Against the Longest Odds
Author: luminousmarble
Title: Against the Longest Odds
Challenge: Poetry - Love me, that I may die the gentler way;
Hate me, because thy love is too great for me. (John Donne)
Summary: Ginny wants to end the impasse between Harry and Voldemort.
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Angst
Word Count: ~1000 words
Warnings: dark
Against the Longest Odds
Love me, that I may die the gentler way
Harry opened his eyes. The ceiling seemed so far away, and one eye wouldn't focus--no, it was his glasses, one lens cracked into a web. And where--no, he remembered: he was in Wiltshire, he'd come on the Night Bus, he'd come out of Hogsmeade, and he'd been met at the front gates by Lucius Malfoy and a dozen others.
His tongue found the cracked and bloody corner of his mouth. Bright copper stung in the back of his throat and he wanted to vomit, but his arms were shackled above his head and he was too tired to turn sideways so that his muscles wouldn't need to work against gravity. Something smelled foul; whether it was the mold that crept up the damp and dripping dungeon walls or the stink of wounds gone sour, he wasn't sure. Lightning flickered across his vision. He didn't care.
After a few minutes or a few hours, the scream of rusted hinges brought him from his stupor to see her, dressed in dark robes and carrying a tray.
"You're alive, you're still alive," he gasped out, once it was clear that they were alone. "I thought--thought it would be too late, and..." He watched Ginny kneel beside the dirty pallet where he'd been chained. She lifted a cup to his lips. Brackish. "What have they done to you?"
Ginny pulled her hands away, slopping water onto the floor. "Nothing," she replied, very simply, looking him straight in the eye. There was no emotion in hers.
Harry had been picturing it in his head, all these long hours--how she'd sat up suddenly in Ron's hot attic room at the Burrow, ripping a page from the books Madam Pince had, at Hermione's tearful request, lent outside Hogwarts. Her eyes would have flashed and she would have held the page to her chest, her mouth half-open, possessed, surely. Hermione would have been sputtering over the damage, and Ron over Hermione, and both would have been shocked to the core when she Apparated without a word.
He had not been there to stop her going. He could have, if not for the damnable need to return to the house that had never been a home to renew the only protection he truly had and the only protection he'd failed, truly failed, to give her in time.
She reached up and checked that his bonds were secure, and a tendril of her hair slipped over her shoulder and he could, for just a moment, smell roses.
That was when the worst part began.
Hate me, because thy love is too great for me
"Because it was the only way," she answered, when Voldemort leaned close and looked at her, too close. And it was; she did not lie. The only way to guarantee that one would die and the other live. Part of the page was gone, blurred where her fear had made the age-old pigment run. She supposed he was too eager to worry over why Harry was already here, weak and bruising in the dungeons. Too confident to do anything but draw the circle on the floor in violet sand and gather his followers to see his triumph. She stood behind the stone podium, the page anchored carefully beneath her hands, just as Voldemort told her to do.
Harry stumbled in with his hands tied behind his back and a ragged blindfold over his eyes. He spoke, his voice harsh and roughened by pain, but without wavering. "Let her go. Whatever you did to her, let her go."
Voldemort tilted his head, a gesture that stopped Harry's guards-though it did not cause them to release their hold. He seemed to ponder this request for a moment; then, he turned smartly to face her. "I don't believe she wants to be let go, Harry." He went on, his thin lips stretching into a horrible slash that was never, ever a smile. "No, I don't believe anyone will be interfering this time. Will you, Ginny?"
She had to. She had to swallow. She had to breathe and it couldn't be a gasp. You're waiting too long, the voice inside her head screamed. "No, my lord."
The guards hesitated no longer, shoving Harry to his knees in the center of the circle and joining their brethren in a ring of protection beyond.
"Remember this," Voldemort said to his men, his voice reaching her ears as if he were far away instead of in this very same room. "Remember the day when he was no longer an obstacle."
The rush began: Light, color, screams. Ginny slid down behind the podium, the cool stone rough against her cheek. Wind whipped at her hair and she closed her eyes. It was forever while she dug her fingernails into her robes.
All at once the howling stopped. It was a long moment before Ginny breathed. Her hand was cramping, and she looked down to see the page that she had torn from a book so long ago was clutched between her fingers. Anticipation rose in her and she spread the parchment across her lap with shaking fingers, seeing but not reading the instructions for the spell that would bring them together--either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives--and imagining how it had been as Harry, the stronger wizard with love's protection, prevailed.
No sound came to her ears--no breathing, no murmur of exhaustion. She crawled forward and froze. Around the edges of the room were shadows etched into the walls marking where Death Eaters had stood, and the floor was burned white. Nowhere did she see Harry. Ginny dragged herself forward to the center of the room. Nothing there except a pile of ashes that turned to mud as her tears fell.
She had gambled, and she had lost.
Title: Against the Longest Odds
Challenge: Poetry - Love me, that I may die the gentler way;
Hate me, because thy love is too great for me. (John Donne)
Summary: Ginny wants to end the impasse between Harry and Voldemort.
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Angst
Word Count: ~1000 words
Warnings: dark
Against the Longest Odds
Love me, that I may die the gentler way
Harry opened his eyes. The ceiling seemed so far away, and one eye wouldn't focus--no, it was his glasses, one lens cracked into a web. And where--no, he remembered: he was in Wiltshire, he'd come on the Night Bus, he'd come out of Hogsmeade, and he'd been met at the front gates by Lucius Malfoy and a dozen others.
His tongue found the cracked and bloody corner of his mouth. Bright copper stung in the back of his throat and he wanted to vomit, but his arms were shackled above his head and he was too tired to turn sideways so that his muscles wouldn't need to work against gravity. Something smelled foul; whether it was the mold that crept up the damp and dripping dungeon walls or the stink of wounds gone sour, he wasn't sure. Lightning flickered across his vision. He didn't care.
After a few minutes or a few hours, the scream of rusted hinges brought him from his stupor to see her, dressed in dark robes and carrying a tray.
"You're alive, you're still alive," he gasped out, once it was clear that they were alone. "I thought--thought it would be too late, and..." He watched Ginny kneel beside the dirty pallet where he'd been chained. She lifted a cup to his lips. Brackish. "What have they done to you?"
Ginny pulled her hands away, slopping water onto the floor. "Nothing," she replied, very simply, looking him straight in the eye. There was no emotion in hers.
Harry had been picturing it in his head, all these long hours--how she'd sat up suddenly in Ron's hot attic room at the Burrow, ripping a page from the books Madam Pince had, at Hermione's tearful request, lent outside Hogwarts. Her eyes would have flashed and she would have held the page to her chest, her mouth half-open, possessed, surely. Hermione would have been sputtering over the damage, and Ron over Hermione, and both would have been shocked to the core when she Apparated without a word.
He had not been there to stop her going. He could have, if not for the damnable need to return to the house that had never been a home to renew the only protection he truly had and the only protection he'd failed, truly failed, to give her in time.
She reached up and checked that his bonds were secure, and a tendril of her hair slipped over her shoulder and he could, for just a moment, smell roses.
That was when the worst part began.
Hate me, because thy love is too great for me
"Because it was the only way," she answered, when Voldemort leaned close and looked at her, too close. And it was; she did not lie. The only way to guarantee that one would die and the other live. Part of the page was gone, blurred where her fear had made the age-old pigment run. She supposed he was too eager to worry over why Harry was already here, weak and bruising in the dungeons. Too confident to do anything but draw the circle on the floor in violet sand and gather his followers to see his triumph. She stood behind the stone podium, the page anchored carefully beneath her hands, just as Voldemort told her to do.
Harry stumbled in with his hands tied behind his back and a ragged blindfold over his eyes. He spoke, his voice harsh and roughened by pain, but without wavering. "Let her go. Whatever you did to her, let her go."
Voldemort tilted his head, a gesture that stopped Harry's guards-though it did not cause them to release their hold. He seemed to ponder this request for a moment; then, he turned smartly to face her. "I don't believe she wants to be let go, Harry." He went on, his thin lips stretching into a horrible slash that was never, ever a smile. "No, I don't believe anyone will be interfering this time. Will you, Ginny?"
She had to. She had to swallow. She had to breathe and it couldn't be a gasp. You're waiting too long, the voice inside her head screamed. "No, my lord."
The guards hesitated no longer, shoving Harry to his knees in the center of the circle and joining their brethren in a ring of protection beyond.
"Remember this," Voldemort said to his men, his voice reaching her ears as if he were far away instead of in this very same room. "Remember the day when he was no longer an obstacle."
The rush began: Light, color, screams. Ginny slid down behind the podium, the cool stone rough against her cheek. Wind whipped at her hair and she closed her eyes. It was forever while she dug her fingernails into her robes.
All at once the howling stopped. It was a long moment before Ginny breathed. Her hand was cramping, and she looked down to see the page that she had torn from a book so long ago was clutched between her fingers. Anticipation rose in her and she spread the parchment across her lap with shaking fingers, seeing but not reading the instructions for the spell that would bring them together--either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives--and imagining how it had been as Harry, the stronger wizard with love's protection, prevailed.
No sound came to her ears--no breathing, no murmur of exhaustion. She crawled forward and froze. Around the edges of the room were shadows etched into the walls marking where Death Eaters had stood, and the floor was burned white. Nowhere did she see Harry. Ginny dragged herself forward to the center of the room. Nothing there except a pile of ashes that turned to mud as her tears fell.
She had gambled, and she had lost.