Author's Notes: Sorry for the delay…working on my band story took up a ton of my time (La Vie Boheme is such a crazy song and it was a pain to do, but I'm relieved I'm done). Plus Girl Scout Day camp and summer gym, and band starting up again, so haven't had much time. Also sorry for the short chapter, but hey, it's the intro, so you get a feel for what I'm getting at. Hope it was satisfactory, because I have big aims for this story.

Chapter 16

The Mortal Wizard

Harry stood mouth agape at the tapestry.

"What's up?" Ron asked, following Harry's eyes.

"Nothing," Harry lied quickly. "I just, erm, was trying to figure out which person Mrs. Black had burned off the tree here."

"Oh." Ron sighed. "You know she's not right in the head. Knowing her, it's probably someone allied with our side."

"Right," Harry replied distantly. "Look, I'm gonna go up to bed for a bit. Send someone up for me before dinner."

"All right," Ron said, and retreated down the hall.

Harry didn't remember walking up the stairs; he was too deep in thought. The names continued to ring in his head. Enos Melvin Riddle. Wardina Aplin. How could he not have known? How could Dumbledore not have known? Obviously this was a large part of his life. Harry lay back on his bed and stared at the ceiling.

"What seems to be your problem?" said the faceless portrait in Harry's room. Harry ignored it and turned to his other side. He had too much to think about, and yet…

"Well," Harry said, sitting up. He remembered that the portrait was one that had another in Dumbledore's office, maybe it had an idea of what this meant. "Did you know that Voldemort was married?"

"Married? I don't believe so…" the portrait replied. "He was incredibly close with the early members of his ring of followers, but married; no. I'd draw the line there."

"Oh." Harry furrowed his brow.

"Remember," said the portrait. "Voldemort did not like to depend on other people. A marriage would have crippled him; it would have set limits on his power and what he could accomplish. At least that's what he would think."

"So it doesn't? I mean, a marriage would have made him more powerful?" Harry replied with sudden curiosity.

"It could have," said the portrait. "But the chance was there that it would have weakened him, and the risk would have been enough that he wouldn't have taken it."

"But he has a kid!" Harry exclaimed, unable to contain himself.

"I do not doubt that," pondered the portrait.

"And why is that?" Harry retorted. "If it was crippling to be married, how would it be less crippling to have a child?"

The portrait paused a moment before answering. "This is where is becomes complicated. Voldemort wouldn't have needed to take care of the child, or even know of its existence, so there was no attachment to the child whatsoever. Its mother would have taken care of it, surely."

"But what benefits would there be for Voldemort to have a child with some random witch?"

"Well, he'd have an heir to pass the tyranny to if he were to be killed in battle or anything of that sort."

"Somehow that doesn't seem enough to inspire the most evil person to father a son."

"No, I suppose not," the portrait sighed.

Harry rolled over again on his bed, the waves of sleep overcoming him as Ginny's face flickered behind his eyelids.

"No! No!" a shrill voice shrieked. "It cannot be!" A slender woman was racing down a narrow candlelit hallway. Her dark hair flew behind her giving the illusion that she was wearing a second cape. She made a wild turn into an open doorway. In a gasping breath she shouted "Explain this to me!"

The woman in the room sighed and gracefully stood up. Her blonde curled hair reflected the candlelight violently as she made her way to the doorway. "There, there, Bella," she cooed as she led the convulsing woman to an armchair.

"But…but…," the dark haired woman gasped between sobs. "How could he?" Her eyes were muddy and swollen.

"He must have his reasons," the blonde said soothingly, absentmindedly stroking the woman's long black hair.

"But her?" the dark haired one shrieked in agony. "I have been more than loyal! More than worthy!"

"I know she wouldn't have been the first guess, but there must be a reason behind it." The blonde was obviously trying to console the dark one, but to no prevail.

"Of course she isn't!" the dark haired woman exclaimed, her eyes once wet now ablaze. "It just can't be true. I have been the one that has helped through every hard time, picked him up and put together the pieces of his ruined plans. I am the one who deserved to be carrying his child!"

"Maybe that's why he didn't choose you," the blonde said, trying to disguise her exasperation as enlightenment. "He needs your help more than he needs you to bear his child."

"That's why he should have chosen me! Because I help him! Because I know his secrets and weaknesses and everything that could bring about his downfall!"

"Well…" the blonde drawled, but both the women disappeared in a whirlwind of color. The scene that replaced it was the same hallway the dark haired woman had been running down. This time, it was the blonde running.

"Bella! Bella!" she called, frantically searching for her friend. The dark haired woman poked her head out of a nearby room. "Oh, Bella!" she blonde cried, relieved. "I've just heard the news!"

"Of what?" Bella's dark eyes searched her for an explanation.

"It did not work!"

"What didn't work?"

"The reproduction! It failed! The child possesses no powers the dark lord did not already possess!"

"So was that tramp telling the truth?"

"She was, she was," the blonde said hurriedly, "but obviously it means nothing!"

"So she really was, I mean, he was her ancestor?"

"Derwent Shimpling could have been her ancestor and it would not have made an iota of a difference. All that matters is that it proved to no advantage to him!"

Again the room faded, replaced by a shabby village. It was several years later; the wrinkles and ages of the women showed more now. The two were huddled near a building, glowering at near passersby.

"I heard it was Bellatrix," one of the passersby muttered to her companion. "I'm just glad that it didn't work."

"Could you imagine if he were more powerful?" the other replied.

"Can you believe this?" Bellatrix asked the blonde. "Ariadne, honestly."

"I know everyone thought it would be you, but even after all these years when the truth has been out there in plain view?" Ariadne shrugged. "It's a disgrace."

"I mean, what had I to offer? I'm not Wardina, I don't have all the connections she has. I'm pureblood, and that's all. Not like her…" Bellatrix sighed.

"So what?"

"It's just," Bellatrix paused, obviously feeling her next statement would be stupid, "everyone thinks that it was I that failed him, not Wardina."

"Well not many people know that Wardina is descendant of---,"

"Harry!"

Harry's eyes fluttered open. Hermione's form slowly came into focus. "Wusgonon?" Harry mumbled, rubbing sleep from his eyes and searching for his glasses.

"Dinner," Hermione said. She cocked her head to the side for a second. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing," Harry said unconvincingly.

"You're not very good at lying."

"No, I'm not, I guess," Harry replied sheepishly.

"Is it Ginny?" Hermione said, sitting down next to him.

"Um, yeah," Harry said, feeling a pain somewhere in the middle of his chest. "Look, I don't really want to talk about it right now."

"Oh, okay." Hermione stood up. "Well, dinner's ready if you want to come down."

"All right." Relieved that Hermione left, Harry laid on his side to collect his thoughts. His dream felt like so much more than a dream; as if someone had put it in his head. The feeling reminded him of the times Lord Voldemort had possessed his thoughts while he was sleeping in his fifth year. Maybe that's it, maybe he's doing it again without realizing it! But then again, why would he want me to see that? Why would he even be thinking about it? He wasn't even around! Maybe he doesn't even know about those two women. But they mentioned Wardina, so it must be about Voldemort. Harry rubbed his head in frustration, there was something he was forgetting. It can wait, at least until after dinner. He stood up to go downstairs, and just outside the doorway he caught a glimpse of a head of long red hair.

Ginny's eyes opened wide. "Oh, erm, sorry. I should go." She turned to run down the hallway.

"Ginny," Harry said, grabbing her wrist. She turned around, shocked.

"Don't," she said, looking him square in the eye. His green ones glistened back as her own filled with tears. She pulled her wrist away.

"But," Harry said, taking in her expression.

"Harry," she said softly, her eyes brimming even more, "I…" she started, but the tears overcame her. She stood for a moment convulsing, streams running down her face. Harry pulled her in, half expecting her to shy away, but she did not. They stood there awkwardly for a few minutes; Ginny's face buried in Harry's chest sobbing, and Harry's head resting on top of hers.

"Here," Harry said, taking her hand. "Let's sit down." He led her into the sitting room down the hall and they sat on the couch. Her crying subsided for a minute and Harry took the opportunity to ask "What's wrong?" She looked up at him, then buried her head in her hands again. "If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine," Harry said, remembering his own reaction to Hermione's question.

"Harry," Ginny said, wiping her eyes. "I feel like I need to tell you this. I owe it to you, and myself. I love you. I know you said we can't be together, but that makes no difference to me. I can't help that every time I see you my heart gives this huge lurch in my chest. Or that anytime another girl mentions you I feel this tinge of jealousy. Or every time I think about you, it is so painful to know that all the imagining I do is impossible because we're not together." She paused, her voice on the brink of hysteria. "I love you. I've loved you since I first met you, and no matter what you say, that will never change. Even if you tell me that I can't love you anymore, it will hurt me, but I will still love you."

Harry pulled her closer as she began to cry again. He didn't know whether to be shocked, glad, or flattered, and Ginny had no plausible idea for why she was crying. Harry patted her back as he gathered his thoughts. She still loves me! He thought.

"I love you too," he blurted out without thinking. Ginny looked up at him, her eyelashes clumped by tears.

"What?" She pulled away.

"Look, Ginny," Harry started, unsure where he was going with this statement. "I don't want to think that I'm being arrogant by saying this, but, I love you, and it's because I love you we can't be together."

"I know, because of Voldemort," Ginny sighed, stroking his side. "But I don't care. The worst he can do is separate us, and whichever of us survives, if either does, will regret that the last of our lives were not spent together."

"I love you too much to make you deal with that. Voldemort wants to kill me," Harry said. "But Voldemort won't be around forever," he added confidently. "And I swear to you that the moment Voldemort is gone I will apparate to your side and…and…"

"What?" Ginny said playfully. "Do this?"

Harry became lost in Ginny's eyelashes, which were now dry.

Notes (again): Sorry I made Ginny kind of out-of-character with all the crying and stuff, but I don't think it's really that bad…