Owl post arrived every morning, reliable like clockwork. Perhaps there was some magic quality to it to assure all of the birds arrived on time. Perhaps they roosted outside the Great Hall for their grand entrance—owls could be dramatic creatures. Harry's beloved Hedwig had been the proof of that. Regardless, it was beautiful and astonished Muggleborns, Halfbloods and Purebloods alike. And even if she'd grown used to it over time and nowadays hardly paid any attention to it, she still revered the ceremony. And dreaded any deviation from it, ever since a sole owl had brought Snape news of a new world order.
Hence, trepidation gripped her when again a sole owl flew into the Great Hall and headed straight for Rookwood. Yet his face lacked Snape's perfect composure and as he read the letter, she could see incomprehension, frustration and anger flit across his face in rapid succession, before settling on his usual thinly veiled madness. With a tap of wand, he set the parchment alight. With a second tap, the owl followed suit. In a flash, both were reduced to ash. Too quick to feel pain, or so Ginny hoped at least. But it did assure that whereas before, only a few had been spying on the head table, those numbers had now at least tripled.
If Rookwood was at all bothered by the attention he'd earned, he didn't show it. Instead, he resumed eating, albeit with a mechanical, feigned nonchalance to it. The rest of the Head table—Snape included—stared at him and the pile of ash next to his bacon and eggs. Rookwood if possible looked even more nonchalant at that.
At least, until the owl post arrived. As usual, they flew inside in their majestic cohort, preparing for their descent. Quite a few students cooed and awed. Not Ginny. She kept her gaze fixed on Rookwood and saw him rise at once, wand out. This far away, she couldn't hear his voice, but she could read his lips. And she could read the fire.
Fiendyre.
A chimera burst forth from his wand and sped towards the enchanted ceiling, even as it bellowed. It was a deafening roar that left terrified students grasping for their ears or diving for cover underneath the tables, even as cinders rained down.
And then the owls screamed. Ginny wished she could look away, but instead she just sat there, spellbound as the ceiling and its occupants burned. A horrible burning smell filled the Great Hall, even as the rain of cinders was joined by a rain of ash, like a volcano had erupted.
Rookwood ended the spell with a tap of his wand, the rage of Fiendyre instantly contained. "Today's mail is cancelled." He strode away from the Head table without further explanation, leaving behind only chaos.
Chaos, and a few remnants of the Daily Prophet. The charred snippets were insufficient to reconstruct a whole story, but sufficient to divine what had evoked Rookwood's ire.
She held up a smouldering headline and despite it all, smiled.
Rabastan Lestrange assassinated
Ron had once incapacitated him. Now, the Order had finished the job.
#
Daphne Greengrass cornered her on the way out of the Great Hall, dragging her into one of the many rarely used corridors that could be found all over the castle. Ginny already reached for her wand, but paused when she saw Greengrass didn't have her wand out. The scathing look she gave her when she noticed Ginny's reflexes, however, stung more than any hex of hers could have.
"I am not like the rest," she said coolly.
"Could have fooled me," Ginny muttered.
Greengrass looked like she wanted to explain the finer points of Slytherin house and different levels and methods of threatening people. Fortunately, she changed her mind and focused on what must have been her initial message. "You're endangering Astoria. I want you to stop seeing her."
Ginny sighed. The same old tune, it seemed. "It's her choice."
"But equally yours," Greengrass snapped and then pinched her nose bridge. "Listen, I'm sure you're feeling very self-righteous, and the same goes for Tori, but this is no longer a game."
Ginny resisted the urge to grab the Pureblood bitch by the throat and slam her into a wall. "Don't you think I know that? I've lost more than anyone else—"
"And still you keep endangering people," Greengrass interrupted. "You saw Rookwood. He's unstable, and he's not alone. Please." To Ginny's surprise, she could see tears shining in Greengrass' eyes. "Don't let my family end up like yours."
If Greengrass hadn't been so earnest, Ginny would have cursed her for that. As it was, the part of her that wasn't screaming bloody murder actually understood.
Oh, so noble of you. Now let her feel the Cruciatus curse. She deserves it, the pampered princess.
The Weasleys had bled and the fact that they hadn't been the only family didn't make it any less harrowing. She couldn't fault Greengrass for looking out for her own. It made her a coward, sure, but the school was filled with those.
"I'm sorry, but like I said, it's Astoria's choice."
She could see the fight go out of Daphne, though not without a parting shot. "Then her blood will be on your hands."
It stung. And it was one of the many fears that had haunted her for so long now. What if she just led Astoria and the rest of the D.A. to their doom? What if their association would ruin them, like an association with Harry had brought so many to ruin. And as Greengrass left, another snippet of the Prophet fell from her pocket and floated to the ground. Ginny caught it in her hand and stared at it in fear.
—xley promises retaliation to—
Incomplete as it was, it wasn't difficult to fill in the blanks. The Order had drawn first blood, or at least most recent blood, and now the rest of the Wizarding World would bleed. She prayed Percy's position would keep her family safe and then hated herself for her selfishness.
You are too harsh on yourself.
The bleeding should stop, full stop. The Weasleys weren't the only ones hurting. Everyone should feel safe.
And how likely is that?
But before she could snap something back at Tom, or even before she could just grab her head and try to squeeze the whispers out, she noticed three new arrivals. Zabini, Nott and Harper: the Slytherins who would rather see more people bleed than less.
Today, something was different in their pose. They'd been strutting until recently, but now they had more the appearance of wounded animals. Nott in particular looked more unhinged than usual. But as she knew all too well, wounded predators were the most dangerous kind. Voldemort's Death Eaters had found out first in the Department of Mysteries. And then she and her friends had learned from them in return.
"What do you want?" she asked, jutting out her chin. They wouldn't see fear. That they would never get from her.
"Not even a hello, Weasley? I suppose it's for the best. We're not exactly in the mood for pleasantries either," Zabini drawled, hand on his wand. At least his vigilance was an odd proof of deference. He always held on to his wand ever since the incident following Slughorn's party.
Nott, however, had never reached for his wand. At first, there had been fear holding him back. Later, disdain and simmering anger had allowed him to ignore his own terror. Today, he looked like his anger was about to boil over. His own scars were still there, though you could only tell if you knew.
Don't worry, next time you'll do better.
"I bet you're proud of your friends, Weasley," Nott hissed. "For their cowardly attacks from the shadow."
"I thought you'd appreciate such Slytherin tactics," she mocked.
His wand was out in a flash. "Don't! Don't you dare to laugh," he hissed, face distorted with anger, though it was difficult to pay attention to that with the point of his wand hovering so close to her face. Fear moved inside her stomach as she remembered all those wands that had been pointed at her once. Nott Senior had done so too once, before he'd gotten knocked out.
I think he needs reminding of your power.
"I'd almost think you're even angrier than usual," she said and was rewarded with a tremor running through Nott's hand. Admittedly, his shakes were caused by anger, but in a way, it did level the playing field.
"We're going to make you pay, Weasley," Zabini said, his wand now out too.
As if they'd dare to do so in broad daylight, so close to the Great Hall. She spread her arms wide, as if asking for a hug. "Well, here I am."
A tall figure lurked just around the corner, too tall to be a student. But when it moved from the shadow, she recognised her as one of Rookwood's Death Eaters.
Once, McGonagall had swooped in to save her. Now, it looked more like any adult supervision was only there to condone it. And suddenly, she began to doubt her earlier bravura. The rules had changed. Perhaps the safety offered by daylight and a potential audience had waned.
Percy's name would still protect her, of course. If it had given Rookwood pause, it would restrain his underlings too. Ginny knew that. But did Nott and Zabini and Harper know? And she refused to invoke it herself. Her hands dropped to her side again, left hand closing around her wand.
"She's getting afraid, see?" Zabini crowed.
She could hear footsteps behind her too, and then a familiar sneering voice as Snape came to a stop next to her, glaring at her past his hooked nose. "Fighting in the hallways, Weasley? Ten points from Gryffindor."
"Yes, Professor." It couldn't compare to McGonagall's interventions, but still, she was relieved.
"Now leave, I need to speak with Mister Nott." He didn't even spare her a glance as she walked away past Nott and the rest.
As she moved past Harper, he slipped a piece of paper to her, paired with a whisper. "You'll pay, Weasley."
She only accepted it because she recognised the scorched remnants of the paper as belonging to the Prophet. Her stomach clenched when she read it.
Wizengamot member Nott and his wife murdered in own home
As she walked away, only just hearing Snape's unintelligible whispers to his Slytherins, she wondered. What had the Order been up to yesterday? Political assassination was an instrument of war, but this was beginning to resemble Sirius' mad hunt for blood. Especially knowing they'd killed Nott Senior's wife. As far as she knew, she hadn't been a Death Eater. A horrifying Pureblood snob, yes. But a combatant? No.
She leaned against a wall, breathing in rapidly. The scars moved as if inspired by senseless bloodletting. Her vision blurred. Had the Order truly done that? Would Moody sanction such an action? Would her family? Would they even take part in it? They'd grown colder as the bodies increased, she'd noticed as much during Easter. And Fred had always had a cold streak in him.
But this?
Blood begets blood begets blood. Besides, with everything they've taken from you, wouldn't you do the same if given the chance?
She shook her head to dispel the whispers even as they wormed their way inside her brain.
Be honest, Ginny. If Rookwood had a wife, wouldn't you kill her? Make her scream into the void like your friend Hermione?
They were supposed to be better than this.
Ah yes, the chivalrous, dead white knight. Reminds me of a certain chosen one…
What was a victory worth if it left the victors as blackhearted as the oppressors?
You fence with morality and ideals, but you forget, Ginny, I've seen your heart.
Was their victory worth it? Their vengeance? Would she do the same?
Admit it.
Yes. Yes she would. Three friends dead. Two brothers. One love of her life. In return, the world had gotten a tyrant, a tyrant leading an army of blood purist psychopaths and classist sociopaths. She would do whatever necessary. It was why she'd delved into dark curse after dark curse and then taught them to the D.A. Horrible power to accomplish the greater good. To keep the rest safe, her family first.
And?
And when she got to use those curses on Rookwood, Dolohov, Lucius Malfoy and all those other butchers? She was quite sure she would enjoy it. Maybe then they'd stop haunting her dreams. Maybe then she'd feel powerful again.
So what if Nott's parents were dead? They'd put themselves on the chessboard, trampling any pawns before them.
Like your brother.
Perhaps that simply was war.
Mine.