Authors Notes: This is a two part story that contains character death. (Of course, it IS one of mine, after all!) Anything you recognize isn't mine. Thanks to Margot for the beta on it. This would have been posted at Gryffindor Tower.net, but with it's collapse all my fic can now be found at www.sphereofsilence.net. Happy reading, everyone.
Part One- Ginny's Diary
It's really too bad that I didn't discover my curse before my mind was invaded by a psychopath diary and I learned how to speak to a giant snake. It would have probably prevented me from becoming a slave for a year. However, I can't regret that year now as much or as bitterly as did right after it happened. My hatred and my fear have now turned to the live version. We can sum up all my negative emotions, or the cause of them, in one word.
Voldemort.
Some may consider my curse a blessing. Even I, at moments of thought when my world isn't crashing around me, can realize what an awe-inspiring ability it is. These small moments are more often outweighed when I remember that I paid for it in life and blood and fear.
When Tom took over my mind and soul, he unwittingly triggered a magical power very few have ever possessed. The small glimpses of colour and feeling I was granted as a child was suddenly magnified, and I could see the strands and clouds and spots of magic as if they were shining lights. Gradually, they took on an almost solid appearance.
I kept my strange new world a secret to all but my best friend, Hermione Granger. With her help, I finally figured out what was happening to me. All those hours spent with dusty tomes, sitting with cricks in our necks paid off. Hermione, being the wonderfully clever witch that she is, managed to capitalize on her very real indignation at how the house-elves were treated in order to keep Ron and above all, Harry, from discovering what was happening. I didn't want them to know. I remember the moment that she discovered what my 'gift' was.
*
"Ginny!" Hermione whispered, beckoning me back over to the table. I moved from where I was hunting for another book, and sat back down at our table. Madame Pince shot a glare in our direction, and Hermione sent an apologetic look at her.
I squirmed, wanting to know what she had found. The look in her eyes was both excited and frightened. I tried to peek at the cover of the book, but she had it flat on the table. I looked at her expectantly, and she cleared her throat and read the passage to me in a barely audible whisper. I'm not sure whether she was nervous about getting in trouble, or if she didn't want to be overheard. Either way, I'm glad she did.
Weaver Witches- An extinct group of women born with the ability to see and manipulate magic. Most powers are not manifested until after a period of extreme stress, and so it is suspected that there have been many more witches born with the ability. It was most common in the older wizarding families, where magic had a chance to intermingle and become stronger without the dilution of Muggle (non- magic) blood. Weaver Witches are best known for their ability to craft invisibility cloaks. A Weaver was considered fully trained after completing her first one.
A prophecy supposedly made by Rowena Ravenclaw, one of the Hogwarts founders and herself a Weaver Witch, states that 'a flame to us shall return, and conquer the skull's green darkness with her light'. This, of course, is an unsubstantiated prophecy. It was not included in her published works. No one knows if it was ever actually made, when she made it if it was, or what she meant by it. We may only speculate that if it is true, another Weaver Witch will be born in a time of great unrest.
The last known Weaver Witch to have existed was an old lady by the name of Elesid MacFarlane. Elesid came into her powers late in life, and was considered by many to be a fraud. However, she reported the same strange abilities as all other known Weavers, including a strange ability to 'see' magic, manipulate it without use of a wand or staff, and an ability drain small amounts magic from several sources to fuel larger spells. Mrs. MacFarlane died in her sleep at the age of 197. Many consider her longevity to be a proof of her abilities.
I looked at Hermione in shock for a full minute before I regained control of my senses. The book we were looking in was borderline Restricted Section material because of the extreme anti-muggle sentiments harboured by the author. The casual reference to 'diluting the blood' had shocked me, but the passage itself had rendered me speechless. There was no denying the truth. I was a Weaver. Raw and untrained, but it seemed that I now belonged to the elite group that had made all the Invisibility Cloaks now in existence.
Hermione didn't go back to the Common Room right away that night. She understood that I needed to process everything we had just discovered. I charmed her badges as she finished them, letting the mind numbing work soothe me. When she headed back to see Ron and Harry, I went a different way. I could see in her eyes that she understood that I needed to be alone.
I sat in the window seat of the library, staring out into the steadily darkening evening. I had decisions to make. Did I expose my power to others, or did I let it lie latent for now? The sight of a dark haired, green-eyed boy welled up in my minds eye. I knew what I had to do. If the darkness I felt more and more was any indication, Harry was going to need all the help he could get. Late that night, I went to Dumbledore and told him what we had discovered. I stopped being a small, scared girl. Instead, I grew up and into the Order Of The Phoenix, in the same months that the dark began to rise again. No one except Dumbledore and Hermione knew my choice.
*
When I think back to that time, I remember hard, wearying training sessions. I remember Hermione's constant help and encouragement when things began to get difficult. And I remember the horrible worry that permeated Dumbledore's office when I was training. It was as if something was leaping out to strangle all of us, and yet nothing I said could wheedle an explanation out of the headmaster. I could tell that his magic was building up, almost like he was readying himself for a battle that he didn't expect to win. But never once did I think that he was preparing for Voldemort's return. That was unfathomable to me.
Ginny looked up from the tattered notebook that she was so painstakingly writing in. The safe house was dusty, and the only light came from the faint glow of her wand. Ron and Hermione had gone to go and check on Remus. After Sirius's death at the beginning of the war, Remus had stepped in the role of godfather, trying desperately to offer guidance and reason to an increasingly angry and hotheaded Harry. It took several deaths to pull Harry out of his self-pity, and suddenly the war effort had become stronger. If they lost Remus now, then Harry quite possibly could drown in the same quagmire they had struggled with before. That made him instrumental in their plan to keep Harry safe until they could strike their final blow. Tomorrow, all the plans would be in place, and they would be able to strike the Death Eaters rather then the other way around.
She looked once again to the notebook in her hands. She had found it in Hermione's house when they had hidden there, and promptly charmed it to have unlimited pages. Hermione had laughed and given her a plastic quill she called a pen, as well. 'It's more portable then a quill and ink bottle,' she had said practically. When they were forced to escape less then an hour later, the notebook and pen had made it out with them. Hermione's parents had not.
Determined not to dwell on the things that couldn't be changed, Ginny bent her head. The long, swinging locks that would have once gotten in the way were gone. She had been forced to cut them off, so her hair was now shorter then most men's. She tried not to mind. There were other more important things to miss. Like safety, and a warm bed, and a hot shower. And Harry- most of all, she missed Harry. Even when they were separated for only an hour, she missed Harry. There was always the possibility that Remus would be found, and her love would not come back from whatever mission he sent himself on. Thankfully, since the plan to strike at the very heart of the Death Eaters was conceived, they were hidden together. Since there was a chance of total victory, there was no sense in risking him now.
The pen hit paper once again, and Ginny continued to record her own small part in this horrid war. It was distraction, yes, but most of all, it ensured that even if she died tomorrow, she would leave something behind. Something that would be proof that she lived once, be it only for a short time.
Over the course of the Triwizard tournament, I concentrated on learning how to control my magic. I did not discuss the tasks at hand with my friends, or giggle over Cedric and Harry over my Butterbeer. As a matter of fact, I was so preoccupied I suppose I made myself inaccessible. After all, it was pointless to dream of the Yule ball. I was only in third year, and so there was no way I could have gone unless an older student asked me. I still laugh when I think of the expression on Neville's face when I told him I'd go with him. It was one of the few breaks I allowed myself, and it means all the more to me now that I have no idea where Neville is.
Slowly, I learned how to manipulate the magic around me, and to feel the different 'textures' of people's magic. I learned how to craft wards without using anything but the magic in the air, and I learned how to use my fingers as a loom.
I imagine I must have looked quite strange, using my fingers to craft magic blankets. After all, the materials I was using were invisible to everyone else. I was reminded of Dumbledore's pensive, because it was like making light liquid or a colour solid. It was a strange and wonderful feeling, and I quite often lost myself in it for hours at a time. As I became more adept at my craft, I found it more and more difficult to keep from randomly weaving my schoolmate's threads together. Only the exhaustive theory about the harm this could cause kept me from binding the entire school together.
As I became more familiar with magical threads themselves, I noticed that by sensing someone's magic, I could tell whether or not the person was Dark or not. Dark magic threads that wisped off a person were sluggish and slimy textured. A normal magical thread felt clean, like a thread of metal or water.
I sometimes still wonder if the Three Fates of Greek mythology were actually three powerful Dark Weavers. Dumbledore had explained to me that should I choose to, I could absorb someone else's magic into me by using my own to slice theirs. In doing this, I would kill them. I remember looking at him, appalled, as he told me of several Dark Weavers who had done so, and were driven insane by the memories of the person they absorbed along with the magic.
The summer after my fourth year, Dumbledore came to visit The Burrow right after we came home from school. All of the exhaustive theory and practice that we had done in secret had paid off. After a long discussion with my family, he gave me permission to do my first warding using another human's magic. I was to protect the Burrow in order to make a safe place for Harry to come and stay, and I was to use my entire family's magic to do it with. My entire family's, that is, excepting mine. Over and over again, I had been counselled that to use my own magic would kill me. I would be slicing my own thread, draining myself beyond hope of repair. It was a bitter pill to swallow for a young witch that wanted to prove her own worth.
That had to be both one of the most glorious and terrifying experiences of my entire life. Many lives hung in my hands. As I painstakingly wove the offshoot threads of Weasley magic, careful to not pull too much, I smiled. This what was I wanted to do, how I wanted to enter adulthood. Not forced by war or circumstance, but by making a difference. I didn't know, then, just how much of a difference I would make.
Ginny looked up at the sudden sounds that exploded in the darkness. They had been found. Without wanting to, she threw the diary in her bag and stood, her wand out and her expression grim. Harry sprang up from the ground, where he had been attempting to grab a nap.
Hermione and Ron came dashing in from the back, and the four of them all wished desperately for the days before apparition could be tracked. They would have to make it out on foot, and none of them knew how many Death Eaters were waiting out front. Hermione had counted seven out the back, as they looked out the windows. Their timing was critical- they had only returned a few minutes before the apparitions began on the lawns. Quickly, carefully, they made their way through a tiny corridor underneath the building, coming out several hundred meters away. Ginny covered herself with the invisibility cloak and moved cautiously towards the entrance.
"Three wizards. Dark. Not very powerful, but they have a few detection spells up around the exit. We may be forced to run fast. Is everyone up to it?" She looked around, the singed and hacked bits of her hair looking like battle wounds in the night. This was not the girl that had been damaged by Tom Riddle, but a battle hardened young warrior who was used to being listened to- by everyone. Her unique magic allowed her to sense others in the area, and the older three had learned early to trust her judgement.
Ron quickly moved the detection spells, and the four of them came running out. Wandless stunners from Hermione and Harry caught the three wizards on guard, and they managed to slip far enough away to use their Portkey. For now, they were safe again. Harry looked around the dilapidated building ruefully.
"You know, I never thought I would be happy to see this place." Ginny looked at him, confused.
"You know where we are?"
"I should. Look around."
Ron and Hermione had already sprawled out on the bed, but Ginny noted the inkstains on the sheet as they turned it back, and the remnants of bars at the window. Turing, she noted the catflap cut into the door.
They were at the place of last resort, the one chance that they held. Harry's aunt Petunia still lived at Number Four, Privet Drive, guarded by a Secret Keeper none of them knew. Harry was safe. He was the secret keeper for the house, and hiding in it meant that no one could find them.
They would await the final battle here.
While the others slept, Ginny found herself restless. She wandered over to her bag, pulled out her notebook, and continued to write.
Hogwarts was hard hit after Umbridge, and I daresay that the teachers spent most of the summer returning it to rights. By the time we got back there, it looked almost the same.
It was everything around it that had changed.
My lessons, which had been neglected out of necessity in the final days of Umbridge's rein, had been redoubled over the summer now that my family and Harry also knew what I was. Much to my amusement and Ron and Hermione's delight, our Hogwarts letters had included a Prefects badge for Harry as well as I. Mum threw her traditional party, and I think it helped to draw Harry out of his oppressive grief and anger that summer.
The warding around the platform, when we arrived to head back to school, was such a tight weave that it looked to me as though it was one solid mass of multicoloured magic. The long journey to the school via the train was dangerous in these times, and I noticed that the train was far emptier then normal. There were less Ravenclaws, and notably less Slytherins. I guess that was to be expected, all though the only house that was completely whole when we sat at the feast tables that night was Hufflepuff, ever the loyal ones. Many Gryffindor seventh years were missing, making what people were calling the "Weasley choice", following Fred and Georges example and leaving school to fight instead of writing their NEWT's.
The four of us would have happily done the same, but my mother wanted us to finish. After her heartbreak with Percy and the twins rebellion, none of us could find it in us to go against her. We went to school. We went, and kept our ears open and our eyes watchful. Many Slytherins were gone, but many more stayed. We put the Extendable Ears to great use that year, and passed all we learned to Dumbledore.
I also made my first invisibility cloak that year.
For those of you without my curse, be thankful. To construct an invisibility cloak is an almost impossible feat. For a teenaged Weaver desperate to prove her worth and protect those that she loved, it was even more difficult. Each individual thread of a cloak sewn with flawless silk must have an invisibility thread woven with it. If even one thread is missed, the rest becomes unravelled, and it is useless. When it is done, a setting spell must be cast to bind the edges and separate it from its caster. Otherwise, it will work for them alone. It took me all year to complete. If it hadn't been for Harry, it would have taken longer.
He came across me one night, as I sat by the fire and wept out my frustration. I still remember how he looked then, for all I have seen him after that. Pale and wan, his green eyes still had their spark despite the black circles underneath them. His mouth was absent of the scowl that I grew very used to seeing. It was enough to shock my tears into hiccups.
"What's wrong this time?" he asked, more bluntly then I imagine he meant to.
"This. This stupid, bloody, goddess forsaken bit of fabric that refuses to bloody well co-operate!" I answered him back, very nearly bursting into tears again.
"It looks fine to me. I can't see your lap at all, anyway," he commented, gazing curiously at the garment.
"That's all well and good, but the charms should hide me all together!" I nearly wailed. It was late, and I was taking a large risk, working on it somewhere as public as the common room.
"What's wrong, then?" he asked practically, and I looked at him in wonder.
"You mean you care?"
"Um, well, yeah, I guess so. It'll help the Order, after all," he said defensively.
I sighed. Of course, he only cared about the Order.
And then I heard the mumble after it.
"And I hate to hear you cry."
My heart leaped. "Harry?"
"What?" He looked vulnerable, and I could scarcely believe what I just heard. There was one way to find out.
"Will you kiss me?" I asked quickly, trying not to blush. He looked at me, stunned, and the blush I had tried so hard to stop crept up my neck.
"Never mind. I'm being stupid, it's just the cloak draining my brain, I'll go to bed now…." I stopped babbling as he came up to me.
"I've been wondering what this would be like," came the quiet response, silencing my chatter. Then he tilted my chin up, looked at me once, and kissed me sweetly on the lips.
I thought I had gone to the Summerlands.
We pulled apart slightly, and I started to wonder when exactly he had wrapped his arms around me. I looked at him in bliss. He was smiling, as I doubt he had in a long, long time.
"Ginny?" I looked at his smiling face.
"What?" I asked him.
"Will you kiss me?"
The words startled her out of her writing, and she wondered how her beloved had chosen where he did to interrupt her. She smiled, put down her notebook, and lay down beside him.
Then she kissed him with all the passion left in her broken soul. As in that long ago kiss in the common room, his arms went around her unbidden, and soon the privacy web she had woven around them was sparkling with magic. This may be the last time they had a chance to love, and neither one of them were willing to give that chance up. Ron and Hermione were fast asleep behind privacy wards of their own. They took this one last chance to shut out the word. Tomorrow, they would be called to face their destiny. Tonight, there was only each other.