. She remembered how vulnerable he had looked, and how shyly and politely he had addressed her mother. He had glanced at her, but that was all.
As it had been for years.
"I know what you are thinking, my Ginny," Voldemort's cold sneer jerked Ginny from her memories. She blinked and pressed herself as far back in the armchair as possible. The tall wizard only pressed closer, delight glowing in his eyes. "Harry Potter. You must be brave for Harry Potter. It is despicable-pathetic-how you cling to him. Why? The boy has never noticed you, as your thoughts have revealed. And what made your capture so easy for my Death Eaters?"
Ginny felt a sob welling up in her chest. She fought to keep her eyes fastened on the cruel stare, to appear unaffected. Her hands began to tremble.
"Yes, my sweet little Ginny," whispered Voldemort, now standing just before her, bending his thin frame low to her. "Harry Potter, your love, has rejected you. Refused. He does not love you."
Ginny dug her fingernails into the plush armrests, but a sob escaped her and she jerked her head away, shutting her eyes.
"Why then, I ask, do you cling to Harry Potter? Why suffer for someone who does not care for you?"
"I would refuse," Ginny said through gritted teeth, "even if I did not-I am refusing-because it is right-"
Voldemort laughed mockingly, straightening his body and turning towards Lucius Malfoy near the hearth. "'Because it is right.' How foolish and naïve." He returned his gaze to Ginny, a patronizing smile on his serpent mouth. "Morality, Ginny, is for the weak."
Still mocking her with his slit of a mouth, Voldemort reached out one white hand and lifted her chin. Unlike before, Ginny felt too weary to even flinch. An overwhelming exhaustion seemed to fall over her, dragging her away from awareness. Her eyes drooped. Underneath the dull ache leftover from Cruciatus, she felt a familiar, blissful feeling creeping into her mind. It was like swimming without effort, holding her breath just below the surface as she let the water suspend her body. She loved this feeling. It always soothed the sharp pain, made her forget.
Forget the pain, the coldness. Forget everything. Harry, forget Harry.
No. Why would I want to forget Harry?
It was quick. Ginny jerked against the sharp withdrawal. With startling clarity, she realized what had happened; Riddle was taking hold of her. Shuddering, Ginny shook herself, took a deep breath, and looked up to find Voldemort staring down at her, his hand hovering under her chin. She knew before he did it that he was going to touch her again. Instead of panicking, Ginny felt her stubbornness determinedly shove that glowing presence back down, as if it were merely Fred or George teasing her on the staircase.
Voldemort's cold hand cupped her chin again, eyes alight with anticipation, even slightly curious. Ginny glared back, but her body trembled. She felt the pull again.
"Enough of this." The Dark Lord straightened, removing his hands from her face. "I see my younger self is becoming stronger than you. Excellent. But I cannot have my former self controlling you. Just think, it could have all been over just now, but I would not have had my sacrifice."
Ha! Ginny wanted to tell Riddle, You about messed everything up for yourself! But she felt no victory; Tom Riddle had almost had her.
Too shaken by this, Ginny almost didn't hear Voldemort.
"Now you must see how futile this is. What is your answer?"
"No."
Lord Voldemort stood very still for a long moment. Then, with deadly grace, he turn to Lucius. "Call the Death Eaters. And your son."
"Very good, my lord," bowed Lucius. "He arrived two hours ago."
"Have him ready." Voldemort fastened his glinting red eyes on Ginny. "I want to finish this."
And now, on with the story.
Chapter Seven
"Strength of Will"
It was just like before. Waking to the dark, cold chamber. Except that Ginny's body was not numbed. It ached excruciatingly with the remnants of Voldemort's prolonged administration of the Cruciatus Curse. She felt raped; empty, brutally bent and used against her will and then abandoned. She lay very still, breathing shallowly, keeping her eyes squeezed shut.
As her consciousness slowly began to collect itself, she became aware of her surroundings. She wasn't in the cold cell underneath Malfoy Manor. At least, not the same cell. The soft, echoing trickle of dripping water hitting stone was gone, and the wall she was rolled against felt different, as if the stone had been cut at a different time. She wasn't lying directly on the icy stone floor, but on a very thin, itchy blanket that tormented her bruised nerves. After some tentative touching, she realized that she was completely wrapped in the blanket.
Ginny took a deeper breath, wincing at the pain in her chest. Had she cracked her ribs? Could Cruciatus do that to bones? Or had her twisting and retching caused the injury?
There was a rattling breath, and Ginny felt an icy prickle travel down her spine. Reaching tendrils, like specters, began crawling around the edge of her mind. She shrank away from the approaching grayness. A corner of her mind realized what was happening, but the rest of her desperately wanted to not believe it.
"No," she gasped, curling herself into a tight ball, pressing her protesting back against the hard wall.
It was all rushing back to her. Everything. Flashes of screams-her own- that high, cruel laughter, Harry's apology, his disappearance in the Third Task, Nagini circling, Voldemort caressing her face, laughing mockingly before drawing his wand.
"Stop it!" she screamed, wrenching her eyes open and unfurling her body. She cried out in agony as her body exploded in sharp bursts of pain.
Ginny stared unblinkingly upwards at the towering figure just feet from her, unable to breathe for the horror that affixed her. The Dementor stood above her, part of the darkness and shadow, the fathomless hole of its hood the source of the darkness, like a black hole sucking in all of the light. It drew in rattling breaths that echoed horridly in the stone chamber, a second entity of its own. Although she couldn't see its face, she knew the empty sockets of its eyes were fixed hungrily upon her, feeding off her fear.
"I don't feel that way about you."
"Look, Potter! You've got yourself a girlfriend!"
"I don't think Potter liked your Valentine, Weasley!"
"Will you-I mean-Ginny? Will you-"
"Sure, Neville."
Ginny shook her head furiously against the barrage of memories that swirled around her in a vicious, random cyclone. She forced her eyes to stay open, staring up at the Dementor, and quickly checked herself-Good. It was still there.
But was that really a good thing? Ginny wondered, as she stared at the unmoving figure that seemed to seep out of the inky blackness. Tom Riddle may still be trapped within her, but she was still here, hostage and helpless. If she even tried to escape, surely the Dementor would-
Ginny choked.
What if it Kissed her?
What if Voldemort simply tortured her for a little bit, then ordered the creature to steal her soul? She shuddered and a wave of deadly chill swept over her, powered by Tom Riddle's gloating face and cruel eyes as he emerged from the pages of the diary. Her sobs echoed and her knees surrendered to collapse as Tom Riddle traced the line of one of her tears. Then he forcefully willed her to stand and then fall to her knees again.
"You are in my power, I am your very will. How does it feel to have no control over even your very breath? I can stop your breathing, Ginny Weasley."
From down on her bleeding knees, Ginny suddenly clutched her throat as she felt it close. She opened her mouth, fighting to even gasp as Tom, her handsome, caring Tom, grinned in delight. Her lungs were screaming, her head pounding, spots were appearing before her eyes.
"Enough."
Ginny fell to the floor, gasping and coughing spasmodically. She felt dizzy with the sickening pleasure of sudden air. Sputtering, she tried to wipe tears from her eyes and find the Gryffindor bravery that Ron had shown last year, but then her spinal cord was straightening and she was again standing at Tom's order, unable to escape.
"You are very weak-"
"N-no! This isn't . . . happening." With a tremendous effort, Ginny wrenched herself away from the memory, grappling for a pleasant thought. Hot chocolate in the infirmary with Madam Pomfrey gently rubbing soothing circles on her back. She loved chocolate, and chocolate was a weapon against Dementors.
Blinking, Ginny reached out a steadying hand to brace herself. Slowly, she sat upright and wrapped the thin blanket tightly around her shivering body. The Dark creature's breathing grew louder, expressing its rage for her defiance. Then it sharply turned its head.
Ginny followed the unseen gaze. Narrowing her eyes, she could make out another heavy door braced by iron. Her stomach turned with trepidation. Someone was on the other side.
There was a heavy scraping of metal, and then the door creaked ominously open. Cloaked Death Eaters entered, each giving the Dementor a nervous look from behind their masks. Ginny shrank away but had no strength or will to fight as hard hands grasped her forearms and hauled her to her feet.
"Master requests your presence," hissed Nagini out in the corridor.
Does she expect me to respond? Ginny wondered, staring down at the enormous snake as she was hauled into the dancing torchlight of another stone corridor. She knew she was under Malfoy Manor, but it was a different level or wing than before. Clearly they wanted to disorient her.
It was another exhausting march through Malfoy's twisted maze of dungeon. With each step, Ginny felt weaker and weaker. The very center of her bones throbbed and she could barely lift her head. Nagini seemed eager to speak to her, as if unaware of her denial, and the Dementor that trailed her Death Eater escorts.
They emerged from a wall rather than a trap door. No, not a wall. A fireplace. Ginny found herself in the same study as before, but the furniture had been pushed against the walls, leaving space for-
Ginny trembled.
"Wait here," said the voice of Macnair. He shoved Ginny into the armchair, waved his wand, and magical ropes appeared around her wrists, legs, and chest, binding her. She wanted to push against the constraint, but didn't want to give the Death Eater the satisfaction of seeing her struggle. Instead, she glared defiantly at him.
"Don't worry, the Dark Lord will be here soon enough, little one," Macnair mocked, earning a chuckle from his fellow Death Eaters. "Meanwhile, these two will keep you company." He gestured to the Dementor and Nagini, then jerked his hood at the other Death Eaters, and they quickly exited the room through the door.
"You are trying to be brave," Nagini murmured, curling her body at Ginny's feet and raising her long, slender body until she was eye level with the girl. Her ruby eyes glittered. "I do not understand that sort of bravery. It is pointless."
Ginny sucked in a deep breath. She wanted to ignore Nagini, wanted to pretend she couldn't understand the hisses and flicking tongue, but neither did she want to succumb to the Dementor's rattling breath. But what if talking to the snake only increased the hold of the presence inside her? She felt it growing despite her efforts to shut it away.
"I hate that thing." Nagini's tail twitched irritably. "It only gains power from others. It does not use it for any other purpose. It is wasteful."
"Oh." Ginny was at a loss for words. After a moment of gaping, she said, "I hate it as well."
"So you will speak. Good. The other one will not. It offends me."
"Offends you?" repeated Ginny, incredulous.
Nagini flicked her tongue, almost sulkily. "Yes. Speakers are very rare. It is an honor for a human. The other one committed a sacrilege. The common garden dweller would be indifferent to the other one's refusal to speak, but I am of the highest breeding. I assure you, I do not take this lightly."
It suddenly occurred to Ginny that Voldemort's pet snake was a snob. "I doubt Harry meant to hurt your feelings," she said carefully, hoping the snake couldn't read thoughts as well. "And he has talked to snakes before. He set a boa constrictor loose from a zoo, told another snake to back off of Justin, and he used one to fight off Death Eaters-"
Ginny stopped. What was she doing? Next thing she'd be telling Nagini all about the Chamber of Secrets and how Tom Riddle, the younger version of her master, used her to set an even greater snake loose on Hogwarts students. She shuddered and squirmed underneath the tight ropes and Nagini's inquisitive gaze.
"He has not spoken to me," the snake seemed to sniff. Nagini raised herself even higher, opening her mouth to reveal her fangs, which dripped with her venom. "When Master has killed the other one, I will feast upon him. Master promised me."
Had her legs not been bound to the chair leg, Ginny would have kicked the snake. She let out an angry cry and wrenched her face away from the hungry fangs, squeezing her eyes shut. Nagini sounded as if she were chuckling at Ginny's revulsion, and Ginny sensed the snake's body moving around and around the chair, brushing against her legs.
It was almost enough to make her wish Voldemort would arrive soon, just to end it. Almost.
As if reading her mind, the Dark Lord entered following his league of Death Eaters.
"Ah. I see you have made friends with Nagini," said Voldemort in his cold, smooth voice. "Excellent. She has revealed to me that you speak Parseltongue? A wonderful gift, courtesy of myself. You really should be more grateful, Ginny Weasley."
Ginny kept her eyes shut, hoping desperately for a nightmare she would shortly wake from. Then she could sneak down to the common room, where Harry would already be, staring bleakly into the fireplace, absently rubbing his scar. She would lean her head against his shoulder and pat his hand, knowing that words were not necessary. He would smile that smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, turn towards her, and ask if she was all right. Instead of answering, she would suggest a chess match. She might let him win, or she might not. Then, when the sky began to lighten, they would say their good nights and return to their dormitories. At breakfast they would exchange a knowing look and then pretend as if nothing had happened.
"Ginny."
A whimper escaped her as she felt Voldemort's cool fingertip trace her left cheek, drawing her buried face away from the armchair and to him. She felt her eyelids lift.
"I am your will."
"No." It was so soft, so quiet that Ginny thought she'd imagined it.
"No? Do you still persist with your foolish 'bravery'? Gryffindor, a thoughtless and incompetent house. I believe your entire family consists of Gryffindors?"
Ginny bit her lip to keep from retorting angrily. She was not going to fall for Voldemort's taunting. Yes, I am a Gryffindor, and we're brave, just, and good. Unlike you!
"I see you are not in a conversational mood today," said Voldemort, pressing his palms together in a steeple. "Very well, we will dispose of the preliminaries. Will you or will you not be cooperative?"
"I will not."
Voldemort's slit eyes narrowed, but he did not seem at all surprised. "Very well. Crucio."
Ginny hadn't even seen him raise his wand before she arched in agony against her binds. She was vaguely aware of her screams, but they were inhuman, they couldn't be her. She was engulfed in excruciating pain as her nerves threatened to splinter and shatter.
When it abruptly faded away, she was left limp and ragged.
"How did that feel?"
Let me rip, let me tear!
Ginny raised her chin. Tears blurred her eyes.
"If I were to prolong the Cruciatus Curse, I would damage you beyond repair," Voldemort continued, as if unaware of her agony. "Even a short experience will destroy a Muggle's mind and body. With a witch, like yourself, it takes much longer. However, even magical bodies and minds are easily destroyed. I need your body and your mind fairly intact, my little Ginny."
"So why are you doing this?" she asked before she could stop herself.
Voldemort smiled. "You know exactly why. You see, I could simply ask the Dementor to offer you a little Kiss and then extract your soul for my use. Of course, no spell can perform such magic; the Dementor must return it freely of its own will. However, this is not a difficulty. My subjects are very loyal." He paused to cast his eyes over the lurking shadow, and then returned his eager, hungry face on Ginny.
"Only . . . truly great achievements are never done so easily. The greatest achievement has not been conquered as of yet, but soon," Voldemort let his thin mouth spread across his narrow face, "soon, my Ginny.
"Immortality! To bind life, stop death, forever restore youth and power! That is the greatest achievement, the most ambitious and powerful goal! And you, my Ginny, will be a part of it! Turn aside your naïve 'bravery' and realize what your sacrifice will become."
Ginny retched, jerking against the ropes. The excitement buried deep within her crashed against the special barrier. The barrier was still there, strong with Dumbledore's magic. It wrapped around her like strong, comforting arms. But what if Dumbledore hadn't had the foresight to protect her? Would she have given in to Voldemort? How truly weak was she? The courage she had felt from the steady protection eroded under the cascade of self-doubt.
"Your element requires your willing surrender," Voldemort was saying as he paced the room. "I could simply use the Imperius Curse on your weak mind, but it would not strengthen the spell or provide a sacrifice. Dumbledore was clever enough to provide a thin layer of protection for you, but it will not matter. When your will breaks, so will his charm."
I've got to hold on, she told herself, searching for the valor she had found when she'd first woken in the lonely chamber. I just don't know if I can.
Voldemort pivoted and faced Ginny, his gaze calculating. "You can save yourself much pain, Ginny Weasley. Surrender now. I will break you."
Ginny wanted to scream, plead, and beg. Not for his mercy, but for all of this to end. Riddle scratched incessantly inside her, like a cat sharpening its claws on a chair leg. He had always been too weak to escape before-if indeed he had wanted to escape. But now Voldemort was here, and his presence was feeding the shadow inside her. What if she couldn't withstand the attack from either side?
She was being eaten inside and out.
"All you have to do is say yes, and it will all be over."
"No!" It was an automatic response, given without thought. Ginny swallowed hard as Voldemort raised his wand again.
"It is your choice. Crucio!"
~*~*~
Time lost all meaning. Ginny knew not how long she writhed and screamed, or how many times it subsided long enough for her mind to wheel around, drunken with pain as she tried to pick up pieces of her scattered thoughts. Whenever Voldemort dropped his curse and she surfaced from the torture, she was engulfed by the Dementor's overwhelming power to torment her with dark visions and deadly cold.
"You are weak, Ginny. Why do you think Dumbledore placed that protection charm? He knew you would not last without it. You would have surrendered at the first burst of pain."
She could never tell if it was Voldemort or Tom Riddle, the present or the past, that taunted her. When she was able to think clearly, she tried to fasten on a single thought or memory, something to ease the pain. She thought of Harry, of his eyes, his smile, his troubled frowns, the exaltation when he flew around the Quidditch pitch.
Most of all, she thought of his touch. How carefully, hesitantly, his lips had found hers . . .
Then there was another blast of agony, and Harry was gone. All that existed was pain.
And then it stopped. Ginny reeled, unable to comprehend anything but her anticipation for an onslaught of cold darkness and taunts. A long moment passed, but it could have been a second. The pain continued to recede, but Ginny barely had the strength to realize it. She lay on the floor, curled, struggling to breathe. It hurt! Everything hurt!
"Lucius! The potion!"
Ginny felt the vibrations of someone's footsteps and she whimpered against the pain in her eardrums. Then she screamed as she was suddenly yanked up on her knees. Her eyes reflexively flew open, but they blurred and remained unfocused as hot tears burned through them.
"I think our little Ginny has had quite enough," said Voldemort chillingly. He was so close, but yet so far away. She wanted to step away from her captor, open her arms wide, and shout "Take me!" Then she would be filled with power, more power than ever before!
Ginny twitched. She wanted to kick and scream, but her body refused to obey and her mouth would not move. Tom Riddle was stronger. She felt an inner anger at her body's complete immobility. Not even Riddle could make her move.
"Now that you have had time to dwell on it, will you be reasonable?"
She knew she had to respond, but not even her mind could silently answer. All that she was aware of was the glowing presence that seemed to burn like a hot coal. It was draining her, just like before, only everything was being pulled further inside.
"Very well. Lucius, Wormtail." Ginny felt a hand grip her jaw and someone mutter an incantation. The immobile state of her mouth was suddenly released, and she opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. The grip was too strong.
"I am giving you a Restorative Draught, my little Ginny," said Voldemort. "It will restore your strength and mind . . . so we can continue with our little discussion. You will continue to receive these draughts and experience pain until you agree to the sacrifice. Once you are submissive, you will receive another draught, and the pain will end."
Ginny felt something foul but familiar fill her mouth. She choked on the thick substance as it burned her aching mouth and throat. Jerking against the hands that held her, Ginny tried to vomit, but her mouth was clamped shut. Her stomach retched, rejecting it even before she thought, I won't take this! I'll be left to die, and then he can't have his sacrifice! But her throat refused to allow the potion to pass again. It lodged itself there, blocking her air passage as she convulsed and tried again to vomit. Sour, stinging pain prickled inside her nose and behind her eyes. Then her lungs began to scream for air and a roaring filled her ears.
She swallowed. Her stomach tried to reject it again, but she felt a spell fasten the potion inside, and she fell, coughing, to the floor.
The potion was strong and fast-acting. She tried to vomit again, but her body only jerked with the convulsion. The pain and ache began to ease and her thoughts were becoming less scattered and more coherent. As someone lifted her off the floor and into the armchair (when had she been removed from the chair?), her vision began to clear. Only Voldemort, Lucius, and Pettigrew were in the room. The other Death Eaters and Dementor were gone, and even Nagini had left her vigil by the fire.
"I sent Nagini on the hunt," explained Voldemort, noticing Ginny's glance at the empty hearthrug. "She can become bored with my procedures."
Ginny stared dully at the skeletal remains of Tom Riddle. Although the Restorative Draught was quickly reviving her, she could still feel the affect of Cruciatus. Sluggishly, she checked the defensive barrier that surrounded the burning center, and found it still erected. But Riddle was stronger. What would it matter, if he would soon be strong enough to break it?
That would depend on you, a voice whispered. It almost sounded like Dumbledore.
If it depended on her, Ginny thought, then she was probably doomed. I can't think like that. But it was so easy to. How could she possibly hold out against Voldemort?
Harry, I need to think about Harry. Laying her head back against the chair, Ginny closed her eyes, thinking as far back as Ron's first day of Hogwarts. An image of a tiny, messy-haired boy in rumpled, too-large clothes stood uncertainly at King's Cross, a snowy white owl his only companion. She remembered how vulnerable he had looked, and how shyly and politely he had addressed her mother. He had glanced at her, but that was all.
As it had been for years.
"I know what you are thinking, my Ginny," Voldemort's cold sneer jerked Ginny from her memories. She blinked and pressed herself as far back in the armchair as possible. The tall wizard only pressed closer, delight glowing in his eyes. "Harry Potter. You must be brave for Harry Potter. It is despicable-pathetic-how you cling to him. Why? The boy has never noticed you, as your thoughts have revealed. And what made your capture so easy for my Death Eaters?"
Ginny felt a sob welling up in her chest. She fought to keep her eyes fastened on the cruel stare, to appear unaffected. Her hands began to tremble.
"Yes, my sweet little Ginny," whispered Voldemort, now standing just before her, bending his thin frame low to her. "Harry Potter, your love, has rejected you. Refused. He does not love you."
Ginny dug her fingernails into the plush armrests, but a sob escaped her and she jerked her head away, shutting her eyes.
"Why then, I ask, do you cling to Harry Potter? Why suffer for someone who does not care for you?"
"I would refuse," Ginny said through gritted teeth, "even if I did not-I am refusing-because it is right-"
Voldemort laughed mockingly, straightening his body and turning towards Lucius Malfoy near the hearth. "'Because it is right.' How foolish and naïve." He returned his gaze to Ginny, a patronizing smile on his serpent mouth. "Morality, Ginny, is for the weak."
Still mocking her with his slit of a mouth, Voldemort reached out one white hand and lifted her chin. Unlike before, Ginny felt too weary to even flinch. An overwhelming exhaustion seemed to fall over her, dragging her away from awareness. Her eyes drooped. Underneath the dull ache leftover from Cruciatus, she felt a familiar, blissful feeling creeping into her mind. It was like swimming without effort, holding her breath just below the surface as she let the water suspend her body. She loved this feeling. It always soothed the sharp pain, made her forget.
Forget the pain, the coldness. Forget everything. Harry, forget Harry.
No. Why would I want to forget Harry?
It was quick. Ginny jerked against the sharp withdrawal. With startling clarity, she realized what had happened; Riddle was taking hold of her. Shuddering, Ginny shook herself, took a deep breath, and looked up to find Voldemort staring down at her, his hand hovering under her chin. She knew before he did it that he was going to touch her again. Instead of panicking, Ginny felt her stubbornness determinedly shove that glowing presence back down, as if it were merely Fred or George teasing her on the staircase.
Voldemort's cold hand cupped her chin again, eyes alight with anticipation, even slightly curious. Ginny glared back, but her body trembled. She felt the pull again.
"Enough of this." The Dark Lord straightened, removing his hands from her face. "I see my younger self is becoming stronger than you. Excellent. But I cannot have my former self controlling you. Just think, it could have all been over just now, but I would not have had my sacrifice."
Ha! Ginny wanted to tell Riddle, You about messed everything up for yourself! But she felt no victory; Tom Riddle had almost had her.
Too shaken by this, Ginny almost didn't hear Voldemort.
"Now you must see how futile this is. What is your answer?"
"No."
Lord Voldemort stood very still for a long moment. Then, with deadly grace, he turn to Lucius. "Call the Death Eaters. And your son."
"Very good, my lord," bowed Lucius. "He arrived two hours ago."
"Have him ready." Voldemort fastened his glinting red eyes on Ginny. "I want to finish this."