Author's Note: I am fully aware of the revelation that Ginny's full name is Ginevra, not Virginia. As I began this set of stories back in July of 2003, and seeing as it is coming to a close, I am not going to go back and change her name. I'm sure all my readers will be able to get past this minor detail, right?

Chapter Eight: Into Darkness

A shadow hovered over Harry and his friends as the first days of Ginny's illness went by. Harry kept himself occupied by scavenging the library in search of anything to aid him, even gaining access to the Restricted Section by way of the headmaster. Ron went about in a sort-of trance, unable to bring himself to pay attention in class or even make decent conversation. All his mind seemed focused on his ailing sister, leaving Hermione to hold things together within their little group. She took copious notes in class and let the two boys copy them, tried to help Harry by taking the first four nights of patrol, and even wrote a gentle letter to the Weasleys, informing them of Ginny's illness. She did not tell them the assumed cause; that was for the headmaster or Ginny herself to do.

All this activity made Hermione very tired, and by Friday she was exhausted. She was also aggravated at Harry; though she sympathized with him to a certain extent, he hadn't been to classes in three days, which was completely unacceptable. The professors were asking for him, grilling her on his whereabouts; Snape seemed especially vocal in his disapproval of Harry's actions. Even Ron, who finally began to climb out of his slump slowly and surely, questioned Harry's actions.

At breakfast on Friday morning, Hermione watched as Harry ate a few slices of toast faster than she had ever seen him, and got up from the Gryffindor table as soon as he had sat down. She exchanged a glance with Ron as he walked out of the Great Hall, and put down her fork. This reckless behavior had to be stopped. No matter what Harry said, he did have a future to think about, and Ginny was going to be there with him.

"Go after him, will you?" Ron pleaded quietly. "This has to stop, for Ginny's sake. He hasn't even been up to see her since we took her to Pomfrey on Monday." He took her rucksack from her hands. "I'll get your stuff to Defense and tell Dumbledore where you are, if you're late," he added.

Smiling slightly, she leaned over and kissed his cheek, a blush filling her face. "I'll talk to him," she promised, squeezing his hand as she got up and followed in Harry's footsteps.

It was no surprise to see him duck into the library under Madam Pince's nose; she was busy berating a sheepish-looking couple who she had just discovered doing heavens-knows-what behind a bookshelf. Hermione followed him deeper into the library. He didn't seem to notice her at all, if he knew she was following him; he just grabbed a few tomes from a shelf and settling down in an inconspicuous seat near the shadowed Restricted Section. She stopped in front of him, waiting for him to say something to her, but he just continued to read, face dark with something she couldn't read.

Finally, she spoke to him. "We have Defense in ten minutes," she said coolly, sitting down across from him.

He didn't look up. "That doesn't matter anymore."

Indignation rose within her, not only at the slight aimed at education, but through the implication that he didn't need to know it because he wouldn't need to. She could read his mindset like an open book; he thought he was going to die. Reaching out across the table, she shut the book with a loud crack, startling him and causing him to meet her eyes.

Her heart ached at the hollowness within his green eyes, wishing that she could help him with a fervor she had never felt before. She couldn't read him as well as Ginny could, but she knew what she saw inside him; the pain, the guilt, the hate, the anger. These were the feelings she had known him to have ever since their first meeting.

She tried to force warmth into her tone, wanting to reassure him. "It does matter; if you don't come to class, what kind of future do you expect to have?" she asked quietly, keeping his gaze.

It was he who looked away first, eyes rising to the ceiling. "What's the point, Hermione?" he hissed. "I'll be lucky if I can defeat Voldemort; I can't even think about having any sort of future."

Pursing her lips, she debated whether to bring up Ginny, knowing the girl would have serious issues with the words running from his mouth. And she decided if Ginny could say it, so could she. She was the closest thing he had to a sister, and what kind of family would she be if she let him destroy himself like this?

"Ginny would knock sense into you if she heard you say that," she said.

Stiffening visibly, his dark eyes met hers, and she was again astounded at how empty he could be and still look viciously angry. "She won't ever hear me say it, so drop it," he said shortly.

Frowning, she leaned forward. "What do you mean? Are you not going to see her anymore or something?"

At his silence, she felt ice run through her veins. "Harry, you can't do that to her!" she exclaimed. "She's sick and she needs you!"

"Look what I've done to her! I'm killing her, just like I killed Remus and Sirius!" he retorted, rising and walking away from her.

Staring after him, she could only watch him in shock. He thought this was his fault?

Of course he did, she realized, getting up after him. This was Harry; he always took the blame for every bad thing that happened. It was this horrible cycle that was at fault for Harry's current state. It was something inside of him, something no one could fix but himself; Remus had tried to help him, but Ginny had been the only one who had ever come close, and now she was falling just as Remus had. It only strengthened the nameless trigger inside of Harry, letting him wallow in a mix of guilt and hatred.

Hermione kept on his heels as he wandered through the bookshelves. "Don't be absurd, Harry! You haven't killed anyone; if anything, you save people," she said hotly.

A laugh escaped his throat, a low, brooding sound. "You're the one who told me that I had a "saving-people" thing, remember? The hero inside of me. I'm not a hero, Hermione; people have died because of me," he said bitterly.

"That's a lie! If anyone has died, it's because it was their time; nothing you could have done would have stopped it," she shot back.

He turned to her abruptly, looking at her with a sudden violence. "Then is it Ginny's time to die? Does she deserve death?" he said roughly, eyes flashing.

Stomach twisting into knots, she could only stare at him, wondering what to so or to say. She was at a loss for words, not understanding his logic and trying to fight his words without driving him away.

After a moment of eye contact, he turned away. "I'm not coming to class, Hermione."

"Then what are you doing?" she asked suddenly, her resolve returning in a moment. "What can you be doing that is more important than your future?"

"I'm going to kill him."

The blood in her veins froze as she looked at his profile, mouth agape. She knew Voldemort was edging ever closer to Hogsmeade and the school, but she hadn't thought Harry would...

Harry was going to go look for him.

She grabbed his elbow tightly. "You can't do this by yourself, Harry; don't do anything stupid," she said fervently.

He let out a low chuckle, ironic and bitter in tone, and tried to shake her off. "It's a little late for that warning, don't you think?"

"You can't leave," she said, words spilling from her throat in desperation. "Ginny will die; you're the only one she wants to see, and if you go, she will give up! Chasing Voldemort won't save her; you should look for another spell, something---"

"No more spells!" he exclaimed harshly, ripping away from her. "They've caused nothing good! It's time for action, not defense. I'll kill him with my bare hands if I have to!"

Staring at him in horror, she could only shake her head dumbly, fingers digging into his arm. Who was this man in front of her, so bitter and full of hatred? Had this been Harry all along, or was it Ginny's sudden fall that had broken his last constraint? "Please listen to me! Anger isn't going to defeat Voldemort, because he has enough of that to spare! You need your heart, not your hate," she said pleadingly.

He only tore himself from her again, face dark and hard. "Ginny said that once, and look what happened to her."

Insides clenching painfully, she let her hand drop limply to her side. "Ron and I want to help you, Harry; please don't do this," she whispered.

"No one can help me," he replied stonily.

With those words, he turned and walked away, back straight. Hermione watched him disappear behind a few bookshelves, tears forming in her eyes. She had failed him and Ron and everyone.

The darkness was creeping closer.

Even on the brightest days, Harry felt cold, shadowed. He couldn't feel any hope; he didn't understand how Ron and Hermione could try and stay positive. Ginny was dying, and it was his fault. There was only one thing to do.

Kill Voldemort.

He didn't want to see her, didn't want to look into her eyes and know that she might not wake the next time she closed them. Yet here he was, walking up to the Hospital Wing to see her. Hermione's words about her had struck him unwillingly; how could Ginny want to see him, the man who had caused her illness?

He prayed no one was visiting her as he stepped into the sterile wing; he knew that her parents had been coming often, ever since Hermione had written them a week ago. The room was chilly, a slight version of the cold air outside. It was only a week and a half until Halloween, but it felt like December outside.

Madam Pomfrey nor anyone else were to be found. Taking a deep breath, he hardened his heart, and went past the curtain to Ginny's bed.

She was sleeping as he approached her, dull hair fanning out on the white pillow. Her textbooks sat on her bedside table, dusty with days' worth of idleness. Surrounding her were flowers and cards from her family and friends; he saw a peculiar bouquet of what looked to be magnolias that changed color every few minutes right next to her textbooks, and could only assume they were from Tonks. Two chairs rested on either side of the bed, usually filled by her parents, her brothers, or Ron and Hermione, according to what he heard.

Weak sunlight filtered in through a near window, casting light on her small form. He stood at the end of her bed, looking down at a shell of the girl she had been only two weeks ago. Her skin was paler than snow, freckles dark and striking against her face. The darkness under her closed eyes showed stress he could only imagine. She looked impossibly small underneath the layers of blankets, and somewhere deep inside his cold walls, he felt a pang of remorse.

He could barely look at her anymore; he was about to leave when her eyes fluttered open, and caught him at her bed. Brightness crept back into her gaze, and she sat up in bed with a weak smile. "Harry! How have you been?" she asked quietly.

Resisting the urge to take her in his arms, he stayed where he was. "Fine. How are you?"

She shrugged, the light in her gaze dimming. "Fine."

They looked at each other in silence. He didn't want to see her like this; he wanted to go, run away and kill. She was still beautiful, almost ethereal in the dim afternoon sunlight, no matter her illness; it made him weak when he needed his steel.

"I know you don't want to be here," she said abruptly, turning her gaze to her lap.

He was startled by her words and couldn't take his eyes away from her. Breathing deeply, she continued onward, fingers twisting nervously in her lap. "It's not your fault, no matter what you think; I put myself here. I should have told you that Tom might have known about the spell, but I didn't. It was my fault; I was being selfish."

She met his gaze, eyes bright with tears. "I just didn't want to be without you again, and I thought I had beaten him. I could have put you in more danger," she murmured, voice thick. "You don't have to come see me; just please forgive me."

Something inside him cracked, and he felt all the love he had ever felt for her rush back into him for a brief moment, mixing with the guilt and the pain. As her shoulders shook with dry sobs and her throat was silent, he went to her side and put his arms around her, burying his face in her hair.

"It's not your fault, Ginny," he said fiercely. "It's Voldemort's. He won't get away with any of this. It's time for him to pay."

She looked up at him, a stray tear running from the corner of her eye. "What do you mean?" she asked softly.

"I'm going to kill him, and I'm going to make him suffer for all he's done. He deserves it," he said fervently, pulling her closer into his arms so that she was nearly sitting on him.

"Harry, you're not going to go after him, are you?" she whispered, fear replacing the sadness in her eyes.

He didn't answer her, only squeezing her as the anger and the rage swept over his softness and hardened it. She looked up into his eyes and her face went even paler than it was. "Don't leave; you don't know what he might be doing! He could be waiting for you to do something like this!" she said quickly.

"That doesn't matter anymore; I can kill him no matter what he's prepared for," he said stonily.

Shaking her head, she shrugged out of his grip, eyes cast down at the floor. "You don't understand, Harry! He is going to feed off of all of your hate and beat you at his own game," she said hoarsely, wiping her eyes briefly.

He stood up, looking out the grey window. "I don't think you can understand how I feel, Ginny."

Somewhere inside of him, he regretted those words the instant they left his mouth. The atmosphere changed immediately; he could feel the hostility rising off of her in waves, pushing against his own.

"Of course; how could I understand how you feel? How could I understand the hurts you've suffered at Tom's hands?"

Her voice was stronger than he had heard all day and full of fire. Glancing at her, he saw her breathing hard, eyes flashing at him.

She continued to speak, catching his cursory glance and holding it. "Let me tell you, Harry Potter, that you are not the only one who hates him and has reason to! He practically raped me when I was eleven years old, stealing my innocence and staying inside my soul for years! And he's taken my family away; I've lost uncles, cousins, friends. You weren't the only one who was affected by Remus' death!"

A coughing fit attacked her, and she turned away, shoulders shaking with the effort to continue her breathing. He watched her coolly, hating every cough that escaped her throat.

After a minute, the coughs died away; yet she continued to shake, unintelligible noises coming from her. Harry realized with a start that she was crying, and it shook him deep inside. He had never seen Ginny really cry; he was afraid of what he would do if he saw her with tears coming out of her eyes because of him.

"I lost Sirius and Remus just as you did," she choked out. "Think of how we're all suffering, and stop being selfish about your guilt!"

She continued to cry, soft sobs leaving her lungs and resounding in the air. Holding his breath, he stepped away from her bed, at a loss of what to say.

Her face turned slightly; he could see a sliver of her profile, the tears slipping from her eyes. A horrible little half-smile crossed her mouth. "I'm sorry; I'm keeping you from your searching. You don't have to stay," she said bitterly, turning her back to him.

The sight of her tears rocked him; he left quickly, trying to ignore the burning in his insides. He wanted to keep his hate intact; it was the only constant in his life.

The last dredges of Ginny's hope had abandoned her with Harry's visit; not even the ring on her hand could comfort her now. It was ironic how healthy she felt at this time, when her despair was at its greatest. When she had been praying for a miracle and hoping for Harry to come to her, her illness had attacked her without mercy, rendering her useless. It had been hard to even read a page in a textbook; now, a few days until Halloween, she could stand for short periods of time and even get homework done. She would laugh at the irony, if she had kept her sense of humor.

All day and all night, she waited in horrible anticipation for Ron or Hermione to rush into the Hospital Wing and tell her that Harry was gone, off to hunt down Voldemort. The look in his eyes had frightened her; it had been pure hatred, pure vengeance. She had tried her best to convince him to listen to her, but he had nothing of it. There was nothing for her to hope for now. If Harry didn't figure out a way to overcome his blinding hate, Voldemort had already won.

The thought of Harry's death haunted her as she sat in her bed, reading her Potions textbook as the sun began to set outside her window a few days until Halloween. She didn't want him to lose like this; indeed, she didn't want to lose him at all. She knew that the Harry she loved was still inside the cold man who had come to see her, but he was getting lost. If Remus had been here, maybe things would have been better. She probably still would have gotten sick, but maybe Harry wouldn't be so obsessed with destroying Voldemort.

Why did Remus have to leave him? she thought for the millionth time. I would have given my own life if Remus could have been spared; Harry needs him more than he needs me.

"Hi, Ginny."

She looked up from her page to see Ron standing by her bed, Hermione right behind him. Both were pale and drawn; the smiles on their faces looked very forced. Fear rushed into her mind, and she put aside her book. "What's the matter?" she asked. "Is it Harry?"

Ron frowned. "No, he's still here," he said roughly. "Dumbledore's just made an announcement, is all."

"Announcement? What kind of announcement?" she asked.

Her brother and Hermione came closer, Ron taking a seat in a nearby chair and Hermione sitting at the edge of the bed. "You haven't read the Prophet lately, have you?" Hermione said.

Curious, Ginny shook her head. Hermione and Ron exchanged a glance before the former continued to speak. "Well, Voldemort's stepped up attacks. Muggle-borns were his new targets, along with wizard establishments," she said quietly. "Yesterday, St. Mungo's was attacked and taken over. There's fear that the Ministry is next."

"But You-Know-Who isn't in London. He's coming here. Dumbledore's sending everyone under sixth-year to a safe-house. The Aurors and Order members are starting to arrive," Ron added somberly. "Fred, George, Bill, and Charlie should be up to visit you soon."

Hermione's lip trembled. "Dumbledore is also sending the parents of Muggle students to safe-houses. My mum and dad have already left," she said softly.

Ginny reached out to her friend, grasping her hand. Her heart felt full to bursting with all the sorrow in the room. "No wonder Harry is still here," she murmured. "The last stand will be here."

Ron licked his dry lips and coughed nervously. "There's something else, Gin," he said.

Turning wide eyes to him, Ginny looked at him questioningly. What else could there be?

"Tonks was at St. Mungo's yesterday. She hasn't reported into Headquarters yet, and they don't know where she is," he mumbled, looking away.

Shock coursed through her as Hermione gave a suspicious sniff. "How do you know?" she breathed, horror filling her.

"Charlie told us. He seemed really upset about it, too," Hermione said thickly, wiping her eyes quickly.

Ginny sat back, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. Not Tonks, too; she couldn't handle it if Tonks was dead as well. This war was too costly, too painful; for a moment, she understood Harry's desire for vengeance on behalf of those who had fallen. But she couldn't imagine living off the hate like he seemed to.

"She's fine," she said with more conviction than she felt. "I know it. She'll come here as soon as she can."

Hermione squeezed her hand. "Of course she will. Tonks is a clever girl."

Ginny squeezed back, eyes traveling to her brother. "Where are Mum and Dad?" she asked weakly.

"Charlie said they would be here tomorrow. But..." Ron trailed off, shrugging helplessly. "I don't know what to do, Gin."

She smiled slightly at him. "No one knows what to do. It's just the way the world works."

"Harry does, obviously," Hermione said, voice slightly cool.

Pinning her with her gaze, Ginny raised her eyebrows. "Why would you say that?"

Hermione swallowed. "Right after Dumbledore made his announcement, Harry grabbed him and pulled him away. We can only assume he's imparting his wisdom."

Ginny sighed. "Harry's having a hard time; he doesn't know how to handle himself," she protested without strength, feeling the same betrayal Ron and Hermione felt.

Ron laughed shortly. "Oh, and we aren't having a hard time? He hasn't spoken to us in three days, Ginny. What kind of person does that to his friends? I don't understand him."

"It's hard to understand Harry; he's just doing what he thinks is best," Ginny said softly, twisting the ring on her finger as she spoke. She prayed for some sort of revelation from anyone, to help Harry in his trials.

Hermione shook her head, eyes growing suspiciously bright. "If Remus were here, it would be different," she said.

Ginny's stomach clenched; Hermione had just echoed her earlier thoughts, and it hurt. "Remus isn't here; we have to be the ones to help Harry," she said.

"How are we supposed to help him if he won't even stay in the same room as us, hmm?" Ron exclaimed, eyes fiery with anger.

"Anyway we can," she replied gently. "Just standing by him. He'll know we're here for him."

She hoped he would, in any case.

He had found it; the trials and tribulations were over with. He had all he needed to defeat Voldemort.

As Harry sat across from the headmaster in his office as Dumbledore looked over the spell, he felt an immense sort of relief. He wouldn't disgrace his parents and Sirius and Remus; they would be redeemed, along with all the rest of Voldemort's victims. And they would be able to help him destroy him for good.

Professor Dumbledore looked up at Harry from the tome in front of him, eyes dimmed by the events of recent days. With a sigh, he rubbed his temples with thin fingers. "This is a very obscure spell, Harry; I have never heard of it until now," he said quietly.

"That doesn't mean it won't work," Harry shot back immediately. He wasn't going to let Dumbledore stop him, not after all the time he had put into this. He itched for vengeance, could almost taste the joy of finally ridding Voldemort from his life.

"I'm sure it works; but it looks very difficult," Dumbledore replied calmly, glancing back down at the open page. "It involves calling the souls of the victims from the other side to assist in the destruction of their murderer. From the book, I gather it was used often in the Dark Ages. It would take a strong wizard to perform this spell."

Harry straightened in his chair. "I can do it; I have enough power to do it," he said coolly.

Dumbledore sighed, looking at Harry with his penetrating eyes. "I know you have the power, Harry. I'm just worried about your stability at this point," he said.

Standing, Harry began to pace. "I'm fine, Professor. I'm not sure where you're getting the idea that I'm not," he said testily. He was bloody tired of people telling him he wasn't fine when he didn't need to hear it.

Dumbledore stood as well, strength radiating from him. "You are not fine, and I refuse to believe it. You are acting out of your hate and anger, which is what Voldemort want you to do. Will you continue on this path and end any chance of winning your battle?" he asked powerfully, gaze holding Harry in place.

The portraits along the walls began to chatter as Harry and the headmaster stared at each other for a silent moment, tension rising. Harry frowned deeply. "I'm doing what I can to win, Professor. I'm sorry if it isn't your dream," he retorted.

"Harry, I am only trying to help you. You must act with your heart, not your hate," Dumbledore said, pushing the book towards Harry's side of the desk. "There is nothing I can do to stop you, but I ask you to think on what I've said."

Harry took the book, placing it securely under his arm. "I know what I'm going to do," he said steadily.

He turned and walked out of the room, leaving the headmaster with a look of pity and sadness in his eyes. He needed to practice this spell to get it right. Voldemort was fast-approaching, and he had to be ready.

Author's Note: Sorry if this is a bit short, and sorry that this is so late! I had the largest writer's block in the world. The next chapter will be the last, so prepare yourselves! Please read and review. Many thanks to Anne, my wonderful beta.