Author's Note: Ok, so this chapter is a bit strange and, yes, it's in present tense format (bear with me), but I hope it will help you see. As ever, I hope you enjoy and thank you so much to those who reviewed.



chapter 23: BRUTILIZATION - betrayal of the last trust



This feels like a dream, and every time I remember that it's not, a part of me starts to scream inside. We're walking down a hall. I don't even know where we are anymore. It seems like we've been walking forever. Of course, time doesn't move the same when you're trapped in your own body.

i have to get Away!

I feel like I'm moving through molasses, or a thick fog. Everything seems to be happening in slow motion so that the details of every action are burned into my brain. I lift my foot and take a step. I feel the jarring impact of my bare foot against the cold stone floor. I hear the slap of my toes echo down the hallway. I take a step. The flame of a candle dances gracefully in our wake, belling and flickering, dimming and brightening. It casts jittering shadows along the walls and the pale curve of her cheek. The untouched tracks of her tears gleam briefly in the candlelight. She lifts her hand and tucks an auburn strand of hair behind her ear. Her eyes flicker backwards and up to look at me, shining like flat black pools, bottomless and secret. Her finger crooks, beckoning me further down the hallway.

why are you doing this?

I lift my foot and take a step. My mind is a jumble of confusion, franticly clawing at the inside of my head, franticly searching for a way out. And everything seems to be moving too fast. We were in the common room, talking on the couch by the fire, and now we're here, moving swiftly down a dark hallway and I don't know where we're going or why or what will happen when we get there. All I know is that I don't really know her and I'm trapped. She has me trapped, this Thing that couldn't possibly be Ginny because I love her, because she is good and would never do anything like this, because...She's been so quiet lately, and for so long. Sometimes she looks at you and you forget where you are because all you can see is the burning intensity in her eyes, the pent up WILL. And that's how she can do this, that's how my will has lost itself and gotten tangled into hers. That's all she is anymore.

Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy

I feel panic rising within me in a terrible tide. I'm drowning in a sea of my own fear and I can't fight back, and because I can't fight back. I'm so weak and I see her finger beckon me down the hall and I follow, my steps as smooth as glass, not a hint of struggle. I'm not as strong as Harry. I'm not as good as he is at fighting back, at asserting my will. It doesn't help that it's my baby sister that has me in thrall, that moves me like some gigantic wooden doll to her whim.

i thought you loved me

And now I see a door. Strange that it should stand out. The hallway that we've been moving down is lined with old classrooms, dusty and drafty with disuse. Why would this door stand out? But I know it's our goal. As though she's planted an invisible map in my head I know that through that door lies our destination, and the answer. If only I can not walk through that door, then maybe everything will be ok, maybe the nightmare will end and I'll wake up in my bed like I always do, sweating in the dark with the soft breathing of my friends around me.

this is not a dream

The door is looming closer, the simple wood and glass window of a classroom door and I feel like I'm about to walk through the gateway to Hell. I see my hand reach out, pale and bony against the dark cloth of my pajamas. The metal handle is cold and worn smooth and fits perfectly in the palm of my hand as I pull the door open for her. She doesn't even bother to look at me as she walks through. Her eyes are shining with a concentrated intensity and it is as though she isn't even aware of my presence, as minimal as it might be. I'm afraid for her.

Ginny!

Don't go in there!

Unaware of my silent plea, she steps softly into the room and begins to stride over to the opposite wall. I close the door behind us as my panicked mind beats futily against the bonds of the spell. The lock gives a small click and I turn away from the door.

now

My panic is so strong it is palpable, frenzied and concentrated. If I can only hold onto my thoughts long enough I might break the spell, I might be free. These thoughts strengthen me. I'm walking toward her, my steps raising clouds of dust in the still air. Free, I could be free. I stumble. She turns sharply then, her eyes hard and focused, and I see that she hasn't forgotten me at all. In one hand she's holding a box. In the other, a knife. The faint light cast through the window in the door glints cruelly along the edge.

so sharp

like a kiss

like teeth and fangs

The shock is enough to derail me. My focus is lost as I feel myself slipping into memories of teeth and blood, of pain and hate. My step evens and I walk slowly over to stand before my sister.

ready

She hands me the knife, handle first. I take it, and hold out my other hand for the box. It is a solid weight and nearly warm. Now I wait. Her will inside me tells me that we are not yet ready to begin. Though the knife is sharp. Though the box is full.

I can wait.

The moon shines then in through the dusty window and Ginny turns away from me. Her robe drops to her feet, hissing faintly along her skin and landing in a dark puddle on the floor. She's so beautiful and the anxiety rises up in me once more.

i should never see her like this. i should never see my sister like this!

But her spell holds me fast and I stand there quietly, facing her, seeing her in her beauty and her aloof coldness. It is a wound on my soul, her beauty. I love her so much and I am watching her fall.

won't you come back to me?

She turns then, kneeling down on the floor and spreading her robe out like a sheet. She lays down on it on her belly, her eyes like clear, cold death. I kneel beside her. The floor is soft with dust and the moonlight reflects off of her pale skin.

no.

I set the box down and bring the knife up, pressing the edge into my fingertip. As my blood falls onto the wooden lid, I feel the box sort of solidify. Not that it wasn't solid before, but now it just seems more real, its presence is stronger, it is more threatening. I lift the lid and look carefully at the neatly ordered packets and boxes. Everything is here. I wipe the knife off on Ginny's robe, removing all traces of my blood.

No!

My mind is skittering around frantically now. If only there was some way to make this stop. To keep it from happening. I'm beginning to know what I'm to do next and I CAN'T. How could I ever do something like that?! I look into her eyes and see the hard determination in them. I haven't the will to fight against that and I position the knife for the first cut.

i love you

The blade slices downward, cutting smoothly into the skin of her shoulder. Blood wells up from the wound and spills downward along her arm in a crimson streak. As my right hand holds the knife steady, smoothly carves the pattern I know she wants into her flesh, my other hand reaches for the packet of yarrow seeds.

beautiful in red

I focus on my breathing, soft and steady, and watch in horrified stasis as my hands continue wielding the knife, continue carving the pattern into her arm and shoulder. Strange whorls and symbols take shape beneath the blade. Her skin is so soft but quickly becomes slick with her blood.

i can't do this anymore i can't...

I pause and carefully set the knife to the side. This pattern is complete and it is time to fill it in. I pour out the yarrow seeds into my bloody hand where they quickly stain red and clump together. I am reminded of Trelawney making us read tealeaves in Divinations and wonder what fate is spelled out spilled across my palm.

not that.

Carefully, delicately, I take a pinch of the seeds and press them into one of Ginny's cuts. I feel her flinch beneath my touch, but she remains still. I am planting her arm with yarrow, embedding the seeds beneath her skin. They become part of her, alive and thriving within her.

ginny!

Too soon I finish. My hand is empty of seeds and the blood is starting to crust along her cuts, flaking away from her skin as my hands move over her. Her shoulder reminds me of the box of seeds, lined and signed in old blood, imprinted with new identity. I look briefly at her face and I see how she is going away from me. Even now she is soaking in this new part of herself, letting it print itself on her soul and destroy another small piece of the Ginny I know. Next is the nightshade.

no

no.

No

My hand reaches again for the knife. Blade and hilt alike are crusted with her blood and for a moment I am afraid it will slip in my hands. Taking a firmer grip, I set the tip to the skin of her lower back. She lets out a small sound, like a wounded animal, as the blade bites into her flesh and it's almost enough. I feel my protectiveness of her surging to the forefront and it is almost enough to set me free. But my hand wobbles as I cut and I beat that part of me down. As much as I want with every fiber of my being to just STOP, I can't risk the fight. The fight would make me clumsy. The fight could make me cut her too deep. The fight could make me lose her when it is as much her as myself that I would be fighting for. The knife glides over her spine, etching perfect sigils into her lower back. The blood pools freely along her sides and I feel so afraid. There is nothing I can do, only cut her and cut her as perfectly as I can.

carefully

move only Carefully

If I were myself I know I would be weeping right now. How can I be doing this to her? how How will I live with myself knowing that I have done this to her. The world held no horror so profound until I was forced to hurt one I love. I love her so. But I hate her. How can she make me do this? Doesn't she know that it will tear me apart inside? That it IS tearing me apart inside?

no no

careful

The pattern is all too soon complete. Her back and sides are awash in her blood. My hands are stained red with her blood. The nightshade seeds come out of their box and I feel the distance between us grow as I press them into her flesh.

why can't this Stop!

But it never stops. It seems it never stops. For the rest of my life I am kneeling beside my sister, carving into her flesh with a knife and feeling her warm blood run from her body, laying the designs for this otherness into her skin. My silent voices have screamed themselves hoarse before it is over. My eyes have glazed and I have retreated as far I my mind will let me from this horror springing forth from my hands. Almost done and it is the salamander's heart.

of course

My heart aches and grows cold as I remember her innocent smile as she asked me to get these for her. I will never forgive myself.

Even then, you were turning into this monster.

The patterns for these seeds trace the entire length of her spine and flow away along her ribs, wrapping around until the design comes to encircle her heart. The shock of her naked form has worn off by now and I can only weep in silence and dry tears as I watch myself carving this hideous evil between her breasts. Slowly and slowly, all of her beauty has been covered over by cuts and scars. With this last design I see the beauty and spark that was Ginny winking out. It fades and flickers and then is lost beneath the blood.

goodbye.

don't go.

Pressing the seeds into her skin and over her bones, I watch an other, darker light rise within her flesh to take its place. It is like watching her blood catch on fire, watching the fire consume her and hollow her out so that all that lies before me is a strange shell of patterns and human form.

there.

My task complete, I set the knife in the box, now empty except for a single packet and sit back on my heels. She sits up then, and I see her watching me from behind eyes changed by this dark magic, as I am watching her from behind my own magic bound eyes. We regard each other, me still and immobile, pacing and weeping inside my head, she bloody and calm, sitting on a robe soaked through with her own blood.

we are a pair pathetic in our silence.

When she speaks, I feel the shock of it ripple along my skin, even if I cannot outwardly show it. Sound other than the small rustle of seeds and clothing are as alien to this time as the sun shining at night.

"I'll finish this, Ron." I feel myself go cold at this. There is no warmth in her voice, no hint of the sister I love and who loved me.

Carefully, she lifts the knife. The blood crusted along its length smears along her fingertips and some of it oozes over her knuckles. She appears not to notice. Instead, she brings the knife to her temple, drawing it sharply backward into her hairline so that blood runs down her cheek and drips lewdly from her chin. I am still. Even my mind, pacing as it was, has gone still and focuses solely on her, on this moment and final sacrifice. Her hand comes forward and the knife moves towards me. As she cuts into the skin along my head, I feel my consciousness tightening like a bow about to snap, sharpening down to a fine point along that single line of sensation. I stare into her eyes and watch as a tear spills, unnoticed, down her cheek. She looks stoic, her face a mask in stone.

"You must always remember me." My fear at this statement is so acute that I watch in a daze as she pours the last remaining seeds into her hand. Forget-me-not.

of course

Carefully, and with such delicacy that my heart breaks for her all over again, she draws out a pinch of the seeds and presses them along the cut against my temple before doing the same for herself. I feel myself fading out. That part of me that paced and watched and worried and wept is beginning to drift, to unfocused and in its place I am being filled with a great sorrow, nameless and timeless it permeates my being. Before I lose my focus entirely I look once more into her eyes and know now, for a certainty, that she is gone. Whatever it was that once made Ginny that sparking presence that was my sister, she has swept it all away and dusted up any last hint of its existence. The tears have dried on her cheek and now all that I see in her eyes is a look of hard and cold determination. Of pure will.

In the darkened tunnel that is all that is left of what I see, I watch her raise her up her hands and throw back her head. The muttering of her incantation is lost in the cotton that fills my ears. The last thing I see is my sister, burning from the inside with a dark flame, her cuts on fire and writhing across her skin, the last drops of drying blood turning to ash.







In the dark night, Harry Potter was awakened by a small sound. A harshly indrawn breath and a shuddering exhalation. His mind fuzzy and unfocused, he eventually made out the sounds of someone weeping. He turned onto his side and looked across the darkened room to where he saw Ron huddled in a corner by his bed. He was curled up with his knees clutched to his chest and his body heaved with great, wracking sobs.

"Ron?" Instantly, Ron went still. He barely made a sound and in the dark it looked as though he wasn't breathing at all.

"Go to sleep, Harry." Ron's voice came out strangely normal. The confusion was too much for Harry's sleep muddled mind and the suggestion too appealing. Two seconds after the words were uttered he had drifted back into his dreams.