Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, or anything you see here besides the poem and some of the dreams. The associations may have been made before, but they are mine, as are the words I use.
Author's Note: Alright, this one is Ginny/Harry (warning to those who don't really like the pairing) and it has a lot of stuff to it. If you want to analyze or tell me what you think it means, please do so in a review.
Maelstrom of Dreams
Ginny sat on her bed for a long while. Without unpacking her trunk or opening a book. She just sat. After she'd finally started being with him, when he realized that they were meant to be together, he... She shook her head and wiped her eyes, trying to shake off her sadness like a dog shakes of water. But sadness is not so easily dispelled. Be that as it may, she'd thought about this enough.
Standing up, she walked over to her old, worn desk and opened the drawer, pulling out a piece of paper, a pencil, and some colored pencils. She wanted to draw.
She'd never been that good at drawing, but she had always liked it, ever since she was a little child. Oddly, she had never used realistic colors, even when she was a little child. She had used the colors to express how she felt.
She started with no clear plan, her pencil drawing lines like this or that, the idea of what she was drawing changing several times in her head. Soon, it became a man's face, and she continued, drawing his body, kneeling down, looking at something. She did not know what yet, which was quite strange for her. She had not drawn his arms. She put down her pencil for a while. This was the best drawing she had done in a long time. The proportions were approximately right, the hair fell down fairly realistically, and his face... His face showed emotion. It showed grief. Subtle grief, perhaps, not very noticeable. But it was there. On impulse, she picked up a blue pencil and drew tears in his eyes, overflowing, rolling down his cheek.
She shook her head again, and her long, tomato-red braid went whipping around her face, knocking out her magical lamp. "Shoot," she whispered, picking up the lamp and heading downstairs. She needed to fly.
O-o-o-O-o-o-O
Ginny lay down in her bed, her eyes open and staring at the ceiling, memorizing every little crack, every spot where the blue paint had peeled away. She just couldn't take her mind off him. Her heart hurt, there was a knot in her throat, and she felt a cool bead of water running from the corner of her eyes to her ears, running the wrong way because she was lying down. Resolutely she squeezed her eyelids, let the tears flow wildly, felt her wet eyelashes against her cheeks. She forced herself to think of Quidditch, to picture the snitch, golden against the sky, fluttering and flying. She imagined herself reaching, reaching towards the golden ball. The snitch just flew away, always too far for her to reach it. Then it vanished. She thought she caught a glimpse of it below her. Annoyed, she looked down and she saw...
O-o-o-O-o-o-O
Harry also lay in bed, lost in the world of dreams. His family slept soundly, the only sound in the house the constant hum of air conditioning.
A sword spun and spun through the air, thrown far, and fell towards the still surface of a lake. A hand, white as ivory, came out of the water suddenly, causing a series of tiny ripples over the mirror-smooth surface. It caught the sword easily, simply, by its blade. The hand did not bleed, and to Harry this seemed to be the eeriest part of the scene. As the hand slowly sunk back into the water, still holding the sword, Harry caught a glimpse of ruby light, reflected off the swords from the grey, ambient light that infused the misty sky.
Harry could not move, or do anything but watch as the hand disappeared and the mist thickened into fog, thickened until he could see nothing but white.
O-o-o-O-o-o-O
...nothing. An empty black void below her. Panicked, the young girl looked around. Everything was gone, replaced by this dreadful black emptiness. Even her broom was gone, although she had not noticed its vanishing, she knew it was no longer there. She started falling, falling, towards more nothingness.
No, there was a white dot below her, a dot which grew and grew until she recognized it as the diary. Riddle's diary.
Ginny tried to take her eyes away from the book, but she could not.
A sentence wrote itself on the book. It was a sentence she had seen before, when she had been missing Harry Potter. "Ginny, forget about Harry. He's stupid if he can't see how wonderful a person you are. If he doesn't like you, that's his problem." It faded and she saw her own handwriting. "No, Tom, he's right not to like me. He's not stupid. He's not." Had she truly been that desperate? Had she truly been that little girl who opened her heart to Voldermort's memory in an attempt to console herself over Harry's apathy? "You know, Ginny, Harry is very much like Antigone. Brave, perhaps, but too much so. He's the sort of person who will drag everyone who loves him to death. But don't worry. You have other friends. Forget Harry Potter." Antigone? Who was that? Ginny did not know, she only knew that when he had insulted Harry, that one time when he had done it, she had almost taken control of her own self back again.
She had stopped falling for a little while, but now she was falling again, falling to the pages, through the pages, through the spot where it said the date, where she had seen a memory of Tom Riddle, a head boy, studying alone. He had been lonely, like her, but nice. So nice. He took care of her.
Until that day, in June, when he had come out. Then she had seen him for who he was.
O-o-o-O-o-o-O
The white became red, as though crimson die was permeating through a white cloth, spreading from the center of his vision. Then all the red began moving, flowing, on and on and on. It looked like a river of blood.
He realized he was standing in it, that the liquid came up to his waist, and that is was viscous, sticky. Like blood. Then he saw somebody floating through the river.
It was Sirius, looking asleep, carried by the river. Harry tried to move toward him but found he could not reach Sirius, who was too far away. Then he saw Dumbledore, an expression of surprise on his face, his mouth open, and the blood of the river going into it. He was wearing the same robes as the day he died.
The river flowed on, carrying more bodies. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, clasped to each other, a single arrow piercing both their hearts, their blood flowing into the river. Remus, floating face down, one hand bobbing up to the surface, still clutching a wand. Neville, Luna, Cho, Cedric, the Dursleys, Dean, Seamus, Fred, George, Bill, Charlie, Moody, Tonks, McGonagall, Colin... All dead, floating on a river. And many more bodies he did not know.
The flow thinned again, and he saw his parents, holding each other, their eyes still open, their faces pure white, save for the crimson drops that had gotten on them. Then Ron, terribly burnt, missing a hand. Ron with a sneer on his face. The sneer he had shown Harry in fourth year, magnified a thousand times. The sneer of his hatred.
Hermione, her mouth open as though in a scream, seemingly killed with Avada Kedavra, unmarked, white as death. They flowed by until he was alone in the river, though he had tried to grab their bodies, save them from the nasty flow.
Another body coming. Ginny, her hair flowing around her face like she was swimming, its brilliant red made brighter still by the tint of the river. Her face in a wince of pain, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth. A knife in her abdomen, a gaping wound, intestines coming out in a disgusting stream.
He waded furiously towards her, hurrying, as though his life depended on it but she slipped past him, the pull of the river was too strong, he could only catch three strands of her hair.
O-o-o-O-o-o-O
Tom Riddle was sitting among his friends, she watched as a silent ghost. He smirked with a superior air and wrote into the air. TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE, he wrote, in letters of flame. One of the people around him, a girl arched an eyebrow and said, laughing,
"We know your name, Tom."
The person seated next to her nudged her in the ribs, whispering "Hush." Tom ignored the interruption, and waved his wand, making the letters move, rearranging themselves. I AM LORD VOLDEMORT, he wrote. "That's my new name. It's the name I will bear when I purge this world of filth, and people will fear to say it."
The girl smiled. "If anyone can do it, you can, Tom. Oh, I'm sorry, I mean my lord Voldemort." The others looked at him in admiration. He looked around for a second, his black eyes boring into Ginny's. He knew he was there. He could not know, because she did not yet exist. But he knew. He knew. He was Lord Voldemort and he knew. Ginny let out a scream that he alone seemed to hear, and he turned his head, looking back at his friends.
"What is it Tom?" a boy asked, older than the young Lord.
"Nothing. I thought I saw something move, that's all."
Ginny wanted to wrench herself away from the Dream-memory, she wanted to run away from Tom. She pulled herself out, forcefully, and the next thing she knew...
O-o-o-O-o-o-O
The red of the river bled out, until it was a river of water, which stopped flowing until it was a lake. Mist covered everything, and he was no longer in it, but above it, floating, unable to move or speak, simply capable of watching. A barge moved across the water, causing only the slightest disturbance. It moved silently, without oars. At the helm stood a cloaked figure, and six more sat around the barge. The boat passed below him and he saw a body laid out on it, a wound in its heart. He got closer, no longer above, but on the boat, standing, looking at the figure at the helm. A golden circlet gleamed upon her head, and long strands of red hair framed her face. Tears rolled down Ginny's cheeks as she looked down at the body, and the barge kept moving. He looked at the other figures, all crowned in gold and cloaked in black, and recognized Hermione, Mrs. Weasley, Cho, Luna Lovegood, Tonks, and... his mother. All weeping, sitting around a body like faerie queens. The angle of the vision changed so that he was looking at the body. Though not surprised, he still felt a lurch in his stomach as he saw himself, eyes closed, seeming to sleep peacefully, skin white, dressed in a king's raiment stained with blood over the heart.
The barge disappeared in the mist, and the seven queens mourned him as they took him away.
O-o-o-O-o-o-O
She watched a blurred memory of the notebook. She was lying on it, she barely had the strength to keep her eyes open. She saw a man rise out of the notebook, looking transparent. Or was that just the fuzziness of her vision? He touched her and she felt cold all over. She shivered and everything went black.
She sat up in her bed, eyes open, heart beating wildly. The Nightmare had come back, the one she had used to have right after the... the Chamber. She hadn't seen it in a full year, she had thought she was free of it.
Knowing she would not fall asleep again, she looked at the time. Only 12. Downstairs, she heard voices. Probably her mother and Fleur.
She stepped out of her bed, feeling a slight shock as her feet toughed the cold floor, and hurried downstairs. She had something to ask, she remembered. Something Tom Riddle had written in the diary...
Something about Harry.
Mrs. Weasley and Fleur were hunched over something, and she heard her mother speak heatedly. "Red wine, Fleur, it's what should be offered at weddings, especially with roast beef."
"No, champahgne, eet's good for weddeengs and celebrations," Fleur stated, before noticing Ginny. "Vat ees eet, Geenee?" she asked, seemingly concerned, brushing that annoyingly beautiful silver-blonde hair out of her face.
Her mother turned around, immediately reproachful. "Why aren't you sleeping?"
"I was," Ginny tried to explain, "but then I had the Nightmare again. It was terrible."
Mrs. Weasley's eyes filled with an anxious motherliness. "Oh no, Ginny, I thought that was over. Poor girl. I'll make you some hot chocolate." With a wave of her wand she caused milk to pour itself into a mug and two pots to set up for melting some chocolate.
Ginny sat at the table next to Phlegm, shivering. Suddenly it came back to her. "You know, Ginny, Harry is very much like Antigone. Brave, perhaps, but too much so. He's the sort of person who will drag everyone who loves him to death." That was it. "Phl – Fleur?" she asked, almost slipping into using the old nickname.
Her soon-to-be sister-in-law looked at her curiously, wondering what it was.
"I was wondering. Who's Antigone?"
O-o-o-O-o-o-O
A church, slanting colored light coming from windows on either side, not really illuminating the dark space. The only true light was a straight golden beam, focusing on a golden chalice, with great golden handles and gems set into it.
He walked, his footsteps echoing strangely in the silent space. As he headed for the cup, he looked at the stained glass windows. On one, he saw a devil grinning, and the little scenes below showed him on a mountaintop, speaking to a glowing, bearded man. The devil was sent back, but Harry found himself drawn to the dreadful picture of his ugly smile and shuddered. Realizing he had stopped, he hurried away, only looking quickly at the other windows.
A man being eaten by lions, a look of bliss and pride on his face. A dove flew away from the man, holding a branch in its beak.
Another man among lions, unarmed and sleeping. An angel with a flaming sword stood between him and the beasts, driving them away.
A man standing atop a huge tower, ordering it built. God above, glowing. Below, he saw images of people trying to build the tower, of them leaving, of the thing standing unfinished.
He was almost at the chalice when he saw a window that made him pause. Two cities were burning, and God was above, watching, smiling. A group of people ran away, all looking ahead. One looked behind, but she was not colored like the others but white, pure white. A sea stretched next to her. Did God do that, in their stories? he wondered, troubled.
He was there. He looked down at the chalice. It was filled with a red liquid. His first thought was blood, but then he realized, the red was darker, tinged with purple. It was wine. Next to the chalice, he saw a bit of bread, and a crystal goblet. Kneeling down, he took the goblet and dipped it into the chalice. Holding it to his lips, he was ready to drink when he smelled it. The metallic scent... I was blood, sticky, shining. He threw the goblet down and saw that it was the one Dumbledore had drunk out of. Gasping, he looked around him.
O-o-o-O-o-o-O
Mrs. Weasley arrived with a large bowl of hot chocolate, the steam rising off. She handed it to Ginny, who held it to her cold fingers and sipped the creamy, rich treat eagerly. Fleur looked at her for a while, concerned, and began the story of Antigone(1).
"Are you sure you want to hear it, Ginny? It's not pretty." Noting the look in Ginny's eyes and her slight nod, she did not press the issue but continued. "The story begins with a man named Oedipus. A lot happened to him, including him solving the famous Sphinx' riddle, but what is important is that he was a cursed man. He was cursed from the very beginning of his life by a prophecy, which stated that he would murder his father and marry his mother.
"When his parents heard the prophecy, they tried to get rid of him, to starve him, but he was saved and grew up, not knowing about the prophecy, not knowing he was the son of the king of Thebes. Eventually he grew up and, after many adventures, fulfilled the prophecy by hitting his father's head with a discus, becoming King of Thebes and therefore marrying the widow queen – his mother.
"He had with her four children. Polynices and Eteocles, his two sons, and Ismene and Antigone, his daughters. When he discovered what he had done, he took the brooch that held his cloak and poked the long pin into his eyes. Blind, he went away with his devoted daughter, Antigone, to live life as a beggar.
"He left the kingdom to his two sons, and they decided to alternate ruling. Eteocles would rule for one year, then it would be Polynices' turn. Or the other way around, I can't remember. When the time came to change, the one in charge – I think it was Eteocles – said he would not give it up. His brother, Polynices, gathered seven foreign princes and they attacked the seven doors of Thebes. They fought each other in single combat and both received mortal wounds and died soon after. Thebes won the battle.
"A man named Creon, Oedipus' brother or something similar, took over. He ordered that the defender, the good son, be buried, but the attacker, the bad son, be left for the dogs and crows.
"I don't know if you know this, but for the Greeks, the soul of an unburied man could not reach the Underworld and was doomed to wander forever. Creon's order was a dreadful thing in the eyes of the gods.
"Now Oedipus had died and when Antigone came home, she decided to go and bury her brother herself. She wanted to obey the laws of the gods. She went at night to bury him and returned safely, but the shook the dirt back off. So she went again, and this time she was caught.
"She was engaged to Creon's son, I can't remember his name, and she was family, so the king didn't want to kill her. Instead, he decided to lock her away in a room, where she would starve. That way, he wouldn't have done it, really.
"Hemon rushed over to her to save her, but found she had hanged herself rather than starve, and he killed himself out of grief. When his mother heard the news, she did the same thing as well."
The bowl of hot chocolate was on the table, forgotten, still half full, for Ginny, instead of drinking it, had been drinking in Fleur's every word. She hugged the French woman and smiled. "Thanks," she said.
Fleur remembered something else. "A very good French ohthohr cohlled Anouilh wrohte a play cohlled Anteegohnee, eet makes yoo theenk about vat ees right and wrong, Anteegohnee or Creohn."
Ginny smiled and headed back to her room, wondering what Riddle had meant, and pondering Fleur's last words. She tried to take it out of her head and headed upstairs, knowing that she was going to finish her drawing.
O-o-o-O-o-o-O
It wasn't a church anymore. It was a house. He saw his parents, over a baby, heard her words. "No, don't kill Harry, don't kill Harry!" He heard a high pitched laugh and saw a flash of green.
Then the house was ruins, with weeds growing everywhere, and ivy on the remaining blackened stone. He walked up to it, frightened, and lay a few flowers among the ruins of his parents' house. The laughter came again, accompanied by a searing pain in Harry's scar. He was awake, his scar was aching, he was lost within the nightmare that had been growing as he learned more and more about the event.
He stood up and walked to his window, feeling the fresh air on his face. What a night, he thought, thinking of a few things he could remember. A sword, a barge, a church. Then the nightmare.
He noticed Hedwig was within her cage and smiled as the thought of letters. He looked at his night-table, and there was one after all. It was Lupin's handwriting.
I found this in Sirius' desk, it said, simply. I think you ought to read it.
In the envelope, he saw a scrap of dirty paper, on which, written in Sirius' handwriting, with a lot of words crossed out or edited, was a poem.
River of blood, river of death, red river,
River of blood, of death you are the giver.
Sirius himself was lying in the river, looking asleep, his body floating amidst the blood.
From battle, river of blood, you flow, you run.
After a slaughter, river, it's you they shun.
Remind them, river, remind them all of strife,
So they don't make you flow again in their life.
There were so many of them floating along, everyone he ever cared for, Luna, Cho, Seamus, Ernie McMillan... All of them dead, just drifting along carried by the river.
Red river, of death you come, death you carry.
Death for the souls of those they come to bury.
Do not let them, river, bury their loved dead
He reached for Ginny's disemboweled corpse, to take her from the river, but the endless flow of blood carried her away, leaving her only with three strands of blood-stained hair in his hand.
There is no honor for them, when all is said.
Remind them battle is evil, red river
Red river, you who of death are the giver.
Death for the swans, for the grass, death for the Earth!
Death for love and happiness, and death for mirth!
Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were nailed together by a single arrow, holding each other, looking up in fear. She looked like she was holding onto him for support, but they were both dead.
Red river, of death you are the giver,
River of blood, river of death, red river.
Harry looked at the poem, gasping for breath. How had Sirius known? What was going on? His dreams flowed back to him, all of them, in a single relentless wave. He longed for someone, a parent, a friend, a girlfriend, to hold him tight, dry his tears, listen to him and protect him from the visions, but he was alone. He was alone and he had pushed away the person who could have helped him most.
O-o-o-O-o-o-O
Ginny looked at her finished drawing. The man, his hair and eyes now green, and his skin red, was holding between his arms a dead woman's head, and her long scarlet hair flowed between his fingers. The arrow which pierced her breast was the same red as his tunic, which was embroidered in green, in a sort of mirror image of her dress. His tears and her staring, dead eyes, were blue.
This is Hemon and Antigone, she would think one second, and she thought how it would have been better if Hemon had been by her side always, for she would not have had to die.
No, it is Harry and I. She would change her mind just as quickly, and remember that they had broken apart to prevent this from happening.
She shrugged and folded the paper. She put it in an envelope and wrote Harry's name on it, deciding to give it to Pigwidgeon,
She never did send it to him.
O-o-o-O-o-o-O
Notes: (1)Fleur's accent, which I'm bad at writing anyway, has been edited out of the story at this bit to make it easier to understand for those of you who don't know the story.