Voldemort watched in the shadows of the Ministry's Atrium as Arthur Weasley stomped on the neck of his most loyal follower. He watched as they proceeded to taunt him, before leaving the Atrium as a group.
Though he could not hear what they spoke of, he did not care. It was not of strategic importance. The world would soon fear his name, and Barty Crouch Jr. would be right alongside him.
He waited a moment to give time for any possible unwanted guests to depart before making his way out into the clearing. He kneeled beside Crouch and swiped his hair aside.
"My dear boy, you've done well…" Voldemort crooned, waving his wand over the flattened, bruised neck. "But our story does not end here, now does it?"
Crouch took in a deep breath, his face paled somewhat, returning to its typical shade.
"Tell me… what did you say that got the calm, gentile Arthur Weasley so very upset?" Voldemort asked, shifting his kneeling position to one that took less effort to uphold.
Crouch smiled and closed his eyes, shaking his head from side to side, ironing out the kinks in his neck. "Made something up about their daughter. Told them she found the whole thing sexually pleasing,"
Voldemort chuckled. "Yes, I suppose that would drive a father to madness, wouldn't it? It is a shame she never got to that point though…" he shook his head. "All in good time."
Voldemort stood and offered his hand, Crouch grabbed it and hoisted himself up off the ground. "I suppose we should make this a bit more presentable?" Crouch asked, gesturing to the ruined Atrium.
Voldemort bobbed his head from side to side. "You disposed of the Minister, yes?"
Crouch nodded. "Yes. He was rather shocked to see me alive and well,"
Voldemort laughed high and shrill. "I suppose his body would be a fine centerpiece?"
Crouch grinned manically. "Definitely, my Lord," Crouch muttered a summoning charm and impaled the corpse of Minister Fudge on a spike at the center of the ruined fountain. Another quick wand motion and Amelia Bones joined the pyre.
"Though I do wonder…" Crouch continued. "Would it not be wise to hide your return? I mean to say… we could be far more efficient if we aren't fighting a war…"
Voldemort eyed Crouch appraisingly. "Interesting… but altogether misinformed. My sudden return will be met with nothing but shock, fear, and confusion. Do you honestly think the Ministry in its current state will accomplish any meaningful progress against our cause?"
Crouch frowned. "I understand, my Lord, but fear is your greatest weapon! They'll hide from the truth for as long as possible if you wish it."
Voldemort nodded slowly. "Perhaps… but there are keener eyes in the Ministry these days than there were over a year ago. Amelia Bones is dead, yes, but Black and his followers… they are dangerous. We must consider this from every angle. No matter how we approach this, the Ministry will act in some way. I believe it to be its own downfall."
"Should we take the Ministry ourselves then? Here? Now?" Crouch asked excitedly.
Voldemort laughed and patted his servant on the shoulder. "No, Barty. Though your enthusiasm is noted, we haven't got the numbers to accomplish a takeover such as this."
Crouch nodded slowly. "Azkaban,"
Voldemort smiled, knowing that once he returned to his father's manor, Ginevra may have awoken. He'd get her to break that block somehow. Perhaps with another of his treasures.
"Quite correct," he replied knowingly.
She'd lived a whole other life inside her head.
She'd loved him.
If she loved him, what sort of person did that make her?
Ginny strode confidently away from Voldemort, away from Hufflepuff's cup, and down towards the cellar. She didn't know where she was going, truly, but Wormtail had rushed to catch up to her.
"Not so fast," he wheezed, gripping her wrist and pulling her to a stop. "I am to lead you down there. Not the other way 'round!"
Ginny stared blankly back at him and waited for Wormtail to do what he said he'd do. Eventually, he realized she wasn't fighting him, and led her in an entirely different direction. They arrived at a large, heavy oaken door and Wormtail hauled it open. He took a moment to catch his breath, and Ginny waited patiently for him to lead her further into the bowels of the manor home.
The stairs were thick with dust. Her boots dropped to each stone step with a large poof of the stuff.
What was love, really?
She didn't love Voldemort, no. That was impossible.
No matter how much Tom had hurt her, had harmed her, there was that… familiarity. The idea of him was comforting.
She hated it.
Was she truly thinking this? Or was Voldemort influencing her thoughts? He'd done so before, after all.
Then came another question. One she felt the need to know yet dreaded her desire for such information.
Had he loved her? Had his gifts and persuasions been a doomed man's twisted way of displaying affection?
Had her apparent obsession with Harry truly driven Tom to a brink? Had Ginny's refusal to accept living inside her head hurt Tom's feelings? Was he truly so pathetic?
Had the plot of bringing her down to the Chamber been a last-minute decision? Revenge on his front. Determined to make sure that if he couldn't love; if he couldn't gain what he wanted, she wouldn't either?
Then, a sense of true horror overcame her. Was this all real? The entirety of her first year had been spent in a daze of misunderstanding. She never knew what was real. The only times she ever did were when…
Harry.
There he was, pulling desperately at a cuff on his ankle. His hands were bleeding. Deep cuts ravaged his palms and fingers. He'd been pulling for hours, probably. His ankle was an angry red, and his breathing was heavy. He was pale and frantic.
"Harry?" she asked in a hushed whisper.
His head shot up and his eyes widened. At first, Ginny interpreted it as fear of her, but then she understood.
He was terrified for her. He didn't know what Voldemort would have done to her.
This Harry was real. She wasn't living inside a diary or a cup. She was real, the ground was real, the air was real.
Without thinking, she took multiple strides forward until she had made it near his side. She heard the groan of an iron door, the clink of a chain, and a muttered locking spell from Wormtail, but she ignored it.
Harry.
She heard chain rattling across the floor towards her ankle, but she did nothing. She held Harry's gaze, taking in every detail. She didn't know how long she'd get to feel this. This sense of presence. Of reality.
She felt a cuff wrap around her ankle. Heard its locking charm as well. No spell work on her end could possibly break that.
What was love, really?
Regretfully Uncaring
Act Three: The Connection
Chapter 31: New, Crescent, Quarter, Gibbous, Full
Harry continued to stare at Ginny. Her eyes were hollow. Her pupils dilated. She seemed bored, yet so intently focused on his own that she couldn't break to breathe or move. It was like a rope had been thrown down to a man stuck in a well. She was holding on to the rope with every last vestige of strength she possessed.
There was something in her iris. A new colour complimenting the brown. The lantern light that illuminated the cellar was uneven, so he couldn't get a good idea.
He could have sworn there was a different fire burning in there.
Red.
"Ginny?" he asked cautiously. He'd been beside himself with worry. The blood on his hands and ankle spoke volumes to the desperation he'd held to get himself upstairs and… what did he plan on doing? He hadn't a wand, and Voldemort, Crouch, and Wormtail would've killed him.
Except they wouldn't have killed him. Because Voldemort was determined to let Ginny kill him.
Perhaps it had worked. Perhaps Voldemort had broken Ginny.
She continued to stare at him with wide eyes, her hands fidgeting by her sides. Surely that was impossible? Ginny would never, and could never turn on him like that.
Wormtail had though, hadn't he?
"Do not give up on her, Harry. Whatever happened, please have patience," Lily's voice rang through his head. It seemed distant somehow. As though it were fading instead of growing louder.
He blinked rapidly, breaking the constant, uninterrupted eye contact. Ginny shuffled, her chain rattling alongside her, and she sat opposite him on the other end of the cell.
"Did he hurt you?" Harry asked hoarsely. He'd cried her name at the top of his lungs for what felt like hours after Voldemort had taken her. As a result, his voice had been torn to shreds.
Ginny's expression remained still. "In a sense, I suppose,"
Harry swallowed and nodded his acceptance. "What… if you can tell me… what happened?"
Ginny let out a shaky breath. "Did you mean it?"
Harry furrowed his brows. "What?"
"In the kitchens. That children marked by Voldemort… they stick together?" she folded her hands repeatedly in her lap.
Harry shook his head in disbelief. "Yes, of course I meant it. I don't say things for nothing,"
Ginny nodded and brought her hands up to her face. "I know… I know you don't. It's one of the reasons I…" she trailed off and brought her hands away from her eyes. "Do you trust me?"
Harry opened his mouth to reassure her, to say that yes of course he did…
But he didn't, did he? Because she was still speaking in that monotone voice. Her eyes were haunted, and her expression had yet to change. The only show of emotion was the use of her hands, thus far.
"I trusted Ginny Weasley," he said slowly and deliberately. "If you're her, then yes. Yes, I trust you,"
Ginny nodded repeatedly. She was Ginny Weasley. The first girl of seven children. The first female Weasley in Seven generations. First of Seven. First in Seven.
She'd face this as she had before. With her own hands. With her own mind.
"I am Ginny Weasley," she said defiantly. Her tone and inflection changing to match her meaning; finally leaving that monotone signature. She wanted to prove to him that she could still smile, that she could show more than a straight face and a hard look, but there was nothing to smile for.
Harry's shoulders relaxed and he closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the stone surface. "What happened up there," he asked quietly.
He heard Ginny shuffle around from across the cell.
"I broke through it. The mental block,"
Harry opened his eyes and sat up. "What? How?"
Ginny tapped the side of her leg and shrugged. "I remembered."
Silence prevailed through the meaningless answer. Wormtail arrived a couple minutes later. Harry continued to stare at Ginny and found it incredibly odd that she never once changed her focus. She'd blink on occasion, but otherwise, she'd stare directly into his eyes.
It was as if the thought of straying her eyes from his would kill her outright.
Wormtail performed a switching spell and sent in a tray of food. Four sandwiches, two apples, and a bottle of wine.
"Dinner," Wormtail grunted, before leaving the cellar.
Harry wasn't hungry, and he knew Ginny wasn't either.
Little did Harry know that Ginny wouldn't speak for four days.
In the mornings, they'd receive a large breakfast and a goblet of water each. Lunch would bring sandwiches and a bottle of wine, and dinner would repeat what lunch had brought prior.
They never drank the wine. It seemed a little on the nose. They were stuck in a dungeon. Of course, Voldemort found it entertaining to taunt them with alcohol. It would leave them distinctly vulnerable, in the end.
Ginny was summoned once a day at one in the afternoon. She'd leave and return. Her eyes would be downcast but the second her foot touched the floor of the cellar they'd lock onto Harry's. Whether he was looking at her or not, she made sure to follow his every movement. His every mannerism.
Eventually, Harry grew frustrated.
"Stop it," he said. It was late in the afternoon on the 28th of June.
Ginny narrowed her eyes. That had been the only true change in expression she'd displayed. She could narrow her eyes and raise an eyebrow. That was about it. She never spoke, only stared. Harry would occasionally ask about what happened upstairs the night of their imprisonment, but she'd just ignore him.
His mother had eventually told him not to pry. To let her come to him.
That was another thing. His mother's voice seemed… distant. As though she was only whispering and not speaking. Her presence was infrequent, and she wouldn't comment idly or start any conversation. She'd said something about it being a relief that the chains didn't contain any silver, but other than that, it was rather bleak.
The ring on Ginny's finger, the one Harry had said was 'too much' over a year ago now in that car ride to London after his third year glistened in the lantern light. The sun was setting outside their solitary window, and Ginny, for the first time in four days, spoke.
"What do you mean?" she asked. Her voice was dusty with disuse.
"You've given up," Harry proclaimed. "You just sit there. You watch me. You don't eat, you don't sleep. All you do is drink the glass of water in the mornings and wait for Voldemort to call you up for whatever it is you do. You don't even talk! You've given up."
"I have not given up!" Ginny spat.
"Really?" Harry countered. "What day is it?"
Ginny gaped up at him and he let out a humourless scoff, sliding down to the floor and angling his foot in a way that lessened the pressure of the cuff on his skin.
"That's what I thought," he said. "We have fourteen days until the full moon. I could kill you! We need to get out of here before I transform, and I don't even think Voldemort knows about my condition. We need a plan! We need to talk to each other! We need to get out of here but all you do is listen to Voldemort and stay put. It's pathetic! I don't care what he did, Ginny Weasley wouldn't give up,"
"You have no idea," Ginny mumbled. Even though she was evidently frustrated with him, she didn't take her eyes off him. "You have no idea what's going on inside my head,"
Harry threw his arms up into the air exasperatedly. "Then tell me!" he cried. "Tell me what's going on in there. Believe me, I want to know why you stare at me like… like…" he swallowed and closed his eyes, shaking his head.
"You're scared of me," she said lowly. Her voice softening.
Harry sighed. "I'm not scared of you,"
"Yes, you are,"
"Don't put words in my mouth," Harry spat. "You have absolutely no idea what I'm thinking. I am not scared of you, Ginny. I'm worried about you,"
"You should be," she said, her face returning to its blank expression. "You should be scared of me,"
Harry shifted so his back sat straighter. He turned his head to the side and waited for her to elaborate. "And why is that?"
Ginny didn't respond. Instead, without breaking eye contact, she waved her hand absently and one of the bottles of wine, which had piled up in the corner day after day, skidded across the floor towards her.
Harry's mouth fell open at the casual use of wandless magic, but something about where they were… perhaps it was the darkness of the cellar, made him incredibly frustrated, angry, and afraid. "Going to drown your sorrows in alcoholism then, are you?"
Ginny shrugged. "May as well. Thirteen is a good age to start,"
Harry let out a breath and watched as she twirled her finger around in a clockwise motion. Wandlessly, the wax disintegrated, and the cork flew out the top.
"How-" Harry began.
Ginny shrugged, unblinkingly staring at Harry. "Anyone can do wandless magic. It all depends on whether or not you put in the effort to learn it. Of course, it's limited to simple transfiguration and levitation charms, so… I don't know how useful it is."
Harry narrowed his eyes. "When the hell have you been actively learning it?" he asked. "You would have mentioned it."
Ginny shrugged again. "Learnt it a long time ago." she replied cryptically. Her hand found its way around the neck of the bottle, and she lifted it to her nose. She sniffed it and grimaced but brought it to her lips anyway. She took a long sip and replaced it to the floor.
She gagged a bit on the wine but kept it down. She waited a few seconds before taking another pull.
"Charlie always said this was boring alone," said Ginny, waving her hand and a bottle skidded towards Harry before opening itself for him.
"Mum?" he asked, but no response came.
Though he may not have been entirely comfortable with the situation, he decided to join her. He hesitantly took a sip and grimaced. It was like eating a load of sour grapes and taking a shot of vinegar.
"Fuck," he wheezed, smacking his lips together.
"Firewhiskey was better," said Ginny, taking another sip, bigger this time.
Harry nodded, even though he'd never tasted the stuff.
They lapsed into silence. Despite the taste, Harry kept drinking it, as did Ginny. Every once and a while they'd point out that it wasn't their favourite drink in the world, or that it tasted a bit like sour piss, but the more they drank, the less Harry noticed the taste of it.
He wasn't an idiot; he was aware of what was going on. Ginny was avoiding his questions, his rant, and his concerns by drinking the thing they had both silently agreed wasn't going to be consumed.
An hour passed, and they had yet to breach any sort of conversation. Harry's bottle was halfway finished. Ginny's was almost empty.
"What is… your favourite colour," Harry asked, even though he knew it to be green.
Ginny shrugged. "Green. Do you remember that dress I wore to the Yule Ball?"
Oh, did Harry ever remember that dress. "Yeah, I think so," he replied, nonchalantly.
They lapsed into silence once again, when Ginny slid down the wall some more, her robes bunching up around her upper torso. "Do you dream, Harry?"
Harry froze. The sudden urge to tell her about a dream on the rooftop of the sixth-floor charms classroom under the stars in the crisp December air came about him and he had to physically change positions to stop himself from telling her all about how she has almost kissed him nearly a hundred times in his head.
"Yes, I dream. Why?" he replied.
Ginny sniffled. "You know how… in a dream… time sort of…" she waved her hand in the air above her and Harry wondered if she thought that meant something. She sighed at his lack of response and sat up, swaying slightly where she sat. "You know… time sort of just… doesn't work the same? Like, days, weeks, months, years can go by… but you've only been asleep for two hours."
Harry's mouth formed an 'o' of understanding. "Yes, I know about that. It happens all the time."
Ginny nodded. "Right,"
They fell silent once more, and Harry waited.
"I was trapped in my own head," her voice was barely above a whisper. "All those blank spots in my memory have been filled. I was living inside my head. It was all a dream… I didn't know what was real and what was fake. I lived two lives. I was eleven in one, and sixteen in the other. I was in love in both,"
Harry felt physically blindsided by her admission. Had this been the mental block?
What had happened in the dreams?
He waited in silence, hundreds of questions running through his mind.
"At first it was normal," she continued. "He'd bring me to caves… orphanages… we'd do things… I was eleven," she sighed and picked at her shirt, the now empty bottle of wine clutched tightly in her left hand. Her eyes never left Harry's.
"Then one day," Ginny slurred, "I was sixteen. He'd changed what I looked like in the dream… Or maybe it was the manifestation of my mental maturity… who knows. He told me he liked it," for the first time in days, Ginny smiled dazedly. "Said I should like it… then he gave me gifts,"
Harry felt a sense of oncoming dread.
"He gave me a locket… a great big one with an emerald snake on the front. I thought It was too expensive but he made sure I took it." she shrugged and blinked slowly. "Said it was a piece of his soul. For me. Because he loved me,"
Harry took a deep breath and a long sip from the bottle in his hand. "Did he mean it?"
Ginny shrugged again. "Dunno…"
"Did you love him?" Harry asked worriedly.
"What is love, really?" Ginny asked in return, narrowing her eyes in question. "I don't know if I loved him. I don't think I did. Not really." she let out a prolonged sigh, pointing to herself, her eyes to the floor. "I'm pretending like he made me do it all. Like I didn't want to, in some part,"
Harry waited for her to elaborate with a raised eyebrow.
Ginny sighed. "I liked the way it felt. The way he saw me as more than the youngest in a family of seven. He saw me as more than just… the only girl. After eleven years of wanting to be taken seriously, of wanting to have… some leg up over my siblings, well, he taught it to me,"
"What do you mean?" Harry asked, lost to what she was getting at.
"I liked power," she simplified, holding her hands out to the sides. "I liked the way it felt. I was in control; I could do things my brothers couldn't, and wouldn't, dream of. I was strong, and Tom treated me like an equal."
"So, that was what you always wanted?" Harry asked. "To be taken seriously, to have power?"
Ginny nodded. "I wanted it, and he showed me how to use it."
There it was again. The swirl of red in the sea of brown of her irises.
"The dark arts are like… like this," she raised her empty bottle of wine. "You try it, and you feel horrible. You question why you did it. I used to throw up a lot, you know," she talked about it with such indifference. "The more you do it though… the more you can justify it. The more you think, 'well, I was doing the right thing!',"
"Like… yes, the right thing to do was to disarm… but THIS way he won't be able to fight back physically or magically. 'Besides, he was serial rapist'… that sort of thing. You justify it," Ginny continued.
"Did you ever enjoy it?" Harry asked.
Ginny shook her head. "I always hated it. Especially on people. The diadem made it easier, but you have to resort to other things to sort of forget it… like this," she raised the empty bottle again.
"Did you ever kill people?" Harry asked. It seemed important.
Ginny nodded. "Plenty of times. Only after he gave me the diadem, though. Before that it was just the screaming,"
Harry brought a hand up to his mouth and slid it down off his chin. "You keep bringing up the diadem…" he trailed off.
Ginny sighed. "That was after I'd first broken free of him. I'd thrown the diary in the toilet but after seeing you with it… I couldn't let him destroy you the way he'd destroyed me,"
Harry shook his head dazedly. "You shouldn't have done that. You shouldn't have continued to harm yourself like that,"
Ginny nodded. "I know… but a part of me wanted to have it back. This side of my brain that liked the way he spoke to me. The way he touched me,"
Harry shuddered. "He didn't ever… he didn't ever… you know…"
Ginny quirked an eyebrow. "Rape me? No. He didn't. I always told him no. He listened… which was always odd to me. He seemed like someone who wouldn't,"
It was the way she talked about it, Harry realized, that made him feel so uneasy. It was like none of it mattered. Like what she was saying carried no weight.
"Did I love him?" she asked, seemingly to herself. Her eyes once again found their way on Harry.
Harry took a deep breath and tilted his head to the side. "You were young. Much younger than you are now despite your years…" he felt like he was stumbling over his own words. The alcohol made it so that whenever he turned his head, the world seemed to race to catch up. "I think you were manipulated into thinking things you may not have… I think he played up a role, and you were attracted to it. Why wouldn't you be?"
Ginny nodded along with what he was saying.
"You had no friends, and you spent time with him constantly. Whether his voice was whispering in your ear, or you lived with him in that dream," he waved his hand in an absent swirl to non-verbally elaborate. "It isn't hard to believe that you'd fall for him,"
"Sometimes I'm impressed with your maturity," Lily's voice whispered.
Harry didn't respond. He just smiled dazedly.
"Do I still love him…" she trailed off, and her face finally broke. It shattered the mask of indifference with one of sorrow. Her breathing grew shaky. She blinked and tears rolled down her cheeks. "I don't want to. I don't want to love him,"
Harry felt a lump form in his throat. "You don't have to," he said quietly. "You're your own person. He has no control over you. You need to tell yourself… decide for yourself… if you love him,"
Ginny sobbed and brought her hands to her face. "I hate it. I hate this. I hate myself, Harry,"
Harry nodded and, though quite dizzy, shuffled across the floor and sat next to her. He kept enough distance between them, so their shoulders didn't touch.
"Do you want to know what I think?" Harry asked, reaching forward and taking her empty bottle of wine away from her.
Ginny didn't respond, so he continued anyway.
"I think you're good," he said earnestly. She looked up into his eyes again. "I think that even after… even after everything you've been through. All the terrible decisions. All the times you emotionally destroyed yourself… the fact that you're still here. That you're still good. I'm amazed by it."
Ginny sniffed and wiped her nose. "I think you're too good, Harry. You care too much. You have the world to give, and you do so without question. You never… you'd never use a curse when you could easily cast a charm. You aren't quick to anger or, or…" she hiccupped and swallowed. "You're an amazing person. It's unbelievable, really. I'm not. I'm angry, and sad, and bloody terrified… and I've done horrible things, Harry,"
Ginny coughed into her hands and sobbed. Pulling at her hair and crying outright. She took a long, shuddering breath and stared intently at the floor. Her voice was wracked with emotion.
"How can I ever live with myself after what I've done," she wailed.
Harry moved so he sat straight in front of her, and crossed his legs in the same childish manner she was sitting in. Their knees touched.
She was actively avoiding eye contact now, so he reached forward and grabbed her face between his hands.
"Look at me," he said quietly. She closed her mouth and breathed through her congested nose. Harry had never seen someone look so unintelligibly lost within themselves. "Ginny please look at me,"
She finally brought her eyes to his.
"You did horrible things, it's true," he began. "So, what are you going to do about it?"
Ginny swallowed, her face turning to one of confusion. "What?" she asked tearfully.
"What are you going to do about it?" Harry repeated. "Are you going to sit here and let him continue what he'd done in your own head for a year? Are you going to spiral out of control until you can't recognize yourself? Are you going to become just like him? Cold, and unable to love?"
She closed her eyelids forcing more tears out the corners of her eyes.
Then, Harry lowered the pitch of his voice and spoke determinedly. "Or are you going to do what you did last time and fight it. Fight the darkness. Fight the urges. Become better. Change, Grow, learn… only this time you won't hide from it. You won't build a wall between yourself and the truth. You'll accept it and move past it. Take your life into your own hands."
She drew in another rattling breath, and kept her eyes closed.
"Months ago, I made a promise that I would stick with you until the end." he felt it was important to reiterate this. "I will honour that promise."
She reopened her eyes and blinked owlishly up at Harry. They still held that haunted look about them, but they weren't quite so hollow.
"Thank you." she whispered.
They sat in complete and total silence. Her thanks was full of such genuine gratitude and raw emotion that it silenced whatever Harry was going to say next.
They simply sat there, Harry's hands holding her face. Their eyes locked. It wasn't until Harry felt his eyelids begin to droop that they changed positions.
"You're tired," she observed.
Harry nodded.
"You should sleep,"
Harry nodded again.
He dropped his hands from her face and instantly missed the warmth. He felt her hands on his shoulders as she lowered him to the floor.
He nearly fell asleep when he swallowed and cleared his throat. "You should sleep too, you know,"
He heard her giggle, though it was muffled by her robes. "I'm drunk," she stated, as though she was sharing a great secret.
Harry snorted and patted the freezing cold concrete to his right. "Come here," he said.
He heard her move towards where he lay, and felt the air being displaced around where she plopped down.
"Lay down," Harry continued.
Ginny giggled again, sniffling away the remnants of her tears. "In bed with Harry Potter,"
Harry laughed then. Loud and raucous. "Yes, it's quite the occasion. Seriously, lay down on this warm comfortable surface."
He heard her lay down next to him, her hips touched his and she squeezed her arms to her sides to avoid too much contact.
"I'm really tired," she mumbled. All signs of her seemingly joyful mood gone once again. Replaced instead by fatigue.
Harry laughed then, and it felt alright. There was so very far to go until Ginny may feel comfortable in her own skin, but he hoped he'd given her a goal to stride for.
She may never be okay, but she could live.
And he'd be there every step of the way.
"Goodnight," he said out loud. He received nothing but a hum of acknowledgment for his troubles.
Ginny's head hurt. That was the first thing she noticed when she woke up the next day. Her throat tasted and felt awful. Her nose was plugged, and her vision was a bit blurry.
Her left side hurt quite a bit. It was resting against the concrete floor. The right side of her torso and hips felt quite comfortable. They were laying on top of something.
It smelt a bit like sweat, dirt, and underneath all that, the remnants of cleanliness in the form of a faint woodsy smell.
She was half laying on Harry.
The recollection of the events of the night prior were quite clear in her mind, and she felt better for it.
Well, better was a bit of a simple term but overall, she wasn't coasting like she had been for so long.
"Are you pretending to be asleep right now?" Harry's voice was very loud against her right ear, which was pressed against his chest.
Her head shot up and she instantly regretted it. The world seemed to spin on its axis and her stomach felt quite awful.
"No. No I was asleep. You woke me up right then." she replied, smacking her lips in the process to try and make her mouth feel a little less dry.
Harry scoffed and stretched his arms up over his head. Ginny rolled off him and sat up straight, rubbing her eyes.
Harry groaned in pain and Ginny turned to him. "What is it?" she asked.
"My spine. We're past the two-week mark… full moon is in thirteen days. My body's letting me know," he explained.
A switch clicked in Ginny's brain then. "We need to get out," she said to no one in particular. "Fuck,"
Harry nodded. "Yes, and as quickly as possible." he reached towards the platter of strawberries Wormtail must have brought them as they slept. Surely it was nearly one in the afternoon. Voldemort would be coming to speak with her soon.
She reached forward and took a strawberry as well. Plucking off the leaves and devouring the rest. She wasn't hungry, exactly. Even though she hadn't eaten in five days now. She knew she had to eat, and that was the only reason she did so.
It was only an added bonus that it lessened the hangover.
"He leads me around the house. I'll be able to find a way out easily. I just have to… I just have to figure it all out," she said with determination.
Harry tapped his leg. "If there isn't a clear way out," he said slowly. "Do you have a plan b?"
Ginny reached into the inner pocket of her robes. She hadn't been searched and cleared as Harry had. She still had everything on her. Her wand, her family ring, and, most importantly, the animagus potion.
She drew it from the pocket and held it out to Harry.
"What's that?" he asked.
The ghost of a smile flittered across her face. "When the worst of my worries was being a good friend to you, I started to learn how to become an animagus," Harry's jaw dropped to the floor. "This potion has been in a magically darkened pocket for quite some time now. I've… not followed any of the rules for it in a while. So much so that I don't think it would even work. But… if worse comes to worst, I'll drink this and hope for an electrical storm,"
Harry's smile could've lit up the world. "That's brilliant!" his face fell. "The fact that you'd become an animagus for me. Not the whole impossible part,"
Ginny patted his knee and nodded.
They heard footsteps on the stairs, and they turned as one to Voldemort who came striding towards their cell. He waved his wand and Ginny's ankle cuff came loose. The mask of hollowed indifference was back on her face. She looked just as bad, if not a little worse than she had the day before.
There was a clear difference, however. It was the light in her eyes. She wasn't coasting anymore. She was going to soar.
Voldemort, without instruction, gestured to the stairs and let Ginny proceed him. She replaced the potion in her pocket and strode up the steps.
She made her way to the ornate dining room as usual. Though, this time, she checked the corners. Paid extra attention to the boarded-up windows. The furniture. Everything. She made sure it was all stored somewhere in her mind.
There weren't many doors, and a lot of guesswork was involved in picturing the entire manor.
She entered the dining room and sat herself. Voldemort sat next to her, at the head of the table, and clapped his hands.
Lunch appeared before her eyes, and she lapsed into total silence, as usual.
Neither of them had ever spoken during these lunches. Ginny would occasionally sip at her tea, and Voldemort would watch her. It was a bit creepy, but today Ginny found it more annoying than anything.
She was going to throw him off this time. She'd absorbed the memories of his childhood. Felt as though she'd lived them. Lived his fantasies, been his pawn, his plaything.
Now she'd reverse it.
"Who was the girl?" she asked after a long silence.
He, once again, didn't seem surprised that she'd spoken. Perhaps he thought he was making headway in breaking her.
"To which woman are you referring to," he replied silkily.
"The blonde one in the cave. Where you first felt free." she explained.
Voldemort's face turned into its hellish smile. "Yes… her…" he cracked his left index finger. "Amy Benson. She was… well, I must say I don't remember her all that well. Blue eyes, blonde hair… rather crass, if I remember correctly. She deserved what she got,"
Ginny nodded. "Did you care about her?" she asked.
Voldemort's smile grew. "Not exactly. Though I suppose a first victim basis is always endearing. You'll come to learn that…"
Ginny hummed in acknowledgment and sipped her tea.
It settled strangely in the pit of her stomach. As usual.
She waited for the silence to become near unbearable to breach another question. "When you speak of the prophecy… you say I'm the key. The key to it all. What does that mean?"
Voldemort smirked. "I thought you'd be curious of this. To know your full power."
"One never knows their full power," she corrected. "To know one's full power is to limit oneself. You should know that,"
Voldemort laughed. "I do know that. And I am sure it is I who told you,"
It was, actually. Ginny could remember it. They'd raided a village, and Ginny had wanted to know if she could… well… to more people at once.
She shuddered past that memory and waited.
"It is thought that the key is the one who will reshape this world. Who, given the right tools and access to the right people, could revolutionize the Wizarding World and rise above them all." he smiled at her. "That is why you are so special,"
"So, I am a tool, then?" she asked bravely. "I am another weapon in your arsenal?"
Voldemort let out a breath. "You could be more, if you wished it,"
Ginny looked at him through the corner of her eye shrewdly. "Do you ever miss it?" she asked after another long pause of continuous eye contact. She hadn't felt him attempt to enter her mind, and she was glad for it.
He was too arrogant for his own good.
"Do you ever miss being whole?" she continued.
Voldemort sat back in his chair and eyed her warily. "You ask if I miss being weak? If I miss having vulnerability?"
Ginny shook her head and smiled. "I'm asking you if you miss being human."
Voldemort's expression hardened. "Wormtail! Bring her back to the cellar."
Ginny got to her feet. "No need. I can walk by myself,"
"No!" Voldemort slapped his hand down to the table again. "You will not go unaccompanied. Do you understand me? You are free to do as I say, but not what Potter thinks is best. Get his voice out of your head, Ginevra. He is spoiling you,"
Ginny quirked an eyebrow. "Jealous?"
Voldemort waved his wand, she didn't even know when he'd pulled it out, and she felt a searing pain shoot through her, originating from her middle. She doubled over in pain. It felt as though she'd been punched in the gut.
"Do not think you have any superiority," he warned. "You are nothing without me. You are weak. You are slow. You will never amount to anything without me. You need me." He wiped the side of his mouth and sighed. "Do not pretend that you do not know it."
Ginny straightened and glared daggers at Voldemort. She felt Wormtail grip her forearm and bring her back down to the cellar.
The days, which had fallen into the habit of taking forever to go by, were now slipping away faster than Ginny could handle. She'd continue to have tea with Voldemort, and they had fallen back into their routine of complete silence.
Ever since that first conversation, she'd felt a strange bubbling sensation in her middle that was distinctly uncomfortable.
She hated being around him. Not just because it was Voldemort, and he seemed to care about her, but because of his mannerisms.
They were incredibly similar to her own. To Tom's.
One of the things that had slipped through the memory block was her dominant hand. Prior to her possession, she wrote and waved a wand with her right hand.
After writing in the diary, however, everything changed.
She couldn't cast a spell with her right hand if she tried. She could barely write with it either.
She was entirely left-hand dominant.
It was always strange, but now she knew it was because Tom was left-handed. And by extent, Voldemort was as well.
Ginny had simply picked it up because Tom had used her physical body and her form in the dream had reflected that.
The way he ate was like Tom. The way he drank was like Tom. The way he walked was like Tom.
She knew it was due to the simple fact that Tom and Voldemort were the same, but in her mind, they were two entirely different people.
It was easier to pretend that she'd fallen for a twisted man who had died at her and Harry's hand than to say she'd fallen in love with the man who had and would continue to tear their world apart.
Again, came the question of whether or not she'd loved him.
Her current way of managing the horror of the situation was simple.
Accept it and move on.
Whether she'd truly accepted it didn't matter. She didn't have time to worry about it now. They needed to escape.
Soon.
The day of the fifth of July came and went, and the last remnants of hope Harry held of a safe transformation was lost. There was no wolfsbane, which meant that come July twelfth, Harry would be a werewolf unhindered by the potion's persuasions.
"Come on, Ginny. Do you have any plan at all?" Harry asked on the seventh of July.
Ginny sighed and dropped her head to her hands. "He doesn't sleep. He knows… everything all at once. He knows we had a long conversation that night," she said, indicating the night she'd told Harry about, well, not everything but the important things. "There's no way we could escape unless we overpower him. Which… I don't know,"
"You did it before," Harry remarked.
Ginny shook her head. "That was because of the sister wand," she explained. "My wand is from a yew tree. The very same tree as Voldemort's. Don't you remember? Before school started, we spoke with Ollivander,"
"Oh, right," Harry nodded.
"I don't know if I can rely on that again. I'll have to check and see if he's still using his wand," she cracked her knuckles and pounded her head against one of the cell bars. "We need to get out of here,"
The days continued to fly by.
The tenth of July came, two days before the full moon, and Ginny was once again led up for tea. She sat and waited for Voldemort to do the same.
He brought out his wand and waved it delicately. It was something he'd taken to doing since their one and only verbal interaction. She hadn't known why he was showing her his wand until now.
He was using Harry's wand. At least, the wand Harry had kept with him in the graveyard. Ginny still didn't know the full story about that other wand. Supposedly, he'd broken his holly wand, yet here it was.
She shook herself and focused back on the drink in her hand.
"Yes, I am no longer using my more… familiar wand," he said slowly. "That sister connection isn't quite as strong as that of a brother wand, but I suppose it doesn't matter. The duel had sung for you, and I cannot risk it to do so again,"
Voldemort smiled. "Though of course, we won't ever be fighting, will we?"
Ginny swallowed and shook her head.
"Good," he brought the tea to his lips. "How has your magic been doing?" he asked conversationally.
She didn't like that he was acting so normal so quickly. "It's been…" she didn't know how to answer, really.
Since she'd broken the block, the only magic she'd performed was to open the bottled of wine.
Not her proudest moment, if she was honest with herself.
"It's been fine," she answered.
Voldemort cocked his head to the side. "Has it? Have you tried using your wand? Or have you only performed simple actions with your hand,"
Ginny narrowed her eyes and drew her wand. Voldemort didn't flinch, and she hated him for it.
Tom had learned to flinch.
She pointed it at the plate and tapped the tip of her wand to its edge. She focused all her magic on transfiguring it to become a flower, something she'd always been able to do.
Nothing happened.
She tapped it again, muttering the incantation this time.
Again, nothing.
Finally, she tapped her wand to it and spoke the spell with distinct clarity.
The plate remained in its spot, unchanged.
Ginny took a deep breath to reign in her frustration. "Why is it not working?"
Voldemort chuckled. "Did you not hear me? You need me. Here is that need manifesting itself. You may have gone far with that little mental block of yours, but you're mine now. Like you were before. You need me."
Every time he said it. That she needed him. She felt a shiver run through her body. She didn't need him. She'd prove him wrong. "I can still fight without it. I can perform wandless magic-"
"As I told you before," Voldemort interrupted. "Wandless magic can do nothing more than transfiguration and a basic levitation charm. Not even those as great and powerful as I can accomplish anything more than that."
"Not even Grindelwald?" Ginny asked.
Voldemort scoffed. "That crippled man in his tower is nothing compared to me," he spat. "He chooses to hide in his own personal hell for what purpose? Love, it would seem. The greatest weakness,"
Ginny worked as hard as she possibly could to avoid showing any sign of surprise.
Voldemort didn't know of Grindelwald's escape. Somehow, he must be hiding himself well enough to avoid detection.
Now that she thought of it, no one had reacted to Grindelwald's return.
Because he hadn't returned. The realization struck like a bell in an empty quiet town. Only a select few were even aware of his flight from Nurmengard.
Ginny could use this. This was a weapon. Knowledge of the enemy. Grindelwald and Voldemort, if everyone played their cards right, could eliminate each other.
Who would rise above the destruction, the aftermath? Well, that would remain to be seen.
The door at the end of the hall opened and a man with sleek black hair walked in confidently. "I am sorry to intrude, my Lord, but I have important news,"
Voldemort lifted his napkin from his lap and crumpled it onto his plate. "Proceed, Pius,"
The man, Pius, smiled arrogantly. "Our takeover of the Ministry is nearly complete. We have at least one loyal servant in each department. Save Black's, of course. Then again, why we would need a hand in beast trade is rather… well, shall we say unimportant."
Voldemort narrowed his eyes. "You will find that it is quite important, actually."
Pius's entire demeanor changed. His eyes darted to Ginny and Voldemort coughed. "Do not look at her. You fool," Voldemort hissed. "It seemed as though you weren't finished with your news?"
Pius's eyes immediately left Ginny and he straightened his back, speaking once again in that cool determined voice. "Yes, well, the election for Minister will fall next week. Fudge's funeral was… well… it has happened. And it is concluded,"
"What of the other members of our government?" said Voldemort. "How substantial will the opposition be?"
Pius grinned. "That is where we are quite fortunate, my Lord. There is a woman who has worked at a high level for a long time. She is well respected and known. I do not think she will find any issue with Magic is Might,"
Voldemort folded his fingers together and raised an eyebrow. "And who might she be?"
Ginny knew who it was before Pius opened his little mouth. "Dolores Umbridge, my Lord,"
Voldemort smiled. "Yes, I remember Dolores. She was… quite supportive of the cause the first time around,"
Pius nodded. "Yes, well, I do not believe she would be interested in joining. Seems the flighty type, but she'll help us along. That is for certain,"
Voldemort nodded. "Well, all I can offer is that you must win that election, no matter what hoops you must jump through to accomplish the task."
Pius nodded, bowed, and left the dining hall.
"Wormtail! Bring Ginevra to the cellar." Voldemort instructed, and Ginny left for the day.
"We need to get out of here. We need to warn them," Ginny was pacing the minimal distance she could through the ankle cuff.
"You have your wand," Harry offered. "You could always… break us out. Or try, at least,"
Ginny's shoulders slumped as she remembered the other focus of her tea with Voldemort. "I can't use my wand,"
Harry's eyes widened. "What?"
"He's taken that away too," she drew her wand and waved it at one of the many bottles of wine. Nothing happened. She repeated the motions in a similar manner to the way she'd done so to the plate earlier and again, no flower appeared in the bottle's place.
"He says I can't do it because I'm not with him."
Harry clenched his jaw and let out an angry breath. "He's wrong, and you know it,"
Ginny clenched her fist and tapped her foot. "What if he's right. What if I really can only do wandless transfiguration for the rest of my life. What if I can't use my wand again until I… join him,"
Harry shook his head. "You'll overcome it. It's just because we're near him and that… thing."
Ginny frowned. "What thing?"
Harry raised his hand and pointed to the far corner of the room, beyond the bars of their cell.
Hufflepuff's cup stood in shadow, the light from their solitary window barely reflecting off its side.
Ginny shuddered. So that was why they always felt so cold and depressed down here.
"That's a horcrux," she said. Her voice was barely above a whisper. "He hasn't rehidden it yet,"
Harry wrapped his arms around his knees, wincing as he did so. The pains of the upcoming transformation were difficult to bear. "We need to get out… but I really don't know how that's going to happen."
He turned his gaze up to hers. "If he comes down the day after tomorrow, and we still haven't got a plan… I want you to tell him about my condition and make sure you aren't in here when I transform."
Ginny shook her head. "No. I'd rather be bitten than be with him any longer,"
Harry closed his eyes and sighed. "Ginny… I've never transformed without the potion. That means I've never let the wolf loose in any way. When I transform… it's going to be catastrophic. I could… I could kill you,"
Ginny swallowed and nodded slowly. "I don't want to leave you,"
Harry shook his head. "Please. Promise me you'll do as I say. Go to Voldemort when the moon rises. Please, Ginny,"
"Okay, Harry. I promise,"
The morning of the twelfth dawned bright. Ginny found Harry already awake and picking away at lunch. His eyes were glazed over, clearly in mental conversation with his mother. Ginny wondered what it was they talked about all the time.
Though there were over thirteen years to catch up on, so she supposed there'd be things to discuss.
They'd taken to waking up in the afternoon after their conversation a couple of weeks ago. After staying up so late, they'd irreparably destroyed their sleep schedule.
Voldemort came down as usual, and Ginny paid extra close attention to everything as they went by.
She sat at the table and waited for Voldemort to follow. They sat in silence and sipped their tea until suddenly, Voldemort cleared his throat.
"I need you to watch Potter over the next week or two," he informed her. Ginny stilled her motions and waited for further instruction. "I am going to move my horcruxes. Understand that this information stays with you, do you understand? None of my other servants know if this. Only myself, and you."
Ginny nodded slowly, brushing past the fact that Voldemort referred to her as his servant.
"Though, I suppose Barty has his suspicions. He was always an intelligent young man," Voldemort sighed in reminiscence. "Will you do that for me? Will you watch Potter?"
Ginny shrugged. "All I have to do down there is watch him. I'll keep doing it for you,"
Voldemort smiled. "Good. Now that that is settled…"
The rest of their lunch together was silent. Nothing but the clinking of plates and cutlery.
She was led down to the cellar by Wormtail. He locked her up, as per usual, and left without any fanfare.
"Plan?" Harry asked.
Ginny shook her head. "Give me time to think…"
"What happened today?" it had been something Harry had taken to asking after each of these strange lunches with Voldemort.
"He's re-hiding his horcruxes." she spat angrily. "I don't know where, but I think he leaves tomorrow,"
Harry sighed. "I assume you knew where they were hidden?"
Ginny nodded. "I had a pretty excellent idea. Luckily, I doubt he'll be able to get one of them… if it's even there,"
Harry quirked his head to the side. "Which one?"
Ginny shook her head. "No, I don't know which one is there, but I've got to assume there's one at Hogwarts…"
Harry nodded. "How come?"
"That was his home," she smiled ruefully in his direction and Harry frowned.
"I hate how similar we are," Harry muttered.
Ginny nodded, sliding down next to him. "Yeah…" she said sadly. "Me too."
They sat in silence, but the thoughts in their heads couldn't be louder. It was obvious that Harry was panicking over what would happen if he transformed that night, and Ginny was focusing all her effort on finding a way out. She pulled on the cuff, tried to pry it open. She tapped it with her wand to transfigure it, but of course that didn't work.
The spells on the cuff were too strong either way. You couldn't transfigure or levitate the spells themselves, so it wasn't worth trying the limited capabilities of wandless magic.
She stood up and paced back and forth, the fear of being bitten, or perhaps worse, was driving her to consider every option.
Suddenly, a pain coursed through her body, and she let out a yelp.
"What it is?" Harry shot to his feet, walking over to her.
She placed a hand over her stomach. Ever since Voldemort had used that spell on her, way back at their first conversation over a week ago, which in the moment had felt like a punch to the gut, she'd felt an odd bubbling sensation in the pit of her stomach, or right below it.
Though, now that she thought about it, the discomfort had started well before that.
When Voldemort had first started serving her tea.
"What is it?" Harry repeated, coming over to her. "Why is your hand over your stomach?"
"It… hurts," she tried to explain. "Feels like cramps,"
Harry cocked his head to the side. "Like a running cramp?" he asked, confusedly.
Ginny rolled her eyes and resisted the urge to chuckle as Harry's eyes glazed over into a mental conversation with his mother. She watched the flush spread up to his cheeks. He came out of the mental conversation looking distinctly uncomfortable.
"Oh, sorry," he mumbled.
Ginny wined and shook her head. "It's fine… you'd have no reason to know,"
The pain continued to grow; it was coming from deep within her. Like something was eroding.
"Somethings wrong," Ginny winced again, drawing in a hissed breath. "Harry, can you turn away so I can check something?"
Harry jumped at her voice and nodded, turning away and staring intently at the wall.
She checked quickly. She wasn't bleeding, and it would have been a whole week early.
So, then what was happening to her? Had she been poisoned?
She couldn't worry about it now, even though the pain was near unbearable. She needed to focus on finding a way out.
The minutes turned to hours. The worrying turned to desperate pacing. The looming dread of needing to beg Voldemort to help her escape from Harry grew heavier and heavier.
"Call him," Harry said, finally. The sky outside the cell was a vivid orange, growing darker and darker. They had a couple hours at most.
"No, not yet," she countered. For what felt like the hundredth time, she walked, hunched over to ease the abdominal pain, and pulled on where the chain lay against the wall. It wouldn't give. The charms were much too strong.
Even Harry with his enhanced human strength couldn't break through.
"I won't call him. I won't do it until the last possible moment," she persisted.
Harry groaned. "Ginny, do you not understand what is at stake?"
"My life, Harry, yes I am well aware," she retorted. "And believe me, I know I'm important. The key to it all and everything,"
"What?" Harry asked, utterly confused. It was at this moment that Ginny realized she'd forgotten to mention the prophecy Tom tried, and continued to place her under.
The prophecy he may very well have enabled through a dream.
She shook herself. "I'll explain later,"
Harry got to his feet then, and began to roam the area of their cell, at least the space they could reach with the chains. They checked for weaknesses, for large enough gaps.
"We could have starved ourselves," Harry noted at one point. The sky had darkened considerably. "That's how Sirius escaped,"
Ginny, who's eyes had been closed as she rubbed circles over her middle, nodded absently. "Yes, but he was an Animagus too. He could shrink down to the size of a dog and get through just fine."
Harry grumbled a bit but continued to search.
They scratched at the floor, the stones, everything they'd already gone over countless times before. Both on that day, and the weeks prior.
Eventually, Harry coughed and fell to the floor, clutching his side. The light outside their window had left. The night sky had revealed itself.
"Call him!" Harry shouted. "It's coming. You haven't got more than a few minutes,"
Ginny drew in a rattling breath and blinked past the tears of dread and fear that had formed in her eyes. She walked up to the cell door, took a deep breath and cried, "WORMTAIL!"
The pathetic little man ran down the stairs, wand in hand. "Back from the gate, woman! Back!"
"I would like out of this cage. I do not want to be here with this… boy any longer," she ground out, pointing to Harry who was forcing his face to the floor. "Unchain me. Bring me to the Dark Lord,"
Wormtail smiled. "At least you've learned your manners, poppet. Unfortunately, the Dark Lord has left the home. He is on a private mission. You were made well aware of that,"
Ginny tried to hide the fear in her eyes as she realized that Voldemort had already left to hide the horcruxes. Her eyes darted to the corner where Hufflepuff's cup had once stood. It was gone. She didn't know when Voldemort had retrieved it. Neither she nor Harry had left this cell since he'd informed her of the plan to leave and gather his horcruxes.
There had been a half-formed plan in her mind to beat him to it. To get them all before he had the chance.
"Well, can't I be moved to a different cell?" she pleaded.
Harry yelped on the floor and clutched a different part of his body. The transformation was coming, and without the wolfsbane potion, it was more painful than ever.
"No," Wormtail grinned wickedly. "The Dark Lord requests that you watch Potter. You will do so,"
Ginny bent her leg repeatedly in impatience. "Can't I watch him from somewhere else? I hate being so close to him," she tried to be as convincing as possible in her request.
Wormtail snorted. "Yes, the redheads always hated Potters. Lily was surely drugged, so it doesn't count,"
"Shut the fuck up, Peter," Harry shouted from the ground. "You know nothing about my mother, or my father!" he was struggling to speak, his voice coming out raspy and weak.
Ginny pulled on the door. "Please, Wormtail, let me out," but Wormtail wasn't focused on her.
"I knew your dad a damn sight better than you did, Potter! Considering the fact that I lived with him. Saw and heard him alive for more than a year," he cackled. "Pathetic little Potter,"
Ginny fought the urge to throw her hand through and pull Wormtail into the bars with difficulty. "Please let me out," Ginny was panicking now.
Wormtail spat on her face. It dribbled down her nose, onto her cheeks and to her lips before she wiped it off. He backed away and shook his head. "I don't care what's wrong with him. He ain't my responsibility."
Ginny felt another gush of pain from her middle and hissed. Wormtail stilled. "So, it's starting to work then, is it?"
Ginny looked up at him, horror shone through eyes. "What? What's working? What's happening to me?"
Wormtail further distanced himself from the bars and moved his hands into his pockets. "How did Barty put it? Women aren't supposed to be evil, are they? Supposed to be mothering."
Ginny sucked in a breath. Was she pregnant? How was that possible.
"So, the only way to keep you from ever falling back into the… light side of things, is by taking that away…" Wormtail continued. "I was always the portioner of the Marauder's. They never thought it was all that important, but I thought different… I've learned things, you know,"
"What have you done to her!" Harry spat from where he writhed on the ground in silence. Biting his lip to stop himself from screaming.
"Made sure she can't ever be mothering, of course," Wormtail let out a snort of laughter.
Ginny felt the most tremendous sinking feeling hit her body. As though she was trapped in an hourglass, caught within the sand as it fell and enveloped her in compounding pressure.
What did Wormtail mean? Had he truly taken away something so fundamental to her being? Was he telling the truth? Is that what this sensation in the pit of her stomach was?
Harry couldn't hold back his screams any longer, it would seem, and Ginny had had enough of waiting.
"You're nothing without me." Voldemort's voice echoed through her head as she reached her hand out to the window. "You need me," he continued, as the glass of the indestructible window transformed into a small bird. It flew out the space where the window once stood, and into the night sky.
Harry's wails continued, and Wormtail gasped as Ginny continued to feel her way through the magic of the room.
"Do not let it define you," the voice of her father, immediately after the diary incident, drowned out Voldemort.
"You need to feel it. Grab hold of it. Your anger. Find the magic in the room, draw from it. Transform it." Tom's instructions to her, so very long ago, swept through her body.
She could feel the magic of the wards on the cell. The cuff around her ankle. The very air of the room.
She drew from it, heightening her very being. Shattering the binds of the ankle cuff as she did so.
"First of seven, first in seven," she let her magic flow through her. If she couldn't use a wand, she'd use the simplistic transfiguration she could perform without one.
She transfigured the magic of the wards around her into something more.
Power, for herself.
Harry writhed on the floor; his limbs began to extend.
"Rises as the sword swords falls,"
Ginny felt another shot of pain originate from her middle. She took it and brought it to the front of her magic.
"You will reshape this world,"
The magic expanded out around her, taking every brick, every atom, and reshaping it. The rock and magic of the enchanted cellar walls shifted. The ceiling disappeared in a flurry of white flowers. The wind picking it up as they soared out into the night sky.
She transfigured every particle into something to be blown away. Excavating a transfigured hole away from the cellar, and out into the night sky. Her hair blew behind her, and her magic continued to exercise its dominion on the world.
Thousands upon thousands of lilies, once brick and wood, flew out and around her. She heard Wormtail attempt to scurry away.
"I can make things move without touching them," Tom's young voice permeated through the darkness.
She raised her other arm, levitating Wormtail off his feet and towards the cell.
"You are more powerful than you can possibly imagine,"
Harry's screams contorted into a deeper pitched howl. He was writhing on the floor, transforming slowly from man to wolf.
Impossibility was but another rule to be placed upon her magic.
Harry's voice filled her mind now. "Take your life into your own hands. Do what you want to do,"
She needed water, and lots of it. She let her magic explore, roam and discover. There was plenty of it all around the manor. The dew, the clouds above, the small critters and animals that lived on the manor grounds.
She drew on it, transfiguring it. Compressing it. She needed more, more weight to the mass she was creating in the sky.
Ginny's mass transfiguration of the side and bowels of the manor allowed the full moon to shine brightly through the large hole.
She bent the molecules into a cloud. Let the magic blend the water and transfigure as much as she possibly could.
She would reshape this world. Literally, and metaphorically. She didn't care what Wormtail had done to her. She would rise above it. Grow from it.
She needed more water. More energy. The still suspended from of Wormtail writhed in her magic. Her hand twisted and the water from within him left his body.
It flew up and out of the manor, into the cloud she was creating. Pettigrew's lifeless corpse fell to the floor. Silent and still.
Harry's form had transformed. He was panting, yelping and jittering on the floor, free of his bonds. Ginny, keeping her hands trained on the cloud she was creating, ran up and out of the hole she'd dug into the grassy fields beyond. She bent the magic a little differently, letting it flow around the cloud to find the electricity.
She found it and gripped it with all she was worth. The electricity built until it struck the roof of the manor with an echoing crack.
She didn't care about what the book told her. She'd overcome it.
She was the key.
She would reshape this world.
"AMATO! ANIMO! ANIMATO! ANIMAGUS!" she bellowed into the night sky as the rain from her conjured storm began to fall. Lightning cackled and cracked. The trees around her set aflame from the power and magic buzzing through the air.
"AMATO! ANIMO! ANIMATO! ANIMAGUS!"
"You will never amount to anything without me!"
The sounds of pounding paws on the earth met her ears over the roar of the storm. She turned her attention briefly to the wolf bounding towards her with murder in his eyes.
"I can make animals do what I want without training them," Tom's voice returned, and she made Harry's wolf stop in its tracks, stuck in a trance.
"AMATO! ANIMO! ANIMATO! ANIMAGUS!" The flames around the forest flared like the visualization of the sound of an orchestra. Rising high into the sky and dipping with every word she shouted into the night sky.
The draw on her magic was strong on her emotions and physical strength. Tears streaked her face as the realities of everything that had happened hit her once more.
"Made sure she can't ever be mothering, of course,"
"You're mine! Do you understand?"
The voices clashed for dominance within her own mind.
"You are weak! YOUNGEST OF SEVEN!"
Lightning struck the ground not three feet away from her.
"AMATO! ANIMO! ANIMATO! ANIMAGUS!" she screamed, the pain in her middle flared once again.
The voices of Tom, Wormtail, her father and Harry continued to fight.
Ginny reached into her pocket, drew out the potion and flicked her other hand to magically remove the cork. She downed it in one. She knew it wouldn't work, not on paper, but she had to try.
Her control over Harry's wolf was waning. The storm was fading. Her strength was collapsing in on itself.
"AMATO! ANIMO! ANIMATO! ANIMAGUS!" she continued as she began to sob.
Finally, one voice rang through her mind loud and true.
Her own.
"Rise, Ginevra!"
The flames around the storm soared into the sky. They bent and moved of their own accord. The rain did nothing to halt their reign over the trees.
"AMATO!" she faltered, taking a breath. Lightning struck nearby once more. "ANIMO!" Her control of Harry's wolf disappeared, and it continued its run towards her. "ANIMATO!" the rain ceased, her eyelids drooped, and the tears fell once more.
Harry's wolf was a foot away. It leapt through the air, jaws wide and open to the world, nearing her neck by the second.
She could feel its breath.
The flames around them faded and disappeared. The cloud above her shrunk.
"Rise, Ginevra!" she told herself once more.
With a last, desperate cry, she screamed into the night, the cloud disappearing into the winds of the world. "ANIMAGUS!"
Whatever vestiges of electricity remained in that tiny remnant of Ginny's conjured storm worked together and shot towards her outstretched hand.
The bolt of lightning traveled through the air like an arrow in slow motion. Harry's wolf's teeth began to make their impression on her neck, and just when she thought they'd break the skin, the bolt of lightning struck her index finger and she felt complete and unhindered power rush through her veins.
It felt like everything was changing all at once. Every piece of her body shifted and contorted until she was shrinking. Harry's wolf disappearing over her head, missing her by mere inches due to her transformation.
It was painful, and confusing, but altogether exhilarating as her perspective morphed and she fell to the crater the final deafening bolt of lightning had created.
Harry's wolf hit the side of the crater and slid to its base. He whimpered once and moved no more.
Ginny didn't get a chance to see what she'd turned into before the exhaustion of it all destroyed everything she had. She could hear Harry's breathing and took comfort in the fact that she'd only taken one life tonight.
The cool air bristled her fur, and everything went black.
Harry woke slowly. His body ached. His head pounded. The memories of the night before flowed through his mind faster than he could regain his balance.
He sat up and cracked his back. He was completely naked and freezing. They were still on the manor grounds, and therefore under the fidelius, so the muggles had absolutely no idea what was going on.
There had been fire, rain, lightning, and…
"Ginny!" Harry cried, covering himself while looking around. There was a small bundle of orange at the pit of the crater. It was completely still.
Shrugging past his dignity, he made his way to the bottom of the dirt pit, wincing as his uncalloused feet hit small pointed rocks and twigs.
She was a fox. Curled up with her tail resting against her small nose. Her wand lay by her side, practically camouflaged by the other twigs. He took it in hand.
"Accio clothes," he shouted into the early morning. His clothes soared from the innards of the manor and down into the crater. He quickly repaired them and dressed himself before tucking her wand behind his ear and leaning forward to prod her side.
The fox remained asleep.
Harry sighed and thought of the best course of action. They needed to get farther from the Riddle house, that was their first priority.
He needed to retrieve the Elder Wand as well.
Acting on instinct alone, he bent over and, as delicately as possible, picked the fox up and bundled her up in his arms.
As foxes go, she was quite small. A spattering of white spots on her brow seemed to be her mark.
No matter what form she took, Ginny Weasley had freckles.
He slowly clambered out of the crater without utilizing his arms for balance. They were solidly held around the fox in his arms.
He walked away from the riddle house, through its wards and up to the graveyard. He found the large black spot where the cauldron once sat and retraced his steps. He found the shrub and sighed in relief as the Elder Wand's warmth greeted his palm once more. He placed it around his other ear and continued away from Little Hangleton and into the early morning mist.
When Ginny next woke, she was warm and comfortable. She was sat in something squishy.
She yawned and felt her longer-than-usual tongue hit her unfamiliar teeth.
"Harry?" she tried to speak, but nothing but a few odd gagging sounds left her mouth. Her voice, instead, lived within her own head.
She could smell him. The woodsy, sweaty smell of a teenage boy. She uncurled and made her way towards it.
There was a small fire burning, and Harry was hunched over it. They were in a canopied forest clearing and Harry seemed dreadfully tired.
Her paw crunched a leaf, and he whirled around in the dark, wand raised.
His eyes found Ginny's and his face broke out into a hesitant smile. "Ginny," he whispered.
She quickened her pace and ran up beside him, nuzzled his hands and plopped down.
"Are you going to transform back?" he asked.
Ginny mentally frowned. How on earth did she change back?
As the thought left her mind, she felt her body shift and change rapidly until she was laying on her stomach in the forest clearing, human once more.
"Oh!" she cried in shock. Looking down at herself and making sure she was covered.
Luckily, her clothes transformed with her.
"Where are we?" she asked.
Harry sighed. "Not far enough. I walked as much as I could before I felt like death. I made you a little… erm," he rubbed the back of his neck and pointed to a large lump of grass and twigs. "Bed, I suppose,"
Ginny chuckled quietly. "It was quite comfortable, thank you…"
They lapsed into silence. "So, what next?" Harry asked. "I don't know how to apparate,"
"I do," Ginny offered.
"Brilliant!" Harry cried, smiling down at her. "We need to warn the others about the Minister."
Ginny didn't smile back. "We can't go back home. Not yet. We've got to do something first,"
"Like what?"Harry asked worriedly.
"Voldemort intends to hide his horcruxes," she began. "I intend to beat him to it. Find them, and reconnect them with his body,"
Harry took a deep breath. "If you think you can save him… if that once he is whole, he can redeem himself…"
"Don't be daft," Ginny cut him off angrily. "That isn't why I want to put him back together,"
"Then tell me," said Harry.
Ginny thought of the smile on Wormtail's face as he told her of the effects of the potion. Of how Voldemort had made sure to watch her drink that tea every day. Whether it had accomplished its task or not didn't matter. They'd tried.
"I want to piece him back together, so that when I kill him," she turned to Harry with that hard blazing look. "He'll feel every second of it."
A/N: Weird stuff is going on with FFN! If this website shuts down, I would like those of you who read my story and enjoy it to please also follow it on AO3. It is under the same title and same penname. The synopsis is different, I think.
I set up Wandless Magic so long ago that I felt like its foreshadowing was sort of irrelevant. The transfiguration and levitation rules were told to Harry way back in like chapter 2. Anyways, I had to reintroduce that concept slowly. First with Harry thinking about it in Chapter 29, then it was hinted at with Ron lowering himself in Chapter 30. Sorry if it felt rushed, in my head it's all so connected that I can't imagine people forgetting little details, but again… chapter 2 was a long, poorly written time ago.
Ginny's infertility: I fucking hate Pettigrew and needed a reason for Ginny to kill him off. Whether the potion took full, irreversible effect or not remains to be seen.
To the people who think Ginny's internal conflict can be resolved by a simple action, I apologize. One does not recover from something like this, which runs way deeper than what is explored here to be honest, in a day. Ginny has a very very long road ahead of her, as does Harry. I don't think it'll ever become too depressing to bear, but, it's a recurring theme.
Love is complicated. Especially when you're gaslit into thinking you care about someone when really you want out.
Ginny's story is very centralized on the idea of recovering from addiction. You can see that in the way she describes performing dark magic, and wielding power.
Grindelwald and Dumbledore's big thing was the temptation of power, and how they both handled it. I think it will be interesting to see Ginny struggle with that.
She is a flawed protagonist, as is Harry though less clearly, I think. He definitely has a problem with talking about his feelings and emotions, made clear by this insistence on leaving the past behind and essentially sucking it up. Something he told himself after being bit, Remus in Chapter 13, and Ginny here.
Sorry for the long note, more next week probably.
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