"Up you go Ginny! Potion lessons before breakfast!"
Ginny was jostled out of her surprisingly comfortable camp bed by a slimy ball bouncing from her elbow, all the way to her knee. With a spring, it shot up to her forehead where it did some sort of tap dance until her eyes finally opened and she tumbled out of the bed in an attempt to swat it away.
It was more awake than she was, she noted bitterly. It dodged her feeble swats and bounced up and down in a cheery manner in front of the canvas flap that separated her slighty-more-private space from the rest of her family's bunks in the larger space.
The slime ball splat on the ground each time it cheerfully sprang higher and higher. With a groan, Ginny crawled forward to let it out.
However, the moment the flap was open, the sound of Too-Many-Weasleys getting ready for the day was so boisterous, Ginny knew she wasn't getting back to sleep. She yawned her way into the main area of the tent.
The bunks along the wall were all tidied up and the "working dinner" table had been removed. The only thing that remained from the previous night's Project Francophobe dinner was the blackboard. Before her eyes could focus on what it said, her Dad walked by, a muggle camera affixed to his hat. He tapped the board, doing a bit of a jig that Ginny did not appreciate as kitten eyed as she was at the moment. "I know the boys want to help, but you tell them to stuff it, if it gets to be too much," he said with a smile, patting her on the shoulder before drawing her wand out of his travel pack.
Her Dad was about as subtle as Fred and George. She spared her wand a glance, half wanting to cradle it, the other half wanting to chuck it out into the desert dunes. "You too?"
He leaned down close to her ear with a furtive look toward her Mum, who was shouting orders to Ron and chiding the twins about something or other. "Ginny, do you really, really want to learn French?"
She sort of didn't. With a sigh of surrender, she took the wand from her trying-to-look-innocent Dad, once again feeling its sticky familiarity. "What if I-"
"He's gone, Ginny," her Dad said softly. Again. "I'll say it as many times as you need to hear it. You're not going to hurt anyone with that."
She so desperately wanted to believe that. "You'll take the wand back every night?" Ginny said, with a tentative sort of hope that felt riskier than charming a dragon. "Just in case?"
Her Dad nodded. Then, he tapped the board again. "Breaks," her Dad said firmly, ignoring her question. He tilted his head at the blackboard, which Ginny could now see displayed a daily schedule on it. Everyone's name was listed, what tourist activity they were doing, or what subject was being tutored and where. "Percy didn't schedule breaks, but you take them anyway."
"Don't I get to vacation at all?" Ginny yawned, still groggy from sleep.
It struck her as strange that everyone else was moving when she was still half-asleep. She was a morning person, having been trained from a young age that the early bird gets her share of breakfast. And broom time. Everyone was bustling about when she seemed to be moving at half speed. Ron was peering under the bed, yelling for Scabbers. Percy was scribbling on a scroll while an owl Ginny didn't recognize fluttered in the air beside him. The slimy ball that had forced her to wake went soaring across the tent to Fred's hand. He tossed it to George, who finally noticed Ginny had entered the tent. "Ginny's up!" He yelled.
"Ginny's up!" Ron replied, holding a wriggling Scabbers by the tail.
The blackboard began to light up. A line of lights started chasing itself around the box on the schedule that said, "Potions Practice - Forge, Gred, Ron."
Fred flicked his wand again, and a bunch of books sailed from Ginny's room to plop into her arms. She shuddered under the weight.
It all felt surreal. Like everyone else was possessed by cheerful, efficiency monsters instead of dark wizards hiding in diaries.
"I'm already ready for a break," Ginny grumbled at the blackboard. Percy marched by, relieved her of the heavy weight of her books and carried them outside the tent. "Can we go home yet, Dad?"
"Not yet!" Her Dad ignored her tone and slipped a small orange into her hand. "I wouldn't want to take potions with the twins on an empty stomach. Besides," he said low, "it'll give you an edge. Ron's head start won't mean much on an empty stomach."
"Oh, that's right," Ginny muttered. "Blah-blah-hierarchy, all-the-rolls, dragon something, Charlie's weird."
"Nonsense, all my children are perfect," Her Mum chided, bustling by. "Except when they're being insufferable stinkers with foul mouths."
"That's when they're my children," her Dad added cheerfully, tickling her Mum and making her giggle, which made all of the perfect and non-perfect children object loudly.
Ginny's fingernails dug into the skin of the orange. Ron's head start wouldn't mean much on an empty stomach? Worried that Ron might have had a point last night, maybe it was Ginny-And-Five-Brothers-Oh-And-Maybe-Also-Her-Dad vs. Ron, Ginny's pride demanded an equal playing field. "Oi, Ron!" she threw half the orange at him before stuffing the other half in her mouth all at once.
She didn't need other people's tricks to beat Ron. If he were so far ahead, she was perfectly capable of cheating on her own, thank you very much.
Ginny turned in dismay as the blackboard suddenly started to smoke and sizzle. The schedule winked out, the words "BEHIND SCHEDULE" flashing insistently.
"Oh!" Her Mum flew out the front of the tent and the twins picked Ginny up under the arms, her feet wheeling in the air. "Hey! I'm not even awake yet-"
"Time and Tide wait-" Fred sang.
"-for no sister-shaped dragons."
Her feet kicking, they carried her outside the tent where a whole potions station was set up under one of the canopies stretching over the small courtyard outside. The canopy wasn't necessary, with the early morning breeze and the sky still a pinkish blue, but Ginny figured she'd be grateful for the shade later. Past the potions station, another table was set up with flying dishes and a buffet of sorts. Bill and Charlie were already there, grabbing snacks for their morning outing.
Ginny tried once again to shake the cobwebs out of her head. Bill was dressed. Charlie was laughing. The twins were chattering. Ron was chewing and not scratching his arse in worn pajamas. This never happened. She decided she really didn't like being the last up. It felt like she was twelve steps behind everyone else.
She did realize that her grogginess was probably due to the dreamless sleep potion the night before. She didn't take it often, since returning from school. Madame Pomfrey had said it had addictive properties so her Mum usually wouldn't hear of it. But her Mum had figured a different bed, a different country, "get a fresh start on a good night's sleep," so Ginny was able to take one before bed last night.
The twins swung her back and forth a couple times before they plopped her on the bench in front of the potions station. A couple potions were already bubbling and there were ingredients everywhere. Ginny blinked at the display, as it was surprisingly thorough for a makeshift lesson. Ron apparently thought the same as he scrambled after them. "They just let you take the whole big table here in the middle of the glamp?" Ron asked.
It was Bill, not the twins, who answered. Standing under a palm tree next to some sort of elaborate tea station, with stacked cups and three different teapots piping, he gestured around the glamp . "You lot are the only ones at the upper base here, save for a visiting curse-breaker in the far tent. He's on site at the big tomb most of the time, so you won't bother him. If you do see him, though, give him a wide berth," Bill turned serious. "He's quite famous, Gringotts pulls out the red carpet for him once every few years. They've told all of us to be accommodating but stay out of his way."
"How famous?" George asked.
"Harry Potter famous?" Fred asked.
"Dumbledore famous?" Percy wanted to know.
"Who cares how famous," Ginny groaned, lifting herself off the bench and shuffling toward the table with the tea. Beyond the tea table, Ginny could see the rest of the area, a view she had missed the day before in her Brothers-Ditched-Her-To-Play-"Quidditch" rant.
The glamp, with a small oasis where a couple camels and a fire crab were loitering, was surrounded by dunes and desert for the most part. However, on one side an excavated pit stretched wide and deep as if a valley were carved in stone beneath shifting sands. It gave the impression that the glamp was balanced on a sandy rim that overlooked a vast ancient city. Scaffolds allowed some early morning tourists to venture down into the tomb area.
Ginny nudged Bill, a bit awed by the view of the excavated valley. "Which one's the big tomb? They all look about the same size to me."
"The 'Big Tomb'," Bill pointed to a switchback stairway in the distance, "doesn't rise much higher than the others. It's big because it's deep, you have to descend into a pit to get to the door. Most of the tombs here have been cleaned out, but the Big Tomb's curses haven't been broken past the second threshold. "
"Can we go?" Charlie grinned, as he poured Ginny a cup of tea.
"Yeah, can we go?" Ginny grinned as well, the tea perking her up a bit. "Potions-shmotions, I want to see the Big Scary Tomb."
Bill, curse-breaking, tomb-raider that he was, got a gleam in his eye. "It's not technically open for visitors, but I can arrange a private tour for-"
"-everyone but Ginny," her Mum huffed, taking Ginny's tea away from her and handing her a banana. "After potions, she can practice her cleaning charms while the rest of us go."
"Oi!" Ginny protested. Project Francophobe couldn't possibly take all day, every day. "I want to go with the rest of you to the big dangerous tomb! I don't want to practice cleaning charms outside in the heat. In the desert. Which by its very nature is supposed to be full of dirt. Furthermore-"
She wracked her sleepy brain for a 'furthermore.'
Bill met his Mum's eyes and decided to pick his battles. With an apologetic glance at Ginny, he shook his head. "The tomb is dangerous, Ginny."
Traitor. "Is it really? Is it really more dangerous than, say, a diary holding the darkest wizard ever? Because I've sort of seen dangerous before."
"Point, sister," Charlie muttered with a measured look at Bill.
The blackboard took that moment to gallop out of the tent, its stilt legs cantering forward until it skidded to a stop, knocking over the tea service in the process.
The daily schedule flashed, and the blackboard spun to the other side, no longer showing the schedule, but instead, showing a full chart labeled "Best Brother Odds."
With a ding that seemed to ring from nowhere, Charlie's name bumped to the top.
Groans from the rest of the camp echoed, and knuts exchanged hands again. When Ginny caught her Dad slipping a knut to Percy, she glared at him.
"Furthermore," Charlie continued, with a smirk, " it's the most famous cursed tomb in the world. She's missing out on her education by Mum forcing her to skip it. How dangerous can it be?"
Bill crossed his arms. "How many eight-thousand-year-old dragons have killed, maimed or irrevocably damaged countless wizards over millennium, and still is around kicking, undefeated?"
"Oooooh," Ginny muttered. "Point, eldest brother."
Charlie raised a brow. "Whose side are you on?"
"Mine."
"Trying to help."
"I can do it myself." Ginny turned to Bill. Her eyes got big, and her voice was soft, and sincere. "Please, Bill. Please?"
Charlie rolled his eyes. "If that works, I'm going to be so disappointed in our brother."
Bill sighed. "Ginny, I love curse breaking. Tombs full of traps and dead ends and ancient magic that can kill you if you brush against it wrong? Just a Tuesday at this point. But that tomb? There's a reason why no one has been able to get past the second threshold since it was built."
"It's safe enough to let the rest of the family in," Ginny whined.
"No, Ginny." Her Mum put on her There-Will-Be-No-More-Discussion Face and shooed the blackboard back into the tent. Then she pointed at Fred and George, who were counting their knuts by the potions table. "Potions, practice."
"I don't want to potions practice," Ginny grumbled. But she walked over to the table anyway, peeling her stupid banana.
She didn't even like bananas. If her Mum wasn't unreasonable, Ginny would see the tomb, and ditch the banana.
The rest of the family began to scatter, with her oldest brothers leading the way. With talks of camels and questions about Fire Crabs, her parents and the oldest three boys left smacking kisses on Ginny's forehead, leaving her alone with Fred, George and Ron.
And a bunch of stinky potions, Ginny huffed, as she plopped herself down on the bench again, tearing a bite out of her dumb banana.
"So what potion are we doing today? Can I skip the beginning?" Ron interrupted.
Ginny's only consolation to missing vacation, was torturing Ron. "If I have to stay, he has to stay."
"That's not fair-" Ron protested. "I'm not the one who failed potions-"
"We've got-" Fred interrupted, defusing the argument as his finger drew down a list he held up. "Ingredients for five potions today. So, let's start with Wide-eye."
"I know Wide-eye already," Ginny countered. "If there's one potion on the first year curriculum I know, it's Wide-eye. Honestly, if we're going to waste time-"
The ball of slime that woke Ginny up shot out of the tent. It started bouncing on her head again, with an obnoxious squishy sound.
Ron snickered.
"Think that's funny, do you?" Ginny stared at him, deadpan, while the slime ball made goo splatters in the air.
"It's a little funny, yeah." Ron smirked, as he ducked, his eyes following the ball.
George clapped his hands together. "You are both exceeding expectations."
"We haven't done anything yet and could you stop this thing on my head?"
Fred paused the slime ball, hovering right above Ginny's forehead.
"Oh, but you have begun. You have kicked off the pregame ritual," George began.
"The donning of the competitive game face."
"The aggressive trash talk."
"The subtle mockery."
"Let the game commence."
"Round one!" Fred shouted. The slime ball flew over to the tea table and settled in one of the teacups. The blackboard shuffled over, winked out the Best Brother Odds and popped up two columns labeled 'Twitchy Sister' and 'HP's Best Friend."
Both Ron and Ginny glared at the twins, while Fred dramatically cleared his throat. "For one point, which of you can tell me what the Wide-eye potion is?"
Ron slapped his hand on the table. Snapping to attention, he recited in one long breath: "Wide-eye potion, also known as the Awakening potion, prevents the drinker from falling asleep and can also be used to awake someone from drugging, concussion or the Draught of Living Death."
A point appeared in the HP's Best Friend column. The slime ball shot out of the teacup and bounced on Ginny's head again.
"Oi!" Ginny snatched the slime off her head and glared at Fred and George. "Is this seriously how this is going to work? Did you coach him? Because side coaching should be considered a foul and I should get a penalty point."
Ron shot her a smug look he probably picked up from Hermione Granger.
All thoughts of where her parents were touristing fled, along with her sense of fair play and any sort of moderation. Because after that look? It was war. And, oh, Ron was going down.
She was going to annihilate him.
"Wide-eye potion," Ginny said flatly. "Who cares whether you can spout the definition-"
"Snape?" Ron scoffed. "I think Snape cares. You know him, the person grading your exam?"
Ginny ignored Ron and snapped to George. "Six snake fangs, six billywig sting, two wolfsbane, four standard ingredient."
Ron narrowed his eyes.
"Or," Ginny taunted. "You can sneak into the infirmary and nick it off the second shelf from the third potions cupboard on the left."
Fred and George exchanged a look. "Second shelf?"
"That's correct."
The point on the blackboard disappeared from the HPBF column and re-appeared in Ginny's.
The twins nodded in satisfaction. "Round goes to Ginny, for understanding the need for critical redundancy."
"Oi!" Ron objected. "That's not fair! Who cares where you can nick it?"
"The twins?" Ginny mocked. "I think the twins care? You know them, the people in charge of scores?"
"Now," Fred cracked his knuckles. "First to ten wins potions for the day."
"I'm so taking your cave," Ginny said, with a side-eye to Ron.
"I don't have a cave," Ron hissed back. "I have a bunk bed that's surrounded by two parents, three brothers and a rat. All six snore. You're the one with the nice private little cave."
"It's a camp bed with a folding desk."
"Has a flap door," Ron pointed out. "That flap door should counter at least 80% of the snoring. I should take your cave."
"You wish."
A couple hours of potions "class" later, however, Ginny was less optimistic. The potions table was an utter disaster, her sweat glands were going to start charging her overtime, and she was nowhere as sneaky as she had thought.
"Ginny, you forfeit two points for the attempted sabotage of Ron's Cure for Boils." Fred shook his head, while George slashed a few tally marks on a piece of parchment.
Ron's hands thrust into the air, knocking over the potion Ginny had just been accused of tampering with. "Yes! First to ten! Win!" He twisted and pointed two fingers at Ginny. "Loser! Who's the loser? Ginger girl! That's who!"
Ginny, who had woken up certain that she could go head-to-head with Ron on anything, had gotten frustrated. Ron was better than he let on by his grades. Obviously, Hermione Granger oozed competence and Ron couldn't help but absorb a bit of it, mostly by accident, just from the sheer amount of time he spent in her proximity.
So, yeah. Ginny had, indeed, been trying to sabotage his potion, opting for offense being a good defense.
Not that she'd admit that to him. "Alright, Ron. Let's break this down, shall we? First, I'm a redhead, not a ginger."
Fred and George frowned. "Semantics are beneath you. It exposes desperation. Minus another point."
The Blackboard wiped out the scores altogether and drew a sad face.
"The points are supposed to be based on potions!" Ginny yelled, her hands slapping on the picnic table in front of her. "You can't take points off for-"
"-still a loser," Ron crowed. The rest of their group were still off touristing and the courtyard was completely deserted, save for the four of them. Still, Ron glanced around the shaded tables and palm trees, searching for someone to brag to. Finally, he caught the attention of the two camels sipping at a trough at the edge of camp. He waved at them. "You met my sister? Looooooooooser."
It was the first day of this and Ginny was already ready to murder Ron. Ginny wouldn't even need to be possessed. She would do it and make it look like an accident. "You didn't actually win!" she pointed out, through clenched teeth. "It was a technicality. Fred and George handed you my points-"
"Because you were cheating!" Ron said indignantly.
Fred cleared his throat. "Not technically true."
"We have no problem with her cheating."
"We believe in creative score-building."
"We docked points because she was caught cheating."
"Clumsy." George tsked.
"We expect our sister to be better than that."
"She's going to need quicker hands."
"Rookie mistake, underestimating the need for diversionary tactics."
Ginny seethed. After she murdered Ron, she'd take out the twins. That? Wouldn't even bother to make that one look like an accident. Murdering the twins was justifiable homicide, and Ginny was absolutely certain that no Wizagamot in the world would convict her. In fact, if she murdered the twins, it was conceivable that the Hogwarts professors would be so bloody grateful that they might excuse Ginny from these stupid arse exams.
"Can we take a break?" Ginny snapped.
The Blackboard spun, the schedule once again appearing, with little lights chasing around a square labeled "History of Chocolate Frog Cards, Forge, Gred, Ron."
"Oh, bloody hell," Ginny groaned.
Watching the twins pat Ron on the back as they all went for more snacks was humiliating.
It was blooding humiliating, losing to Ron.
Mentally, she blamed the morning's loss on the fact she was a little groggy from last night's potion. That had to be it, Ginny thought, anguished. But it wouldn't happen again.
Seething, she made that vow to herself. Tonight would be potion free. Early to bed, early to rise, early to make Ron sob like a baby when she smoked him the next day.
The Blackboard skipped around the courtyard, knocking over three chairs before it started chasing the camels.
()()()
()()()
Pine-scented tile, cold beneath her wet cheek.
The splattering of water. Red-washed water circling the drain. The empty shower sprays.
Soaked robes so heavy as Ginny's shaking arms push herself up.
Beneath the spray, her trembling hand weeps red blood.
The spray washes it down, down, down…
But not away…
()()()
()()()
Gasping, Ginny scrambled out of the bunk. Brittle fear scraping through her veins, she staggered over to the small lamp and held trembling hands to the soft twinkle lights.
No blood.
She shut her eyes. Counting to ten she tried to think happy thoughts. Snagging the last piece of bacon before Ron could grab it. The smell of earth after a rain. Her Dad's wink. Harry Potter's grin. Her Mum's hugs. With each thought, she tried to control her rapid breathing.
Opening her eyes, she breathed through her list, once, twice. Until she could feel the truth of what she saw.
There was no blood.
Just a dream.
Shaking, Ginny sank back onto her cot, her heart finally slowing. She knew she wouldn't get back to sleep. The steady symphony of snores from the other room at least meant she hadn't screamed this time. Nor had she woken anyone with anxious tossing and turning.
The problem with nightmares was the awful buzzing feeling in her body after. The need to run, or move, or fly.
Ginny's chest tightened, unable to resist the memory of the days when flying had been the cure for anything.
For a moment, Ginny allowed herself to fall into the oh-so-seductive what-if. She allowed herself to imagine how different everything would be, if she could still fly.
Tom might still have happened, but maybe not.
If she had been able to fly, Ginny thought, would she have written as often? Maybe instead of writing in a diary, she would have borrowed a school broom. Instead of writing, she might have spent weekends flying on the Quidditch Pitch. If she had been able to fly, maybe she would have played some friendly games with other students too young or inexperienced for the house teams. Maybe she would have made real friends. Maybe she wouldn't have needed the false friend in the diary.
The worst was, if Ginny could fly, she would know what to do right now. Instead of being huddled on a camp bed, she could shake off her nightmare with night breezes as she soared above it all.
She shut her eyes and imagined it, almost feeling the wind in her hair. She could climb up toward the stars until the air was clear and pure and she could breathe again. All her problems would seem small beneath her, in the freedom-
Her stomach lurched, and Ginny forced those thought from her mind.
Still, she was now wide awake and the idea of spending the next few hours in the tiny space of her "cave" seemed abhorrent to Ginny. Just because she couldn't fly didn't mean she couldn't move. Ginny eyed the flap, but decided the front part of the tent was too much of a familial minefield to navigate without waking someone.
Ginny's gaze fell to the bottom of the canvas wall.
Hmm.
Five minutes later, a dustier Ginny was scuttling out from beneath the edge of the tent. The moon hung low in the sky; dawn wasn't too far off.
Ginny edged to the part of the glamp that overlooked the excavation valley. The path the family had taken down to the Big Tomb that afternoon (while Ginny had been stuck back at the glamp with cleaning charms and camels) was dimly lit. Flickering, staggered blue torches wound down the path to the rim, and Ginny could catch a bit of the glow from the switchbacked scaffolded stairs into the valley.
Her limbs ached to simply move.
Ginny thought maybe, just maybe, those stairs would be… um, good exercise? Those rickety stairs would help her shake the nightmare from her limbs. Those specific stairs.
The ones that led down toward the Big Tomb.
The Big Tomb with live curses inside that were not too dangerous for the rest of the family, just too dangerous for Ginny.
That, Ginny thought with a self-aware sort of resignation, sadly made it the one place in Egypt she needed to see. It was the principle of the thing, really.
Figuring she wouldn't get another chance and everyone would be asleep for at least another hour or two, Ginny started to pick her way from torch to torch toward the forbidden area.
As she passed the fourth torch, Ginny had hand it to Gringotts site managers or whoever was in charge of signage. It was fairly easy to traverse her way out of the camp and find the right tomb, even at three in the morning. After descending to the bottom of the stairs, Ginny realized that the valley below seemed so much bigger and spread out than the view from above.
The tombs were much further apart, and the path continued on, occasionally branching in different directions. Ginny, however, kept her eyes on the peak of the Big Tomb, which was harder to see from this angle, occasionally obstructed by a lone obelisk or makeshift structure. Ginny had to stop at least twice to get her bearings, pausing before the curved letters on the signs as they cycled through about eight different languages until they reached English again.
The moon was not visible here in the valley. The sky seemed darker as Ginny finally left the other tombs in the distance around her, following the dim, starlit path toward the Big Tomb.
Two shadows blocked even that dim light as the torches became sparser, and the shadows from the walls of the valley expanded. Ginny slowed as she realized there were two towering sphinxes flanking the path.
With a sense of foreboding, Ginny approached. Each step was more and more difficult, as if the sphinxes themselves were telling her she really should turn back.
Because she was supposed to be in bed.
And maybe exploring a famous Egyptian tomb - THE famous Egyptian tomb - the one that had curses that no curse breaker had been able to crack in several millennium of curse breaking….
.. maybe that was a bit different from breaking into a broom shed to steal a broom?
A maelstrom of terrible thoughts about crashing brooms and scratching quills and the drip drip of sewer water, swirled through Ginny's veins. Even so, she kept going, creeping closer and closer to the sphinxes, as shivers of goose flesh crawled across her arms, snaking up her neck.
Beyond the sphinxes, Ginny could make out more wooden scaffolding. From a distance, it looked as if makeshift walkways zigzagged into the ground, likely toward the subterranean entrance into the tomb rising above.
Ginny's footsteps slowed before she stopped short of the sphinxes, peering beyond those mammoth statues to what looked like a small camp.
Palm trees swayed next to that scaffolded pit, and Ginny realized there was some sort of makeshift station with tables and field equipment. She wasn't alone out here. An older man was hunched over in one of the rickety chairs, fiddling with something, next to a steaming cup.
He didn't look like a guard . Ginny strained her neck to see what he was doing, all by himself, in the wee hours before dawn.
However, it was a bit too dark, so Ginny moved closer. She could tell from the light playing along the shadowed crags of his face that he was actually older than she had thought. Not as old as Dumbledore, maybe, but it was hard to say. Dumbledore's beard length made him seem ancient and this man was clean-shaven, with a puff of white hair that surrounded his head. As if Dumbledore and a dandelion had some sort of love child a hundred years ago, and whoops, here he was, sitting in the dark, fiddling with something or other in front of a creepy tomb.
Curiosity drove her forward. As Ginny stepped beyond the sphinxes, the sense of foreboding inexplicably vanished, as if she had suddenly skipped and hopped onto a sunny trail while whistling a happy tune.
Puzzled, Ginny froze. Then, each foot deliberate, she took three steps backward.
Dread and an urge to run home filled her being, her heart beating faster and faster, thoughts of her bones cracking and basilisks snapping and-
Ginny hopped forward, three times, beyond the sphinxes.
Nothing. All fine.
"Huh," Ginny muttered as she went back and forth a few more times through the sphinxes, just because it was so weird.
"Stop playing with ward," a graveled old voice warbled from the makeshift camp.
Ginny squinted as she approached, but it wasn't until she crossed into the workstation area that she realized what the cube-shaped object cradled in the old man's hands actually was.
"Good morning," she said, hoping that manners would prevent him from being cross with her and sending her back home. "Is that one of those practice curse boxes you have?" It looked similar, though bigger than the one Bill had given her that Christmas so long ago. Heavier, somehow.
The grizzled old man only grunted and rotated the box.
Ginny rolled her eyes. Grumpy Old Man, 1. Manners, 0. Ginny tried again. "I have one of those, you know."
His wrinkled eyes glanced up, "You have Barkius box?"
"My brother made it for me. A couple Christmases ago." A lifetime ago.
"Then," the old man said, in an accent Ginny didn't recognize. "You have Imitation Barkius Box. Not Barkius Box."
It sounded a bit like the accent she had heard in Romania, though the people who worked with Charlie were from all over, so that didn't pinpoint it down much. Still, she thought it might be rude to ask, and she didn't want to give Grumpy Old Man any more points, so she said, "Oh. I thought one curse box was just like another."
"You think wrong. You are little girl."
Silly Little Girl.
Shamed and dismissed, Ginny ducked her head, staring down at her feet. She realized she hadn't put on shoes. "I suppose so," Ginny said wearily. She wondered why she could never learn, why she continually felt the urge to talk to people. Isn't that what got her into the whole mess in the first place?
Perhaps the inherent problem was Ginny liked to talk. She liked to talk to her brothers and listen to their stories. She liked chatting with her parents and she hated when the Burrow was so quiet. She wanted to hear things, and know things, and reading from books just wasn't the same as hearing the lilt in people's voices. Talking let a person understand the story beneath the words, the way Harry's eyes would skip in wonder from the clock to the floo to the dishes washing themselves.
"Sorry to bother you," Ginny muttered, shut down. She backed away, approaching the edge of the rickety stairs into the tomb, half expecting the old man to try and stop her. As her hands gripped the splintered railing, Ginny leaned over and peered down into the darkness, mentally debating whether she could, or should, traverse to what Bill had called "the first checkpoint."
Before she could decide, the grizzled man's voice came from behind her. "Does little girl open Imitation Barkius Box?"
"Open it? No," Ginny turned back, away from the tomb, surprised he was still talking to her. And because her feelings were a bit hurt, she decided to stop being polite. "I use it to prop open my closet."
He grunted.
"The door sticks. Just better to wedge something in there, keep it open."
He chuffed.
And because she didn't like his tone and had never known when to stop, Ginny pushed just a little further, "It's also a good parchment weight. Keeps scrolls from doing that flipflipfliprollbackup thing."
He tore his eyes off his box and sighed in disgust.
Which was, admittedly, what Ginny had been going for. Wanker.
"Did little girl even try to open?"
"I did an alohamora on it, once."
"Pfft," the old man snorted. "Mistake."
"Yeah," Ginny grunted back. "My hair discovered that as it stood out on all ends, thank you."
"Rebound?" A whisper of a smirk crossed his face, though it might have been a trick of the moonlight.
Ginny inched away from the banister, a little happier that after a bumpy start he was talking to her. "Rebound. I think that's what my brother called it. Yes?"
He didn't respond, just stared down at his box. However, he wasn't grunting or calling her a little girl again, so Ginny carefully made her way back toward the table. "Are you a Gringotts curse breaker?"
The grizzled man barked with derision. "Ha. Goblins wish."
"Oh," Ginny realized this was probably the visiting curse breaker sharing the glamp with them. The one Bill told them to give a wide berth. Whoops. "But you are a curse-breaker? Visiting?"
"Sometimes." He shrugged and tapped his box. "Gringotts goblin ask do I join? I say no. Goblin ask do I join again, also, tour tricky tomb? Join? No. Tour tricky tomb? Yes. Next, they will ask if I change mind."
"Will you?"
"No," he said, but his eyes twinkled with amusement. "Tomb not that tricky."
"You'd think they'd stop asking," Ginny said. Glancing around she saw there were no other chairs than the one he was sitting on, so she pushed herself up onto the worktable, legs dangling. "Or at least give you a trickier tomb."
"I say no many decades now, but goblins keep asking." He leaned forward, and once again something about him reminded Ginny of Dumbledore.
"So, you must be very famous."
He glared at her, like she was silly and little again. "Am good curse-breaker. Good better than famous."
Ginny thought about Harry Potter and flashing bulbs and thought that was probably an accurate statement.
"Does little girl want to be curse-breaker?" He asked with a casual air, though his eyes were still fixed on the box.
"No," Ginny scoffed. "Curse breaking seems a lot of staring at weird boxes. I mean," she pointed at his own box. "Does that do anything?"
"Hmmm," the man shifted, allowing his attention to fall on Ginny. He gestured to the two sphinxes behind them. "What does girl feel when walk through ward?"
Ginny glanced over her shoulder. "I dunno. And you said that before. What ward?"
The grizzled old man sighed. "You hop back, forth, back, forth. Hop disrespectful."
"How can I be disrespectful to a ward?"
"Is oldest untapped tomb in Egypt," he said, with a thumbed gesture to the tomb that Ginny thought was just as disrespectful as hopping. "Eight thousand years, no one passes second threshold underground. Tomb full of traps. Dead end. Ancient magic. Will kill if brush wrong. "
That sounded moderately more exciting than staring at a box, but she wasn't about to tell him so because his score was still higher and she was determined to win something today. "You just said it wasn't that tricky."
He ignored that. "Do not change subject. What did girl feel, back, forth?"
"What did I feel? Right," Ginny twisted, staring back toward the monuments. "The sphinxes gave me… bad feelings, I suppose."
"Ward give bad feelings. Sphinx?" He waved a hand dismissively. "Sphinx decoration."
"Fine, the ward gave me bad feelings." Ginny rolled her eyes. "Then, I walked through, and the feelings stopped. Like a snap. They were there and then, they weren't. When I stepped back, poof. They were there again. They didn't start, they were just there."
The old man hmmphed again, studying her. Then he held his box out to her. "Take box."
Ginny stared at the box, suspiciously. "Where does it keep its brain?"
"Pfft." The old man huffed. "Little girl should not be silly. Is box. Box has no brain."
It was said with disdain, but without a hint of anything sneaky, or sly about it. Just a "why would anyone think a box has a brain?" Somehow, that dismissive "pfft" convinced Ginny more than any words could that the box was safe. With a returned huff, Ginny hopped off the table, and before she could think twice about it, she grabbed the box out of his hand. "Now what am I supposed to do with it?"
"Put up to ear. Then, chatty girl try quiet."
Ginny didn't dignify that with a response. Instead, Ginny peered at the box, feeling the tension between her brows as she stared at it. If the box had been given to her by Fred and George, there's no way she would have taken it and lifted it to her ear. It was as likely to flap open and spew a raspberry or some other such nonsense.
Still, it almost felt like a dare. Ginny held it up to her ear as if she were at the seashore and might hear a bit of ocean inside.
At first, there was nothing. She glanced at the grizzled old man again, confused, but he just crossed his arms and waited.
She shut her eyes to focus on the single sense of hearing and held her breath when her breathing seemed to get in the way. Still, the only sound she could hear was the soft morning wind shifting over the sands.
Then, that sand sound started to become louder, as if the wind were inside the box. The "whoosh" picked up, faster and faster, as if a tiny tornado were inside….
No, she thought, holding her breath even harder, feeling as if she were going to turn blue any moment. But she realized the sound wasn't in her ear. It wasn't even a sort of sound, which was truly curious. It was… somehow a soundish feeling, perhaps?
Along the outside, as if it were coating every inch of surface and swirling or diving deeper and deeper….
Her eyes popped open and she gasped, a soft sound in the workcamp. "Is that magic? That… um… "whoosh" feeling? Is that a spell?"
The curse-breaker narrowed his eyes at her, not dignifying her question with an answer.
Curious despite herself, Ginny lifted the box again and listened, and as she listened closer she could almost feel it along her skin. Not exactly a buzzing beneath her fingertips, but an awareness.
Of something not… right. Something… oh! "It's a hex," she breathed, in realization.
"Is curse," he snapped his fingers at her impatiently and Ginny thrust the box back at him in response. "Know which curse?"
"No," Ginny replied, confused. "I'm not quite twelve. How would I know what curse it is?"
"Pfft," he snorted and then pointed to the sphinxes behind her. "What curse is ward?"
"A ward is a ward, not a curse," Ginny replied.
The grizzled old curse-breaker started mumbling about education and standards and then he started muttering in a different language (probably, also, about education and standards). Finally, he took an impatient breath and waved his arm. "Ward is curse fixed to area or object. Tell me, what curse is sphinx?"
"How would I know? Twelve, remember?" Ginny snapped. "I don't know what it was, I just-" Ginny pondered it for a moment. "It felt bad, I told you that already." He gave her that look that sometimes adults give to children when they are supposed to know something they obviously don't. She had seen that look on Professor McGonagall before,\ and she didn't particularly care for it.
"Think better."
"Think better?" Ginny would bet the next two weeks' worth of desserts that this old man was somebody's brother. He had "brother" written all over him. "All I know is it wanted to make me go away. To make me feel bad and turn back and go away."
"Yes."
"Yes, what?" Ginny snapped.
"Yes. Is, uh…" he seemed to search for a word, and then gave up. "Is 'go away' ward."
So… she had gotten it right. Old Man 2, Manners 0, Little Girl, 1. She could live with that.
"Oh." A delicious thought pushed through her mind. "Did I actually break it when I walked through? Oh," Ginny marveled. "Did I just break an ancient Egyptian curse?"
"No," the old man said. "Ancient Egyptian curse turn little girl into smoldering pile of ash. Ancient Egyptian curse peel skin from bone. Ancient Egyptian curse remove vocal cord so cannot scream."
"Oh." Disappointing. "So, um… who cast the 'go away' curse-ward thing, then?"
The curse-breaker narrowed his eyes at her, apparently offended by the stupid question.
Oh. He did. "Fine," Ginny sighed. "I suppose you want me to go away?"
"Maybe girl learn to cross sphinx with no bad feelings." He said it like he didn't really believe it would happen. "Maybe return then."
"Fine," Ginny snapped, spinning around. She marched back toward the sphinxes, muttering the whole way. All she had wanted was a damned walk to shake off her nightmare. It wasn't like she asked for a lesson in bloody curses.
And, honestly, who did that mucky-muck fancy curse-breaker think he was anyway?
She stomped through the sphinxes and tried to ignore the bad feeling. But the bad feeling now had "annoyance" added to the Tom, basilisk, bloody-whatever of it all. She was only a single torch further up the path before Ginny halted and whipped back around.
She could see the old man, huddled over, again fiddling with his stupid box. "Oi!" Ginny shouted.
The grizzled old curse-breaker glanced up.
With an exaggerated sidestep, Ginny slid off the main path. Ha! Off the path, she no longer heard the scratch of quills or the crash of brooms, or a basilisk hiss or Tom Riddles' smooth voice cooing lies into her ears. Glancing up at the sphinxes- which were stupid-looking, by the way- she marched around the outside of the left one. Slogging through the loose sand, which in some places came up to her knees, she pushed her way back toward the makeshift camp.
When she reached the old man she slapped her hands on his worktable. "The next time you want to keep people out, you should make your stupid curse-go-away-ward-thing wider."
Then, wind whipping her hair as the rising sun turned it flame-colored, she stomped all the way back to the glamp, nightmare forgotten.
()()()
()()()
For the next week, Ginny's days fell into a predictable pattern. Morning breakfast with the family, followed by book study by herself or some sort of breakout session with one of her brothers. Despite feeling as if she had "fucked up family failure" tattooed on her forehead, she discovered she knew far more than she had thought. For instance, she wasn't horrifically behind in charms, much to Percy's delight.
Ginny knew he would have been less delighted if he understood most of her charm prowess came from observation and stolen wands, so she kept that information to herself.
Charlie's Herbology lessons were mostly drawing pictures of leaves and such, which to Ginny's regret, Ron seemed to enjoy more than she did. Charlie did have decent tricks to remember the stupid leaf shapes and how to get them to connect with the names of the plant, but if Ginny had to do a practical she'd probably end up poisoning herself.
Perhaps a practical wouldn't be required. Damp terracotta pots had a smell to them that Ginny would happily avoid for the rest of her damned life.
Her favorite subject in school, before things had gotten bad, had been Transfiguration. However, here in Egypt, it was DADA with Bill. Casting spells was so much better than drawing leaves. The only issue was Ron's new wand was working really well for him, but Ginny's sticky one felt as if it were resisting half of her hexes. It was especially sticky when she was aiming those hexes at her brother which, in her more frustrated moments, seemed to defeat the whole purpose of having a wand altogether.
"Alright, now," Bill said, pacing in front of an annoyed looking camel as Ginny and Ron sat cross-legged on a sandy towel in front of him. "For three points, and one melted chocolate frog, which one of you can tell me the name of the spell that slows down the target?"
Ginny's hand shot in the air at the same time Ron blurted out, "Impediment jinx!"
She twisted, shooting Ron a withering look. "Are we just blurting things out now, or are we having any semblance of-"
"-annnnnnnd," Bill added, talking over the two of them. "Do you know the incantation?"
Ron scoffed. "That's a fourth-year spell, or something. Ginny's not going to be able to learn that."
"Oi!" Ginny's temper flared. Ron hadn't won all their races. But he had won enough he was all smug and gloaty. "Anything you can learn, I can learn."
"Ron," Bill sighed. "We're doing first year curriculum. We're also teaching Ginny non-standard hexes and jinxes. Why?"
Ron rolled his eyes. He had a second towel wrapped around his head, in an effort to keep the sun from beating down on his freckled forehead. "Because she's our sister."
"And?" Bill stared at Ron, pointedly, as if there were a silent message being communicated.
With an eager bounce, the blackboard poked a corner out of the tent.
Ron glared at the board. "No Slytherin messes with a fierce sister's hexes."
Drooping, the blackboard shuffled back inside.
"Right," Bill said with a firm stare at Ron. "Depending on your intention, how much you mean it, and how much power you're putting into it, the impediment spell will either slow, stop or in some cases, knock back your opponent."
"Wicked," Ron murmured, swatting a sand fly as it stuck to his sweaty arm. Ginny held out her own arm and cast a cooling charm. The brothers weren't supposed to be teaching charms behind Ron's back, but Fred had snuck her the spell when she complained her bamia was too hot.
It wasn't too hot. She just liked to know things Ron didn't.
Ron held out his own arm, for her to cool.
Ginny ignored it.
"The incantation is 'impedimenta.' " Bill continued, giving each a warning look. "Say it a few times."
Ginny repeated it to herself several times, before Ron tapped her on the shoulder.
"Gineeeeeeeeevra" Ron offered, in smug retaliation to Ginny's cooling snub. "It's Im-ped-i-MEN-ta. Not Im-PEDIMEN-ta."
"Ronald Bilius," Ginny sniffed, with a flick of her wand. "It's Slug-u-lus Er-UP-to, not 'Eat Slugs Malfoy.'"
"Damn it Ginny!" Ron started to gag. "Oh Merli-"
Ooooh. Wand not sticky that time.
"Billlllllll…" Ginny sang. "Ron's going to need you to conjure a large bucket."
()()()
()()()
Their cries were supposed to be deadly.
Squirming, squealing, writhing roots scratching and flapping.
She was alive because Tom didn't want her dead.
Mandrakes screaming through mouths sewn shut.
()()()
()()()
Ginny lurched upright, knuckles white as they clutched the side of her camp bed.
Except for a moment, she didn't realize it was her camp bed.
For a moment, she had once again woken in a place she didn't recognize.
For a moment, she couldn't breathe, and then she could, air forced into her lungs with ragged harsh gasps.
Egypt. The name came crashing into her mind. A reminder. A desperate grasp at calm.
Egypt. She was supposed to be here. She was in Egypt. She was in her camp bed.
She was still in the same place she went to sleep.
And mandrakes weren't native to Egypt.
Just a dream.
Ginny had an odd sense of disorientation. She shouldn't have had the mandrake nightmare tonight. The mandrake nightmares always came on the Herbology days. Today had been DADA.
Perhaps it had been the sight of all those slugs. Funny, at the time, as Ron vomited them, his face no longer smug and gloating. But slugs were meant to be in gardens and gardens had plants and plants were in Herbology and the Herbology greenhouse had been littered with sharp terracotta shards and screaming roots….
Shaking, Ginny touched her ears, wincing from phantom pain. She was awake. Just a nightmare.
Still, she couldn't quite clear the silent echoes. Struggling, tiny mewling mouths sewn shut, the mandrakes hadn't been able to kill her with their cries. But even the dream-memory of their muffled wails hurt.
Her Dad had ignored her, again. Sometime in the night he had slipped Ginny's wand through the flap so it lay on the ground, wrapped in a sealed note. The note was his way of showing Ginny that it was safe. As if he thought he could acclimate her little by little to its presence at night.
Tough love, padded with squishy cotton so it wouldn't bruise.
Or maybe, the other way around, Ginny wasn't sure.
At the sight, Ginny's chest felt tight, like something was squeezing it as she drew in another raw breath. Not finding the air cool enough, Ginny rolled off her bed. She snagged her wand, verified the handwriting on the note as her Dad's, then once again, she crawled under the edge of the tent. Once her head emerged on the other side, she drank the air as if it could cleanse her from the inside out.
There's no escape. You can't hide, Ginevra.
With the slither of Tom's taunts in her mind, Ginny pulled the rest of her body through the opening. She needed to walk; she knew that's what she needed. A good walk. A brisk walk that would carry her away from the tent, her family, her nightmares.
But each beat of her feet on the sand seemed to pummel her with the knowledge that escaping one nightmare left her exposed to another.
The only thing that could drown out the echo of the mandrakes was the voice of Tom.
Be good, Ginevra.
She flinched, trying to figure out whether the voice she heard in her head was Tom, or just the memory of Tom.
Or maybe it was neither. Maybe it was her. Maybe that voice was something Tom pressed into her mind, something that fused them, something that meant that no matter where she went or what she did, Tom would always, always be there with her, inescapable.
Haunting her? Or a part of her?
Ginny paused, pushing the heels of her hands to her forehead, as if the gesture could wipe away all the nonsense from beneath. They all said he was gone. Her parents, her brothers, her teachers. Harry had even said he was gone. Finished.
Ginny wanted to believe but she could still hear Tom. Feel Tom.
Especially after her nightmares. And, it was with a sense of frustration and anger, filled with bitterness and tumultuous emotions, that Ginny realized the desert wind was once again whipping.
It should have been thrilling, the air whipping with its own bitter chill, so strange considering how hot it got during the day when even the breezes felt like they were cooking one's skin.
The desert night air was cold. Ginny stared into the horizon, the first promise of light tinting the night. She had once loved that color. The hidden sun tucked beneath the horizon turned the sky a rich velvety indigo right before it faded into the lavender before dawn.
Her favorite time. Best time of day, if one wanted to steal a broom.
But there was no reason to steal a fucking broom anymore and Tom's wicked laughter rang in her head.
As if they could hear Tom, one of the sleeping camels lifted its head up, squinting into the night. Not finding anything interesting, it dropped its head again, content to get another hour's sleep before the sun rose and the glamp woke. Though, as Ginny glanced over at the far tent, the canvas flickered as if someone had a light on inside.
The curse-breaker, Ginny realized. Either a late owl, or another early riser. The thought flickered at Ginny's mind, just as the light did, if the curse-breaker was in the tent, that meant he was not down at the Big Tomb.
Maybe it was color of the sky that drove Ginny. The light of pre-dawn that had accompanied years of daring and mischief. Or maybe, like the other night she had taken the path down to the tomb, maybe she just needed to get away, to walk, to move.
Whatever the reason, before she even made a conscious decision to do so, Ginny's feet started carrying her down the path, taking her off toward the forbidden tomb.
She didn't think about why she was drawn to the tomb. It wasn't as if it were interesting, or exciting. It was just sitting there doing nothing, the same way it had sat there for thousands and thousands of years.
So, Ginny didn't quite know why its very existence, sitting there doing nothing, seemed like a dare. It could be, Ginny thought, as simple as she had been told not to go there, and she hated being told what to do. It might have been because upon the family's return from their partial tour, Ron had been shaky, and Percy had been pale and clammy. Even Charlie's response was a curt, "closed spaces suck." The twins had brought back a jar holding something they called a "Cairo Sphinx Spider" and they claimed it had a bite so powerful it could take out a chunk of flesh the size of a galleon, but it turned out to just be an oddly shaped owl dropping they used to mess with Ron.
So, yes, Ginny realized she could be drawn to the tomb, not because it was such a draw, but just because she didn't like being left behind.
But she thought as she paused on the switchback stairway, watching the tomb rise from the valley, she didn't think that was entirely accurate either. Though the knowledge of what would be accurate seemed just out of reach, like a word on the tip of her tongue she couldn't quite form.
The tomb had evil curses, that could hurt. It was dangerous and deadly. Ginny wasn't a stranger to dangerous and deadly. Not anymore. She had faced dangerous, and deadly.
She, Ginny thought with a self-deprecating snort, had failed utterly with dangerous and deadly.
Ginny reached the bottom of the rickety stairs and made her way down the path. This time, she skirted the sphinx ward the moment she started having circular thoughts about Tom, quills and basilisks.
But, she had to veer further out around the stupid go-away ward. The grizzled old curse breaker had apparently listened to her and cast the ward wider.
Having no desire to get lost in the desert, Ginny stomped back to the sphinxes, irritated that he forced her to do it the proper way.
She could feel the ward. Fear flooded through her, though Ginny wasn't sure if it were still the go-away ward, or it there was something bigger, scarier about the dangers of this time of day, the time that was once precious and beautiful but now conjured wisps of shattered bones and maimed mandrakes.
She knew she could walk through it; it wasn't a very serious ward. The curse breaker had said it wasn't an ancient Egyptian one. He probably just put it there to keep non-approved tourists away, just like the dragon-ward Charlie had once talked about in Romania.
"I can do this," Ginny muttered, though she was pretty sure she couldn't. Still, she rolled her shoulders, staring at the blank space between the sphinxes. Nothing fancy, she told herself. Nothing dangerous. Nothing that would do any lasting damage to anyone who stumbled through it. She hopped through it a bunch of times already.
Though, the curse-breaker had widened it. Maybe he changed it.
"Bloody hell," Ginny cursed. "Over-thinking it." With an impulsive lurch, Ginny pointed her wand at the space between the sphinxes, and almost in a show of defiance, shouted the easiest, first year spell she could think that applied. "Finite incantatum."
The bad "go away" feelings from the curse-ward went away the moment she cast the spell. It was abrupt and strange and (not that she'd ever tell Bill) oddly satisfying in a "I didn't even need minions" sort of way.
Though, that fleeting thought was crushed pretty quickly. It wasn't as if she should get that excited about it. The solution had been something any other eleven-year-old could do. Hermione Granger probably would have done that last week, instead of hopping back and forth over the barrier, playing with the damned ward.
That depressing thought quickly quashed any boost her self-esteem might have taken at accomplishing the task on her own.
Tonight, or rather, this early-early-morning, the area in front of the tomb was abandoned. Even Ginny's footsteps on the packed sand of the path seemed to crack open the silence as she crept all the way to the upper railing of the stairs that descended down into the blackness.
A whoosh of air circled up from the pit, blowing sand through Ginny's hair. Before she could change her mind, Ginny stepped onto the first wood plank. Pulled by impulse, she began her descent towards the entrance.
These planks were not as well-maintained as the ones toward the rim. Each step creaked and wobbled, the rope handles knotty beneath Ginny's grip. Down, down she went, descending toward the tomb, until finally she reached the bottom.
Creeping forward, unobserved, Ginny stopped before a stone threshold, leading into the fathomless black beyond.
The same sort of buzz she felt when she held the curse-breakers box shivered across the surface of Ginny's skin.
Dangerous. Like the box, like the ward, like the diary.
Only… more.
Another gust of air whipped Ginny's hair, only this time, she realized it originated from within the tomb.
She stilled, not able to move forward, not willing to go back.
The tomb was ominous and cold. Full of secrets and ancient whispers.
Be Good, Ginevra.
"Shut up, Tom," she whispered and took a tiny step forward.
Then another.
Ancient and heavy.
Like a weight laying on her. Or a slab with scratched messages of warning.
Another step.
Old stones had once cracked and caved leaving a small opening just wide enough to squeeze through. When she was close enough to touch the threshold, Ginny paused again, her mind suddenly wild with questions.
Was this another hexed broom? Was this another cursed diary that opened the path to her soul with her secrets? Was she doomed to plunge forward without thinking? Without paying attention?
Or was she someone different now? Had Tom morphed her and changed her to a shadow of her old self? Would she now be someone who always froze right on the precipice, the threshold, too afraid to leap in?
Once upon a time, Ginny would have stepped across the threshold. It may have been dangerous, but Ginny knew curse-breakers worked in there every day. She knew the tomb had been cleared to the second threshold, and she was only standing before the first.
The old Ginny would have thought to bring chipped teacups and air freshening potions. She would have barged into the tomb with a grin and introduced herself to curse-breakers and mummies alike, maybe offer them tea.
Stop fighting, Ginevra.
Ginny's right foot shuffled forward again, and waves of malevolence seemed to emit from the tomb, daring her, enticing her, ready to crash over her and wash her away into nothing but blackness.
I'm your friend, Ginevra. You can tell me anything.
Another gust of wind from the tomb, carrying a sound.
The sound of mandrakes screaming with mouths sewn shut.
Shocked, Ginny fell back, her hip crashing into the stairs as terror screeched a path through her battered soul. Without another thought, her feet smacking on the wooden steps, Ginny scrambled back to the top. Wheezing air, she sprinted all the way home to the tent.
She dove back under the canvas, curling into her bunk, her hands once again flying back to her ears, as if she could keep out a sound that came from within.
Huddled, shaking under her sheet, she wondered if Godric Gryffindor himself would rise from his grave in shame. If he would finally, in a terrible and thunderous voice, expel her from the house she never truly belonged.
()()()
()()()
A\N – Thanks again to Curse-04 and ginnyweasley777 for their beta reading! Since I can't respond directly to guest accounts (I try to respond to every review that comes in, though I'm not always timely!), I also want to say a big thank you to all the "guests" accounts who have taken the time to leave a comment. In some cases, two. Or five. What a nice surprise to have during morning coffee! Thanks so much for reading!