November 5, 2007: Here we go again.

original note: Whoo! This fic has been voted as "disturbing"! I can die a happy ladynow! laughs

Dray has to be taught how to be a Weapon before he can offically become one. I've already got that part planned out :P I even know how he's going to act once he becomes one of the Living Weapons and is given a weapon name. You know, like the Naginata that I wrote about a couple chapters back.

Oh, and there's a reason why Harry's weapon name is just Weapon. You have to figure it out yourself, or just wait until I explain it.

And here's Ginny's choice.

The Itch don't own Potter, or anyone else from his books. It's really annoying always typing this, too.

Blackened Sunrise
Chapter Eight: Ginevra
The Itch

"Well Ginny? What's it going to be?"

The youngest of the Weasley clan had already had quite a bit of time to think it over; several hours worth of time, spent tucked away watching and listening to Harry and Draco. She had not, however, expected that Harry would ask her of her loyalties so soon. She had thought that there would be a few days, at least, in order to think over all that she had overheard, and to make her own decisions on who she would stand with based on research and reflection. While it was hardly a secret that Ginevra Weasley had had a crush on one Harry James Potter for the first several years of her stay at Hogwarts, there was still much to consider.

When he had disappeared from the Wizarding World in general during her fourth year, that crush had waned and finally vanished. Now she was left with feeling like a sibling to Harry, at most. After all, she had grown up with Bill and Charlie drifting in and out of her life, just as Harry had done. Harry had not stood at her side as her father stood with her mother, and so with that somewhat childish train of thought, she had given up on pursuing a romantic relationship with the famous wizard.

That left her with a very difficult decision. Could she stand with Dumbledore, as her parents did, and end up fighting someone that she thought of as yet another brother? There was, of course, no way that she would ever willingly join up with You-Know-Who, but that did not guarantee that she would not be fighting against Harry. The problem was whether or not she could fight the kind and jovial Headmaster. Oh, this was just so confusing...!

She blinked a bit, though not in surprise, when she realized that she had bit her tongue hard enough to cause it to bleed. She was no stranger to pain, nor to the taste of her own blood; she frequently bit down on her tongue and cheeks when faced with a tough decision. It helped her to focus, and she had had enough injuries over her years that it was oddly comforting.

That's not to say that she inflicted any of the injuries herself. It was a combination of being the only girl in a family of boys, and lord knows boys like to rough house, and that she just didn't bother with trying to avoid injury. What was the point? No matter what she did, she would eventually wind up injured in some way, and this way she generally knew what to expect; the sharp sting of biting through her lip when she was working on a paper or a test. The scratches that she sometimes got while playing with Crookshanks. The bruises and cuts from normal, everyday things. It was comforting to feel the pain, comforting to know that she was still alive.

Because even thought it had been almost four years now, she still had doubts that she was alive. That this wasn't a dream, or nightmare in some cases, a shadow living on in a shadow world: killed by the recorded spirit of Tom Marvolo Riddle, and sentenced to eternity within his diary.

So she let herself get hurt; she scratched at her scabs and poked at her bruises. It all pointed to her status as still among the living, and it comforted her more than even her mother's warm embraces. The taste of copper in her mouth was equally as comforting as the sharp stings or the aching pains of her "clumsy" actions. It focused her.

With a bit of a distracted air, the girl moved over to one of the plush chairs and gratefully sank into it. She tipped her head to one side, lazily eying her former crush and quirked her lips into a tiny half-smile. "What's it like?"

"What's what like?" He was a little confused. Hadn't he just asked her if she was with or against him?

Crossing her arms, the redhead sighed. "Being one of those... what did you call them? 'Weapons'?" At his nod she continued, "Those weapons that you were talking about. Being able to decide for yourself, without others influencing everything that you do? To have the confidence that you'll get through it all unscathed?"

Harry frowned slightly, "I'm not really sure what you're trying to ask, Ginny."

"What's it like to be yourself and not have to worry about what everyone else thinks of you?

Potter's frown deepened with the clarification, and he moved closer to her chair so that he could crouch in front of her. As she turned to look down instead of up, their eyes met and she had to remind herself to breath. There was just something so powerful... so intense about his gaze. It was almost mocking, the way that he tilted his head, just as she had done. "It's freedom, Ginny. That's what it is. You are free from everyone's expectations, and you do what you want. But... well, when you're that free, you don't have anything to restrain you, and you wind up getting yourself killed more often than not. I still have people who have expectations of me, and these are the few that I listen to."

She blinked at that, surprised. The Harry that she had been getting to know since the term had started didn't really seem like he listened to anyone! He was always growling at the teachers and giving them stupid and insulting nicknames: Ghostie, The Dark Traitor, The Royal Ass, The Queen Demon, Sight-Less, Flower-Power... so on and so forth. He would grin inanely at any rude comment made about him. So who was this mysterious person that he would listen to...?

"The Old Man."

She jumped. "You're a mind reader now, too?!"

"No, but it was written all over your face," Harry returned with a cheeky little grin, "I take flak from the Old Man and Padfoot all the time. I listen to both of them, though. After all, they both have my well being in mind. And that's the 'you can do anything you want to as long as you don't get yourself killed' kind of well being."

She knew who Padfoot was, obviously. But... "Who's the Old Man?"

He smiled mysteriously. "You'll find out if you choose to be one of the Weapons."

"Oh like that's helpful," she muttered with a sour expression as she stared down at the older teen. It took her a moment before something dawned on her. "Wait a second! Padfoot? Does this mean that Sirius knew where you were the entire time?"

He nodded his head like he was one of those little bobbing-dog things in muggle car windows. "Yup. Couldn't leave him in the dark about this. He might have tried to off himself, and that would be very much badness."

"Badness." she repeated in a deadpan voice, staring at him rather incredulously.

"Badness," Harry agreed with a dumb-ass smile. "It's my new favorite word. Badness. Rolls right off the tongue, doesn't it?"

"You sound like you're four!"

"So?" he batted his lashed at her, puckering his lips. "I'm just so cute, thought, aren't I? And four year olds are the... the... the epitome of cute!"

"You've never been around a four year old, have you?" she returned dryly. Potter shrugged.

"No, not really. But I did watch some telly that had four year olds in it!"

Ginny sighed. She knew what the telly was-- it couldn't be helped, not with her father-- but she also knew what a real four year old was like. She had babysat for some of her mother's friends before, after all, and they weren't all sunshine and cuteness. "And the telly is oh-so-perfectly dependable, is it?"

"Okay, probably not," Harry admitted with a frown. "And we're getting off track, Ginny."

Damn. There went that plan for distracting him. Why wasn't be being distracted, dammit?! With the way that their conversation was going, she probably would have to actually answer his questions of her loyalty. Distractedly, she lifted her fingers and slipped them up under her bangs to scratch at the scabbed over remains of a few clawed-off pimples.

"I know, I know..." she muttered, tilting her head back so that she could look up at the ceiling. Who would she be fighting for? That's what it would come to in the end; who she would fight for, not beside, not with but for. And by fighting for certain people, who of her loved ones would she lose?

Percy, for one, she would lose by going with Harry. His absolute and unwavering faith in the Ministry was horrid; how could he possibly believe every line that Minister Fudge fed him? Ugh, this was why he had been the "perfect prefect": he believed anything and everything that a higher authority told him, whether it was true or not. And now there was a growing list in the back of her mind of friends and family that she would most likely end up losing in the end.

"Alright Harry. I..."

"Yes?" and his had this innocent look stamped all across his face, but for once when she looked into his eyes she could see past all the masks that had been built up over the years. His eyes glinted dangerously and with a hidden power; a hidden strength. He was like a wild animal that had been caged, she realized suddenly and her thoughts drifted to what she had heard Seamus, Ron, and Dean whispering out a few days earlier.

About the straps around his arms.

About the way those straps were decorated with Runes.

About the fact that Harry was quite obviously trying to get rid of them.

Once again, she bit her tongue in order to clear her mind of all these silly little thoughts and return to the task at hand. She bowed her head, and said a small prayer of forgiveness. This was not an easy choice to make, but in the end, it was the best of all the options.

"I'm," and she found that she had to swallow around a thick tongue, nerves on edge and her eyes darting frantically from place to place to place; wondering if there was someone else listening in as she had. Her voice dropped to a near whisper. "I'm with you, Harry. I'll be a Weapon."

He nodded, as though he had always expected this decision, and perhaps he had. Harry took her wrist into his hand and drew them both to their feet. "I hope you don't find yourself regretting your decision, Ginevra."

End Chapter

I realise this is shorter than normal, but I didn't want to continue it any further. It just didn't seem right.

Oh, and just so you know, I actually had this all written by the time I read everyone's reviews. I just thought I should see where JK's Ginny stood with everyone. My Ginny is not the same person. As is obvious by the whole pain focus thing going on with her.

November 5, 2007: So, as you can tell, I've corrected Ginny's full name. For those of you who plan on bitching to me again about Gin-gin's name, I will take this moment to remind you that when BS was originally written, we only had fanon to go on for the girl's full name. So until I reach the end of this rewrite, you're going to be seeing "Virginia" throughout the story.