A/N: Reminder for the reader that Voldemort is an unreliable narrator :)
JULY 27th, 1997
"Are you writing this down?" Harry snapped, pacing.
"Yes, but don't snap at me, please," Hermione said.
Harry stopped and took a deep breath. She was right. This wasn't her fault. It wasn't any of their faults.
"Sorry," he said. "I just-"
"We know, mate," Ron said. "We're on your side, remember?"
"Yeah," Harry said, nodding to himself. "You're right." He plopped down on Ron's bed, shoulders slumped.
Mr. Weasley had rushed off to Diagon Alley but returned almost immediately- Ollivander's had been ransacked, the glass in all the windows shattered. They had been too late, even though Harry had told him about his vision immediately. How were they always one step behind? They hadn't anticipated the Death Eaters knowing about their exit plan from the Dursleys', and they had been ambushed. They had acted the instant Harry knew about their plans, however vague, for Ollivander, and they were too late.
The war was just beginning, and they were already losing.
"Alright, tell it to me again, let's make sure I've got it right," Hermione said, looking up from her parchment.
"He had Dumbledore's wand," Harry said patiently, "and he called it the Elder Wand. He said it was connected to a prophecy, that it should have allowed him to kill me, but it didn't work. He called himself the Master of Death. He said... there was some piece missing with the Hallows, whatever that means."
"Hallow means holy," Hermione said, a frown on her face.
"I know that much, but he said it like he was talking about something in specific," Harry said. "He asked for an expert on wandlore, Borgin, and the girl."
"Meaning Ginny," Ron said.
"I assume so," Harry said. "It would make sense- I don't know who else he could be talking about. He said one of them was the weak link."
"This must have been what Dumbledore meant," Hermione mused, looking down at her parchment. She had hastily scribbled these notes on the same parchment they had used on the train, months back.
"How do you figure that?" Harry asked.
"We've been puzzling over why he didn't want you to look into the Deathstick, right? He just kept saying it's been handled," Hermione said. "It was handled because that was his wand, Harry. I don't know why Voldemort is calling it something different, but they must be the same thing. Dumbledore wasn't worried about Malfoy or anybody else stealing his own wand- he would be able to defend himself."
"Until he wasn't," Harry said bitterly.
"Until he wasn't," Hermione agreed. "How did Voldemort get the wand? None of the Death Eaters approached the body, we were all fighting them inside until they ran away."
"No idea," Harry said. "No one would have had time- not even Snape."
"Some spell, maybe?" Ron suggested. "Something Dumbledore could have fought off if he was alive, but once he died..."
"Yeah," Harry agreed. "Could be. That could be why they were so focused on killing Dumbledore now- Voldemort needed the wand, apparently."
"What does that have to do with Ginny though?" Hermione asked, worrying her lip. "Why would she have anything to do with Dumbledore's wand?"
"Dunno, but Dumbledore must have suspected something," Ron said. "He had Tonks watching Ginny, remember? He knew something."
Harry's insides twisted. He had thought Dumbledore was trusting him with important information, at last, and he had, about the Horcruxes... but there was apparently a lot he hadn't told him, as well.
"He said the Hallows, plural, right Harry?" Hermione asked, looking down at her notes again.
"Yeah. He also said at least one of them still resists me. So it's not just the wand."
"Any clue for what the others are? Or how many there are?"
"Nope."
"Damn," Ron muttered. "All of our clues have been about the Deathstick. Where do we even begin to look for information on the others?"
"And should we look for information on the others?" Hermione said. "Dumbledore told Harry to look for the Horcruxes. Not whatever these things are."
"Dumbledore also thought that the Deathstick wasn't in any danger of falling into Voldemort's hands," Harry said drily. "We have to look for the Horcruxes, but we need to know what these things are too, whatever he thinks is so powerful that he's the Master of Death."
"Cheery name," Ron said. "Real cozy."
"I wonder if Trelawney is still alive," Harry said. "Voldemort must have had her as a prisoner- she must have told another prophecy. Something about the Hallows."
None of them said anything. Harry didn't want Trelawney to be dead, but the thought of Voldemort having ready access to someone making prophecies about his death was not comforting.
"Tell us what the place looked like again," Ron said. "Could it be Malfoy Manor?"
"Could be," Harry said. "Hard to tell- I didn't see Malfoy or his father, but Bellatrix was there. Fancy marble floors. A wall of windows covered by green curtains. And a throne, up on a dais. That's all I saw."
"No sign of Ginny?"
"None. He was asking Bellatrix to bring her to him- she wasn't there."
"Or at least not in that room," Hermione opined. "She could have still been in the same building."
Harry sighed. "Yes, I suppose she could have been in the same building."
"I'm just saying-"
"I know, Hermione. I know. I'm just tired of not knowing things. I want to be certain about something."
She put a hand on his shoulder. "I know. We'll be on the road soon, though- I know you're tired of sitting around."
"Me too," Ron said. "Watching Dad leave every day to look for Ginny and come back empty-handed is killing me."
Hermione reached for Ron's hand, connecting the three of them.
Harry's heart squeezed painfully. He needed space. "Yeah. We'll be on the road soon. I'll be... right back."
"You're not going to leave, are you?" Hermione asked.
"No, I'm staying inside. I'll just... be a second."
He felt rather than saw Ron and Hermione exchange a significant look as he left the room and shut the door. Feeling a little disoriented, he walked quietly down the stairs, winding down until he reached a familiar door.
His heart in his throat, he entered Ginny's room.
It looked just as she had left it at Christmas. Her bed was unmade, the sheets still wrinkled, as though she had just risen from it this morning. The window was cracked open, and a light breeze fluttered the curtains. The Weird Sisters stared down at him from one wall, Gwenog Jones of the Holyhead Harpies from another.
The last time she and Harry had been in this room, he had broken up with her. They had fought, stupidly. Would that be her last memory of the space? What if she never came home?
He tried to tell himself not to think that way, but he couldn't help it. Why couldn't Dumbledore have told him more of what was going on? He had known something about Ginny, something terrible apparently, and he hadn't said a word about it, not even to Tonks, who was supposed to be protecting her.
Harry was just left to try to figure it out, just like with the Horcruxes.
He thought inexplicably of Kathleen in that moment- she knew what it was like to be scrambling for information, trying and trying and failing to piece together things that should go together but didn't. They had talked every day on the phone since he had called her the first time, and while they had made slow progress on her memories, she hadn't remembered anything of substance. Certainly nothing about something called a Hallow, whatever that meant.
Would Harry ever talk to her again? He wouldn't be able to call her anymore.
Overwhelmed, Harry laid down on Ginny's bed, clinging to the faint scent of her soap that lingered even still, and cried.
JULY 27th, 1997
"Come, Nagini."
Nagini slithered out of her corner of the room and ascended the leg of the chair her master occupied. He leaned forward a bit to allow her to come rest along his shoulders; her familiar weight settled him as he looked out of his bedroom window, deep in thought.
"What do we do about the girl, Nagini?" he asked softly, twirling the Elder Wand between his fingers, the motion a constant reminder that it was indeed in his hand, he hadn't lost it, it was his.
His truly, now. He had had it for months but it had been a shell of its potential, unwilling to yield its secrets to him. No longer, though- the blast of energy through his wand arm as he had fired off his last spell had been electrifying, like nothing he had ever felt before. Like every bit of magic he had ever done had just been a cheap imitation of what was possible now.
Yes, the world was open to him in a new way with the Hallows in his possession. Or worlds, potentially.
He imagined Ginny Weasley's face and scowled.
The third prophecy had been about her, but why? Why was she deserving not only of the Deathly Hallows, but of everlasting life on top of it?
She wasn't deserving. He was the heir of the Peverell line, heir of Salazar Slytherin, chosen to become Master of Death... Trelawney had issued her first prophecy in response to his question of how he could defeat Harry Potter at last. It was meant to be him. Her words echoed in his mind.
The Deathly Hallows... You must unite the Deathly Hallows and become the Master of Death. Only the Master of Death may triumph over the Boy Who Lived.
He had done that, hadn't he?
United in place, perhaps, but not in loyalty. The Elder Wand had resisted him, until he had followed the proper steps. It was not enough to hold the Hallows, they had to be his, wholly and completely.
Not such a hard thing to accomplish, for an object.
He stroked Nagini, thinking. Making a living thing a Horcrux had been a risk. Something that could think on its own, make its own choices... But it had worked out, in the end. Without Nagini, he would not have been able to come back to a physical form at all; her venom had been essential in sustaining him those long months before his resurrection.
But Nagini had been loyal. Had served him for years before that, had always been faithful... He would never have chosen a disloyal vessel for a Horcrux. A living thing had been a risk, yes, but Nagini would never betray him.
Not like Ginny Weasley.
The Imperius Curse wouldn't be sufficient, he was sure. It was a farce of loyalty, a fragile sort of forced submission that could be broken at any moment. Just as he couldn't have tricked the Elder Wand by disarming Severus rather than the girl, the magic inside the girl herself would need to be won.
But how?
He closed his eyes, reaching out for the memories of his sixteen year old self. It was a strange sort of feeling, this awareness of an other self. He couldn't feel the others- likely because they were dormant, awaiting the day they would be needed, the day he hoped would never come. But the diary... the diary had come to life, or nearly so, almost five years ago now, and once it had attained a consciousness, its memories became available to him. Even though it was destroyed now, the memories remained. Like reaching across a long bridge for something both deeply familiar and oddly foreign, he could see himself living through moments he had no conscious recollection of.
Ginny Weasley had been very small then.
He observed her diary entries with mild boredom, comparing them to the memories he had observed earlier tonight. Fierce loyalty to her family, that was there in both, though her younger self had a measure of insecurity that she seemed to lack in the present day. Affection for Harry was there in both, but her older self also carried an interesting thread of resentment and anger directed at him. Harry had coddled her, excluded her, made her feel unimportant... Wasn't that what she had complained her brothers did, at eleven? Teasing her, treating her like the baby of the family? Her younger self had been embarrassed to come to Hogwarts with secondhand things- an embarrassment he knew all too well- and while her current self seemed to have grown out of it, he saw clearly the reluctant enjoyment of all the luxuries that a life at Malfoy Manor offered her.
None of that would be enough to turn her to him, though. She was nothing if not stubborn. Stubbornly loyal and stubbornly moral- the prophecy had called for a pure heart, after all. He sneered. Ridiculous.
Was this some test, then? Some way to prove that he was worthy of the power that the Hallows offered? It couldn't be a coincidence. If he had learned anything in the last year, it was that fate had a much more literal hand in the world than he ever would have imagined. It wasn't an accident that Ginny had nearly helped him to return to life in the Chamber of Secrets. It wasn't random chance that she was the one Harry Potter desired for himself. It wasn't a coincidence that she had been imbued with unearthly power the same night he had obtained the Hallows. No, it all mattered... She was supposed to be here. She was supposed to be his. But what did that even mean?
His mind drifted to her dream, and an echo of the same shock he had felt earlier went through him. Of all the things he had thought to find in her mind, a dream of his sixteen year old self standing in Draco Malfoy's place had not been on the list of possibilities.
That was possession, after a kind. But that couldn't be what the magic demanded. Something so base, so human... But she was afraid of it, anyway, and he would use that fear to his advantage. The bathroom had been a good idea. Watching her scream through the mirror had been immensely gratifying. Whether she yielded out of devotion or out of fear didn't matter, though a mix of both would be best. She would have to yield.
If he couldn't earn her loyalty, could he break her resistance? Could that stubborn streak be eradicated?
Not by pain. That had been a mistake. Perhaps an unavoidable one, but a mistake nonetheless. Her memories of Rookwood, while filled with terror and agony, had only sharpened her resolve like a whetstone to a blade. If nearly a month straight of physical torment wouldn't make Ginny beg to serve him, no amount of pain would do it.
What had Severus said? Sometimes a subtle touch was best? That seemed to be young Draco's approach as well. He reflected on the girl's memories of Malfoy Manor and how her defiance had softened drastically over time. Draco had never wavered in his assertions that Ginny's circumstances were inescapable, had reminded her repeatedly of his power over her, but he had gone slowly with her, being careful not to overwhelm her so much that he destroyed earlier progress. He was patient, patient and careful, and, when the moment had arisen, he had offered her something she couldn't refuse- protection for her family.
He scoffed internally. That protection wasn't Draco's to offer. The core of spite in him, the part of him he constantly had to restrain, wanted to torture her family in front of her just to prove that point. She was asking for mercy from the wrong person. She should be begging him, yielding to him...
Hence the bathroom. A tangible reminder that she belonged to him, whatever meaning she might make of that. She couldn't be allowed to forget it, even for a moment. That constancy, plus the right incentive, would perhaps be enough.
He would have to be careful tomorrow. He couldn't rush forward in his eagerness to unlock her magic's secrets. Going too quickly would remind her of Rookwood, and even if he succeeded in learning something mechanically about the magic, it was an unfortunate fact that this power was inherently tied to the girl herself.
She had to yield. He could not fail to kill Harry Potter again.
Draco had been patient. Lord Voldemort could be patient. Patience was a good skill for an immortal to cultivate. He had been patient these many years, seeking a return to power, and now that it was within his grasp... he couldn't waste it. He couldn't rush through all of his Death Eaters' frankly ridiculous plans for the Ministry, even though he had long since lost interest in something so small and mundane as local government. He had to go slowly, remove any chance of failure. He could not start conquering another world until he had conquered this one, even though the promise of strange and fantastical magic called to him like a siren song in his blood. Such possibilities there were, such marvelous possibilities...
Bellatrix had said he would be a god in this world, but she had set her sights too low. In the infinite span of time, he would be a god of all worlds, master of all who dwelled within them. No magic would be beyond his grasp, no power too great or too strange to master. It would all be his.
And Ginny Weasley would be with him. Hallows and Horcruxes both. It would be better if the diary had not been destroyed, and the ring as well, though the ring had miraculously turned out to be a Hallow as well as his first Horcrux. Another sign of fate, surely- what were the odds?
Yes, it would be better to have the full six, but alas, it would not be possible. He had debated about trying to make another, once he had discovered that the Horcrux within the ring had been destroyed, but the process to make Nagini had been excruciating, and there appeared to be at least one way to become immortal without any pain at all. And truly immortal at that- he could blast Ginny Weasley right in the face with any spell he wanted, and she would survive it. He could not take Ginny's immortality, but the world it had come from... what possibilities might it hold?
Struck by the sudden desire to see her, he stood, Nagini still wrapped around his shoulders, and walked towards the far wall of the room. It was a Spartan sort of space- only the essentials, as he spent little time here, and no one would see it anyway. Comfort was important, but the sort of opulence the Malfoys favored was all about the impression it left on others. It only mattered in public spaces.
Or when he was trying to make a point. He waved the Elder Wand at the wall and it became translucent, giving him a clear line of sight into the space he had transformed for his little saint. He pulled the Invisibility Cloak out from his robe pocket and slipped it on. It would not do to let her see him, at least not like this.
He walked through the wall, into the bathroom, and crossed the space into the bedroom. They had left the bathroom door open, thinking themselves alone.
This was an opulent room. Every silly dainty little luxury he could think of, he had included, both for her comfort and to send a message. He knew she would know, as soon as she saw it. Gone were her days of being strapped to a table, languishing for weeks. Gone were her days of being beneath the notice of Lord Voldemort.
No, Ginny Weasley would be a princess in his new world. A princess bowing to a king, a saint bowing to a god. Something people envied, something people desired but could not have.
She needed to remember it. Constantly. Even while she slept.
He walked toward the bed, stopping at the foot of it. She and the Malfoy boy slumbered together, limbs intertwined- he had really only designed the bed for one, but after having seen the ridiculous way Draco clung to her at all hours of the day, it wouldn't have surprised him to find them like this even if the bed were triple in size.
Perhaps he could use the boy, if it came to that. She somehow had come to care for him, even after the way he had humiliated her again and again. How had he done it?
Draco turned toward Ginny in his sleep, his brow furrowing just a bit as though he could sense that they were not alone. Voldemort smirked, imagining the comical sight of the boy trying to stand between him and his saint. Draco Malfoy was nothing, nothing. He barely merited notice. A convenient distraction for the girl, nothing more.
Though he could not deny the envy he felt as he recalled the splendor of the manor, the mountains and mountains of Malfoy Galleons tucked away at Gringotts… Draco Malfoy was leading the life that Tom Riddle should have had. Wealthy, pedigreed pureblood prince- no door was closed to him, he merely had to name a whim to have it met, and, despite it all, he had won the trust and affection of a girl who was by every definition his enemy.
He didn't deserve it.
Perhaps Lord Voldemort would take it all away, in time. But not yet. The Malfoys were useful, and Draco's affection for the girl would guarantee him a loyal servant- he would not want to see harm done to her, and though Voldemort knew that harming the girl would go against his own best interests, Draco did not.
No, Draco Malfoy would play the role that Tom Riddle could not- the pureblood darling of the Wizarding world. He would win supporters to Voldemort's cause with Ginny on his arm, and would be left behind when the time came to explore. Perhaps he would still have his wealth, perhaps not. It would not matter. He was inconsequential in the long run.
Not like the girl. Voldemort regarded her as she slept. Her face was unmarred by worry. That would likely change in a moment.
He lifted the Elder Wand to his temple, focused for a moment, and withdrew a thought. He had never actually tried this before, but if any magic could do it, it would be that of the Elder Wand. The wisp of thought wriggled in the air, connected to the end of the wand like a fish caught on a hook. He could see just a flash of the image inside. He focused, and the image changed. He smiled. Good- he could control it even though it was outside his head.
"Sweet dreams, little saint," he whispered in Parseltongue before, with a flick of the wand, he sent the dream floating toward Ginny.
It floated up the bed, writhing and twisting, before finding its target. It lingered above her forehead before sinking inside. Her brow furrowed and she twisted a little bit in bed, turning away from the boy.
With a smile, Voldemort turned and left the room the way he had came.
JULY 27th, 1997
She wasn't sure where she was. It almost looked like… a Gringotts vault, maybe? But it didn't have any walls. She could see treasure around her, piled around her, but everything else was… black, featureless. The floor was black. There was no ceiling. There didn't seem to be any walls- just blackness that extended forever.
She wrinkled her nose, remembering what Draco had said about dream realities not making sense. Usually her dreams were more fleshed out than this, though. Her nightmares were always vivid in their detail, and her Alys dreams were like entering a whole other world.
This dream wasn't exactly lacking detail, though. If she looked down at the piles of wealth surrounding her, she could see surprising details- even individual serial numbers on the different Galleons. What a bizarre thing for her brain to make up, given that it had neglected to give her a proper setting.
She made to stand up, and found she couldn't. She frowned, tried again, and yet remained rooted to the spot.
She was sitting on a throne, she realized. The chair was massive, plated in gold, with bright green cushions for her seat and back. Her arms were stuck to the armrests, her sit bones securely held against the seat. She yanked upward, but nothing happened. What the hell kind of dream was this?
Someone was humming, though they were behind her- too far out of her line of sight. They sounded pleased and unhurried.
"Hello?" Ginny called out. There was no response, though the humming continued. "Can you help me? I'm stuck!"
There was no response. Ginny made an irritated noise before yanking against the chair as hard as she could. She accidentally kicked a pile of Galleons, knocking it over.
"Impatient, are we?" came an amused voice. Ginny's blood ran cold. Tom's voice. She struggled hard against the chair, her heart pounding, but she couldn't get up. She was well and truly trapped.
"Don't tell me that seat's not comfortable enough for you," he said as he came around the corner of the chair, into her line of sight. He was smirking, much more animated than he had been in her other nightmare. He kept walking and stopped a few feet away from her, directly in line with her seat. He turned to face her, dark eyes gleaming.
"Absolutely stunning," he said, and she knew by the way he let venom drip through every syllable that he knew exactly what those words would mean to her. "Though I think your wardrobe could use an upgrade."
He waved his wand, and her light blue robes transformed into a cream-colored ballgown, embroidered with gold detailing. Her hair was swept up into a twist, leaving her neck and chest feeling very exposed. The off-the-shoulder sleeves were so dainty that they might as well not be there at all.
"Wake up, wake up, wake up-" she murmured.
"You wound me, Ginny. We're just getting started."
"Stay the hell away from me," she said.
He laughed. "No desire to charm your way out, I see."
"Not really my style," she said with a grunt as she yanked her arms up once again, hard enough that she felt the tug against her skin.
"Aren't you curious about where you are?"
"Somewhere I have no interest in being."
He laughed again. "This is where you belong, though. This is where I keep all of my precious things."
"Help me!" she yelled, desperation flooding her.
"I'm afraid there's no one else here," he said in mock pity, pouting his lip. "Oh. Except Nagini."
Like she had been waiting for it, Nagini slithered up out of the shadows and crawled up the side of the throne. She slithered across Ginny's bare shoulders, making her stomach roil. Nagini was heavy, and felt like… malice. Like there was something evil inside her.
Like how the tattoo felt, sort of. There was something different about it, but the rot at its core was the same.
"She's one of my precious things, too," Riddle continued, purposely ignoring her discomfort. "I hope you don't mind sharing my attention- but there's only the two of you, it shouldn't be that hard."
"Fuck off."
His smirk dropped a little. "So brave, here in your little dream world," he whispered.
Did dreams usually know they were dreams?
She couldn't think about that now. She had to get rid of Nagini.
"Get your disgusting snake off of me." Nagini curled onto her tighter, as though she had understood her.
Riddle took a step closer to her. "Nagini knows her place. You're still learning yours. Little saint."
"Stop calling me that."
"But it's what you are."
"No."
"What use is it to deny it all the way down here, in the depths of your own head? You know what you are. Whose you are. Say it."
"No. You can't compel me here."
Riddle looked at her arm, at the tattoo. "I suppose you're right. Let's change that, shall we?"
"What?" Ginny said in alarm.
He walked closer still, wand drawn, and, with a wave, turned her arm over. Draco's initials stared up at her, the depthless black ink harsh against her skin. He touched the tip of the Elder Wand to the initials and, like a siphon, the ink left her arm and went into the wand.
She gasped at the momentary freedom, but it was too good to last. He left the wand touching her wrist, and like he released a tidal wave, the ink came rushing back out, snaking its way all the way up her arm.
It didn't hurt like it did in real life. The dream hadn't replicated the pain. But everything else was just the same. The ink twisted and writhed as it formed into vines, climbing higher and higher, only stopping once it reached her shoulder.
The initials LV stared back at her once he lifted his wand.
"Much better," he said, taking a step back.
"It's not real, it's not real-"
"It's real right now. Isn't that enough? Watch. Pet Nagini."
His voice didn't change, but her body followed the command anyway. Her arm, miraculously now able to move, lifted up, and her hand stroked Nagini's muscular body. She shuddered as Riddle laughed.
"I can see why Draco likes this so much. It's intoxicating to watch. You may put your hand down."
Ginny quickly did so. "What do you want?" she asked quietly. What did she have to do for this dream to end?
"I already have everything I want," he said. "All of my precious things are here. I'll let you hold them, in a bit. My whole little collection, all together. But first. Tell me who you belong to."
"You," she said in the quietest whisper possible.
"Louder."
"You."
He grinned. "Very good. For how long?"
"Forever." She closed her eyes.
"Draco doesn't like it when you close your eyes, but I don't mind it, Ginny. It does nothing for you- you can't escape what's inside your own head. Your subconscious has finally decided you're ready to accept who and what you are."
"No."
"You've known it, deep down, for a very long time." His voice had taken on a kind of urgency, like he was desperate for her to agree.
She opened her eyes. He was right- closing them did nothing.
"Do you think it's an accident, some random chance, that we've ended up here together?" he asked, taking a step closer to her. He wasn't smiling now. "Fate has been guiding you to me since you were eleven, maybe since you were born. You were born just two short months before my fall- you were meant to be mine, even then. Fate knew what you would become, what power you would hold, what role you would play as I remake the world. You're mine, Ginny. The wand is mine, the ring is mine, the cloak is mine, the saint is mine. I am the Master of Death, a god among men, and I will rule this world and all the others. And where do you belong?"
"At your feet." The words left her mouth unbidden, and they felt false even as she spoke them, but she couldn't control her tongue.
He was very close to her now. He smiled and reached out to tilt her chin up with a finger. "That's right," he said softly. "At my feet. But I'll let you have the throne for the day. You look so lovely on it, after all. And I have so many gifts for you."
Please wake up, please wake up, please wake up-
Riddle's face twisted in momentary anger. "You won't wake until I'm ready for you to wake. Stop asking for it."
Her pleas died mid-sentence, even though she hadn't spoken them aloud. She froze in horror. Could this version of the tattoo command even her thoughts?
There would be no refuge, no safe place at all, if that was true. She would be well and truly lost.
She started struggling again, redoubling her efforts and crying out against the pain of being held down. Nagini hissed in displeasure at being jostled.
Riddle smirked, pleased at her fear. "You needn't be afraid. Look at all the pretty things I'm about to give you. I worked very hard to acquire them, I'm sure you can appreciate that. They belong to me, just like you do, but I don't mind if you hold them for a moment. It might make a pretty sight, actually- all of you together. You'll recognize this first thing. Look."
With a wave of his wand, he conjured the diary, and Ginny lost all sense of composure. She threw her head back and screamed at the top of her lungs.
"I'm not sure why you're screaming. I already told you there's no one else here. No one can hear you."
"Please let me go," she begged, tears coming to her eyes.
"No. You loved this once and you will love it again." He pressed the diary into her right hand and wrapped her fingers around it. She tried to let go, but she couldn't.
The tattoo on her arm writhed under her skin, like it could sense a similar kind of magic in the diary's ink.
Riddle looked at her approvingly. "What next?"
"Please-"
"Stop asking to leave," he snapped, and she felt the compulsion take effect. She whimpered, and he smiled.
"What is it your beau tells you again? Shh, it's alright, darling?" he said in a mocking tone. "Forgive me- providing comfort isn't something that comes naturally to me. I suppose I'll learn in time, though, if I don't want to put up with your constant sniveling. Now- I suppose since we already started out of order…" He waved his wand again and a locket appeared in his hand. "Lean your head forward." She did so, and he slipped the locket around her neck.
Her neck instantly felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. The locket was alive, the locket was evil-
"What is this?" she gasped, making Riddle laugh.
"I told you. My precious things. It looks quite lovely on you. I'll let you see when we're all done, but we've got a few more things to go." He waved his wand again, and a sort of tiara appeared in his hand, inlaid with a large blue sapphire.
"Regrettable about the color, but there's nothing to be done for it," he said with a dramatic sigh as he placed it on her head. "There. Now you really look like a princess."
If her neck had weighed a thousand pounds before, it weighed a million pounds now. She struggled to keep her head upright.
"If you stop fighting them, they'll become lighter," he said almost coaxingly. "They must be very heavy right now. Aren't you tired of fighting, Ginny?"
She was so tired. But she couldn't stop. She knew deep in her soul that she was in more danger than she had ever been in before; this was a fight for her life, a fight for her very being.
Riddle looked genuinely disappointed. "Too much to hope for, I suppose. You really are quite strong. I can see why Harry likes you- though he really didn't appreciate your strength very much at all, did he?"
Her heart twisted painfully at the mention of Harry. "Don't talk about him."
"Why? Does it bother you? I'm only telling you what you're already thinking. Isn't that how dreams work?"
That was, in theory, how dreams worked. But Harry loved that she was strong…
"Loved it so much that he had to protect you from ever knowing or doing anything useful, is that it?" Riddle asked. "He wanted to turn you into a decoration, the pretty blood traitor on the arm of the Boy Who Lived. I suppose that's what I'm doing now, though… A pretty decoration. It doesn't have to be that way, of course. But given the circumstances…"
"What do you mean?" she choked out, her attention almost entirely focused on combatting the combined weight of the locket and the headpiece.
"You don't have to be just a decoration for me. In fact, I would prefer if you weren't. You have incredible power inside you- I want you to use it."
"You want to use it, you mean."
"Same thing, in the end. Now- we're getting off track. Only two left. This one is particularly interesting." He waved his wand at his left hand, and the ring- the Resurrection Stone- duplicated itself.
"I see your right hand's full," he said with a smirk. He picked up her left hand and slid the ring on her finger. "Oh dear. What would Draco say?"
Ginny's brain felt numb. Riddle seemed satisfied.
"One more," he whispered, "and then I'll let you see." He waved his wand once again, and a golden chalice appeared in his hand. He picked up her left hand again and wrapped her fingers around the stem of the cup.
"Perfect," he said, elation and a bit of awe coloring his voice. "So far beyond what I was expecting, to see you this way. Look, Ginny."
He waved his wand once again and a large, frameless mirror appeared across from them. She looked like something out of an old painting. Her dress, with its massive skirt, took up most of the bottom of the frame. The tiara, the locket, and the ring all sparkled from some invisible light source. The cup gleamed, in stark contrast to the diary's unassuming black cover. Nagini's scales too seemed to shine, her bright green hide shocking against the muted tones of everything else. Tom Riddle stood next to her, the Elder Wand in one hand and the invisibility cloak in the other, the Resurrection Stone gleaming on his finger.
"Absolutely perfect," he said. "This is where you belong. Look how beautiful you are. A testament to my power- a saint blessed by a god. Everyone will soon know your name, Ginny, in this world and the next-"
"Ginny! Ginny, wake up! Please wake up!"
Riddle smiled, though it didn't meet his eyes. "That would be your Prince Charming, coming to save the day. Or is he the dragon? Sometimes I think he gets confused. No matter, though. He's not important. Like an ant under my feet. Go back to him, Ginny, and revel in his attention for now, but know that your heart belongs to me."
He leaned down and pressed a cold kiss to the top of her head, and the dream shattered.
She woke up already sitting up, already screaming.
"Oh thank Merlin," Draco gasped, his hands on her shoulders. His hair was piecey from sweat, his eyes wide. "I couldn't wake you up. And then I thought maybe it was because I commanded you to sleep, so I commanded you to wake, but it took you a minute, it's normally instant-"
"It's alright," she said in a raspy voice, looking down at her left arm, which looked exactly as it had for the last two months. The initials DM stared back at her like they always did. "It was a nightmare. Not real, not real, not real…"
"Shh, that's right. It's not real. Do you want to tell me about it?"
"No."
"Okay. Let's go back to sleep. It's the middle of the night. I'm right here."
He laid down, pulling Ginny with him, and she let him hold her, but she did not close her eyes.
JULY 28th, 1997
She eventually closed her eyes, of course. And when she did, she dreamed of Alys.
Alys was very young here. Maybe eight. Her hair was shorter; the ringlet curls bounced with her as she bounded around the cottage, and Ginny couldn't help but smile at her infectious glee.
"Settle down now, settle down," her grandmother said with obviously faux sternness. Ginny knew from past dreams- visions?- that Alys's grandmother was a formidable woman, but that she had a soft spot where her granddaughters were concerned.
"Yes, Grandmother!" Alys said enthusiastically, and bounced over to join Merilda- maybe age ten- in front of the fireplace. They were kneeling down on a rough, homespun carpet, next to a wooden rocking chair. The fire was roaring happily in the grate, over which a black cauldron hung, steam wafting from its surface into the space.
The grandmother, hunched even now in her old age, walked to the rocking chair and sat down with a great sigh. "Now then, time for a tale before dinner. Who should we speak of, my girls?"
"Princess Gui-" Merilda started, but she was drowned out by Alys's shrieks of, "The Morrigan! The Morrigan!"
I shouldn't be here, Ginny thought with a start. It's dangerous to dream of Alys here. She almost willed herself to wake up, but some part of her held on. There was something important here.
Their grandmother laughed, a twinkle in her eye. "I'm surprised you can't recite it yourself by now, Alys, with how often you've heard the tale of our Great Queen."
Great Queen! Ginny held her breath.
"I can," Alys said petulantly. "I know the old ways."
"Aye, and the old ways know you, if I'm not mistaken. Tell us, then. Who is this Morrigan?"
Merilda looked mildly put out, but she sat patiently as her sister puffed out her chest, taking a deep breath.
"The Morrigan," Alys said in an important voice, "is one of the Tuatha de Danaan."
"Aye. And who are the Tuatha de Danaan?"
"The fair folk," Merilda answered, suddenly wanting to be included. "The gods."
"Aye," said their grandmother with a nod. "And how did we come to know these gods?"
"Hundreds of years ago, before any of us were born, before even you, Grandmother, there was a great war, far away from here," Alys said in a rush, not stopping to take a breath. "People were hungry, and sick, and scared, and they were dying. So they prayed, and they prayed, and they prayed, and the Tuatha de Danaan came to rescue them."
"And there were three battles-" Merilda started.
"Just like there are three aspects of the Morrigan!" Alys interrupted. She couldn't contain her excitement any longer- she leapt to her feet. "There's the Badb Catha, the Battle Crow, who flies over the battlefield, shrieking prophecies of victory and death, feasting on the slaughter of the aftermath!" She stuck her arms out like wings, pretending to fly. Merilda wrinkled her nose at the gory description.
"There's Macha, Queen of the land itself, and her harvest is the blood of her enemies!" Alys continued. "And Némain, whose shrieking cry is so dreadful that warriors die of fear on the spot from the sound!"
"A fearsome goddess, our Great Queen is," their grandmother said. "But loving and protective too. What happened after the three battles, Merilda?"
Merilda smiled for a second, happy not to be overshadowed. "She, along with the rest of the Tuatha de Danaan, led our people away from suffering and into a land of plenty. To this place."
"That's right," their grandmother said with an indulgent smile. "This land was gifted to us by the gods, and we are its stewards, both in the seen and the unseen realms. The gods taught us how to see what cannot be seen, taught us how to honor the wisdom of life and death and life again in a never-ending cycle, taught us to worship them as they deserve and desire. The gods remember us."
"We are not forgotten," echoed Alys and Merilda.
"That was such a long time ago though," Merilda said. "The gods remember us still, truly?"
"Of course they do!" Alys said indignantly, not waiting for their grandmother to respond. "You know the old words."
"Do you know them, Alys?" their grandmother asked with a twinkle in her eye.
"Yes."
"Go on, then."
Alys shuffled her feet. "It's a bit long. Maybe I don't remember it exactly."
Merilda childishly stuck her tongue out at Alys, who returned the gesture.
"That's alright then," their grandmother said. "Listen well, girls, for you'll be telling your own granddaughters this tale one day." She cleared her throat, and began to speak. Her voice was resonant in the cottage, like she was drawing not just from her own memory but from that of all those who had come before her.
"Listen well to the promise of the Morrigan, Great Queen of the Tuatha de Danaan.
"Under the gentle sky lies the earth. Restful at last in the arms of heaven. As sweet wine or a fine meal is the land, for all to eat and drink, beneath the stars. Before me I see this wonderful land.
"Like a splendid mead, rich and worthy of savoring, Keeping fresh summer's blessings even in stark winter, Giving us shelter like a shield makes strong a spear, And as a fist holding the shield our strong places, hungry for battle.
"None can break these spear-bristled walls. Here we harvest and here we stand, And here will nine times the grandchildren of our children grow fair and bold, and the fields will be like forests, with fences surrounding and horns calling the beasts of the field. The sun shining not beneath soft leaves, rich with sap so they bend with the weight.
"So much will this land bring that every pauper will be as a king, and every boy a warrior of renown, every dog a fierce champion. Straight and tall will grow the trees, so that each shall fruit a spear. The fires shall bring warmth and melt the metal. Strong will be the foundations and rich will be the milk.
"Every cow shall be full with calf, Birds singing like clouds above. The beasts of the wild shall leap for joy in spring, and on Samhain the ripe harvest.
"Many and many will be the people of this land, filling it from peak to ocean, fair and fruitful. As the water runs over the sharp rocks so shall time, through shadow and fear. But this will be the tale of the land and its people. Ours will be the peace of Heaven beneath the skies. For all of eternity."
Alys and Merilda stared open-mouthed at their grandmother, enraptured. Their eyes sparkled in wonder and delight.
"As it was…" their grandmother prompted.
"As it is, as it ever shall be," the girls answered fervently. Alys's zeal was overwhelming. She felt to Ginny as though she might fly out of her skin at any moment.
"This is the promise of the gods," their grandmother replied sagely.
"But what about the wizards-" Merilda started.
"We do not speak of them!" their grandmother snapped, her tone suddenly harsh. Merilda coiled in on herself. "They came later, much later. They know nothing of our ways. Their power is something else. It is not our concern."
"Yes, Grandmother," Merilda replied, contrite. Her sister appeared thoughtful.
"Gods are stronger than wizards," Alys opined. "They protect us. They remember us."
"Aye, child, that they do. Though you should pray you never need summon the Morrigan, for though she is merciful, she is also terrible in her might. It must be only at the moment of greatest despair, only when all is lost, for the Morrigan's salvation also brings destruction. I will teach you, one day, whichever one of you becomes High Priestess of our clan. But I pray you never need use it."
"Yes, Grandmother," the girls replied.
Ginny woke up, feeling like she hadn't slept at all. Her heart was pounding. She had learned so much. But she was absolutely in the wrong place, the wrong time, to be seeing Alys now. She could only pray that her memories about Alys continued to be hidden by whatever magic she had inside her.
The Morrigan. Ginny had never even heard of her. Them. Was she one person or three? It wasn't clear. Was she a connection to Morgana, or had Morgana been a false start?
The wrong time to ponder it. She would have to wait.
Sunlight streamed weakly through a gap in the heavy curtains. She had no idea what time it was. Draco was still asleep next to her.
Had the Draught of Peace been suppressing her dreams? She had never had two in one night before.
Good, if it was suppressing dreams about Voldemort, she thought dully. Although maybe that also wasn't good. Dream-Tom had insisted that he was only saying what she was already thinking, and that felt like it could be true if the potion really had been suppressing her subconscious.
It wasn't true. It was her brain trying to process the horror of yesterday. Nothing he had said was real.
Those objects in the dream… they had been so unbearably heavy. It had been a wonder that she hadn't collapsed in on herself from their weight… like a dying star…
The bedroom door opened. "Time to wake up, little sai-"
Bellatrix interrupted herself, gaping at the room. Her mouth hung open as she looked around before it twisted into an ugly sneer.
"What a darling room for a darling girl," she said in a mocking, sing-song voice. "Get up! The Dark Lord demands your presence."
Draco startled awake at his aunt's shrill voice. He pulled the sheets up over his bare chest.
"Aunt Bella, please," he muttered. "Give us a moment to prepare."
"She looks ready enough to me," Bellatrix snapped, nodding toward Ginny's robes. "Up, girl, or I'll get you up."
Ginny stood up and slipped her feet into her shoes. Draco sat up in bed, the sheet still covering him.
"Please, just give us thirty seconds," he said. "Let me get dressed."
"You can catch up. Come, girl."
No, no, no-
Draco seized his wand and summoned his clothes from the bathroom, hurriedly slipping his robe on as he stood up, all sense of modesty forgotten.
"The Dark Lord didn't say what time he expected us," he said as Ginny reluctantly moved closer to the door.
"He doesn't need to announce his expectations ahead of time, you just need to meet them." Bellatrix walked out the door, clearly expecting to be followed. Draco looked disconcerted and disheveled as he jammed his shoes on, nodding at her to walk ahead of him.
Welcome to my world, she thought dully. Perhaps he would be in for a taste of what her month here had been like.
The very idea made her stomach hurt.
She followed Bellatrix down the hall, Draco stumbling along in her wake. All of the doors were shut. She wasn't sure which one had been Rookwood's proxy lab, only that it was one of the doors on her left-hand side. She kept her gaze focused straight ahead, on Bellatrix's back.
Bellatrix had been angry to see the bedroom. Why? Was it not what she expected?
It's certainly a far cry from the last time she woke me up, she thought, remembering huddling on the floor under a pile of blankets. Was that better or worse than where she was now? She honestly wasn't sure.
Draco muttered a spell and she felt her hair straighten itself out. Given the night she had had, she probably looked a wreck.
Voldemort would be pleased.
He would find the dream about his younger self, she knew. It felt like it had taken root in her consciousness, like a cancer. She couldn't fully forget about it, even if she drew her mind to other things. If she let her thoughts go blank, the reflection of her and Tom in the mirror flooded her brain, pushing out everything else.
What would he make of that?
He would tease her, surely. Find it hilarious that he apparently affected her so strongly. Take it as some confirmation that he was on the right track.
Ginny scowled.
Bellatrix led them down the stairs and deeper into the house, down another hallway. It was early morning, Ginny was pretty sure, based on the way the light looked outside. The house was deserted. Did it always look like this, when Voldemort wasn't throwing a party for the Death Eaters?
Bellatrix finally stopped in front of an unremarkable-looking door. She knocked, and Voldemort answered.
"Enter."
JULY 28th, 1997
This was torture of the worst kind.
Draco stood at attention against one wall of the Dark Lord's… study? Lab? Vault? It was kind of a mix of all three- loaded with books and potions ingredients and rare artifacts, teeming with Dark magic. Ginny was sitting on a chair in the middle of the room. He had been forced to command her to stay there, which had about broken his heart to do. She had been expressionless this morning, but as soon as they had entered the space, her eyes had gone wide in terror.
The Dark Lord was currently flipping through a book, and his irritation was a palpable current in the room. They had already been here for quite some time, and the Dark Lord had been trying all manner of spells Draco had never heard of, but he never seemed pleased with the results. None of them seemed to cause Ginny any pain, which was good, but they didn't have any discernible effect, at least not one that Draco understood. One that the Dark Lord went back to again and again created a sort of hollow image of Ginny's body, projected out in front of her. It looked like a galaxy, flecked with a million golden, twinkling stars. It was beautiful. The Dark Lord grew angrier every time he summoned it.
"How can there just be nothing?" he hissed, slamming the book closed and angrily magicking it back to its place on a shelf. "How can there be no trace at all?"
Draco and Ginny said nothing. He was not actually asking them. He liked to talk to himself as he worked, Draco had quickly realized. He did not expect or desire a response.
He walked up to Ginny and grabbed her face, making Draco stiffen.
"Legilimens."
He had done that multiple times this morning too. Draco's heart pounded in his chest. Ginny's mind was going to be a wreck after this. He had been able to soothe it some last night, but after today… what carnage would he find when- if- she invited him into her mind again?
He was tired. And hungry. And sore, from holding his muscles so tightly for hours. Ginny had to be feeling all of those things too, on top of the effects of the Dark Lord's magic. How had she survived a month of this? It absolutely boggled his mind.
She's stronger than me. Much stronger.
What Ginny lacked in diplomacy and cunning, she more than made up for in sheer force of will, sheer determination to survive.
"Boy," the Dark Lord snapped. "Come here. Tell me what you see."
Draco's heart plummeted into his stomach but he forced himself to hold his Occlumency, forced himself to step forward, his face blank. He had wanted to put on the Death Eater mask when they had entered the room, but he hadn't figured out a good enough reason to do it that would satisfy the Dark Lord.
"You'd like me to look in her mind, my lord?" Draco asked, keeping his voice flat. The Dark Lord waved him forward impatiently, not bothering with a verbal response.
He stepped in front of Ginny, his eyes cold, and said, "Legilimens."
Down he fell, into the clear blue sky. The mindscape was the same as always, but he could feel the wounds, like claw marks dragged across her brain. He couldn't soothe them now though. Later.
"What am I supposed to be looking for, my lord?"
"Just tell me what you see."
"Nothing."
The Dark Lord threw something- Draco couldn't see what, as his eyes were locked on Ginny's to maintain the connection.
"Nothing, nothing," he snarled, and shoved Draco out of the way. Draco took in a sharp breath at the rough break of the mental link. He never just broke off like that- he always pulled back out the way he had entered.
The Dark Lord took a deep breath and closed his eyes. An oddly human thing to do, for someone so monstrous.
"Tell me, Ginny," he said in a practiced calm voice. "Why can I not find anything about this power in your mind?"
Draco held his breath, keeping his mind carefully blank. This was dangerous. So dangerous.
"I don't know," Ginny said in a monotone. "Rookwood couldn't either."
"Rookwood is a fool!" the Dark Lord snapped, and then seemed to catch himself. "And, if the answer were obvious, he would have found it, of course. He was, if nothing else, exhaustingly thorough."
Ginny flinched, and the Dark Lord smirked.
"This is better than that, isn't it? No pain today."
"No physical pain," Ginny whispered, and Draco groaned internally. Had she never heard of just agreeing to keep the peace? Learning to say yes, my lord even if she didn't mean it would do her a world of good.
"That's right, no physical pain," he agreed. "Many lesser wizards would be a blubbering mess by now. You're quite strong- I can appreciate that about you."
Ginny's eyes widened and she jerked back in her chair. Draco frowned, unsure how to understand her reaction, as the Dark Lord laughed.
"No secrets between friends, little saint," he said. "I don't need to watch a memory to know its contents, not when you're practically screaming it at me."
What memory was this? Draco wracked his brain for something that would fit, but he came up empty.
"If you want pretty things, I can give you pretty things," he said, and Ginny quickly looked down at her lap. "Draco isn't the only one who-"
There came a knock at the door. What suicidal fool could be knocking at the door?
The Dark Lord seemed to agree with Draco's thoughts. "What?" he snarled, glaring at the door.
"Apologies, my lord," came Snape's voice, "but I wanted to inform you that the potion will be ready in about an hour."
The Dark Lord smiled. "Excellent. Thank you, Severus. Send Wormtail to me."
"Of course, right away." His footsteps echoed quietly as he walked away down the hall.
The Dark Lord looked back at Ginny. "This will be a very special test. I'm not sure what will happen, but I know it will be spectacular, given its results with Sybill. We want you at your best for that, though, don't we?"
He walked away and came back almost immediately with a silver, glittering potion.
"A healing potion particularly designed for the after-effects of Legilimency," he said in a bored voice, extending it toward her. "Drink."
She didn't reach for the potion.
"Draco," the Dark Lord snapped.
His stomach twisted. "Drink the potion."
Ginny didn't look at him. She reached up, took the potion vial, and downed it. Her eyes lost some of their dullness and some color came back to her cheeks. Draco sighed in relief- it seemed the Dark Lord had been telling the truth. She looked up at the Dark Lord cautiously, who smiled at her. Actually smiled at her.
"Say thank you, my lord." Draco spoke on instinct.
"Thank you, my lord."
The Dark Lord's eyes flicked to Draco for a moment before going back to Ginny.
"What is it you always tell her?" he asked, not looking at Draco. "I'll always take care of you?"
Ginny looked away. Draco frowned. There was something he was missing here. Some unspoken thing that had passed between the two of them, something different from yesterday. What was it? Something from the Legilimency?
He was saved the trouble of having to answer the Dark Lord as there came another knock at the door.
"Enter, Wormtail."
Pettigrew entered the room. "Y-you called for me, my lord?"
"Yes. My little saint is hungry, and she has a big afternoon ahead of her. Prepare lunch for her and Draco- have it sent to her chambers. My lieutenants will be arriving soon. She needs time to make herself presentable."
That means Father will be here.
"Right away, my lord," Wormtail said with a bow, though Draco didn't miss the quick look of resentment that passed over his face before he left.
Not content with being a house servant, apparently.
"My lord, may I summon my house elf to bring some things from the manor?" Draco asked, holding onto that practiced cold tone. "Clothes and toiletries and the like. She can clean up-"
"Yes, yes," the Dark Lord said with an irritated wave of his hand. "Don't concern me with such trivial matters."
"Yes, my lord," Draco said quickly.
The Dark Lord tipped Ginny's chin up to look at him again. "I know you live to defy me, but follow your lover's lead. You're hungry- eat lunch. Prepare for a public audience this afternoon- we have some new recruits joining us, and I want all of them to see you at your best."
"Say-"
"Yes, my lord," she said, though not particularly respectfully.
Trying to race ahead of the command.
The Dark Lord didn't seem to care at all about her tone. He smiled broadly before turning away from her.
"Good," he said, his back to her. "Then go."
"You may stand," Draco said, moving away from his place by the wall. Ginny stood up and walked toward the door, not looking at him or the Dark Lord. He followed behind her, his heart pounding. They had survived the morning, after a fashion, but what would the afternoon hold? How long would they have to stay here?
He didn't dare speak to Ginny until they were back in the bedroom. Her chambers, the Dark Lord had called them. Not their chambers, notably. Her chambers.
He grimaced as he followed Ginny down the hallway and up the narrow stairs. Even there, they weren't safe enough to speak openly. He couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched. How that would be, he wasn't sure, but he knew it was possible.
The Dark Lord still hadn't looked in his mind, only Ginny's. Why? Did the Dark Lord trust him that much? Or was it the opposite- he was so untrustworthy that his thoughts weren't worth consulting?
That couldn't be it. If the Dark Lord thought Draco was untrustworthy, he would already be dead, or tortured at the very least. Although, having to stand idly by in that room had basically amounted to torture…
His mind flashed on the cellar, all the horrors he had witnessed and been forced to commit down there, and his stomach lurched.
Not murder. Not yet. But other things. Dark magic he never ever wanted to use again-
A dangerous thought, especially here. He focused on the flat surface of the sea as Ginny opened the bedroom door. He had to hold it together for her.
"Tilly," he said once he had shut the door. "Tilly, I need you."
After a moment- crack.
Tilly took in her surroundings with wide eyes. "Tilly was so worried about Master Draco. Tilly was not knowing where he had gone or when he was coming back. Mistress Narcissa has been crying-"
"Enough of that," Draco said quickly. "I'm here on the Dark Lord's orders. I need you to bring clothes for Ginny and me- for a few days at least. Regular clothes, pajamas, and something formal, just in case. My Death Eater robes too, obviously. Bring toiletries too- all the usual things, everything you can think of. Right away, please."
Tilly's eyes grew wider, but she didn't push the issue. "Yes, Master Draco!" Crack.
"How's your head?" he asked Ginny. She had walked to the window and pushed the curtains open a little in order to look outside.
"Fine," she said.
"Do you want me to try to fix it, like last night?"
"No."
"Alright." He frowned. He didn't know what to say. What would be safe to say. Neither did she, apparently.
He couldn't say what he wanted to say- that his father's intervention with her memories had held. The Dark Lord had no idea who Alys was, that the gem- or the power it represented- could be used as a weapon. He knew nothing of a thin place, the second sight, or any Muggle rituals.
Their secret, such as it was, had survived the morning.
"What do you think dreams mean?" she asked, still looking outside.
"What do you mean?"
"When you have a particular dream, what does it mean about you? Does it mean anything?"
"I don't think it has to mean anything, no," he said, walking closer to her. "Sometimes it's just our brain's way of trying to understand our waking world. Sometimes they tell us about what we fear, or what we want. But sometimes they're just random."
"I see."
She still wasn't looking at him.
"Is this about last night?"
"Yes."
"You had another nightmare. A bad one."
She didn't say anything. She looked very tired.
"Was it about this place?" he asked.
"No."
"Was it about the Dark Lord?"
"Yes."
He cautiously reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. "It wasn't real. It's made up."
"That's what I said too," she said softly.
There was a soft clatter in the room as dishes appeared on a table Draco hadn't taken notice of before. The room was so large that there were whole corners he hadn't even stepped foot in.
"Come on," he said, tugging lightly on Ginny's shoulder. "Let's eat. We missed dinner last night and breakfast this morning."
At first he thought she was going to protest, but she merely sighed and turned away from the window to walk to the table.
Had Pettigrew cooked this? Draco supposed he didn't want to know. It was simple fare, some kind of soup. He dug in, fighting back disappointment. It was no Tilly creation, but it was passable.
Ginny sat down and began eating, her eyes on her bowl.
The silence was killing him, but he couldn't think of anything to say. He was out of his element.
But she isn't, he mused. She already survived this place once before. Perhaps it'll be my turn to follow her lead, as long as she stops threatening to kill the Dark Lord.
Crack.
"Tilly has arrived with Master Draco's and Miss Ginny's things," Tilly said. She was swallowed up by a large pile of clothing in her tiny arms- Draco couldn't see her head.
"Great," Draco said. "Can you put them away for me please? Wherever you think makes sense in here."
"Yes, Master Draco!"
He looked back up at Ginny. "You're going to have to take a bath, I think. I could try using Scourgify, but-"
"No," Ginny said. "Your aunt already did that the first time."
"The first time?"
"When she brought me down my last night here."
"Oh." Draco grimaced. "Do you... do you want me to go with-"
"No."
"Alright." A pause. Then. "Are you angry with me?"
"No."
"Alright, because-"
"I'm tired, Draco. I want to go home."
His gaze softened. "I know. Me too. Soon."
"You say that now, but it's not really your call, is it?"
"No, but if we do what the Dark Lord asks-"
"You don't get it. Still, somehow, after all this time. You can't see it."
"Can't see what?"
"What he is."
"I don't-"
"Tilly is all done, Master Draco. Clothes are in the wardrobe and the dresser and the other dresser, and Tilly put toothpaste on the-"
"Thank you, Tilly," Draco interrupted. "Keep an ear out for my call- I'm not sure when I'll need you again, but I might. Tell Mother that we'll be home soon."
"Of course, Master Draco, Tilly will be ready. Tilly will bring whatever it is Master Draco or Miss Ginny be needing." And with that she Disapparated.
"I'm going to take a bath now," Ginny said, rising to her feet. "He said at my best. He likes a spectacle. I assume that means formal robes- pick something out for me, I don't care what." Not waiting for his response, she walked away and into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.
Draco slammed his spoon down with a clatter. He had to be able to talk to her, really talk to her. It had been bad enough at the manor, but here? There was too much at risk, he had to talk to her-
But how?
His mind drifted to the events of the morning. He had been holding his breath practically the entire time, waiting for the Dark Lord to discover Ginny's dreams about Alys somehow, but it was as his father had said weeks ago- it was like they didn't exist at all.
Or like they weren't in her head.
It hit him like a freight train. What if somehow these memories, these dreams connected to the gem and this other world and Alys, didn't live in Ginny's mind at all? What if they were non-local, something she could tap into but not inherent to her?
He had heard of something like that once before. Old magic, no longer practiced...
Could he do that? She would be angry, so angry...
But it might be the only thing that could work.
Draco tapped his fingers against the table, pondering how far was too far.
Hi friends! As I believe I mentioned once before, I am playing fast and loose with folklore here. The promise of the Morrigan is pulled from this website: /the-morrigan, and the descriptions of the three aspects are drawn from here: the-morrigan
Let me know your thoughts on this chapter! Lots of new information for our characters, and evolving motivations.