Third year, Part Four
The clump of short black hairs seemed to glitter in soft light, standing out starkly against her white bedsheet.
She stared at them, maintaining the slow, deep rhythm of her breathing, keeping her mind focused.
'This needs to work,' she thought, pushing down her rising panic, forcing her hand to keep from shaking. 'This needs to work.'
She banished the stray thoughts, following the book's instructions perfectly, filling her mind with the image of Mrs Norris under her complete control.
"Parerium!" She whispered, tapping the bundle of cat hair with her wand.
She felt it immediately, her mind seeming to suddenly split in two.
It was far and beyond the strangest sensation she'd ever experienced, much weirder than her oddest dream.
Through her one set of eyes, she could see the cat hairs sitting on her bed. She could hear her roommates' soft snoring, could feel a cold breeze blowing through the window Jasmine insisted on leaving slightly open.
At the very same time, she could herself reflected in a patch of stone wall shimmering in the moonlight, could hear Filch muttering. Mrs Norris' thoughts registered in her mind, as if in a separate compartment of her thoughts.
'Stop walking,' she ordered, and with a rising sense of giddiness, she watched, seeing through the cat's eyes as it stopped its movements.
She heard Filch asking what she'd seen, and she giggled, cramming her fist in her mouth so as not to disturb her roommates.
The cat stood stock-still, not moving even when Filch told it to.
She could feel its mind trying to fight, but in a way that she knew she'd never be able to explain, she overwhelmed it, her own will crushing Mrs Norris' attempts to act.
'Walk,' she commanded, 'walk normally.'
And Mrs Norris obeyed.
She watched through the cat's eyes as it walked, making it stop again when Filch was walking past a broom closet.
At her order, Mrs Norris stared at the door and began to growl.
She bit down on her hand to mask a stronger spate of giggling when Filch tore the closet open, clearly expecting to find someone there.
She heard his voice again, still sounding distant but clear.
"What's gotten into you tonight?" He asked, puzzled, reaching out and scratching his cat's head.
'Bite him.'
The cat put up its strongest resistance of the night, its mind straining to keep from acting out her wishes.
Ruthlessly, Ginny crushed it, just repeating herself into its mind.
'Bite him.'
In the same strange way that she'd been seeing through the cat's eyes, she felt as it sunk its teeth deep into Filch's flabby hand, tasting the blood spurting into its mouth.
He yelped, ripping his arm away and howling.
She ended the curse, hurriedly stuffing her face into her pillow before she burst out laughing.
Damn, but it felt good to laugh. It'd been far too long since she'd really laughed, far too long since she'd done anything other than fake a smile.
Now, the trauma of Higgs's actions and suggestion had been forgotten, pushed aside by her enormous success.
Her heart was racing, but unlike how it had been for the last several weeks, it didn't make her feel anxious.
It made her feel like she'd just been running, like she'd been playing a game and had won.
It made her feel again.
'Well done. Well done. You'll need to practice more before you are ready to actually act against him, but this has been a good start. You should be proud of yourself. Tom would be.'
She smiled, hiccupping laughter still bubbling out of her as she carefully put the cat's hairs in her bedside drawer.
'Keep practising, and before you know it you'll be ready to deal with him. Before you know it, it'll be over.'
"I will," she promised, snuffing out her candle and sinking into bed.
She fell into the easiest and deepest sleep she'd had since being caught in the Restricted Section.
She finished copying down the complicated diagrams from the board and stared at the notations on her parchment, still trying to keep from giggling.
Before making her way down to breakfast that morning, she'd tested the cat hairs again, unsure if the curse would work on the same hairs more than once.
It had. Mrs Norris had been sleeping, but she'd made the cat open her eyes and look around.
Filch's arm had been trailing off of his bed, a bandage wrapped around his hand.
She'd debated making the cat scratch him, or maybe bite him again.
In the end, she'd decided against it, regretfully ending the curse and leaving her room with a spring in her step.
Even seeing Higgs at breakfast hadn't been enough to ruin her good mood. She'd winked back at him, the knowledge that she'd soon be able to end his playing with her filling her with energy.
For the first time since he'd accosted her, she'd eaten a full breakfast and it hadn't tasted like ash.
Her first lesson had only served to continue her mirthful feelings. As she'd walked in, she'd seen McGonagall and had a sudden, mad mental image of forcing Mrs Norris to lick her Transfiguration Professor when she next was in her Animagus form.
The lesson itself had gone smoothly. For all that she'd been extremely out of things for the last few weeks, she'd still done enough reading ahead to be able to keep up, and to keep up well.
The bell rang and McGonagall gave a flick of her wand, making the papers fly from everyone's desks to her own.
"I would like everyone's attention, please."
Ginny stopped her fiddling with her bag's straps, lifting her head up.
"The sign-up sheet to remain in the castle over the holidays will be posted today," McGonagall said, "while, of course, you are permitted to return home, it is advisable to stay for the winter break. If you have not signed up by the end of the week, it will be assumed that you will be taking the Hogwarts Express back to London on Sunday."
"Is it true about the Yule Ball?" Asked Jasmine excitedly.
"It is," McGonagall said with a sniff, "It is also true that students from your year and below will not be allowed to attend, unless you are in the company of an older student."
Half the class looked crestfallen at that, the rest with their excitement unchanged.
'Idiots. Do you think they actually care about you? They'll just want to use you.'
"Regardless of your attendance at the Ball, there will be much activity here. It is the holidays, and as such it will be a chance for you all to...relax from the pressures of term and enjoy yourselves."
"Nevertheless," she continued with another sniff, "I must impress upon all of you that should you choose to remain, you will be acting as ambassadors for Hogwarts. You will be expected to maintain a respectable level of behaviour at all times."
"Professor?" Evelyn asked, "What will we do if we don't go to the ball?"
'Use that time productivity, idiot.'
"There will be a regular feast for the students not attending the ball. I assure you, even if you do not have an older student to take you to the ball, you will have plenty to keep yourselves occupied with."
'Definitely. Everything will be easier then anyways, with them all at the stupid party.'
With the official announcement of the Yule Ball, a quiet flurry of activity overtook the school.
All the other girls were obsessed with being invited to the ball, spending all their time talking about how best to get noticed by older boys and to attract their attention.
Ginny tried to avoid those conversations as much as possible. She took part in them, of course, if only so that the others wouldn't start to wonder about her lack of interest, but she knew all too well that being noticed by an older boy was not a good thing.
She did notice Dean Thomas staring at her a few times over the course of the week. She must not have piqued his interest enough though, because he asked Evelyn to the ball. Jasmine and Priscilla would be going with two Ravenclaw fourth year's, Michael Corner and Terry Boot.
No one asked Ginny during that week. While the other girls were busy talking loudly in the Common Room and making sure that the boys saw them, Ginny was busy.
Her roommates' preoccupation gave her a lot more time alone in the room, and she used it well.
She spent almost all of her free time that week sitting on her bed with her eyes unfocused, controlling a cat's body from afar.
It was almost absurd, how easy it was. Oh, it was harder to make Mrs Norris do something that was really against her instincts, like bite Filch or ram her head against a wall, but the cat still didn't put up nearly enough of a fight to make Ginny give up. So far, the cat hadn't once managed to break her control.
Not only that, but Ginny had been trying to manage to control the cat while using her own body for something simple, like walking or showering. That was far more difficult than making it bite its squib master.
Invariably, those attempts would leave her with a terrible sense of confusion and a pounding headache.
Still, her ability at using the curse was only growing.
Which was precisely what she needed. She'd only have one chance to use it on Higgs. If he managed to break her control and figure out what she was doing…
Even just thinking about that made her want to be sick, incredible feeling of success or not. She knew, somehow, that if she tried to use the curse on him and failed, his reaction would make everything he'd done until then seem loving and kind.
'So you'll do whatever you can to prevent that. Gather as many ingredients as you can from his body, do it when he's asleep to decrease the chances of him fighting back. And practice making an animal kill itself first.'
"Did anyone ask you to the ball?" Luna asked, effortlessly pushing the string through the hole in the top of the bright yellow radish.
"No," she said. "Not yet, at least. You?"
"One of the fifth years did," Luna said casually, "but I think it was a joke. I saw him pointing at me and laughing with a few of his friends after."
Ginny winced, her sudden movement making the string in her hand miss the hole entirely.
"Don't worry about it," Luna said, clearly noticing her discomfort, "I told you I don't mind."
"You should," Ginny insisted, slowly pushing the string forward again.
"Maybe. But I just don't."
Luna gently placed the radish on the pile, grabbing a fresh one and a new piece of string.
"Well," Ginny said, "what did you say to him anyway?"
"I told him that it was very kind of him to offer, but I always spend the holidays with my father, and that I was very much looking forward to that."
Ginny cursed under her breath as her string slipped again.
"Here," Luna said, putting aside her own radish, "let me help."
Her hands were soft on Ginny's, her touch gentle and warm.
For a second, Ginny thought she would burst out crying.
'Stop it,' she scolded herself, 'what's wrong with you?'
"There we go," Luna murmured, neatly tying a knot in the string.
"What are you gonna do with all these?"
"Hang them over our beds," she said, "Daddy says it's best not to use magic in the making or hanging of them. They're to disrupt negative auras, so using magic can interfere with their abilities."
"Ah."
"A bunch of them are for you," Luna continued. "You just hang them from your bedposts. Daddy says the best is if you can hum a happy tune while you do it."
"I'll try."
"I hope they help. Did you manage to sort out that thing that was bothering you?"
She looked up sharply. Luna looked back, totally guileless, her face bright with interested care.
"I think so. Not quite yet, but it's getting there."
The radish dropped from Luna's hands as she suddenly threw them around Ginny, pulling her into a tight hug.
Again, that urge to weep rose in her.
"I'm so glad," Luna whispered, "I thought you seemed better, but I was so worried that I was wrong."
'What would she say if she knew how I was planning on dealing with it?'
"I hope it doesn't take too much longer. I'd rather not see you looking as pained as you were after the break."
"I'm sure I can sort it out by the end of break."
'Would she still be encouraging me if she knew what I'm going to do?'
'She'd despise you. But Tom would understand, and you know very well that he would approve.'
"Fancy a game of chess?"
She raised her nose from the parchment, dropping her quill from an aching hand.
"Sorry, Ron," she said, gesturing to her half-completed number chart, "I really wanted to get this done by the end of term."
He made a show of checking the clock above the fireplace before turning back to her. "Well you've got about forty hours left, and a game of chess shouldn't take more than an hour or so."
"I've also got a bunch of Runes to do…"
"Come on. It's been ages since we played. And I'll probably just hang around here bothering you. Besides, the only homework they give this close to the holidays is meant to be done over the break."
She shrugged, giving up and rolling the parchment into a tube.
"But if you get the holiday homework done in term," she said, "then you have a real break. I'll play, but you're white."
He groaned, but she quickly beat him down.
It was only a few minutes later that she was cursing under her breath as one of Ron's knights took one of here rooks.
"What're Arithmancy and Runes actually like? Every time I ask Hermione, she starts rattling off the theory behind them."
"They're...not as cool as I was expecting," she admitted, still staring at the board, "I mean, there's a lot you can use them for, but we just finished learning the runic alphabet, and we've barely actually moved past basic theory in Arithmancy."
"Arithmancy's kind of like Divination right?"
She moved a pawn before answering, making Ron hiss through his teeth.
"That's one of the things you can use it for. It also goes into the theory of basically every type of magic out there. But we only just started simple addition."
"Never tell Hermione this," he said, "but I sometimes almost wish I'd taken one of them instead of Divination. Bunch of garbage."
"Only almost?"
"Well, you guys do have much more work than us, and you can't just make it up."
"No, we can't," she said, raising a hand to her mouth and giggling slightly as she imagined Professor Vector's horrified expression if she'd ever dare try something like that.
Conversation petered out slightly as the game got more intense, although their concentration was still broken every few minutes by a random question one of them had just thought of.
By the time the game finished, almost two hours had passed, with them having gotten into a twenty-minute argument about whether Professor Binns had been as boring when he was alive. Ginny was of the firm opinion that he must have had more life in his class if he was more, well, alive, while Ron believed that it had to take a particularly dull person to spend their afterlife teaching history.
She didn't think about Tom once they had really gotten into the game, didn't think about Higgs or her reading in the Restricted Section or her spell practice, didn't think about what she was planning on doing.
She just relaxed, forgetting the world and focusing on the game of chess and her conversations with her brother.
She sighed heavily as Ron announced Checkmate and the game finished, reality settling in on her again. It was almost dinner, and she had plans to go to the Restricted Section after Curfew, provided Higgs didn't demand her presence.
"Whatever happened to that game your friend lent you?"
"Her father's trying to modify it," she said, grinning despite herself, "he's had an idea to replace the knights with centaurs, but he hasn't decided on how they'll be moving yet."
Ron had an odd expression on his face, like he wasn't sure whether to laugh or shout.
"That's nice," he said finally, "why don't you borrow it again when she gets it back?"
"Maybe I will."
"You should. I can't believe how little time we actually spend doing this type of thing."
She squirmed, her insides suddenly writhing with guilt.
'It's his fault,' the Tom-like voice suddenly said, 'almost as much as it is Potter's. He helped stop you from carrying out Tom's plan, and you're going to hang out with him?'
She ignored it, determined to keep that quickly evaporating feeling of utter contentment for as long as she could.
"It's not so strange," she said lightly, "you're usually with your friends, and I with mine."
"Still," He said, "you're my sister."
She opened her mouth to say something and experienced a bizarre sensation that if she tried to talk she would burst into tears instead.
'Why don't you tell him what you're planning on doing with your life? That's what siblings do. Tell him you want to help Tom however you can. Tell him you want to help Voldemort. Fuck it, just tell him that you murdered the idiot's toad.'
"Is everything alright?" He asked, peering closely at her face.
'Tell him the truth. See if he still wants to hang out with you then. Or if he'll even come and visit you in Azkaban.'
"Just a cramp," she said.
"You want me to bring you dinner?"
She shook her head, standing up, hoping against hope that he couldn't see the tears in her eyes.
"I'll come to get some myself. I've got a potion in my room to take first."
"I'll see you down there, then," he said, clapping her on the shoulder, "don't take too long or I won't have left anything for you."
She smiled weakly, wondering if her roommates had gone down already or if she'd have to use the knife in the bathroom.
On the first day of holidays, Neville approached her awkwardly in the Common Room his face trembling and sickly green.
She almost dropped her Transfiguration textbook, her stomach giving a lurch as she caught sight of him.
She'd been avoiding him ever since she'd killed Trevor, terrified that he'd see something on her face, that he'd somehow pick up on what she'd done.
For a horrific moment, she stared at him, her mind wiped blank by the terrible certainty that he'd found out and was coming to confront her.
Then her heart started again and thought returned, and she remembered that it was Neville, Neville who didn't have two brain cells to run together, and who wouldn't have had the courage to approach her alone even if he'd caught on.
"Hi G-Ginny," he said, his hands twirling mindlessly around each other.
"Hi."
"I was just w-wondering if maybe-if you aren't going with someone else already, m-maybe you'd like to-to go the ball with me?"
She just stared at him, a hysterical cackle sounding in the back of her mind.
Go with him? She'd murdered his toad, something she was convinced had been his only friend, murdered it and threw it in the lake, and now he wanted her to go to the ball with him?
'Of course he wants you. He can sense that you're weak, that you're already used goods. He thinks you'll be an easier target for him than anyone else. And even if he isn't thinking that, would you really be able to stomach his company? He might as well be a squib!'
"I'm not sure," she said, "I might be going with someone, but I'm not sure yet. Sorry, Neville. You should probably ask someone else."
He nodded, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he finally got it to work.
"Do you know if Hannah's going with anyone?"
"Hannah Abbot?"
Neville nodded, flushing a bright pink.
"No idea. Sorry."
"It's all right. Hope it turns out well, whoever asked you."
As he turned to leave, something possessed her to ask: "any luck with Trevor?"
"No," he said, his lower lip trembling, "I think he must've…Great-Uncle Algie said he'd get me another toad, but it won't be the same. I really got used to Trevor, you know?"
She nodded, feeling as dreamlike as when she'd killed the stupid thing.
"Maybe he'll still turn up?" She suggested.
"I doubt it," Neville sighed, "but you never know."
After he left, she stared at the fireplace for nearly a half-hour, ignoring Crookshanks' soft meowing as he played with something under the couch.
"So, is someone taking you to the ball?"
"Not yet."
He rubbed his hand over her ass, gripping her flesh tightly.
She smiled at him, picturing what it would be like when she'd finally practised enough to do the curse on him.
She was sitting on his lap facing him, the wood of the armchair groaning as he pulled her over him.
He was still soft, but she knew it'd only be a matter of minutes before he wanted another go.
'It doesn't matter. Soon enough it will all be over. Then maybe you can just burn this fucking room down.'
"Good," he said, pulling her closer to his chest, "I wouldn't want anyone else touching my little whore."
Once, she'd have started to cry at hearing herself referred to like that.
Now she just smiled, looking him in the eye and imagining his roommates finding his corpse.
"You're mine, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"My what?"
"Your little whore."
He moved his hands suddenly, seizing a nipple in each and twisting so hard that she was sure they'd be pulled off.
She couldn't stop the moan, couldn't stop herself from feeling his cock twitch under her.
"And don't you forget it."
He released her burning tits, dropping his hands to her left thigh.
"You've never told me what this is from."
She looked to where his hands lay, her heart beginning to race.
He was touching it, the pale strip of skin that marked one of the first places she'd really gone to town with the knife, back before she'd mastered the Healing Charm.
It was faded, looking old, but still visible for what it was.
"I fell," she quickly said, "when I was much younger."
"Really? What about this one? And these? And this?"
As he spoke, he poked her with his finger, pushing against the almost invisible scars on her tits, arm, and right thigh.
"What are they from?"
"I-I fell, it was-"
His hands shot out, the one seizing a nipple and twisting it, the other flashing across her face.
His cock twitched again, and she could feel it starting to get hard.
"Don't lie to me. Don't fucking lie to me, bitch. What are they from?"
She stared deeply into his eyes, suddenly more impatient than ever to just do the curse and be free.
"I did them," she said. "I cut myself."
"You're a crazy little bitch," he said, sounding almost appreciative. "Aren't you?"
'I'm going to kill you.'
"Yes."
He began to push up against her, his cock fully erect now.
"Say it. Tell me what you are."
'This is all your own fucking fault.'
"I'm a crazy little bitch."
"Yes you are," He said, reaching below her and angling himself up toward her entrance. "And you're my crazy little bitch. All mine."
'This is all your fault. Why couldn't you just have left it after the first time?'
She walked back into the Common Room that night, fury boiling within her, the desperate need to ruin him pounding in her veins.
Crookshanks lay in front of the fire, his leg twitching in his sleep.
She didn't hesitate, didn't resist the desire.
She reached out and patted the cat, grabbing as many of the loose hairs that lay in his fur as she could.
'"Tom," she wrote, "can I ask you something?"
Almost immediately, as if Tom had been waiting for her to write, his words appeared.
"Of course. You never need to worry about asking me anything. I'll never hold information from you."
She ignored the warm feeling that Tom's trust inspired, scratching her quill against the page.
"What you were talking about the other day, about killing muggles and squibs and muggleborns-"
Tom's hurried scrawl began to rise onto the page, interrupting her question.
"Muggles and squibs and what?"
She sighed. Tom had proven to be almost as pedantic as Percy, if only about certain things.
"Mudbloods."
"Yes, I did mention the necessity of a culling if other options failed. What was your question?"
"It sounds like-like the things that You-Know-Who wanted to do…"
"Perhaps he had the right idea, about some things."
"But he was evil!"
"What is evil, Ginny?"
"I don't know," she wrote, "doing things that are wrong on purpose?"
"And who defines what is right or wrong?"
"You just know, Tom. You don't need anyone to tell you."
Oh, my dear Ginny. Sometimes I forget how young and full of bright innocence you are. Right and wrong are concepts we are raised with. Their definition is ever-changing, dependent upon the whims of society's leaders and circumstances."
"I don't think so. Some things are always wrong. Killing is wrong, Tom."
"Is it? What if a person kills in self-defence? What if a soldier kills in war? Is it wrong then?"
"No, but-"
"At one point, squibs were killed as soon as their nature was made clear. It was accepted by society, seen as putting them out of their misery. So what changed?"
"People realized that what they were doing was wrong."
"Alas, no. The Minister for Magic during the end of that period was a highly talented witch by the name of Phyllis Crane. She had one child, a son who she loved more than anything. When her son proved to be a squib, she restrained from euthanizing him. Slowly, other parents followed her example, until the culling of squibs became seen as a cruel act. There was no philosophical discussion leading up to the change, no logical reason given. What happened, Ginny, was that a powerful witch made a decision, and others were too afraid to disregard her wishes. This is how it always is, my dear. The powerful speak, and the weak obey. This is how it should be."
"But people still know when they're doing something wrong!"
"Right and wrong are entirely subjective terms. If you had been raised hunting muggles on weekends, you would believe it to be the right thing to do. Everyone, everyone believes that what they are doing is right. There is no all defining force of good and evil, Ginny. There are only the views of society, as defined by the powerful."
"I don't know. I don't think you're right."
"There are Muggle religions who view the eating of meat as a terrible sin. They believe eating meat is wrong. Why do they believe that?"
"Because that's what they've always been told?"
"Exactly. While you, on the other hand, have been raised enjoying ham and beef. Had you been raised by those people, you would think just like them."
"But that's different!"
"Is it? We will see, my love. I want you to think about this, and next week, I will give you the names of some reading material to further explain this concept. You will see. There is no good or evil, my dear, only power."
Her roommates had finally gone to sleep, their excited conversations about the upcoming ball trailing off into nothingness as sleep claimed them.
She sat up against the wall, staring at the ginger hairs, forcing her breathing to stay calm and even.
This time, she'd remembered to cast the Silencing Charm around her bed. There'd be no need to hide her laughter if it went as well as it had with Mrs Norris.
She hoped that it would go even better.
'Don't do this! Please, don't do this!'
'If you don't, you'll remain his little whore forever. Is that what you want?'
'There's got to be another way-'
'There isn't. Do it.'
Slowly, she relaxed, the nervous energy dissipating.
She tapped her wand on the hairs, muttering "Parerium."
It took her a few minutes to parse the enormous load of information and figure out where Crookshanks was.
When she did, she could have danced.
He was out in the grounds, the field mouse that he'd been stalking scurrying away as she made him stay perfectly still.
'Stop. Stop, end the curse, get rid of the hair. Just stop!'
She shook her head, banishing the errant thought.
At a silent command, Crookshanks set out, trotting toward the lake.
He paused at the edge of it, staring out at the enormous expanse of water.
It was a cloudless night, the moon a silver ball on the lake's surface.
'Jump in.'
She could feel its legs quivering, its mind fighting against her command.
She doubled down, forcing her will upon it.
'Jump. In.'
It did.
She gasped, the icy cold of the lake seeming to hit her just as it had the cat.
Her fingers curled into trembling fists as she forced it to stick its head under, to swim through the darkness toward the bottom of the lake.
She could feel the panic rising in the cat's mind as it struggled, fighting with everything against the intruder that had taken control of its body.
But it was weaker than her, and its struggles grew even weaker as a desperate need for oxygen began to pound in its feline brain.
'Open your mouth and breathe.'
It did.
For another few seconds, she remained with that split awareness, seeing through the cat's eyes even as it began its death throes.
And then she was cast out, the curse ending as suddenly as it had begun.
She sat there, eyes wide and forehead slick, laughter trying to force its way through her lips.
'I did it. It worked, it worked, it worked! It worked!'
'And it will work on him as well. But you must practice again. If you lose control of him, it will be terrible. You must practice again.'
"I will," she whispered, her cheek twitching and stretching her terrible grin.
"It's such a pity that you won't be coming to the ball," Priscilla drawled, pausing for a moment in her makeup application and turning to Ginny, "it really is the experience of a lifetime."
"I'm sure I'll be fine," she said.
"Of course you'll be fine, dear, but the regular feast will be such a bore!"
She smiled grimly, a tic starting under her eyebrow. For a moment, she had to fight the urge to whip out her wand and begin flinging whatever curses she could at the stupid bitch.
"I'll find a way to keep myself busy," she said, thinking of the trip she'd planned to the Owlery.
When she got back from the Owlery, the Common Room was still almost completely quiet.
A few of the boys from her year were there, but it was almost entirely empty.
The ball was apparently still going on.
She rubbed her arm softly, the phantom pain still burning.
She'd decided, in the end, not to use Potter's owl for her next practice, for much the same reasons as she'd decided against using Mrs Norris.
Eventually, Hermione would notice her cat's absence. Between that and Neville's toad, people would start getting worried.
If Potter's owl was to vanish as well, there'd be a panic, just like Filch would lose his mind if his cat were to disappear.
Instead, she'd taken one of the school owls.
It was almost funny, how she'd barely felt a pang as she tore its feather off and cast the spell.
When she'd taken Neville's toad, her conscience had driven her mad, not only while she was doing what she'd done, but for days afterwards.
When she'd drowned Granger's cat, she'd had to fight herself to actually do it, and she'd had nightmares afterwards.
Now she felt nothing but grim satisfaction.
And the strange sensation that she should be covered in bruises.
The same way that she'd felt the chill of the lake through Crookshanks, tonight she'd felt every bash the Whomping Willow had given the poor owl she'd commandeered as she'd forced it to fly into the tree's whipping branches, over and over again until the curse had abruptly ended.
She shivered, rubbing her arm and walking up the staircase.
Still, it was worth it, no matter how much it felt like it should hurt. She'd been far more in control than she had of Crookshanks; the owl hadn't come nearly as close to escaping her mental grip as the cat had.
She paused at the foot of her bed, staring at the thick envelope lying on her pillow.
Unless she was very much mistaken, that was her name in Percy's handwriting.
Three pieces of paper fell out when she opened it.
Her eyes went wide as the picture registered in her mind.
Percy had gotten her a photograph of the Holyhead Harpies. And somehow, he'd gotten it signed by the whole team.
Tears began to drip onto the photograph, and she hurriedly moved it away, noticing as she did that there was writing on the back.
"Dear Ginny," It said, "Happy Christmas! We're always happy to hear that we've inspired young girls. Looking forward to seeing you at a game. Love, Gwenog Jones."
And again, it had the signatures of the entire team.
Without warning, her stomach gave a lurch and she ran to the bathroom, vomit rising before she even stepped onto the tiles.
By the time she'd cleaned up the mess, she'd stopped crying.
She washed her face and went back to her bed, clutching the photograph reverently and beginning to read Percy's letters, tears welling up in her eyes again.
"Dear Ginny,
I was hoping to give this to you in person at the ball, but our brothers told me that you wouldn't be coming, so I've entrusted it to a house-elf instead. I would have sent an owl ahead to let you know that I would be here, but I only found out this afternoon. Mr Crouch was unable to make it, so he's sent me in his stead!
I must say, it's very exciting to be handed such responsibility, albeit a tad intimidating.
I asked after you, and Professor McGonagall had wonderful things to say. I'm proud of you, Ginny. I really am.
Love.
Your brother,
Percy."
She had to wait before reading the longer letter to run back to the bathroom. This time, she made it to the toilet in time.
When she got back, she ignored her freely flowing tears and picked up the second letter.
"Dear Ginny,
I hope you're reading this before looking at the gift enclosed. If you are, please try and open it away from Ronald. I didn't get him anything quite as nice, and I worry he might grow jealous.
Due to our involvement with the Quidditch World Cup and the Triwizard Tournament, my department (Department of International Magical Cooperation) has been working very closely with the Department of Magical Games and Sports. One of my friends in that department was kind enough to introduce me to several of the Quidditch captains from the British and Irish league. I was lucky enough to have a few minutes to talk with Gwenog Jones, a most remarkable woman. I told her a bit about you, about how you've been supporting the Harpies for years and how you've expressed an interest in the sport, and she was very interested. Besides for the enclosed gift, she also has promised that when next they're having a game during the summer (or Christmas or Easter) break, they will have a seat arranged for you in the top box.
I'm sorry I've been so shoddy with my writing this term. We're really quite overworked at the moment, particularly with the Triwizard Tournament. From what I've managed to glean from Mum and Dad however, things are going well for you. I can't express how glad I am to hear it. I hope that it just continues like that. You really are a fantastic young woman, Ginny, and I am proud to call you my sister.
I plan to be more communicative this coming year, I really do. I just hope that I will be able to do so. My work, while not as glamorous as some might prefer, is very time-consuming.
Wishing you a very happy Christmas, and a wonderful new year ahead.
Love,
Your brother,
Percy."
By the time she finished his letter, she was sobbing unrestrainedly and pawing through her bag for the knife.
"Has anyone seen Crookshanks?"
She looked up sharply, her heart hammering in her chest.
She'd spent the last two days wondering when Hermione would finally notice. She wasn't surprised that it had taken so long, with the excitement of the Yule Ball and Hermione's row with Ron to keep her distracted.
As much as she'd known Hermione would be upset, it still hurt to see the red-rimmed eyes and drawn face.
'I did that,' she thought with a pang, 'I made her cry.'
'So you made a Mudblood cry. Blame Higgs, if anyone must be blamed.'
Ron didn't look away from the chessboard, but he did pause with his hand on the pawn.
"Maybe you should ask Vicky," he said, "Maybe he-"
"Shut up," Hermione snarled, "I'm not joking. Has anyone seen my cat?"
"When did you last have him?" Someone asked.
"The day before the Ball. I haven't seen him since then."
She stared wildly around the room, as if expecting someone to be hiding her cat under their robes.
"First Neville's toad," Fred said, "now your cat. Is someone stealing people's pets?"
She almost laughed at that.
Fred hadn't mentioned the two school owls that had disappeared, nor the rat she'd found wandering the corridors the previous night.
She'd made the second owl rise as high into the air as it could, before making it just stop flying and fall directly into the forest.
The rat had been forced to walk into the paddock where Hagrid was keeping his monstrous Skrewts. It had taken mere seconds for one of the creatures to stab it with its stinger.
She still had no idea whether it had been someone's pet that had stupidly been allowed out of their room, or whether it had just been a wild rat that had found its way into the castle.
Either way, it was Skrewt food now.
"If I haven't-haven't found him by tomorrow," Hermione said thickly, "I'm going to go to Professor McGonagall. If anyone," she shot a dirty look at Ron, "thinks they're playing a funny joke, they'd better stop it today."
'Oh shit, oh fuck, oh fuck!'
'Relax. No one at all suspects you. Even if they did, there's no evidence. The cat and toad have probably been eaten by the Giant Squid, the rat was killed by Skrewts, and even if the owls are found, their deaths will be assumed to be natural mistakes. Relax.'
She breathed out, the chessboard swimming back into clarity before her eyes.
'You should still be careful. Don't kill any more animals for now. You're almost ready to do the curse on him anyway. Just practice on the Squib's cat until then.'
One week after Hermione had begun her frantic search for Crookshanks, Ginny sat awake at a quarter to four in the morning, finally feeling ready to end Higgs.
She hadn't dared to steal another animal to practice on. True to her word, Hermione had gone to McGonagall. The professor had made a rare appearance in the Common Room, where she'd gathered the whole house and given a speech about the severity of the punishment awaiting whoever had been stealing people's pets, and had asked for anyone with any information to step forward.
No one had.
After that she'd returned to her practising on Mrs Norris, making the cat bite its squib again and generally controlling it until she felt fully confident in her abilities.
Now she sat, forcing her mind to clear, maintaining her slow, relaxed breathing.
She would only have one chance to do this. If she failed or if he broke free of her control, he'd kill her.
Kill her, or have her expelled and sent to Azkaban.
Still, she felt ready. The book had said that the more of the target's body used for the curse, the harder it would be for them to break free of it.
She'd scratched him, earlier, when he'd been fucking her. There wasn't much under her nails, only a few flecks of skin and dried blood, but she thought it would make the curse stronger.
She'd sprinkled those on top of the clump of his hair, which she'd covered with his spunk before it could dry.
Now, the bundle of hair was stiff, having gained a glue-like consistency from his come.
'This is as good as I'm getting,' she thought, 'let's go.'
"Parerium," she whispered, tapping the hair with her wand.
Immediately, the curse began.
Higgs was asleep, lying in his bed, his thoughts muddled and confused.
'Perfect. Get up. Get parchment and a quill. Now.'
He began to wake up as she used his hand to write, but he was still far too sleep-addled to muster his will and pose any threat to her control.
When she made him read the note he'd written, she felt the panic taking over his mind, the sudden realization that he was not just having a nightmare, that something was seriously wrong.
He began to fight, making a frantic, stupidly weak attempt to kick out against her control.
She barely even had to interrupt her reading to think about crushing those.
"I just can't do it anymore. I'm sick of this pointless life. Nothing matters. I'd rather get out now. Terrence Higgs."
She made him add his signature before nodding, a small giggle escaping her.
'Conjure a rope. Now.'
She watched in amazement as, under her control, he did magic that she didn't know how to do herself.
He began to freak out, screaming at her from within his mind.
'Why are you doing this? Who are you?'
She made him place a Sticking Charm on the one end of the rope and fasten it to the ceiling.
'Stop,' he sobbed, 'please, please, stop! Don't do this!'
A hot flash of pure rage swept through her, and she snarled back into his thoughts.
'Relax. Merlin, you'd think I was forcing you.'
As she made him tie the rope into a noose, his mind broke down into a stream of meaningless babble, mingled pleas and denials.
'No, no, no, please, no, please no!'
'They'll find your body,' she told him, 'and they'll believe your note. Everyone will think you were too weak to just go on living. You'll be remembered as a coward.'
She giggled again, forcing him to climb a chair and stick his head through the noose.
'Please,' he begged, his bladder releasing, 'just stop! I'll leave you alone, I swear! Don't! Don't do this! No, no, please, no!'
'Fuck you. Kick the chair out from under your feet.'
His struggles against her increased, Ginny ground her teeth together, her nails cutting crescents into her palms as she imposed her will on him.
'KICK THE CHAIR OUT FROM UNDER YOUR FEET!'
She felt his leg moving, heard the chair scraping across the floor.
Then she felt him fall, and there was a searing pain in his neck.
And everything went black for a moment.
She came to a few minutes later, a laugh on her lips and tears on her face.
It was over. She'd killed him, and it was all over.
In her dreams that night, Tom kissed her and told her how proud he was.
After a week had passed with no announcements about Higgs' death, Ginny became half-convinced that she'd hallucinated the whole thing.
She'd thought at length about what the teachers would do when he died, eventually deciding that they'd probably have a school-wide assembly where they'd announce what had happened and talk about what a wonderful boy he'd been. She hadn't really made her mind up about whether she thought they'd tell everyone that he'd apparently killed himself, but she thought it unlikely.
Whatever she'd thought would happen, she hadn't expected there to just be nothing.
Oh, there were rumours going around that something had happened in the Slytherin dorms, although no one seemed quite sure what exactly that something was.
The Slytherins were all walking around in tight groups, whispering intently to one another, and the teachers all looked tired and serious.
But that was it. It was like nothing at all had happened.
As if she wasn't a murderer.
It was actually absurd how easy it had been. As far as she could tell, nobody was paying her any more attention than usual.
She sat at her usual spot for breakfast, eating heartily and eyeing the staff table.
None of them even sent a glance her way.
Dumbledore was deeply involved in a conversation with Snape, with McGonagall listening in and occasionally saying something.
'They don't know. They'd have done something if they did. They don't even know.'
She managed to keep her laughter internal as she ran her gaze along the staff table.
Moody's magical eye was staring at her.
She dropped her head hurriedly, returning to her food with a sudden lack of appetite, her body feeling as cold as when she'd drowned Crookshanks in the lake.
'He knows. Oh Merlin, he knows. He knows.'
'How could he even know? Just relax or you'll draw attention to yourself. He doesn't know a thing.'
She finished her eggs and bacon before rising, unable to keep from looking back at Moody as she did.
He was still staring at her.
She'd only reached the second-floor landing when she heard the clanking of his wooden leg on the stone floor, coming from not too far behind her.
Paralyzed with fright, she stopped her movement, her mind going utterly blank.
'He doesn't know anything! If you act too frightened you'll give it away! Just keep walking, act natural! Act natural!'
"Weasley."
Her eyes slowly closed, her heart hammering in her throat.
"Yes, Professor?"
He drew up with her, and she hurriedly opened her eyes again, blinking away a few tears.
"I'd like to have a word with you. Come to my office."
"I-I was just going to-"
"My office. Now."
She followed, a thick feeling of absolute dread settling in on her, that dreamlike state threatening to claim her.
The door closed behind them, and he gestured curtly at the chair before his desk.
"Have a seat."
She did, staring blankly ahead.
'I'm done. He knows.'
'He has no proof. Don't lose your head and you'll be fine. He has no proof.'
"Do you know a seventh year Slytherin named Terrence Higgs?"
"No," she said immediately.
"Really?" He asked, quirking an eyebrow. "There's something odd about you, girl. Something I can't put my finger on."
"I don't-"
He continued as if she hadn't even spoken.
"Your boggart took his form, just for a moment. Of course, it then looked like the Dark Lord, and that's normal enough. But the Dark Lord wasn't hurting you, was he? He was berating you."
She shook her head, mute with terror.
"Higgs though, that's a different story. You were really afraid of him. And then he kills himself, and you're full of life, more so than I've ever seen you. It's enough to make a paranoid man like me think you were involved."
She reacted instinctively, her wand falling into her hand even as her arm rose.
But he was far quicker.
She barely even saw his wand move, and hers was flying across the desk into his waiting hand. He flicked his wand again and her body went stiff, her arms and legs not responding to her orders to move.
His wand was still up, facing her, his eyes boring into her skull.
"We'll see what's what soon enough. Legilimens!"
Memories flooded her mind, overtaking all thought.
Dimly, she realized that he must have been doing it, that he must have somehow been viewing her memories.
But she was powerless to stop it.
She watched along with him as Terrence caught her in the Restricted Section, watched as she met him that first time. And she watched as time after time she snuck up to his secret room to serve his desires.
She saw herself stealing Mrs Norris' hairs, saw herself drowning Crookshanks and crashing the owls into the Whomping Willow and the forest.
And she saw herself making Higgs write his own suicide note before forcing him to end his life.
As suddenly as the show of her memories had started, it was over.
The Body-Bind was still holding in her place, pinning her against the back of the chair.
Moody was smiling, the clock behind his head unbelievably showing that only five minutes had passed.
"Well, he murmured, "That's my curiosity slaked. I must admit, I'm much more interested in why you were more afraid of the Dark Lord's displeasure than of his punishments. Let's find out about that, shall we? Legilimens!"
And again, as if she were watching a Muggle videotape, her memories began to play.
Struggle as she did, she couldn't stop it, couldn't prevent Moody from seeing her talking to Tom, from seeing her trying to die for him.
She felt tears flowing down her face, a thousand miles away. She just watched, helpless, as her memories continued.
She was cutting herself in Myrtle's bathroom, sobbing about how she wished she didn't love him.
She was sparring with Colin, thinking about how she'd one day be able to help Tom. She was crying on her bed, covered in blood and deciding that even if Tom was Voldemort she'd still do anything to help him. She was reading in the Restricted Section, she was casting spells in an empty classroom in the middle of the night, she was strangling Neville's toad with a curse.
She was crying and cutting her thigh, she was dreaming about Tom, she was staring at the glittering skull and snake at the World Cup feeling absolute joy.
The spell ended.
Moody's eyes were wide as saucers, his mouth an almost comical O of shock.
'He knows. He knows, he knows, he knows. It's all over. It's all over.'
It was oddly relieving, actually.
She'd be locked away somewhere where she couldn't hurt anyone, where she wouldn't have to kill anyone.
She wouldn't have to help Tom. She wouldn't have to become a monster.
It was nearly comforting.
All she hoped for in that crystalline second that seemed to stretch on for an eternity, was that she'd go to St Mungo's instead of Azkaban.
'Maybe that's what he'll do. Maybe he'll take me somewhere where they can fix me.'
Moody laughed, as incongruous a sound as any she could have heard.
"Wow. Wow. I was not expecting that. You're more loyal than the majority of Death Eaters out there."
His wand flashed, her body sagging as the Body-Bind vanished.
"Please," she whispered, her voice thick with tears, "please. Please help me. I need help, please help me."
His grin only widened, his tongue flicking out and running over his lips.
"I'll help you." He promised.