JULY 29th, 1997
The sun was swelteringly hot despite the forest's shade. It didn't help, Draco supposed, that they hadn't been given instruction on how to dress. Full robes were really not the right attire for this.
"Again!" Greyback barked, and the five men dropped to the ground and began doing push-ups. Draco was at a distinct disadvantage here given that his arm was still in a sling, but he was making do. Greyback had crudely informed him that he would just have to do the exercises one-handed and that there would be no special treatment given for a pampered little Malfoy.
Draco didn't think nearly losing an arm qualified as pampered, but he wasn't in a position to argue.
"Come on Nott, you can do better than that!" Dolohov snapped before shooting him with a stinging jinx. "Malfoy's doing it one-handed, for Merlin's sake."
Nott yelped and redoubled his efforts, but Draco kept his gaze on the ground, his focus on his quivering muscles as he lowered himself and pushed back up again and again. He kept count of the push-ups, but let most of his attention wander back to the ritual he had memorized this morning, repeating it to himself forwards and backwards. He couldn't forget even a single step, and he was unlikely to get a chance to look at the book again before he needed it.
He hadn't known what to expect when Greyback and Dolohov had arrived, but on the whole this wasn't so bad. Was he absolutely covered in sweat? Yes. Were his muscles screaming at him by this point? Yes. Was he covered in insect bites? Also yes. But he would take this over any of the alternatives, a hundred times over.
"At ease," Dolohov drawled, and Goyle collapsed next to Draco. Draco made himself purposely lower his body before moving to a seated position. They would learn soon- half of being a Death Eater was about control, in one way or another. Both internal and external control.
"Bet you wish you actually followed the drills in Quidditch practice now," Draco said to Goyle, who seemed beyond speech at the moment. If he pretended, this almost could be Quidditch practice- Crabbe and Goyle were here, and while Nott wasn't on the team, Draco could pretend. Valerian Selwyn had graduated before Draco's time, but he had been a Quidditch player too- a Beater- and seemed to be holding his own with the exercises.
Too soon, their break was over. "Laps around the clearing over there," Greyback said. "Go."
Draco grimaced as he stood- why couldn't they run in the shade?
"Got something to say, Malfoy?"
"No, sir," he said, keeping his voice neutral.
"That's right, you don't. I'm glad the Dark Lord sent you with us," Greyback said with a leer. "Not fair for you to get off easy- you're a soldier, boy, not a celebrity."
"Respectfully, sir, I believe the Dark Lord wants me to be both," he said, and immediately wanted to kick himself. Ginny was rubbing off on him.
"Well then, Mr. Celebrity Death Eater- you shouldn't mind doing double laps then," Greyback sneered. "Be a good role model for the recruits, and all that. You've been in for over a year already, should be no problem for you."
"Yes, sir."
Draco jogged off toward the clearing, imagining hexing Greyback a hundred different ways. He gave him the creeps- truly a monster in human form. Or semi-human form, anyway- Greyback looked distinctly wolflike even when he wasn't transformed.
The thought of wolves made him think of yesterday. That beast had looked like a wolf, kind of- the barest approximation of a wolf, if you were in a nightmare world. Its dripping fangs and blood-chilling snarl had made Draco's mind go absolutely blank with fear. It had been massive, circling Ginny like she was prey, but she hadn't been afraid at all.
She had been seeing something else. She had to have been. She had just stood there, caught in a daze, while it sized her up for its next meal. He had tried to save her, and it had backfired spectacularly.
The Dark Lord had been so, so angry. His shriek of Get back, you fool! echoed in Draco's mind as he ran laps; Draco had run toward Ginny while giving his command for her to come back to the ground, and then agony like he had never felt had torn through him. He had collapsed, his father immediately at his side, and watched in horror as his arm twisted and pulled in its socket with no apparent cause. The beast's mouth had closed around Ginny's arm, but she hadn't cried out at all; in fact she had looked almost relieved, and he soon knew why- a squirming mass of black ink had fallen to the ground, congealing on the floor near them. It had been startling to see; he had told Ginny it wasn't alive, but after watching it crawl around on the ground, looking for its target, he wasn't so sure.
None of their spells had done anything against the beast except enrage it, even those from the Dark Lord himself. He had flown up to grab Ginny, she had said something to the monster, and then it had attacked the Dark Lord, successfully so. The number of creatures, human or otherwise, who could claim that were staggeringly few and far between.
Draco knew the thought was treason, and that he would have to hide it away very, very carefully, but it was still there.
The Dark Lord had been outmatched. He wasn't sure if Ginny had commanded the beast or not- he wouldn't put it past her- but the fact remained that she had been entirely unharmed by its assault, twice. The other Death Eaters had to be thinking the same thing he was.
What else could Ginny summon, and possibly control? And what did that mean for the Dark Lord and his followers? The Dark Lord wouldn't tolerate anyone questioning his power, anyone that could possibly be a threat to him, and a Ginny Weasley who could rip a hole in reality with a giggle was definitely a threat.
Draco's stomach twisted as he thought of what that would mean for her. If she were anyone else, the Dark Lord would just kill her- publicly and brutally, as he planned for Potter. But given that that wasn't an option… Draco wasn't sure what the Dark Lord would do. He had screamed at everyone to get out once the portal had closed after unleashing a volley of curses in random directions- Draco had avoided the brunt of it just based on where he was in the room, but many others, including an absolutely mutinous Crabbe, had not been so lucky. People had scrambled out of the room as fast as they could, but his father had stayed behind to help him hobble away. He had been barely conscious at that point, and had tried vaguely to go to Ginny, but his father hadn't let him.
What was happening to Ginny now? The Dark Lord had previously said that pain wasn't the way forward, but did he still feel that way after the monster's attack? Did she think that Draco had left her there on purpose? His mind flashed on her desperate pleas their first night there not to be left alone and his stomach clenched.
I'm coming back, Ginny. As soon as I can. Hang on.
Crabbe caught up to him- although, to be fair, he wasn't sure who had run more laps at this point- and was jogging in place next to him. They jogged along in silence for a couple of minutes.
"If you're- the Dark Lord's favorite," Crabbe panted, "why- did he send you out here- with us?"
"I never said I was the Dark Lord's favorite," Draco said, keeping his eyes forward.
"You did. At your birthday."
"Goyle said that."
"You agreed though."
"I wasn't going to argue about it," Draco said, irritation creeping into his voice. What was Crabbe getting at?
More silence.
"I don't- think- you're the Dark Lord's favorite," he panted after a minute. Draco glanced at him. His cheeks were crimson red from exertion, his brow beaded with sweat, but he didn't slow his pace at all. He was determined to do what Dolohov and Greyback had set for them. Draco's mouth thinned.
"Alright," he said. "I don't care. Why are you telling me this?"
"You think- you're better- than the rest of us- all because- you get to fuck- the Weasley girl's golden cunt-"
Draco spun and punched Crabbe right in the mouth, without even thinking about it. Crabbe's head twisted back as surprise filled his expression, followed by absolute rage. He punched Draco back and knocked him to the ground from the force of it. Searing pain shot through his injured arm as his head bounced against the ground. Crabbe dropped down on top of him and punched him twice more, harder than Draco had ever been punched- harder than Potter, harder than Ron Weasley, and certainly harder than Ginny. This was hatred on another level, and stupidly, it broke Draco's heart.
"Flipendo!" Draco gasped, grabbing hold of his wand with his good hand, and Crabbe went flying off of him, landing with an oof a few feet away.
"What's all this then?" Dolohov asked, coming to stand between the two of them.
"He insulted the Dark Lord's saint," Draco said quickly, feeling absurdly like he was back in school, justifying his actions to a teacher. "I punched him for it."
"Didn't insult her," Crabbe said thickly; the wind had clearly been knocked out of him. "Insulted you."
"So I'm sure the next time we meet with the Dark Lord you'll have no problem asking why I get to fuck the Weasley girl's golden cunt," Draco said with a sneer, hatred boiling in his belly. Dolohov laughed, which was not the reaction Draco was hoping for.
"You can't blame him for being jealous, Malfoy. You know we'd all be standing in line for a chance. Not likely to get it now though, are we?" He laughed again, like they were in on some secret joke, but Draco wasn't laughing. He pulled himself to his feet, pushing off of his good arm, and glared at Crabbe.
"Keep her name out of your mouth, until you learn to show some respect," Draco sneered at Crabbe. "You saw what the Dark Lord did to Rowle. Trying for a repeat performance?"
"Just reminding you that you're not special," Crabbe said, heaving himself upward. "She belongs to the Dark Lord, not you."
"I know that," Draco said, his gut twisting.
The other recruits had stopped running at this point, curious about the altercation.
"You walk around with your nose in the air, bossing us around," Crabbe muttered. "But you're not better than us. You're just like us."
Draco barked a laugh. "In your dreams. You couldn't have pulled off 10% of what I've accomplished in the last year, with the cabinet or with the girl. I know you're new around here, but I've received nothing but praise from the Dark Lord for my accomplishments. He's been pleased with the girl's progress."
Calling her the girl was much easier than calling her Ginny. Safer, probably, too.
"Yeah, until yesterday," Crabbe sneered. "Look who's out here sweating with us, with no saint. She's on her knees with the Dark Lord and you're here getting your arse kicked-"
Draco started towards him, but Dolohov put a hand on his shoulder.
"Now, now, boys," he said in a mockingly pleasant voice. "Let's settle this the proper way. With a wizard's duel."
Draco's face split into a wide grin. This would be too easy. Crabbe could barely tell one end of a wand from the other. Draco would wipe the floor with him.
"No obviously lethal spells like the Killing Curse, but everything else is fair game," Dolohov continued, making Draco's stomach drop. Crabbe grinned at him over Dolohov's shoulder.
I need to end this quickly.
"Assume your stance," Dolohov drawled.
Draco and Crabbe did, standing opposite each other, wands drawn. Draco was reminded of the ridiculous Dueling Club that Lockhart had started in his second year. He had dueled Potter that time, and would have won if it were not for the fact that Potter was a Parselmouth.
"Bow."
They did, though not as deeply as they might have once done. Draco's heart twisted again- how had things come to this?
"Begin."
"Cruci-"
But Draco was faster. "Petrificus Totalus!"
Crabbe fell over, rigid.
"Boring, Malfoy!" Selwyn yelled. "Over before it even started!"
"I didn't say I was done," Draco drawled, prowling forward. He knelt down over Crabbe and whispered, "A word to the wise- when you're fighting someone faster and smarter than you, don't let them get the first move." He stood up, took a deep breath, and thought of Rookwood. "Crucio."
There was no visible sign that the spell had taken hold, but Draco felt the malice of the magic flow down his wand arm as he cast the curse. Dolohov must have been able to sense it too, for he nodded approvingly.
"Not the most visually exciting combination, but certainly effective," he commented. "Won't work as well in the heat of battle- too much going on to be able to linger- but for a solo fight like this, perfectly acceptable. Well done, Malfoy."
"Thank you, sir," he said, not looking at Crabbe. He had just used an Unforgivable Curse on one of his oldest friends…
His mind flashed onto childhood birthday parties, laughing with Crabbe over cake and rushing outside to take turns riding Draco's racing broom.
That had all gotten ruined, somewhere along the way.
"Time to cool off," Dolohov said. "Go get some water."
Draco nodded and turned away, letting Dolohov deal with the countercurse for Crabbe.
"Don't look at me like that," he snapped at Goyle as they walked off together toward the shade. "He started it. And he was going to use the same spell, if he had gotten the chance."
"I didn't say anything," Goyle muttered, keeping his eyes downcast.
Draco's jaw tightened but he remained silent. He walked up to the large bucket set up for water, conjured a cup, and drank deeply. He was miserably hot.
"Didn't realize you were so sensitive, Malfoy," Selwyn said from behind him, making him turn and glare.
"What do you mean, sensitive?" he snapped.
"About the Weasley girl. One little off-color comment and you're throwing punches."
"You saw the Dark Lord with Rowle-"
"Yeah but that's the Dark Lord, not you. No one's gonna walk up to him and insult that giant snake, now are they?"
Draco furrowed his brow. "Why would anyone insult Nagini?"
Selwyn laughed. "That's beside the point. No one is going to insult anything of the Dark Lord's to his face- that's like insulting the Dark Lord himself."
Anything of the Dark Lord's. It shouldn't surprise him. He had said it multiple times himself. But hearing it come out of Selwyn's mouth made him nauseous.
"You have an awful lot of opinions for this being your first day on the job," Draco said coolly.
Selwyn laughed again. "Just calling it like I see it- I don't need to be told twice, watching Rowle was enough. You, though… somehow I think you would have punched Crabbe even if Rowle had never said a damn word."
Shit.
"She's technically my fiancée," Draco said. "I don't much appreciate other men commenting on her cunt, golden or not."
Gross.
"Fiancée? Is that what they're calling it these days?"
"You're too new to be in on it," Draco said with a sneer, "but she's about to have quite the little love story splashed through the society pages. The Dark Lord didn't call me up on his dais just for her comfort- we're a package deal."
"Whatever you say." Selwyn turned to walk away, but Draco's temper had been stoked, along with a tiny undercurrent of fear that he swiftly denied, even to himself.
"Does anyone else have anything to say about it, then?" he demanded, throwing his arms wide in challenge. Nott avoided his gaze, looking unusually chagrined. "I know you're all desperately jealous, but-"
"Yeah, I have something to say," Greyback interrupted. "Dolohov told you to cool off." He grabbed the bucket and unceremoniously dumped the whole thing right over Draco's head.
Draco sputtered and gasped as muffled laughter surrounded him. The water, which had been sitting out for hours now, was tepid at best and only served to make him feel even more sticky and gross than he had before. He blinked rapidly and rubbed his face, his hair sticking to his forehead.
"Big hotshot celebrity," Greyback said. "All washed up now." He laughed again. "Dry yourself off- we're going to make camp here."
Draco's hand twitched, absolutely begging to go to his wand, but he made himself take three deep breaths before he allowed the motion. Greyback was trying to rile him up, make him look even more stupid in front of the others. He couldn't let it work. He waved his wand, casting the same spell he had used so many times on Ginny's hair, and he was dry again.
The sun was low in the sky now, barely above the tree line. It would be nightfall in another hour or so.
"Rest up, boys. Tomorrow the real fun begins."
Draco began helping Nott set up a tent, his stomach twisting as he considered what Greyback could find fun.
JULY 29th, 1997
Severus ascended the stairs of the Dark Lord's house, a piece of rolled parchment clutched in his hand. He had just spent the last hour listening to Borgin blather on about his task for the Dark Lord- what books he would need, how he had heard tale once of a similar item, how pleased he was to have been called on to serve…
The man was insufferable. He had a long list of things to acquire for him, luckily; at least some of them, Severus could pretend were too hard to find, or else inaccessible for some reason, though that excuse would run dry once he was back at Hogwarts in September.
Only a month away. Could he stall the Dark Lord for a month?
He would have to try.
He allowed the thought to float to the back of his mind before burying it, keeping his irritation at Borgin's unctuous manner at the forefront. That was the trick- never lie, just offer a palatable truth.
The Dark Lord hadn't been in his study, which was a bit surprising. He spent most of his free time there, stewing on one thing or another. Severus needed to show him Borgin's list before he started looking for books- for all he knew, they were books the Dark Lord already had. He had said he had done some of his own genealogy research, after all.
What were the odds that the Dark Lord and Potter would be the only living descendants of the Hallows' original owners? Severus didn't believe in fate, not like the Dark Lord did, but he had to admit there was a kind of poetry to it. Of course these would be the tools needed for one to defeat the other.
Although Trelawney hadn't exactly said that. She had said nothing about Potter being able to use the Hallows to defeat the Dark Lord, only the other way around. How much stock was worth putting in prophecy?
His stomach clenched unpleasantly as he recalled another prophecy, the prophecy that had changed his life, and the world's, forever. He supposed it didn't matter if prophecies were inherently true- the Dark Lord believed they were, and acted accordingly, so Severus might as well treat them as real too.
He reached the top of the stairs and raised his eyebrows in surprise. The Dark Lord was standing in the hallway, staring at a wall. Severus cautiously approached, unsure how to read the situation.
"What is she doing, Severus?" the Dark Lord asked once he had arrived beside him. Severus looked at the wall, which was suddenly translucent, and stifled a snort.
"Dancing, my lord."
"Dancing," the Dark Lord repeated, like he had never heard of such a thing before. "Why is she dancing?"
Ginny Weasley wasn't just dancing. Sound didn't travel through the wall, but based on what he could see, she was singing into a hairbrush at the top of her lungs. Even as he watched, she ran and jumped on the bed, bouncing around and swinging her hair like she was at a rock concert.
"This is what teenage girls are like, my lord."
The Dark Lord glanced at him, apparently trying to decide whether Severus was being sarcastic or not. Severus kept his face carefully blank. He seemed to decide that it was an acceptable answer, for he looked back at the wall again.
"Dancing," he repeated again. "She's a prisoner. Why would she be dancing?"
"She's been a prisoner for nearly three months. I expect she's grown tired of cowering. Gryffindors do odd things in the face of fear."
"It has been a while now, hasn't it?" the Dark Lord mused, looking thoughtful. "You know her, Severus- you taught her for five years. What is she like?"
Severus paused, considering how to answer. This was potentially dangerous, though in truth he couldn't think of how Ginny Weasley could possibly be in more danger.
"Brash," he said. "Opinionated. Impulsive. Fiercely loyal to her friends, and not afraid to stick up for them. Always giggling about something or other. Popular with the other students, although I would say that's more true in recent years. Gryffindor's star Quidditch player, after Potter. Reasonably talented at Potions when she chooses to apply herself, but quite gifted at Defense Against the Dark Arts. She's rather well-known for her Bat-Bogey Hex." He wrinkled his nose, the prank-like nature of it all making him think of Potter and Black. They had never learned that spell but likely would have found it all too hilarious.
The Dark Lord tilted his head, considering- an oddly human gesture for someone so monstrous-looking. "Brash and impulsive, but loyal to her friends. To family too, I'm assuming."
"Above all else, yes," Severus said, unable to come up with a good reason to lie.
"They would be a good motivator for her."
"I imagine so," Severus said cautiously. "Though you must remember that Gryffindors are also idealistic to a fault- her family are all part of the Order of the Phoenix, and are likely expecting to be used as leverage against Potter if nothing else."
"Everyone is an idealist until faced with the torture of a loved one," the Dark Lord said, as though they were discussing the weather. "How many brothers does she have again?"
"Six, by my last count. I had the dubious pleasure of attempting to teach them all, at one point or another."
"And one of them is Harry Potter's best friend."
"Yes."
"Could any of them be tempted to our side?"
"I can't imagine so. The girl's loyalty is a family trait."
"Hmm. A pity for them. They'll all need the tattoo in time, of course."
Severus looked back at Ginny through the wall. Somehow, she had gotten her hands on Muggle jeans and a Weird Sisters T-shirt. She had made cuts in the sides of the shirt and then tied the strips of fabric together, pulling the shirt tight over her figure. The tattoo was clearly visible on her arm.
"It will be interesting to see when Draco gets back, if the magic was affected at all," he said finally. Ginny's arm hadn't been damaged at all by the otherworldly creature's attack- Draco had taken all the consequences there- but magic like that wasn't designed to be ripped out and then reattached. Severus didn't know of any precedent for it. They were already in uncharted waters with this modified Imperius Curse, but Ginny opening an inter-dimensional portal could have consequences Severus wouldn't even be able to guess at.
"Yes, we'll have to see," the Dark Lord said in a bored voice. "It retained its original shape, so I anticipate that the connection is still intact."
"That's good."
"Mm."
Severus cast a quick glance at the Dark Lord before looking away again. That was good… wasn't it?
"Why would the tattoo not link back to me, if it's tied through the Dark Mark, Severus?"
"I'm… not sure, my lord. I don't believe it was designed that way."
"You wouldn't think that would be inherent to the design, given what the Dark Mark is?"
Severus took a moment to consider. "Macnair could likely answer this better than me, but his idea behind using the Dark Marks was to give the magic a centralized connection point- it had to link on to something, why not make it the Mark? But the tattoo itself is tied to its individual master, not the magic within the Mark. That's why I said we should be cautious with them- they're more pervasive than a simple tattoo. Macnair pointed that out to Draco a couple weeks back at dinner- the magic was seeking to please him even outside of any commands he gave. It's-"
"Like it's alive, yes. You're not the first one to make that observation," the Dark Lord said, suddenly impatient. Severus stayed quiet, the image of a tightrope coming to his mind as it always did when the Dark Lord's moods fluctuated.
Ginny had jumped back off the bed at this point and was instead sliding around on the hardwood floors in what looked like very fuzzy socks. She was still singing.
"I want it to be modified, Severus," he said, his eyes on the girl.
"Modified, my lord?"
"It should link back to me," he said softly. "I am the master of its master, after all. If Draco gives a command, I want to be able to override it. If I want to give a command, she should obey me as she obeys him- more, even."
Well, there was one way that she could be in more danger.
"I will consult with Macnair, my lord," he said. "It will likely take some time, especially seeing as it's already in the girl's-"
"Take all the time you need. I'm practicing my patience," he said, his eyes on the girl.
Severus very much doubted that that was true, but given that the answer worked in his favor, he bowed his head in agreement.
"Speaking of taking time, Borgin has a long list of requests-"
"I'm sure he does. Pompous fool. Come, let's discuss them downstairs."
He tore his eyes away from the wall after a long moment and waved his wand, at which point the wall solidified itself again.
Severus followed the Dark Lord down the hallway toward the stairs, his mind full of Ginny Weasley.
JULY 29th, 1997
Shockingly, Ginny was having a very good day. The room truly would give her whatever she wanted- minus firewhisky for some reason- and, given the possibilities, she had decided to recreate what she had missed out on.
It wasn't quite the same, not enchanting the shirt herself, but it looked exactly how she had imagined it. The vibrant red color of the shirt offset by the stark black lettering and image of a werewolf howling on the front couldn't have been any cooler. She had wasted no time in cutting up the sides of the shirt, painting her nails on both her hands and feet, and even putting some makeup on for the first time in months. She had artfully braided part of her hair interwoven with sparkling golden strands, which would have looked amazing under a strobe light. Wearing pants again was a freedom she hadn't realized she had been missing.
The room helpfully conjured a glass of water for her, as her throat was really beginning to feel quite sore, and she pranced over to the vanity to pick it up. She drained the glass, dribbling a little bit on herself by accident.
"Photo time," she declared. "Room, give me a camera."
The room obliged. Ginny stuck her tongue out a bit, thinking. If she had gone to the concert, her friends could all take turns taking the photo, or else they could ask a stranger. Hell, even one of their parents probably would have taken some photos to start the night off. But Ginny was alone…
Enough of that! she snapped at herself, grabbing the camera. Don't kill the mood. She awkwardly held the camera backwards and tried taking a photo.
"Hmm," she said, examining it once it printed out. Her photo self looped on her sticking out her tongue in concentration. It was a little blurry, and off-center. "Not bad. I just need to practice."
After a few tries, she got it down. She posed in all the different ways she could think of, including mimicking the different band members' poses from their latest album cover. It would have been cooler if the whole group was here to pose together, but-
"But I'm having fun by myself, by myself, by myself," she sang, swishing her hips a little bit as she tucked the photos into the edge of the vanity's mirror- just like she would have done at home after the concert. She grinned at all of the mini-Ginny's, dancing along in their own photos or else doing their best rockstar impression.
Lunch came and went. The room wouldn't give her the real window back, but amazingly, it would give her a fake window of absolutely whatever she wanted to look at. She currently had it looking out on a clear blue sky on a sunny day, like she was very high up, too high to see the ground. She had already had it pretend to be a stadium for the concert, as well as the Hogwarts grounds, but those had made her too sad. She didn't dare try to make it look like home- that would break her heart clean open.
No, something pleasantly neutral was best. Something featureless and bland, like it could be anywhere. If she was in some vaguely neutral place, she didn't have to think about where she actually was, or more importantly, where she wasn't.
As afternoon trickled toward evening, she was finally too exhausted to continue. She collapsed onto the bed, absolutely spent. The room kindly delivered a potion that was labeled for sore throats, which Ginny drank greedily.
"Thank you, room. That was great. You can turn the music off now."
The room did so, and Ginny's ears rang with the sudden silence. She had been blasting the music as loud as it would go for hours now.
Hopefully annoying the other occupants of this wretched house, she mused. A very Fred and George thing to do, attempting to give Voldemort a migraine by blasting the same song on repeat for an hour. Part of her figured that if he could even hear the music, he would have made her shut it off a long time ago, but a girl could dream.
She let a small, sad smile cross her face as she imagined Draco's face if he knew what she was thinking. She could hear his scandalized voice now. Don't annoy the Dark Lord on purpose, are you stupid? I leave you alone for one day and this is what I come back to…
Nope. Not thinking about that. She wasn't exhausted enough yet, apparently.
"Room, give me a pull-up bar."
The room obliged, and helpfully supplied a pair of gym shorts to replace her Muggle jeans.
"Thanks," she said, sitting up and wincing at her already-sore abs. "Sorry for being mean to you earlier. I know you were just trying to help."
The atmosphere in the room became marginally more cheerful somehow as she changed out of her jeans and into the shorts. What would Draco think if he could see her in Muggle clothes?
Nope. Stop that.
She rolled her arms in their sockets, stretching for a moment, before reaching up and grabbing the bar.
"One," she said as she pulled herself up, her chin hovering above the bar for a moment. She lowered herself down, pretending like this was Quidditch practice. "Two."
On thirty-six, Voldemort walked in the room. Ginny yelped in surprise and let go of the pull-up bar, falling to the floor with a great crash.
"Don't stop on my account," he said with a smirk. "You've had a very busy day."
So it was as she had suspected- he could see what she was doing in here even when he wasn't around.
"Got to keep myself entertained somehow," she said with a grimace as she pulled herself to her feet.
"I suppose you do," he said, looking around at the messy bed, the makeup spread all over the vanity counter, and the record player sitting jauntily nearby. "Come sit down. It's time for dinner."
Her heart dropped. He was going to stay in here while she ate?
"I'm not hungry," she said quickly.
"You're lying."
Ginny didn't move as he walked toward the small table and chairs she had eaten lunch at a few hours earlier.
"Do come sit down," he said, his back still to her. "I'm here to give you something you want, but if you make things difficult…"
Ginny reluctantly walked closer, her throat tight.
There's no door, there's no door…
Don't panic, she chastised herself. Even if there was a door you couldn't run away- stop acting like a baby.
If Voldemort could hear her thoughts, he made no comment on them. He sat down in one of the chairs and looked at her expectantly until she sat down in the other.
"Good," he said smoothly. "Now. Eat."
He waved his wand, and food appeared in front of her- some kind of pasta dish. She eyed it with suspicion.
"There's nothing in it," he said in an amused voice. "Poison wouldn't affect you in the least, and if I wanted you to drink a potion, I have no reason to hide it in your food."
All reasonable points. She cautiously picked up her fork and took a bite.
Good. Not Tilly-level good, but quite cheesy. Comfort food, after a long day of dancing.
Not knowing what else to do, she continued to eat in silence, and Voldemort watched her. He occasionally let his eyes drift around the room, taking in how she had modified her surroundings, but they always returned to her.
Doesn't he have anything better to do?
He barked a laugh. "Not at the moment, no."
She flushed. Her thoughts were just automatic- she couldn't make them stop. But having them be observed this way made her wish she could turn her brain off completely.
"You can relax," he said. "I didn't come here just to bring you dinner." He waved his wand and a blank parchment appeared between them, along with a quill and inkwell. "I've come to negotiate."
Ginny glanced at the parchment before looking back at him. "Negotiate what?"
"We can get to your side in a moment. Start by writing down the names of everyone you'd like me to spare."
"So you can kill them? No way."
"If the list is zero, then by all means leave the parchment blank, and I'll kill everyone who even thinks to stand against me. But if there are those for whom you'd like some leniency, now's the time to tell me. I believe you and Draco had a similar arrangement, no?"
"About who they would be… linked to," she whispered, lifting up her arm for a second. Voldemort nodded.
"We can certainly negotiate that. As I told you before, all Draco could ever offer there was requesting that I show mercy- if there's anyone you should want to make this bargain with, it should be me."
"And what am I giving in exchange, exactly?"
"That's negotiable. Start with the list, or I'll take it away."
She hurriedly pulled the parchment toward her, and Voldemort smiled. It was an unnerving sight.
She scribbled name after name down, everyone she could think of, before finally handing it back to him. He scowled as he skimmed it.
"You can't just write down the names of every member of the Order of the Phoenix," he snapped, pushing it back toward her again. "I'll cross off one name for you. Alastor Moody is dead."
Ginny's stomach twisted in dread- what had happened to Mad-Eye?- but she fought to keep her cool. "You asked me who I would want you to show leniency to, and you don't want me to lie. That list is the truth."
"Cheeky. Narrow it down, pure heart."
She bit her lip as she scanned the list, each possible move feeling like a betrayal. Feeling like she was signing their death warrants, Ginny agonizingly began to cross out names.
"Very funny," Voldemort said when she was finally done. He crossed out Harry's name. "You're certain about this list?"
She skimmed it again. Her family, Hermione plus her family, Luna and her dad, Neville and his gran, her Gryffindor friends and their families, Lupin, Tonks, Hagrid… It had been awful to cross off McGonagall's name, but she had to make cuts somewhere, and she privately thought that most Death Eaters would thoroughly regret coming across an irate McGonagall. She had opted for people who were in the most danger combined with those least likely to be able to defend themselves.
"Yes," she said.
"Alright then. As long as you're cooperative with me, they'll be safe. I'll give my Death Eaters the order not to kill your family under any circumstances, and not to kill anyone else on this list unless it absolutely can't be avoided. A number of these people shouldn't ever be in the line of fire anyway, so more of a precaution on your part than anything else."
"What does being cooperative mean?"
"I imagine it will look like different things, depending on what I'm asking you to do at the moment."
"I've been being cooperative."
"When you're not trying to kill me, yes."
"That was one time."
"Technically twice, if we count the night you received your tattoo."
She had forgotten about that.
"Okay, twice."
"And if I removed the block on your magic and handed you a wand right now, it would be three times."
Ginny said nothing, knowing he would see through the lie.
"What did you tell Draco you were offering him all those weeks ago? Proactive compliance?"
Ginny stiffened. How many of her memories had he watched, exactly?
"Too many, I assure you," he said in a bored voice. "But that's neither here nor there. That's what I want from you at the moment- obey me without making me spell out every single little thing. Learn your role and play it well. Can you do that, little saint?"
"I… I think so."
"I hope you can be more certain than that, given what's at stake. Proactive compliance, no?"
If he had seen that memory, what else had he seen?
He smirked. "Trying to hide your escape plans from Lucius and Draco was foolish in the extreme. You're lucky Lucius didn't see fit to punish you- he would have been well within his rights."
She had a split second to be confused before a memory filled her mind, of Lucius and Draco screaming at each other while she cried, of Draco ordering her back to his bedroom in Malfoy Manor, of Lucius threatening to tell the Dark Lord if she didn't shape up straight away.
She could analyze it later. She forced her thoughts immediately to the parchment, her family's names sharp and clear in her mind.
"Yes, my lord," she said. "I will do as you ask."
"Much better," he praised. "Not so difficult after all, was it?"
"No, my lord."
"I'm sure it will be difficult for you to maintain, but here." He duplicated the list. "I'll leave you a copy, as a reminder. Of who you can save, and who's at risk, based on your actions."
Ginny's chest was unbearably tight.
"Wait," she said suddenly. "I forgot someone."
"How many people can you possibly want to spare?"
"If I could write the whole world down, I would do that… my lord. But this is one person in specific. Or three people, I suppose. May I please add them?"
"I did already ask if you were certain about the list."
Irritation sparked in her, but she squashed it down. "It was my mistake, my lord. Please forgive me- I would very much like to correct my mistake."
Barf.
He smirked- he had heard her thoughts. "Go ahead."
She wrote down three names. Draco Malfoy. Narcissa Malfoy. Lucius Malfoy.
Voldemort looked displeased for some reason when he read the list again. "Draco and Lucius are Death Eaters- I will deal with them as I see fit. Narcissa is in no danger from me." He tossed the list down, though he did not cross out the names. "Interesting, though, that you name your captors as people you should rescue."
"They aren't… they aren't all bad," she said quietly. "I don't want anything bad to happen to them either."
Mostly to Draco, but she thought it would be cruel to leave his parents off the list.
"How sweet of you. I'll take it under advisement."
"Thank you, my lord."
"Sure you don't want to add Rookwood to this list too?"
Ginny grimaced. "No."
He laughed. "I suppose he didn't do himself any favors with you. I would take it back, if I could. But you survived it, and you won't be going back there. You'll never speak to him again, if you don't want to."
"I… would like that, my lord. Thank you."
"Look at you, learning so quickly to be polite. With all of their aristocratic airs, I'm surprised the Malfoys didn't insist on it."
Merilda's voice suddenly echoed loud and clear in her mind. And there were three battles-
Surviving Rookwood. Surviving Malfoy, and learning to live with Draco. And now this- surviving Voldemort himself.
Not everything means something, she chastised herself. Pay attention.
"You disappeared just now," Voldemort said sharply. "Where did you go?"
"I'm sorry, my lord. Thinking about Rookwood sometimes has that effect on me."
That was true.
"Then let's never speak of him again."
"Yes, my lord."
Voldemort stood up, the copy of the list that did not include the Malfoys in his hand. "Get ready for bed now- you've had a long day and you spent most of last night inside your little bubble of light. And don't ever wear Muggle clothes again- you look disgustingly common in them."
Ginny fought back a scowl. "Yes, my lord."
"Good night, little saint."
"Good night."
He left the room, and Ginny let out a large breath as soon as he was gone. So many close calls. So many.
She waited a few heartbeats before making herself stand up and walk to the bathroom. Voldemort could see what she was doing in the bedroom- could he also hear her thoughts from outside the space?
Her mind was too full to push the thoughts away, even if that was true.
Lucius had done deeper memory magic on her than she had thought. He had created a false memory to replace her missing evening from when he and Draco had found out about Alys, and it was only triggered when Voldemort began discussing events immediately connected to it.
If by some miracle we all survive this, I suppose I'll actually have to properly thank him, she thought in disgust. He had done the thing properly- he hadn't lied to his son about tying their fates to hers.
Draco's injury, or what she imagined his injury to be, flashed in her mind and her eyes filled with sudden tears. He was in terrible pain because of her, and she had nearly forgotten him. Why hadn't she immediately thought to put his name down?
You were focused on the Order, part of her said in a soothing voice. On people not under Voldemort's control.
That was true, but on the list of people in danger… Draco was very high on the list, or had the potential to be if this information got out. She would have to be more careful.
Where was he now? Voldemort had said he was "training," but what did that mean? Was he going to be alright? When would he come back? Voldemort had said in a few days, but she knew better than to take anything he said as absolute truth.
Today had only been day one here, out of "a few days" or however long it would be until Draco came back. How the hell was she going to keep her mind occupied enough tomorrow, and the day after that?
Her heart heavy, she stumbled to the bathroom. She hoped that giving Voldemort that list hadn't been a mistake. He could have guessed who was on it anyway, or else used Legilimency to find names. But he had wanted her to write it out, and then made her cross out names who were important enough to her to remember but not important enough to save.
Maybe it was a psychological thing. Making her see the names, feel the quill drag across the parchment as she thought of Mum and Dad and all of her brothers and all of her friends and-
She was crying, she realized. So many people were in danger. In the span of time she had been held prisoner it was easy for them all to blur together- "people outside" were in danger. But writing Molly Weasley down on her own line of parchment, seeing the ink dry, brought it home in a way nothing else had.
She was in such an impossible situation. Obeying Voldemort in any serious capacity was treason of the highest degree, but if she didn't, she knew he would be vindictive enough to turn that list into a kill order. Or a torture and kill order, more like.
What did obey even mean in this context, anyway? He had said play your role. In the media? That was already a guarantee…
Little saint.
Ginny scowled as she turned on the tap in the bath. He wanted her to act like he was a god and that she was oh so blessed to serve him. What exactly that would look like, she didn't know, but he didn't want her to act like a prisoner anymore, at least not in front of the Death Eaters.
"Room, can you turn the lights down in here? I need to take a bath."
The lights dimmed but did not go off completely.
"Darker?"
Nothing.
"Fine," she said irritably, and pulled off her Weird Sisters T-shirt. If she couldn't wear it anymore, maybe she could save it? Frame it and hang it up on the wall...
A package of lavender-scented bath salts appeared on the counter in apparent consolation for the lights.
"Thanks, room." She poured the bag into the bath, which made it smell divine. She dropped the rest of her clothes and sank into it, relishing the heat on her tired muscles.
She had avoided thinking about things long enough. Her brain was going to explode if she didn't think things through.
Voldemort had said he had thought she had ordered the wolf-beast to attack him. She hadn't, but it had apparently looked that way to the outside. Had the Death Eaters thought the same thing?
That couldn't have made Voldemort happy. She wasn't sure exactly how injured he had been, but he had said it was worse than anything he had felt since his resurrection, so it wasn't nothing.
He needed her to be visibly obedient, she realized. Otherwise, it would look like he couldn't control her after all, and he couldn't have that. He had to make it absolutely certain in everyone's minds that Ginny wasn't a threat to him in any way, otherworldly power or no.
Too bad I apparently need that potion in order to access any of it. Had Trelawney seen the same thing she had? She certainly hadn't opened a portal, from what everyone said. Had Trelawney seen any of the beings who apparently lived on another plane and traveled in this one unseen?
The gods taught us how to see what cannot be seen. Aly's grandmother's voice. Could this be the second sight? She thought back to the ritual at the standing stones she had watched Alys do with some of the other women in the village. They had acted like they were seeing something as they danced... something Ginny couldn't see at all.
That didn't make sense, though. They weren't witches- they couldn't have brewed this potion. And Alys talked about the second sight like it was something you either had or you didn't, not something temporary like the potion had been.
Maybe there was more than one way to access it? Whatever the ritual of the two who move as one was, maybe that gave permanent access to the second sight, and the potion Snape had brewed had happened to tap into something that was already there. Ginny grimaced at the thought of always seeing the world that way- it sounded overwhelming. Still though, if that was what Alys demanded of her... it would be worth it, in the end.
The power of the wolf had been amazing- terrible, but amazing. She recalled its words to her. You have the Great Queen's blessing on you. Your blood sings with her light.
That was about the Morrigan, it had to be. The gem belonged to her. Alys had summoned her hundreds of years ago, swearing vengeance on her enemies, and Ignotus Peverell had given that same power to Ginny when she had pleaded for aid for the world against Voldemort. It made her immortal, and apparently, under the right conditions, unlocked the second sight and allowed Ginny to interact with realms unseen.
Was that what Alys had meant about the power about the gem? Somehow she didn't think so. She had said it could only be used once. The wolf-beast had been formidable, to use Voldemort's words, but not the sort of thing that Alys seemed to be implying. That meant there was some other power she had yet to unlock.
The thought thrilled her and terrified her at the same time.
Voldemort still couldn't hear her thoughts about Alys; he had said she had "disappeared" when Merilda's voice had reminded her about three historic battles. That was good. She would just have to play ignorant, and let him test things out based on his own leads.
She finished her bath and took the opportunity to stretch before bed. These last few months of relative stagnancy had not done her muscles any favors- those pull-ups had been way harder than they would have been six months ago. Working out for a couple of hours a day would keep her busy, and keep her ready in case... well, in case of anything, she supposed.
Harry had gotten away- did that mean he was safe now? Somewhere Voldemort couldn't access? Snape had made it seem that way at dinner, but Ginny knew that Harry wasn't likely to stay hidden for long. Something would change again, and soon. All Ginny could do was try to be ready for when it did.
The room provided her lovely, cozy pajamas. She relished the soft flannel as she slipped them on. Sleeping here wouldn't be easy, but the room was doing its best to help her, and she could appreciate that. She brushed her teeth, brushed her hair- which felt extremely weird to do herself at this point- and padded into the bedroom.
"Alright, room, I don't want to sleep totally in the dark," she said. "Can you change the window to have moonlight coming in? Lots of it."
The room obliged.
"Thanks," she said. She crawled under the covers, stretched, and rolled over on her stomach. She hadn't purposely laid down to go to sleep alone in months now. It felt weird. On impulse, she grabbed one of the many pillows and slid it under the covers before holding onto it. She buried her face in it and pretended she was somewhere else as she fell asleep.
...
She was on a balcony, looking down on a ballroom, surrounded by formally-dressed people she didn't know.
"Oh Princess, we're so happy you're back!" a middle-aged woman gushed, clasping Ginny's hand in her own. "You must have been so terribly frightened."
"Oh," Ginny said. "Er. Yes, thank you, I'm... happy to be back?"
Happy to be back where? And from where?
The crowd on the balcony tittered like she had said something clever.
"We are eternally grateful, Your Highness," said an older man with a very large nose. He was wearing a monocle and had several military-style badges on the front of his dress-robes. "We sent so many brave knights after you, but none prevailed, until our guest of honor, of course."
Several of the women in the crowd swooned.
"Prevailed against what?" Ginny asked.
The man looked at her oddly. "Why, against the dragon, of course."
The middle-aged woman slapped his hand good-naturedly. "Come now, Charles, you know what the Healers said- she doesn't remember everything. We mustn't push." She turned to Ginny again and clasped their hands once again, tears coming to her eyes. "I'm sure you'll remember in time, Your Highness. You're safe now."
Ginny nodded at her, feeling a bit hazy. Dragons and knights and a princess... that did sound familiar. Was she really a princess? That seemed like the kind of thing she would remember.
Trumpets sounded, and the crowd perked up.
"Ooh, that's your cue," the woman said, locking arms with Ginny and dragging her forward. "Come to the top of the stairs now, everyone's waiting."
"My cue for what?" Ginny said, startled. She looked down, and saw that she was wearing a ballgown with a very large skirt. It was a cream color, but seemed laced with gold sparkles in the fabric; it glinted in the light as she walked.
"Your grand entrance, of course. This is your party."
Ginny didn't have time to respond. A voice rang out over the crowd. "Now announcing the long-awaited return of our beloved Princess Ginevra, returned at last to her kingdom after three long months."
A spotlight appeared over Ginny as the crowd below erupted into applause. Her heart in her throat, Ginny smiled shyly and started walking down the long, ruby-red stairs.
A princess. How weird. She didn't feel like a princess. But then again, what did being a princess feel like? Maybe that was one of the things she had forgotten.
Everyone seemed to want to talk to her at once. She was immediately swarmed by people as soon as her feet touched the ballroom floor. Dukes and counts and lady so-and-sos and foreign dignitaries and government officials- all of them jostled forward for a chance to kiss her hand, to wish her well, to express their heartfelt gratitude that she was home at last.
Home at last. Ginny's heart twisted. She had wanted that very, very badly for a long time now. If she was sure of anything at all, she was sure of that.
"Why don't we give the princess some space?" a voice from further back in the crowd said. It was a familiar voice, but Ginny couldn't place it. "I'm sure we're overwhelming her."
The crowd quieted and parted at once, smiling at Ginny. Now that there was more room, Ginny saw who had spoken. The man had dark, wavy hair swept to one side, dark eyes, and wore elegant black dress robes. He was tall, and kept his eyes on her face as he bowed to her.
"Your Highness," he said.
She curtsied, feeling a bit dazed. He walked towards her and extended a hand to her. She allowed him to take her hand and kiss it. Here again, he kept his eyes on her face. He was so familiar...
"I'm sorry, sir," she said as he straightened up. "But... do I know you?"
He smiled at her. It was handsome, in a cold sort of way. "My apologies, I should have realized you wouldn't remember. I'm your rescuer."
"Oh! I'm sorry, I guess it's like you said... I don't remember."
"No need to apologize, I take no offense. You've been through a great ordeal. You're still recovering."
That seemed... true, though she couldn't remember the details. But her soul felt tired, deep down. Ordeal seemed like a good word for whatever had happened.
Cheerful violin music started, and the man's smile widened. "Would you honor me with a dance, Your Highness?"
Some of the younger women in the crowd seemed to be giggling to each other, watching the exchange. The two older people she had spoken to upstairs had joined the crowd and were nodding at her encouragingly.
She did like to dance. She nodded at him, and allowed him to lead her out onto the dance floor. The crowd seemed to form a loose circle around them- everyone was watching. She glanced around, suddenly nervous.
"Don't be afraid," he said quietly as he stepped closer to her and put his free hand on her waist. It was a perfectly modest placement, but a cold thrill ran down Ginny's spine just the same. That wasn't what it was supposed to feel like- was it? "They're just happy to see you. They feared you were dead," he continued.
The music picked up a bit in pace, and Ginny allowed the man- whose name she still didn't know, she realized- to start to lead her in a fast-paced waltz. Ginny, as far as she could remember, had never waltzed in her life, but her body seemed to remember the steps.
"I was gone for three months?" she asked as they spun.
"Just about, yes. Kidnapped from your bed. A terrible thing- it shocked the whole kingdom."
"Someone said something about a dragon."
"Yes, it was a dragon who kidnapped you. For what nefarious purpose, I have no idea, but it locked you away in a tall tower far from here. Many brave knights followed the beast, but none could avoid its formidable fire, unfortunately."
That seemed... familiar, maybe. Like she had heard it before. Or lived it, she supposed.
"Why can't I remember anything?" she asked as he leaned her backwards for a dip, her heart pounding.
"The Healers think it's a lingering effect from the dragon's curse," he said, guiding her back up and spinning her around once again. "They're optimistic that you'll gain your memories back over time, if you're around enough familiar places and people."
He spun her away from him and she flew out, her hand reaching toward the crowd like she was reaching for... something. But what?
She didn't have time to ponder it as he pulled her back in. She spun, locked in his arms for a moment, and her heart skipped a beat. The hair on the back of her neck was standing up.
Something wasn't right.
"I see," she said, letting out a breath once there was some distance between them again. "If most men fell victim to the dragon's fire... how did you survive?"
He laughed, a high and cold sound that didn't suit him. "I am not like most men."
"What does that mean?"
He smiled at her. "Well, you see, Your Highness... I'm a wizard."
She sucked in a breath. That was definitely familiar. Very, very familiar.
"And so you used magic to defeat the dragon?" she said, her eyes wandering to the crowd. They had lost some of their features somehow, almost like they were blurred together.
"Of course. I beheaded it once I was done- its head is hanging in the Great Hall, actually. Its silvery scales really catch the light well, it looks great above the throne. I'll take you to see it, if you wish."
Was he trying to upset her? "No, thank you," she said, her stomach twisting.
"As you wish," he said in a bored voice. It was so, so familiar...
"Did we speak at all, when you were rescuing me?"
"Why do you ask?"
"Your voice is just... very familiar to me."
He smiled. "Perhaps some part of you knew that I would rescue you. You were waiting for me."
That wasn't it. Ginny's brow furrowed as she pondered it, but everything still felt so hazy.
"Your locket is lovely," he said once it became clear that she wasn't going to respond. "Such an intricate design."
She looked down at her chest and was startled to find a heart-shaped locket wrapped in a silver snake with glowing emerald eyes. The snake encircled the locket, which seemed counterintuitive- how would it even be able to open that way? With the way the light glinted off of it, it could almost be alive.
"It's a snake," she observed.
He chuckled. "Yes, your house banner is a serpent."
"I thought it was a lion," she said, not sure where the thought had come from.
He seemed to pause for a moment, caught off guard. "No, not a lion."
"Did you give me this?" she asked, fighting the urge to rip it off. Everywhere it touched her skin suddenly itched and burned.
"I wish I had, but no. It's an old family heirloom."
"I'm going to take it off," she said and started to reach for her neck.
"No!" He grabbed her hand roughly, startling her. He paused again and seemed to grow very still- like a snake himself. "It looks beautiful on you. You shouldn't take it off."
"It hurts."
"Only because you're thinking about it too much," he said, a bit impatiently. "You didn't even notice it until I pointed it out."
"Why does it hurt?"
"You're fighting it."
That was familiar. Why would she be fighting a necklace?
"Relax, Your Highness," he continued. "Let's enjoy our evening. Come, we can go for a walk in the garden." He started to pull her toward the patio doors.
A walk in the garden. Sunlight gleaming on platinum blonde hair. Laughing in the roses. Swinging from a great oak tree, on top of the world.
"No," she said, pulling her hand out of his grip. She stopped walking. The audience was very blurry now.
"What?" he snapped, turning to face her. His anger marred his handsomeness significantly.
"This isn't right," she whispered, breaking out in a cold sweat. "I don't remember much of anything, but this isn't right." She backed away and turned to run, but the world- the dream- shattered.
She was back in the empty blackness, only there was no throne this time. There was only Tom.
He sighed dramatically. "Merlin's beard, you're stubborn. I tried to give you a pleasant dream, but you just had to go and be a brat. That's fine, then- my turn." He snapped his fingers, and a world formed around them.
They were on top of an impossibly high stone tower. It seemed to look out over the whole world. Ginny covered her mouth in horror. The whole world was burning- or had burnt, rather. Muggle skyscrapers crumbled to dust even as she watched, and a great cry seemed to come up from the ground far below them.
"Tragic, isn't it?" he said, satisfaction in his voice. "The arrogance of Muggles, to think they could stand against my might. They're back where they deserve- in the dirt."
"You've destroyed everything," she whispered through her fingers, shocked tears coming to her eyes.
"Not everything," he drawled. "There are plenty of Muggles left down there. And plenty of wizards too, of course. You can't see from up here, we're very high up. Would you like to go down to have a closer look?"
She shook her head, shaking a bit from the shock.
"That's for the best," he said. "You're quite popular down there, you know- much more popular than in that silly ballroom we just left. People pray to you day and night. You couldn't step foot down there without being overwhelmed immediately."
"What?" she asked, pulling her eyes away from the horror and looking back at his face. He was smiling at her, but he made no effort to make it look charming now.
"You're my saint," he said in a mocking voice, as though it were obvious. "You know what a saint is, don't you, Ginevra?" He drawled her full name, elongating every syllable. "Someone blessed by a god, who intercedes on humanity's behalf. They pray to you, in the hopes that I'll show them mercy." He took a step closer to her. She wanted to run away, but she felt frozen in place. He kept walking until he was right in front of her.
He leaned down so that his mouth was level with her ear. "Beg me for it," he whispered. "Beg me to spare even one wretched soul. They're all crying out for you, can you hear them?"
Suddenly, she could. Cries of "Saint Ginevra, pray for us! Saint Ginny, spare us! Show mercy!" filled the air. Ginny's stomach roiled.
"Please," she whispered. "Please don't hurt them anymore. Please."
"Please don't hurt who anymore?" he asked, not backing away from her.
"Anyone. Everyone."
"Not specific enough."
"But I don't know who's down there!" she said, pulling back to look at him. "Please, I am begging you-"
"You don't look like you're begging."
All pride forgotten, she dropped to her knees. "Please. My lord. Don't hurt them anymore. Please."
"Now there's a lovely sight," he said, smirking down at her. "And you remembered my title, too. You're being so sweet right now, but earlier you were ready to rip off my locket-"
"Please, I didn't know," she choked out. "I didn't remember."
"That's true," he mused, pretending to consider. "Perhaps I shouldn't judge you too harshly. Here, you can make it up to me. Stand up."
She did, and he conjured the locket in his hand. The locket from tonight didn't look like the one from her last dream, she realized. It was a different shape, a different metal. They both had snakes on them, but they weren't the same piece of jewelry.
"I can't actually give you the other one," he said, apparently picking up on her thoughts. "It is precious to me, and even as well-protected as you are, it would be foolish to have you walking around with it. This one though... this one is just for you. Put it on, and I'll give you a reward."
He extended his hand to her, the locket dangling by its silver chain.
"Will it... will it hurt?" she asked, even as she reached for it.
"Only if you fight it."
"Like the tattoo."
He looked thoughtful. "Yes, perhaps like the tattoo. I hadn't considered that."
She took the chain from him. It was cold and smooth in her fingers, and quite long. She hesitated, but the cries from the ground seemed to grow louder as she did. Scrunching her eyes closed, she slipped the chain over her head. It immediately shortened so that the locket came to rest on her breast bone. It didn't hurt, but she felt all too aware of the fact that it could.
"Very good," he said, a little breathless. "I understand you now, I think. What motivates you, and what doesn't. You don't care at all about what happens to you, but if it's happening to someone else, even a stranger... it absolutely eats you up inside. Your silly little pure heart won't allow anyone to suffer if you think you can prevent it."
Ginny said nothing. The cries down below subsided.
He reached out and touched the locket, running his finger along the snake's shape. "You've earned your reward for tonight, but I want you to remember this lesson. You have a responsibility to the world now- the better behaved you are, the more suffering you can prevent. Is that something you think you can do?"
"Yes, my lord."
"Very good. Then enjoy this next bit." He turned away from her, but seemed to reconsider. He looked over his shoulder. "Oh, and Ginny? If I give you a gift in real life, I suggest you take it."
The dream didn't shatter, exactly. It was more like it blurred away, like washing chalk off of the ground. And once it was gone, she was at the Burrow.
"-and I told him, I just don't see what all of the fuss is about," Mum said from the stove. Some kind of stew was boiling; she waved her wand and different chopped herbs floated over to sprinkle themselves over the top.
"Well, you know Xenophilius, Molly," Dad said, looking up from the Daily Prophet. "He's always got to make a fuss about something."
"That man needs to sort out his priorities," Mum said, shaking her head in a disapproving way.
"What the fuck?" Ginny blurted. Everyone stopped talking and looked at her. She was sitting at the kitchen table with Dad, Percy, and Bill. Charlie was at the sink washing dishes, and she could see Ron and the twins through the window- degnoming the garden, it looked like.
"What kind of language is that to use at the table?" Mum scolded. "Don't use that word again, Ginny, or I'll have you out there degnoming too."
"Come on, Mum, Ginny's only here for a short visit," Bill said. "Don't be too hard on her."
"Oh I suppose you're right," she conceded. "We've missed you, dear."
"Mum," Ginny whispered, her lip quivering, before she bolted out of her seat and ran to her, throwing her arms tight around her. "Mummy, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"
Mum dropped her spoon and wrapped her arms around Ginny. "Sorry for what, dear? You have nothing to be sorry for."
"I tried to come home, but I couldn't, I couldn't-"
"I know, love, but it's alright now, shh, it's alright," Mum said, stroking her hair. "My baby girl, home at last."
Ginny cried harder. "Mummy, I was so scared-"
"I know, sweetheart. That's all behind us now though, isn't it?"
"I'm never leaving again."
She felt rather than saw Mum look at Dad over her shoulder.
"These Sunday visits are going to be lovely," Dad said in a deliberately cheerful voice. "The house hasn't been the same without you, Gin."
"Sunday visits?" Ginny asked with a sniffle, lifting her head from Mum's shoulder.
"I believe that's what the Dark Lord explained to us," Dad said, and Ginny's stomach dropped. "He protected the Burrow, thanks to you of course, and now you're able to come home for Sunday dinner. We'll get to see you every week- isn't that wonderful?"
It wasn't wonderful. It wasn't wonderful because that meant that the world outside was... was...
"Everything is ruined," she whispered.
"This soup is going to be ruined if I don't get back to it," Mum said with a laugh, gently letting go of Ginny. "Go outside with your brothers if you want. They've got to be done degnoming by now. Maybe you could play a quick Quidditch game before dinner."
This wasn't right. The smells, the sounds of their voices, the very feel of the place- all of that was right, achingly so. But what they were saying...
"You would never agree to this," Ginny said. "To stay hidden away while the rest of the world suffers. To only see me once a week, and then send me back to hell."
"Well it's not a matter of agreeing to it, Ginny," Percy said in his most pompous voice. "What choice do Mother and Father have? It's this or nothing."
"I know it's hard," Bill said, reaching his hand out for her. "But this is the best option. We're grateful for it."
"Enough of this," Ginny said coldly. "I'm ready to wake up now."
Slowly, stubbornly, the dream faded away.
Ginny woke up in darkness. The window had disappeared at some point during the night. Her cheeks were wet with tears.
These dreams... she had never had anything like them before. Her Alys dreams were memories, but these...
What if they weren't really dreams? Some kind of Dark magic... Or what if they were dreams, and they were coming out of her subconscious for some reason? She didn't know which was worse.
She whimpered in the dark, the scent of Mum's hair still in her nose, and the room levitated the Arnold plush to her. It glowed in the dark slightly, casting a pale purple light on the white sheets.
White sheets.
She grabbed hold of the Arnold plush, squeezed it tight, and pulled the blankets over her head.
"I'm in a cloud," she whispered. "No tears in the cloud."
She ran her hands over the Arnold plush's fur and imagined she was swinging from a great oak tree, laughing as Draco pushed her higher and higher.