Thirteen: Lost and found
If you want my advice, I'd steer clear. I suspect the Horcrux will play you just as easily as I played you, Tom said. She could see him standing next to the door to the Room of Requirement, arms crossed and smiling. The final gatekeeper.
Astoria cleared her throat. "Are you sure it should be just us doing this? Not that I wish to be too depreciating, we're a kickass team, but still, we've been through a lot today already and…" Astoria's nervous babbling eventually fell silent under the watchful gaze of the door.
It was just a door, of course. In no way, it looked different from the usual door that led either to their training room, or their hangout room. It was just the Room of Requirement, like always. And still the promise of a Horcrux bestowed it with a sinister quality. That, and something else too. Something lurking at the edge of her awareness, in the space of her mind that held all her memories of the Department of Mysteries and the Chamber of Secrets. And that something recognised what lay beyond.
"Who else can do it?" She hadn't told Astoria about Tonks, and given how they'd parted ways today, Ginny didn't feel like bringing her up now. Perhaps it was foolish, but she would show her. Show all of them that her time at Hogwarts hadn't been a bloody picnic. That she'd made a difference here.
"And it's not like we can afford to wait. We might not even be able to come back here. Even if Malfoy's memory charm works, Nott will still be out for blood. And who knows what the summer brings?" Ginny asked.
Who knows indeed? Tom echoed her. With him lurking at the back of her mind, it wasn't difficult to imagine there would be no return to Hogwarts for her, or anyone even.
She grabbed the door handle and pressed it down. The door swung open with an ominous creak, revealing… well…
Disappointing, I concede.
Rows and rows of junk. Broken brooms, ratty old clothes, cracked cauldrons. Ancient and recent books. Generations of Hogwarts students' rubbish had accumulated here. How could such an often-used, over-used even, repository serve as home to a Horcrux? Was this a trap? A trick?
"He used this, instead of the Chamber of Secrets?" Ginny wondered out loud, even as she could hear Tom grumble in the back of her head. For once, he didn't seem proud, but almost embarrassed.
The sheer ridiculousness of it all at least helped them overcome their trepidation. A quick three steps saw them inside, the door falling into the lock behind them. It sounded like the final key played on a piano. A shiver ran down Ginny's scars.
The door falls shut as Rookwood strides through the room, eyes darting everywhere. They are mute, disinterested. If it at all touches him to return to his old place of employment, he doesn't show it. But when his eyes fall on them, they light up.
"Found you."
Ginny balled her fists and strode forward. That was all the past. She had more important things to do.
Inside the room, the mess looks even greater. A nearby pile of deflated quaffles, shattered bludgers and snitches struggling to fly with crooked wings rose high enough to rival a Quidditch hoop. Astoria followed her gaze and shook her head. "Somehow, I don't think You-Know-Who was a Quidditch fan."
Despite it all, Ginny grinned. "True. Guess that's one pile we can forego. Still, searching this place is going to take ages." She spun on her axis, craning her neck. From the ceiling dangled a whale skeleton, held aloft by barely visible wires.
"Is that Acromantula?" Astoria asked.
Ginny fixed her friend with a dubious look. "Astoria, that's a whale."
Astoria shook her head, chuckling. "I meant the wires. I know what a whale looks like."
"Oh… Maybe?" she asked. Acromantulas had been a popular topic at home—Fred and George loved to watch Ron squirm—but they had never bothered much with the silk. Hardly terrifying, and too expensive for them by far, but clearly not for Astoria.
"You think that is the Horcrux?" Astoria asked.
Ginny shook her head. As imposing as it was, it didn't radiate anything that a normal whale skeleton wouldn't. Impressive, sure. Evil, hardly. And it didn't fit Voldemort's usual modus operandi either. None of the memories had revealed a particular fondness or disdain for whales. It was an amusing idea though: Voldemort, nemesis of Muggleborns and whales alike.
"Let's get moving. Stick close. You never know what sort of measures he left behind," she said, thinking of Dumbledore's charred hand. She wouldn't let that happen to them.
What followed next, was a journey through Hogwarts' History, including several copies of Hogwarts: A History. They were gathered near a particularly impressive pile of at least twenty copies of that wretched Slinkhard book Umbridge had used. A few ancient paintings called out to them as they passed, eager for conversation after what could only have been ages. At first, Ginny humoured them, but when it became clear they hardly knew when the last tumbleweed came by, let alone Tom Riddle, they pressed on.
After a while, she began to notice there was a certain order to it all, possibly created by the room itself. First came bookcases, next a particularly eerie corridor of ancient statues gazing at them with oft-fragmented faces. Then an absolutely hodgepodge of items that Ginny suspected were possessions of past DADA-Professors. It was the only way to explain why a hundred Lockhart books would be grouped with dark detectors and a collection of turbans.
And then, they reached something else. She froze in her steps, Astoria nearly walking into her. Before them was what could only be described a gargantuan throne composed of writhing stone snakes. And on that throne sat Rookwood, studying a diadem with an amused expression of his face.
Instantly, Ginny knew. Even if Rookwood hadn't been there, she'd have known instantly. She recognised it like she would recognise a part of herself.
And what does that imply?
The diadem… it lived. Pulsated almost, with the same rhythm that her scars began to move, shift and burn, as if beating to the heartbeat of the dark arts itself. Once, it had been a priceless relic. Now it had become a reliquary of darkness.
"The Dark Lord wondered. Oh, he wondered so much," Rookwood mused, eyes studying the diadem rather than her and Astoria. "He never would say what he wondered about exactly. But I knew it related to you, and something special. Something unique. Or at the very least very exclusive." Rookwood hurled the diadem at them. Ginny and Astoria flinched as it clattered at their feet.
"And now I know, and what a prize that knowledge is. The advantages of working for a visionary." He rose from the throne with a twisted smile. "I was sorted into Ravenclaw, you know. I like to think she'd approve of all this."
Astoria moved in a flash. Before Ginny could fully process it, her friend lunged for the diadem. Fast enough to be a Quidditch pro. Not faster than Rookwood.
A lazy flick of his wand sent her flying through the makeshift corridor of junk; her journey ended with a hard crash into a bookshelf. "If only you'd been so eager in class," Rookwood remarked coolly. Astoria slid to the floor, her head lolling and a thin stream of blood running down her face even as books rained down.
Ginny moved. Or at least, she wanted to. She grit her teeth and wanted to draw her wand, or even Gryffindor's sword. To rush to Astoria, or at the very least to also make an attempt on the Diadem. Instead, she remained frozen in place, almost as if trapped in time. Her scars moved and burned. Nothing else did. Because it was happening again. Rookwood was attacking her friends. And it was all her fault.
"Oh, don't give me that look, Miss Weasley. She is not dead. Yet." He descended from his throne, the snakes shifting to form a makeshift-staircase for him. "Though perhaps not so assured of immortality as the Dark Lord." He bowed and retrieved the diadem, pocketing it. Rookwood was so close they almost touched noses.
And still she couldn't move.
"Where is that fight, Miss Weasley? Where is your Gryffindor courage? I had such high hopes, but so far…" he shook his head. "Your friend Miss Granger was far more spirited. Little good that it did her."
Hermione.
Hermione battles Rookwood with a mad fury born of grief. The former Unspeakable blocks spell after spell, a laugh on his pockmarked face. He's older than the other Death Eaters, his movements slower and more measured as he parries spell after spell.
"You could have been quite something, girl. With the right tutor," he says, his voice barely more than a whisper yet somehow it carries all the way across the chamber.
Hermione doesn't answer him, instead hurling another spell at him. Rookwood sidesteps it casually, not at all bothered by the fire reaching for him.
"But instead you chose opposition. And now you'll die as nothing. Like dust," he says, jumping on a bench, one hand on his heart, the other pointing the wand at Hermione. "Pulvis Astris. "
It almost looks like the spell has failed, just a barely visible gust of wind that bursts from his wand and then sweeps past Hermione. She doesn't even need to dodge it. But then it turns back winds itself around her. It swirls faster and faster, like a cloud of dust surrounding her. Through it, she can see Hermione mouth a scream. Then she fades from sight.
When the spell ends and grains of sand fall to the floor, she is gone.
Ginny screamed, a guttural cry brought forward by a year of mourning and suffering. Her throat burned, even as her cry echoed across the room. The scars, however, no longer burned. And as she took three steps back and raised her wand at Rookwood, not a single part of her body was trembling.
"Better." Rookwood mirrored her, walking back and pointing his wand at her in a single movement. "You have been a nuisance, Miss Weasley. Your survival at the Department of Mysteries. Your rebellion here at Hogwarts, somehow condoned by Snape… But it ends here." He began to move in a circle, Ginny mirroring his every move until they had swapped places and she stood near the throne.
"You're going to pay," she threatened.
Rookwood laughed. The bastard actually laughed. "Please, Miss Weasley, I know what you're capable of. I have heard of how you have terrorised this school and scarred some of its students. And impressive as that is, it is not enough. Avada Kedavra."
The familiar green light was almost enough to make her freeze. Yet somehow, her body reacted even if her mind couldn't. She rolled to the side, the curse sailing wide.
" Stupefy!" Her stunner raced towards Rookwood, who lazily deflected it straight towards Astoria. Her form went even stiller than before.
"No, no, no. That wasn't what was promised. Show me what you can do. Show me the real you," he baited her. "Surely you don't want to stun me? You want to hurt me. Do it!" He roared. " Crucio!"
This one, she didn't dodge. She hardly saw his wand move. And then there was only pain. She slumped to the ground, howling and screaming. It was as if knives cut her open. She screamed, and then screamed without voice when the pain became too much for her vocal cords.
And then it was gone. The curse lifted, Rookwood studied her coolly. "I've heard you've been using one of my spells. One of my personal spells," he hissed. "You know what I did in Azkaban? You know what kept me sane?" He walked up to her trembling form and towered over her. "I crafted spells in my head. Over and over and over. Even as the Dementors harried and haunted me, I kept going. Because I knew the Dark Lord would one day free me. Would embrace me. And then I could finally use my creations. And I did, oh how I did." He stared away in the distance, smiling. "First on Muggles. Then on your friends," he reminisced, looking satisfied and almost peaceful.
"And you stole them!" he roared, his face morphing into hatred. "My spells! Mine! You stole them, you filth!" he roared, shaking his wand at her.
Ginny wasn't sure if he meant to. Regardless, she could feel something seize her and hurl her across the room.
"So go ahead, show me my own tricks and toys! Show me!" he screamed, walking towards her.
Ginny pushed herself upright, hanging on to the statue of some one-eyed wizard hovering over a globe. The blood was pumping in her ears, her heart beating wildly even as her whole body remembered the pain of the Cruciatus curse.
Fine, he wants to see it? Show him!
She raised her wand and locked eyes with Rookwood, thinking of Hermione. " Pleaga!" By now, the figure eight she wove in the air had become as natural as breathing.
Death rushed towards Rookwood. A shimmering wave. He just watched it until it almost touched him then raised his wand, making the same figure eight gesture.
" Freyhl!"
The spell exploded in a thousand stars, each reaching for the ceiling and then slowly drifting down again. It was beautiful.
"I, of course, also spent that time crafting the counterspells. But you did well, for a thief," he conceded, suddenly perfectly calm again as he twirled his wand between his fingers. "You are, it seems, not without promise after all." Each word was punctuated by the tap of his shoes as he walked towards her. "Would you like to learn the countercurse? And all those other spells? I could teach you. Like Granger could have learned."
They were almost nose-to-nose now. Good.
" Fulmen Atenor!" Ginny screamed. Thunder rolled. Lightning flashed towards Rookwood. For a second, she was rewarded by his mask of civil insanity slipping when self-preservation and fear took over. She could almost see the bolt connect with his body.
Then a shimmering bottle sprang into existence and swallowed the spell whole. Rookwood stumbled back, gripping the bottle tightly as his eyes burned into hers.
"I offered you infinity. Instead, you chose oblivion."
He hurled the bottle at her, but Ginny was already moving. It exploded and lightning burst free, ravaging the place she'd stood before, no doubt destroying yet more junk. Ginny didn't bother to look. Instead, she hurled yet another curse at Rookwood. " Fyromor."
Dragon's breath rushed towards him, only to be encased in ice. Rookwood leapt on top of the frozen flames, climbing them like a ballet dancer, and hurled a sickly green ray at her. Ginny was halfway casting a shield when she decided to dodge, uncertain if any shield of hers would suffice. It slammed into a statue right next to her. It collapsed in a pile of foul-smelling ash.
Ginny hurled back a flaming whip. Rookwood vanished it.
The second ray took out a bookcase. The third a tile just beneath her foot. And whatever she hurled back, he undid.
Duck. Shield. Curse, Tom instructed her, and Ginny obeyed. There was no time to think or even feel bad about listening to Tom. There was only time to obey and hope it wasn't a trap.
We are both at stake here, you silly girl. Rookwood will annihilate us. It sounded like panic in his voice.
Duck!
The last spell exploded a whole wall of bookcases, sending a hailstorm of splinters raining down on her. The wood cut into her skin.
" Pleaga," she attempted again, instinct stronger than the knowledge Rookwood could counter it. And he did, following it up with a flock of crows. Her blasting curse made it rain feathers. A Cruciatus curse flew just by her head.
" Fulmen atenor," she whispered, her lightning bolt parried by Rookwood. Another bookcase exploded.
She conjured a cloud of smoke and dived behind a cabinet. Rookwood vanished smoke and cabinet both, then hurled three fire arrows at her. Ginny dodged two and deflected the third back at Rookwood.
A gust of wind extinguished it, then rushed towards her. Too large a storm to dodge, she conjured a shield. The storm blew right through it, picked her up and carried her through emptiness, until she collided with wall. The breath was driven out of her, even as she could feel something break. She tried to stand up and stumbled, collapsing again. Only then, she saw she had come to a stop right next to Tori.
"Do you appreciate my arrangement? I thought it would be fitting if you died together." As Rookwood approached, a green light formed on the tip of his wand. The game was over.
Her brain reached out to Tom, voicing but a single thought.
Help.
What do you think I have been doing so far? His voice sounded almost hurt. More like an aggrieved teenager than a sociopathic dark lord.
She was going to die. And to think she'd almost taken out a Horcrux. But there was no way she'd reach Rookwood and fish out the diadem. And even if she could, how would she destroy it? The sword would be too slow. How stupid had she been?
But there was another option. She raised her wand.
Clever girl.
Rookwood laughed, the green light momentarily dimming. "You don't know when to quit, do you? Oh I love it when they—"
" Fiendfyre!"
Hell on earth.
The flames grew and screamed and grew and screamed. The whole world became a vengeful blaze, devouring whatever the room contained. Twisted shapes moved through it, the fire personified by shades of hunger and destruction as it ate books and statues alike. Even stone melted under its heat.
And yet, the fire did not come near her. Like a shadow conductor, Tom moved with her, guiding her wand, his breath in her neck somehow cold even amidst the inferno. And so the flames moved everywhere, except the little patch of ground she and Astoria stood on.
If anything, being denied so made the fire howl even more vengefully even as the room burned and the flames began to swirl around Rookwood.
And then, he screamed.
A guttural, primal sound. Not one of pain or terror, but one of insanity. And like one, the conflagration gathered in the shape of a single burning dragon. A horntail.
It dove at Rookwood, but just before the flames consumed him, his other hand moved and the Horcrux went flying. Dragon and diadem met each other halfway.
The world exploded. A flash of green, a hollow laugh that echoed inside the Room and her mind, and then the fire was gone. Ash rained down on them instead, until the temperature in the room dropped and the only reminder of the fiendfyre was the destruction left in its wake.
Until Rookwood looked at her. Where his cold eyes used to be, now two fiery orbs shone at her. The only similarity to his eyes of old was the pure malice burning within.
"An impressive display Weasley. I will concede that it cost me. Or the Dark Lord at least." His eyes flickered to the ruined Horcrux. "Yet in the end, like all your efforts, futile."
Ginny sunk to her knees as the last of her strength left her. Her whole arm trembled as she tried to raise her wand again, but the pain and scars were too much. It dropped to her side, her wand falling from her shivering hand and rolling away with a clatter. Her other reached out for Astoria's hand.
"I'm sorry, Tori. But at least we got one."
A pity. We could have been great.
Rookwood pointed his wand at a point between her eyes. " And now, I give you oblivion. Like that Mudblood of yours."
The door swung open. A pitifully small noise, yet loud enough to carry in this aspiring graveyard. Rookwood and Ginny both looked as Severus Snape walked in, strolling towards them through the debris and destruction. If the torching of Hogwarts property at all fazed him, he did not show it. Indeed, he looked no different from how he usually strode into a classroom.
"Ah, Severus, right in time for the grand finale," Rookwood crowed. "I'm sure you want to see your favourite student perish."
"Favourite?" Snape echoed with a hint of bored disbelief. "You mean Greengrass? I much prefer the older sister. She has been far more sensible in the company she keeps."
His eyes slid to Ginny with such disdain that whatever hope that had flared, desperate as it had been, died. He had killed Sirius. Why would he lift a finger to save her?
"I mean, you like redheads, don't you?" Rookwood pressed.
"Don't be disgusting." It was the closest Snape's voice had ever gotten to real emotion in her presence.
"It's just, with the way you've been protecting her—"
"It was amusing to see it bother you. But it lost its lustre weeks ago. Unlike you, I am a man of varied interests," Snape said, leaning against a charred wall and crossing his arms.
"Spoilsport. I wanted it to mean something," Rookwood complained.
"The only thing this means," Snape gestured at the room. "is that I have to explain to the Board of Governors that a DADA Professor managed to destroy yet another room."
"DA. I teach the Dark Arts. Not that paltry defence," Rookwood whined.
Snape arched an eyebrow. "Just get it over with," he sneered. "You got class in an hour. And Mister Rowle seems to have hit his head, leaving him unable to fill in for you."
"Fine," Rookwood huffed as he turned back to her and trained his wand on her again. "Goodbye Miss Weasley."
Ginny wanted to close her eyes. Perhaps it would hurt less then. But at least she would see Harry again.
" Pulvis—"
Even through closed eyelids, she saw the green flare. Only then, nothing followed. Or at least nothing felt different. Could dying be that painless? No sense of weightlessness like she'd expected, or even a choir of angels. Instead, the exhaustion and the acrid smell of smoke lingered. The air she breathed still tasted of ash. Was that the next great adventure?
She counted to five in her head and then opened her eyes.
Before her lay Rookwood, perfectly still. Perfectly dead.
"I am going to have to blame that on you," Snape remarked as he stowed his wand and surveyed the wrecked room again. He looked almost happy, impossible as it seemed. "Ten points from Gryffindor for murdering a DADA Professor. Again."
Ginny stared at him, not quite believing it.
"Don't just stand there staring like a first year that melted his cauldron," he snapped. "You need to leave Hogwarts before people discover that you killed Rookwood."
"You did what?" Astoria mumbled at her feet as she tried to get back up and failed. "Great job."
"Tori!" Ginny yelled as she pulled her friend into a hug. She was alive. Her friend was fine. And even in waking up, she had the same flair for dramatic timing as always.
"And make that ten points from Slytherin too, for aiding and abetting." Snape said even as he cast a quick series of healing charms on them. "This should see you through for the next hour or so, at least."
"Thank you?" Ginny stammered.
Snape ignored her and lifted the charred remains of the diadem and turned it over in his hand, studying it like a badly chopped daisy root. "I take it this was something our late Headmaster encouraged you to destroy?" He hurled it to the ground in disgust. "I do believe the Dark Lord is better off not knowing. If anyone asks," he fixed them with a cold gaze, "or if you feel the need to brag—which I for once do not prohibit you from doing—you killed Rookwood in the Chamber of Secrets. Understood?"
Ginny just blinked.
Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. "Miss Weasley, I need you to work with me here. We do not want the Dark Lord wondering if you did more than just kill Rookwood."
"Yes Professor, the Chamber of Secrets," Ginny repeated, bobbing her head.
"Good. I will transport the cadaver there. You two get out of here. Levicorpus."
The body of Rookwood rose into the sky and began to drift towards the exit, Snape walking behind it in the world's strangest funerary procession.
Astoria stared at it in disbelief, then turned her gaze to Ginny. "You killed him?" Ginny couldn't tell if it was said in horror or admiration.
"I didn't. I tried but—" She swallowed. Somehow, the failure bothered her far more than the fact that a man was dead. But Rookwood had deserved it.
Woe unto the conquered, Tom whispered.
"I told you your spellwork needed to improve," Snape said from the doorway, coolly. "Now, do not make me repeat yourself. Get out of here. I will be in touch. After all this, you better tell me what all this was about."
"Where should we go?" Ginny asked.
Astoria spoke up at the same time. "You can't make us leave Hogwarts."
"Even had you not murdered a Professor, it would have easily fallen within my discretionary power as Headmaster. Consider yourselves expelled." Snape smiled thinly. "I'm sure your brothers will be very proud. As for where… the Room will provide." A door appeared at the back. "Someone will be waiting for you." A beautiful silver doe burst forth from Snape's wand and then raced away. Ginny looked at the passage of beauty in astonishment. The elegant doe seemed an odd Patronus for a man of Snape's disposition.
Without another word, he walked out. The door of the room slammed shut behind him, leaving just Ginny, Astoria and the debris of what had once been the Room of Requirement.
And even as Ginny lifted up the charred Horcrux and admired her work, somewhere in a house, another dial fell of a clock.