A/N: yes. yes this did take a while. I sort of stopped writing anything at all for like, months. But I'm doing a creative writing module at uni in September, so I thought I should get back in the habit of writing more often. so with any luck, assuming I don't get too distracted, this will get finished sometime within the next few months. hang in there, guys :D
SEVEN
Ginny shivered. The sun was refusing to show its face today, though as it was Scotland in late November, she supposed she shouldn't be so surprised. Nevertheless, she had braved the weather simply to escape from the confines of the castle and the horrible, smothering concern of her friends and family. Being in Hogwarts meant that every little thing that happened was bound to be common knowledge by the next day and so the entire school knew about the attack, although the details had been widely exaggerated. Colin was still convinced that she had killed seven Slytherins, no matter how many times she tried to tell him otherwise.
She was sat on a large, flat stone by the lake when she felt someone approaching her from behind. The thunder in her head didn't react at all, and so Ginny knew that she was in no danger. It was a helpful sort of instinct to have, once one learned how to listen to it.
"Eurgh. I wish I'd known about your abysmal fashion sense before I pledged my allegiance to you."
Ginny smiled, a natural reaction to Pansy's voice, before she absorbed the words and looked down, frowning, at her outfit. Faded, baggy jeans two sizes too big held up with a leather belt and an old, threadbare grey t-shirt of Bill's with the words 'The Clash' scrawled across it. What 'The Clash' was Ginny didn't know, but she suspected that it was some sort of muggle sport. Perhaps with cars. They clashed, sometimes, right? Or was it crashed? She wasn't sure.
"I wonder if anybody's ever said that to Voldemort," Ginny mused out loud, smiling again, all offence forgotten. Pansy grinned.
"I don't know about Voldemort, but somebody must have said it to Dumbledore," she said with a fake sneer. Ginny laughed, finally turning to face her friend. As she had suspected, Pansy was incapable of dressing down and was wearing tight, tailored black trousers and a sheer black blouse underneath a velvet emerald green cloak. Did she never relax?
"Sit down," Ginny said, "Or are you scared of getting your outfit grubby?" Pansy rolled her eyes and sat, tucking her legs beneath her.
"I want you to start meditating," Pansy said brusquely as soon as she was comfortable, all traces of humour gone. Ginny almost argued; all the things she would have said two months ago went through her mind: 'No, I haven't got time, it's boring and pointless, you aren't my mother and can't tell me what to do, I have better things to spend my time on, will it cut into my Quidditch training?' But all she said was:
"Okay." Because she was scared, now, and willing to try anything to get control of herself. Even if that involved listening to Pansy's advice. It was somewhat startling to realize how much she had matured over the past few months. War and the overwhelming pressure to do something about it could do that to a person, she supposed. She wondered why Harry didn't act like an old man, the amount of pressure he had on him. She supposed it was something to do with her brother's childish influence.
"Good," Pansy nodded, seeming a little distracted now that her main business with Ginny was finished.
"What is it?" Ginny asked, staring out across the lake. She didn't expect Pansy to answer, but to her surprise the Slytherin girl sighed and began to talk in a rush.
"Draco isn't telling me anything anymore. He isn't even fucking me anymore. He hasn't touched his homework in weeks and he isn't even letting Crabbe and Goyle follow him around anymore. I don't know what he's doing, I don't know what his plan is, whether he has new orders from Voldemort or is still acting on the old ones. I don't know anything and it worries me. I mean, last I heard you were to be taken alive, but what if that's changed? There's so much that could happen and whilst you undoubtedly have the power to fight them off, what if they manage to catch you unawares? What if they-"
"Pansy, you sound like a Gryffindor," Ginny smiled. She didn't smile because she didn't have exactly the same concerns as Pansy though; she smiled because she couldn't bear to think of them. It was disconcerting to know that Pansy's usual well of information has dried up, and even more disconcerting to her that she had been fucking that well. It was even more disconcerting that the usual calm and collected Slytherin was worried. Pansy didn't do worried. But Ginny pushed those thoughts to the back of her mind and smiled. Sometimes, smiling is all you can do to stop yourself from falling entirely to pieces.
"Like she could ever be a Gryffindor," a voice grumbled in disgust from behind them. Ginny turned and saw Ron, glaring at Pansy, standing with Harry and Hermione. Ginny wondered if they ever went anywhere together, and then she thought of her mum finding them in the same bed in the Burrow and had to smother a giggle.
"Hi guys," Ginny said before Pansy could speak. Judging by the gleam in the Slytherin's eye, there would be a full blown duel if somebody didn't intervene. "What are you doing here?"
"We… well, we wanted to ask you some questions," Hermione said tentatively, her eyes flickering towards Harry and Ron who suddenly looked a bit guilty.
"What did you do?" Pansy snapped, catching the glance. Harry grimaced.
"Well… we might have, um, heard what you said in the hospital wing a few weeks ago," he said, shifting from one foot to the other.
"Oh for Merlins sake, sit down, all of you," Pansy said, "And stop hovering behind us. So you eavesdropped on a private conversation? A very important private conversation that was full of very sensitive information?"
"Err… yes?" Harry smiled sheepishly, but he took a seat on the rock next to Ginny. "And, um, Neville told us about the Thunderbirds. I guess we just wanted to know… is it true? Are you… you know… a Thunderbird? And how does that even work? I mean, you're not a giant bird. And Ron isn't a Thunderbird. And-"
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Pansy snapped, "I'm not going through the whole thing again. Ginny, you can explain, I'm going to go find a way to stop you dying and win this war." And with that, Pansy stood, straightened her clothes (Ron's eyes boggled until Hermione hit him upside the head) and left Ginny with three very curious friends. She sighed.
"Well, it all started when one of our ancestors fucked a giant-ass bird."
Draco brushed past Pansy as he ran through the halls, gasping out of breath. He ignored her as she called out to him, unable to hear through the roar in his head. He was going to do it. He was going to. He had to. His mother had to live. She was his mother was fuck's sake. The only person who had ever truly loved him and he was not going to let her die for the sake of some old wizard who'd had his time long ago.
That was what he kept telling himself anyway. There was a reason he was running, you see. If he didn't run, if he didn't get there soon, he would change his mind again as he had been constantly changing his mind for the past few weeks. He was ignoring the fact that Dumbledore was a thousand times the duelist than Draco himself was. If he thought of that he would stop running and if he stopped running then his mother would die. She couldn't die. She couldn't.
He skidded around the last corner and found himself face to face with the gargoyle that guarded the headmaster's office. It slid across to let him past and he didn't pause to wonder why it would do so when he had not even thought of offering a password. He took the stairs two at a time and crashed through the door to find himself staring at the man he was about to kill.
Dumbledore was behind his desk, quill in hand as though he was just finishing a letter. The old wizard smiled kindly at Draco, if a bit sadly, but Draco didn't see. He was staring at the headmaster's chest, unable to lift his gaze to look into the piercing blue eyes. He had paused for too long. He was going to change his mind. His mother.
Draco raised his wand and his eyes. Their gazes met and Draco hesitated. His mother. His mother.
"Avada Kedavra."
Harry winced in pain, letting out a small whimper, effectively cutting off Hermione and Ginny's conversation as they and Ron turned to him with worry clear on their faces. Harry never let himself show any sign of being in pain, not unless it was something bad. And bad for Harry was the equivalent of the cruciatus for most other people.
"Harry? What is it? Is it your scar?" Hermione asked.
"He's… happy. He's really happy," Harry managed to say through gritted teeth. Ginny frowned. She had gotten quite used, over the past few months, to knowing, through Pansy, what Voldemort wanted. The only thing she knew he wanted at the minute was herself and Harry, and they were both right here. So why was he so happy?
She didn't get an answer to her unspoken question though, because Harry's eyes suddenly flew open and a pained "No" wrenched from his throat.
"What is it?" Hermione asked.
"Are you alright, mate?" Ron tried, but neither got a response. Ginny sat quite still, thunder suddenly rolling in her mind in response to Harry's single spoken word. The Thunderbird knew what had happened, she didn't know how it knew but she knew, instinctively, that it did; and Harry didn't seem to be speaking anytime soon. And it was something bad, she knew that much. Something very bad by the looks of it. Which sort of justified the risk of what she was about to do.
She let go.
She flew through her mind, reveling in the crackling lightning and deafening thunder. She opened her mouth to scream in joy and an unbelievably loud, frighteningly primal cry came out of it. And she knew. She knew everything when she was in the thunder, everything that the bird knew. She hadn't realized this useful fact before, had never deliberately let herself become the bird before. The amount of information rushing through her was overwhelming; in less than a minute she knew more about the inhabitants of the school, about magic and about what she would have to do than she could have ever believed possible. Almost all of it flew straight out of her mind again, but she managed to hang onto the piece of information that she needed the most.
It was bad news indeed, very bad news. She was now the sole leader of the light. The headmaster was dead.
That was the last thought she managed before the bird took over completely and she lost herself.
Out by the lake, Hermione and Ron could only stare in wonder as their two friends simultaneously collapsed.
"Parkinson!" Pansy turned, her brow creased into a frown as she saw that it had been Hermione Granger, of all people, who had shouted her name in such an uncouth manner. Then she saw the bodies floating behind the Gryffindor girl and she rushed forward, her heels causing her footsteps to echo down the corridor.
"Ginny? What the fuck happened, Granger?" she snapped, casting a diagnostic charm on Ginny, ignoring Harry for the time being.
"I have no idea, they just collapsed!" Hermione shrieked, her hair flying wildly around her head as she gestured with her hands. "And Ron's run ahead to get Madame Pomfrey, and there's only so fast I can move when I'm floating them because I don't want to hit their heads or something and somebody needs to go and find Professor Dumbledore and-"
Hermione stopped talking and put one hand to her cheek. A cheek which Pansy had just soundly slapped.
"Snap out of it, Granger. Let's go." With that, Pansy thrust her wand back into its holster and picked Ginny out of the air. She was halfway down the corridor before Hermione got over her shock enough to hurry after her. Or, at least to attempt to. She was still floating Harry, after all, and she was sure that multiple collisions with the walls would not improve his situation.
Less than five minutes later, Pansy threw her magic at the hospital wing doors, slamming them open so that she could get through with Ginny in her arms. Madame Pomfrey and Ron looked up from their argument in shock, staring at the barely out of breath Slytherin and the unconscious girl she was holding.
"Well done Weasley, your help was greatly appreciated," Pansy snarled, depositing Ginny carefully into the nearest bed. Ron's face, already red from arguing turned beetroot and he opened his mouth to speak. Before he could, however, Hermione came through the doors with Harry floating behind her.
"What is going on here?" Madame Pomfrey asked, bustling Harry into a bed next to Ginny.
"I told you!" Ron snapped, "They just collapsed!" Madame Pomfrey frowned at the red head.
"And I told you, Mr Weasley, that I have an entire quidditch team in here, several of them regrowing bones, and I cannot just run out of my hospital every time a student comes in and starts shouting at me! I have an entire school of children to look after!"
Pansy looked round, and the blood drained from her face. Luckily for her, she was already incredibly pale, and so her reaction went unnoticed for the most part. That did not mean that she didn't have seven disbelieving Slytherins staring at her, however. She took a step away from Ginny's bedside, her mind racing with excuses as to why she would be physically carrying an injured Gryffindor to the hospital wing. She came up blank.
"Right," she muttered, too quiet for anybody but maybe Ron next to her to hear, "Okay then." She took a step back towards Ginny's bed just as Harry woke up. Her movement was therefore lost on everybody but the Slytherin quidditch team, who hadn't taken their eyes off of her. She made eye contact with as many of the seven of them as she could and glared defiantly. She was officially out.
"Wha' happened?" Harry slurred behind her, but Pansy turned back to Ginny only to find the girl awake and staring at her.
"What happened?" Pansy asked quietly as everybody fussed around Harry.
"Dumbledore," Ginny said, her eyes wide and scared but her mouth set in a defiant line.
"Draco," Pansy answered.
"Yes."
And that was it for a while. The others eventually managed to get the story out of Harry, at which point the Golden Trio simultaneously decided to break down, whether into tears or into a rage. Madam Pomfrey went white, clutching her heart, and even some of the eavesdropping Slytherin's looked rather shocked. Professor Snape came in a little while later, floating a covered stretcher behind him. The body. And then there were various other teachers, students trying to crowd into the infirmary before being unceremoniously kicked out. And then came the ministry officials, Lucius Malfoy with them. Even the minister was there. But Pansy and Ginny sat quietly through it all, holding hands although neither of them could remember when they had started to do so, taking comfort in the contact and each other's' silence. Because they both knew the truth of the matter that everybody else in the room had failed to grasp.
Ginny was it now. Ginny and Harry. Their only chance.
"Draco… well done, my servant," Voldemort hissed, smiling eerily down at Draco. Even having completed such a difficult and dangerous task for his master, Draco still felt more than a prickle of unease as he knelt before the Dark Lord. And it was nothing to do with the overwhelming shame and nausea he felt at his actions. No, this was the unease that told him that he was about to be punished. He tried to tell himself that it was simply because he was used to being punished- usually he hadn't accomplished anything quite so impressive.
"Thank you, my lord," Draco murmured, fighting to keep the bile from rising in his throat.
"I think, however, that you need a little lesson…" Voldemort grinned, fingering his wand, and Draco tensed. Here was the torture his subconscious was expecting. "You need to learn to do what I ask when I ask it. I do not expect to have to blackmail my servants, nor should I. You did not kill Albus Dumbledore through dedication to your master, you killed him out of love for your mother. That is… unacceptable."
Draco almost lost his battle with the bile in his throat as he glanced to his mother, standing pale and terrified in the sidelines. She smiled at Draco though when he made eye contact, the same loving smile that Draco remembered from his childhood. No. No, the Dark Lord couldn't do this. Couldn't make Draco do something so horrific, so… wrong, and then take back his promises. His mother was safe, his mother was-
"Avada Kedavra." Draco saw the life leave her eyes, the smile fading from her lips as she crumpled to the ground. No. No, no not her not his mother, mum, not her anybody but-
"The funny thing is," Voldemort interrupted Draco's breakdown with a triumphant hiss, "You have nobody else to go to. You killed Albus Dumbledore. The light side is hardly likely to accept you now. I am all you have, Draco." The Dark Lord grinned and stood, approaching Draco with open arms.
Draco did the only thing he could think of. With a last glance at the husk of his mother, he apparated away. He would rather be alone than with his mother's murderer.