Chapter 2: The Reunion
1992
The aged leather of the journal felt rough in the hands of the young girl. Her fingers slid curiously over the object that she had found in her cauldron after a day of shopping in Diagon Alley. It would not have belonged to any of her brothers or purchased at one of the shops. Its age was very evident on the black leather. Dents and cracks covered it from top to bottom - the top corner of the cover has been bent several times, leaving a punctuated mark.
A frown rested on the young girl's features as she handled the diary in front of her with delicate hands. From a young age she had always held very high appreciation for everything that was old – any object, any spell, any writings that could teach her something. Her brothers laughed at such curiosity, teasing her about it mercilessly. She didn't rise to their bait though. Ginerva remained sitting calmly, her gaze not changing from innocent curiosity as she looked up at the boys and waited for them to leave. They always left. Nagging such as this was only interesting if the person gave a response to the barbs and the insults – the redhead had discovered that early on. It was one of the many things she learned from her brothers.
Using only the tips of her fingers, Ginerva finally lifted the cover of the book open. The pages that were contained in it did not look any better than the leather covering it. It has been darkened by the decades of resting in dusty shelves or boxes that did not let in any light. There was something…..strange about those pages. The pull that they emitted towards the girl was unlike anything she had ever felt. Still, she moved slowly and with precision that was not common for her age, as she ran a finger over the surface of the parchment – feeling its texture. It felt almost too precious to write on. But still the pull persisted, not satisfied by mere contact. The redhead's lips were slightly parted as she looked in pure wonder at the journal in front of her. It was magical – she could simply feel that.
With delicate and slow movements, the girl lifted a quill that rested on her desk, bringing it to the to the inkwell, making sure to wipe off any excess ink on the side of the small bottle, before letting it hover over the ancient page for a few moments. With baited breath, Ginerva lowered the tip to the page. My name is Ginerva Molly Weasley, were the words she wrote.
There was little time to scrutinize her work and see if there were any smudges that she made before the sentence disappeared into the page, making place for another. Hello, Ginerva. It is nice to finally meet you.
1996
Three days have passed since Ginerva has ventured deep into the Slytherin Dungeons. Draco had half-carried her to the Entrance Hall after he made his declaration while she was still sobbing quietly. She couldn't see, couldn't think, even when he left her there without a word and with one last look of disgust, she could do nothing more than slide to the floor and weep. It took her more than an hour to get back to her feet. Rays of sunlight that came through the window above the front door of the school was what willed her to move. The prospect of someone finding her like that – donned only in a cloak, one side of her face bruised and cheeks covered in tear tracks – was not an inviting one. Gasping for breath, the young witch made the long journey up to the Gryffindor tower.
It felt like the weight of the world was on her shoulders. She tried to do something, to fix it, but it all seemed to have backfired. The level of control she had over herself was getting weaker and weaker. She could not control the tears that slipped past her lids as she climbed staircase after staircase, pausing after every little step in order to gather the willpower to make it up the next one. It was excruciating. She was left all alone in a big castle with no friends, only people to look down on her and chip at the armour that was almost non-existent at that point.
Slowly taking a breath through her mouth, Ginerva focused her eyes on the stone beneath her feet and willed herself to focus. She could do it. It was not a difficult task – getting up to the Gryffindor tower. It was something that she did every day in fact. Focusing her thoughts on that and nothing else, the young witch continued her journey with renewed strength. It was the only thing that mattered – all that came after or before it didn't exist.
A total of twenty minutes have passed before she reached the portrait of the Fat Lady. The day after she would barely be able to remember a moment of the journey - much less giving the portrait the password (if she had in fact done so). What she did remember though was the softness of her bed as she sank into the covers after making sure that the curtains around the four posters were closed and sealed by magic so no one would be able to hear or disturb her.
The following few days have passed in a trance. There were people around her, but she didn't notice them. She didn't want to notice anyone. It felt like all energy has been drained out of her that night and all it left behind was an empty shell.
On the other side of the Great Hall, Draco did not acknowledge her in any way at all. It seemed as if the entire night did not happen. Perhaps it didn't. Maybe it was just a nightmare Ginerva's mind have thought up in its state of shock. But it was real – she could feel it, had bruises to prove it. They had been healed away by her wand with a simple spell, but she could still feel them boring into her skin, could still feel the humiliation of being naked in the room of a Slytherin who despised her.
And he didn't give any sign that something has transpired between them. She remained to him as she was before this school year, just another nameless student among many. Thinking back on the previous years, Ginerva couldn't even remember the young Malfoy speaking one word to her in their school careers.
Her mind did not come to the decision whether the Slytherin's current behaviour was a positive or a negative thing. On the one hand, he had hurt her, humiliated her last night. At moments she felt like tearing his throat out with her bare teeth. These types of animalistic thoughts felt foreign o her, something that was a by-product of the Cruciatus Curse – something she tried to convince herself of anyway.
On the other hand, he knew who she was. Had met with her father and most probably had a way of contacting him. But after the treatment he gave her a few nights ago she was more than a little fearful to approach him.
A lot of time would have been required to come to a decision on that matter, the time that she did not in fact spend thinking simply because she couldn't. Her mind had closed off itself on many complicated thought processes after the night, only letting in brief glimpses here and there – not enough to see the full picture.
And so she sat in the Great Hall during breakfast of the first Saturday of the school year, playing with her porridge. Only a handful of spoons have made it past her lips, the concoction tasting like paper on her tongue. Those around her did not pay any mind to her or her strange behaviour, quite used to both. From behind a glass screen, she could hear talk and laughter, could see the animated faces of young people. They seemed to be somewhere far away, in a place where she would never belong.
The young witch didn't even look at them. She sat as stiff as a board, eyes glued to the surface of the table as she monotonously lifted the glass of pumpkin juice to her lips. No thought was given to the fact that her tongue should have been punctuated by a rich taste before the liquid slid down her throat. She drank all of it though. Consuming liquid was very primal and the witch couldn't help but give in to the feeling of it sinking into her body that greatly needed the nourishment. It was a tiny pigment of enjoyment in her otherwise colourless existence.
Juice consumed and the porridge mutilated enough, Ginerva rose from her seat silently, her eyes remaining unfocused as she made her way out of the room where many more were still eating. She drifted like a ghost past the doors into the room where she was left alone and weeping a few days ago.
Everything seemed lifeless as the Gryffindor proceeded towards the stairs. One foot in front of the other, she trudged on. There was someone walking towards her but she didn't notice them. The room seemed to have become strangely blurred. Did it matter that it did that? Ginerva didn't think so. A frown settled on her forehead as a loud voice came from her left. Why on earth was a person screaming? Where they scared of the spinning that seemed to have replaced the blurring? Ginerva wasn't scared: she wasn't scared of anything at all at that moment.
Head turning sluggishly towards the source of the sound, she begun to say something, but the words only became part of the blur that now encompassed everything. It felt like she was moving through water – movements slow and imprecise. An arm wrapped itself around her shoulders and everything ceased to exist.
Ginerva awoke in a bed with a horrible headache. Her eyes remained shut, a frown forming between them as she came to consciousness. It felt as if a thousand hippogriffs have trampled over her skull and left her to die. Her hands felt too weak to be lifted up and her orbs were refusing to open.
The young witch would have been happy to remain still until the moment of death had a large hand not slid under the base of her head to tilt it up slightly. Sounds of protest left her mouth as the pain between her temples escalated.
"Drink, Ginerva," an unfamiliar voice said as a vial was placed before her lips. She tried to turn her head away from the object – the frowning deepening – but the hand tightening its hold and a small whine freed itself from her mouth. "Now, Ginerva." This time the voice was stern, a warning underlying its calm exterior.
The girl paused in her feeble struggles for a second. Was there something familiar that she heard in the voice this time? There couldn't have been. She knew that she hadn't heard that particular voice before. But that little thread of wonder was what compelled her to obey finally. The liquid tasted sweet along with that familiar and unpleasant tang of medicine as it moved past her tongue. She could feel it moving past her throat and deeper into her body, pushing something unpleasant out of it. She felt an incredible lightness that allowed her to sink deeper into the matters under her. She could feel the headache leaving her along with the soreness she felt in the rest of her body. A small content sigh escaped her lips as she relaxed.
"Good girl," the voice praised softly. Her eyes opened, blinking tiredly before they came to focus on the face of a dark haired man. A small smile graced his lips as their eyes met. "Hello, little one."
"Fa-father?" Ginerva choked out, the back of her throat dry. She turned to her side, coughing. Strong arms wrapped around her frail frame, lifting her up into a sitting position and holding her there. A glass was at her lips and this time she didn't protest when she was ordered to drink. The girl gulped the contents of the glass down, the water tasting much better than anything else she had consumed in the last few days. Long gasps of breaths followed as the glass was removed. She took in the air through her nose, its own senses seeming to be coming awake as well.
The room around her smelled stale like it had been closed for a long time. The smell of wood and leather was very prominent with little dust particles hanging in the air. The window was opened however, to let in some fresh air, the sweet scent of trees and flowers drifting in from the outside.
The girl was leaning in to the figure of the man who sat beside her as she tried to get her bearings. "What…..what was that?" she said hoarsely, her eyes wide and remaining on the bedcovers for a second.
"A mild poison - only supposed to induce a light headache along with unconsciousness."
"You poisoned me?" she asked, incredulousness seeping into her tired voice.
"It was required to get you out of the school without anyone noticing," the man stated simply, watching the girl carefully and allowing her time to adjust.
Well, that sounded at least a little bit logical. Finally gaining control of her senses, Ginerva lifted her head to look at the man again. "Father…." She started softly, delight slowly slipping into her expression. "You haven't forgotten about me," she said, the statement childlike, as he hand rose and finger traced his cheek in wonder.
The man who sat before her was not the same Tom Riddle that she had met in her first year. This man was much older, appearing in his mid-fifties, his skin not as pale as the one of his younger counterpart, his facial features stronger, his frame broader. The way he carried himself was also very different. Though the Tom Riddle had always been self-assured, the aura of power that as emitted from the older man was almost tangible.
The Dark Lord allowed the girl to touch him, sitting calmly right next to her. "Of course I haven't forgotten about you, Ginerva. You are my daughter." He stroked her hair back from her face and her smile grew at such touches. His own expression remained close to placid as he studied her features.
"I am sorry, little one, for leaving you alone for so long. I didn't realise it was that bad," the Dark Lord said regretfully, his gaze becoming pained as he looked at his only child. His strong facial features remained taut however, as tears slipped from the girl's eyes.
Her head lowered as the tears released themselves. "I've been waiting for you for so long," she whimpered, shoulders shaking slightly.
He didn't respond to her words, letting her lean into him as he stroked her hair in comfort. Ginerva's arms wrapped around her father and she cried on his shoulder. It felt so incredibly uplifting to do that, to release the hurt that had been building up for years. The weigh that had been on her shoulders for so many years was lifting with every tear dropped, every stroke of his fingers through her hair. It felt so right to have his arms around her, something she always considered a luxury even when she saw his younger self often. Breathing in deeply, the Gryffindor tried to store the scent of her father in her head for as long as she would be able to.
"Will I be living with you now?" she asked when her sobs subsided, lifting her hopeful gaze to meet his eyes.
"I am afraid not, my dear," he answered plainly, his thumb wiping the last tear from her cheek. "You haven't earned that right." There was disappointment in his words, the kind that stung the girl more than any slap could have.
"Father…." She begun to say, head lowering as a renewed flow of tears flowed past her eyes, the voice becoming a low whine. She didn't know what to say. She knew very well by herself that she disappointed him greatly with her behaviour in the past year. "I am so sorry," she whispered quietly, knowing that the apology would do very little at this point.
"I know," he said simply, his voice regretful, neither harsh nor angry. His hand slipped under her chin and with a gentle but firm hold he lifted her head so he could see her eyes again. "I have been looking forward to having you under my roof no less than you have, little one. And what you didn't seem to recognise is that a year ago I didn't have a roof. A person has very little on them when they remain in a state of almost nonexistence for more than a decade."
Ginerva's cheeks coloured in humiliation at her own stupidity. Keeping her eyes trained on her father's was proving to be one of the hardest things she ever did. He was disappointed in her like he had never been. Even when her childish wiles got the better of her when she was younger, the man didn't make her feel so small with such a gaze. He understood and he gave her the guidance that she needed. Now though, she was almost a grown woman who should have been able to think and make the right decisions of her own accord. But it wasn't what she chose to do.
His eyes bore into hers and a moment later he was in her mind. "No!" the startled cry came from her lips as she tried feebly to push him out of her mind. A look of horror dominated her face as he flicked through the memories of her last school year, leaving nothing untouched. Every class she skipped, every time she didn't listen to a Professor, every boy that she kissed.
No, no, no, no, the word echoed through her mind as he went deeper, saw her pain, and looked at what his younger counterpart had taught her. The invasion of her mind seemed to last forever.
She couldn't move even if she tried. He held her head firmly in place with both of his hands. Finally, she felt his presence receding from her mind. His lips were pressed together as he finally detached his hands from her and she scooted back on the bed until her back slammed into headboard.
He rose, remaining silent as his back turned towards her. "There is a bathroom opposite this room. Make yourself presentable and come down to the study. We have your punishment to discuss." There was a clear change in his character. Gone was the gentle but firm father and in his place stood the Dark Lord that was so feared in all of Europe.
A visible shiver ran through the girl as she listened to his words. Her father's tone remained just as quiet as before, yet the coldness in it seemed to have grown from that of a gentle cool breathe to the powerful wind of the winter blizzard.
He didn't linger in the room, stepping towards the door and closing it behind him before the young witch had any time to react.
Here is Chapter 2! Thank you to everyone who has read and especially followed, favourited and reviewed this story. I am looking forward on your feedback on this chapter.
Until the next time!