A/N: I forgot to include the fancast, which is: Chris Hemsworth as Thorfinn Rowle and Holland Roden as Ginny.
Remember, reviews are the only "payment" that fanfic writers get!
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Chapter Two | Abandonment
She wakes up, snug in bed. It smells like home. Her childhood quilt is on her bed, and her stuffed lion is next to her on the pillow. "Hello, Gus," she whispers. He purrs, nuzzling her cheek.
"Good morning, sleepyhead." Her father pokes his head around the door. He's wearing his nightcap and a goofy grin. "If you sleep the whole day away, Bug, you'll miss the surprise!"
"Surprise?" Her voice comes out in a squeak. She is a child again, her small hand dwarfed by his. She lets him lead her out of her room and down the twisty stairs, all the way to the kitchen where he hands her a cup of tea with heaps of sugar and cream.
"Yes, Bug. I've found the most wondrous contraption." He winks. "Don't tell your mum."
Together, they creep on tip-toe into his workshop, piled topsy-turvy with his hoard of Muggle artifacts. Little Ginny never knew the names of any of the things, but Grown-Up Ginevra likes to think she does. A record player sits on a chair with a slinky and a rubber duck, kitty-corner to a book with strange markings on the cover.
"What's this, Daddy?" Ginny holds the book up, and her father smiles indulgently, squatting on his haunches at eye level. This is when she realizes how young he looks. Gone are the wrinkles and lines in his face, gone are his white hairs. He looks like he could be a few years older than Grown Up Ginny, not more than twenty-one or -two.
"Well, Bug, that's a sort of funny writing that Muggles used a long time ago. This is an account of a little witch who grew up with Muggles and learned how to do their magic. Most wizards today say it's lies because Muggles don't have magic like we do, but I think there's some truth in the old stories." Her father tousles her hair. "Why don't you hold on to it? Perhaps when you're a grown up witch you can find a use for it." The corners of his eyes crinkle with amusement.
"All right, Daddy." She slips the little book into the pocket of her night robe. "Will you show me the thingy now?"
"Yes." Her father picks her up and places her on the tall stool beside his workbench. "This is something we found on a the beach in Cornwall. Isn't it funny looking, Bug?"
Ginny has seen it before. She remembers this. The Office of Muggle Artefacts casually "lost" the item after that Christmas. Her father gave it to her, and she fell asleep with it every night until Ron stole it for himself, and broke it. "I love it," she whispers. "I'll never let it go."
"Don't tell your mother, Bug. It'll be our secret," he says with a wink. "Oh, Bug, what's wrong? Did you cut your finger?" He rummages through the junk on his workbench until he finds a rag, wrapping it around the wounded digit. "Don't cry, pet."
"I'm not hurt, Daddy." Ginny swallows a sob. "It's just that I love you so, so much."
"What's this about, love?" Her father chucks her under her chin. "Are those boys giving you a hard time again? I'll have a stern talking to with them about it, don't you worry." He hugs her with one arm, kissing the top of her head. "Better hop back in bed before your mother catches you up."
Ginny stops at the door, turning back to look at her father. He's humming happily, tinkering with a video camera. "Daddy," she whispers, but he doesn't look up. The room shimmers, and blurs, and then she finds herself opening the door to the kitchen instead of the hallway.
"Oh, Ginny! Finally. Didn't you hear me calling you?" Her mother swoops in on her, handing her an apron. There is flour and brown dough everywhere - on the walls, on the ceiling, and clumped all over the floor. "Those naughty boys charmed an entire army of gingerbread men before I had the chance to bake them!"
Ginny remembers this, too. Her mother had swept them all outside with a broom to de-gnome the barren winter garden. Outside the window she can hear laughter and shouts. "Mummy," she breathes, throwing her arms around her mother's waist. She is taller now than she was with her father, she realizes. She knows somehow that she is now eight years old, and Charlie has brought a friend home for Christmas, the one who calls her Little Star and throws her up in the air as though she weighs no more than a leaf.
"Oh, what's this about, love?" Her mother hugs her back, and then sees gift her father gave her. "That man! Oooh, he makes me so mad sometimes! Let me just put this up here for you, Ginevra. You won't want to get dough on it." She levitates Arthur's gift onto a high shelf, and dusts off her hands. "There we go." When she turns around, she makes a noise of surprise, her face softening. "Come sit down, Ginny dear."
Molly clears off a corner of the table, pouring herself a mug of tea, and fetches Ginny her own mug of hot, birch-sweet cider, swimming with candied orange peel. "My, my," Molly says softly. "You're here early, my wild girl. It's not quite your time yet." She reaches down, cupping Ginny's face in her hands, and places a fierce kiss upon her forehead. "Remember this, if nothing else, my darling - 'Go and catch a falling star'. Can you do that for me?"
"Mummy," Ginny says, and finds she cannot say more, the words trapped in her throat, burning like embers.
"It's almost Christmas. Everyone is here," Molly says, stirring her drink. "Almost all my lovely boys." When she looks at Ginny, her eyes are filled with a sudden, terrible grief, and a cold wind whips through the Burrow, chilling Ginny to the bone. Ginny looks up to see that the living room clock is in the kitchen with them. All hands point to LOST, except her own.
Instead, as the clock chimes, the hand turns, and it swings around the clock face to land on two words with a loud clang:
MORTAL PERIL.
•••
Ginny wakes up with a start, flying out from under the bedcovers. The bells are ringing up and down the valley, and there is a deep green breeze, warm and bright, blowing in through the open window.
"You're awake, dear. I'd been startin' to worry."
Ginny turns her head. She is sitting upright in a small bed, pushed under the eaves. It is a small cottage, one room with a ladder leading to an upper loft. There's a fireplace and kettle hanging over a merry little purple fire; and an old woman with long white curls, so wizened and bent she must be over a century old, sits knitting at the table. "Hello," Ginny says. "You must be Granny Mab?" Her heart is pounding like a drum, and she pats at her pockets, searching belatedly for the little book.
"Your rucksack an' boots are beside the door, dear. You were so muddled up when you came, that I put you to bed straightaway."
"Oh no, I'm sorry!" Ginny throws her legs over the side of the bed. She is barefoot. "I hope we didn't inconvenience you."
"I don't get inconvenienced by the young. I'm too old to be botherin' about it. But it did give me quite a start when Seamus' little Muggle friend showed up at my doorstep this afternoon with an unconscious cailin in tow!" Her cloudy green eyes peer hard at Ginny. "You must be Seamus' witch."
Ginny feels her cheeks heat. "I'm not, I mean we're not - in love or anything," she explains, badly. "Is he here?" She listens, straining to hear his step, his whistle, the sound of his voice, and when nothing is forthcoming, she slumps against the bed frame, her heart on the ground.
"Not in love with my great-grandson, hmm? Well, girl, he isn't here, and I'm just as worried as you are - and I love him more than anythin'." A raven swoops into the room, a letter on its leg. Granny Mab unfurls it, tossing the raven a piece of meat. "Hmm, hmm. Interestin'." She looks up at Ginny, and her cloudy eyes are suddenly sharp. "Fergus says here he needs to meet with ya. He'll be at the Muggle pub in the village at nine o'clock tonight." She grins, showing a mouthful of white, even teeth. "He plays the pipes with the local lads. Tells me, 'Oh, Granny Mab, it's the craic!' But I'm too old to go out dancin' like a young witch. You'll like it, but maybe not, you bein' an English witch an' all. Fergus is Seamus' cousin, an' a handsome devil. Don't let him turn your head." She waves her hand at the kitchen counter. "There's some tea for ya there, and a bit of bread an' jam."
"Can I help you with anything, since I'm here?" Ginny's stomach gives an embarrassing growl. She realizes she's had nothing to eat for hours, and she's about to tear into the loaf like a ravenous wolf in front of Seamus' granny. "I used to help my mother around the house a lot, I have - I had -" she has to take a deep breath. "I had six lazy brothers, you see."
(Past tense: "LOST", like the arm of a Time Turner that won't stop spinning.)
"I shift well enough on ma own, and I have Fergus' elf, Peasy, to help out when I need it. If you're so keen on it though, I do have one thing you could help me with."
Ginny's mouth is full of thick, chewy bread, and she gulps it down with a swallow of tea. "Yes, ma'm."
The old woman takes the teacup from her, studying the remains with a grave expression. "Aye, my Seamus has caught himself réalta ag titim, I see." She looks up from the cup. "There's a little pot by the door with milk and honey in it. Take the path to the heart of the forest, and say 'For the spirits, seen an' unseen.' Then walk away without looking back. Get on with you now, child." She makes shooing motions, and that is how Ginny finds herself at the edge of a greenwood, branches twisting up towards the wide open sky.
She isn't sure if she's in Magical Ireland or Muggle Ireland, or someplace else entirely, but she's not a superstitious witch, so she begins walking down the forest track. Here, the sunlight falls in patches on the forest floor, illuminating sudden scenes of simple beauty: moss on carved stones that may or may not have faces, a tiny butterfly drinking from a toadstool, a centaur foal hiding amongst the ferns.
And then she is there, at the very heart of the forest.
In front of her is a cairn, piled high with stones. It hums with old magic, the kind that cannot be found in books. Without knowing why, she steps closer to it, and sees glowing blue scratches, letters like twigs, begin to form on each and every stone. She reaches out, when she hears her mother's voice echo in the clearing.
(Don't!)
Her hand drops. The stones hum, and the writing begins to move sinuously across the rocks, twining all together in a braided chain of glowing blue. As Ginny watches, it flows to the base of the pile, and onto the ground, making a path further into the forest. The branches quiver, leaves blowing towards the path, and Ginny takes a reckless step forward, away from the cairn.
"Ginny..." Seamus' voice beckons, and her feet fly down the blue road, shimmering and weaving through the trees. In the forest, she hears the sound of laughter, the voices of the twins and Percy, as though from far away and yet close by all at once, and she presses faster on. At last, the path ends, and she finds herself gasping for breath before a burial mound, set in a hillock overgrown with yarrow and mugwort and Devil's Snare.
The blue vines snake up the side of the barrow, revealing a weathered oaken door set into the side, so small Ginny would have to crawl on her hands and knees to make it through. Belatedly, she remembers Granny Mab's instructions.
(Don't leave the path. )
But surely this is where the path has led her? So it can't be wrong. She wishes she had a wand again, it's like losing a limb to be without it. "Oh, Seamus," Ginny whispers. Then she pulls the door open, and ducks inside.
•••
She crawls for what seems like hours in the crushing darkness, just a tiny blue light in front of her to guide her way, twisting and turning, deeper and deeper into the land. The walls are earthen and damp, they smell of fallen leaves and a long held decay. At last, the ground slopes upwards, and Ginny finds herself in a small cavern, bathed in blue light. In front of her is an altar made of carven stone, creeping all over with ivy.
(Who goes there?)
Ginny jumps at the sound of the voice, at once both loud and soft in the little room.
She opens her mouth without thinking, and gives her full name. "Ginevra Weasley."
As she watches, the blue writing spirals on the floor, moving up in a column of light until the figure of a tall woman appears, so beautiful she is painful to look upon; clad in a gown of gray, with bittersweet and tiny skulls woven through her dark locks. When she speaks, it is in a voice that is both silvery and rough, like the tinkling of a thousand tiny discordant bells.
(Rise, Ginevra Weasley.)
She hadn't realized she was lying in supplication. Slightly embarassed, she gets to her knees, dusting herself off, and the Lady touches her forehead.
(Why have you come, Ginevra? What will you have of Me?)
Ginny pulls the earthenware jug from her pocket, miraculously unbroken. She uncorks it, and offers it to the Lady. "Milk and honey, for the spirits - seen and unseen."
(Ah. I see into your heart. It is not yet your time, little witch. The ones you seek are gone from this world - though they will always be with you.)
Ginny feels white-hot heat behind her eyes, and she fights the burning tide that wells up, threatening to drown her. "Please, my Lady, where is he?"
(The one who holds your heart, or the one who shall yet hold it? You ask the wrong questions, but I give you the right answer. To heal, little star, you must face the Shadow - and vanquish it.)
With a rush of color, she glows so brightly that the room nearly explodes, and Ginny falls with her hands over her ears, unsure if she is screaming or if the sound is coming from all around her.
•••
"NOOOO!" The keening wail comes from Professor McGonagall, tears pouring down her cheeks, but it is Ginny who breaks from her mother's embrace to dash toward Harry's broken body. In her throat is a scream that will not budge, and she kneels beside him, holding his hand to her cheek.
"Harry, Harry, wake up... Please wake up, please!" Ginny presses her ear to Harry's rapidly cooling chest, hands bunched in his shirt, breath coming in short gasps. "Don't die, no, Harry, please get up! We need you - I need you." The last is said in a cracked whisper, and the tears begin to fall in a rush, blurring her sight.
"Poor little blood traitor," a voice hisses, and to her shock, it is coming not from Lord Voldemort's twisted form, lying beside Harry, but from Harry himself. Ginny freezes in wonderment, which swiftly turns to horror.
Harry is not Harry - not her Harry - not anyone's. It is a cruel jest, a foul trick. A wicked smile twists his lips, and a ribbon of blood, black and thick, dribbles slowly from the center of his ear.
A cheer goes up from the Light side, but Ginny is scrambling away from this false Harry, her hands over her mouth, No no no a litany on her lips.
"Hello, Ginevra," Tom Riddle's voice coos.
The excitement that the Light has won is short-lived, a bitter pill. Lord Voldemort has taken possession of his Horcrux, and is quick to take advantage of the confusion by firing a swift series of Avada Kedavras - at Hagrid, who crumples where he stands, tears for his ' 'Arry' still wet on his cheeks; at Bill, who is distracted with shooing his new wife away; and at McGonagall, hit right in the back as she calls for the children to Run, run!
That is when the Massacre of Hogwarts begins.
The Death Eaters began to howl, led by Fenrir Greyback, the eerie sound chilling Ginny straight to her bones. Ron is sunken and gray, tears pouring down his cheeks, and Hermione grips his hand like a lifeline, knuckles white as paste.
"Go, Ginevra," her mother whispers, her voice like steel. "Run and run, and don't stop until you are home at the Burrow."
If Ginny had known it was the last time she would see her parents alive, she would have said different things, but instead her heart curdles in her chest in anger, for she wants to kill the one who has taken Harry from her and disgraced his memory. And so as she turns from her mother, she whispers terrible, cruel words she regrets even as they fly from her mouth. Her father raises his arms to embrace her, and lets them fall, pain in his eyes.
Later, she would hear tales of how the Order stood tall, mown down like sheaves of wheat in a dark harvest. How Fleur took the Killing Curse meant for two first year Hufflepuffs, found later with their hands laced in hers, held so tightly that not even death could tear them asunder. Of Kingsley Shacklebolt and Alastor Moody, who perished trying to pull down the Great Hall upon the head of the Dark Lord, and who instead were crushed to death themselves. Of Molly and Arthur, struck by a curse that burned them from within, found in each other's arms, their charred bodies good for nothing more than fuel for the pyre made from the bodies of the slain.
•••
At first Ginny runs with her brothers, until one by one they drop away, and she is suddenly alone in a dark corridor, lost, her footsteps echoing in the dim. Behind her is the roar of the pursuing Death Eaters and the screams of her friends, before her is a set of dark stairs, leading away to nothingness.
There is a sudden noise like thunder, and the walls of the castle shake, tossing her to the floor. When Ginny is able to rise, she hears a feeble cry from the way she came, and she runs back, just in time to find Charlie Weasley, her second eldest brother, lying half under the pile of rubble, blood leaking from his mouth.
"Ginny," Charlie whispers, a smile blossoming across his face. His eyes are glossy with pain.
They come out of nowhere.
Before she realizes what is happening, several Death Eaters charge down the corridor, hot on the heels of Dean, Hannah, and Neville, who is limping, fresh blood oozing from a puncture mark in his side. None of them have their wands.
"Gotcha!" Scabior crows, catching Ginny by her braid. She screams, trying to get a bead on him with her wand, and he grabs it, tossing it to Goyle Sr, who snaps it in half with a final crunch.
"Nooooo!" Ginny howls, and more Snatchers rush forward, cornering the others. Pulled along by the dark wave, Ginny can only struggle, screaming Charlie's name.
And then the dark wizards are upon them, laughing as they fling Dean and Neville into Body Binds and begin to brutally rape Hannah. Neville is fighting the spell and shouting, tears streaming freely down his cheeks. Dean is yelling at them, You fuckers, you cowards, leave them alone, take me instead!
Ginny begins to scream in earnest for her brothers.
She hadn't known, then.
Behind her on the floor, Hannah is sobbing, No, no, the baby!, and Ginny wrests herself from Scabior's grip, throwing herself on MacNair's back. He is not the first to get atop Hannah, and he is making animalistic grunts, wand jammed deep against her throat as he thrusts.
"Get off her!" Ginny grabs a handful of his hair and goes sprawling back in Hannah's blood as the man whips around with a roar.
"The little blood traitor wants some of what her friend got, does she?" MacNair cackles. Goyle Sr has already taken his place with Hannah, and she is silent now.
It comes out of nowhere. A sudden pulling in the air, a tightness, and the air snaps - leaving MacNair, Scabior, and Goyle Sr. unconscious on the floor. The other Snatchers scatter, and run.
Out of the shadows steps a tall man, face hidden by a black hood. Beside him is Draco Malfoy, his face pale and determined. Their wands are held out in front of them like swords.
"Where's Granger?" Draco demands, and Ginny shakes her head, mutely.
Her whole body is shivering, she cannot seem to stop. Draco nods, and hurries to help the boys and Hannah, who is limp and unresponsive. Neville is dazed, he cradles Hannah's head in his lap. Dean stands over them as Draco tries unsuccessfully to revive Hannah. His shoulders are hunched in grief.
Ginny wants to move towards them but cannot, she feels the weight of their accusation by the way their backs turn against her. She should have stopped it. She tried, she tried.
"Charlie Weasley sent me," says the tall wizard in a deep voice, one that is tight with a barely restrained fury. "Where is Star?"
Ginny steps forward, disbelievingly, pushing back the black hood and staring up into the stunned blue eyes of Charlie's former friend, memories from long ago filling her mind. Of a tall boy who threw her into the air and called her little star, who read her strange and wondrous poems, who told her impossible, fantastic tales of the exploits of his Viking ancestor and namesake. "Thorfinn?" She whispers, brushing back a lock of dark gold hair that has fallen over his eyes.
He catches her hand, searching her face. "They're coming," he says, urgently. "They're coming, and they won't stop until you're all dead. So take your friends and run now, little star. Run and run and keep running. Malfoy and I will Obliviate these bastards - but I can't keep you safe unless you do exactly as I say."
"Thorfinn – " she says, and she grabs his wrist, where she finds a little bracelet, worn by wear throughout the years. On it is a rune, and Ginny remembers - a boy, crying for his mother in Molly's arms, a broken amulet, a missing friend on Christmas morning. "You - "
"I hope to see you on the other side someday," he says. And with a gentle push, he sends her towards the future, to gather Neville and Dean, and to keep running, down the rocky path that opens up before them, and the abyss of grief and anger that will carry them across the bleak years to come.
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Translation: "realta ag titim" means "a falling star".