Fic: The Heartbreak in the Heart of Things for Greenspine
Title: The Heartbreak in the Heart of Things
Pairing/characters: Implied Tom/Minerva and Harry/Ginny
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Voldemort decides that Ginny needs to pay for the destruction of one of his horcruxes. Professor McGonagall has other ideas.
Notes: This is a belated birthday gift for greenspine. *smooches* Erm, I haven't been very nice to Voldemort here, I'm afraid, but I hope you like it anyway! Many, many thanks to luzdeestrellas, who made this story about fifty times better than the version I sent her. The title comes courtesy of the latest prompt on darkening_days, and is from a Wilfrid Wilson Gibson poem. Concrit is always appreciated.
Ginny ached all over; even her eyelids hurt as she struggled to lift them. She opened one eye, and shut it again quickly, fumbling for her wand. Oh, merlin, oh, god, oh, shit. No wand. Voldemort. Think.
"So." The voice, high and smug, forced Ginny's eyes wide open this time. Voldemort padded the width of the room, then turned to face her. "We meet again."
How unoriginal! "We haven't met before," Ginny said coldly as she staggered to her feet, coughing from the dust that covered the floorboards. She wasn't bound, that was one good thing. Now if only she could clear her head... "The part of you that I met's dead - killed by a twelve-year-old boy!" She drew a gasp of air and gazed at her surroundings, but the room was bare and unlikely to be of help. The only signs of habitation were a dark red armchair near a hearthrug. Keep him talking, she thought, remembering their last encounter. He likes talking to his victims.
"Don't be rude, girl," Voldemort said sharply, but almost instantly his tone changed. "Did you like me, I wonder? You and I were very close at one time."
Sweat dripped from her hairline and trickled down her back. She strove to sound unconcerned. "He used me. We weren't close in the slightest - he almost killed me, remember?"
The stench of flesh under her fingernails. Ice in her limbs. Lead for blood. So cold, so exhausted - too tired to be frightened any more.
Voldemort laughed, and the sound set her teeth on edge. "Of course I did." Voldemort sounded fond. "I saw an opportunity and I took it. But I'm certain I must have regretted it. Such a pretty girl, so much verve and talent. Ah, yes, I must have regretted it."
Ginny shook her head. Silly little girl...so boring.
She resisted the urge to curl up on the floor again. Tom was dead, or so she'd thought; now she realised that he had survived intact in her memories.
"You could have Tom again," Voldemort suggested. His voice had become a sibilant, throaty murmur that set her insides on edge much more than the falsetto he'd used initially had. Her t-shirt felt too tight suddenly.
"Tom's dead," she repeated stubbornly. "He's dead, and I'm glad. I don't want him, I want-"
"Harry?" finished Voldemort smoothly. "But the question is, my dear, does Harry want you?"
Ginny schooled her expression into neutrality. She was still trying to recall exactly how she'd come to be here, facing a psychopath who taunted her with all the expertise of a ten-year-old boy. Voldemort was skilled at Legilimency. Was that how he was doing it? That's my wand you're holding, she thought fiercely.
As if he'd heard her, Voldemort inspected the wand in his right hand. "Inferior, of course," he remarked. "I presume your parents couldn't afford a better one for you."
"Where's yours, then?" Ginny said as rudely as she could. Think. Does anyone know you're here?
"Nobody knows," he drawled, and she jumped. Get out of my mind, she thought fiercely. There was no reaction this time, only the impression of another presence just out of sight of her thoughts, biding its time. Clear the mind, Harry had said morosely when he'd tried to explain Occlumency to her, you have to clear the mind of all thought and emotion, but how do you do that when you're under pressure? Well, she'd just have to learn quickly.
Voldemort drew a second wand from a pocket in his robes. "Nobody knows where you are," he repeated. "I left no message this time for the righteous to follow. And although I'd be delighted if Potter chose to join us, the time is not ripe for that."
"You mean you're too weak to take him on," she said calmly. Clear the mind.
Voldemort's reaction was predictable. "You're very perky, for someone who will die very shortly," he hissed. "No one is coming to rescue you, you know. Your friends are distracted at present; I doubt they've even noticed your disappearance."
And suddenly the battle came back to her so forcefully that she almost overbalanced. He was right. In the confusion around Hogsmeade, it was unlikely that anybody would have noticed Voldemort Apparating away with her - and even if they had, how would they know where to come? It was down to her.
Clear the mind. "So, why did you bring me here?" There was the wand that had matched Harry's, she thought, and yet they did not resemble one another at all. So strange that one ingredient could make two wands 'brothers'. She watched as her own wand slipped out of sight into Voldemort's robes.
"Ha!" Voldemort's voice hardened. "Because your little adventure in Slytherin's Chamber deprived me of something rather dear to me."
"What, a memory of you as a teenager?" she mocked. "He was an idiot; you don't want him back."
"He was part of m-" he began, and relief eclipsed her fear briefly. He really was very easy to goad.
"No matter," he said dismissively. "What was lost can be...compensated for, if not replaced." He strode across to the fireplace, muttered a spell and pulled down the glittering silver sword that hung over the mantelpiece.
"Do you recognise this, Ginny?" His voice was low again, hinting seductively at memories that she'd tried to forget, and she forced herself to look at the hand that held the sword. Greenish fingers, talons for nails; he was barely human. She remembered pale skin, dark eyes, long, smooth fingers lying chill over her cheekbone. She imagined what lay under that hood, and made herself speak evenly.
"How did you get that? The last time I saw it, it was safe in Professor Dumbledore's study."
Voldemort sniggered. "Since Dumbledore's death, certain of the treasures of Hogwarts are not as well protected as dear Minerva believes."
He sketched a cross in the air with the sword.
Ginny sought for a way to keep him talking. "You were at school with Professor McGonagall, weren't you?"
His voice sharpened. "Did she tell you that, or did you work it out?"
What an interesting reaction! Ginny thought quickly. "It was obvious," she said.
"Easy to work out if one knew the dates," Voldemort mused. "Ah, Minerva!" He held the sword up to the light; his hood fell back slightly, revealing a flattened nose with slits for nostrils, and Ginny took a deep breath. That made her cough, and she thought longingly of the fresh air by the lake on the Hogwarts grounds. "She was beautiful once, you know, although you wouldn't believe it if you saw her now."
"She's a lot better-looking than you are," retorted Ginny.
"Thank you, Ginny." Ginny whirled around. Professor McGonagall was walking slowly towards them, immaculate as ever in her dark robes. There was a spring in her step, Ginny thought, that had been missing all year.
"Professor!" Ginny sprang towards her; she didn't hear Voldemort's curse, but before she'd taken two steps, pain filled her mind, atomising every thought instantly. When she tried to recall it later she was unable to find the words to do it justice. 'Agony', 'total pain', 'being stabbed with a thousand knives' - nothing adequately described the pain of being subjected to the Cruciatus curse.
The next thing she knew, she was sprawled at Professor McGonagall's feet, groaning in reaction to the curse. She gulped in air for a few seconds, before voices impinged on her consciousness.
"-father's house?" Professor McGonagall was saying. "It took me ten minutes to find you. You really should stop being so predictable, you know."
"Few people know how to find this place." Voldemort turned the sword this way and that. "I'm delighted that you decided to stop by, my dear, but I have business with this young woman."
"Leave her out of this," Professor McGonagall said sharply. "She's only a girl."
"Age is irrelevant, Minerva." Voldemort sounded almost amused. "Besides, it would be an example to that ghastly family of hers. And Potter likes her."
Professor McGonagall glanced at Ginny and smiled kindly. "Ah, poor Ginny. She's had a crush on Harry since the age of eleven, and he's been too kind to hurt her feelings. He always was such a kind boy." Her eyes flicked back to Voldemort. "Unlike some."
She's trying to save me, she's trying to save me, Ginny thought desperately. She must be; she can't mean that.
Voldemort stepped towards her and looked down almost curiously. She struggled to her feet, the aching in her muscles dwarfed by another, deeper pain that started somewhere near her stomach and was forging a path up towards her throat, where it might break free in a childish wail at any moment. She forced herself to meet his eyes, mere flickers inside the hood. He reached out to touch her cheek, and she put all her remaining energy into a glare.
"You're wrong, Minerva," Voldemort said, looking back at Professor McGonagall. "At least, this girl believes you are. Of course, that may merely make her rather pitiful, if what you say is true. But she has potential, you know, and I can't believe Potter hasn't seen it."
"Tom," began Professor McGonagall, and Ginny felt a pang of disbelief that anyone could call the creature inside those robes 'Tom'. Tom had been warm as Voldemort was cold, beautiful instead of horrific, masterful instead of pathetic.
Something tugged at her mind, but she thrust it aside for subsequent consideration. Voldemort still had the upper hand somehow. That was silly, thought Ginny.
"Tom," said Professor McGonagall carefully, "you were going to use this little girl to further your cause."
Voldemort laughed. "She doesn't like you referring to her as a little girl," he remarked.
Clear the mind! Ginny thought desperately. Professor McGonagall was planning something; she must be. But what? She must concentrate on thinking. But how did you think while trying to keep your mind blank?
"It seems a shame," Professor McGonagall said lightly, "for you to use such a meagre specimen for so great a task. What if a better one was offered? What if she offered herself willingly?"
"What are you suggesting, Minerva?" asked Voldemort, and Ginny suppressed a shudder. There was a lascivious note in Voldemort's voice, as if someone had offered him a forbidden pleasure that he had long been denied.
"Leave the girl; take me," said Professor McGonagall.
"Professor, no!" cried Ginny.
"Quiet, girl." Voldemort motioned her away as he moved closer to Professor McGonagall. "You would do this for me?"
"There was a time," Professor McGonagall said steadily, "when I would have done anything for you."
"I remember," said Voldemort, and again his tone made Ginny want to curl into a ball.
Voldemort pulled off his hood and held the sword so that the rubies in the hilt sparkled in the firelight. The red of his eyes echoed the rubies eerily, but most frightening of all was his face, white and ghostly even in the dull light of the room.
"Oh, Tom." It was all Professor McGonagall said, but Ginny heard the heartbreak in her voice.
"Minerva," Voldemort answered and laid the sword on the floor between them. Then he stepped over it, bending in as if for a kiss.
An instant before spindly fingers closed around her head, the stately headmistress became a mass of fur and claws. Voldemort cried out as the cat bounced off him and disappeared behind the armchair. Green and red light soaked into the burgundy brocade, and two seconds later Professor McGonagall reappeared amid a burst of hexes.
"Crucio," yelled Voldemort, "Crucio."
Professor McGonagall deflected the curses easily and shot back a stinging hex. "I can't let you do this, Tom," she called, and then, "Ginny, get out! Get help, but get out!" She didn't spare a glance for Ginny, concentrating instead on blocking a barrage of curses with which Voldemort was attacking in between incoherent threats.
For a moment, instinct took over. Ginny obeyed her instructions and hurried towards the door, keeping one eye on Voldemort, although he seemed entirely preoccupied with flinging furious insults and hexes at Professor McGonagall.
"You've never beaten me yet," she heard him snarl as she peeped around the door. No one was in sight, and she hurried down the hall towards the stairs, alert for any sign of Voldemort's supporters. Nobody stepped from a dark corner to challenge her, and she wondered whether the battle was still going on. Who was winning? And who had died? Harry flashed into her mind, and her chest constricted.
Then she realised what she'd done. She'd left Professor McGonagall to fight Voldemort alone, and this after the headmistress had offered herself in Ginny's place. Ginny wasn't entirely certain what Voldemort had been about to do to her, but she was reasonably sure that Professor McGonagall - who, oh, merlin, was an elderly lady whom Ginny had abandoned to her fate - hadn't been volunteering to be tucked up in bed with a hot water bottle.
Granted, she hadn't looked much like an elderly lady in that room - more like an avenging goddess - and granted, Ginny had no wand. But Muggles had to do without wands; surely she could, too. She turned around, thinking hard. Harry had mentioned an occasion when he thought that perhaps he'd done magic without touching his wand, but he'd been very uncertain about it, and rather vague. Still, a vague, uncertain hope was better than nothing. She pictured Voldemort slipping her wand between the folds of his robes, and stepped back through the doorway.
Voldemort was facing away from her; from this angle, Ginny thought, he looked normal, if very tall and thin. Verbal feints were still audible amid the physical evidence of the duel.
"There was a time," Voldemort said, sounding only slightly out of breath, "when I thought you would join me."
Professor McGonagall's eyes raked over Ginny, who froze, and then moved onto Voldemort without a flicker of uncertainty. "I couldn't, Tom. I believe in life for all, not for the privileged few. Incarcerus."
"You didn't always," said Voldemort. "Petrificus totalus. We used to agree on a lot of things. Crucio!" He had not noticed Ginny's presence yet, and she hoped desperately that he could not read her mind as long as he didn't know that she was there.
"And then I grew up," answered Professor McGonagall. "Your life - your life has been a terrible thing." She flung a hex at Voldemort, who swore as he dodged it and turned towards the door. Ginny slid instantly out of sight. When she looked back, Professor McGonagall was avoiding the bilious green light of the killing curse by mere millimetres.
"Don't you ever think about the time we spent together?" Voldemort asked, his voice gentle again.
Why does he keep harping on about the past? Ginny thought irritably, and then caught sight of Professor McGonagall's face. Oh. Her heart ached in sympathy.
You wouldn't believe how lonely I am sometimes, dear Ginny. She thought of her wand, hidden inside Voldemort's robes, and willed it towards her. But even though she was certain that she felt a slight pulse of power from the spot where she believed her wand to be, it did not materialise in her hand.
"Often," admitted the headmistress as she flicked ropes towards Voldemort out of nowhere.
"And yet you won't open your mind to me, or your heart," he replied, just as casually turning them back towards her.
"No." Ginny noted fearfully that Professor McGonagall appeared to be labouring. She had worn herself out over the past year, trying to keep the school safe. And there was no answering curse for Voldemort this time.
"I have regretted our parting for a very long time," Voldemort said, and he also seemed to be scaling the fight down, although he didn't look fatigued. Did he think he'd won? Ginny strained towards her wand, but again there was no reaction beyond that faint fizz of magic.
"Stupefy!" called Professor McGonagall, before transforming into her cat form. Tortoiseshell blurred across the room before unblurring into woman again. "Stupefy! Stupefy!" Both spells ricocheted into the wall, just as her cloak burst into flames. She extinguished the fire with a gasp.
"You seem to have forgotten your non-verbal magic, Minerva," chided Voldemort.
"Oh, shut up," she retorted, following it up with a breathless hex.
"As I was saying," continued Voldemort, "I've often wished we could return to those days. So idyllic; you really were beautiful, my dear. Don't you miss them, really?"
Tell me about yourself, Ginny...
"I missed you horribly," said Professor McGonagall quietly. "But that doesn't change things. You were wrong, Tom. No one is meant to be immortal. We live on in our actions and words, not in our physical bodies."
Voldemort spread his arms wide. "Can't we pretend," he said in a low voice, "that we're back there, just this once?"
Now, thought Ginny desperately, now. He's undefended; hex him! Kill him! But Professor McGonagall merely stared, her rapid breaths betraying her fatigue. "What would you give for that?" she asked finally.
Voldemort hesitated only a moment. "Hogwarts."
"I would need proof."
"I can't give you proof."
They stood silently for a moment: two wary figures, full of longing and distrust. You can't possibly bargain with him, Ginny thought incredulously, willing Professor McGonagall to hear her. You can't, he doesn't care about anybody else. Not you, not me, not anybody.
Professor McGonagall gave no sign of hearing Ginny's thoughts. Ginny wondered if she even remembered that she had an ally close by. The headmistress of Hogwarts took a step towards Voldemort; her eyes briefly overflowed with tears before a hand rubbed them away. Ginny closed her eyes.
"Ah, Minerva," Voldemort said fondly. "How I've missed you." He stepped towards her, and still she did nothing, only watched him. Voldemort extended his free hand towards her, and she wobbled, as if unable to decide whether to capitulate or not.
And Ginny jumped. She thought of Quidditch and Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons and two eleven-year-olds taking on a troll; as she thumped against Voldemort's back, one hand groped for his wand while the other batted at his face as hard as possible.
Voldemort's stifled exclamation became a yell as a finger found his left eye and pressed viciously. His hand prised hers away easily, but she knew she'd done some damage. She concentrated on holding on, hoping that her weight would dislodge him eventually, while her right hand sought his wand. She was only vaguely aware of Professor McGonagall, who still hadn't moved; instead, she thought of Tom, who had mocked her, toyed with her and discarded her as if she was nothing but a fly. She redoubled her struggle, kicking her shins around his thighs as if he was a horse and throwing her weight from side to side.
Voldemort staggered under her weight, but it wasn't enough. My wand, she thought desperately, I need my wand, and as if in answer, her own wand stung her fingers. She'd been right about that trace of magic! Reflexively, she pointed it at Voldemort's head and yelled, "Stupefy," in unison with Professor McGonagall.
Ginny felt Voldemort's body go limp, and scrambled clear an instant before he thumped to the floor.
Suddenly the room was silent except for her own gasping breaths. Professor McGonagall was already Transfiguring Voldemort's cloak into coils of long, thin twine which she proceeded to wrap around his hands and feet.
Ginny pulled herself upright and stared at the figure on the floor. Bound and helpless, he looked even less human, but somehow more pathetic. His wand lay near his right hand, and she picked it up hurriedly.
She gazed at the distorted features and tried again to comprehend how Tom had become this creature. It seemed almost impossible. Unfathomable, until she remembered that at seventeen, Tom Riddle had unleashed Slytherin's monster upon a castle full of children. And that, fifty years later, a memory of that boy had tried to escape his prison by killing an eleven-year-old girl.
"Shouldn't we kill him?" she asked timidly, and met Professor McGonagall's eyes for the first time since she'd returned to the room.
"We can't." The headmistress's voice was impassive, but Ginny didn't miss the hand that reached down as if to touch Voldemort's shoulder. Professor McGonagall looked at her again and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
"His soul is so scattered, you see," she added. "We might - might kill his body, but we'd only emulate what Harry managed seventeen years ago. We have to do more than that this time."
She crouched down by Voldemort's head and whispered a few words that Ginny didn't catch. Then she placed her wand against her own head and drew out several long, shimmering threads of magic. They fluttered downwards, coming to rest on Voldemort's body as Professor McGonagall got to her feet, pointing the wand at her head once more. This time, her hair merely tidied itself.
"You poor girl," she said. Hesitantly, she enfolded a surprised Ginny in a hug. "What a day you've had, and it's not over yet, I'm afraid. Come on."
"Where are we going?" asked Ginny, as they hurried towards the door. She was still clutching a wand in each hand.
Professor McGonagall took a careful look along the corridor before hurrying down it at a rate that belied her age and fatigue.
"It's time," she announced without turning her head, "to find Harry."