Well, apparently we aren't allowed to use any song lyrics that aren't ours anymore. Don't ask me why. So I've had to go through and delete all the song lyrics that aren't mine, that have been accompanying my chapters. Even though they gave the chapters more meaning and emotion. I'm thinking about starting up a Yahoo Group for my fics, but I'm not sure yet. I'll see how everything goes.
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You have been gone so long
And I don't know where you are
I've searched – oh god I've searched so far
But I don't know where you are
In the night
The darkness is closing in
And the shadows – they mock me
They play with my thoughts
Twisting them around inside my head
So much pain – I wish I was dead
I will find you
Through the dark and endless cold
Over the pain and confusion and tears
I will find you
Through my many fears
I will find you
I have faced many monsters
Many enemies in my time
But it is this that scares me
This that seizes my heart
In icy talons – I can't see
My face, it's wet – I'm crying
And my soul is fading – I'm dying
I will find you
Even though my throat sears
My heart is pounding fiercely
And my eyes sting with salty tears
I will find you
Through the dark and endless cold
I will fight shadows in the night
Fighting on
Searching
For that single light
That burns inside your soul
I'm coming – that's my goal
I will find you
Through death itself
I will find you
Nothing will stop me
Not until I see...
Your face
My love – my life
I'm coming
I will find you
I will find you
I Will Find You – DW
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Chapter 32 –
Back and Burning Black
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She had lost track of time. Of that, she was certain.
It had been so long since she had seen the ones she loved. Her mother – she wondered if she had given up the search. Her father – her breath caught at the thought of her dear father. The last she had seen of him, he had been lying upon his death bed, while Harry – her dearest Harry – gave him a potion of his and Hermione's creation. She had left the Hospital room, too caught up in emotion to even see straight. She had planned on going to the cafeteria, but as soon as she stepped away from the doorway, they had gotten her. Death Eaters.
And now … now she didn't know if her dear father was even alive.
"He will be fine, little one," Ginny said hoarsely, stroking the mound on her stomach. "Your Grandpa is just fine."
It had been over a month since she had been taken, or close to that amount of time. She had been eavesdropping on the conversations of the Death Eaters, trying to find out any piece of information that would be of use to her. She had found out that Puddlemere United had won the Championship against the Tornado's; their game had been set for December twentieth. She had been taken near the end of November, so that meant it was almost Christmas.
Her first Christmas without the ones she loved.
"Get up, Weasel, it's time for your walk." A gruff voice said from the other side of the steel door. It was unlocked and a pair of Death Eaters entered both wearing black robes and white masks. Ginny struggled to her feet, keeping a hand on the wall for support. Each day, she was allowed a bathroom break and an escape from the cell without having to see the Dark Lord. She walked out the door, following the back of one Death Eater while the other walked behind. Daylight splintered through the grimy windows on the first floor and she immediately scanned the room for any other guards; maybe she could fight off these two and get out through the door?
The answer to her silent question was an uncomfortable feeling in her stomach where her child was resting. She couldn't do that. She wouldn't risk the life of her unborn baby. They ascended the stairs but instead of turning right like they usually did, they turned left. "Where are we going?" Ginny asked immediately stopping.
"To the bathroom," the Death Eater in front grunted.
"Why aren't we going to the one we usually go to?" she asked quickly.
It's, ahh – occupied. Don't ask questions."
So she didn't, instead silently following the Death Eater to areas of the house she had not as yet seen. The place was quite large, though it was two floors but quite wide. Most of the windows had been boarded, either to keep people from looking in or people from looking out. The Death Eater led her to the far side of the house, where the carpet had been eaten away by unknown critters.
"Ten minutes," grunted the Death Eater, pushing open the door and allowing her entrance. Ginny shut and locked the door after her, letting go a sigh of relief as soon as she was alone. The bathroom was old and grimy, with the floor layered in dirt and fragments of tile and glass. A stained bathtub sat against one wall, with a cobwebby showerhead sagging from above; a spider quickly scuttled behind the holey curtain. Ginny stepped forward, wincing when a sharp of glass pierced through the thin bottom of her shoes. She walked up to the basin, staring into the cracked mirror above the sink. Glass was missing, most likely the same which was scattered about the floor. She wrapped her hand in her shirt, wiping away the spots covering the glass.
Her face was smudged with dirt and blood from cuts on her cheeks, and her hair was lank about her head. She did not care much for physical appearance in this place, but she could not stand feeling dirty. The water was cold against her battered fingers but she struggled to scrub away the grime which had accumulated over night. Her face was sore and it took much care and kindness to remove the dirt and blood. After drinking to her stomachs content, she turned the taps off, aware that her fingers were shaking from both cold and nervous energy.
They hadn't stopped shaking since she had arrived in this place.
She looked back into the mirror and into a face that did not look like the Ginny Weasley she previously was. Her face was thin and gaunt, with dark rings beneath a pair of hollow, bloodshot eyes. She did not get much sleep in this place and what sleep she did get was interrupted by haunting memories that had been twisted by the Dark Lord's mind into vicious representations of a nightmarish reality. Each time she awoke from those dreams, she had to remind herself that it was not real. That it had never happened. She repeated the same sentence over and over, squeezing her knees to her chest, rocking back and forth with the frantic beatings of her heart.
"Harry will come. Harry will come. Harry will come."
The words, well worn, were slowly starting to become meaningless and useless. She was beginning to doubt her own faith and hope that he would come to the rescue like he always had done. His 'hero complex' as Hermione had called it. His 'saving people thing'. But that was what he was. A hero. Her hero. She just wished he would come soon.
She did not know how much longer she could hold up.
"Five minutes," the gruff voice grunted from the other side of the door. Ginny turned away from the mirror, her motions sluggish and lacking the energy they once possessed. Her clothes were tatty and dirtied, but she would rather wear them then the clothes He offered her. Turning away from the mirror, she scanned the room again, feeling her heart skip when she spotted a partially boarded window that broken sunlight was peeking through. She hurried over to it, stepping into the bathtub to get closer. She wiped away the curtain of cobwebs that were covering the glass, leaning closer to squint past the boards.
She peeked through the glare of the morning sun and the splotchy glass of the windows; the Death Eaters must have led her around the house and back out the front, for she could vaguely see a large front lawn that was overgrown with grass and weeds. A wooden cabin sat down near the road, but inside the fence of the property; its windows was shattered and walls covered in vines. Down further was a small village, which seemed to sit in the shadow of the large house, looking up with faded rooves. The place did not seem familiar, though something inside her told her she knew where it was. An old thought, a missing memory. Something.
"Time's up!" a voice said loudly and the bathroom door was slammed open. The sudden noise startled her and she slipped on the plastic of the shower curtain, falling into the rusted tub with a heavy thump. She gasped, hands flying to her stomach as a sharp pain shot through it unbidden. The Death Eater stared down at her with cold black eyes with the white mask covering the face of her captor. He flung out an arm, clasping it painfully around her shoulder. With one hefty tug, she was pulled up and out of the bathtub. Her legs struggled to support her weight as she looked up into the cold, merciless eyes of the Death Eater.
"You're not allowed to look outside. You broke the rules. I'm taking you to him." A simple sentence. Such a simple sentence. Yet Ginny trembled at the meaning of those few words. He dragged her from the room, her feet sliding along the glass strewn floor, curling to find a pointless hold. The glass fragments winked innocently; the representation of her shattered hopes.
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The glass orbs glowed around the room. Red, blue, green, yellow. They cast the room in a bright hue that did not match the mood. A large Christmas tree sat not far from the fire's crackling flames; a crystal angel twirled on the top of the tree. Dancing… dancing… dancing to unheard music. The room was empty apart from him. He sat in a chair, hands clasped on his knees and eyes strained forward. He stared into the fire, watching the golden flames lick the inside of the fireplace; curling around the logs like deathly fingers.
The room was decorated for Christmas. Baubles and streamers hung around the room, catching the light and reflecting brilliant colours. Cards sat on top of the mantle, as well as stockings which were draped down over the bricks. The room was warm and cosy, though bumps had risen along his skin.
He had not slept in days, too caught up in nightmares and dreams of endless screaming. He knew it was only his mind playing tricks on him, but the screaming sounded frighteningly like Ginny. But it couldn't be; he reminded himself whenever he awoke. It just couldn't.
It was almost Christmas. A time for celebration and games, laughter and good cheer. A time for present giving and spending time with friends and family. It was a time for love.
Without Ginny with them, how could anyone celebrate Christmas that year? No presents were under the tree; it was merely there to try to lift their spirits. It had been erected by Dobby, as had the decorations. He believed the house was too gloomy and even though the times were most dire, he said even this Christmas needed to be honoured.
For what, Harry did not know.
He had been sitting here for an endless amount of time. Ron had been with him not long before he left, head bowed, and eyes glazed with painful tears. Hermione had been with him for a while; she too left, mumbling something about needing time alone. So Harry was left by himself, with thoughts of a vacant holiday and how Ginny would be all alone at the one time of the year when none should have to be alone.
She isn't alone. Harry thought with a sinking heart and a grim, half-hearted attempt at a pained smile. She's with our son.
Our son. If he's still alive.
What were the chances of an unborn child surviving in the womb of its mother, who had been possibly tortured and starved? It was near impossible that the child would be alive, after all that had happened. If he had, he would be a miracle. A hero.
"My little hero," he murmured, staring into the dancing flames.
"What was that, Harry?" asked a familiar voice. Harry looked up to find Fred and George standing stooped in the doorway, their faces showing identical signs of grief and misery.
"Nothing," he answered, looking back to the fire. "How is Molly?" Fred shut the door as the two of them came forward, taking seats beside him in the Lounge Room.
"She's … coping," George said softly, he too, staring into the fire. "It's hard for her, you know? First Percy, now Ginny. I don't know how she would do if you or Hermione weren't here."
"I know," Harry said, giving George a faint smile. "How are you two?"
"We're…"
"…not so good." Fred finished with a grim shake of his head. "I just can't believe they've given up." He was talking about the Order, of course. "Some bunch of heroes they are. Bastards."
"They say that they've looked everywhere," George said angrily. "When in reality, you've looked everywhere. They just filled in the paperwork."
"I haven't looked everywhere," Harry said hoarsely. "There are so many places he could be keeping her, I just can't think of where she could be. I don't even know who this 'Dark Lord' is, and what he has against me. I mean, why does my scar hurt? It only hurt when Voldemort was around because we had a mental connection, forged when he attacked me when I was one. But now… it doesn't make any sense."
"What about Snape and Malfoy? They're our spies and they can't even do their jobs properly!" Fred said loudly. "I don't know why we still keep them around! For all we know they could be working for the other side, just saying there haven't been any meetings to send us off track!"
"No…" Harry said softly. "I believe that there haven't been any Meetings, even though I've never actually trusted Snape or Malfoy. I don't know… I think the Dark Lord is just testing out his allies, seeing how many are loyal and all that stuff. There will be a meeting soon, I'm sure of it. We just need to find out when and how we can get there."
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The kitchen was cold and dark. It was empty apart from shadowy silhouettes of the long table and chairs; looming out of the dark like four-legged critters. A clock was ticking somewhere above him in the house, travelling down to the bottom level on dusty currents of wind. The kitchen smelt of burnt toast; Bill Weasley's attempt at making something for Potter to eat. He had been sitting up in the Lounge Room for hours. Thinking.
That was what he was doing in the silence of the kitchen, where he could not be disturbed. All other occupants of the house were either locked up in their rooms are out into the cool air of night, having had enough of the miserable atmosphere of the Black Manor. He was used to it, having survived the many lonely, agonising nights of his youth.
This was the kind of atmosphere he worked best in, as horrid as it sounded. But, due to unforseen circumstances, he was unable to do anything for the Order or for himself. The Dark Lord had not summoned him for over a month, when usually, Meetings had been conducted at least once a week. Something was happening. Something big. Something that was related to Ginny Weasley.
The girl had been taken almost two months ago, which meant the prospect of her still being alive was slim to nothing. If this new Dark Lord was anything like the last, which Severus very much suspected, the girl would be long since dead. Unless there was another, much greater, use for her.
Potter had been moping around for weeks, occasionally leaving to go on searches with his friends. They returned hours later in even worse moods and hopes than when they had left.
It was pointless, in his opinion. He knew that the Dark Lord was in a place where the likes of them would never find. It was well protected, by charms and curses, as well as ancient enchantments. From the few times he had been there, he had been unable to determine where the old house had been situated, and even his powerful Legiliumcy had been useless against the wards surrounding it.
Ginny Weasley was as good as dead if Potter didn't get to her soon.
But the question was, was that what the Dark Lord wanted? It seemed that way. Although for what reason?
Severus had spent many long nights trying to figure out that very problem. Why would another Dark Lord be after Harry Potter? Voldemort had had good reason to want him dead and that had been the prophecy. There wasn't another prophecy as far as Severus new, and two prophecies about the same person was just as unlikely as him dressing up in a penguin suit.
Or, in other words, was never going to happen.
Then what was the reasoning behind this new strong of events? Did the Potter boy just have a large invisible magnet glued to his head that attracted the worst kind of enemies? It would explain why the boy was always staring at the ground and moping around as if the whole world depended on him. It had, at one stage, but it was not as if they could not have survived without him, was it?
He was fighting a losing battle, and he knew it. But he would rather die than openly admit that he was glad that Harry Potter saved them all. The he was glad that Harry Potter saved him.
It was against all his moral and ethical standards. To admit that to Harry Potter and all his friends was practically suicide. They would forever mock him, tease him, and all round annoy him.
He stared out at the dark of the kitchen, sneering at nothing but the thought of admitting that to Harry Potter. He rubbed his arm, curling his lip at the foul taste that it brought to his mouth. Him, telling Harry Potter, that he was thankful for his saving of the world. It was just wrong and a completely stupid idea.
"Thick brat," he growled under his breath, pushing up his sleeve to rub at his stinging wrist. "Thinks he's just so great." Of course, it was a complete lie. Harry Potter did not think that about himself and he never had. But it was easier to think that about James Potter's son than to admit the truth. And the truth was that Harry Potter was not like James Potter. He was more like Lily, his mother. The kindest, sweetest woman Severus had ever known. "Too bad she was muggle-born, though." He added thoughtfully, looking down at his wrist to scratch at it better. It had really started to sting and burn.
Unknowingly, he had been rubbing his left wrist. The underside of his left wrist. The Dark Mark of Voldemort was burning black … literally. He let out a gasp of shock and pain, springing backwards from the table and out of his chair; it clattered noisily to the stone floor. He clasped at his wrist with fear and anxiety. It was time. It took less than a minute for him to sprint up the stairs and through the house, running blindly for the door leading to the Lounge Room.
He stumbled through it, looking up to see a very startled Harry Potter staring at him from his spot opposite the fire. "I-its happened," Severus managed to splutter out, all dignity and honour leaving him with those simple words. The boy's face changed immediately and he was on his feet and before him in a fast few seconds.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Potter asked with a calm yet slightly shaky voice, his emerald eyes boring into his own. Severus was momentarily stunned by the sheer haunting enchantment of the eyes only one other had. Lily's eyes.
"I-I am," he said, swallowing the hard lump in his throat and straightening up. "Do you remember what to do?"
"Yes," Potter answered quickly.
"Good, I will send a sign for you to commence but only then, do you understand me?" he said sharply, pulling out his wand with a quick hand movement. In a flash, he had conjured a pair of black robes and a white skull mask. He could see the boys eyes linger on the mask before returning to his face.
"Yes, I understand." Severus was readying himself to go, feeling the pull of his mark strengthening, demanding him to answer its call. Potter's face seemed to be struggling to sort something out as a string of different emotions flashed across it in quick succession.
"When I signal, and only then." He said in way of a parting remark. His wand was mere centimetres from his blackened tattoo, and as soon as it touched, he would be transported to his master's side. He was seconds away from departing and he looked up, for the last time, at Potter's face, which seemed to have come to a decision.
"Be careful." The words, so small and simple triggered something inside Severus's heart. And just as his wand grazed the darkened mark on his arm, a picture of Albus Dumbledore appeared in his mind. Then, he was gone, leaving behind a broken young man who had seen far too many horrors, and a room decorated for celebration, but only received mourning.
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Disclaimer – I do not own Harry Potter and never will.
Hey all!
No, I'm not dead, just trying to survive the cold that is plaguing us at the moment. Seriously, its bloody freezing!
Well, ahh, ah hum. Yes.
Sorry for the large wait, I didn't mean for it to be so long. I recently took a trip to Sydney, which is an hour and a half bus trip to the train station, then a twelve hour trip to the city. My god, for someone who has never been on a train before that time, I truly, seriously hate them! I will never ever ever ever go on a train again! I got no sleep! None at all! I was going to lie on the floor and try to sleep through the shaking floor. It was going well until about four in the morning, the patrolling guard came through and told me to get up and that the floor was not a bed.
Well, to say I was angry was an understatement. I had to wake my friend who had been sleeping on the double seats, suffer through her incoherent swearing at being woken, and sit for another three hours with her head on my shoulder, asleep.
Then, on the way back, I was sick on the train and then again on the bus, either from motion sickness or from witnessing my friend throw up in a freezer bag. Disgusting images people, I swear, I am never drinking a popper again!
shudders
Well, back to the story. Much more was to happen in this chapter, which didn't come out. I thought that was an appropriate ending. Unexpected, especially for me. But, it sets off the events for next chapter. That's right, Harry finds out where the Dark Lord is hiding and possibly, who he is. That is if you haven't figured it out already.
I thought it was quite obvious, as I have been dropping hints every now and then. I've been hinting in the conversations from Harry and Snape, with them trying to figure who the Dark Lord is themselves. Quite clever, if you ask me.
OK, I have rambled way too much, so I shall go and reread this chapter, pick up on any and all mistakes, then connect to the internet. There won't be that many chapters left of this story, so when this finishes, I will have more time to write my other stories.
Stay tuned for the next chapter: Chapter 33 – The House of Vines.
Thanks for the reviews, they rock my socks!
Later Days…
DW