AUGUST 10th, 1997
Days passed. Ginny dreamed of Tom Riddle every night— twice more in the Albanian countryside, and otherwise in various versions of a dystopian far future. He did not visit her during the day, which she and Draco agreed was yet more evidence that he was somehow an active participant in the dreams. They spent their days peacefully together, usually reading a book but also sometimes playing wizards' chess, and Draco would occasionally watch Ginny paint. Their quiet, peaceful hobbies were the perfect ruse for practice time on the bridge— they had gotten good at the quick, in-the-moment communication, but Ginny wanted to be able to be skilled enough to project herself through the cherrywood door even if she was actively in conversation with someone in her physical body. She wasn't quite there yet, but Draco assured her that the more she practiced, the better they would both get. Draco, having not been given permission yet to leave the building, had been unable to research anything further, but Ginny had given him a full run-down of her Alys memories in as much detail as she could remember. He had laughed at one point, amazed that she had been holding all this in with no one to talk to about it, and she had laughed too, and once she had started, she couldn't stop.
It was all just so absurd. Ginny had grown up with magic— she was no stranger to mysterious things happening in the world, or things having power that you might not expect just by looking at them. But this? Gods and immortality and secret visions of someone who maybe wasn't a ghost but also wasn't alive, either? Some hidden, secret power that could be used as a weapon, and portals opening to other worlds? When she laid it all out, it was so unbelievable it was hilarious. She had laughed until she couldn't breathe, absolutely overcome with the absurd, improbable path her life had taken.
Focusing on that had perhaps been a distraction from today though— today and tomorrow and the next. Today, she would be seeing her family unsupervised, at least in theory. Voldemort had not said otherwise, either in physical reality or in her dream world, and she had done nothing she could think of that could upset him. She had been in a bit of denial that first day— so overwhelmed with seeing them again, in the Burrow of all places, that she hadn't let herself really feel the depth of her grief and despair. She had painted the Burrow, her heart so tight it might burst, but she had avoided, somehow, feeling the depth of her own emotion until the next morning. She had sobbed and sobbed on the bridge, and Draco had held her, and he hadn't said anything at all other than that he was sorry, which was exactly the right thing. He didn't try to reassure her that her family would be okay, because they both knew that that was entirely unpredictable and far outside of their control. He didn't try to rationalize it, or foolishly predict that they would escape somehow. He was just sorry, genuinely sorry that it was happening at all, and held her as despair crashed through her soul.
There was such an intimacy to that, if she thought about it. His soul holding hers. Wasn't that what it was, on the bridge? It wasn't their minds, it wasn't their bodies… it was their souls. The true essence of themselves, made manifest. It brought a deep, tangible comfort to her, knowing that he was there with her always, even if she couldn't always reach for him right away.
The threat about the Draught of Living Death had terrified her beyond anything Voldemort had done so far, beyond even Rookwood. If it was true that he was controlling these dreams somehow… if he took away Ginny's ability to wake up… he could make absolutely anything happen in that world, anything at all, and she wouldn't be able to escape, and no one could reach her, not even Draco. And it could last forever, if he never chose to wake her up again— her stupid immortal body would keep her trapped in never-ending torment.
She and Draco were in agreement that they couldn't do anything, anything at all, to risk that. No matter what it cost her moment to moment, she would be docile— though apparently not too docile, as Tom found that unbelievable in the dream world. She would be obedient— maybe that was a better way to think of it. She was, in essence, buying people time. Buying Draco time to research Alys and the second sight, and to save as many Muggle-borns as he could. Buying Harry time for whatever mission he was on, though she prayed that he would stay hidden for as long as possible. Buying her family time to be safe in a comfortable prison, and not tortured or murdered as they might otherwise have been. By keeping Voldemort's attention on her, the other pieces on this chessboard could make their moves unobstructed; she just had to make sure he didn't decide that she was better off in the dream world than in physical reality.
"How long do you think you'll be gone for?" Draco asked as she sorted through the wardrobe, trying to decide what to wear.
"I'm not sure," she said, biting her lip. "I asked for Sunday dinner. I'm hoping for a couple of hours, but I honestly have no idea." She closed the wardrobe in frustration— everything Draco had bought her was far too fancy for this. She wanted to feel… like herself, if she could. Like maybe, for a couple of hours, she could pretend none of this was happening at all. Part of her felt like that was selfish, but didn't she deserve to be selfish, every once in a while?
"I'll wait up for you, if you're gone late," he said. "Your party starts at eleven tomorrow."
Ginny took a deep breath, her hand still on the wardrobe handle. Tomorrow was her sixteenth birthday, and she would be "celebrating," if one could call it that, at Malfoy Manor. Knowing that the party was really intended as a trap for Harry, Ron, and Hermione put a damper on any excitement she could feel at returning there; it was very unlikely, she thought, that she and Draco would get any time alone at the manor, either out on the grounds or in the building itself.
"Alright," she said. "I'm sure I'll be back before bedtime."
Bedtime, or dream time.
"Okay room, I don't want any of these clothes," she said. "Give me something I would wear at home— but not anything Muggle."
Voldemort had already told her she looked disgustingly common in Muggle clothes— no sense angering him over something so trivial.
The room, loyal and responsive as always, came alive as a casual set of burgundy robes materialized in front of her. The cotton material, combined with the casualness of the style, felt very much like something she could have worn at the Burrow, if jeans were off the table.
"I suppose you have to dress for the occasion," Draco said with a sneer— pretending to be rude. Ginny glowered at him.
"Sometimes it's more important to be comfortable than fashionable," she said as she slipped out of her Malfoy-approved robes and into these ones.
"All of your robes are comfortable," he said.
"How would you know? Trying them on in your spare time?"
He laughed. "No, I just know Madam Harwich. She doesn't know how to make anything uncomfortable."
Ginny privately thought he was right, but agreeing with him would seem too cordial, given that he had just insulted her family.
She grimaced, thankful once again that Draco would not be attending this reunion. How could her family even begin to understand this whole situation?
The wall rippled behind them, and the door materialized before opening of its own accord. No one was in the hallway. Ginny and Draco looked at each other for a moment.
"I take it that's my cue," she said, nervousness and doubt creeping into her stomach.
"Don't keep the Dark Lord waiting," Draco said, nodding at her to leave. "I'll see you when you get back."
I'm right here, just like I always am— enjoy this time, as much as you can. I hope it's what he promised you.
Thank you. I don't know what I would do without you.
Continue to be the amazing person I know you are, of course.
Don't be silly.
Just telling you the truth— you used to get mad at me if I didn't do that, remember?
She shook her head slightly before heading out the door, hoping and praying that things were as she was promised.
Be careful, Ginny, Draco said. Come back to me soon.
I will.
She walked down the empty hallway, a little discomfited. He had never let her just walk out alone before— although really, where was she going to go? It wasn't like she could somehow run away, and he had given her all the incentive in the world to stay right where she was.
Which had been his intention, of course. If her family hadn't been arrested for lying about Ron's whereabouts, they would have been arrested for something else, she was sure of it. Held in custody for her own accusations against them, maybe. Keeping them confined hobbled the Order and gave Ginny eight very good, very immediate reasons to behave— a win-win for him.
She reached the top of the stairs just as Bellatrix Lestrange was ascending them. Ginny's stomach tightened. She hadn't seen Bellatrix up close in quite a while now, and even that had been in a big, public group. The last time they had been alone together, Ginny had still been a prisoner in Rookwood's makeshift lab.
Her aristocratic face twisted into a sneer as she saw Ginny. "What's the little princess doing out of her cage?"
"I'm going to see my family," Ginny said, fighting to keep her voice steady. She didn't particularly want to pass Bellatrix on the way down the narrow steps, but that meant letting Bellatrix pass her in the hallway.
Bellatrix laughed. She kept climbing the stairs, and Ginny forced herself not to take a step back as she became eye-level with her.
"How sweet," she said in a mocking, babyish voice as she reached out and ran her finger along Ginny's jawline, her long nail scraping unpleasantly against her skin. "You just get everything you want, don't you? No more suffering for you—"
Her nail dug in more sharply, and Ginny sucked in a breath. Surely Bellatrix wouldn't attack her here?
"Is there a problem, Bellatrix?"
Voldemort's voice. Bellatrix pulled back from Ginny as if burned, looking down immediately.
"No, my lord," she called down the stairs. "Just wishing our little saint well on her visit with her family."
Our little saint. Not his. Ours. Ginny looked at Bellatrix, contempt on her face.
"Then kindly allow her to pass."
Bellatrix scrambled up the stairs to get out of Ginny's way, her cheeks very lightly flushed. Ginny ignored her and hurried down the stairs, her cheek stinging from Bellatrix's touch. She couldn't think about Bellatrix right now— her family was waiting.
Voldemort, too, was waiting. He stood by the front door, looking bored as she approached.
"Are you ready to leave?" he asked, his eyes on the Elder Wand as he spoke.
"Yes, my lord," she said.
"Then let's go." He opened the door and walked outside, and she followed. The sun was low in the sky, though it would be a couple of hours still before it would truly set. They walked away from the house, and Ginny couldn't help but glance back at the upstairs windows, wondering where Bellatrix had been heading. Did she live in the house too, or was she on her way to torture someone?
Voldemort stopped near the end of the pathway leading up to the house, but he did not extend his arm to her for Apparition. He too turned to look back at the building.
"Bellatrix is one of my most faithful servants," he said, his eyes on the upstairs windows. "She's given me almost her entire life— not to mention, nearly a decade and a half in Azkaban. It's only natural for her to be jealous."
Ginny tried to keep her mind carefully blank, but not well enough.
"You think there's nothing to be jealous over? Surely you don't mean that. She volunteered herself to go to Godric's Hollow, you know, when we were still deciding who the prophecy referred to. She would do anything for me, anything at all, and yet she will never rise to your station— no one ever will. Of course she will be jealous. Still, though—"
He waved his wand, and the stinging in Ginny's cheek abated. Had she been bleeding? She hadn't even realized.
"It will take some adjusting, for her and the others," he said. "To comprehend exactly who and what you are. We'll have to give them lots of opportunities to understand it, won't we?"
"Yes, my lord," Ginny said, having no idea what he was talking about but finding herself willing to agree to almost anything at the moment, in order to not lose out on her visit with her family. "Thank you," she added, touching her cheek.
He didn't respond, just extended his arm toward her, and she took it. The brick house whipped away from them, and an instant later, they were in the same abandoned field she had visited five days before.
"Where are we?" she asked.
"Now why would I tell you that?" he said, amusement in his voice as he stepped forward. He waved his wand in a series of complicated loops, faster than Ginny could follow, and the opalescent bubble appeared, glinting in the fading sunlight.
Ginny hurried forward, already rolling up her left sleeve so that he could grant her entry. He looked down at her, some unreadable expression on his monstrous face.
"I will give you until sundown," he said. "When the sun is set, I expect you to leave without a fuss and without my prompting, do you understand? The walls of the enchantment will appear, and you'll walk straight through, where I will be waiting. If you cause any problems, any at all, you'll end the night very unhappy."
"Yes, my lord," she said, her heart pounding. "I understand. Thank you."
He pressed the tip of the Elder Wand to the tattoo, causing it to glow white for a second. "Then go— my birthday gift to you."
Unable to stop a smile from spreading across her face, Ginny ran through the bubble, still afraid to trust it completely. What if he caused the sun to set in this weird liminal space almost immediately? He would probably think that was quite hilarious…
And it's something I have absolutely no control over, she reminded herself. I just have to make the best of what I have.
The wall of the enchantment disappeared behind her, and the chickens squawked angrily as she ran through their little cluster in her haste to get to the door. She pulled it open, praying that things were as she had left them.
She walked inside and, just like the first time, was immediately enveloped in her mother's embrace.
"I'm never going to let you go again, as long as I live," Mum whispered fervently. "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine, Mum," she said, inhaling her mother's scent deeply. She had missed this so much—
"Ginny!" Dad cried, and soon he too was hugging her, his arms wrapped around Mum and reaching Ginny's shoulders. "Are you—"
"I'm okay, I promise," she said.
"I was going to ask if you were alone."
"Oh," Ginny said, her stomach clenching. "Yes. Until sundown."
She felt their mix of relief and anxiety at that news.
"I hope you made mince pies," Ginny said, making Mum laugh. "I've been thinking about them nonstop."
"Oh I made more than that," she said, finally letting go just a bit. "Everyone's waiting. We didn't know for sure if you were coming but—" Her voice became shaky. "We hoped."
Ginny squeezed Mum's shoulders before stepping further into the living room. "Are you all truly okay? How long have you been here?"
"We were in a Ministry holding cell for a couple of days, and then here for about a week," Dad said. "I'm not certain where we are— this isn't the Burrow."
"No, it's in an abandoned field somewhere," Ginny said, looking around at the collection of family photos on the fireplace's mantel. "Nothing else around it, and then there's an enchantment hiding it from view. He said… he said you need the Dark Mark to go in and out, but he made a temporary exception for me."
She resisted the urge to tug at her robe sleeve. The tattoo wasn't the Dark Mark, but she didn't want them to know about it— it was too painful. Hopefully one day, way off in the future, all of this would be far behind them, and then she could open that door. But having to do that while she was still living it, while they were all still in incredible danger… it was too painful.
"And where does he keep you, since we're here?" Dad asked, his voice tight.
"His headquarters," Ginny said, grimacing as she noticed their family picture from their Egypt trip, Scabbers perched cheerily on Ron's shoulder. "I'm not exactly certain where that is either. The house belonged to his father."
"Something Dumbledore would have known, I'm guessing," Dad said. "Too bad we don't have a portrait of him to ask."
Ginny's brow furrowed. "Why does it matter?" She turned to look back at her parents. "Why does it matter where it is?"
Her parents looked at each other. "The Order will want to know, Ginny," Mum said in a kind voice. "And how can anyone get you out if—"
"No one can get me out."
An awkward silence fell over the three of them.
"Ginny, I'm sure he's told you a lot of things—" Dad started patiently, but Ginny shook her head.
"It's not about what he tells me," she said. "I know for a fact. There's no way out."
Mum and Dad looked at each other again, but before they could speak, Bill popped his head around the corner.
"I hate to interrupt, but the rest of the family is hoping to speak to our sister at some point tonight," he said.
Ginny took a deep breath. "With any luck, I'll get to come back here every Sunday. I've missed you all so, so much, and I know you've missed me too. Let's not fight today, alright? I just want to be with you."
"No one's fighting, Ginny," Mum said softly.
"Good," she said, and, not waiting to see if they would follow, she walked toward the kitchen, her stomach in a knot. She had imagined a warm and fuzzy reunion, imagined them hugging and crying and laughing together. So why was she feeling so defensive?
"Ginny!"
Her brothers stood up from the dining room table and hugged her tightly, kissing the top of her head again and again, before finally giving her some space to breathe.
Ginny's heart twisted, and she immediately regretted her attitude from a few moments ago. They had decorated the dining room with streamers and a banner wishing her happy birthday. Mum had clearly been cooking all day— there were indeed mince pies, but also a roast and mashed potatoes and roasted carrots and freshly baked bread that made Ginny's mouth water, and in the center of it all… a chocolate cake. Her mind flashed, just for a moment, on Malfoy Manor, but she pushed it away. That wasn't happening right now. She was with her family, as safe as it was currently possible to be, and she was going to enjoy her time with them.
"We couldn't do any presents, because of the… circumstances," Mum said, coming around the corner, "but we wanted to make sure you got to have a real family dinner."
"It's perfect," Ginny said, tears coming to her eyes. "Thank you. I'm sorry for earlier, I—"
"No need for apologies today," Mum said, stepping forward to wipe Ginny's cheek. "We love you so, so much. Happy birthday, Ginny."
The others chorused variations of happy birthday as she hurried to sit down, reminding herself again and again that this was not a dream. This was real life, and her family was really here. She had to make the most of it.
"May I please have some of everything?" Ginny asked. Her brothers stared at her.
"You don't need to ask permission," George said, raising an eyebrow. "You know better than that, Gin— first come first serve around here, right?"
"Right," she said, taking a deep breath. "Sorry." She picked up her plate and began spooning food onto it.
"And what did Mum say? No apologies needed," Charlie added. "You can be yourself here."
Herself. What did that even mean anymore?
She had changed, she realized. No matter how badly she wanted to slip back into life exactly as it had been before this whole nightmare had started, she had changed— it had changed her.
It wasn't a comforting realization, but what was comforting was the food. No Tilly creation could stand next to a home-cooked meal from Molly Weasley. She about burst into tears with her first bite, making Mum fuss over her, but she recovered quickly, and soon was stuffing her face with everything she could get her hands on.
"So…" Fred started, bringing everyone's attention to him. "I know we're celebrating today, but are we really just not going to talk about anything?"
Ginny's grip on her fork tightened.
"I don't think—" Mum started.
"It's fine," Ginny said. "I don't… I can't talk about everything. Some things are too hard. But it's not realistic for me to expect to just drop in here and not talk about anything at all, when I've been missing for months."
The Weasleys looked around at each other, clearly unsure of what to ask or who should do the asking.
"I don't want to make you talk about anything you don't want to talk about," Bill said as Fleur put her hand on his forearm, "but we just want to understand. You being kidnapped at all was confusing and scary, but then… the light…"
Ginny closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I don't really know where to begin with that." Why did telling them anything about it feel so hard?
"Was Draco Malfoy the one who kidnapped you?" Dad asked. "That was as near as we could figure, after the fact."
Ginny squirmed in her seat. "Sort of. He tricked my friend—"
"Kathleen," Mum interrupted. "We know, we were there for her testimony."
Ginny's heart skipped a beat. "You've seen Kathleen?"
Mum nodded. "She had been under the Imperius Curse— she was so, so upset afterwards, I told her that we didn't blame her at all but—"
"Molly," Dad interrupted. Ginny's eyes had filled with tears, a strange sort of tingling numbness filling her. They had seen Kathleen. Kathleen had testified about what had happened. They really had been trying to find her, ever since the beginning.
"It's okay, Gin," Charlie said softly before reaching out to squeeze her hand. Ginny flinched, and Charlie pulled back, uncertain.
"When you didn't find me, I thought maybe you had stopped looking," Ginny said, her voice breaking. Mum was out of her chair in an instant, hugging Ginny in her seat.
It was like a dam had broken open. Her first visit here, she had to hold so much back with Voldemort watching. Even now, it felt like she had to protect them, be strong for them. But they had looked for her, really looked for her—
She sobbed and sobbed, and soon everyone was around her, and they held her in a giant hug. She sobbed until she screamed, the depth of her own sorrow and rage and despair shocking her as it ripped its way out of her throat. It felt like she was purging something, some rot deep within that she hadn't been able to get out. She rocked back and forth, and Mum held her, and Dad held her, and her brothers held her, and they were there together as she let go— she could let go because they held her, because she was loved, loved in a way that was so deep and yet she had forgotten it existed, had doubted it in her darkest moments.
Never again. She was loved, and she would never, ever, ever forget that.
Once her sobs turned to quiet sniffles, the Weasleys released her and slowly returned back to their own seats.
"I'm sure he's told you a lot of things, Ginny," Dad said again, "but know this— there is nothing, nothing, that could ever make us stop looking for you, or trying to protect you. We love you, now and always. We will always, always, always be here for you— nothing can take that away."
Nothing but time, she realized as her mind flashed on her dream of the play, of her many times great-nieces acting on stage.
She didn't want to think about that here.
"I love you too," she said. "Maybe… maybe I can tell you a little bit today, and then when I see you next week, I can tell a little more?"
"You're sure you'll see us next week?" Percy asked, his voice uncharacteristically thick with emotion.
"I'm not positive, but I think so," she said, taking a deep breath. "It'll depend on how the next few days go."
Her family looked at each other.
"You don't have to worry about it," Ginny said quickly, though she wasn't really sure that was true. "I'm not in any danger."
"You-Know-Who said you were blessed by a god," Percy said after a quiet moment. "What did he mean by that?"
Ginny blew out a breath. "I know this sounds totally mental, but he was telling the truth." Mostly, anyway. Death had given her the Elder Wand, not him, but she supposed he didn't want her family to know that. "It's a long story, but there was a prophecy, and I got tricked into helping with it, and… Death, I guess, appeared, and gave me this power."
Her family stared at her, then stared at each other.
"Like I said, I know it sounds mental," Ginny said weakly. "But you all saw it— he wasn't lying when he said he could do that all day and the result would be the same. I… I can't die."
Saying it out loud was absolutely terrifying. There was no comfort in not being able to die when she was at the mercy of a psychopath.
Dad blew out a breath and leaned back in his seat. "Well, whatever I imagined was going on, that wasn't it."
Ginny laughed, though she was the only one who did. "Yeah. It's been… insane."
"So what happens next?" Bill said.
"What do you mean?" Ginny asked.
"What's You-Know-Who planning?"
Ginny took a deep breath. "Well, you already know he took over the Ministry."
"And they started rounding up Muggle-borns almost immediately," Percy added. "I saw the documents at work, before I was arrested. Claiming they've stolen magic somehow."
The Weasleys made varying noises of disgust.
"They don't want to kill blood traitors anymore," Ginny said, feeling like she was entering very dangerous waters. "They don't want to waste magical blood, apparently. They want to control them instead."
"Like with the Imperius Curse?" George asked.
"Sort of," Ginny said, her stomach twisting. "They've been doing experiments— making new spells, new magic."
"New magic?" Dad asked sharply. "What does that mean?"
"I… I think I don't want to talk about it," Ginny said, sinking a little in her seat. "Sorry."
The table was silent for a moment before Mum said, "So they're changing policies, and then hunting down Harry. Or trying to, anyway."
"Thank Merlin he was smart enough not to tell any of us where he was going," Fleur said. "They questioned us with Veritaserum, but there was nothing to tell."
"Ron and Hermione are with him?" Ginny asked.
"As far as we know," Dad said. "They Disapparated from the wedding, once the Death Eaters arrived, but we lost contact after that. We were questioned, then arrested, then questioned again, and then moved here."
Ginny nodded. "I hope they're alright."
"Have you heard anything, Gin?" Charlie asked. "About Harry or the others?"
"Nothing you don't already know, I think," she said, feeling uncomfortable again. "Except… they were followed by a few Death Eaters. They escaped though, don't worry. They…"
How much to tell, and how could she tell them in such a way that didn't paint Draco in an absolutely awful light?
"It's okay, Ginny," Mum said, and Ginny nodded.
"They were followed by three Death Eaters, and escaped two but were still pursued by the third. He… had seen me, before, and he traded a memory of me in exchange for them letting him go, once they had him cornered."
"So they also know you're alive," Fred said. "That's good. Maybe they can try to rescue—"
"No!" Ginny said, slamming her palms down on the table hard enough that the plates shook. "They should stay away. Far away. And besides…"
Here it goes.
"That memory isn't at the Dark Lord's headquarters. It's at Malfoy Manor. So they think that's where I am. The Dark Lord is hoping for the same thing you are, actually— that they'll try to rescue me. So I'm having a big, public birthday party there tomorrow, to entice them." Bitterness had crept into her voice as she spoke, her jaw tightening.
"Why are you calling him that?" Fred demanded. "The Dark Lord. Makes you sound like a bloody Death Eater."
"Fred!" Mum scolded, outraged.
"I don't want to talk about it," she said, her cheeks growing warm.
Dad glanced down at her left arm, just for a moment, but long enough that Ginny saw it. He suspected something— he didn't know enough to know the details, but he suspected something.
The sun had sunk lower in the sky.
"Please, let's not fight," Ginny pleaded. "I have to leave at sundown, and I just want to be happy with you for a little while."
"I think we should fight more, actually," Fred said. "You're just blindly obeying everything he says— why aren't you fighting—"
"I am fighting!"
Ginny jumped to her feet, breathing hard. "I am fighting," she repeated. "You have no idea how much. Do you know how badly I fought to get back to you? I threw myself off a bloody roof for you! I was ready to run off through a forest I had never been in, without shoes, without food, without magic, without anything, to try to find my way back to you. And do you know what happened? It didn't fucking work. I ended up right back where I started. I have been fighting every second of my goddamn life for the last three months, in ways you can't even imagine. So don't you tell me about fighting."
Her hands had balled up into fists, and she was breathing as though she had run up a flight of stairs. Fred's face was scarlet, but he didn't say anything.
She sat down roughly in her seat. "I would like some chocolate cake, please."
Mum hurried to cut her a slice.
"You're right, Ginny," Dad said after a moment. "We can't imagine what you've been through— what you're still going through. But we want to help you. We're on your side. We love you."
They were on her side. That's right— she shouldn't forget that.
"I know you're not going to like this answer," she said, "but the best thing you can do for the Order and for me is just to stay put. I need you all to survive this. I don't know what the future holds, but you trying to bust your way out of here is not the answer."
And if you can just wait long enough, maybe I can take him down with the gem's power, so you don't even have to do anything.
When no one said anything, she added, "I also wouldn't trust that you're not being watched, or listened to, while you're in here. So any plans you wouldn't want them to know, don't talk about them out loud."
After a beat, Dad said, "Well, then I guess we'll have to put our faith in Harry, then."
That stung, for some stupid reason. They couldn't know what she and Draco were planning— not even a whisper of it. To their eyes, she was fighting to protect herself and by extension them, but had otherwise given up. Why would they think any different?
Dinner continued on, but she couldn't help feeling like she was on an island, floating near them but not quite able to reach. She was alone, even with them right next to her.
Alone except for Draco.
AUGUST 11th, 1997
Malfoy Manor was awash with activity in a way that Ginny had never seen. She wasn't sure what she had been expecting when first Draco and then Narcissa had promised her a celebration, but actual live musicians and a full catering crew weren't on the list.
"A little higher up, if you please," Narcissa said primly to a workman installing an archway of golden balloons in the garden. "Our birthday girl is petite, but I don't want my husband hitting his head."
"Right away, ma'am," the workman agreed, and waved his wand, increasing the number of balloons in the arch so that it was maybe half a foot taller.
"This is… overwhelming," Ginny muttered to Draco as she watched Narcissa move between the various staff like a conductor managing a symphony.
"Believe me, I had to talk her out of some things," Draco said, a laugh in his voice. "Between me not celebrating my sixteenth or seventeenth birthdays— especially the seventeenth— she's been itching to throw a party like this literally for years now. Let her have her fun."
"I suppose," Ginny said dryly as Narcissa waved her wand, carefully placing tables and chairs throughout the garden, covering them with cream-colored table linens and golden place settings.
I wonder who chose the color scheme for this party, she thought with a grimace. The arches and tables could easily fit into one of her Tom dreams.
Crack.
"Happy birthday, Miss Ginny!" Tilly said, beaming as she curtsied. "Tilly is so happy that Miss Ginny got to come back to Malfoy Manor for her birthday— Mistress Narcissa loves throwing parties, and Tilly wants to make sure Miss Ginny has the perfect day!"
The perfect day. Ginny fought back a frown.
"Thank you Tilly," she said. "I can see Mrs.—"
Her mouth wouldn't form the word Malfoy.
Damn it all to hell.
"I can see that Mother is enjoying herself," she said, shooting daggers at Draco, who hastily looked elsewhere.
"Oh yes," Tilly said with a happy nod. "Tilly must be going now— lots to do! Happy birthday, Miss Ginny."
Crack.
When are you going to get rid of that stupid command? she sent down the bridge.
As soon as it's safe to do so.
Which is when?
I don't think either of us have the answer to that.
Ginny glowered. Truth be told, she was in a foul mood. Her family dinner last night had not gone the way she had wanted it to, and she had been torn between being angry at herself for it and feeling resentful at the whole situation. Having to have this party when everyone knew it was a farce was the icing on the proverbial cake.
"How many people is your mother even expecting?" Ginny asked as Narcissa continued to coordinate more and more table placements. "I don't even know this many people."
But then again, I suppose this party isn't really for me.
"I'm not sure of an exact guest count, but you should recognize some faces," he said. "Some people from school, and then… others, that we both know."
Others meaning Death Eaters.
"People from school like Crabbe?" she asked, wrinkling her nose.
"He's invited, yeah. Daphne's coming, and her younger sister Astoria. Maybe you can hang out with them."
If you want some space from me, of course.
Definitely not. In what world would I hang out with Daphne Greengrass over you?
Draco did not reply, though his cheeks turned the slightest shade of pink as he guided her through the garden. It was so strange to be back here. They had laughed about Lucius gardening here, and Ginny distinctly remembered fantasizing about Draco's eventual death as the sun was setting. Things had done almost a complete 180 since then— it gave her whiplash to remember it.
Narcissa was busy instructing the workmen to install another balloon arch deeper in the garden, and then one of the workmen waved his wand, and Ginny's stomach dropped. She grabbed onto Draco's arm as she stumbled.
The workman had conjured a golden throne underneath the archway of balloons. As soon as it was erected, Narcissa began levitating wrapped presents over to it, placing them around its base— like treasure.
"What's wrong?" Draco asked, steadying her.
Ginny did not reply, her vision going spotty.
What's wrong?
Is Voldemort here?
What? I don't think so. Why?
Whose idea was the throne?
I have no idea. I can ask, if it makes a difference? What does it mean?
It's like that first dream— the dream in the vault. He did it on purpose, to upset me.
Draco frowned but shook it off quickly before walking forward. "Really, Mother— a throne? A bit on the nose, don't you think?"
Narcissa smiled with too many teeth. "It's her special day, darling! Every girl deserves to feel like a princess on their birthday."
"I thought she was a saint," Draco said. "Not a princess."
Narcissa laughed that high, false laugh that Ginny had learned meant she was nervous. "Don't be so literal." She turned her back on them to go address the caterers, done with the conversation.
That was… odd, Draco said.
It's on purpose. She's not supposed to say anything but it's on purpose.
She grabbed her arm tightly, hoping that the slight pain would help her calm down. She couldn't get away from the stupid dreams— not if he kept bringing elements of them into real life. Although maybe that was the point— to blur the line between the two? He always got so upset when she focused on the dreams not being real…
How can I help you calm down?
I don't know.
Can I try something?
Sure.
He grabbed her hand, casually enough that no one noticed anything amiss, and walked away from the tables, toward a tree. He pulled her behind its trunk, not quite fully hiding them from view.
Just relax, he said softly. He didn't hold eye contact with her, but she felt his presence in her mind anyway. Gentle ocean waves lapped at her, the dull roar of the water echoing in her mind. She could feel the cold shock of it hitting her, then receding, then hitting her again in a perfectly timed rhythm, again and again and again. Bubbles of sea-foam popped against her skin as the waves hit her, and if she focused on it, she could feel the cold, impacted sand beneath her toes. If she curled them, she could feel its squishiness.
"Wow," she murmured. She wanted to go into the water. She wanted to drown in it and never come up—
He pulled back.
No drowning today, he said. Better?
It was better, somehow. It shocked her into being fully present, and lessened the intensity of her fear.
Better, she agreed. Thank you. I've never seen you do Legilimency without eye contact before.
I've been practicing, or trying to anyway. I don't think I could look at someone else's thoughts like that yet, but projecting myself into their mind seems easy enough.
She heard the front gates to the manor swing open.
"We better head over," Draco said, tucking a stray bit of hair behind Ginny's ear. "Your guests are arriving, birthday girl."
She took a deep breath and nodded. "Okay."
They emerged from behind the tree to see a cluster of people pouring in through the gates. Mostly adults, Ginny noticed, but some teenagers too— Crabbe and Goyle and Nott among them. Her heart twisted surprisingly sharply upon seeing Goyle again. She hadn't thought much about him in the last few days, but she was relieved to see him up walking around, looking more or less normal.
I didn't even think to check in on you, she said. I didn't think about Goyle being here. How are you doing?
I'm fine, he said in a stiff voice that she knew meant he wasn't fine at all. Don't worry about me.
"Do you think I need to use the tattoo, or can you be good?" he asked.
"What do you mean?" she asked, her brow furrowing.
"The birthday girl should be excited to be having a grand party, don't you think? Not moping around."
Sorry, he said.
"I can be good," she said stiffly.
He nodded. "Good. Let me know if you need help."
She grimaced but allowed him to guide her forward to begin greeting guests. Most of them were adults— all purebloods, and mostly Death Eaters. Certainly not who she would have invited to her own party, and a good reminder that this party was not, in fact, for her, whatever that throne seemed to imply.
"Well, well. We meet again, Miss Weasley."
She turned to see Blaise Zabini standing there, smirking at her.
"Blaise!" Draco said, reaching out to shake his hand and then give him a hug. "You made it."
"I did indeed," he said, returning Draco's gesture of affection. "And I'm getting such a warm welcome, too. What a pleasant surprise."
Ginny remembered how Draco had explained that Blaise had been the one to encourage him to research mind magic in the Malfoy library, which, in a roundabout way, had led to the soul bond. She had a lot to thank him for, even though she couldn't say it out loud.
"Hi Blaise," she said, his first name unfamiliar in her mouth. "Thanks for coming— I'm glad you're here."
His eyebrows raised. "Glad to be here, birthday girl. Where's the kiddie table, Draco? Seeing as we're the youngest ones here by about thirty years."
Draco grimaced. "You do always have a knack for saying exactly the right thing at exactly the wrong time."
"How is this the wrong time? It's her birthday party, and I want some food. I need to know where my table is."
Draco rolled his eyes, though Ginny knew he wasn't actually upset as he gestured to a large, round table near the throne.
She greeted Crabbe and Goyle, who seemed unable to separate her identity from "the Dark Lord's saint" as they greeted her more like they would greet Voldemort than a peer; Crabbe even tried to kiss her hand, and she hastily took it away before that could happen. He didn't seem bothered as he lumbered off toward the same table where Blaise had seated himself. Nott and Pansy arrived together; Pansy wished her happy birthday in a sniffy but cordial voice and ignored Draco completely before allowing Nott to guide her toward the table. Daphne arrived after them, along with her sister, who Ginny thought was a year younger. Daphne actually embraced Ginny in a surprisingly warm hug, squeezing her tightly before letting go and expressing how happy she was to see her doing well.
Maybe, Ginny sent down the bridge, she could have been my friend. In another life.
No reason she can't be your friend in this one, Draco replied as he shook hands with Yaxley, who was busy commending him on joining his efforts at the Ministry.
Ginny's palms grew sweaty. Draco's first day was tomorrow. What horrors would it hold?
She couldn't focus on that now though. She made herself smile through gritted teeth as Ophelia Flint and Poppy Avery, Slytherin girls from her own year, came and gushingly wished her happy birthday as though they had been friends for years. They were followed by Declan Harper, Graham Montague, and Cassius Warrington— all Slytherin Quidditch players at one point or another. She hadn't played against Montague or Warrington but she had cheered against them plenty of times, and she knew they remembered it as they gave her the barest of polite greetings before walking off to join what did indeed seem to be the youth table.
There were some Ministry people here too, Ginny noticed, or at least people she didn't clock immediately as Death Eaters. That was interesting— why bother inviting them?
"Hello hello!" came a voice that Ginny had hoped never to hear again.
"Hello Rita," Ginny said, making herself smile politely. Bozo snapped a photo, the flash momentarily shocking her.
"Ms. Skeeter, please," Draco said, throwing on the charm. "Give her a little warning before you do that. The Healers don't recommend lots of random flashes of light like that."
Rita perked up at these words even as Ginny fought very hard to keep her face neutral. "Oh I'm so sorry," she cooed in a voice that said she wasn't sorry at all. "My mistake— is it alright if we get one of the two of you together?"
Draco looked at Ginny for a second. "Sure," he said, before slinging his arm around her waist. "Smile for the camera, Ginny."
She did, trying to pretend that they were here for any other occasion, and, after a couple of shots, Rita appeared satisfied enough to permit them to speak to other guests.
An eternity later, everyone had arrived and been greeted— there had to be over a hundred people here. Draco and Ginny seated themselves with the other guests their age, with Daphne on Ginny's other side and Blaise on Draco's. Before they could really begin a conversation, however, Narcissa magically amplified her voice with the Sonorus spell and clinked a fork against her champagne glass.
"If I may have your attention please," she called out, causing the chatter of the guests to quiet down. "Thank you all so much for coming today to help us celebrate Ginny's special day. Ginny, I know you haven't been in our lives very long, but it is truly my husband's and my honor to celebrate you and the wonderful young lady you're becoming. I know you mean so much to Draco, and so much to us as well. Thank you for trusting us to guide you, and I hope that we'll have many more of these celebrations in the coming years."
"Cheers," Lucius called, in a voice loud enough that he didn't need magical amplification. The crowd echoed the sentiment as they raised their glasses vaguely in Ginny's direction before drinking their champagne. Ginny took a small sip of her own to keep up appearances, but, just as with any other Death Eater event, she was determined not to get drunk.
Food appeared on their plates— roasted pheasant and parsnips and a medley of summer vegetables that made Ginny's mouth water. Tilly must have overseen the caterers— it tasted just like something she would make. Ginny did her best to enjoy it without comparing it to Mum's cooking the day before. What would they think if they could see her now? Where would they even sit? She grimaced for a moment as she imagined the twins sitting here, glaring daggers at Montague and Warrington.
"So what did you ask for, Ginny?" Daphne said, taking a bit of parsnip.
"What do you mean?" Ginny asked.
"For your birthday, of course. I did my best, but Draco wasn't any help! Would it kill you to respond to an owl once in a while?" she said, leaning around Ginny to look at Draco, who laughed.
"I'm a little busy, Daph," he said. "Besides— Ginny didn't even have a wishlist, did you?"
"No," Ginny said.
"Nothing at all?" Daphne asked, raising her eyebrows.
It was Ginny's turn to laugh. "I have everything I need."
"Birthdays aren't about needs," Blaise said in a scolding tone. "Birthdays, as you can see, are about lavish excess with hundreds of people you only vaguely know. All of whom brought you a gift of some kind or another."
Ginny glanced toward the throne, which did indeed have a substantial number of gifts piled around it. It was certainly lavish excess. What had these people even bought her?
The meal progressed on. Ginny stayed mostly quiet and focused on her food, though Daphne and Blaise both made regular efforts to engage her in conversation. She couldn't quite focus, though— every time someone stood up, she would quickly glance over, trying to make sure that Harry, Ron, and Hermione hadn't arrived.
Please just stay away, please just stay away…
Surely they would see how many people were here and would turn right back around if they did end up outside the gates? There was no way they could sneak past this many people, even if Harry had his Invisibility Cloak. Without it, there was no way. She briefly imagined them casting Disillusionment Charms and trying to blend in through the crowd long enough to sneak her out. Would they cause a diversion somehow, to draw the others' attention away?
She couldn't sneak out anyway though. She was back on Malfoy Manor grounds, and needed Draco's explicit permission to leave. She briefly imagined them escaping together, but her mind flashed on her family, trapped in a hidden prison, and her stomach clenched. No, she couldn't leave. She had to stay.
Hey, Draco sent across the bridge. Are you okay? You're making a face.
Sorry, she said, willing her expression back into vaguely pleasant neutrality. I'm just worried about Harry, Ron, and Hermione showing up here.
I really don't think they will— that would be so, so stupid.
And a very Gryffindor thing to do.
No arguments there, he said, smirking a little as he polished off his plate. But Granger's not an idiot. She'll talk the other two out of anything impulsive, I'm sure.
I hope so.
Their lunch plates vanished and were replaced by dessert plates laden with generous slices of cake— lemon-vanilla, based on the scent. No chocolate to be seen.
I asked for no chocolate, Draco said.
That was considerate of you.
He grimaced as he bit into the cake. It was a bad day.
"So, Draco, any word on the wedding?" someone she didn't recognize asked. "You had so much to say about it over training, but I haven't heard anything since then."
Draco's grip on his fork tightened.
Who is that? Ginny asked, but he didn't respond.
"Seeing as training concluded only a couple of weeks ago, that's not a surprise, Selwyn," Draco said in his most scathing voice. "When there's news to announce, I'll announce it."
Selwyn smirked, and Ginny could tell right away that she didn't like him very much. "Still so sensitive," he said, before moving his eyes to Ginny. "He's very protective of you, you know. One wrong word and—"
"One wrong word and I'll throw you out of this party myself," Draco said icily.
"But what would the cameras think?" Selwyn said, mock horror in his voice. "Such drama on our princess's big day— they would eat it up."
"And your name would be drug through the mud for insulting the poor, abused birthday girl who's just trying to enjoy her party," Draco said.
What is going on? Ginny asked. Again, he didn't respond.
"Who said anything about insulting her? See what I mean, Ginny? He's too sensitive."
Draco opened his mouth to argue, but he was interrupted by his mother's amplified voice.
"I hope you all enjoyed your meal, and thank you to our hardworking catering staff for making sure everyone was fed and satisfied," she said. "Now, we'll have some live music as entertainment in just a little bit, but first, today wouldn't be a birthday party without presents, right?"
The crowd clapped, and Ginny's stomach twisted, her eyes on the throne.
"Ginny, come up here please, darling."
She sucked in a breath. She had guessed this was coming, but now that the moment had arrived…
Anything's possible if you've got enough nerve, Draco sent across the bridge.
Ginny took a deep breath and stood up, a vapid, silly smile on her face. She would have to be a very good actress— they were all going to watch her open her presents.
She walked toward the throne, but before she could sit down, Narcissa embraced her warmly, pulling her tight against her chest.
"Be brave, darling, it will be over soon," she whispered in Ginny's ear before letting go.
Ginny smiled and nodded at her, feeling like an idiot as she sat down.
The throne felt exactly like it did in her dream. She almost bolted out of the seat as soon as she sat down, but she made herself be still. Narcissa was right— it would be over soon.
"Alright, we have a lot of presents to unwrap!" Narcissa said, again to mild clapping and a small cheer. "This first one is from the Greengrasses."
Ginny thought she might have dissociated as she continued to unwrap present after present, smiling and thanking the crowd again and again. Robes and books and jewelry, mostly, though Blaise had gotten her a new pair of Quidditch greaves— "Italian leather!" he had shouted as she had opened it, making the crowd laugh.
Her heart had pinched at that. It was a thoughtful gift, something she would ordinarily really like. But Blaise didn't know she couldn't fly. Might never fly again.
"Only a few left, now," Narcissa said. "This one is from Draco, Ginny. I think he wants to give it to you himself."
You got me a gift? she sent down the bridge, surprised, but he didn't respond. He merely stood up from the table, smiled at her, and walked up so as to stand right next to her seat. He squatted down so that he was eye level with her.
"I debated for weeks about what to get you," he said, his eyes on her face, though she knew they were both aware of the listening crowd. "You've been through so much, and I wanted to make sure this birthday was one you would never forget. I know when things are hard, it can feel… heavy. Like you're trapped. But if I know anything about you, it's that you're a fighter. This gift is a reminder that I know you'll be flying high again very soon."
Happy birthday Ginny.
He waved his wand, and a Firebolt appeared in his hand. Ginny gasped and clapped her hands over her mouth as the crowd ooh'd and ahh'd.
But I can't fly, she said, dumbfounded.
Not right now, he said. But soon, we'll have taken Voldemort down for good, and then you can live in the skies if you want.
He had said Voldemort. Not the Dark Lord. Voldemort. Overcome, Ginny threw her arms around him in a quick embrace, making him laugh.
"Check out the handle," he said, and, when she looked down, she saw the initials G.W. carved into the wood near the grip. "It's just for you."
"This is incredible," she said. "I can't thank you enough, I—"
"Your happiness is thanks enough for me," he said, and grabbed her hand to kiss it. The distinctive snap of cameras sounded, and Ginny wanted to punch Rita Skeeter in the face for ruining the moment. Sensing her frustration, he stood up after a second.
"I'll send this to the broom shed for now," he said, and with a wave of his wand, it vanished. "It's a little bulky for you to hold while you still have presents to open."
There were more? How many more things she could possibly open?
"Only two more," Narcissa said, her smile growing tight. "Specially requested to be last."
Oh no.
Ginny could guess who these presents would be from.
It's okay, Draco said soothingly as he backed up a couple paces. Whatever it is, just smile and say thank you, and then you're done. He knows some of the general public is here, it's not going to be anything gruesome.
Ginny wasn't worried about something gruesome, although that would of course be upsetting. Narcissa handed her a small box and, with trepidation, Ginny unwrapped it. Removing the wrapping paper revealed a small velvet box, like one would use for jewelry. She lifted up the lid, her heart pounding, and was not entirely surprised to see a golden locket, wrapped in a gilded snake. A very small bit of card stock read: A reminder of where your true allegiance lies.
"Thank you," Ginny blurted, knowing that if she let the dread of seeing it sink in, she wouldn't be able to speak.
"Show the crowd, Ginny," Narcissa said through gritted teeth.
She would have to touch it. She took a deep breath, then lifted the locket up by its delicate chain for the crowd to see. Nothing happened to her when she picked it up. The locket did not burn her, nor did it buzz with any sort of magical energy. It appeared, for all intents and purposes, like an ordinary piece of jewelry.
And perhaps it was. Perhaps its power was in what it stood for, not the item itself.
Ginny hastily put the locket back in the box and handed it back to Narcissa, who, after a quick pause, sent it over to the table laden with her other opened gifts.
"And last but certainly not least," Narcissa said, handing her another gift. This one was bigger, and once Ginny held it, her mind went fuzzy. She knew what this was.
"Don't be shy, sweetheart, open it," Narcissa said when Ginny didn't move.
It's okay, Draco said. This is the last one. Almost over.
I don't want to open it.
I think you have to.
Her hands shaking a little, she began unwrapping the package, revealing a rectangular, black leather sketchbook. A piece of card stock sat atop the cover, and read: For dreaming of the future.
"Our Ginny is quite the budding artist!" Narcissa said to the crowd. "Her work will be featured in a gallery one day, I'm sure. Show them the sketchbook, Ginny."
Numbly, Ginny lifted the book up and showed the crowd. On the back, in gold letters near the bottom, the name G.M. Weasley was embossed.
Just like T.M. Riddle had been on the diary.
Hey, hold on just a little longer, Draco sent in an urgent voice. It's alright, don't panic.
The air around Ginny had begun to crackle. Not quite burst into light, but little flickers of lightning arced through the air as she held the book aloft, her eyes unseeing.
"Happy birthday Ginny!" Narcissa said quickly before pulling the sketchbook out of her hands and sending it to the gifts table. "Thank you all so much for your generosity! I know Ginny appreciates it, as does my family. We'll have some entertainment now. Draco, why don't you take Ginny down to sit with your friends so we can watch the performers?"
"Certainly," he said, and grabbed Ginny's hand, pulling her to her feet.
Get me out of here, she said as she used what little concentration she had to keep her legs steady as they walked. I can't be here, I can't be here—
"We'll be right back," Draco muttered to Blaise, who was looking concerned. "If my mother asks, tell her she went to the restroom."
Blaise nodded before Draco quickened his pace, pulling her away from the crowd. He made like he was walking her toward the manor's back door, but made a sharp right turn once they were out of sight of the rose garden.
After a moment, she knew where they were headed, and her heart grew lighter. He pressed his hand to the hedge wall once they reached it, and it disappeared.
"We can't be gone long," he said. "We have to hurry."
They raced up the slight incline, Ginny hiking up her pale pink robes as they went so as to go faster. Soon, so soon, they were at the oak tree. Ginny closed her eyes, drinking in the crisp, cool air up here. It was the height of summer, but the weather in this place was perfect.
"Do you want to swing?" Draco asked.
"No," she said. "I just want to be here for a minute."
"Alright."
If she kept her eyes closed and just stayed here, she could hear the distant rustle of the wind in the tree's leaves. The wind, which she hadn't noticed down in the rose garden, tickled her hair, and a strand of it blew across her face.
A crow cawed overhead, making Ginny open her eyes with a start and look up at the sky. Nothing.
Did you hear that? she said excitedly. A crow!
I did, he said, and he too looked up at the sky. Do you see anything?
No.
She closed her eyes again, inhaling deeply before gasping.
Draco! What if this place… is a thin place?
I don't understand.
When you come here, doesn't it always feel like we've left everything else behind? You even described it as timeless. We're hearing a crow but not seeing one. What if a thin place is a place where our world is closer to that other world? The Department of Mysteries has a veil in it, and if you fall through it, you die, but you can hear people whispering behind it— souls of people who've died, probably. What if a thin place is a place where that veil is thinner than normal? And the crow we're hearing…
Is on the other side, he said in wonder. I… came here once, after training with Bellatrix. Well, not here exactly, but out in the forest. I was upset, too upset to come home right away, and I remember hearing a crow cawing…
The crow IS a sign, it must be! Ginny spun in a circle on the hill, throwing her arms out to the sides in elation. Telling us we're heading in the right direction.
How did it know to appear to me though? That was before the soul bond.
I don't know, Ginny said with a frown. Maybe… I know I hate when Voldemort talks about fate, but maybe there's something to it. Maybe you're fated to be involved in this whole thing too.
She held back the second part of her thought, the one that came automatically but she dared not voice: maybe we're fated to be together.
Maybe I am, he said. That's disconcerting.
Welcome to my life, Ginny said with a laugh. This is good news, isn't it? Halfway there. Now we just need to figure out what ritual we're supposed to do here, and then I can go back to Alys.
We also have to find a reason to get you here again, he reminded her. Since Voldemort isn't exactly keen on you leaving his house.
I'm proud of you for saying the name, you know.
He flushed. It isn't easy, believe me.
"We should head back," he said aloud. "Mother will start to worry."
"Alright," she nodded, feeling much more centered. Who cared if Voldemort gave her a stupid diary-replacement? He didn't know it, but she was winning— slowly but surely.
AUGUST 11th, 1997
Voldemort reclined in his seat, Nagini curled around his shoulders. He waved the Elder Wand, expanding the wisp of Lucius Malfoy's memory that was floating in the air in front of him. Ginny swam into view, and, for the third time that evening, he watched her open his gifts.
She knew what was coming even as Narcissa announced it, he could see it on her face. The way she held her jaw changed when she became overwhelmed with something— he had watched it many times in the dreamscape. It was like she was holding herself back from saying something, or else clamping down on a scream that was trying to fight its way out.
Either was possible with her, really. She had only screamed the one time— in the vault, with the diary. How interesting that the sketchbook was the only thing all day to provoke her magic's reaction. Perhaps that was what he should continue to focus on, though he needed to go slowly. Going too quickly would overwhelm her beyond her capacity to manage, which he didn't want— that would undo his slow and careful progress.
And there was progress, though she would never admit it. She no longer fought him in the dreamscape, for the most part. Now it was a matter of bringing the dreamscape into reality.
Or just leaving her in there, he mused. There was certainly an appeal to that— he could create any scenario, any environment, any conditions on a whim, and change them as he desired. No magic that existed, at least on this plane, could give him that level of control. But, as the girl insisted time and time again, it was not real. It could feel real, in all the ways that mattered, but it wasn't, and they both knew it, deep down.
He wanted it to be real.
Nagini shifted on his shoulders, bringing him back to the present moment. The memory had continued to loop on itself— he had lost himself in distraction. He dismissed it with another wave of the wand and, letting out an irritated sigh, picked up the book he had been reading earlier this afternoon. It was a book on alchemy— particularly, human transmutation.
Creating a homunculus body would be incredibly difficult— perhaps one of the most difficult things he had ever attempted. It would take months of careful, fastidious work to get right, and even then, transferring his soul from one vessel to another would be risky, particularly with the way his current body had been acquired.
It was a circular problem. He had created this body, this particular body, in the way that he had in order to overcome Lily Potter's protection on her son— something he should have foreseen in 1981 but hadn't. With Harry Potter's blood in his veins, the magic was fooled, and Harry Potter was no longer safe from him. In order to kill Harry Potter for good, he needed the girl. And in order to have the girl… he felt certain he needed a different body, his old body, the body she remembered. Which, if this complicated transformation did not go right, could mean losing Harry Potter's blood and the magical benefits it offered.
Had Lily Potter's protection broken when the boy came of age? He was not certain. This was not an area of magic he was familiar with, and was not something commonly recorded in the history books. His lip curled as he remembered Dumbledore calling him woefully ignorant all those years ago, when he had requested the Defense Against the Dark Arts position at Hogwarts for the second time. The old man must be laughing at him from beyond the grave now— what a silly, cosmic joke that he would be confronted by this same problem again and again.
He slammed the book shut. The blood would have to be transferred, no matter how much it complicated the homunculus process. It was better to do things right, and slowly, than to screw them up and pay the ultimate price. He had meant what he had told Ginny Weasley in the forests of Albania— he would never allow himself to be disembodied again.
Speaking of. It was late enough now that the girl was almost certainly asleep.
And ready to dream.
"Bedtime, Nagini," he said softly, and his faithful companion slithered down from his shoulders onto the floor, heading for her nest in the corner of the room. She had always been obedient, always been loyal, but ever since his final Horcrux creation, it was almost like she was an extension of him— what he willed, she did, without question.
Now wouldn't that be a trick to pull off with Ginny Weasley?
He couldn't make her a Horcrux though. Far too dangerous, incredibly so. Having a human for a Horcrux, even an immortal one, would be a disaster. No, she would yield to him— the normal way.
He walked across the room and turned down the lamp, casting the room into darkness, before lying down on his bed. He stilled his mind, taking a deep breath, letting all thoughts from the day fall away… all except one. He focused, in the dark void of his mind, on the singular wispy thread that led to Ginny Weasley.
What scenario would he present tonight? He had yet to think about it. He would have to decide before he brought her into the space.
He distilled his concentration down, focusing on that thread, and soon, he was in the empty blackness that Ginny had called the vault. A wave of his hand, and she was there, in stasis, ready for him to set the conditions for the night.
She always looked so peaceful before he "woke her up" here. Her youthful face was unmarred by worry or stress— it made her look softer, almost angelic.
An angel's face, hiding the willfulness and fiery spark of a devil.
As always, he waved his hand and her tattoo modified itself, the initials changing shape and the vines ascending to her shoulder. This too was something that needed to be rectified in the physical world. Macnair hadn't had results for him the last time they had spoken about it, and Voldemort had been frustrated enough that he had told Macnair to halt any further efforts on refining the tattoo for the masses— his only priority was to be modifying Ginny's, and the others would just have to wait. Honestly, he didn't understand what was so difficult about it. Did he have to do everything himself? He was already busy with the homunculus research— Macnair needed to deliver or face the consequences.
He debated for a brief moment before he walked up to Ginny and tapped the tattoo with his wand, causing it to glow white for a moment. This had worked well the night of the play— his will would pulse within her like a heartbeat, keeping her on track should she falter.
She was wearing the same pale pink robes she had worn today for her birthday party. Did he want her to wear those, or something else?
It was a pity she didn't like the princess dreams. She really did look lovely in a ball gown. Maybe one day, down the road, that would be all she would ever wear— his perpetually lovely thing, kneeling at his feet in a pool of luxury.
He had thought about going to Malfoy Manor today and just hiding in one of the upstairs rooms, or else casting a Disillusionment Charm on himself to wander around unnoticed. He could have even attempted Polyjuice, though he wasn't certain how the potion would affect him, given how this body was acquired. It had been physically painful to allow Ginny to leave the grounds without him— so, so dangerous. But the Wizarding world was not yet at a point where he could walk freely amongst whoever he happened to come across and, for better or worse, this event had been open to the public in an effort to entice Harry Potter and his little friends to drop in.
They hadn't done it. Disappointing, but not entirely surprising. Harry had learned at Dumbledore's knee, and the old man was nothing if not cautious. Perhaps he had managed to temper some of Harry's impulsiveness at last.
Yes, he would have liked to attend her birthday party and given her her gifts in person, if only to see the light in her eyes gutter as she realized what they were. He would have to find a way to encourage her to use the sketchbook, not leave it sitting on a shelf somewhere.
He tilted his head, looking at her sleeping face. Anything was possible here. Who said Ginny Weasley's party had to be over? Who said he couldn't give her one more gift?
He smiled, and began to craft a world around him.
AUGUST 11th, 1997
She was kneeling on a pillow, next to Voldemort's throne. There was a throng of people down below the dais— Death Eaters, she realized. There was a pile of gifts down at the dais's base, and she realized they were the same gifts from her party— all unwrapped already.
"This is how I would have wished for your party to go," Tom said from beside her, twirling the Elder Wand in his hand. "Harry didn't even bother to show up for you— almost like he doesn't care at all."
Ginny grimaced. That was a good thing, no matter how he tried to spin it.
"Yes, I'm sure you see it as a very good thing… for him. Not so much for you, though, is it?"
"He couldn't have gotten me out anyway. And… I wouldn't go."
"Oh? Why is that?"
"You have too many people I care about."
"I'll have to hold onto them then, if they're such good motivation for you."
Yes, they were very good motivation if they were alive and well— very bad motivation if they were harmed or killed.
"Yes, yes," he said in an irritable voice. "I'm aware you don't want them to be harmed. When will you accept that I'm keeping my promises to you?"
"I'm sorry, my lord," she said, fighting to keep the stiffness out of her voice. "I'm still… adjusting to it."
"I'll just have to keep showing you, then," he said, not sounding at all bothered by the idea. "Keep reminding you."
"Yes, my lord."
"When you wake up tomorrow, I want you to put the locket on and not take it off again without my permission."
Ginny's jaw tightened.
"You can, of course, take the gamble that my waking self won't see this memory, or won't agree with my command, but seeing as he gifted you the locket… I like my odds. What do you think?"
"I'll put it on," she said through clenched teeth.
"Good. It will look very pretty on you."
She paused for a moment before saying, "Thank you, my lord," even though they both knew she didn't mean it.
"There's one more gift I want to give you, but it wouldn't have been appropriate to give in front of an audience."
Ginny's blood turned to ice in her veins. What the bloody hell did that mean?
"Nothing crass," he said with a laugh. "Don't be so vulgar. Merlin, sometimes I forget you're a teenager." He stood up. "Clear a space." The Death Eaters parted, leaving the middle of the ballroom floor empty. He looked back at Ginny, and she knew by the delight on his face that he had something truly horrible planned.
"Do you know what I'm about to give you?"
"No," she said.
"Something you've desperately wanted for a very long time. Revenge." His handsome dark eyes flashed red for a moment, sending a thrill of fear down Ginny's spine. "Rookwood," he called. "Come forward."
The panic she might have felt upon seeing Rookwood again was substantially lessened due to the lack of the memories of pain, but that lack did nothing to quell the simmering anger beginning to brew deep in her belly.
Rookwood's eyes were wide as he stumbled forward, and he knew that he was thinking exactly the same thing she was: what did Voldemort mean by revenge?
Tom— she could never decide what to call him here— levitated down to the ground and gestured for Rookwood to kneel, which he did.
"Come here, Ginny," he said softly. "I want to teach you something."
Not daring to disobey, Ginny rose to her feet and descended the dais stairs. She was still wearing her birthday robes, she realized. Tonight was an alternative birthday party. She glanced quickly through the crowd for Draco, but she didn't see him.
"Right up front, don't be shy," Tom said.
"I thought you said I would never have to see him again if I don't want to," she said, though she did as he bade and approached.
"You want to see him here," he said, satisfaction dripping from every word. "Trust me."
"My lord, please—" Rookwood started.
"Be silent!" Tom snapped, making Rookwood instantly recoil as if struck. "Did I permit you to speak?"
Rookwood shook his head no, and Ginny's stomach twisted.
"Let's see just how far your pure heart extends," he said. "Come stand here, facing him."
"I don't want—"
"You agreed to obey me, Ginny. I could use the tattoo, but you want to feel this on your own, I promise you. If you won't listen, I'll just have to remember that for tomorrow. What would poor Mum say if I—"
Ginny moved to stand where he had gestured, facing Rookwood, who cowered before her.
"Now isn't that a pretty sight?" Tom whispered, coming to stand right behind her and making the hair on the back of her neck stand up. "He knows what's coming, even if you don't."
"I don't understand," Ginny said.
"You will. You're going to have to trust me now. Let me show you what it can be like."
He waved his hand, and the Elder Wand disappeared, replaced by the yew wand he had shown her before— his old wand, apparently.
"I can't grant you access to your magic— you haven't earned it yet— but I doubt you would be able to cast a full Cruciatus Curse tonight anyway. It takes quite a bit of practice."
Ginny's stomach dropped. Her, cast the Cruciatus? She wouldn't, even on Rookwood. She couldn't—
"Good thing I'm not asking you to, then," Tom said; she could hear the smirk in his voice. "I just want to give you a taste of what it's like."
He stepped closer behind her, making her hold her breath, and then he did something he did not do very often— he touched her. He pressed the wand into her right hand, but he didn't let go. He held her hand in his so that they were gripping the wand together, his arm over hers. After the briefest second, he reached his other arm around and grabbed her other hand.
Cold terror raced over Ginny's whole body. She was close enough that her back was pressed up against him, her arms held in his. This close up, he smelled faintly of mint— like toothpaste.
"Fight your fear," he whispered, his breath tickling her ear. "It's not what you need right now. Find your anger. Find your rage. Find your hatred."
Ginny was frozen.
"Look at him and remember what he did to you," he whispered. "How many times, Ginny? A hundred? A thousand? Ten thousand? How many times did he hurt you to the point that you begged for death, begged for mercy, begged for anyone at all to save you—"
"Stop," she blurted. "Please. I don't want—"
"Are you sure?" he asked. "Maybe you've forgotten what it was like. Maybe you need a reminder— just a tiny one, don't worry."
"No!" Ginny cried out, squirming in his arms, but her nerves were suddenly on fire. She was burning alive, she was being ripped apart, she was dying and dying and yet never fucking dying—
"Make him feel it instead," Tom whispered, and, moving her arm for her, he pointed the yew wand at Rookwood and said, "Crucio."
A shockwave of power radiated down Ginny's arm and out of the wand. Rookwood screamed a horrible scream and writhed on the ground, his back arching hideously. Just like hers had done when he had put armadillo bile on her chest, she remembered.
She was breathing hard. The pain had dissipated— some, but not enough.
"Would you like to do it again?" he asked, his voice seductively low. He wasn't out of breath at all.
Ginny stayed silent, afraid of the answer.
"You'll have to use your words for this one, little saint," he said, adjusting his grip a bit on her hand. "I won't say them for you."
Ginny stayed silent, her nerves uncomfortably raw beneath her skin. Raw because of Rookwood. Because of what he had done to her. Over and over and over again, what he had done to her, never listening to her pleas for mercy…
"Would you like to do it again?"
"Yes," she breathed.
Tom stepped even closer to her somehow, his body pressed up against hers as he lifted her arm up. "Say it with me this time. Let your hatred fuel you— send it like a dagger out into the world. Let him suffer as he deserves."
"Please, have mercy," Rookwood pleaded.
That did it. Ginny moved her arm to point the wand at him, Tom's hand never leaving hers, and screamed, "Crucio!"
The rage was like a tidal wave— it rose up out of her belly, through her chest, through her throat, and it just kept coming and coming and coming, never stopping, never—
She screamed even after she had finished speaking the incantation, and the roaring, seductive power of the spell continued on, fueled by her wordless fury. The power radiated down her arm, and she bent over in Voldemort's embrace, screaming as it left her.
He laughed as he held her, and for a sickening moment, she wasn't sure if he was laughing at her, or with her.
She awoke at some point, though she didn't remember a definitive end point in the dream. Had she lost consciousness even there, with all that screaming?
I need you, she sent down the bridge.
Draco was instantly awake, and met her at their bench. She numbly reached out for him to hold her, and he embraced her.
"This was a bad one, then?" he asked.
She numbly told him about Rookwood and the Cruciatus Curse.
"I'm so sorry," he said, stroking her hair.
"Draco," she said, stifling a sob. "I liked it. I liked it a lot. What if he's winning, after all? What if I'm becoming bad somehow?"
"Shh, shh, shh," Draco said, stroking her hair. "You're not becoming bad. Of course you liked it. Rookwood deserves every ounce of pain in the world. He's who I think of when… when I've had to cast it, out in the physical world. If it can bring that out in me, I can only imagine what it's like in you. Voldemort made you remember the pain?"
"Only a little bit of it, but I forgot how awful it was," she sniffled. "It was so, so horrible I couldn't stand it. I had to get rid of it."
"Of course you did. Are you in pain now?"
"No. It's gone again."
"That's good," he said, stroking her hair again. "You're not becoming bad, Ginny— you couldn't ever be bad. Besides— you knew, on some level, that this Rookwood was fake, and that you needed to play to Voldemort's desires. You didn't have any other choice."
"I didn't want another choice," she said dully. "The second time. I wanted to do it."
"And I don't blame you for it," he said. "He should suffer. And he will, if there's any justice in the world. We'll harness this Alys power, and maybe give Rookwood a taste when the time comes."
Ginny smiled against his chest. "I'd like that."