FIC: Crepúsculo 10: The Key
Title: Crepúsculo 10/11
Author: katjad
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Draco/Ginny
DISCLAIMER: Characters belong to J.K. Rowling. They're not mine.
Summary: In which there is shit, and a fan.
Author's Notes: Thanks, as always, to Soz for betaing. I started writing this before OotP, so it only assumes canon through GoF. There might be an HBP reference or two in this chapter, though, if you squint.
Crepúsculo
Chapter Ten:
The Key
They were both thrown to the floor in the force of the blast. When Ginny recovered enough to pick herself up, she saw that the castle hadn’t actually exploded: they were still in a classroom with four walls, a ceiling and a floor, though one of the windows had shattered and the desks that had been piled in the back of the room were scattered all over the place.
“What was that?” Ginny said.
“I don’t know. Come on, let’s see what’s going on.” Jeremy grabbed her hand and pulled her into the hallway.
“Jeremy,” she began, but as soon as they were in the hallway it became clear that this really wasn’t the time to be trying to have a serious discussion about their relationship: the entire population of Hogwarts was in the hallway, running and screaming.
“Come on, this way,” Jeremy said, tugging her towards the nearest staircase, but the stairs had shifted, and in the rush of students coming up the next staircase -- although why you would be running up the stairs when the castle was exploding, Ginny didn’t know -- her hand slipped out of Jeremy’s grasp, and then there was the shuddering and blasting of another explosion. Dust and bits of stone rained down from the ceiling high above them. Ginny ducked, shielding her head with her hands, and only then did it occur to her to wonder what was happening. Someone must be attacking the castle, but who, and why?
She’d lost Jeremy. He wasn’t anywhere to be seen. A bit of panic set in at that: there was no one she knew anywhere near her and the castle was exploding --
-- someone gripped her gripped her around the waist. She screamed, but it wasn’t as though anyone was going to hear her; everyone was screaming -- she whirled around and saw that it was Draco. She couldn’t even say anything, she was so relieved. He was saying something, but she couldn’t hear him over the roar. She gestured to her ear and he leaned close and yelled, “We have to get out of here!”
She nodded and he gripped her wrist tightly, far more tightly than Jeremy had -- tight enough to make her grimace, but it didn’t matter; he wasn’t going to let go and she was sure of it -- and pulled her through the crowd.
There were so many people in the hallways and so many things happening all at once that Ginny couldn’t tell where they were going. Draco knew where he was headed, though. He pushed through the crowd with purpose, moving at an incredible pace and never slowing until all of a sudden he halted in front of a statue Ginny recognized, the statue of the humpbacked witch on the third floor. Draco pulled her out of the way of the crowd, took out his wand and said something Ginny couldn’t hear over the noise, but the statue responded to it, shifting forwards just enough for a person to squeeze between her and the wall into the black space behind her that had to be a tunnel.
“Come on,” Draco said.
Ginny hesitated for only the slightest of moments. She didn’t know where the tunnel might lead, but anything had to be better than staying in this crazed mass of people, and she trusted Draco, didn’t she? She slipped into the tunnel and Draco followed her, pulling the statue behind them so that it was completely dark in the tunnel.
“Lumos,” Ginny and Draco said at the same time. In the light of their wands Draco smiled at her a little. There was something slightly off about his smile, almost like it was forced, but then he turned and said, “Let’s go,” and started walking.
“Where does this lead?” Ginny asked, following him.
“Honeydukes,” came his reply.
They didn’t talk after that. After the pandemonium in Hogwarts the silence of the tunnel was unnerving. Ginny wished they hadn’t stopped talking, but when she tried to say something the words couldn’t make it out of her mouth and how could this tunnel still be going and would it never end?
Finally the tunnel floor began to slant upwards, and then they hit a set of stairs. At the top of the stairs was a trapdoor, which Draco slowly, carefully pushed part of the way open to peer around, then pushed all the way open and climbed out. “There’s no one here, you’re fine,” Draco called to her, and Ginny climbed up after him.
They were in what had to be the basement of Honeydukes, which was full of bright-colored boxes labeled with the names of all sorts of sweets, but Draco hardly spared a glance for the room before starting up the stairs towards Honeydukes proper.
“If anyone asks, we were wondering if they had more Ice Mice in the back,” Draco said, then opened the door.
He needn’t have bothered with the cover story, though: the store was just as deserted as the basement had been. There wasn’t so much as a single salesperson in sight.
“Odd,” Ginny said to herself, but when they left the store and emerged onto High Street the reason Honeydukes was empty became clear: everyone was outside, staring in the direction of Hogwarts. It was impossible to see the castle from here because of all the trees, but there were great crashing sounds coming from that direction, like a herd of giants was throwing boulders at the castle -- and who was to say that wasn’t what was happening? Ginny desperately wished she could see what was going on . . .
Draco, however, seemed to have had enough of staring at the trees. “Come on,” he said, taking her hand and leading her down High Street.
“Where are we going?”
He didn’t reply. She thought to ask again, but it became clear soon enough as they neared the Three Broomsticks and made a right: rising up before them was the Shrieking Shack. There was something different about it, just now, than every other time Ginny had seen it, something sinister; her first thought was that it had become more itself, but that didn’t make any sense. There was something emanating from the house, though, some kind of liveliness . . . Draco spelled away part of the fence surrounding the house and led her towards it. The closer she got, though, the more Ginny found she didn’t particularly want to move any nearer . . .
“Do you know what this house is, Draco?” she asked, thinking of a day in mid-September, the last time she’d been here, and his words then: Different from anything you’ve ever thought it, I’m sure.
Instead of answering her question, Draco said, “Do you trust me?”
“Draco--”
“Just tell me, Ginny.”
There was something strange in his eyes, something almost like regret, and she was feeling worse about the whole situation by the minute, but she said, “Yes. I trust you.”
The regret was clear in his eyes now, and she wanted to ask him about it, but they’d stepped into the yard of the Shrieking Shack and Draco turned and spelled the fence back into place. And that was when it occurred to her: why hadn’t they just gone through the gate? What need had there been to spell away part of the fence? But she just stood there and watched him do it --
-- and when they turned back around there were four figures in black robes, hooded and masked, standing in front of the Shrieking Shack. Death Eaters, she realized with a start; who else could they be? She recognized the costumes from the Quidditch World Cup the summer before third year. That was the only time in her life she’d ever seen a Death Eater, and even after what had happened to Harry during the Third Task of the Triwizard Tournament she’d thought she never would again . . . How foolish of her. The Dark Lord hadn’t disappeared like they’d all been hoping; he’d just been biding his time . . .
“Well done, Draco,” said one of the Death Eaters, a woman with a cruel voice. “It’s nice to see that the family’s been holding its own while I’ve been gone.”
“Don’t praise him yet, Bellatrix,” said another of the Death Eaters, a tall man. “He’s not done yet, as I understand it.”
Ginny thought to run away, but she was paralyzed to the spot. Only then did it register: Draco wasn’t even trying to get away from them. It took her a moment to realize what that meant. But she saw the set of Draco’s shoulders, remembered his words (do you trust me, Ginny?), remembered too the look of regret on his face, and then she knew: he had brought her here on purpose. He had brought her to these Death Eaters on purpose.
She felt like there was something more she should be understanding, something else that should be obvious, and yet her mind felt sluggish, as if it were moving at half the usual speed. There was something more going on than Draco simply having known the Death Eaters were going to be here, though. Her next thought sucked all the air out from around her head: there was a familiarity to the way the Death Eaters had spoken to Draco that didn’t seem normal. What if he was one of them, too?
No, he couldn’t be. If he were a Death Eater, he’d have a Dark Mark, that terrible brand on the left forearm. Ginny knew his body better than she knew her own, and knew that he wasn’t Marked. And yet he was in the company of Death Eaters, and he wasn’t running away, and they knew him. It couldn’t be, and yet obviously it was: there was even some task he’d been given that he’d completed successfully, at least in part . . .
Why was she so slow to grasp what was going on? What had been Draco’s task? She felt like she should have figured it out ages ago. Maybe the lack of air around her head was the problem.
And then she realized: she had figured it out ages ago. It was the necklace. Somehow it had to do with the necklace. And that meant -- there was even less air around her head than before -- that it had to do with her.
There was a cruel, high laugh from the woman, Bellatrix. “Putting the pieces together, are you?”
Ginny glared at her.
“It’s no use trying to escape, you know,” said a different Death Eater, a short man with a voice that reminded her, oddly, of a rodent. “You wouldn’t get anywhere.”
“Much as it pains me to admit it, you have a point, Wormtail, for once in your sniveling existence,” said the last of the Death Eaters. “Although I suppose maybe we should take her wand. Accio!”
Ginny had had her hand on it, but it slipped easily out of her grasp. As she turned to watch her wand fly into the Death Eater’s outstretched hand she caught a glimpse of Draco. He didn’t so much as acknowledge her. He was the only one of them who wasn’t wearing a mask, but his face was so devoid of expression that he might as well have been. Who are you, Ginny wanted to ask, and what have you done with Draco?
After the sluggishness of her thoughts for the past few minutes, the speed with which the answer came to her was surprising: this wasn’t Draco in front of her. This was Malfoy. This was the boy who'd terrorized her in her first year, who'd been her enemy and her family's since time immemorial. This was Malfoy, whose father was a Death Eater, who worshipped his father, who clearly was following in his father's footsteps . . . She’d been stupid to forget he existed. Just because he’d been Draco for her didn’t mean Malfoy was gone. No, it was clear that Malfoy was still alive and well . . .
He spoke for the first time since the Death Eaters had appeared. “Is he here?”
From the emphasis in his voice, there was no need to ask who Draco -- Malfoy, Ginny told herself firmly -- meant.
“It’s not going to happen here,” sneered the tall Death Eater.
“Of course not,” said Bellatrix. “It’s nowhere near visible enough.”
Even though Bellatrix’s head was turned, Ginny was sure the words had been directed at her.
“I assume you know where to meet him,” Malfoy said.
“Of course,” Bellatrix said smoothly. “Really, Draco. After all this time, we wouldn’t want to mess things up, now, would we?” That had been directed at Malfoy: there was something almost goading in her tone.
Draco’s mask didn’t falter, but Ginny could feel his uncertainty nonetheless: he didn’t have any idea what Bellatrix was talking about.
Damn it. Not Draco. Malfoy. This was Malfoy. Draco couldn’t be doing this.
“I also assume there’s a signal of some sort?” Malfoy said.
Right on cue, the woods between Hogwarts and Hogsmeade burst into flame.
Bellatrix grabbed Ginny by the arm. "Someone give Draco the coordinates," she said, and suddenly Ginny felt very much as if she were being squeezed through something much too small for her to fit through it -- Side-Along Apparition, she thought; it had to be --
The world righted itself suddenly and Ginny stumbled when her feet hit the ground. The Death Eaters caught her, prevented her from falling forward. She was disoriented at first, but then she knew where he was: the hill overlooking the castle, beside the big oak . . .
The tree was burning. She was surrounded by hooded figures, and that was when she knew: it was the same as it had been in her dreams, as it had been in the crystal ball; she hadn’t imagined it at all.
There were a dozen Death Eaters or more standing in a circle near the burning tree. Bellatrix and the others joined them, shoving Ginny into a spot in front of them, towards the middle of the circle. As they moved her she caught the briefest of glimpses of the castle: it was shuddering as if it were being hit by a series of enormous objects, and the loud crashing noises had not let up, but there was nothing that she could see that was hitting it . . . But then the Death Eaters had forced her to turn away from it and she didn’t dare look back.
For a moment nothing happened. But then there was a hissing in the air, as if all the wind were being drawn in one direction, and then, with the pop of Apparition, more figures appeared: a dozen of them at least, all hooded and masked, save one: the Dark Lord. She had known he would come, she had known it, and yet until this moment she had not been afraid, but her guts twisted in fear now. In no way did the snake-faced creature on the hill resemble the Tom Riddle she’d known from the diary, but the fear was the same, and it made it so that she could look at the bald thing before her and see Tom . . .
“Draco Malfoy,” rasped the Dark Lord, “you have done as I asked.”
“Yes, my lord.”
My lord . . . She had already known, but that drove it home. My lord.
“Bring her forward.”
Malfoy gripped her by the wrist, as tightly as he had in the hallway, and pulled her forward. His arm was trembling -- she realized that he was gripping her so tightly because he was nervous. She felt that she was detached from these events, observing the proceedings from somewhere outside of her own body. Malfoy was nervous. What did he have to be nervous about?
He brought her forward to the Dark Lord, who observed her keenly. Because she was watching from outside her body, she was able to stand unwavering beneath his gaze; she was able to hold steady as he traced on of his fingers down the line of her cheek, coming to rest beneath her chin.
“Ginny Weasley,” said the Dark Lord. “You’ve always been so impressionable. You enjoy being manipulated, don’t you?”
Being outside of her own body, Ginny had no way that she could reply.
The Dark Lord smiled at her. It was a terrible smile: the snakelike nostrils stretched wide, and it didn’t look like there was enough skin to cover his face. “Draco Malfoy,” he said, “you have done well.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
“You have done everything I have asked of you thus far. But there is one more thing I would ask, before you may take my Mark.”
“Yes, my lord?”
That terrible smile did not fade. From the air he procured a knife, the glint of silver from the dreams, the crystal ball . . .
“Prove your loyalty,” the Dark Lord said. “Kill her.”
Somewhere in her mind Ginny was aware that now was the time to struggle, to fight for her life. And yet from her vantage point far from all of this, the only thing she could do was stand there stupidly, was wait.
Malfoy took the knife from the Dark Lord and turned to her. She looked at him, and he was as close to her as he would have been if she’d been in her own body, though she was still detached from all of this. The mask was still over his features as he raised the hand that wasn’t holding the knife, placed it on her shoulder -- to keep her steady, she thought. He raised the knife. A strange thought came to her: If this is what he wants, she thought, then let it be so.
He raised the knife and looked at her. His face was still blank. His eyes were on her but for all the expression in them he might not as well have been looking at nothing at all. The knife was at her throat -- it was too late for her to resist, too late for anything at all, and still that strange thought was in her head: If this is what he wants, then let it be done. But why hadn’t he done it? Why was it taking so long? She knew she was seeing things more slowly than they were actually happening, from this vantage point high above it all, but she wasn’t imagining this: Draco was hesitating . . .
There was a flurry of sound, a succession of pops, a volley of curses, people who weren’t Death Eaters, a flash of light out of the corner of her eye and a blossoming pain and all was black.
Previous chapters can be found here.
Author: katjad
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Draco/Ginny
DISCLAIMER: Characters belong to J.K. Rowling. They're not mine.
Summary: In which there is shit, and a fan.
Author's Notes: Thanks, as always, to Soz for betaing. I started writing this before OotP, so it only assumes canon through GoF. There might be an HBP reference or two in this chapter, though, if you squint.
Crepúsculo
Chapter Ten:
The Key
They were both thrown to the floor in the force of the blast. When Ginny recovered enough to pick herself up, she saw that the castle hadn’t actually exploded: they were still in a classroom with four walls, a ceiling and a floor, though one of the windows had shattered and the desks that had been piled in the back of the room were scattered all over the place.
“What was that?” Ginny said.
“I don’t know. Come on, let’s see what’s going on.” Jeremy grabbed her hand and pulled her into the hallway.
“Jeremy,” she began, but as soon as they were in the hallway it became clear that this really wasn’t the time to be trying to have a serious discussion about their relationship: the entire population of Hogwarts was in the hallway, running and screaming.
“Come on, this way,” Jeremy said, tugging her towards the nearest staircase, but the stairs had shifted, and in the rush of students coming up the next staircase -- although why you would be running up the stairs when the castle was exploding, Ginny didn’t know -- her hand slipped out of Jeremy’s grasp, and then there was the shuddering and blasting of another explosion. Dust and bits of stone rained down from the ceiling high above them. Ginny ducked, shielding her head with her hands, and only then did it occur to her to wonder what was happening. Someone must be attacking the castle, but who, and why?
She’d lost Jeremy. He wasn’t anywhere to be seen. A bit of panic set in at that: there was no one she knew anywhere near her and the castle was exploding --
-- someone gripped her gripped her around the waist. She screamed, but it wasn’t as though anyone was going to hear her; everyone was screaming -- she whirled around and saw that it was Draco. She couldn’t even say anything, she was so relieved. He was saying something, but she couldn’t hear him over the roar. She gestured to her ear and he leaned close and yelled, “We have to get out of here!”
She nodded and he gripped her wrist tightly, far more tightly than Jeremy had -- tight enough to make her grimace, but it didn’t matter; he wasn’t going to let go and she was sure of it -- and pulled her through the crowd.
There were so many people in the hallways and so many things happening all at once that Ginny couldn’t tell where they were going. Draco knew where he was headed, though. He pushed through the crowd with purpose, moving at an incredible pace and never slowing until all of a sudden he halted in front of a statue Ginny recognized, the statue of the humpbacked witch on the third floor. Draco pulled her out of the way of the crowd, took out his wand and said something Ginny couldn’t hear over the noise, but the statue responded to it, shifting forwards just enough for a person to squeeze between her and the wall into the black space behind her that had to be a tunnel.
“Come on,” Draco said.
Ginny hesitated for only the slightest of moments. She didn’t know where the tunnel might lead, but anything had to be better than staying in this crazed mass of people, and she trusted Draco, didn’t she? She slipped into the tunnel and Draco followed her, pulling the statue behind them so that it was completely dark in the tunnel.
“Lumos,” Ginny and Draco said at the same time. In the light of their wands Draco smiled at her a little. There was something slightly off about his smile, almost like it was forced, but then he turned and said, “Let’s go,” and started walking.
“Where does this lead?” Ginny asked, following him.
“Honeydukes,” came his reply.
They didn’t talk after that. After the pandemonium in Hogwarts the silence of the tunnel was unnerving. Ginny wished they hadn’t stopped talking, but when she tried to say something the words couldn’t make it out of her mouth and how could this tunnel still be going and would it never end?
Finally the tunnel floor began to slant upwards, and then they hit a set of stairs. At the top of the stairs was a trapdoor, which Draco slowly, carefully pushed part of the way open to peer around, then pushed all the way open and climbed out. “There’s no one here, you’re fine,” Draco called to her, and Ginny climbed up after him.
They were in what had to be the basement of Honeydukes, which was full of bright-colored boxes labeled with the names of all sorts of sweets, but Draco hardly spared a glance for the room before starting up the stairs towards Honeydukes proper.
“If anyone asks, we were wondering if they had more Ice Mice in the back,” Draco said, then opened the door.
He needn’t have bothered with the cover story, though: the store was just as deserted as the basement had been. There wasn’t so much as a single salesperson in sight.
“Odd,” Ginny said to herself, but when they left the store and emerged onto High Street the reason Honeydukes was empty became clear: everyone was outside, staring in the direction of Hogwarts. It was impossible to see the castle from here because of all the trees, but there were great crashing sounds coming from that direction, like a herd of giants was throwing boulders at the castle -- and who was to say that wasn’t what was happening? Ginny desperately wished she could see what was going on . . .
Draco, however, seemed to have had enough of staring at the trees. “Come on,” he said, taking her hand and leading her down High Street.
“Where are we going?”
He didn’t reply. She thought to ask again, but it became clear soon enough as they neared the Three Broomsticks and made a right: rising up before them was the Shrieking Shack. There was something different about it, just now, than every other time Ginny had seen it, something sinister; her first thought was that it had become more itself, but that didn’t make any sense. There was something emanating from the house, though, some kind of liveliness . . . Draco spelled away part of the fence surrounding the house and led her towards it. The closer she got, though, the more Ginny found she didn’t particularly want to move any nearer . . .
“Do you know what this house is, Draco?” she asked, thinking of a day in mid-September, the last time she’d been here, and his words then: Different from anything you’ve ever thought it, I’m sure.
Instead of answering her question, Draco said, “Do you trust me?”
“Draco--”
“Just tell me, Ginny.”
There was something strange in his eyes, something almost like regret, and she was feeling worse about the whole situation by the minute, but she said, “Yes. I trust you.”
The regret was clear in his eyes now, and she wanted to ask him about it, but they’d stepped into the yard of the Shrieking Shack and Draco turned and spelled the fence back into place. And that was when it occurred to her: why hadn’t they just gone through the gate? What need had there been to spell away part of the fence? But she just stood there and watched him do it --
-- and when they turned back around there were four figures in black robes, hooded and masked, standing in front of the Shrieking Shack. Death Eaters, she realized with a start; who else could they be? She recognized the costumes from the Quidditch World Cup the summer before third year. That was the only time in her life she’d ever seen a Death Eater, and even after what had happened to Harry during the Third Task of the Triwizard Tournament she’d thought she never would again . . . How foolish of her. The Dark Lord hadn’t disappeared like they’d all been hoping; he’d just been biding his time . . .
“Well done, Draco,” said one of the Death Eaters, a woman with a cruel voice. “It’s nice to see that the family’s been holding its own while I’ve been gone.”
“Don’t praise him yet, Bellatrix,” said another of the Death Eaters, a tall man. “He’s not done yet, as I understand it.”
Ginny thought to run away, but she was paralyzed to the spot. Only then did it register: Draco wasn’t even trying to get away from them. It took her a moment to realize what that meant. But she saw the set of Draco’s shoulders, remembered his words (do you trust me, Ginny?), remembered too the look of regret on his face, and then she knew: he had brought her here on purpose. He had brought her to these Death Eaters on purpose.
She felt like there was something more she should be understanding, something else that should be obvious, and yet her mind felt sluggish, as if it were moving at half the usual speed. There was something more going on than Draco simply having known the Death Eaters were going to be here, though. Her next thought sucked all the air out from around her head: there was a familiarity to the way the Death Eaters had spoken to Draco that didn’t seem normal. What if he was one of them, too?
No, he couldn’t be. If he were a Death Eater, he’d have a Dark Mark, that terrible brand on the left forearm. Ginny knew his body better than she knew her own, and knew that he wasn’t Marked. And yet he was in the company of Death Eaters, and he wasn’t running away, and they knew him. It couldn’t be, and yet obviously it was: there was even some task he’d been given that he’d completed successfully, at least in part . . .
Why was she so slow to grasp what was going on? What had been Draco’s task? She felt like she should have figured it out ages ago. Maybe the lack of air around her head was the problem.
And then she realized: she had figured it out ages ago. It was the necklace. Somehow it had to do with the necklace. And that meant -- there was even less air around her head than before -- that it had to do with her.
There was a cruel, high laugh from the woman, Bellatrix. “Putting the pieces together, are you?”
Ginny glared at her.
“It’s no use trying to escape, you know,” said a different Death Eater, a short man with a voice that reminded her, oddly, of a rodent. “You wouldn’t get anywhere.”
“Much as it pains me to admit it, you have a point, Wormtail, for once in your sniveling existence,” said the last of the Death Eaters. “Although I suppose maybe we should take her wand. Accio!”
Ginny had had her hand on it, but it slipped easily out of her grasp. As she turned to watch her wand fly into the Death Eater’s outstretched hand she caught a glimpse of Draco. He didn’t so much as acknowledge her. He was the only one of them who wasn’t wearing a mask, but his face was so devoid of expression that he might as well have been. Who are you, Ginny wanted to ask, and what have you done with Draco?
After the sluggishness of her thoughts for the past few minutes, the speed with which the answer came to her was surprising: this wasn’t Draco in front of her. This was Malfoy. This was the boy who'd terrorized her in her first year, who'd been her enemy and her family's since time immemorial. This was Malfoy, whose father was a Death Eater, who worshipped his father, who clearly was following in his father's footsteps . . . She’d been stupid to forget he existed. Just because he’d been Draco for her didn’t mean Malfoy was gone. No, it was clear that Malfoy was still alive and well . . .
He spoke for the first time since the Death Eaters had appeared. “Is he here?”
From the emphasis in his voice, there was no need to ask who Draco -- Malfoy, Ginny told herself firmly -- meant.
“It’s not going to happen here,” sneered the tall Death Eater.
“Of course not,” said Bellatrix. “It’s nowhere near visible enough.”
Even though Bellatrix’s head was turned, Ginny was sure the words had been directed at her.
“I assume you know where to meet him,” Malfoy said.
“Of course,” Bellatrix said smoothly. “Really, Draco. After all this time, we wouldn’t want to mess things up, now, would we?” That had been directed at Malfoy: there was something almost goading in her tone.
Draco’s mask didn’t falter, but Ginny could feel his uncertainty nonetheless: he didn’t have any idea what Bellatrix was talking about.
Damn it. Not Draco. Malfoy. This was Malfoy. Draco couldn’t be doing this.
“I also assume there’s a signal of some sort?” Malfoy said.
Right on cue, the woods between Hogwarts and Hogsmeade burst into flame.
Bellatrix grabbed Ginny by the arm. "Someone give Draco the coordinates," she said, and suddenly Ginny felt very much as if she were being squeezed through something much too small for her to fit through it -- Side-Along Apparition, she thought; it had to be --
The world righted itself suddenly and Ginny stumbled when her feet hit the ground. The Death Eaters caught her, prevented her from falling forward. She was disoriented at first, but then she knew where he was: the hill overlooking the castle, beside the big oak . . .
The tree was burning. She was surrounded by hooded figures, and that was when she knew: it was the same as it had been in her dreams, as it had been in the crystal ball; she hadn’t imagined it at all.
There were a dozen Death Eaters or more standing in a circle near the burning tree. Bellatrix and the others joined them, shoving Ginny into a spot in front of them, towards the middle of the circle. As they moved her she caught the briefest of glimpses of the castle: it was shuddering as if it were being hit by a series of enormous objects, and the loud crashing noises had not let up, but there was nothing that she could see that was hitting it . . . But then the Death Eaters had forced her to turn away from it and she didn’t dare look back.
For a moment nothing happened. But then there was a hissing in the air, as if all the wind were being drawn in one direction, and then, with the pop of Apparition, more figures appeared: a dozen of them at least, all hooded and masked, save one: the Dark Lord. She had known he would come, she had known it, and yet until this moment she had not been afraid, but her guts twisted in fear now. In no way did the snake-faced creature on the hill resemble the Tom Riddle she’d known from the diary, but the fear was the same, and it made it so that she could look at the bald thing before her and see Tom . . .
“Draco Malfoy,” rasped the Dark Lord, “you have done as I asked.”
“Yes, my lord.”
My lord . . . She had already known, but that drove it home. My lord.
“Bring her forward.”
Malfoy gripped her by the wrist, as tightly as he had in the hallway, and pulled her forward. His arm was trembling -- she realized that he was gripping her so tightly because he was nervous. She felt that she was detached from these events, observing the proceedings from somewhere outside of her own body. Malfoy was nervous. What did he have to be nervous about?
He brought her forward to the Dark Lord, who observed her keenly. Because she was watching from outside her body, she was able to stand unwavering beneath his gaze; she was able to hold steady as he traced on of his fingers down the line of her cheek, coming to rest beneath her chin.
“Ginny Weasley,” said the Dark Lord. “You’ve always been so impressionable. You enjoy being manipulated, don’t you?”
Being outside of her own body, Ginny had no way that she could reply.
The Dark Lord smiled at her. It was a terrible smile: the snakelike nostrils stretched wide, and it didn’t look like there was enough skin to cover his face. “Draco Malfoy,” he said, “you have done well.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
“You have done everything I have asked of you thus far. But there is one more thing I would ask, before you may take my Mark.”
“Yes, my lord?”
That terrible smile did not fade. From the air he procured a knife, the glint of silver from the dreams, the crystal ball . . .
“Prove your loyalty,” the Dark Lord said. “Kill her.”
Somewhere in her mind Ginny was aware that now was the time to struggle, to fight for her life. And yet from her vantage point far from all of this, the only thing she could do was stand there stupidly, was wait.
Malfoy took the knife from the Dark Lord and turned to her. She looked at him, and he was as close to her as he would have been if she’d been in her own body, though she was still detached from all of this. The mask was still over his features as he raised the hand that wasn’t holding the knife, placed it on her shoulder -- to keep her steady, she thought. He raised the knife. A strange thought came to her: If this is what he wants, she thought, then let it be so.
He raised the knife and looked at her. His face was still blank. His eyes were on her but for all the expression in them he might not as well have been looking at nothing at all. The knife was at her throat -- it was too late for her to resist, too late for anything at all, and still that strange thought was in her head: If this is what he wants, then let it be done. But why hadn’t he done it? Why was it taking so long? She knew she was seeing things more slowly than they were actually happening, from this vantage point high above it all, but she wasn’t imagining this: Draco was hesitating . . .
There was a flurry of sound, a succession of pops, a volley of curses, people who weren’t Death Eaters, a flash of light out of the corner of her eye and a blossoming pain and all was black.
Previous chapters can be found here.