A/N: The Thunderbird information is based on old native american myths, although I elaborated a bit and completely made up the creation story. I'd be interested to hear what you think of it, to be honest, to see if it makes sense or needs editing.
And without further ado, here's the chapter. Enjoy.
FOUR
"First thing you need to know is that Thunderbirds are old," Pansy began, leaning her chin in intertwined fingers and levelling Ginny with a look that Professor McGonagall would have been proud of. It was the sort of look that usually only teachers had, the sort of look that promised severe punishment if you did not hang on their every word. It was the sort of look that promised a test the next lesson.
"And I don't mean just sort of old, like Quidditch or Merlin or some shit. I mean old, as in, before muggles, before witches and wizards, before everything that we know today. Thunderbirds were one of the first conscious creatures to come into being. You know, of course, that Life and Death created everything that we have today? Life created the sun and the plants and the earth, Death created the moon, the weather and magic?" Ginny levelled the older girl with a glare.
"Just because I wasn't raised to be a rich snob, doesn't mean I'm any less a pure-blood than you are. I know this stuff." Pansy arched an eyebrow and shifted in her seat, sitting higher in her chair as though she was attempting to re-establish her superiority over the younger girl.
"Of course," she answered neutrally, "Well, what most don't realise is that magic and along with it, all conscious life forms were never meant to be created. We are a side effect. And the Thunderbirds were one of the triggers, in a way. You see, when Death created the weather, he made a mistake. He gave it too much power. You can't create that much power, that much energy, and not attach some sort of consciousness to it. So, the power made its own consciousness and it was magic. The sun and the snow made light magic, and light wizards and witches, the rain and wind and clouds made dark magic, and so made dark witches and wizards, and the storms created Thunderbirds."
"Woah, wait a minute. Slow down. We are all made out of the weather? How does that even work? And where did muggles come from then, if we were all made because of magic? How can weather even make us like that?"
"Merlin, girl, listen, would you?" Pansy snapped, "We aren't made out of the weather, we are made out of the power that Death gave it! The power overwhelmed itself, and so had to turn some of itself into magic to survive. And we were channelled out of that magic. Muggles were created from the power, before it turned itself into magic. They were granted consciousness, but not magic. And the same applies with animals; the ones with magic were created slightly later, when the power had realised that simply channelling itself into consciousness wasn't working. Understand?" Ginny nodded slowly, trying to wrap her brain around the concept. She had never really thought much on how they had come into being before; like most witches and wizards, she had simply accepted the creation story of Life and Death and carried on with her life.
"Okay. So Death created the weather, but gave it to much power. Too much energy, right?" Pansy nodded none too patiently, so Ginny continued. "So then the power had to channel itself into something to survive. What would have happened if it hadn't?"
"The world would have exploded and Life and Death would have had to start all over again."
"Right. Whatever. So the power began creating conscious beings, but that wasn't helping enough. So it gave some humans and animals extra energy, and made them magical. And the different forms of weather gave these magical beings different types of magic, right? So the ones made from the power of the sun became light wizards, and the ones made from the power of the rain became dark wizards? Except rain doesn't seem very dark," Ginny wrinkled her nose in thought, "Surely the dark wizards should have been made from like, tornadoes, or storms or something." Pansy snorted delicately, unable to hide her amusement.
"Even for a Gryffindor, you're a little bit dim sometimes, you know?" she asked, a smirk on her lips. Ginny bristled, suddenly very conscious of her wand tucked behind her ear.
"Look," she snapped, "It's the middle of the night, I've had a long fucking day, I'm probably going to be expelled for attacking Snape and I don't need you being a bitch to top it all off. Just tell me what I need to know. Tell me what the fuck I am, and stop rambling about magic and creation and the fucking weather!" She was standing by the time she had finished, breathing heavily with her hair drifting about her head in a fiery halo as static filled the air of the library. The books on nearby shelves began to tremble and a quiet growl of thunder echoed through the room. She was glaring at Pansy, her eyes no longer those of Ginny Weasley; the comfortable brown was fading out into a milky white, confirming Pansy's suspicions. The girl was further along than she had expected, and damage control was required. Even if it did mean being nice.
"Calm down," Pansy murmured, "Calm down, sweetie. Come back to me. You need to control it for now. You need to hear me out. Just calm down, come on." Slowly, the tension left the younger girl's body and her hair fell back down around her shoulders as she sat back down. When she looked back at Pansy her eyes were once again a pretty brown colour, though their attractiveness was ruined by the tears welling up in them.
"I'm scared," she whispered and Pansy was caught between hugging the girl in front of her and sneering at the display of weakness. She was joining this side for power, not to comfort scared children.
"Good. If you're scared it means you can fight against it, at least for a while. Thunderbirds were made out of the storms, Ginny. Death put the most power into his storms, loving their primal energy and the destruction they caused. And most of that power went into the thunderbirds. The rest of the weather, it took a little while, maybe a year or two, before its own power threatened to overwhelm it. But the storms... Death should never have given anything that much power. It took only 5 days and 5 nights, the stories say, for the first Thunderbird to be created." Ginny nodded dumbly, unable to process the thought that that much power now resided in her body. She did, however, begin to understand why Pansy had come to her to join her side in the war.
"Okay. But what is a Thunderbird?" Pansy reached into her bag, pulling out a large, old, mouldy book. She flicked quickly through the pages, ignoring the fact that the action threw a small cloud of dust into the air.
"This. This is a Thunderbird." She slid the open book over to Ginny. On the page was an ancient drawing of an enormous bird with feathers of red, orange, grey, black and a startling white. Though the colours were faded, it was obvious that they were supposed to be vibrant. Two curled horns sat proudly on its head and a row of dangerous looking teeth lined its beak. The writing around the picture was in some ancient, foreign language that Ginny couldn't understand.
"So... The feather on my earring, that came from one of these birds, right? And that's why I keep on... I don't know, calling up storms?"
"No, it's so much more than that! If it worked that way, then anybody could wear that earring and command the power. No, you have to be related to a Thunderbird. Somewhere, probably hundreds of generations back in your family tree, there was a Thunderbird. And that blood has been passed down through your family, skipping generations when it has found nobody worthy, and gifting those who it does find worthy. Like it has to you." Pansy leant forward, trying to open Ginny's eyes to the wonderful, dangerous, powerful gift she had been presented with. But, alas, it had been a long day and there was only one part of Pansy's speech which managed to make itself heard.
"So somebody in my family had sex with a giant, magical bird? Is that what you're saying?" Ginny asked, unable to tear her eyes away from the illustration in the book. There was something about it that drew her to it; she barely heard what Pansy was saying, so entranced was she by the drawing. She didn't even realise that the thunder was creeping up in the back of her mind again, a slight rumble followed by the pattering of rain. It was only the flash of lightning that snapped her out of it.
"Ginny!" Pansy's voice was insistent, and Ginny had the nagging feeling that the older girl had been trying to get her attention for a while now.
"What?"
"You have to fight it, for fuck's sake! You need to learn to control yourself before you give in to it, otherwise it'll just overwhelm you, and I don't know what would happen then."
"How do you know it'll be a bad thing then, if you don't know what'll happen?" Ginny asked petulantly.
"Oh, I'm fucking sorry," Pansy snapped, "I forgot that giving up control to an unknown, addictive power always ended up in sunshine and rainbows." Ginny bristled at the sarcasm, but stayed silent on the matter, a scowl on her face the only indication to her displeasure.
"Whatever. So, back to my ancestor fucking a big-ass bird." Pansy raised an eyebrow in amusement; the youngest Weasley could definitely be vulgar when she wanted to. Though her pure-blood breeding urged against it, Pansy found herself warming ever so slightly to the girl because of it. It showed personality and spirit, and confirmed than Pansy had made the right choice. This could be done.
"They didn't, not really. The Thunderbirds have a human form, of sorts. Legend says that they had the ability to tip back their beak, revealing a human face underneath. Not sure what happened to their body, but I'm guessing something similar happened- they plucked their feathers or something and underneath it all they had a human body. The books aren't really clear on that bit. Well, they aren't really clear on anything, to be honest." Ginny smiled a bit at the exasperation on Pansy's face, feeling a tiny bit grateful that the Slytherin girl had done the research for her. Studying and spending copious amounts of time in the library was more Hermione's thing than Ginny's.
"Ok. So one of my ancestors had sex with a Thunderbird in its human form, therefore passing down its blood until that blood found me?"
"Yes."
"Oh. Hey, is that why we're all ginger?"
"So you will do nothing about it?" Professor Snape snarled across the desk at the man who was, usually, his most trusted friend and advisor. He was also, at times, his boss, his superior and his master. This was one of the latter times, unfortunately.
"I see nothing that I can do, without putting Miss Weasley in a large amount of danger. Is one student's life being constantly threatened not enough for you, Severus?" Dumbledore's tone was calm, more suited to discussing the weather over a cup of tea than to their current conversation, and it only served to incense Snape further. One student's life was constantly in danger? Had Albus forgotten Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle and who knew how many others of his Slytherins who were under ever-increasing pressure to join a lifestyle that almost always led to early death at best, and life-imprisonment at worst. He didn't voice any of this though, merely seething silently and vowing to take his anger out on Dumbledore's favourite students at the earliest convenience.
"Will you at least tell me what happened, then? As I will obviously not be finding out from Miss Weasley's mind. What is this power she has? Can we use it against the Dark Lord? Is she dangerous, to herself, to her classmates? Tell me something, Albus!"
"No," the old man continued, as though Snape's outburst had never happened, "I believe it is best left in Miss Weasley's hands. I think she is more than capable of dealing with her new-found inheritance. Now, how is young Mister Malfoy holding up?"
"Malfoy," the guard at the door snarled through his silver mask. Draco sneered, almost successful in removing all traces of fear from his face.
"MacNair," he greeted coolly, "Let me through, I have business with the Dark Lord, and not much time before I am missed at school."
"Of course," MacNair answered, stepping aside, "After all, who am I to disallow you entrance to your own home?" Draco swept past the Death Eater, ignoring the cruel laugh that followed him down the hallway. He was nervous and fidgety as he approached the doors to the ballroom, but he did his best to school his features into a calm facade. It was strange to him, still, that he feared going into certain rooms in his own house. These were the rooms he grew up in, played with his friends in, ate dinner with his mother and father in. But now they were places of his nightmares, places of pain and humiliation. Taking a shaky breath, he knocked once on the door, a traitorous murmur in the back of his mind hoping that nobody heard his knock and he would be able to escape unnoticed. He had no such luck, however, as the doors swung open almost instantly.
"My Lord," he whispered, hurrying forward to kneel before his master.
"Draco," Voldemort greeted, managing to send shivers down the Malfoy heir's spine with a single word, "To what do I owe the... pleasure?"
"My Lord, I have half of what you asked us to retrieve," Draco said, pulling a vial filled with red liquid from his robes.
"Whose is it?" The Dark Lord sounded pleased, and Draco's confidence ratcheted up a few notches.
"Potter's. We have yet to get the Weasley girl's, but it will not be much longer. My Lord, I must go, before my absence is noted." It was a bold move, and one that, had he not just handed a vial of Potter's blood over, would have earned him a crucio at the least and an avada kedavra at the most. As it was, an indulgent smile stretched the thin lips of the Dark Lord as he looked down on his newest servant. Voldemort had never expected this one to work out half as well as he was, had marked him mostly for entertainment value, if he was honest. But he was pleased, nonetheless, pleased enough to be lenient, just this once.
"You wish to get back to your other task, no doubt. You may leave," Voldemort all but hissed. Draco, silently thanking Merlin, backed his way out of the room, almost unable to believe his own good luck- this was the first time he had gotten through a meeting with the Dark Lord without at least one crucio. Now all he had to do was find a way to the Weasley girl's blood, though he could, he supposed, leave that to the Dark Lord's other servants within Slytherin house, and find a way to sneak the Death Eater's into Hogwarts. And kill Dumbledore. There was that as well.
Shaking his head to clear it of any guilt he felt over his tasks, he stalked out of his childhood home, ignoring his mother and father as he passed them and apparated back to Hogsmeade, to begin the long trek up to the castle. He had work to do.
Ginny's head was spinning. She had no idea how Pansy expected her to take in all of that information at once- she wasn't Hermione, for Merlin's sake. So distracted was she that she forgot to pull the invisibility cloak back over her head as she walked back to the common room that night. She lucky that Filch had already gone to bed for the night, or she would have been caught as soon as she set foot out of the library and it would have been a week's worth of detention for being out after curfew. As it was, she wasn't seen until she was only 50 yards away from her common room.
The seventh year Slytherin prefect held his breath, creeping along the corridor behind her, going through a myriad of plans in his mind. Would it be easier to call out, in the guise of giving her detention? No, then she might run, and she would definitely see who he was. Send a silent stunner down the hallway? Simply sneak up and stab her? Before he could make his move though, she whispered something to a portrait which swung open just enough for her to slip inside.
"Fuck," he muttered, pocketing his wand and storming back down the corridor towards the dungeons. Next time, he'd be sure not to hesitate.