The Prince of Air and Darkness



Prologue



O Queen of air and darkness,

I think ’tis truth you say,

And I shall die to-morrow;

But you will die to-day.

-A. E. Housman



The sun never shines on the Isle of Azkaban. Even an overcast day is a precious rarity. Storms reigned supreme on the island. Two summers ago the lightning had regularly burst apart the clouds and the thunder had sent nightmares to each of the inmates sealed inside the magically enhanced stone walls. Last winter, the blizzards had iced the castle and hassled the death eaters who had become its new residents.

Normally Tom Riddle reveled in the turbulent weather, but today, standing on the wall tops in the pouring rain, basking in his newfound youth and vigor, he thought he could have managed a little sunlight.

He was Lord Voldemort, ruler of the better part of Britain, terror of the both Muggle and Wizarding worlds. Now he was even more. He was the Prince of Air and Darkness, heir to the darkest magic known to wizards. A magic passed down to him from the days of Merlin and the sorceress Morgana. He was also Master of Azkaban Castle, his impenetrable fortress of the North, the castle from which he ruled most of Britain. Soon it would be all of Britain, those rebels would never last.

He needed something to break their spirit. He needed to prove once and for all that he held the power. He needed to crush their little outpost in London. He needed to lure Harry Potter to his own destruction. He needed bait.

He looked straight up into the rain with a smile on his face. Rain slicked down his raven hair and slid across his silvery skin. He was young again, brought back to his appearance before the horcruxes destroyed it, brought back by the darkest sorcery. He folded his arms and swallowed a raindrop. He needed a little sunshine in his life, the sunshine of revenge. He needed a bride.

* * *
Ginny Weasley jumped a puddle in the street carelessly and darted under a tin shanty to avoid the downpour. She reached the center of the West London Refugee camp in no time, smiling to familiar faces and trying to mentally drown out the voices of children crying in the distance.

“Good to see you Miss Weasley,” the woman at the desk said. “Twenty people in from Kent today.”

“So many!” Ginny stepped to her left. The roof was leaking. “I guess people realize life under Voldemort isn’t life at all.”

“Twenty more mouths to feed,” the woman countered darkly.

“Still, little food is better than death, right?” She tapped her fingers on the desk. “You heard about the latest Muggle purges?”

“Right again, Miss.” The woman sighed and began to stack a pile of damp papers. “What’s the message?”

Ginny shook her hands through her hair, trying to dry it out. “Harry Potter sends his greetings. He’s asking any able bodied wizards who can be spared from the camp to join him at the great wall tomorrow. They’re going to try and strengthen it. Potter expects another attempt invasion.” The magic wall was their only hope. Their meager forces would never be enough to stop Voldemort’s forces from overrunning the city if the wall was destroyed.

The woman finished stacking. “I’ll get the word out. Will you be joining Mr. Potter at the wall?”

She shook her head. Raindrops flew out, “I have raid duty tomorrow. This camp needs supplies. Everyone is getting sick; we need potion ingredients, exotic plants for our spells, things you can’t find in London during a blockade. It’s a pity we can’t conjure things outside the wall. ”

The woman frowned, “Be careful, Miss. No point in throwing your life away at twenty.”

Ginny considered her words. Even now Ron was in the hospital, Percy was dead, and no one knew what had happened to Charlie. But their sacrifice meant something. “Bringing supplies to these people is not throwing my life away.” She pointed out of the shanty and into the camp. “These people need our help. Everyday more refugees arrive. We can’t magic these buildings together fast enough, without doing a shoddy job.” She pointed to the leak in the roof with her wand and sealed it angrily. Then she calmed and addressed the woman again, “Thanks for your concern, and for all that you do. I’ll see you the day after tomorrow,” she promised.

Ginny didn’t bother to jump the puddle on her way home. She would slap on a drying charm when she arrived. She walked slowly back along the streets. She had no idea she was being watched.

* * *

Draco Malfoy was going to rot. He had no idea how long he had spent in the captivity of the Muggle lovers, it was months now, maybe years. He supposed he was lucky. Potter should have killed him when he had the chance. Upon his capture he was sure Potter would have him executed immediately. Instead, Potter had barely given him a second glance before vaguely proclaiming, “life sentence.” After that, he had expected questioning, torture, vengeance. He had been certain that any day Potter would arrive at his cell to gloat over his defeated. But the day never came.

He was left alone. His hair grew until it curled around his neck. He wondered again how long it had been. The prison guards never spoke to him, even when he demanded their attention. He wanted answers, but instead all they gave him was time to stew over his life’s decisions. Sometimes he wished he had been executed.

He could hear rain from outside the walls. Was winter coming? He stood up from the bed (he was still stunned they had given him a mattress) and peered through the bars of his cell. He pushed the hair out of his face for a better view.

A single cloaked guard was standing in the dim light of the corridor. He wondered who was on duty today. As if in answer to his silent question the figure turned slightly and a few bushy brown curls escaped her hood. Draco grinned in triumph. That hair was unmistakable.

“Hey, Mudblood!” he hissed through the bars. Hermione Granger whipped around with her wand in hand. Her eyes searched wildly around the corridor of cells for the prisoner who had addressed her. She frowned in relief when she saw Draco’s silver eyes gleaming out from behind the bars of the last cell in the hallway. “Get me out of here!” he demanded, “I can’t stand it any longer!”

“Shut up, Malfoy,” she said, pocketing her wand. “We feed you.” She and all the others who took turns guarding the prisoners had heard plenty of his little speeches. She turned to go.

“GET ME OUT OF HERE!” he screeched after her. “I’ll do anything! I’ll tell you anything! I’ll betray anyone! I’ll save both your boyfriends!” he promised “JUST GET ME OUT OF THIS BLOODY CELL!”

“Silencio,” Hermione pointed her wand and muttered back at him. She continued her way down the corridor.

* * *

Harry Potter arrived at his office late the next night. It was still raining. He was the unofficial leader of the resistance against Voldemort, but he preferred his location in London to remain unknown to the general public of his rebel city. His residence was currently a small room in the Leaky Cauldron. A bed and a desk were all he needed. His head ached as he sat down in the desk chair. He had never performed such difficult magic for such a long period of time. But the wall around London was twice as strong now. Voldemort would never penetrate his city. And someday, someday they would defeat him.

There was a letter on his desk. Hedwig must have delivered it sometime during the afternoon. He opened it gingerly. Such letters were usually bad news.

Dear Mr. Potter,
I offer my deepest and most heartfelt condolences. I fear we have lost another proud warrior in our great cause. As you know, Ginerva Weasley and her raiding party left the city this morning, and this afternoon we lost contact with them. It seems the entire party has disappeared without a trace, no doubt more victims of Lord Voldemort. I would kindly request your presence tomorrow morning to discuss this horrendous loss.

Yours Entirely,

Ernie Macmillan, Chief Supply Officer, Dumbledore’s Army

Harry dropped the letter, his hands shaking. His cursing of Voldemort’s name was drowned out by a roll of thunder. Outside a storm was growing…

"Ill new is an ill guest they say..."
-The Lord of the Rings

Ginny. With each stride towards the council chamber more names rang like funeral bells in his head. Minerva McGonagall. Susan Bones. Percy Weasley. Nymphadora Tonks Another step. Charlie Weasley. Cedric Diggory. Sirius Black. Albus Dumbledore. How many more were dead or missing? More names of the fallen filled his head, but before he could consider them a voice interrupted his reverie.

“Harry.” Hermione was walking briskly towards him. “Did you hear the news?” Harry nodded. She looked remarkably composed. Her face was ashen, but he had expected her to be sobbing. Instead she sighed. “I can still hear the screaming.”

He gaped at her in astonishment. “You were there?”

“Of course I was there Harry. Why do you think I look like a train rolled over me?” She pinched the bridge of her nose to try and alleviate the pain in her forehead. “It’s been a terrible morning.”

Confusion swelled inside him. He could have sworn Hermione had been at either the prison or the hospital for the past two days. Since when had she joined Ginny on her supply raids? “How did you escape?” he demanded.

“I escaped because my shift was up.” She raised her eyebrows. “But by then we managed to charm him anyway.”

“Charm him? What are you talking about?” He stared at her as if she had gone insane.

She returned the stare. “Malfoy’s blowup of course.” She saw at a glance he had no idea what she was talking about and hurried to explain. “It was my fault I suppose. Last night on my shift I was so fed up with Malfoy I charmed him quiet. He broke free of the spell by midnight and I suppose all the forced silence gave him plenty of time to think of loud insults and strengthen his lungs. He woke up the entire prison complex with screams of ‘Mudbloods!’ and ‘Muggle Lovers!’ We finally slapped a stronger silencing charm on him, but not until he’d had plenty of time to dodge our curses and tell us all personally how he felt about us.” She heaved another huge, dramatic sigh, and grinned reluctantly at him. “All’s well that ends well right?” Then she stopped in her tracks. “Harry, what were you talking about?”

They had almost reached the council chamber. Suddenly Harry did not have the heart to tell her about Ginny. She would find out soon enough.

Terry Boot, who was according to gossip, Ginny’s current boyfriend, met them outside the chamber. He looked terrible. Harry offered a grimace, “I’m so sorry,” he began.

Terry held out a hand to silence him. “S’ not like that,” he admitted. “We broke up two weeks ago. But still, what happened, it’s just horrible. Horrible,” he repeated, shaking an apologetic head at Hermione. She backed away from him. “What’s happened?” she hissed in Harry’s ear. “Tell me!”

“It’s Ginny,” Harry said. By then he could say no more because they had reached their seats and it was time for the council to begin. Harry surveyed his council members with a mixture of pride, but also grief at the new most of them were about to learn.

A few of the council members were older, like Remus Lupin, Intelligence, Poppy Pomfrey, Health, and Filius Flitwick. Defense. But most of the councilors at the table were students from Harry’s school days, the more hardy young people who had lasted through the war. Fred and George Weasley were arguing with Colin Creevy about internal affairs. They looked so serious that he knew they must have heard about the events of yesterday. Cho Chang and her husband Michael Corner were speaking together in hurried whispers. Padma Patil sat quietly sorting papers. It was little wonder the council had been nicknamed Dumbledore’s Army, after the organization most of them had been a part of in their school days.

Three chairs were empty at the table, and would not be filled that day. The one on Harry’s right was Ron Weasley’s, Chief of Strategy. He had been injured during the last attack on the wall. That was the attack where they had captured Malfoy. The other chair was Neville Longbottom’s. As far as Harry knew, Neville was fine, but he did not like to leave the wall. The wall was Neville’s obsession. He spent almost all of his time up there, watching for attackers and directing the spells he had invented to be further strengthened. The wall had been Harry’s idea originally, but Neville had brought it to fruition, Neville and his amazing gift with plants.

The third empty chair belonged to none other than Ginny. More regrets flooded Harry’s mind. The two of them had not spoken for a long time. At least they had not spoken of anything but war strategies and supply raids. Their already delicate friendship seemed to have dissipated after Ron’s nearly fatal injury. He had always meant to try and reconcile. Maybe even to make things as they had been long ago between them. Now he would never have the chance.

Ernie stood up. He cleared his throat. “As many of you are already aware,” he cast a glance of condolence at Terry. Please don’t say something idiotic and pompous, Harry silently begged. “The valiant flower of our rebellion has been cruelly plucked from our midst.” Too late. “Like a pleasant summer that runs too short, the brave Ginerva Weasley has been torn from us.”

Harry sat on his hands to keep from standing up and shaking him by the shoulders. How could he talk about Ginny, their Ginny, the Ginny they all knew and loved, in such a ridiculous fashion? But for those who had not heard the news the shock of the information drowned out Ernie’s flowery words. Padma was slowly opening her mouth and closing it. Hermione had put her head in her hands.

Ernie continued his little speech for a time, and then stopped when he finally noticed the look on Harry’s face. He coughed. “More information will be shared about this tragedy when I have had a chance to speak with our noble leader in private.”

“The sooner we kill him, the better Harry,” said George.

“We meant Voldemort, of course,” added Fred, noticing the terrified look on Ernie’s face. Cries of agreement chorused the twins.

“What about the Horcruxes?” someone said. The Horcruxes were no secret in this council chamber.

“All six of Lord Voldemort’s original Horcruxes have been destroyed,” Harry reminded them. “But we still must kill his mortal body, which is well protected.”

Padma looked up from her papers, “And there’s still no telling if he hasn’t made more.”

“I don’t think he has,” said Colin. “I mean, he wanted seven, and it not as if he knows we’ve destroyed the others, right? We can’t afford another Ginny. I say we get rid him once and for all. Send a team of our best to that bloody island. Assassination’s the kind of thing rebels do, isn’t it?” His speech was met with some murmured approval, and then a scattering of hasty arguments. Many at the council were shocked to see the normally subdued Colin suggest something so desperate. Harry worried that the loss of Ginny might have unhinged him.

Remus Lupin opened his mouth to speak, and everyone else became quiet. Remus rarely spoke at council; he rarely spoke to anyone. He had changed since the loss of his wife. His hair had completed its transformation to wolf gray. His face, too, had taken on a cloudy shade. Although he retained his essential nobility, any shred of warmth in his personality was presumed dead along with Tonks.

“In this case, Colin, I do not think cutting the head off the snake would do the trick.” He drummed his fingers along the table. “I have seen more of Voldemort’s Britain than anyone else in this room, and I will warn you that that Britain is three separate worlds now. The first world, the countryside, is now ruled by the dark creatures that Voldemort set loose or coaxed out of hiding. These monsters prey on strays from the slave villages or fight amongst themselves. The second world is made up of the Muggles and Wizards who have not taken refuge in London. They live in miserable slave villages, servants to the Dark Lord’s every whim, victims of regular recreational purges. But the third world is not a world of monsters or slaves, it is the world of the elite. The supporters of the Dark Lord live a life of ultimate decadence. They throw lavish parties at the finest castles in Britain, including the Voldemort’s own, Azkaban. They gossip, hoard treasure, intermarry, and abuse their slaves. Even with the Dark Lord gone, it is not a lifestyle they will readily give up.”

“If Voldemort has created an elitist class,” said Hermione, “then that’s all the more reason to fight back.” She was still drying her tears. “While assassination is indeed a rash way to do so, I think it’s time we moved our rebellion to the offensive.”

“The plan, then,” said Harry. “We must continue with the plan.”

“The plan,” the others conceded in murmurs of agreement. But all of them were thinking of Ginny.

* * *

Two voices simultaneously called Harry’s name as he left the council chamber. Harry turned around to see Remus and Ernie both standing in the archway. “After you Mr. Macmillan.” Lupin motioned Ernie towards Harry. He waited patiently in the archway as Harry and Ernie conversed in the hall.

“There’s something I didn’t announce to the council because I felt it might damage our vital morale,” Ernie informed him. “I wanted to tell you before the announcement was made publicly.”

“What?” Harry impatiently fumbled with his cloak clasp. He was still angry about Ernie’s speech.

“Ginny’s supply team was found last night. Demelza Robins, Anthony Goldstein, and Natalie McDonald all currently reside in Azkaban.”

He stopped fiddling with his cloak. “That’s wonderful!” Ernie said nothing. “That’s a good thing, right?”

Ernie gulped. “The thing is…” he stammered. Ernie never stammered. “They’re all quite horrifically injured, and they all gave terrible accounts of the rather,” he paused again, “grisly demise of their leader.” Harry gave him a hard look. “Evidently Bellatrix Lestrange led the slave caravan, and she felt an example was necessary. She let the other go free, so they would return with messages from the dark lord.”

“Slave caravan?” said Harry. Images of Ginny being tortured and killed invaded his mind. “You told me they were on a supply raid.”

“From what I understood from Demelza, Ginny spotted the caravan during their flight, and decided to investigate.” Free the slaves is more like it… thought Harry. “I would suggest you speak to the team yourself, Mr. Potter.” Ernie seemed to have recovered his usual formality. “Perhaps during on of your regular visits to our Chief of Strategy?”

“Right,” said Harry. He swallowed. It was hard to be angry anymore, at least with Ernie. It was too easy to imagine Bellatrix laughing over Ginny’s mangled body. He bid goodbye to his Chief of Supplies. He would go to the wall and tell Neville the news. Then he would go to the hospital.

“Harry,” a voice called to him as he started down the passageway. He had completely forgotten Lupin.

“Sorry,” Harry found it difficult not to stare at Lupin’s newly ash colored hair. “What did you want to speak to me about again?”

Lupin’s lips curved upwards in the imitation of a smile. “I didn’t say.” The man quickly realized Harry was in no mood for feeble attempts at humor. “But I will now. I said in council I knew more of Voldemort’s Britain than anyone else, but I didn’t say all I knew. Information about Voldemort and this country has recently come into my hands, strange information. Tell me Harry, what do you know of Morgan le Fey?”

Harry tried to remember his History of Magic. He recalled the taste of the end of his quill as he absentmindedly chewed on it. He could picture Hermione furiously taking notes, Ron drooling in his sleep, and the Professor Binns droning on about the greatest period of Muggle/Wizard cooperation Britain ever saw.

“Morgan le Fey was an evil sorceress,” Harry answered. “She summoned Dark creatures, and used spells to keep herself young and beautiful. She helped undermine Merlin’s goal to bring Muggles and Wizards together in the kingdom of Camelot. She stole things, seduced people, and caused general havoc.”

“A nasty piece of work,” Lupin agreed. “But she was also one of the most powerful witches in history. I tell you this because in my travels I have heard rumors in both slave and Death Eater circles, though only rumors mind you, that Lord Voldemort has inherited her magic. That somehow he has mastered her dark powers, and learned her terrible secrets.”

“Can you find out more about this?”

“I’ll do my best,” Lupin promised. “I tell you this, not to frighten you, but because we must keep in mind that as we move our plan into the offensive, Lord Voldemort is also growing stronger.”

* * *
Night had almost arrived when Harry reached the Janus Thickey ward of St. Mungo’s. “This way,” Luna Lovegood swept towards him dreamily. As an assistant Healer she wore the lime green robes, but Harry noticed she had tied a spangled pink sash around her waist and her earrings were upside down miniature candelabras. “Watch your step,” she said. “The floor is infested with shadow eaters.” Harry had no idea if she was telling the truth. These days Dark creatures were everywhere.
Hermione was already sitting by Ron’s bedside. Her face was covered in red blotches and her eyes were still misty. Ron was fast asleep.

Harry was too concerned to bother with tact. “How long have you been crying?” he demanded.

“A few hours, on and off.” She wiped her sleeve across her eyes. “The children at the refugee camp thought I’d gone insane, moping all over the place, bursting into tears at the slightest mention of redheads.” She almost laughed. “I feel much better now, honest.”

He resolved firmly not to tell her what Ernie had told him. His face set and his lips clammed together. Hermione must have noticed because she gave him a careful glance and opened her mouth to speak.

Before she could talk, Ron yawned loudly and opened his eyes. “Don’t tell him,” Hermione mouthed unnecessarily to Harry. He nodded. Ron coughed. “You’re awake!” she cried. “How are you today?”

“My back aches and I can barely see, but that’s nothing new.” Ron scooted upwards and propped himself against the pillow. Harry was pleased and impressed with this show of mobility. A week ago Ron had been unable to move his chin without help. “Really, I’m doing much better, I should be back to help in no time.”

“It most be rather boring, just sitting here,” said Harry, because he could not think of something else to say.

“’S not bad. I mostly just sleep, and the new assistant who gives me my potions is really pretty!” Harry’s gaze drifted over to where Luna was mixing two potions together on a table at the end of the wing.

“Ron,” he said slowly, “Is the assistant blonde?”

“Yeah, and I know I can’t see her very well, but she’s got this beautiful, soothing voice…” Hermione’s gaze followed Harry’s. She began to laugh.

“Ron, that’s Luna Lovegood.”

He coughed again. “Loony Lovegood? The raddish girl?”

Harry patted his head. “Don’t be mean. She’s giving you potions that’ll save your life, and she’s really pretty, remember?”

To their surprise, Ron did not come up with an angry retort. Instead he leaned back against his pillow in contemplation. “Yeah, I guess so.” They spent the next half hour laughing, joking, and on Harry and Hermione’s part, speaking of anything but Ginny. After a while Ron fell asleep.

“I hope we didn’t overexert him,” said Hermione as they left the ward.

“Nah, it’ll do him some good.” Harry grinned. “So will Luna.” They both laughed, but the laughter was short-lived.

“Listen,” said Hermione in a voice that could drive laughter out of any occasion. “Something happened right before Ron woke up, you had this expression on your face.” She paused. “There’s something you’re not telling me.” It was not a question.

“You don’t want to know.” Harry assured her.

“Does it have something to do with what Ernie spoke with you about after council?” she persisted. “Something to do with why the names Robins, Goldstein, and MacDonald are registered in the hospital check in?”

“How did you?” He stammered.

“I did a little investigating.” She turned to see if there was anyone else in the corridor they were walking through. “Tell me what Ernie told you.”

She knew too much already. He told her the rest. She did not cry. Her eyebrows bent together in deep concentration. “And they all gave accounts of her death despite horrific injuries,” she finally said.

“That’s what Ernie told me.”

She stopped walking and lifted a hand to her chin. “Ginny may be alive.”

Harry stopped walking. “What?”

“It’s seems rather suspicious doesn’t it. Almost like those who took her wanted us to be certain she was dead. Why else send three people back to us? If they wanted to make her an example, they would have sent her body back. Lord Voldemort and his servants are experts at messing with people’s memories. I think we should go see the supply team.”

“If there’s any chance, any at all,” he said, “that she’s alive, we have to know for sure.” They had reached the urgent care section of the first floor. The plump witch at the desk had told Harry the supply team had huge bites all over their bodies. As of this afternoon no one had been able to determine what kind of creature the bites had come from.

“Goodness, even if she is alive, you’re not thinking of going after her?” One look at his face told her he was. “Don’t do anything rash. Even if we can’t get sense out of the supply team, there may be a way to know if Ginny’s alive or dead. I have an idea.”




A/N: All right readers, its time for you to decide which chapter you’d like next! Because of the way this story has been plotted the next chapter could either be Vow, which will tell of Neville, Draco, the fates of the supply team, and Hermione’s “idea” or it could be Betrothal which will inform you of Ginny’s fate among the Death Eaters. I will post whichever chapter readers request.

Also, this story requires a ton of minor original characters so if you’d like to make a cameo please let me know. Just leave me a review with your name (or a cool one you make up), a brief description of yourself, and whether you’d be more likely to be a Wizard Rebel, a Muggle Refugee, or an Evil Death Eater.

Ginny dreamed she was watching herself relive an imaginary first year. Once again she had Riddle’s diary, but this time she did not read it in secret. Instead she carried it with her everywhere. She held the book pressed up against her nose as she walked to her classes. She ate with it in front of her breakfast. Occasionally she would take a long heron feathered quill that Ginny knew she had never owned in her real life, and write a sentence or two in the diary. For each sentence she wrote whole paragraphs came back with responses from him.

Her closest friends did little to stop her from reading the diary. Sometimes they would laugh casually or make teasing remarks about her ‘habit’ but none of them seem too concerned with the fact that she was sleeping with the book propped on her stomach, held open by her outstretched hands. She would awake and read more, write more, utterly consumed by her relationship with Tom Riddle.

Only one person tried to take the diary from her: Harry Potter. In every spare moment he was by her side, trying to talk sense into her apparently insane second year self. He shouted at her at mealtimes, he came to her classes and confronted her. Several times he attempted to physically tear the book from her hands. When this failed he went to teachers and friends, begging for their help, screaming that Ginny was being possessed by Lord Voldemort. Nobody listened.

In the dream Ginny watched her subconscious self with disgust. In real life she had not been that idiotic. She wanted to scream at herself to “throw the bloody book away!”

The dream ended with a massive fight between Harry and her obsessive imaginary self. Harry ranted, screamed, begged, and fought with Ginny in an abandoned classroom for what seemed liked hours. The heartless Ginny said nothing. She merely peered at Harry over the binding of the little black diary. Occasionally she sidestepped when Harry made a lunge for it. Finally she gave a cold, Riddlesque smile, and left the room while Harry knelt begging. Her face never left the page.

She woke up screaming.

The sheets were bunched around her ankles and twisted around her waist from the violence of the dream. Sheets?. Since when were there sheets in a dungeon? Her eyes flew open in shock. She was not in a dungeon; she was in a palace.

The first thing she noticed was that her torn flying robes were gone. Instead she found herself in a comfortable silk shift. Her hand flew to her neck and then dropped in relief. The simple gold chain she wore was still intact.

For a moment the light exuding from the massive fireplace blinded her from taking in the full glory of the room. Then her eyes adjusted and she groaned. It was beautiful. The colors of her bedspread and curtains glowed burgundy, one wall was taken up by grandiose ebony paned windows, but the room lacked what she wanted most: a way out.

The largest set of doors was to the right of her bed. They opened automatically as she came towards them, but revealed only a closet filled with fine gowns. There was another door at the far left of the room. This too opened as she approached. She found herself in a bathroom. It smelled of lilacs. The marble tub had thirty taps and was sunken into the floor. There were mirrors on every wall. Ginny left the room in frustration.

She found a third door next to a gilded chair. This one did not open as she approached. The golden handle would not turn. The door was locked. She reached for her wand and then remembered one of the Death Eaters had taken it from her. She yanked the handle harder and swore under her breath. Her room was no dungeon, but she was a prisoner still.

Just as she turned away from the door she heard a faint click and the handle began to turn. Someone was entering the room. Ginny stepped backwards as the door opened.

“How nice,” said a voice that ensured her nothing was nice about it, “Our honored guest is awake.” A small woman with remarkable black and purple hair stood next to the chair.

“Where am I?” Ginny demanded.

The woman grinned. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I would.” She gritted her teeth.

The woman looked to be on the verge of saying something nasty when another figure entered. A figure Ginny recognized.

“Try not to antagonize our ‘honored guest’, Emma,” said Narcissa Malfoy. Her smile was full of sarcasm.

“My apologies.” Emma gave a mock bow. “She just looks to be such a simpleton.”

Narcissa nodded in agreement. “You’ll have to put on something more suitable to a guest of Azkaban.”

Ginny tried to hide her astonishment. She was in Azkaban Castle, the fortress Voldemort had built over the ruins of the prison. But she was not in the dungeon; she was in the upper chambers, the abode of the pureblood elite. And she was being treated as a ‘guest’, whatever that meant. What were these people playing at?

“Close your mouth and start pretending you have a brain somewhere behind that pretty little face,” Narcissa commanded. “Emma will find you an appropriate gown, after which I will personally give you a tour of the place from which Britain is ruled.”

True to Narcissa’s word, Emma strode to the closet. She tossed Ginny a velvet green dress. Ginny haphazardly threw it on over her shift. She could not remember the last time she had worn something so nice. Cho and Michael’s wedding, perhaps.

The two women frowned and ‘tsked’ at her poor treatment of the dress. Narcissa recovered first. She stopped frowning and the sarcastic smile spread out again across her face. She gestured for Ginny to follow her out of the room, “Welcome, my dear,” she peered down at her as if she were an unwanted piece of rubble, “Welcome to Azkaban Castle.”

Ginny followed them into the corridor. The walls were lined with golden candlesticks. She scanned for possible escape routes while Narcissa explained that the eternal gold flames had been important from Thailand. “Many things in this house are very fine, so I warn you not to touch anything unless I give you express permission.”

“She might muss them with her dirty hands,” Emma whispered loudly into Narcissa’s ear. Ginny looked down at her hands. They were calloused but clean. Then she stole a glance at the two other women’s. Both were unnaturally smooth and perfectly manicured.

The corridor led to a flight of stairs, which emptied out into a massive room. “The third floor dining hall,” Narcissa pronounced, “But there is a much grander one on the main floor.” It was grand enough for Ginny. Its emptiness exaggerated its size, and the red velvet rugs its beauty. In imitation of Hogwarts, the ceiling had been enchanted to show the rainy outdoor sky. Narcissa primly led them through several other rooms, until they reached a pair of elegant French doors.

“The courtyard,” she said as she opened the doors. To Ginny’s shock, they entered a sunlit garden. They sky in the walled garden showed no sign of the rain that enveloped the rest of Azkaban, but instead revealed a cloudless day. Multitudes of flowers grew along the paths in the courtyard. They went under a rose covered archway into the main part of the garden.

“As you see, here in Azkaban we have a careful eye for beauty,” said Emma. Or decadence, thought Ginny. This part of the garden was full of pools and archways. Narcissa took a seat on a stone bench beside the largest pool. She sat on it as if it were a throne. She waved her hand and a house elf appeared beside her.

“Yes my Mistress?” the house elf squeaked.

Narcissa rolled her eyes. “It’s hot Tilly, and I can’t be bothered to do a cooling spell.”

“Of course Mistress!” said Tilly. The house elf snapped her fingers and an ornate fan appeared in them. She rapidly began to fan Narcissa, and the fan must have been magical, for soon a pleasant breeze filled the whole garden.

“We will rest here for a while,” Narcissa told Ginny. “You may continue to walk the garden, but don’t do anything rash.” Ginny, sick of watching the two women sun themselves, hurried away to examine the rest of the courtyard. She persisted in looking for a way out.

She came to an engraved stone door at the corner of one of the walls. The door had a fancy handle with a large keyhole, but she decided it was worth a try. She reached out and grabbed the handle.

It was a catastrophically cold. Ginny stifled a cry of pain as her fingertips froze to the iron. With her other hand she pried her fingers away, then slowly rubbed life back into them. They were covered in frost.

She turned away from the door. She noticed for the first time that there was a statue next to the farthest pool. It looked to be pure gold. She came closer to inspect it saw it was a woman with shoulder length hair and a Grecian dress. The woman had a small upturned nose and a sad heart shaped face.

She realized she was staring into the face of Nymphadora Tonks. “I don’t even know why we have that statue,” said Emma, who had come up behind her, “She’s not very pretty, and she was rather obnoxious before we turned her into a statue.”

Ginny felt sick. “You mean that’s, that’s�”“

“Famed rebel and Auror Nymphadora Tonks,” Emma finished for her. “Wife of that sainted werewolf Remus Lupin. We were going to kill her, but the Dark Lord thought a statue would be so much more ironic. She never liked standing still in real life; and now she’ll stand still for eternity.”

“You’re disgusting.”

Emma laughed. “Spare me the rebel banter. I came to tell you it’s time to go. There’s someone important you need to meet.”

She half dragged Ginny away from the statue and towards Narcissa, who was sunning herself.

“Show me your fingers,” Narcissa demanded. She grabbed Ginny’s hand and felt her icy fingertips. “Messing around again, I see. I’ll have you know that door leads into the Dark Lord’s private garden, and no one, not even his most trusted servants are permitted there.” She dismissed her house elf and waved her wand at the corner of the hedge. A flight of stairs was revealed.

The afternoon passed miserably for Ginny. The trio toured room after room with Narcissa extolling the virtues of each as well as the superiority of purebloods in general, and Emma making nasty comments about her at every opportunity.

They reached the main floor. They came down a glass elevator into an atrium full of people in fine clothes. Ginny recognized many of them as bitter opponents. Rodolphus Lestrange was engrossed in conversation with Alecto just a few feet away from them. She wondered where the other Lestrange was. Lucius Malfoy came up to them and kissed his wife’s hand. He nodded at Emma, who curtsied, and then inspected Ginny.

“You showed her the castle?”

“Yes,” said Narcissa. “Is the Dark Lord to make an appearance soon? Perhaps we will find out what he intends to do with this riffraff. I hope it’s something amusing.” She gave Ginny another sarcastic smile.

“Perhaps,” answered Lucius. He indicated the stairs planted in the center of the atrium. There were large double doors at the top. The doors were opening. The crowd hushed as a dark haired young man came through. Ginny wondered if he was some sort of servant for Voldemort. But no one followed the young man out of the doors. Instead he descended the staircase regally and then moved through the silent crowd. It parted at his beckoning. He came to a halt beside Lucius.

“Master,” Emma, Narcissa, and Lucius all bowed. The young man gave them an authoritative nod. He reached out and took Ginny’s hand, then leaned down and kissed her still icy fingers. Ginny looked up into his handsome face.

She stared into the black eyes of Tom Marvolo Riddle.

She turned to run, to flee, no matter what the cost, but her feet had been magically planted to the floor. She opened her mouth to scream, but her lips had been sealed.

“Come Ginevra,” Riddle took her hand and guided her though the crowd. Her feet could move now, but only in the direction he wished them too. Ginny felt powerless, ill, she wanted to struggle, to shout, but she could do nothing. It was not the Imperius curse, which she had experience fighting. She still had her mind intact, it was her body that would not obey her.

They reached the top of the staircase. “My servants,” shouted Riddle. “Today I introduce you to a very special lady.” He smiled, a haunting smile that consumed his mouth but did not reach his dark eyes. The crowd clapped politely, but confusion was written on most of their faces.

“As you know,” continued Riddle. “Your Lord and Master is a powerful man. I am young, nay, immortal, and I am strong. I have worked hard to bring both beauty and talent to our beloved castle, and today I bring both.” He lifted his hand and a golden flame grew out of it. “I introduce you to my fiancé, Ginevra Molly Weasley, your future Queen.” The crowd gasped as the flame in his hand shot out and formed a ring of liquid fire around Ginny’s finger.

Ginny could not believe what she was hearing. Where was the Lord Voldemort she remembered, the cold reptilian being? Who was this person with Riddle’s face who wanted to marry her? For the second time that day she felt sick. She must be dreaming, no, she must be having a nightmare.

“Let us treat my dear betrothed as one of us! Tonight we will hold a ball in her honor!” said Riddle. He motioned for Ginny to take the stairs back towards the sea of faces glaring at her. “Let us see what your beloved Potter thinks of this,” he whispered in her ear. Then he walked away from her, back through the double doors. They slammed behind him.











A/N: I hope you liked your cameo Emma! You’ll be in later chapters as well. Laura, Kitty, Maya, and Alyssa will all appear in the next chapter, which will be Vow.

Here are some great options for reader participation! Please answer/complete at least one in a review…

- Continue to submit cameos! I want more people in this fic. The more the merrier!

- In the next chapter I want Neville to have a lovely assistant/romantic interest helping him at the wall. Who should this girl be? Hannah Abbott? Susan Bones? Parvati Patil? (or someone else…?)

- What should Ginny’s ball gown look like? (Yes, she’s going…)

- In general, what would you like to see happen in this fic?

If you have any other suggestions or comments that don’t relate to these ideas please feel free to make them! Thanks again!