"Ginny?”
Slowly she opened her eyes and dragged herself upright. Everything was dark.
“Harry? Where are you?” Ginny asked.
There was a loud crack and she span around in fright, breathing heavily. She searched around but she couldn’t see anything in the black room.
“What was that?” she gasped in a panicky voice, but no one was answering her.
There was a tug on her cloak sleeve as a hand closed around it and she breathed a sigh of relief, knowing she wasn’t alone. “Harry? What’s going on?” she whispered to the dark figure beside her.
Suddenly, she heard another crack, then the sound of rushing wind all around her and then there was silence. She could no longer hear the familiar, gentle creaking of the Shrieking Shack or the rustling of leaves in trees. Nothing.
Ginny found herself on the ground; she scrambled on to her knees, and surveyed the surroundings. Her hair was windswept across her face, and the stony ground was cold beneath her. She shivered.
She was kneeling in the centre of a circular platform that must have been raised 100 ft off the ground. She could see for miles around but the landscape was empty, a desolate wasteland. Encircling the platform were piles of meaningless rubble and jagged stones, and Ginny could see that they had once been proud pillars and archways of a castle turret.
“The fire is almost ready master,” an apprehensive female voice said from somewhere around her. Her senses were confused, but she remembered the voice- it was a voice that she had heard once before, in the department of mysteries. Last time it had been cold and patronizing, though now it sounded afraid. She turned slowly and saw that Bellatrix Lestrange was knelt beside an enormous leather-bound book, kindling a fire.
“Excellent Bella, your help will not go un-rewarded.” Voldemort hissed from behind Ginny.
He gripped her shoulder and pulled her onto her feet to face him. As he withdrew his wand from his robes, Ginny cowered.
“Imperio!” Voldemort shouted and immediately the world around her was forgotten. Her fear evaporated and she felt more calm and relaxed than ever before. She smiled happily at Bellatrix, apparently unaware of her mortal danger.
“Walk towards the fire,” said a voice far inside Ginny’s head. It was a place never before awakened. Without questioning she did as she was told and walked to the fire as Bellatrix stood up and consulted the great spell book.
“Pick up the knife,” said the voice, she looked down and there was a silver knife with the dark mark branded in black onto the handle. Again she obeyed the voice and picked up the knife, which was cold in her hand.
“Slit your wrist.”
Ginny’s hand shook and the knife hovered above her arm, as a tiny voice from deep within her whispered “No, don’t!”
“Slit your wrist!” said the voice more forcefully. Ginny obeyed the command. Her face remained blank as she completed the painful and sickening task. She let her blood drip into the fire, as she knew that was what the voice wanted her to do. She couldn’t fight it.
As she held her arm out above the flames and let her blood trickle down words flowed out of her mouth uncontrollably and she began to chant along with the voice inside her mind.
“Over scarlet flames, I wilfully spill my blood this night
As the blood drop by drop falls, the flames will turn to white
My life will end, as will his, I’m sacrificed with this knife.
The serpent rising from the embers will take my lover’s life.”
As Ginny stared into the rising heat and white smoke the fire was creating, she saw a shape begin to emerge. At first it was just a faint circle, but it became steadily clearer and soon a face could be seen. It was a boy’s face- messy hair, glasses and a prominent scar.
As realisation of the chant’s meaning suddenly dawned on Ginny, tears began to roll down her face, but her eyes remained fixed on the smoky image of Harry’s. She tried and tried to stop the chant, to shut her mouth, to shut her eyes, but it was no use.
From the fire, a twisting serpent of smoke began to grow. It writhed around, leaving a visible, smoky white trail wherever it moved. It danced above the licking flames, until, with one vicious action, it bit the hazy white image of Harry. As if it was real, the smoky picture reacted. Harry’s mouth opened in a mute scream and his white eyes were filled with unbearable pain. Immediately the face began to fade and sink back into the fire, however, the serpent slowly materialised into a real pearly-white ashwinder.
Ginny had heard of ashwinders, they were created from magical fires and she knew that their eggs were powerful ingredients in love potions, but could also set a house alight if they weren’t found and frozen. However, ashwinders were usually grey with red-eyes; therefore she was unsure if that’s what this snake-like creature was. It was a shimmering white with powerful green eyes and it danced and hissed in front of the fire.
As Ginny watched the serpent the voice began to speak again. “Pick up the powder.” She noticed a pot of powder beside her and did as she was told.
“Throw it in the fire,” the voice said. Ginny grabbed a handful and threw it onto the flames. From smoky white, the flames turned to a familiar bright green.
"Go to him. Go to him," the voice started to chant and strange hissing noises slid out of her mouth in place of words. She shook her head in confusion but couldn’t stop the flow of parseltongue. The snake, at once, seemed transfixed by her and it moved in the flames in time to the chant, as though charmed.
That little voice inside her, distant and barely loud enough for her to make out, was desperately whispering "No! Stop!"
"Go to h-" she broke off, panting as if she had just been trapped, deprived of air and then released. The serpent stopped and stared up at Ginny, both of them momentarily freed from the charm commanding them.
"Imperio!" Voldemort shouted, seeing that Ginny was breaking free and fighting the curse but she dodged.
Her mind was spinning. Where was she? What was happening? She felt a terrible pain in her wrist and saw an enormous gash and her blood soaked robes. She felt light headed and her heartbeat began to race as she panicked. Harry! She thought. He’s in danger.
”Imperio!" Voldemort repeated and that time it caught her. For a second her mind went blank and an ocean of calm flooded her head, then the voice returned, colder and angrier than before.
”Walk back to the fire,” the voice hissed. Ginny tried to resist now, but he was too strong and she felt her legs obeying the command. Her thoughts were invaded and she was taken over with chanting again.
The flashing green flames before her seemed to twist and curl into shapes and a thought appeared in her mind again: Harry. His face had been in the fire and that serpent had bitten him, killed him! Harry! Harry!
Suddenly, she noticed another face growing in the fire. An old, kind face, but it looked worried. The shining eyes searched frantically until they saw the red-haired girl.
Ginny stared at Albus Dumbledore’s head floating in the flickering flames. He opened his mouth and started to speak but Ginny could not hear his words over her own chanting. She tried to stop but she couldn't close her mouth. Slowly, a hand appeared in the green flames, it reached out to her waiting for her to take it.
Inside Ginny’s head two voices shouted: the harsh controlling voice and her own, which was growing stronger by the second.
She stumbled forwards, groping for Dumbledore’s hand, but she couldn’t concentrate, she couldn’t see properly, everything was blurred.
“Master! In the fire, look!” Bellatrix screeched and Ginny was shaken to her senses for a second. She was lying on the floor and she could hear the witch running towards her. She was drained of energy, but she crawled forwards across the floor, reaching for the hand and grabbed it.
Dumbledore pulled her into the fire and almost out the other side into a fireplace. She could see Harry anxiously stood by the fireside in the bedroom of the Shrieking Shack. She was almost in the room when…
“Ahhh!” She screamed as a tight grip closed around her ankle painfully. Bellatrix Lestrange was dragging her backwards through the fire. Then Ginny felt the cold ground of the castle turret beneath her again and her knees and ribs scraped across the stone as she was pulled backwards on her front.
She kicked at Bellatrix and tried to free her foot when she felt a terrible pain in her ankle. For a moment the grip loosened and Ginny crawled to the fire, took the headmaster’s outstretched hand and fell into the grate of the fire.
Dumbledore shouted an enchantment at the fire and the magical green flames immediately disappeared. Then he bent down to Ginny who was being helped up of the floor of the bedroom, and said “You are safe now, Miss Weasley. I am sorry but I must leave you for the time being, I must find my other students. I trust Harry will look after you for a few minutes.”
Dumbledore’s face was almost unreadable. At a glance, Ginny thought she saw pure hatred and anger but if she’d been able to look more closely, before he disapparated, she would’ve seen his shining blue eyes also showed guilt, worry and fear.
“Ginny, I… Are you Ok?” Harry asked, his hands shook as he tried to help her stand. Ginny winced as she put weight on her ankle, but Harry helped her gently across the room and she collapsed onto the bed.
“Harry! There’s a snake! It’s going to kill you!” Ginny shouted as she suddenly remembered what had happened. It all came flooding back to her with stunning clarity; she had to do something before it was too late.
“No, it’s Ok. We’re safe now.” Harry assured her, although his heart was still thundering inside his chest.
“What’s going on?” she asked breaking into tears and searching Harry’s face for an answer. Harry paused for a few seconds and sat down then said, “Voldemort kidnapped you.”
“I know that!” Ginny cried.
Harry was shocked for a second at her outburst, before he began to explain. “All I know is what Dumbledore thinks happened. He said Voldemort took you so he could use you for an ancient spell to kill me. For it to work he needed you to… to sacrifice yourself.” He stopped. He realised how much it scared him that Ginny had almost died. Much more than the fact that he had narrowly escaped death too.
“Why me?” Ginny sobbed quietly.
Harry was slightly unsure of what to say, he didn’t really know either. “Dumbledore said that the spell sort of counter-acted against the love of my mother. Voldemort was using love to kill me. Your love for me.”
Ginny looked up at him in confusion and Harry shrugged. “I don’t really know how,” he said.
The two sat in silence for a few moments while Harry tried to understand what Dumbledore had told him, it didn’t make sense.
All the while Ginny’s breathing was quickening and she began to feel dizzy. Suddenly, she couldn’t see properly. She tried to wipe her eyes and immediately gasped. Harry looked over and saw Ginny’s bloodstained robes; he quickly pulled back her sleeve and saw her slashed wrist.
“Oh Merlin! What the hell happened?” he shouted.
“He…” Ginny couldn’t breath properly and she couldn’t focus on what she was trying to say. “He… made me…”
“Ginny!” Harry yelled shaking her, but she slumped in his arms like a lifeless doll.
“Ginny?” he shouted hugging her tightly. Tears of worry and fear filled his eyes as he clung onto her desperately. “Ginny, wake up!”
He searched around the room for anything that could possibly help- there was nothing. “
Please, Ginny! Wake up!” he cried. He pulled her onto the bed and ran to the door of the bedroom, his mind racing all the time. He raced across the landing and down the creaking stairs to the place where the tunnel back to Hogwarts started.
“Professor! Professor Dumbledore!” he yelled. “Ron! Hermione! Anyone, please!”
Stumbling, he hurried down the steps shouting all the time. His legs quivered underneath him until he tripped and fell down a few hard stone steps.
He lay in an injured heap crying out helplessly. Nobody was coming.
There was nothing else he could do; he decided he had to return to Ginny. He struggled back the way he’d come and raced into the bedroom to find the red-haired girl still sprawled out on the bed. He ripped some of the sheets of the bed and tried to wrap them round her wrist to stem the flow, it helped, but not much.
“I don’t know what else to do!” he cried. He felt as though he had failed. This was all because of him. It was his fault she had been taken, his fault she had been forced to slit her wrists and now she lay dying and he couldn’t help.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!” he whispered as he lay next to her and clutched her limp body to him, trying to hold the bloodstained sheets in place. He knew that she was slipping away. He was so scared.
Desperately, he tried to keep her freezing body warm by hugging her closer, but as he cried he knew he couldn’t help her.