We Shine Like Stars. (Fic, GW/LL, SS/HP, NC17 -- 6/7)
Title: We Shine Like Stars 6
Author: Cluegirl
Type: Fiction
Length: Novella -- words.
Main character or Pairing: Ginny/Luna, with a side of Harry/Snape.
Rating: NC17
Canon compliancy: Shooting for canon compliance. If you squint.
Disclaimer: All HP characters are the sole intellectual property of JKRowling, whom I am not. Therefore, I make no profit from this use.
Warnings: Graphic descriptions of childbirth, but aside from that, it's pretty vanilla.
Summary: Harry is not the only one who must struggle for a sense of self against the expectations of others; Ginny's dreams are heavily mortgaged too. It takes a brush with tragedy to alert her to the very real possibility of losing all, if she does not take matters into her own hands.
Cards Drawn: The Empress, the Ace of Swords reversed, and Strength.
Card Interpretation: The Empress -- satisfaction, a competent woman spinning the future from the present.
The Ace of Swords, reversed -- Words, or the threat of them, used to destroy. A silence that is destructive. A refusal, or inability to speak up when words are needed
Strength -- Power, energy, a calm and soothing conviction. Fearlessness.
Author Notes: Thanks to the League of Extraordinary Betae: Jenna_Thorn, emessann, amanuensis1, and kaiz. And also, my plot doctor, the ever-patient aquila_dominus. The title of the song, and the verses used at the chapter heads come from the song Bullet, by Covenant.
Part 1, Part 2, Part 2a, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5
~* Jaffa Cakes, and the Symmetry of Opposition *~
Beating like a Bass Drum, time goes by: I want the last dance, just like you.
Milicent was at the apartment when Ginny flooed back for some dry clothes before dinner. She looked up from polishing her broom with a glower that was a match for any from their school days.
“Your mum’s firecalled,” she growled. “Again. Twice.”
Ginny winced. “You didn’t tell her-“
“That you were too busy with the Potter-Weasley-Lovegood family freakshow to take her calls?” Milicent snorted, and tossed her oily rag onto the table. “Hardly. I thought about it, but I get enough tellings-off from Peakes at practices now you’re not around to take your share of the abuse anymore. If your mum gets mad enough to send a howler, though, I swear I will do.”
“Old Peakey really getting on your arse then?” Ginny ignored the slight, and went for blood.
Never one to disappoint, her surly ex-teammate rose to the challenge. “You’ve no fecking idea! He’s the one who tapped Attercop in, despite her being useless as tits on a bloke and half blind in the bargain. And then he’s the nerve to call me on the carpet over Bludgers getting through!”
A flawless diversion, if she did say so herself. Ginny grinned, and tuned Milicent out while she dug out a change of clothes. Her laundry was still folded neatly in the baskets that Kreacher had left when he’d last cleared up her overnighters from Grimmauld Place. He wasn’t the best at folding nicely, but the old House Elf was positively brilliant at getting spit-up stains out. She was halfway out of her blouse when a bit of Milicent’s grumbling caught her attention.
“Wait,” she asked, “Peakes said what about me?”
“Wanted to know when you’re coming off maternity and getting back to work,” Milicent repeated slowly. “And from the look of those wobbly stretch marks, I’d say you could do with a bit of exercise, too.”
“Jamie’s not even weaned yet!” Ginny replied to the first point, while flashing two fingers to the second. “Why would Peakes think I’d want to leave my six-month-old baby, to sign on for a bloody Quidditch tour?”
Milicent gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Why would you keep half your stuff here, list this flat as your home address, and take all your owls, papers, and parental firecalls here when you only sleep in that bed once or twice a month?” She examined her nails as Ginny shimmied out of her trousers and grabbed a new pair. “If you’re not at Potter’s place, you’re at Lovegood’s place, and you’ve not even brought your sprog to the flat - and don’t think I’m not grateful for that, by the way. So yeah, maybe a few people are starting to think that the baby’s a business deal between you and Potter. Heir-for-hire, you know?”
“Mph!” Ginny spat hair out of her mouth, pulled her top over her head, and tried again. “Jamie a business deal? You’re actually serious?”
“He wouldn’t be the first queer paterfamilias to do it.” Again, that shrug, but Ginny didn’t miss the gleam of curiousity in those sharp brown eyes. “Usually they marry their heir’s mother though, and have concubines on the side. Like old Malfoy, you know? Potter’s Muggle-raised though, so who knows what he thinks is proper.”
“Oh, for-“ Ginny snatched up a new robe, and shook it out with a crack of frustration. “So wanting to be my own person instead of just another byline to Harry’s publicity makes me some kind of… of…” she threw up her arms in frustration, “heartless, selfish iconoclast?”
“Well, that, and carrying on with Lovegood like you do. Most people have you figured for one of those painfully liberated bachelorette types.” Milicent fired back as she pushed off the door frame and wandered into the kitchenette. “Anyway, I told Peakes I’d pass the message on, and I told your mum I’d say she firecalled, and I have done. So now you can bloody well deal with it, while I eat all the Jaffa Cakes.”
“Right. Fine. Great,” Ginny took a deep breath, combed a hand through her hair, and charmed a couple spare changes of clothing into her overnight bag. “It’s just I can’t actually handle any of that tonight.” Following Milicent into the kitchen, she thought about trying to steal a cake, but at the glower she received, thought better of it. “I just stopped by for some clothes, and I’ve got to head straight out.”
“Might just as well take the lot, then.”
“Milly…”
“Oh, get off it. You hardly live here anyway, and you know it.” Milicent licked a bit of orange jelly from her fingers. “So what’s got you in such a dither tonight that you daren’t let your mum get wind of it then?”
Ginny resisted the urge to chew the inside of her lip. “Negotiations.”
The brown eyebrow arched. “Oh? You signing on with another team then?”
“Sort of. A bit. More like a…” buggery, how to put this? “A business deal…” Milicent waited, eyes boring holes in Ginny’s head while she chewed another cake. Ginny gave in first. “That paterfamilias thing you mentioned,” she explained, and pointedly took one of the biscuits out of Milicent’s grip, “Only not for the Potter heir.”
At that, Milicent’s other eyebrow went up, but a broad grin blossomed underneath it, transforming the homely face into something surprisingly sweet. “You wee minx! You’re going to bang the White Knight of Slytherin? What does Potter think of that?”
“That’s what tonight’s about. Seeing what Harry thinks. It’ll be both of them, see?” Merlin, even saying it made the blood rush to her face and stay there! “I mean, I’ll just be carrying their baby to term, not actually... er... banging them. Him. Oh, you know what I mean, and so help me, this had better NOT show up in any paper, or locker room gossip, Bulstrode, or you’ll still be picking bat-bogeys out of your sinuses on your hundredth birthday, are we clear?”
Milicent waved her threat aside with sticky fingers. “Don’t you worry about it. Snape’s always known how to work Potter. If he wants what you’re offering, he’ll get his way, and Potter won’t know what hit him.” Her grin tried to be wicked, but the chocolate smears on her teeth spoiled the effect. “You’re offering him a fairytale ending, aren’t you? Happily ever after, riding into the sunset, true love and a rose-covered cottage, and everything. The trick will be getting him to believe there’s no trick.” A moment’s glower. “There isn’t a trick, is there?”
“Aside from the trick of me managing to convince the walking tribute to Slytherin suspicion to take a Gryffindor’s offer at face value?” Ginny scoffed, and tried to steal another cake. Milicent fended her off with the teakettle. “No, there’s no trick. But I’m thinking it might just be easier to convince old Malfoy to court a Muggleborn.”
“Fairy tale ending?” Milicent reminded her, “Why wouldn’t he go for it?”
Ginny sighed. “Because he’s Snape, I guess. He’s not very good at doing things that might make him happy.”
“He’s a Slytherin,” Milicent replied, as though that explained everything. “You just leave him to Potter. He knows how to work Snape - these past years since the war have proven that. Hell, he even got Snape to stop wearing black all the time, which I thought wasn’t even possible.” She gestured broadly, and sloshed tea on the floor. Ginny winced, but decided to ignore it.
“Potter’ll get what they both want,” Milicent went on, gleeful and smug. “Snape will act like he’s suffering through the whole thing, Lovegood will act like a loon, and you’ll forget how much you hated expelling that first parasite, and nine months later, bob’s your uncle - a new heir to the Prince line enters the world.”
And to that, Ginny couldn’t help but laugh. “Milly, dearest, when you decide to leave the broom and the bat behind, you’ll have quite the future writing the Society Gossip columns.” She shouldered her bag, finally managed to steal a cake, and headed for the fireplace as Milicent barked a laugh behind her.
“Me, a reporter? Hardly. I’m as silent as the grave.” She leaned over the counter, and lit the fireplace with a wave of her wand. “Unless your mum happens to firecall here with another bloody second-hand guilt trip, in which case I just might spill every gory detail into her lap, and the devil take the hindmost!”
“Extortion!” Ginny protested.
“Call yer mum!” Milicent replied, and shoved her into the floo.
~* Truancy, Treason, and Things Your Friends Won’t Tell You *~
Ginny was lost.
She could hear her mum bustling about in the kitchen, whistling along with the wireless just as though the world was still turning, as though the clouds outside were only raining an early winter sleet, instead of frozen, helpless tears.
The warm, homey smells of hot, spiced cider and gingerbread drifted up the stairs. Woodsmoke and spice, just beginning to tint over to the bloody, onionish smell of the roast - big enough to feed an army of Weasleys that weren’t there, -- that Molly had put into the oven after lunch. As though cooking food for them would bring them all safely home. As if it could possibly be that easy.
Her belly grumbled, and Ginny turned her face to the wall, ignoring the swell of nausea that the scent of food had been rousing in her all week. Christmas goose to New Year’s bubbly wine, to toast and tea in the grey of morning, it all smelt like hopelessness covered over with lies.
Harry was gone, running, hunted, maybe dead. Luna was gone, stolen by the monsters while Ginny had done nothing -- nothing -- to stop it. She clenched her eyes, pressed a fist against her lips to stop up the sound that was gathering along with the gorge in her throat. Should have known. Should have stayed with her. Shouldn’t have let that little slag Parkinson distract me. Shouldn’t have let Corner and Chang stop me. Should have blocked their freezing hex. Could have got there in time, if only they hadn’t tried to bloody well protect me! She punched the pillow, hard as she could, remembering the sudden, dizzying swarm of black robes and white masks that had filled the Hogwarts Express. Corner and Chang had stuffed her in the luggage rack, slung a school robe over her head so the Death Eaters wouldn’t spot her.
And they hadn’t -- they’d no more than smashed the glass from the door, pointed wands at the Ravenclaws, and scanned the car before shouting “Not in this one!” and moving on. Stupid, stupid! They didn’t even try to fight!
And then, almost as quickly as they’d come, the Death Eaters had gone again. Chang and Corner had let her go, tried to explain themselves, but what did it matter why they’d done it? It was done. Ginny could have cursed them both, only she’d had to get back to her car, to check on Luna.
Only when she did, Luna had gone as well, the door of their compartment shattered and hanging askew, the curtains still smouldering as Ginny had ducked inside. But all she had been able to find were Luna's stupid goggles, a few flecks of blood, and some blonde hair, stuck in the open outside window. Luna must have been trying to climb out when they’d snatched her.
Ginny clenched her eyes, pulled the perspectacles from their hiding place beneath her pillow, and cradled them to her breast, strangling a moan behind her teeth.
I could have stopped it! I should have stopped it. Somehow. Somehow.
But she hadn’t stopped it. She’d let Parkinson wind her up in the passageway between cars, and she’d let Chang and Corner get the drop on her, and now… now it was too late; Luna was gone. The one thing Ginny’d had to hold onto was gone. Maybe forever. No amount of baking could shore up that awful, aching loss.
The unspoken threat of a cheering charm had been all that kept Ginny from vanishing every bloody plate of food her mum had foisted on her in the past week. She had never felt less like eating in her entire life. Come to that, she couldn’t recall ever wanting less to get out of bed either, but thanks to Fred and George’s years of mischief, there wasn’t a door in the Burrow that could stay locked when Molly turned the handle. And getting chivvied out of bed, getting caught weeping, or even just staring out the window at the grey, grim Cornwall winter - well that led to questions, lectures, platitudes, and lies.
I’m sure she’ll be fine, dear. Chin up now! If they really wanted to hurt her, they’d not have taken her with them, I’m certain. All spoken through smiles that never reached their frightened eyes. Don’t you worry, love. Harry’s a resourceful boy, and he’s got Ron and Hermione with him for help, as well! It’ll be just fine, you’ll see. And try not to share a knowing, worried glance when you say it, of course. Here, let’s have that dull old newspaper, and I’ll serve us all up some lovely pudding! Who’s for a game of Exploding Snap then?
It was nearly enough to make her relieved that she’d be going back to Hogwarts in the morning.
Nearly.
She closed her eyes, and struggled to take a deep breath. Then another. Then another. There was time for a nap before dinner. Time to lie very very still and pretend she was sleeping. Time to close her eyes and pretend that Luna would be waiting for her on platform 9 ¾ in the morning, that it would all turn out to have been a horrid dream, Fred and George pulling a prank that was more tasteless than usual, a misunderstanding, a mistake, SOMEthing. Something other than a grim and awful truth that now Hogwarts would hold no Harry, no Hermione or Ron or Fred or George, and now there would be no Luna either. What was left?
Damn it... she wasn't going to cry again! She just wasn't!
Suddenly, Mum’s singing belowstairs cut off in a short, startled scream. Breath catching in her throat for another reason entirely now, Ginny bolted upright in her bed, and scrambled after her wand. Another attack? Why? What was left at the Burrow worth having?
"Get out!" Molly's voice cracked the sudden silence like a shot. "You get out of my house at once! You're not welcome here, you murdering traitor!"
"Of that, I have no doubt, madam." Ginny couldn't quell the shiver of hatred/horror/alarm that wrung itself up her spine as she recognized Headmaster Snape's snide voice. "However, I am here on-"
"I don't care why you're here! You get out right this instant, or so help me, I'll-"
"You'll give me a plausible excuse for having defended myself with whatever force I deem necessary in order to carry out my duties as Headmaster of Hogwarts." No mistaking the warning there -- it drew Ginny up short, hand on the doorknob, and wand dripping sparks across her threadbare carpet. Not her mum. Not her too!
"Ginny..." Molly's voice went dry and pale when she said it. Ginny could imagine the blood draining from her face, her wand drooping toward the carpet. "But start of term isn't until-"
"The charter of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry allows for the Headmaster to enact certain... preventative measures when, in his opinion, certain students show a high risk of truancy," Snape went on, now sounding oily and smug.
Ginny backed away from the door.
"My Ginevra has never-"
"She has been caught out of bounds several times this year already, Mrs. Weasley, and has been implicated in several acts of theft and vandalism." The floorboards click-groaned under his bootheels as Snape paced from the kitchen... through the hallway..."She already has two brothers who failed both to complete their final year of school, and to appear for their NEWTs." Across the lounge. Clickcreak. Clickcreak. Clickcreak. Where was Bill? Wasn't he supposed to have half an eye on the wards whenever Dad was away? "And young Ginevra has another brother who seems likely to follow their example this term."
"Ronald is ill." The lie rang hollow even to Ginny's ears. "The healers have already-"
She had to go. She had to go now, before he dragged her back to that prison of a school, where she would be little better than a hostage! Ginny tore open her trunk, and began digging out books, parchments, and school uniforms to make room for important things.
"Two years ago," Snape carried on as though Molly hadn't spoken at all. "Ginevra and young Ronald both ran away to London in the company of several other... hooligans," He was coming up the stairs now. Why didn't she keep any useful potions in her room? She'd never make it to the loo and back without getting caught! Bare feet scuffing the carpet, Ginny turned a frantic circle, and tried to think!
Snape's voice went loud as he topped the landing and stepped under the lower ceiling of the upstairs hallway. "- and given her parents' habit of permissive indulgence, I see no good reason to assume Miss Ginevra Weasley will honour her legal obligation to appear at Hogwarts tomorrow evening with the rest of the students."
"She will!"
I won't! But if she didn't, where else could she go?
Ginny flinched as her door shuddered under a sudden weight -- not a knock, no. This was someone heavy, and not very tall throwing herself against it, blocking it with her body.
Mum would die for me. The awful truth of that statement sank like a stone into Ginny's soul. She'd heard of it before, such terrible love. Like the way Lily Potter had thrown herself in the way of the curse meant for her son… But Ginny had never understood that if her mum did die for her, Snape would still take her away afterward. And whatever happened then, Ginny’s life would never include Molly Weasley again.
And I... I would have died for Luna too. She swallowed, and forced her hand to stop shaking. I would have. And what good would that have done?
Ginny opened the door.
"It's all right, Mum," she said, catching Molly's shoulder as she staggered back. "I'll go with the..." she flickered a glance at the looming, stark shadow of a man beyond. "I'll go. I'm nearly packed now anyway."
"No," Molly's hand was bloodless white, and cold on her wrist. "Your father will want-"
"I'll write when we get to school," Kissing her mother's cheek, Ginny prised loose, and aimed the packing spell that Tonks had taught her at her the mess she'd made of her school trunk. "That way you'll know that nothing's happened to me." She thought Snape might have made a noise through that dirty great nose of his, but Ginny resisted the urge to turn and glare at him. She wasn't going to give him the excuse.
"Oh!" and suddenly Ginny was smothered in nubby, pillowy, hand-knit adoration, one curl of greying ginger hair tickling her nose as her mum trembled against her. It was almost alarming to realize that Ginny was just about the same height. When had that happened?
She closed her eyes, turned her face into her mother's hair, and scraped up a smile. "It'll be all right, Mum. You’ll see.”
A rustle of movement from the hallway made Ginny flinch, but Snape had only shrunk and summoned her trunk. He gave them both a disdainful sneer when Molly whirled to face him again. “Charming. Before either of you feels it necessary to burst into song, however, may I point out that Miss Weasley has neither shoes nor cloak on at present? The walk from Hogsmeade will be quite unpleasant in that state, I daresay. The snow is quite deep just now.”
Molly opened her mouth, face blazing again, but Ginny tugged her jumper and pushed past into the hallway. “My boots are by the kitchen door,” she summoned up an icy dignity she didn’t feel, and summoned a pair of socks from the wardrobe. “You may wait for me there, if you like.”
His glittering black eyes narrowed, but he still cut a brisk nod, and retreated as far as the staircase.
Grumbling a word for which she’d have soaped any of her children’s mouths, Molly turned and eyed him with patent distrust while Ginny pulled the socks over her bare feet. They were the grey and maroon ones, from Ginny’s Christmas box this year, she noticed with a pang. “I’ll see you all at Easter,” she said once that was done.
“Of course, dear,” her mother answered, not shifting her glare from Snape even as she gathered Ginny into a one-armed hug. “Just like every year. You make us proud, and stay out of trouble.”
Snape rolled his eyes. “Come, Miss Weasley, let us go before your mother gives you any further contradictory orders.”
Ginny ignored him, and stepped around until she could stare intently into her mother’s face. “I will make you and Daddy proud,” she promised. Then she kissed her mother’s stunned, slack lips, and proceeded to march straight past grotty old Snape just as if she didn’t give two figs for his authority.
He might have made a rude noise when he turned to follow, but Ginny told herself she didn’t care if he did.
In the garden, he offered his arm - a gesture that might have seemed gallant, had a less loathsome man made it, or had his face not been twisted into a moue of distaste. Ginny returned that look coolly. “I don’t need your help,” she said, pulling on her mittens. “Unless you’re intending to Apparate me somewhere other than Hogwarts’ gates.”
He rolled his eyes. “You are not licensed to Apparate anywhere at all, Miss. Weasley; however if your natural pig-headedness forbids you accepting the guidance of one obliged to provide it, then by all means, do as you will. I’m certain the Aurors stationed at Hogsmeade will find your independence and disregard for the law… charming.”
Give them a reason, he seemed to be saying.
Infuriating. And strangely, almost a relief to be filled up with clean, bright anger after a week of grey, muddling grief. Ginny took hold of the man’s elbow, and at once they were squeezing through a dizzying, breathless nothingness, emerging from Cornwall’s mizzling winter rain, into Scotland’s thick, bitter snow.
The winged boars on Hogwarts’ gates looked as though a mad pastry chef had been at them with icing sugar, and the snow was so thick and wet, the massive iron gates shuddered, and scraped back great wings of it as they opened. A sledge waited just inside, its traces draped around a pair of conspicuous nothings where Harry or Luna would have surely seen thestrals.
Ginny sighed, and looked away, her indignation flickering out as quickly as it had come. She let Snape hand her up into the sledge without a comment, and ignored the rugs and blankets piled within as he came round and climbed in the other side. She wasn’t all that cold anyway.
“I understand Potter was nearly caught at Christmas,” Snape observed idly as the sledge jerked into motion.
Ginny weathered the twinge of pain, then took a breath and shrugged. “I wouldn’t know about that.” Nearly caught. Nearly. Meaning Harry hadn’t yet been caught. Oh, how tempting, the hope of that ‘nearly!’ She closed her eyes, and did not watch the great, empty castle drawing nearer across the snowy fields.
“No, of course not. Why should the princess concern herself with what takes place outside her ivory tower?” Snape sneered. “All you need do, after all, is sit back, ignore the unpleasantness of war, and attend to your needlework until your Ulysses returns to your rescue.”
Ginny clenched her fist, and did not open her eyes. He could not make her look at him, he could not make her speak to him. He hadn’t the right, whatever sorts of hateful lies he might spew!
“How inconvenient for you, though, that Potter will almost certainly die in pursuit of his quest.”
“He won’t!” Ginny snarled before she could stop herself.
Snape gave her a smirk. “Oh, but I find it quite likely that he will. He does so fit the martyr’s profile, after all; the plucky Jack who bumbles through his adventures by grace of a magical protector, and his own, blind stupid luck. And once he has squandered his protections, and stubbornly tripped all the traps he has been warned against, his guardian can help him no more. Oh yes, that is Our Potter, to a tee. ”
“The Jack always wins,” Ginny pushed the words through her teeth, willing herself to believe them. “Even against giants and ogres, the Jack wins!”
“And so we return to my original observation,” Snape said, and his leer was positively thick with disdain. “I wonder, though, that you can be content with the role of door prize, mewed up and waiting for a hero’s claim. Not very Gryffindorish, such passivity seems.”
“You know nothing about Gryffindors!” Ginny meant to mutter it under her breath, but the icy air, and her tight-wound throat carried the words far and clear. She gulped, then bellied stubbornly up to them. “You think you do, but you’re-“
“Wrong?” He pounced on the word. “Unfair? Biased, perhaps, because I notice that the whole, rosy lot of you seem to believe you’re living a fairy tale, where heroes save the day, villains are always ugly, and only Slytherins ever die?”
The sledge was slowing as they pulled up the hill, and into the castle’s shadow. Ginny steadied herself with a deep breath, and boosted her chin. “Saving the day makes you a hero, whoever you are; ugly is as ugly does, and an ugly heart makes a pretty face disgusting,” and she couldn’t hold back a sneer at the last, “And when Slytherins push the rest of us to fight in order to stop them, then yes, they’ll die. And if Gryffindors lead the rest in the fight, it’s because we’re not afraid to do what we have to do.”
The sledge pulled to a stop at the main doors, but before Ginny could climb out of the sledge, Snape caught her hand in a grip of iron, pulled her face in close to his own, and hissed, “Prove it!”
Two words; two glittering black eyes boring into her own as though the traitor could search her mind for the truth she wasn’t hiding; two loves, both stolen away. What was left, when all she cared about was taken from reach? Hogwarts, as much her home as was the Burrow, was what. The Muggleborns of the Wizarding World, who needed more than just Harry Potter to count on, was what. The Fight for a world she could live in with pride, was what.
Filled up with a sudden, steely calm, Ginny gave the man one brisk nod, and said, “All right, I will!” Then she twisted her wrist free, slithered out of the sledge, and marched up the stairs, into the castle.
And if he followed behind her or not, she did not bother to turn around and see.
Part 7
Author: Cluegirl
Type: Fiction
Length: Novella -- words.
Main character or Pairing: Ginny/Luna, with a side of Harry/Snape.
Rating: NC17
Canon compliancy: Shooting for canon compliance. If you squint.
Disclaimer: All HP characters are the sole intellectual property of JKRowling, whom I am not. Therefore, I make no profit from this use.
Warnings: Graphic descriptions of childbirth, but aside from that, it's pretty vanilla.
Summary: Harry is not the only one who must struggle for a sense of self against the expectations of others; Ginny's dreams are heavily mortgaged too. It takes a brush with tragedy to alert her to the very real possibility of losing all, if she does not take matters into her own hands.
Cards Drawn: The Empress, the Ace of Swords reversed, and Strength.
Card Interpretation: The Empress -- satisfaction, a competent woman spinning the future from the present.
The Ace of Swords, reversed -- Words, or the threat of them, used to destroy. A silence that is destructive. A refusal, or inability to speak up when words are needed
Strength -- Power, energy, a calm and soothing conviction. Fearlessness.
Author Notes: Thanks to the League of Extraordinary Betae: Jenna_Thorn, emessann, amanuensis1, and kaiz. And also, my plot doctor, the ever-patient aquila_dominus. The title of the song, and the verses used at the chapter heads come from the song Bullet, by Covenant.
Part 1, Part 2, Part 2a, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5
~* Jaffa Cakes, and the Symmetry of Opposition *~
Beating like a Bass Drum, time goes by: I want the last dance, just like you.
Milicent was at the apartment when Ginny flooed back for some dry clothes before dinner. She looked up from polishing her broom with a glower that was a match for any from their school days.
“Your mum’s firecalled,” she growled. “Again. Twice.”
Ginny winced. “You didn’t tell her-“
“That you were too busy with the Potter-Weasley-Lovegood family freakshow to take her calls?” Milicent snorted, and tossed her oily rag onto the table. “Hardly. I thought about it, but I get enough tellings-off from Peakes at practices now you’re not around to take your share of the abuse anymore. If your mum gets mad enough to send a howler, though, I swear I will do.”
“Old Peakey really getting on your arse then?” Ginny ignored the slight, and went for blood.
Never one to disappoint, her surly ex-teammate rose to the challenge. “You’ve no fecking idea! He’s the one who tapped Attercop in, despite her being useless as tits on a bloke and half blind in the bargain. And then he’s the nerve to call me on the carpet over Bludgers getting through!”
A flawless diversion, if she did say so herself. Ginny grinned, and tuned Milicent out while she dug out a change of clothes. Her laundry was still folded neatly in the baskets that Kreacher had left when he’d last cleared up her overnighters from Grimmauld Place. He wasn’t the best at folding nicely, but the old House Elf was positively brilliant at getting spit-up stains out. She was halfway out of her blouse when a bit of Milicent’s grumbling caught her attention.
“Wait,” she asked, “Peakes said what about me?”
“Wanted to know when you’re coming off maternity and getting back to work,” Milicent repeated slowly. “And from the look of those wobbly stretch marks, I’d say you could do with a bit of exercise, too.”
“Jamie’s not even weaned yet!” Ginny replied to the first point, while flashing two fingers to the second. “Why would Peakes think I’d want to leave my six-month-old baby, to sign on for a bloody Quidditch tour?”
Milicent gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Why would you keep half your stuff here, list this flat as your home address, and take all your owls, papers, and parental firecalls here when you only sleep in that bed once or twice a month?” She examined her nails as Ginny shimmied out of her trousers and grabbed a new pair. “If you’re not at Potter’s place, you’re at Lovegood’s place, and you’ve not even brought your sprog to the flat - and don’t think I’m not grateful for that, by the way. So yeah, maybe a few people are starting to think that the baby’s a business deal between you and Potter. Heir-for-hire, you know?”
“Mph!” Ginny spat hair out of her mouth, pulled her top over her head, and tried again. “Jamie a business deal? You’re actually serious?”
“He wouldn’t be the first queer paterfamilias to do it.” Again, that shrug, but Ginny didn’t miss the gleam of curiousity in those sharp brown eyes. “Usually they marry their heir’s mother though, and have concubines on the side. Like old Malfoy, you know? Potter’s Muggle-raised though, so who knows what he thinks is proper.”
“Oh, for-“ Ginny snatched up a new robe, and shook it out with a crack of frustration. “So wanting to be my own person instead of just another byline to Harry’s publicity makes me some kind of… of…” she threw up her arms in frustration, “heartless, selfish iconoclast?”
“Well, that, and carrying on with Lovegood like you do. Most people have you figured for one of those painfully liberated bachelorette types.” Milicent fired back as she pushed off the door frame and wandered into the kitchenette. “Anyway, I told Peakes I’d pass the message on, and I told your mum I’d say she firecalled, and I have done. So now you can bloody well deal with it, while I eat all the Jaffa Cakes.”
“Right. Fine. Great,” Ginny took a deep breath, combed a hand through her hair, and charmed a couple spare changes of clothing into her overnight bag. “It’s just I can’t actually handle any of that tonight.” Following Milicent into the kitchen, she thought about trying to steal a cake, but at the glower she received, thought better of it. “I just stopped by for some clothes, and I’ve got to head straight out.”
“Might just as well take the lot, then.”
“Milly…”
“Oh, get off it. You hardly live here anyway, and you know it.” Milicent licked a bit of orange jelly from her fingers. “So what’s got you in such a dither tonight that you daren’t let your mum get wind of it then?”
Ginny resisted the urge to chew the inside of her lip. “Negotiations.”
The brown eyebrow arched. “Oh? You signing on with another team then?”
“Sort of. A bit. More like a…” buggery, how to put this? “A business deal…” Milicent waited, eyes boring holes in Ginny’s head while she chewed another cake. Ginny gave in first. “That paterfamilias thing you mentioned,” she explained, and pointedly took one of the biscuits out of Milicent’s grip, “Only not for the Potter heir.”
At that, Milicent’s other eyebrow went up, but a broad grin blossomed underneath it, transforming the homely face into something surprisingly sweet. “You wee minx! You’re going to bang the White Knight of Slytherin? What does Potter think of that?”
“That’s what tonight’s about. Seeing what Harry thinks. It’ll be both of them, see?” Merlin, even saying it made the blood rush to her face and stay there! “I mean, I’ll just be carrying their baby to term, not actually... er... banging them. Him. Oh, you know what I mean, and so help me, this had better NOT show up in any paper, or locker room gossip, Bulstrode, or you’ll still be picking bat-bogeys out of your sinuses on your hundredth birthday, are we clear?”
Milicent waved her threat aside with sticky fingers. “Don’t you worry about it. Snape’s always known how to work Potter. If he wants what you’re offering, he’ll get his way, and Potter won’t know what hit him.” Her grin tried to be wicked, but the chocolate smears on her teeth spoiled the effect. “You’re offering him a fairytale ending, aren’t you? Happily ever after, riding into the sunset, true love and a rose-covered cottage, and everything. The trick will be getting him to believe there’s no trick.” A moment’s glower. “There isn’t a trick, is there?”
“Aside from the trick of me managing to convince the walking tribute to Slytherin suspicion to take a Gryffindor’s offer at face value?” Ginny scoffed, and tried to steal another cake. Milicent fended her off with the teakettle. “No, there’s no trick. But I’m thinking it might just be easier to convince old Malfoy to court a Muggleborn.”
“Fairy tale ending?” Milicent reminded her, “Why wouldn’t he go for it?”
Ginny sighed. “Because he’s Snape, I guess. He’s not very good at doing things that might make him happy.”
“He’s a Slytherin,” Milicent replied, as though that explained everything. “You just leave him to Potter. He knows how to work Snape - these past years since the war have proven that. Hell, he even got Snape to stop wearing black all the time, which I thought wasn’t even possible.” She gestured broadly, and sloshed tea on the floor. Ginny winced, but decided to ignore it.
“Potter’ll get what they both want,” Milicent went on, gleeful and smug. “Snape will act like he’s suffering through the whole thing, Lovegood will act like a loon, and you’ll forget how much you hated expelling that first parasite, and nine months later, bob’s your uncle - a new heir to the Prince line enters the world.”
And to that, Ginny couldn’t help but laugh. “Milly, dearest, when you decide to leave the broom and the bat behind, you’ll have quite the future writing the Society Gossip columns.” She shouldered her bag, finally managed to steal a cake, and headed for the fireplace as Milicent barked a laugh behind her.
“Me, a reporter? Hardly. I’m as silent as the grave.” She leaned over the counter, and lit the fireplace with a wave of her wand. “Unless your mum happens to firecall here with another bloody second-hand guilt trip, in which case I just might spill every gory detail into her lap, and the devil take the hindmost!”
“Extortion!” Ginny protested.
“Call yer mum!” Milicent replied, and shoved her into the floo.
~* Truancy, Treason, and Things Your Friends Won’t Tell You *~
Ginny was lost.
She could hear her mum bustling about in the kitchen, whistling along with the wireless just as though the world was still turning, as though the clouds outside were only raining an early winter sleet, instead of frozen, helpless tears.
The warm, homey smells of hot, spiced cider and gingerbread drifted up the stairs. Woodsmoke and spice, just beginning to tint over to the bloody, onionish smell of the roast - big enough to feed an army of Weasleys that weren’t there, -- that Molly had put into the oven after lunch. As though cooking food for them would bring them all safely home. As if it could possibly be that easy.
Her belly grumbled, and Ginny turned her face to the wall, ignoring the swell of nausea that the scent of food had been rousing in her all week. Christmas goose to New Year’s bubbly wine, to toast and tea in the grey of morning, it all smelt like hopelessness covered over with lies.
Harry was gone, running, hunted, maybe dead. Luna was gone, stolen by the monsters while Ginny had done nothing -- nothing -- to stop it. She clenched her eyes, pressed a fist against her lips to stop up the sound that was gathering along with the gorge in her throat. Should have known. Should have stayed with her. Shouldn’t have let that little slag Parkinson distract me. Shouldn’t have let Corner and Chang stop me. Should have blocked their freezing hex. Could have got there in time, if only they hadn’t tried to bloody well protect me! She punched the pillow, hard as she could, remembering the sudden, dizzying swarm of black robes and white masks that had filled the Hogwarts Express. Corner and Chang had stuffed her in the luggage rack, slung a school robe over her head so the Death Eaters wouldn’t spot her.
And they hadn’t -- they’d no more than smashed the glass from the door, pointed wands at the Ravenclaws, and scanned the car before shouting “Not in this one!” and moving on. Stupid, stupid! They didn’t even try to fight!
And then, almost as quickly as they’d come, the Death Eaters had gone again. Chang and Corner had let her go, tried to explain themselves, but what did it matter why they’d done it? It was done. Ginny could have cursed them both, only she’d had to get back to her car, to check on Luna.
Only when she did, Luna had gone as well, the door of their compartment shattered and hanging askew, the curtains still smouldering as Ginny had ducked inside. But all she had been able to find were Luna's stupid goggles, a few flecks of blood, and some blonde hair, stuck in the open outside window. Luna must have been trying to climb out when they’d snatched her.
Ginny clenched her eyes, pulled the perspectacles from their hiding place beneath her pillow, and cradled them to her breast, strangling a moan behind her teeth.
I could have stopped it! I should have stopped it. Somehow. Somehow.
But she hadn’t stopped it. She’d let Parkinson wind her up in the passageway between cars, and she’d let Chang and Corner get the drop on her, and now… now it was too late; Luna was gone. The one thing Ginny’d had to hold onto was gone. Maybe forever. No amount of baking could shore up that awful, aching loss.
The unspoken threat of a cheering charm had been all that kept Ginny from vanishing every bloody plate of food her mum had foisted on her in the past week. She had never felt less like eating in her entire life. Come to that, she couldn’t recall ever wanting less to get out of bed either, but thanks to Fred and George’s years of mischief, there wasn’t a door in the Burrow that could stay locked when Molly turned the handle. And getting chivvied out of bed, getting caught weeping, or even just staring out the window at the grey, grim Cornwall winter - well that led to questions, lectures, platitudes, and lies.
I’m sure she’ll be fine, dear. Chin up now! If they really wanted to hurt her, they’d not have taken her with them, I’m certain. All spoken through smiles that never reached their frightened eyes. Don’t you worry, love. Harry’s a resourceful boy, and he’s got Ron and Hermione with him for help, as well! It’ll be just fine, you’ll see. And try not to share a knowing, worried glance when you say it, of course. Here, let’s have that dull old newspaper, and I’ll serve us all up some lovely pudding! Who’s for a game of Exploding Snap then?
It was nearly enough to make her relieved that she’d be going back to Hogwarts in the morning.
Nearly.
She closed her eyes, and struggled to take a deep breath. Then another. Then another. There was time for a nap before dinner. Time to lie very very still and pretend she was sleeping. Time to close her eyes and pretend that Luna would be waiting for her on platform 9 ¾ in the morning, that it would all turn out to have been a horrid dream, Fred and George pulling a prank that was more tasteless than usual, a misunderstanding, a mistake, SOMEthing. Something other than a grim and awful truth that now Hogwarts would hold no Harry, no Hermione or Ron or Fred or George, and now there would be no Luna either. What was left?
Damn it... she wasn't going to cry again! She just wasn't!
Suddenly, Mum’s singing belowstairs cut off in a short, startled scream. Breath catching in her throat for another reason entirely now, Ginny bolted upright in her bed, and scrambled after her wand. Another attack? Why? What was left at the Burrow worth having?
"Get out!" Molly's voice cracked the sudden silence like a shot. "You get out of my house at once! You're not welcome here, you murdering traitor!"
"Of that, I have no doubt, madam." Ginny couldn't quell the shiver of hatred/horror/alarm that wrung itself up her spine as she recognized Headmaster Snape's snide voice. "However, I am here on-"
"I don't care why you're here! You get out right this instant, or so help me, I'll-"
"You'll give me a plausible excuse for having defended myself with whatever force I deem necessary in order to carry out my duties as Headmaster of Hogwarts." No mistaking the warning there -- it drew Ginny up short, hand on the doorknob, and wand dripping sparks across her threadbare carpet. Not her mum. Not her too!
"Ginny..." Molly's voice went dry and pale when she said it. Ginny could imagine the blood draining from her face, her wand drooping toward the carpet. "But start of term isn't until-"
"The charter of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry allows for the Headmaster to enact certain... preventative measures when, in his opinion, certain students show a high risk of truancy," Snape went on, now sounding oily and smug.
Ginny backed away from the door.
"My Ginevra has never-"
"She has been caught out of bounds several times this year already, Mrs. Weasley, and has been implicated in several acts of theft and vandalism." The floorboards click-groaned under his bootheels as Snape paced from the kitchen... through the hallway..."She already has two brothers who failed both to complete their final year of school, and to appear for their NEWTs." Across the lounge. Clickcreak. Clickcreak. Clickcreak. Where was Bill? Wasn't he supposed to have half an eye on the wards whenever Dad was away? "And young Ginevra has another brother who seems likely to follow their example this term."
"Ronald is ill." The lie rang hollow even to Ginny's ears. "The healers have already-"
She had to go. She had to go now, before he dragged her back to that prison of a school, where she would be little better than a hostage! Ginny tore open her trunk, and began digging out books, parchments, and school uniforms to make room for important things.
"Two years ago," Snape carried on as though Molly hadn't spoken at all. "Ginevra and young Ronald both ran away to London in the company of several other... hooligans," He was coming up the stairs now. Why didn't she keep any useful potions in her room? She'd never make it to the loo and back without getting caught! Bare feet scuffing the carpet, Ginny turned a frantic circle, and tried to think!
Snape's voice went loud as he topped the landing and stepped under the lower ceiling of the upstairs hallway. "- and given her parents' habit of permissive indulgence, I see no good reason to assume Miss Ginevra Weasley will honour her legal obligation to appear at Hogwarts tomorrow evening with the rest of the students."
"She will!"
I won't! But if she didn't, where else could she go?
Ginny flinched as her door shuddered under a sudden weight -- not a knock, no. This was someone heavy, and not very tall throwing herself against it, blocking it with her body.
Mum would die for me. The awful truth of that statement sank like a stone into Ginny's soul. She'd heard of it before, such terrible love. Like the way Lily Potter had thrown herself in the way of the curse meant for her son… But Ginny had never understood that if her mum did die for her, Snape would still take her away afterward. And whatever happened then, Ginny’s life would never include Molly Weasley again.
And I... I would have died for Luna too. She swallowed, and forced her hand to stop shaking. I would have. And what good would that have done?
Ginny opened the door.
"It's all right, Mum," she said, catching Molly's shoulder as she staggered back. "I'll go with the..." she flickered a glance at the looming, stark shadow of a man beyond. "I'll go. I'm nearly packed now anyway."
"No," Molly's hand was bloodless white, and cold on her wrist. "Your father will want-"
"I'll write when we get to school," Kissing her mother's cheek, Ginny prised loose, and aimed the packing spell that Tonks had taught her at her the mess she'd made of her school trunk. "That way you'll know that nothing's happened to me." She thought Snape might have made a noise through that dirty great nose of his, but Ginny resisted the urge to turn and glare at him. She wasn't going to give him the excuse.
"Oh!" and suddenly Ginny was smothered in nubby, pillowy, hand-knit adoration, one curl of greying ginger hair tickling her nose as her mum trembled against her. It was almost alarming to realize that Ginny was just about the same height. When had that happened?
She closed her eyes, turned her face into her mother's hair, and scraped up a smile. "It'll be all right, Mum. You’ll see.”
A rustle of movement from the hallway made Ginny flinch, but Snape had only shrunk and summoned her trunk. He gave them both a disdainful sneer when Molly whirled to face him again. “Charming. Before either of you feels it necessary to burst into song, however, may I point out that Miss Weasley has neither shoes nor cloak on at present? The walk from Hogsmeade will be quite unpleasant in that state, I daresay. The snow is quite deep just now.”
Molly opened her mouth, face blazing again, but Ginny tugged her jumper and pushed past into the hallway. “My boots are by the kitchen door,” she summoned up an icy dignity she didn’t feel, and summoned a pair of socks from the wardrobe. “You may wait for me there, if you like.”
His glittering black eyes narrowed, but he still cut a brisk nod, and retreated as far as the staircase.
Grumbling a word for which she’d have soaped any of her children’s mouths, Molly turned and eyed him with patent distrust while Ginny pulled the socks over her bare feet. They were the grey and maroon ones, from Ginny’s Christmas box this year, she noticed with a pang. “I’ll see you all at Easter,” she said once that was done.
“Of course, dear,” her mother answered, not shifting her glare from Snape even as she gathered Ginny into a one-armed hug. “Just like every year. You make us proud, and stay out of trouble.”
Snape rolled his eyes. “Come, Miss Weasley, let us go before your mother gives you any further contradictory orders.”
Ginny ignored him, and stepped around until she could stare intently into her mother’s face. “I will make you and Daddy proud,” she promised. Then she kissed her mother’s stunned, slack lips, and proceeded to march straight past grotty old Snape just as if she didn’t give two figs for his authority.
He might have made a rude noise when he turned to follow, but Ginny told herself she didn’t care if he did.
In the garden, he offered his arm - a gesture that might have seemed gallant, had a less loathsome man made it, or had his face not been twisted into a moue of distaste. Ginny returned that look coolly. “I don’t need your help,” she said, pulling on her mittens. “Unless you’re intending to Apparate me somewhere other than Hogwarts’ gates.”
He rolled his eyes. “You are not licensed to Apparate anywhere at all, Miss. Weasley; however if your natural pig-headedness forbids you accepting the guidance of one obliged to provide it, then by all means, do as you will. I’m certain the Aurors stationed at Hogsmeade will find your independence and disregard for the law… charming.”
Give them a reason, he seemed to be saying.
Infuriating. And strangely, almost a relief to be filled up with clean, bright anger after a week of grey, muddling grief. Ginny took hold of the man’s elbow, and at once they were squeezing through a dizzying, breathless nothingness, emerging from Cornwall’s mizzling winter rain, into Scotland’s thick, bitter snow.
The winged boars on Hogwarts’ gates looked as though a mad pastry chef had been at them with icing sugar, and the snow was so thick and wet, the massive iron gates shuddered, and scraped back great wings of it as they opened. A sledge waited just inside, its traces draped around a pair of conspicuous nothings where Harry or Luna would have surely seen thestrals.
Ginny sighed, and looked away, her indignation flickering out as quickly as it had come. She let Snape hand her up into the sledge without a comment, and ignored the rugs and blankets piled within as he came round and climbed in the other side. She wasn’t all that cold anyway.
“I understand Potter was nearly caught at Christmas,” Snape observed idly as the sledge jerked into motion.
Ginny weathered the twinge of pain, then took a breath and shrugged. “I wouldn’t know about that.” Nearly caught. Nearly. Meaning Harry hadn’t yet been caught. Oh, how tempting, the hope of that ‘nearly!’ She closed her eyes, and did not watch the great, empty castle drawing nearer across the snowy fields.
“No, of course not. Why should the princess concern herself with what takes place outside her ivory tower?” Snape sneered. “All you need do, after all, is sit back, ignore the unpleasantness of war, and attend to your needlework until your Ulysses returns to your rescue.”
Ginny clenched her fist, and did not open her eyes. He could not make her look at him, he could not make her speak to him. He hadn’t the right, whatever sorts of hateful lies he might spew!
“How inconvenient for you, though, that Potter will almost certainly die in pursuit of his quest.”
“He won’t!” Ginny snarled before she could stop herself.
Snape gave her a smirk. “Oh, but I find it quite likely that he will. He does so fit the martyr’s profile, after all; the plucky Jack who bumbles through his adventures by grace of a magical protector, and his own, blind stupid luck. And once he has squandered his protections, and stubbornly tripped all the traps he has been warned against, his guardian can help him no more. Oh yes, that is Our Potter, to a tee. ”
“The Jack always wins,” Ginny pushed the words through her teeth, willing herself to believe them. “Even against giants and ogres, the Jack wins!”
“And so we return to my original observation,” Snape said, and his leer was positively thick with disdain. “I wonder, though, that you can be content with the role of door prize, mewed up and waiting for a hero’s claim. Not very Gryffindorish, such passivity seems.”
“You know nothing about Gryffindors!” Ginny meant to mutter it under her breath, but the icy air, and her tight-wound throat carried the words far and clear. She gulped, then bellied stubbornly up to them. “You think you do, but you’re-“
“Wrong?” He pounced on the word. “Unfair? Biased, perhaps, because I notice that the whole, rosy lot of you seem to believe you’re living a fairy tale, where heroes save the day, villains are always ugly, and only Slytherins ever die?”
The sledge was slowing as they pulled up the hill, and into the castle’s shadow. Ginny steadied herself with a deep breath, and boosted her chin. “Saving the day makes you a hero, whoever you are; ugly is as ugly does, and an ugly heart makes a pretty face disgusting,” and she couldn’t hold back a sneer at the last, “And when Slytherins push the rest of us to fight in order to stop them, then yes, they’ll die. And if Gryffindors lead the rest in the fight, it’s because we’re not afraid to do what we have to do.”
The sledge pulled to a stop at the main doors, but before Ginny could climb out of the sledge, Snape caught her hand in a grip of iron, pulled her face in close to his own, and hissed, “Prove it!”
Two words; two glittering black eyes boring into her own as though the traitor could search her mind for the truth she wasn’t hiding; two loves, both stolen away. What was left, when all she cared about was taken from reach? Hogwarts, as much her home as was the Burrow, was what. The Muggleborns of the Wizarding World, who needed more than just Harry Potter to count on, was what. The Fight for a world she could live in with pride, was what.
Filled up with a sudden, steely calm, Ginny gave the man one brisk nod, and said, “All right, I will!” Then she twisted her wrist free, slithered out of the sledge, and marched up the stairs, into the castle.
And if he followed behind her or not, she did not bother to turn around and see.
Part 7