Mrs. Weasley was furious. Every time she saw Ginny she offered her something to eat, but Ginny always refused. "Starving yourself isn't going to help the situation," she would call after her. "You have to eat sometime, and I know exactly how much food is in this kitchen!" Ginny, with her owl ordered food, never went down to the kitchen for food or to eat her meals, preferring instead to eat them with Harry her room.
"What if your mum comes in and I don't have time to throw it on?" Harry asked nervously. He and Ginny had agreed that he should always carry his invisibility cloak when he was with her; he didn't want to risk any more conflict with Mrs. Weasley, after all.
"There's a lock on my door," sighed Ginny. "And for the one-millionth time, she would have to knock before she would be able to enter. Harry, just stop worrying and enjoy the little time you have left with me."
Harry had four days left at Grimmauld Place, and several things he had to do were still not finished. He hadn't even asked Lupin about the Remittomission Spell, he hadn't had a single lesson about Horcruxes with Lupin, and he, Ron, and Hermione still hadn't figured out the riddle, or where they were going to head first to find the Horcruxes.
"Mate, we really need to get this done," said Ron seriously one night, as they sat on the floor in their room with Hermione, trying to solve the riddle. "Sorry to sound like Hermione, and all," Hermione shot him a venomous look, "but we don't even know where we're heading in a couple of days. Couldn't we figure out the riddle while we're traveling?"
"I've been thinking about that," said Hermione. "We need to decide where we're heading first, and that way we can keep it going from there."
Harry sat with his head in his hands, thinking. He knew where he needed to go, but he didn't feel ready, emotionally, to go there. "I think I know where we, well, at least I, need to start," he said quietly.
Ron and Hermione sat up at that; he hadn't given any hint, not even the slightest, of where he wanted to start, and they were eager for that information. "Where?" asked Ron, nearly jumping up with anticipation.
"Godric's Hollow," whispered Harry sadly. He still didn't feel ready for it; he could barely even say its name, how was he going to go there.
"Oh, Harry," said Hermione soothingly, "of course you need to go there first! Ron and I weren't even thinking about that. We know you need to visit your parents' graves, and the remains of their house."
"You don't have to go with me, you know," he said quickly. "I mean, it's probably the first place Voldemort'll expect me to be going, so he might be watching the place, and you--"
"Harry," said Hermione sternly. "We're going with you, whether you like it or not, so stop trying to dissuade us, and let's get working on this riddle again."
Harry groaned; he supposed he would have to let them go with him, after all. It wasn't that he didn't want them to go, but, like Lupin said, if anything happened to him, he didn't think he would be able to live with himself. He didn't want to be the reason either Ron or Hermione got hurt, or worse. "I think we should ask Lupin for help," he said.
"Harry!" said Hermione, aghast, "Lupin would want you to figure it out on your own, don't you think?"
"Hermione, come one," said Ron, while looking at her like she was insane. "This is a matter of life and death for, erm, everyone. Don't you think Lupin would be willing to help Harry out?"
"Well, why don't you go ask him," she said smugly. "That way Harry can learn the Remittomission Charm while we're all down there."
Determined to prove that he was right, Ron dragged Harry and Hermione downstairs to talk to Lupin, who was sitting at the kitchen table eating a late supper. When they walked up to the table and sat down, he gave them a surprised look and set down his butterbeer. "What brings you three down here?"
"Tell him Harry, Ron," said Hermione. "Ask him your question."
Turning away from Hermione's self-satisfied smiled Harry looked at Lupin. "Erm, well, we were wondering," Hermione shot him a disapproving glance, "I mean, Ron and I wanted to know if you would be willing to help us with Voldemort's Horcrux riddle?"
Lupin smiled wanly. "Well, I have a feeling Hermione told you that I would want you to figure it out on your own," Harry and Ron's faces fell, "but there is a catch. If you cannot figure it out on your own in the remaining days that you are here, I will tell you the answer--and believe me, I will know if you have put forth effort of not--."
"Wait a minute," said Ron, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Are you saying you already know the answer?"
"Why, you are very intelligent to spot something as shadowy as that, Mr. Weasley," said Lupin cheerily. "I do, in fact, know the, quite obvious to the uncomplicated thinker, answer to that riddle you hold in your hands."
"Well, why can't you tell us then?" asked Ron furiously.
"I have a feeling, well, actually, I have the orders, that Dumbledore wants Harry to attempt it first, before I tell him the answer."
"Oh, that reminds me!" said Hermione. "Another reason Harry came down here was to learn the Remittomission Spell, wasn't it, Harry."
"Yes, Hermione," groaned Harry. Leave it to Hermione to remember when a complicated and difficult spell needs to be learned, he thought.
Lupin laughed. "Oh, Harry, don't look so grave! We won't be attempting the actual spell tonight. We will simply be learning the rules and regulations set down by the Ministry of Magic to control this extremely complex spell."
"Even better," said Harry, through gritted teeth.
As he pulled out a chair and, rather begrudgingly, took a seat at the kitchen table, Lupin called back Ron and Hermione, who were about to exit the room.
"Mr. Weasley, Ms. Granger! I think it would be rather beneficial for you both to learn the spell as well, in case Mr. Potter is indisposed at a moment crucial to its use."
Ron raised an eyebrow. "Could we drop the formalities, though? Other than that I'm alright with it."
"Okay, Ron, I'll stop being your third year Defense Against the Dark Arts professor and I'll start being your colleague. Good enough for you?" Lupin grinned.
"Yeah, sounds good," said Ron, humbled to the point that made the tops of his ears turn bright red.
Lupin went to the kitchen's rather extensive pantry and pulled out a jug of pumpkin juice and a bottle of butterbeer. "Which would you like to drink? I'm afraid this could turn out to be a rather long lesson."
Once they had all been supplied with their choice of butterbeer, Lupin sat down and eyed them all seriously. "Now, you all, listen closely. The Ministry of Magic has set rules down to the letter for the regulation of this spell. First, one person can only use the spell three times every seven years."
"Why?" asked Harry, who was actually interested.
"When the spell was first invented," began Lupin, "people were able to use it freely, whenever they wanted to. The Ministry realized a problem, however, some witches and wizards became dependant on the spell. They wanted so much to see their deceased friends and family, they would talk to them all day long. It really started to annoy the spiritual realm, though, because they couldn't get through with urgent messages to the living, because there were too many people using the Remittomission spell at that time."
"Wait..." said Harry slowly. "Does that mean only a certain amount of people can use the Remittomission Spell at one time?"
"I was hoping someone would catch that," said Lupin, smiling. "The Remittomission Spell uses a sort of, well, line, like with Muggle telephone lines; if there are too many people using the spell at one time the spell will just wither and die, and the orb you are using will most likely shatter."
"So basically it's a spell to talk to dead people with that only a certain amount of people can use at one time," said Ron.
"Yes, Ron, that is the gist of the spell," sighed Lupin, "but there are more rules than just the one. You have to have certification to use the spell, just like you can't Apparate without passing a test, and months to years in Azkaban are a punishment if you use it without permission."
Harry furrowed his brow. There were quite a lot of rules for this spell, and he didn't see how it was going to help him much if he could only use it three times every seven years, and not to mention the sort of test the Ministry probably required for its use.
"The final main rule is that your orb's location must be in the knowledge of the Ministry of Magic at every given moment in time. Most orbs have a sort of magical tracker in them, though our's doesn't, and it makes it easier for the Ministry to summon the orb if they find illegal use of it."
"Why doesn't our orb have a tracker in it?" asked Ron curiously.
"Ah, Ron, I was just getting to that," said Lupin. "The Ministry knows that you three are going to be doing something for the Order, as I had to tell Rufus Scrimgeour before he would grant me this kind of special permission, but they don't know exactly what, luckily. Otherwise Voldemort would be upon you in a second and we would have no chance. However, I have gotten special permission on several terms of the Remittomission Spell from Scrimgeour."
Harry blinked in slight irritation, but not quite anger. He hadn't liked Scrimgeour much, especially not since he had, basically, asked him to be a poster boy for the Ministry, and to tell the public that the Voldemort situation was under control, when it so clearly was not. He was surprised, shocked even, that Scrimgeour would grant them any sort of permission for anything after Harry's downright refusal at both Dumbledore's funeral and at the Burrow last year. Though it probably made him look like he knew what he was doing, and as if he had a part in the fight against the Order, he thought. He shook himself and kept listening when he realized that Lupin had continued talking.
"He has allowed us to, first of all, have an orb without a tracker on it, because I explained that Voldemort could easily find a way to break the spell and find you. Also, he says that Harry and Ron will have quite enough to deal with with passing their Apparation Tests tomorrow, and that only Hermione will have to take the test in three days."
"What?" said Harry and Ron simultaneously. Neither of them had been told that they were going to have to take their Apparation Tests the following day. At least if only Hermione has to take the test tomorrow we're pretty much guaranteed to pass, though Harry bleakly.
"Oh, yes, I scheduled Apparation Tests for both of you tomorrow at the Ministry and nine o'clock in the morning. Since we will have to take Muggle transportation, this means, that to get ready, eat, leave, and arrive on time, you will have to get up at seven o'clock in the morning. Make sure you look nice, as a good impression can work wonders," said Lupin, looking slightly amused at the looks on their faces.
"Is that all we have to learn for tonight?" asked Harry wearily. He felt as if he wouldn't be able to digest another single piece of information about the Remittomission Spell before he passed out with exhaustion.
"Well, actually, I was planning on teaching you the actual history of the spell tonight," said Lupin.
Harry and Ron exchanged glum glances and look at Hermione, who was copying down notes on a spare bit of parchment found on the table. Ron shook his head disbelievingly, and Hermione caught it out of the corner of her eye. "What?" she asked, not realizing what they were making such a big deal out of.
"You're kidding me," said Ron, rubbing his eyes with tiredness.
"Actually, yes," smiled Lupin. "You'll need your sleep for your Apparation Tests tomorrow, and I don't want to bore you to death with a bunch of facts about old wizards who invented spells."
After bidding Lupin goodnight and finishing the rest of their butterbeer, they thankfully made their way up the stairs. Though Harry was dreading his test tomorrow, he was so tired it couldn't bother him as he sank into his bed, and immediately fell asleep.
It was almost completely dark, yet Harry could hear the sounds of water splashing into a receptacle, and someone screaming. As he looked up, he saw golden marks rushing across it, only to be replaced seconds later by new ones, like some sort of message board. He was in the foyer to the Ministry of Magic.
He walked quickly past the empty wand-check desk and to the several lifts, trying to decipher whether the scream was coming from above or below them. He decided it was below, and took the lift down, stopping at each level to listen.
At the floor of the Department of Mysteries he stopped. The scream was coming from somewhere down the corridor, and was echoing off the walls. He ran as quietly down the hallway as possible, stopping to open the black door he had stopped at so often in his dreams two years before. However, instead of leading into the spinning room with several doors, the door led into a single chamber, dark except for the flickering light of six navy blue candles. He stepped into the room quietly, leaving the door open a crack behind him. The screaming had stopped for the moment, causing Harry's footsteps to echo in the high ceilinged room.
The screaming started again, and Harry began to think the voice sounded familiar. He walked as close as he could to a marble table, and then hid in a stone pillar's shadow.
Placed on top of the table was a thin figure, which was clearly writhing with pain. As a lock of red hair fell lose from the elastic in which it was held, Harry's heart stopped. Someone had Ginny.
It was soon clear who.
"Tell me where he is, girl," said Voldemort, holding his wand over Ginny as if he were playing a sort of game instead of torturing someone. He muttered a counter curse, and Ginny stopped moving, and Harry could hear her breathing heavily.
When she remained silent, her face pale and fragile-looking, Voldemort smiled malevolently. "Crucio," he whispered, baring his teeth down at Ginny.
Apparently the pain was much too much for Ginny, for she could no longer scream; all she did was writhe and twist, attempting to get released from whatever binding spell Voldemort had put her under.
"You know, he can't, and won't come to save you," said Voldemort, as if he were enjoying Ginny's suffering. "He'll stay where ever he is now, hearing your screams, and preferring to save his own skin rather that yours. What have you to say to that?"
He released her from the Cruciatus Curse, and she gave him a look filled with pure venom. "If he were to see this, he would come," she whispered. "I wouldn't want him to, but he would."
"Oh, but he can see this," said Voldemort, laughing his cruel laugh. "His scar forged some sort of connection to me, you see, and I normally use Legilimency to keep him out. I'm not now, though, for I want him to see you suffer. I want him to see you die, while he watches and does nothing."
Harry expected Ginny to plead, to do anything than lie there and look up at Voldemort defiantly, as she did then, daring him to do as he said.
"Ah, such a determined one, aren't you?" laughed Voldemort. "Sitting there challenging me. You aren't fooling anyone, Ginny Weasley. I can taste your fear. You are scared, but don't worry, death will be a welcome relief to all your troubles, unless you were to join me. Revenge Harry for leaving you, Ginny, and join me. Tell me all about him, and how to defeat him. Help me destroy him."
He looked at Ginny a moment, and shook his head, smiling. "No? Well, then, you've made your choice, Ginny Weasley. You've thrown away your last chance at life, and now you have chosen your own fate."
He walked around to her, and muttered the counter jinx to unbind her. "Now stand up, Ginny, and face your death."
Ginny stood up and looked down her nose at him, as if he were merely a school-time enemy, rather than one of the most powerful sorcerers in the world. "So be it," she whispered.
"Avada Kedavra!" said Voldemort, to Harry's horror, as he, almost lovingly, pointed his wand at Ginny.
Harry watched her fall, almost gracefully, to the floor, landing with a thunk on the floor, her hair played out beautifully around her head, a look of utter melancholy upon her face. He looked at Voldemort, grinning as though Christmas had come early, simply staring at Ginny's dead body.
Suddenly, with a jolt, he sat up in bed, drenched in a cold sweat, his hands shaking. As he did, he woke up Ron, who mumbled, half-asleep, "Whassamattter?"
"Ginny," Harry said, barely managing to get out the word. "Ginny."