Year Six, Part Four
The Aurors were talking about her again, muttering about her crimes so softly that she could barely hear them.
Ginny ignored them, just as she had ignored them and all the other guards she'd had for the last month or so.
Tears sparkled in her eyes, the cheerful mural on the ceiling threatening to tear apart the last frayed threads of her sanity.
She wasn't quite sure how long it had been. As far as she could tell, it had been at least a few months; long enough for her to have totally healed from the physical effects of that fight in Hogwarts and Granger's treatment of her before it.
It didn't matter how long it had been. For all Ginny cared, she could have been lying in the stupid hospital bed for decades, with those Aurors watching her and the manacles on her hands and feet.
Thoughts of escape hadn't even crossed her mind, at least, not in the conventional sense.
She just couldn't build up the energy to even fantasise about getting out and wreaking revenge. It was as if, along with Bellatrix and the Dark Lord, a part of her had died; that tenacious, stubborn part of her which had always kept her going had vanished, bleak despondency taking its place.
What was the point anymore? What was the point of thinking, of trying to move forward, of imagining getting away from her captors?
The Dark Lord was dead. Impossible as it was, he was dead.
No matter how much she tried to tell herself that he had survived, that even though everyone had thought he had died when Potter was a baby and he hadn't, no matter how much she tried to tell herself that he had conquered death, she knew the truth.
He had died.
Even if she had tried, she wouldn't have been able to put the depth of her understanding into words, wouldn't have been able to express it.
She knew it the same way she had once known that she was standing before him, knew it the way she knew Potter was responsible for everything that had gone wrong with her life.
If only he'd left her to die in the chamber. If only Granger had killed her. If only Black hadn't Stunned her before she could end her own miserable life.
If only, if only, if only.
Every night, she eventually drifted away, sobbing and thinking of that wonderful if only.
If only Snape hadn't been a traitor. If only Lucius Malfoy had taken Potter right away instead of dawdling. If only she'd killed her mother along with her father.
Her nights were filled with confused dreams, strange mixtures of the paradise they'd have created if Potter had been killed and visions of her victims. Bellatrix pranced around in those dreams, while the Dark Lord spoke Ginny's praises and her dead family and Luna stared at her and wept.
Almost every morning began with tears, as the terrible icy knowledge settled in again, as the joy at seeing Bellatrix and the Dark Lord faded into horrified remembrance.
The days started with tears and only got worse from there.
There was nothing for Ginny any more. Everything was over, everything she had planned and hoped the future would bring having vanished in a wave of Potter's wand.
All hope had died that night, every positive feeling Ginny could possibly have mustered withering along with it.
Even if she were to escape, what was there for her? To live, hunted and alone, always thinking of the ethereal what if?
Realistically, even if she managed to free one of her hands, she would just use it again to try and escape everything the only way she could think of.
If only she could get a hand out of the manacles. If only there weren't Aurors present. If only they still left the Dreamless Sleep beside her bed, and if only the Healers hadn't stopped her from downing the bottle and putting an end to her farce of a life.
Bellatrix, she knew, would have hated her if she could see Ginny as she was, if she could see the pathetic bitch she'd become, a weak, disgusting creature who couldn't even summon up the energy to think of revenge.
But Bellatrix couldn't see Ginny. Bellatrix, full of life and primal joy though she had been, was dead.
Her tears came faster as she remembered her lover, remembered the light in her eyes and how absolutely vibrant she had been.
Ginny began to shake with her sorrow, the railings of her bed clanking as they shook with her.
One of the Aurors muttered something to his friend, who chuckled in reply.
They'd been laughing about her a lot, lately, ever since the trials had been planned.
Ever since that lawyer had come to visit.
It was almost enough to make her laugh, the fact that the Wizengamot had tried to appoint a lawyer for her. He'd been easy enough to turn down, especially since he hadn't really wanted the job, but it was absurd.
What could he do, anyway? Convince them to send her to Azkaban instead of killing her? Convince them to send her to St Mungo's, to spend the rest of her life as she was currently doing?
No. She had no interest in anything like that, no interest in trying to lie about her actions.
She was still strong enough to proudly take credit for everything she'd done. Weak as she was, she was still strong enough for that.
For now, at least, she was still strong enough for that.
But if it was too much longer until the trial, she feared she wouldn't be strong enough.
As it was, every day was worse than the previous, with that depression sinking deeper and deeper into her very being.
She was alone, with no-one to love her, no-one to care for her, no-one on her side.
A memory popped into her mind, something from her early childhood.
She must have been five or six years old. She'd had a nightmare and had woken up, crying and alone in her bed.
Her mother had been there in a flash, lying beside her and whispering something soft and confronting.
The weight of her mother's body seemed to press in on her as she remembered it, that consoling, loving presence. She'd been picked up in gentle, strong arms and carried to her parents' room where she had spent the rest of the night, easily falling back asleep between her mother and father.
She couldn't remember what it was that had so frightened her, what her nightmare had been. All she could remember was how safe she had felt when her mother had come, how warm and secure and confident that nothing could possibly go wrong, not when she had Mum and Dad with her.
And she knew, without any room for doubt, that she would never experience that again. She'd lost the right for comfort, lost the right for happiness when she had chosen as she had.
The worst, she thought, was that it had all been for nothing. All the people she once loved who had died at her hand, all the endless agonizing she'd experienced, all the horror she'd forced herself through; it had all been for nothing.
She'd killed her family, the only people who might have had the chance of caring for her, she'd betrayed the wizarding world, she'd cast aside everyone who was now in charge.
And it had all been for nothing.
Her eyes alit on the Mark on her arm, her sobs growing louder at the sight.
Somehow, the Healers had managed to fix what Granger had done to her. Her arm was smooth now, not looking like a mass of ground beef stuck into her flesh.
It was smooth and unblemished, and the Dark Mark was no longer present.
They'd taken it from her, somehow, taken even her proudest moment from her.
Now it existed only in memories.
Once, she had been the youngest Death Eater ever. She had been the Dark Lord's most loyal and trusted follower; she had struck fear even into the hearts of those who were on her side.
And now she was nothing but a pathetic girl who spent her days crying and thinking of the elusive if only.
'Disgusting,' a quiet voice whispered in the back of her mind, its first time speaking since she had woken up here. 'Disgusting. After everything you've done, you're just going to give up now? At least get revenge first!'
But what was the point? What was the point in trying when everything was over?
Frankly, the best she could hope for was to die. To die and finally be free of everything, to go into the blackness and just cease.
She could hope, the infinitesimal part of her that still did, that she would be executed instead of being placed in Azkaban.
Even if they did put her there, though, she'd find a way to do it. She wouldn't have access to any weapons, but she'd find a way.
She would.
'You should be putting all your thoughts into plans for revenge! If not for you, then for the Dark Lord's sake!'
She began to cry harder, shaking again.
That voice was correct, she knew. If only she were just a bit stronger, just a bit more able to do what needed to be done, then she'd be capable of thinking about revenge. But she wasn't. She was weak, weak and pathetic and every other word Bellatrix had ever used to describe her.
"You think she's crying because her trial's coming up? Because she knows where she'll be going?"
"Maybe," the other Auror said. "Personally, I'd like to think she's feeling guilty. But fuck, after everything the others said about her, I'd be surprised if she could feel guilt. Fucking monster."
He turned to face her, a sneer tugging at his lips.
"You heard about that yet?"
"Probably not," the other one said, brushing his hand through sandy hair. "She only has contact with her guards these days, and I don't see Quentin or Marcus telling her anything."
The first Auror ignored the byplay, his piggish little eyes boring into her.
"Your pals' trials have started. They've all been so desperate to escape justice that they've started spilling the beans about everything you fuckers got up to. Between them and all the other witnesses...well, you've got no choice of coming out alright. Especially since you've been dumb enough to turn down all the offers for a lawyer."
For the first time in months, Ginny laughed, the absurdity of it all breaking through the black cloud that constantly coated her.
"You think I care? Kill them, kill me, you think I care? There's nothing you can do, nothing you can-I want to die, and you think I care!"
She was shaking again, but this time it was mirth that moved her, mirth and a rising, furious rage.
"Kill me," she hissed, her laughter abruptly ending, "kill me or I'll kill you, I'll-I'll-I'll ruin you, I'll destroy you!"
A pained expression flickered across the face of the taller one, his features hardening a moment later.
The other one, however, just smiled.
"We know," he said, "and we're not the only ones. Some of the Healers leaked to the Prophet. They all know about how you tried to end it all. They all know that you want to die. So, think about that, monster. They're not going to give you what you want. You're not going to get off quite that easily. You'll get Azkaban for life, put under suicide watch. You can lie there and cry, and think about the people you killed, and I hope it fucking hurts, I hope that you spend every second of the rest of your life wishing you'd done something different, but-"
"Dez, enough."
The Auror, apparently named Dez, turned back to his friend with a snarl.
"You heard what that Nott kid said, Rick, it was her who killed Larson and-"
"I know, but you're really close to losing your cool, mate. We've been through this; we can't punish her. That's not what we're here for."
His shoulders shaking, Dez turned back to Ginny, looking like he was going to attack.
Then he spat on the floor and walked to the door.
"I'm taking a smoke break. Can't look at this scum right now."
"Yeah. You do that."
As the door closed behind Dez, Rick heaved a great sigh and ran his hand through his hair again.
"You'll get what you deserve," Rick said softly after a few moments. "And I hope you spend the rest of your life wishing you were dead."
'I already do,' Ginny thought, sinking back into her bed with the bleakness returning. 'I already do. I've got to make sure the trial goes my way. That's all. I've got to make sure the trial goes my way and that they kill me.'
'Disgusting,' that voice whispered again, 'After everything the Dark Lord and Bellatrix did for you, you're going to try and die. You owe it to their memories to fight for as long as you can.'
To that, Ginny had no answer.
She held the letter as close to her face as the chains around her arms would let her and began to read, the words shimmering through her tears.
It was almost surprising that she was allowed mail.
Almost, but not entirely. After all, her brother was a war hero and Potter was his best friend, and if George told them that he wanted to send her a letter, they definitely could make sure it would happen.
What was truly surprising, however, was the fact that George had even written to her in the first place.
That shocked her, evoking a strange mixture of loss and guilt that was somehow entirely different from what she felt whenever she thought of Bellatrix or the Dark Lord.
"Ginny,
You're probably wondering why I'm bothering to write this to you. Honestly, I am too. But I've been told it might help, that it might help me to get some of my thoughts and feelings out.
These days, I need all the help I can get.
I'm not going to lie. The whole point of this is for me to be honest, for me to actually express myself. I don't know if I'll go through with sending this, I didn't with my last few attempts, but I might, and I don't actually care what you think.
I'm a mess, Ginny. I take Dreamless Sleep every night, because if I don't, then I don't sleep. If, somehow, I do sleep, I wake up crying after less than an hour.
I've been spending most of the day at the cemetery. You wouldn't care, but it's very pretty there. Very calming.
I don't even know what to say to you, really. I hate you more than I could express, I'm furious with you, I'm disgusted with you, I want to kill you.
What you did to us is...I can't describe it. You ruined us. Ron and I are the only Weasleys left, and both of us are...not in the best places."
"Good," Ginny muttered, her voice coming out twisted and choked. "Good, fucking suffer!"
"I still can barely believe that you actually did all of this. You were our sister. We loved you. Fred and I, we'd have done anything for you. All you had to do was say the word, and we'd have done anything for you. We all would have. Hell, we fucking did. I can't tell you how guilty I feel, knowing that it was Fred and me who showed you how to sneak into the Restricted Section. Would you have become what you did if we hadn't done that? Had you already decided, then, that you were going to join the Death Eaters?"
"I had decided," she whispered. "But maybe I wouldn't have become one. Higgs would never have found me, Barty would never have discovered me…"
It was actually almost hilarious, how Fred and George had indirectly set her path in motion.
"But we trusted you. We trusted you, and we wanted to help. We shouldn't have. You know, I can remember how proud we were of you. You were fun to have around, you weren't an annoying, spoiled princess like we thought you would be. You were our sister, and we loved you. I don't think I can put it any clearer than that.
You were our sister, and now you're something else entirely.
And all this killing that you did, Mum, Dad, Bill, Charlie, Percy, and Fred. All of them, our family. You killed them, and you still lost. You came out the loser. You got nothing for it. I hope that rankles you. I hope there's a part of you that hates what you did, that makes you feel even slightly as bad as I do. I hope that you hate yourself."
"You know nothing," Ginny giggled, tears pooling on her chin and dripping onto the parchment in her hands. "You don't know anything about pain!"
"The papers say that you do nothing but cry all day and that you tried to kill yourself. I hope that's true.
But I don't feel bad for you. I can't, because I'm just too fucking angry. Too angry, too hurt, too busy trying to just fucking survive.
I feel a bit bad for the girl who you were, that good, sweet, fun girl who knew right from wrong, who loved her family and friends. Her, I feel bad for. But not for you. You don't deserve my pity.
Do you know what I'm going to do? I'm going to live. I'm going to fight every day, I'm going to do whatever I can to heal, and one day I'll even joke again. I'm going to open the shop I started with Fred again, and I'm going to carry on, and I'll keep their memories alive. It'll be hard, and sometimes I'll want to just give up and join them in the cemetery, but I'll carry on somehow.
Maybe I'll get married, have kids. If they ever ask, I'll tell them that Voldemort killed my sister when she was eleven years old.
I'll carry on, somehow. I'll find a way to be happy again, because I know that Fred would want me to laugh, that Mum and Dad would tell me to live my life, that Bill and Charlie and Percy would tell me to carry on.
I'll live. And you won't. If they don't put you to death, you'll spend the rest of your life in Azkaban. You'll never be anything other than the crazy psycho who killed her family and got nothing but a cell.
And one day, you'll die. And no-one will shed a tear. No-one will be sad, no-one will miss you.
I'm not looking for answers, or explanations. I doubt I'll ever get them. But I want you to know that you might have killed the rest of us, but Ron and I still survived. And I can't speak for him, but I'm going to live, and no matter how hard it is, no matter if I spend every day crying and missing them, somehow, I'm going to thrive.
Somehow, I'm going to laugh again.
George."
Laughing, the tears streaming down her face making it almost impossible to see what she was doing, Ginny began to tear the parchment to shreds.
"I don't care who you are," Rick said hotly, "but you're not going to be left alone with her. We've got our orders, and we keep them! One of us is with her at all times, and that's that."
The person Rick was arguing with replied, speaking far too softly for Ginny to make out anything of their voice.
Frankly, she didn't really care that much. Her trial was the next day, and she was too busy trying to deal with her conflicting viewpoints and formulate a plan to even feel curious.
That little voice had grown more insistent since it's reappearance the previous week, telling her almost nonstop that she dare not give up and try to get them to execute her; she owed it to Bellatrix and the Dark Lord, the voice said, owed it to them to do everything in her power to survive, to hold out for even the possibility of vengeance.
That little voice was entirely correct. No matter how terrible she felt, no matter how hopeless everything seemed, she knew the right thing to do was to stay alive.
And yet, simply the thought of doing so filled her with dread.
If there was a way, a way for her to stay alive and yet not suffer for every moment that she did so, it wouldn't be a question.
As far as she could tell, however, there wasn't.
The one thing she was certain of, was that she wouldn't lie or deny anything during her trial. She wouldn't pretend to have been forced into the Dark Lord's service.
A part of her hoped that they would be so horrified that they'd sentence her to death.
Regardless of her befuddled thoughts, regardless of what decision she came to, the choice was not hers to make.
The Wizengamot would decide her fate, and she was quite certain they'd be sending her to Azkaban, no matter how she acted during her trial.
All that she could control would be how she acted then; Would she hang herself in her cell, or would she force herself to survive through every miserable day?
The door opened with a slight squeal, Ginny's eyes turning to her visitor.
It was good to know that even after everything she had seen and experienced, she could still feel something other than that all-powerful hopelessness.
The chains on her arms and legs clinked as she began to tremble with fury, her rage causing a red haze to steal over her vision.
Potter walked calmly into her room, casually moving one of the Aurors' chairs slightly closer to her.
She barely noticed Rick walking in behind him, so focused was she on the source of all her misery.
Words tore themselves from her throat with no input from her mind, her voice growing louder and turning into a half-wailed screech.
"Get out, get out, GET OUT! YOU-I'LL KILL YOU, I'LL-"
Potter's wand flashed, a Silencing Charm settling on her instantly.
She didn't care that she wouldn't be heard. She continued to scream, roaring out her furious pain, mingling threats with insults and useless Curses.
Potter just watched her, his eyes deep wells of sorrow.
For nearly half an hour by the ticking of the clock above the door, Ginny ranted, her throat starting to get sore even with the Silencing Charm. Eventually, Ginny flopped back onto the bed, exhausted.
Potter leaned slightly forward.
"I hope you're done. There are a few things I need to say, and I'd prefer if you heard them. But I don't need to say this for you, I need to say this for me."
'I don't want to hear anything he's got to say, I don't care, it's all his fault, all of this!'
What he next said, however, stopped her in her tracks.
"You never found out what the diary actually was, did you?"
She realized after a moment that her mouth was hanging half-open.
No, she'd never found out what exactly it was. From some of the things Bellatrix had said, she'd known it was more than just a container for an enchanted memory, but she'd never gotten any specifics.
"I thought not," he said. "It's not like Voldemort would have told you. Well, let's just say it was...very powerful dark magic. It wasn't just a memory of him possessing you. It was a part of him. And I can't imagine what that did to you."
He shook his head, his hair parting for a moment and revealing that hateful scar.
'A part of him? What?'
"I pity you," Potter continued, his voice dropping so much that Ginny almost had to strain to hear it. "I mean, I hate you too, the things that you did-"
He broke off for a moment, rubbing his eyes and looking exhausted.
Ginny's mind was working frantically, trying to understand, trying to make sense of this revelation.
Of course, she'd known that it hadn't simply been a memory. But if it, as he said, was powerful dark magic, and it was a part of him…
That meant Soul Magic. Couldn't have been some variation of Occlumency or normal possession, because then he'd have known everything without needing Barty to discover her. No, it had to have been Soul Magic.
Ginny knew almost nothing of Soul Magic, nothing other than the fact that it was dangerous beyond words. Even Bellatrix had claimed to know very little, but had promised to share what little she had known when they were no longer at war.
And now that would never come.
Strange, how it still hurt to think about that.
'Some part of his soul, or something like that. And that was in me! In me!'
Exultation began to fill her, fierce pride rising for the first time in months.
Until, that is, she remembered that he was dead, that he had, somehow, been killed by Potter.
"It's...I don't know what that could have done to you. But what's worse, is I don't know what you would have been without it. None of us can. You were a victim of him. And he didn't just kill or torture you. He-he perverted you, he changed you. You were one of his victims."
'Maybe at first,' she wanted to scream, 'But I chose to be more, and by the end, I was his favoured, I was his right hand-'
"And that's why- that's why I'm not going to let them kill you. Hell, Ron and Hermione still want you dead,"
He laughed then, an utterly humourless sound that was almost a cry.
"Less so since that article about you being suicidal, but they still do. And if I was with them on it... I've got friends in very powerful places. I could arrange for, I don't know, your guards to be taking a break at the same time for a bit when a healer accidentally leaves a bottle of Draught of the Living Death within your reach. I could do it."
He leaned slightly closer, his eyes boring into hers.
"But I won't. And I won't let them kill you. Maybe I'm just naive, maybe I'm a trusting fool, but with Voldemort dead...maybe, one day, what he did to you will wear off. Maybe you'll be able to come back here and get treatment. Maybe you'll become the girl you should have been."
He wiped at his eyes again, looking like he was going to burst out crying.
"I doubt it, but it's possible. And if it doesn't happen, if you never recover...well, you'll have a long time to think about how badly you failed. If you did die, you'd be escaping. And I won't let that happen. Because as much as I do pity you, I hate you too. You still had a choice. You still could have done the right thing. You could-you could have been anything. But you chose to become a monster. And I hope you spend the rest of your life wondering what you would have been if you'd chosen differently."
He rose in one swift motion and began to leave.
Then he paused with his hand on the doorknob.
Not turning to face her, he spoke again.
"You said that I should have let you die in the Chamber. You were right. That way, you'd have died one of his victims, instead of carrying on to become something almost as bad as him."
And with that, he left the room.
Ginny fidgeted in her chair, the chains tight and uncomfortable on her arms and legs. She showed no discomfort, however, refused to allow so much as a flicker of unhappiness to be seen in her expression.
She kept her eyes focused on Minister Robards as he read the litany of her crimes and forced the small smile to remain on her face.
Some of the names stung, but she wouldn't allow anyone to see her weakness. She widened her smile at those, widened into until her face felt like it would rip.
Other than the sound of Robards' voice, the room was entirely silent, no-one making the slightest noise.
She'd seen, just before the trial began, a few of the Aurors present casting what looked to be some variation of Silencing Charms, ensuring that none of the audience would be able to interrupt the proceedings.
Right in the centre of the audience, Ron, George, Granger, Potter, and Black were sitting in a small clump of chairs.
"... Fratricide, in the case of the murder of Fred Weasley, the murder of Fleur Delacour, the murder of Klara Stenmead, and matricide, in the case of the murder of Molly Weasley with the use of the Killing Curse."
Ginny caught Ron's eye and winked, maintaining that smile all the while.
He looked just about ready to leap over the balcony and strangle her, dozens of people watching or not.
"How do you plead?" Robards said with a touch of heat in his voice.
'He must have asked me already. Merlin, I let them distract me.'
Well, that was a mistake. She'd prepared what she was going to say, and the presence of her surviving family would not stop her.
"I did it all," she said, as loudly and happily as she could manage. "I killed them all. And a few more that you missed. Terrence Higgs and his parents, Colin Creevey, dozens of muggles, so many I can't count, so many…"
Her train of thought was wandering, trying to abandon her.
She pressed on.
"I did it all, but I'm not guilty. I did what needed to be done, every time. If you-if you hadn't betrayed everything we stand for, if you people cared at all for magic itself, you'd have done the same. I did it all, and I'd do it again."
She could see people leaning over and whispering to one another in the audience, could hear the members of the Wizengamot muttering.
Potter had his arm on Ron's shoulder, and seemed to be trying to calm him down. Her brother's face was pale as snow, his ears bright red.
Granger was staring at her, expressionless as she had been most of the time when she was torturing Ginny.
And suddenly, Ginny was enraged beyond belief. She should never have been in this situation. These people were blood-traitors, muggle-loving scum who had turned their backs on everything that made wizards great, and they dared to sit in judgement on her?
Her carefully rehearsed words vanished from her mind, that rage blotting out all her planning.
"I did it all," she said. "And you-you fuckers should have been helping! I wouldn't have been forced to kill so many if you'd all done the right thing, if you'd all-THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT! YOU PEOPLE MADE ME DO IT, YOU MADE US DO IT! I DID THE RIGHT THING!"
Someone shouted something, but Ginny ignored them.
She pressed up as much as possible, leaning forward until the chains were holding her down.
"I'LL KILL YOU ALL! PUT ME IN AZKABAN, AND I'LL GET OUT! I'LL GET OUT, AND I'LL KILL EVERY ONE OF YOU!"
The chains tightened around her arms and legs, dragging her back into a complete sitting position.
She began to weep, rage and sorrow and despair combining within her into something simply too much to deal with.
Her tears took over, her wailing overcoming her ability to speak and turning her words into nothing but half-spoken gibberish.
Ron still looked furious, but the Mudblood was nodding slowly with a small satisfied smile.
'She's come around to Potter's way of thinking. She thinks it's more of a punishment for me to go to Azkaban than it would be to kill me.'
If that was the case, then as much as Ginny hated it, Granger was right.
'Stop this crying immediately. I'm making myself look pitiful. At least let me show how proud I am to have served him well.'
Pulling all her force of mind and strength of will to bear, Ginny banished her tears, forcing herself to stop crying as she raised her head and shook her hair out of her eyes.
"You have shown no remorse for your crimes," Robards announced, his voice ringing through the courtroom and silencing all the muted conversations. "Not even for those most reprehensible, most repugnant, those as terrible as anything ever heard in this court; your actions against your own family-"
Breaking out into a wild cackle, Ginny interrupted him.
The chains tightened around her as she leaned forward again, her eyes locking on her brothers, Potter, Granger, and Black.
"Most repugnant of my actions? What, because they were my family, I was meant to care more about them than anyone else? I turned my back on them, I left those worthless, disgusting muggle-lovers, those-those fucking idiots, I-"
She shook her head, laughing too hard to speak.
When she finally regained her composure, she continued, keeping her eyes on her siblings all the while. Ron was standing up, and by the looks of things, he was shouting. She could see his mouth opening and closing furiously, while the other non-jury members of the audience stared at him and Harry and Sirius whispered into his ears.
George was weeping, tears streaming in torrents down his face.
And Granger was still staring at her with that small smile.
'Fuck them all. Let them see what I am. I'm not one of them, and I haven't been for years. They think I'm a monster. Let them see how much of one I really am.'
"After I killed Percy and that Mudblood's parents," she continued, almost choking on another throe of giggles, "I fucked Bellatrix for the first time. I celebrated once I killed them."
Granger raised her left arm, and still maintaining eye contact with Ginny, still smiling, tapped it a few times just above the elbow.
'Don't let her get to you, don't let her!'
"They should have been helping me! But they chose him, they wanted to help Potter, and so they deserved to die! The same as the rest of you, they-they were nothing to me! They were nothing, and their deaths meant nothing!"
Her speech was met with a ringing silence,
Ron, she could see, was sitting back in his chair, his face burning with righteous fury.
Out of nowhere, a memory popped into her mind, as crisp and bright as if it had happened the previous day.
She could see it in perfect detail; It was Third Year Christmas Break, Ron was playing chess with her, and she felt more comfortable than she had almost the entire rest of her school career.
That had been before she'd killed Higgs, before Barty had discovered her, back when she'd still loved her family and been loved by them.
Merlin, everything had been so fucking simple then.
And nothing would ever be like that again. She'd never be able to relax, never be able to simply be and forget about her worries. No matter what, the knowledge of Bellatrix and the Dark Lord's deaths would always be lurking at the back of her mind, along with the faces of the people she'd killed and tortured and ruined.
Happiness was over for her.
"All those of the jury in favour of lifetime imprisonment in Azkaban, please raise your hands."
Her head shot back up again, her eyes beginning to rove around the jury and count.
Her heart caught in her throat as she realized what she was seeing.
Every member of the jury had their hand in the air.
They'd decided. They wouldn't let her off, wouldn't let her die and escape this horror her life had become.
They were going to send her to Azkaban, to spend the rest of her life rotting on that godforsaken island.
Her mind seemed to stop working, pure instinct taking over and forcing her body into action.
She was struggling against her bonds, screaming and crying and thrashing, trying desperately and uselessly to escape, trying to get them to change their minds. The Aurors from either side of the courtroom were approaching her and, still screaming, she began to whip her head from side to side, snapping at them and trying to bite.
One of them raised his wand, scarlet motes of light gathering at the tip of it.
The darkness rushed in on her along with his Stunner.