Chapter 11: Burnt Are Our Homes
This time, Ginny walked through the front doors of Malfoy Manor and a house-elf escorted her through the gloomy corridors without a word. The man she wanted to see was still there, at his leisure in a parlor.
"Lord Voldemort."
"Virginia," he replied, coming to his feet and beckoning her closer, and Ginny held her head up and walked across the carpet to meet him. "You come seeking power, yes?"
Ginny shivered. "Yes, " she confirmed, placing her hand gracefully on top of his outstretched palm.
Voldemort lifted it and brushed his lips across the back before turning it over and kissing her palm. He raised her arm higher, watching her face as he pushed up her sleeve, then bent his head down and bit into the pale expanse of her left forearm.
She winced at the sharp pain, which ended abruptly when Voldemort pulled his mouth away and raised his eyebrows at someone behind her. "Lucius," he said, dropping her hand. "News?"
Ginny pressed hard on the rising welt in the shape of a skull and snake with her right hand and turned around, dropping the broom tucked under her arm. The steely glare that Lucius focused on her was so malevolent that she nearly flinched. His eyes narrowed dangerously as he handed a stack of letters to Voldemort. "Where's Draco?"
Voldemort cocked his head to one side. "Yes. Where is Draco?"
"Gone," Ginny choked out. "He was gone before I returned. Nobody knows where he went."
"I had forgotten how often you fail when not properly supervised." Voldemort pulled her close, putting his mouth up to her ear and whispering, "Punishment."
Punishment was solitary confinement in Draco's room with one meal appearing each day at teatime. No house-elf came to dust the tables; no newspaper was slipped under her door. The wardrobe was empty. There were no books, or toys, or souvenirs. There was no sign that Draco had ever been there.
On the twelfth day she found it. On the back of one heavy velvet curtain, a feather clung to the hem. One eagle owl feather. Now she needed some parchment. Some parchment and an owl and her freedom. But the window was fastened tightly with a charm she did not know.
She stopped counting days. Instead, she counted spiders. The stones on the floor. The thin, vertical green lines in the wainscoting. She counted the threads in her robes, counting to a thousand and losing track and starting all over again. Counted the number of times the tap dripped on her ankle while she shriveled in the bath. She had a birthday, but she wasn't sure when to celebrate the arrival of her fifteenth year.
She sang every song she knew, told every story she had ever heard, recited passages from last year's textbooks. The walls listened to lewd jokes that she had heard from the twins and everything that had happened during and after last year's Yule Ball. Luckily, the days stretched ever longer and the nights grew short because her dreams were not serene.
She kept the feather inside a stocking except when she had to rinse them in the sink. Then, she tucked the makeshift quill in a pocket, reaching a hand in every few seconds to check that it was there. She would wake up at night and clutch her calf -- not to rub away any nighttime cramp, but to check for the feather. Someday, she would write a letter so that someone would know she was still alive.
One morning while Ginny was smoothing the pile on the velvet curtains so that it all ran the same way, Voldemort walked in as casually as if he had seen her merely twenty minutes ago. "Are you ill?" he asked. "You are pale."
"This room faces north," was all she said in reply.
Voldemort did not appear to hear. He motioned to a house-elf that lurked in the hall. "Be ready to leave." Without another glance in her direction, he exited.
The house-elf carried in a dressmaker's box and set it hesitantly on the bed. "Golly is assisting you, if you please," the elf said, voice quavering.
Ginny's hair was already up and bound; she had spent several hours separating the strands into equal plaits. She opened the box curiously. Inside was a dress of deep green velvet, embroidered across the bodice and down the back with black and silver satin thread.
She couldn't lift it out. The elf came to her aid immediately, levitating the dress into the air and over her head. Ginny stripped quickly, thankful that its voluminous skirt would cover her worn shoes and holey stockings -- she didn't want to chance anyone, even a house-elf, getting a glance at her feather.
A thin chemise was first, then Ginny raised her arms over her head and the dress settled around her, a hundred tiny buttons on the back creeping up her spine as Golly fastened them with nimble fingers. With each one, the bodice was cinched tighter and she found that she could only breathe if she kept her back very straight.
When the last button was fastened the elf snapped her fingers and the dress was no longer suspended in the air. The sudden weight made Ginny's knees buckle, but Golly slid a tall-backed chair next to her so she could steady herself. "Thank you," she murmured. Golly seemed flustered at this, and she hurried from the room with the dressmaker's box held high.
It was the perfect set of chains, Ginny mused as she looked in the mirror at the top of the stairs. The high mandarin collar was ringed about in a pattern of snakes which wound down to her ribs and trailed down her back. The dress was gloriously beautiful, and it forced her to keep the posture of a queen as it was weighted somehow, perhaps even lined in lead. At Voldemort's side she would seem a willing conspirator.
They were bending over charts when she entered the library -- Voldemort, Lucius, and another little man with a pinched face and a balding pate. The stranger spoke first. "Ginny?"
Voldemort laughed. "Virginia," he affirmed.
She didn't know who looked more surprised at her appearance, the stranger or Lucius.
"Do you like the dress?" Voldemort asked.
Ginny thought of course not, it's uncomfortable, and this caused her to hesitate too long.
Voldemort hissed something in Parseltongue. Her skin crawled, and she brought her hands up to rub away the feeling before she realized that it was not her skin that moved but the dress. The embroidered snakes were slithering across the velvet, tightening around her neck and winding around her waist. "Do you like the dress?"
"Yes!" she gasped, and the serpents were still again. Lucius smirked at the display. The other man merely looked away.
Voldemort stretched out his hand and the parchments rolled themselves up and jumped into it. "Come," he said, walking to a clear space in the center of the room. The bald man knelt in front of Voldemort and grasped the hem of his robes. Lucius walked to his elbow and placed a hand possessively on his shoulder.
Voldemort commanded, "Come, Virginia." She came closer slowly, the dress bearing down upon her, and he snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her close. "Istucinflamare."
A silver flames sprung up around them in an ever-shrinking circle. As they closed in upon her Ginny felt the room begin to spin and flash. It was a hundred times more nauseating than traveling by Floo. She tucked her head closer to Voldemort's shoulder, noticing for the first time that except for the one red eye and a large sore on his forehead, he had healed.
The journey ended suddenly and the fire disappeared without a trace, depositing them before an imposing castle of black stone with many crenellated towers and few windows. Ginny recognized a few of the students as former visitors, and many as former Slytherin. Durmstrang. Hundreds of students in wine-red robes were lined up in front of the castle, and behind the rows of students were still more witches and wizards of every kind, all of them slightly menacing.
"Up, Wormtail," Voldemort commanded. Wormtail stood and led the procession as Voldemort broke from Lucius and Ginny, leaving them to trail behind. Not a soul moved except to turn toward him as he walked through the crowd and up to the main doors. At a glare from Lucius, Ginny hurried her steps to join him behind the darkest of wizards. Silence fell, and there was a soft rustle as a reporter flipped open a notebook and immediately froze upon realizing that he was the only source of sound.
Voldemort scanned the crowd before him. His expression gave no hint as to whether he was pleased with what he saw. For a moment it appeared he would address his followers, but instead he reached into the sky and spoke one word: "Morsmordre."
The Dark Mark appeared, glittering green and malevolent. A collective intake of breath came from the assembled masses a moment before the murmuring began. It slowly intensified and found a rhythm as the crowd chanted Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort.
Voldemort lowered his arms, reaching toward the crowd. After a moment he nodded his head, and turned to Lucius. "You may begin." With that, he turned toward the castle and Wormtail scurried ahead to open doors.
At a loss, Ginny followed behind slowly, pushing against her skirts, this time without Lucius by her side (as he had gone to speak with a group of older wizards). A tall witch in bright robes grabbed her arm. "Virginia Weasley?" she asked, halting her progress with a firm grip. Voldemort and Wormtail paused to observe the exchange. "D-Daily Prophet," the witch stuttered, aware that she was closely watched. "You're the daughter of one of England's foremost Muggle advocates, at the top of the Missing Wizards list for weeks -- what brings you here?"
Ginny focused. There was no longer any risk of a telltale pink cheek giving her away, but her words needed to be precise. "I choose to be here," she said simply, and turned away.
Voldemort's gentle smile was one of approval. "She attends me without regard for her family. Her choices are her own. However, she will not be answering any more questions. There will be a press event this evening if you have questions regarding the Wizard Supremacy movement." He motioned to Wormtail, who escorted the reporter away.
Ginny followed Voldemort into the castle and across a wide chamber lit with hundreds of candles in wrought-iron chandeliers. He strode toward a pair of oak doors crested with snakes and opened them to enter a well-appointed room with many chairs in rows, a podium, a long table along one side, a wide gilt-edged mirror, and a sideboard with ample parchment, quills, and ink.
"Have tea brought in," he said as he surveyed the surroundings. "I want these chairs moved, no one will be seated... another table... Well? Hurry!"
"Yes," Ginny said as she backed toward the door.
"Yes, Lord Voldemort," he said absently, pulling a map of Europe from the wall and putting it on a table.
Ginny said nothing more but slipped out of the room. Staircases led up and down and many passageways led off the main hall, though none were labeled with a brass nameplate as the conference room was. There was not a figure in sight and she had no idea what to do next.
Suddenly, the front doors opened and Wormtail blocked the entrance, allowing some to pass and turning others away. Ginny watched as a line began to form outside the Durmstrang conference room, and she recognized one of the witches. "Millicent Bulstrode?" she asked softly, laying a hand on her arm.
Millicent looked her over, and her eyes widened. "Weasley? I heard you were dead," she said, surprised. Her eyes narrowed to slits as she took in Ginny's dress.
"Could you help me? Lord Voldemort requires assistance in preparing the conference room."
Millicent's lips twisted as she seemed to weigh the risks and rewards. "Why? You say he requires your assistance. What could be more important than presenting him with my report?" She held up a roll of parchment. "Our lord has been waiting to see me again. He even sent me a note personally," she finished in a proud whisper.
Ginny scanned the queue of wizards. There were a dozen Death Eaters ahead of Millicent. "You can be first."
"Of course I'll be first."
***
Ginny escorted Millicent into the conference room, a team of house-elves at her heels. She directed them with a quiet word then approached Voldemort, who was staring out a high, narrow window. "My lord, your first appointment. Millicent Bulstrode. She says you are expecting her."
Voldemort turned to her, scowling. "We aren't ready."
Ginny stepped back, letting him see for himself that the room was already prepared by house-elf magic. Two long tables ran parallel across the room, with maps fluttering gently in the air above. A comfortable chair was positioned near the fire next to a low table bearing a tea tray. She moved as fast as her dress would allow to pour him tea, and handed him the cup and saucer just as he seated himself. She offered nothing to Millicent, who waited expectantly a few feet away.
"A map of physically weak places in the Hogwarts castle. It is from memory, of course, but the structure is deplorable. Magic is the only thing holding it up and one good push would probably bring the whole place down. The fences, too." Millicent offered Voldemort the parchment, but it was Ginny who finally took it from her hand and passed it to him.
Voldemort glanced at it and nodded, handing it back to Ginny and motioning her to leave it on one of the tables. "That will do. There is one other thing, though."
Millicent's eyes lit up. "Anything. Whatever you wish."
Voldemort raised an eyebrow in amusement. "I wish repayment for your father's debt."
At this, Millicent wrinkled her nose in confusion. "With all due respect, sir, I recall you telling me that you had decided to forgive that."
"I had, but I made a terrible error in calculation. I confused you with the Parkinson girl." Millicent didn't seem to know what to make of this. Voldemort continued sorrowfully, "Did you know your parents were unable to have children?"
"Er, no?" Millicent asked, fidgeting. Moisture beaded on her upper lip.
"Many wizards can't anymore. I traded your father a bit of power, for you, in exchange for his fealty. That loyalty was meant to continue even unto death." He sighed and shook his head. "I went about everything all wrong, the first time. Loyalty means nothing in comparison to power. I'd rather have power." He slipped his wand from his robes. "Avada Kedavra!"
The green light that shot from the end of his wand was exactly like Ginny had always imagined the Unforgivable Curse, but Millicent's evaporation into a violet haze was as unexpected as her murder. The purple cloud shimmered in the air, then shattered into tiny pieces. Ginny gasped as the purple dust gravitated to the gaping wound on Voldemort's forehead, which glowed and then healed.
Ginny held her breath as Voldemort leaned back in his chair and smiled. "Do I look restored and ready to meet my public?" He snapped his fingers, and an explosion echoed from outside the castle walls followed by shouts of fear. "I'd been missing that. Let this be a lesson, Ginny. Keep all of your eggs in one basket, and keep the basket to yourself. Hold the basket, hold the power. I regret ever bestowing of my strength on others. Once given, it is difficult to gather it again." He rose and crossed to the mirror, halting as he caught his reflection in the glass.
Voldemort leaned forward. His forehead had healed, but a ghostly white, jagged scar, a mirror of Harry's, remained. He started, then nodded as if the development made perfect sense. Then, he ran a finger lightly over one eyelid. One eye was still a virulent red. "There's not time now, but apparently I am missing an egg. I've heard weasels tend to steal them. When this is over, I expect you to bring me Draco. I will tolerate no weakness. If there is a spell I cannot do, it will be on your head. In the meantime, bring me the next Death Eater."
***
Each time the doors would open and another wizard would stumble out, pale and clammy, Ginny would lead another in. Occasionally, she was called upon to pour tea with a shaking hand, although she managed to hide her nerves for the most part. As she supervised Voldemort's followers she kept replaying Millicent's death in her mind. Would she too go that way, or would there be a slow death by suffocation before she could change her dress? Would she have any warning? She scrutinized the Death Eaters that waited their turn before their leader, wondering if any others owed some hidden tribute.
At midday, Voldemort called Wormtail and Lucius to him, and they closeted themselves in the conference room for several hours while Ginny stood guard outside. Finally, Voldemort emerged and went up the stairs without a word. Wormtail followed, his arms full of parchment. Lucius stopped in the doorway.
"Did you enjoy waiting in the hall?" he asked, sneering. "You'll always be on the outside, Ginny, no matter what you do. Finish up in there," he ordered before he too headed for the staircases.
Ginny watched Lucius until he was out of sight, then hurried into the conference room. The house-elves were already setting up chairs in anticipation of the press event. They needed little direction, but she questioned the most talkative elf until she could assure herself that they knew what was expected.
An owl perched on the sill of the open window, but all of the parchment, quills, and ink had been carried away immediately when Voldemort had gone upstairs. Disheartened, she sat down heavily in the chair before the fire. Leaning her head back, she closed her eyes and willed her body to relax.
She wished she could take off her uncomfortable dress and get one, good, deep breath -- of course, she'd probably burst into tears with relief. It was so warm with the fire blazing, but she was too tired to wipe away the trickle of sweat that ran down from her forehead. She peeked out from under her eyelids at the bustle of activity, and a flash of white caught her eye.
The tea tray. There was a doily on it. A paper doily.
She slipped it out from under the teapot and folded it into her hand, heart pounding. A letter. She could write a letter. She had a quill. She just needed ink. Ginny poured herself a cup of dark tea from the dregs of the teapot and picked up a half-eaten biscuit. She whistled once, softly, and hurried into a sparsely furnished office at the back of the conference hall.
The owl followed her in and landed on the desk. Ginny pulled up the room's only chair and lifted her hems until she could reach the feather secreted in her stocking. It was bent at the tip, but it would do. She plunged her makeshift quill into the tea and paused.
A letter had been her goal, but she had not thought beyond the acquisition of materials. Clearly, she could not write to anyone in her family, or Hermione, or Harry, or Dumbledore. She could not risk a rescue based on good intentions. But there was one person who was safe from her, safe and far away.
Dear Draco,
I miss you.
Someone was coming. She fed a bit of the biscuit to the owl and strapped the doily to its leg with the thin ribbon it was already wearing. The owl was out the low window and soaring into the sunset, but it was still plainly visible. Anyone coming into the room would see it still winging through the sky under golden clouds. She needed a distraction.
Quickly, she flung the feather out the window and hid the tea and biscuit inside a drawer. Just before the footsteps reached the door Ginny rolled off the chair and onto a heap on the carpet, peeking out from under her eyelashes.
Voldemort was straightening a tie over a snowy white shirt. His hair was freshly washed and he wore a new set of black robes. "Very ladylike of you to faint," he chuckled, lifting her onto his lap as he took her chair. The scent of sandalwood tickled Ginny's nose; she fervently hoped that she wouldn't sneeze and give her playacting away.
He patted her cheek and began to undo the back of her dress. Ginny let her head and arms droop, although her bodice kept her spine rigid. Each tiny button was a blessing as it unfastened, and she slowly leaned forward to rest her face on the blotter. With her head down she could feel a slight breeze waft over the back of her neck. It was replaced with the icy touch of Voldemort's fingers. He gently traced her spine with one hand.
Her heart missed a beat.
For the first time, Ginny admitted to herself that she might have made a miscalculation of epic proportions. Her eyes snapped open. Lucius was looking into the room, a muscle twitching at his jawline. "Enjoying yourself, are you?"
"Jealous, are you?" she returned, grasping the desk and getting to her feet as quickly as her heavy clothing would allow. She shrank away from the both of them.
Voldemort gave a low laugh. "I think you've got him pegged, Virginia." He too stood. "Since you are obviously overtaxed, I'll have a house-elf attend you here. It would be cruel to ask you to climb six flights of stairs just for a nap. I imagine you are not well enough to join us for dinner." He nonchalantly conjured a narrow couch in a corner of the room and left, brushing against Lucius as he passed through the doorway.
"You don't know what you're doing," Lucius muttered, nearly tripping over the house-elves that carried in a basin of rosewater to sponge Ginny's brow and a replenished tea tray.
No, I don't, she thought, as the door closed with a click.
She closed her eyes and did not dream. When she woke up, the room was lit with a single candle. Ginny got up slowly, rubbing her eyes. The tea was cold and bitter but served to wash down a slice of bread topped with cheese. A frightened house-elf waited to tidy her hair and straighten her gown, and then she was ready.
When she opened the door, Ginny saw that the press event was in full swing.
"Their Ministry of Magic claims that you are behind the recent attacks," a sandy-haired reporter said. "They would like to question you, and according to their statement of this afternoon they claim that you are still wanted for events taking place in 1981 and before-"
"I have nothing to hide because I have done nothing wrong," Voldemort answered firmly, raising his hand in denial, and the reporter closed his mouth with a snap and sat down hard on his chair as if he had been pushed. "Anything else?"
The same reporter sighted Ginny in the doorway and pointed. He suddenly jumped to his feet, swaying like a marionette. "What is she doing here? That's the rest of the statement -- they believe you are holding Arthur Weasley's daughter captive and demand that she is returned."
Voldemort crooked a finger at Ginny, who was still blinking from the bright lights, and she went to stand beside him with Lucius and Wormtail. "As I said, I have nothing to hide. Virginia is one of my foremost supporters, as you'll soon discover. Perhaps you would like an exclusive?"
The towheaded reporter walked jerkily toward the podium, and when he neared it Voldemort waved a circle of silvery flame around himself, the reporter, and his assistants.
***
They were at the end of the lane that led to the Burrow.
"Stay here," Voldemort said, leaving Lucius and Wormtail with the reporter. He took Ginny by the arm and led her down the dirt road toward her house. There were no lights on that Ginny could see, and she assumed all the chickens were asleep because the yard was empty. A soft grunt came from the pigpen, and a cricket chirped, but the night was otherwise still.
They paused before the jumbled pile of mismatched boots near the front door and Ginny tilted her head up to count the chimneys; it was an old habit, and she was always sure that one would have fallen down since she last was home.
Voldemort Summoned a dry branch from the nearest tree. He touched his wand to the end and an orange flame began to creep along its length before he handed it to Ginny.
"Burn it," he said, nodding toward the Burrow.
Ginny froze. "My family," she pleaded. "You said you wouldn't hurt my family.
"Yes. I said I wouldn't hurt your family." He gave her a little push forward, and she felt a snake slither down her spine.
Ginny stumbled up the steps, praying that her parents were in London at the Ministry, in Hogmeade with Bill and Charlie, that they were with Percy, that they were anywhere but here. She touched the torch to the wreath of dried herbs that hung on the front door and then circled the house, lighting the dry bushes that withered in the flowerbeds. When she reached the front again, she dropped the stick and turned to go back up the lane.
"Watch," Voldemort said, gripping her by the shoulders and pulling her back against his chest. "See what you have done?"
The flames licked at the walls and devoured the pumpkin vines that climbed the trellis on the side of the house. They crackled and hissed as they reached the roof, and the wood popped as it came away from stone.
"It's beautiful, isn't it? Flame. Destroys everything so cleanly. Nothing survives it. Smile, Ginny."
She looked at him, and did, a memory of Fawkes coming back to her from the night in the Chamber of Secrets. She would rise again. As her jaw cramped with a grin that bordered on the insane, she watched an orange ember flutter down and land directly on Voldemort's ruby colored eye.
Voldemort screamed in rage and pain, clapping his hand over it and pointing his wand at his eye socket while half-spouting pain relief spells. Ginny's instinct took over and she rammed him hard with her shoulder, knocking him over the low fence and into the pig trough with a splash.
He came up halfway, gasping for air and drawing lungfuls of smoke. If I could get on top of him, perhaps I could drown him, she thought wildly. She took a step forward with the nagging thought that her dress would weigh both of them down, and her own fear of drowning combined with the inability to move quickly caused her to miss her chance. He was out and drying his clothing.
"Who saw?" he asked, still holding a hand over his face. He muttered a healing spell, and straightened up again. "The reporter?"
"No one," Ginny replied, trying not to watch her house falling down behind him.
Voldemort drew a slow breath. "Morsmordre," he said, leaving his calling card in the sky.
***
Ginny did not sleep well that night, or the night after. She dozed fitfully for the better part of two days; she rose only to scrub the smell of smoke from her hair. She didn't really remember coming back to the Manor, but she was locked in Draco's room again.
She crawled out of bed and pressed her cheek to the cool glass of the window. If she turned her head enough she could see purple and red streaks in the sky.
It had been a warm day and the room was stuffy with the window closed, even though it didn't get direct sunlight. She was glad to be rid of the heavy, deadly formal dress. Unfortunately she now had only the thin chemise to wear.
The door burst open with a bang and slammed against the opposite wall as Lucius stormed into the room. "What is the meaning of this?" He held a small roll of paper clenched in his hand, and as he opened it Ginny's mouth went dry. It was her letter to Draco. The owl had brought it back.
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Draco and Ginny belong to JK Rowling, Bloomsbury, Scholastic, Warner Bros and various other corporations. They are being used here without permission and/or affiliation with the above. None of the authors listed here make any profit from these stories.