Who could have thought that happiness or elation existed? In a world where cruelty and spite had the final word and rebellion against tyranny had slipped gradually into nothingness, such emotions seemed archaic and obsolete. Love seemed a bite of a foreign, unfamiliar-tasting fruit sampled in a dream long ago, and comfort was just as remote. Even as life grew within her with beating heart and kicking feet, Ginny knew nothing but leaden depression.
So often, she felt the weight of her feeling of deadness hit her like a rockslide, sudden and potent in its crushing force. She might be anywhere when it happened: sipping tea, turning over in her massive and ridiculously ornate marriage bed, watching Lokie the house elf light a small fire with purpose and skill. Most frequently, it occurred when she wandered the polished, lonely halls of the Zabini mansion.
Blaise would call her dead mood hormones, of course. He would recommend this potion or that, or tell her to owl somebody in his usual patronizing manner. That was his way: even if she didn’t express her deep-cutting hurt, he sensed it acutely and exploited it, making her feel dull and weak. He would laugh coldly and run a finger across her cheek in a possessive, self-satisfied way, saying in a low voice, “One more month, and the nightmare will be over. Then your excuse for being an utter pain in the arse will be gone.”
It was Ginny’s first pregnancy, and she loathed every minute of it. It was nothing like the bliss her mother described: she felt ugly, not beautiful; used, not treasured; dull, not special; bovine, not regal; labored, not leisured. She detested the unwelcome changes to her body just as she loathed the changes that had rocked her world. In Ginny’s mind, even the baby was guilty of cruelty: it was the child of a handsome murderer who would soon inflect itself upon her. In her worst moments, Ginny imagined with horror the life that her unborn child would one day lead. When these dark moods swept over her, she wanted to destroy every part of herself, including the growing being within her body, but for some reason, she never could.
In the end, she was not truly suicidal. After all, she did not map out elaborate plans to end her misery as she went through the day. She did not hurt herself physically to inflict pain on her already belabored body. The truth was that she did not need to; her thoughts were torturous enough.
As Ginny sat in bed, she ran this familiar course of dismal thinking. Her nap had been utterly unsatisfying: she felt restless, rather than rested. Her good humor was beyond reach, as usual. She surveyed her house elf, Lokie: middle-aged and generally silent, she was dutiful and on-task and suited Blaise’s varied moods. Ginny liked her, too, as she took specific care of her mistress. Having an elf attending to her was still an unfamiliar feeling: Ginny had not grown up with such a luxury, and she had helped Hermione distribute SPEW badges during her impressionable school years. It only followed, then, that she should treat Lokie generously; naturally, Lokie responded with a quiet loyalty and a caring pair of hands.
Lokie stroked the fire of her masters’ bedroom deftly, squeaking over her shoulder, “Mistress should rise soon. ’Tis already past five and the Malfoys will arrive for dinner before six.”
Ginny only grunted and leaned back against the soft expanse of silken pillows.
The house elf approached the bed sympathetically. “Lokie has orders to ready you, mistress,” she added.
“I see,” Ginny said dully. She took a breath and forced a tight smile. “I suppose it is time I left my bed.”
With difficulty, she swung her swollen legs out to the edge of the bed. Her distended belly made the quotidian movement a slight challenge. As she placed her feet on the floor and eased onto them, Lokie departed with a crack, returning only a moment later from Ginny’s cavernous dressing room with a lustrous, silvery set of maternity robes. The soft but metallic color was hardly Ginny’s favorite, but the fabric felt heavenly on her skin and draped loosely in a flattering manner. Consequently, the outfit pleased both her and her snobbish husband.
In no time, Ginny was properly presentable, her red hair drawn back into a sophisticated-looking bun. In order to brace herself, she smoothed her features with calm resolve and followed Lokie into the hallway.
Blaise was already at the bottom of the grand marble staircase, which dominated the foyer with its carefully cultivated magnificence. To Ginny’s surprise, Malfoy stood chuckling beside him. The two appeared to have been conversing for quite some time. They were a well coiffed pair, Ginny observed, each with hair perfectly positioned, nails perfectly manicured, and robes perfectly pressed. At least Blaise’s hair was naturally flawlessly arranged; Ginny felt some satisfaction in knowing his head did not feel like a wax helmet to the touch as Malfoy’s did. No, Blaise was too statuesque and sculpted to need wax or any trick of the wand to embellish his style. Ginny often felt plain beside him, knowing his dark skin was incomparably clear and smooth while her own was freckled, though certainly soft. Her pregnant belly made her feel ugly and cumbersome, and such thoughts about her elegant husband depressed her. At least our children will be attractive, she thought drily as she contemplated him from the top of the stairs. As a girl, it had always been her habit to think on the bright side, but the years had hardened her. That his appearance had a Veela-like effect on the female world did not content her; rather, being in close proximity with him for so much of the day heightened her irritation.
One hand on the stately banister for support, the other over her stomach out of habit, Ginny began her descent. The sound of her approach alerted the others to her presence.
Malfoy adopted his usual smirk. He had not changed much, at least not on the surface. Ginny did not care to probe any deeper. He raised the champagne glass in his hand in a mock salute. “Ah! The mistress of the manor,” he called, his voice not altogether free of a jeering tone.
“You’ve emerged at last,” Blaise noted, looking her over, his expression bemused. “I was beginning to think you’d never come.” He chuckled to himself, as if he’d made a distinctly clever joke.
Malfoy let out a guffaw.
How uncouth, thought Ginny. She pushed her disgust away and tried to look the part of Mrs. Blaise Zabini, her usual unachievable goal. “I needed some rest,” she said in a carrying voice, hoping to silence the pair. “Living and breathing for two can be rather trying.”
“I imagine so,” Malfoy said dismissively.
Ginny looked around as she reached the bottom of the stairs. “I see I’m not the last to arrive, at any rate.”
Draco frowned. “My wife should arrive shortly,” he said. “She is with little Scorpius at the moment. He’s nearing his first birthday, you know.”
Blaise spoke up, “Well, I don’t see why we shouldn’t progress into the next room.” He offered Ginny his arm in his formal style. She accepted it with as much grace as possible. Her back was sore again, but she did her best not to lean on him all the same.
Draco trailed after his hosts, examining this and that. “A fine tapestry,” he put in once; later, he mentioned, “Ah, yes, I recall that portrait very well. Gave my cousin a fright when we stayed here that summer…”
Blaise paraded his tottering wife into the large receiving room, seating her promptly on a cushioned couch so as to free his arms. He assumed a comfortable stance, arms crossed delicately, as Ginny dropped heavily into her chair.
Malfoy laughed derisively. “Like an elephant, isn’t she?” he commented mockingly.
Blaise snorted in laughter. Ginny stared into the fire, biting back her reply. In times past, she would never have wasted an opportunity to launch a retort, but in her depressed state, she preferred to speed along the arguments to their conclusion.
When she did not lash out with a caustic reply, Malfoy dropped the subject, as Ginny had hoped. “I had an odd experience at work today,” Malfoy said, seemingly changing the subject, eyes darting deviously back and forth. “It was after you’d gone home for the day, Blaise. It’s a shame you missed it, really.”
“Did you get a tip of sorts or something along those lines?” Blaise inquired, motioning to a house elf in the shadows.
Ginny knew she hated the story before it had properly begun. Malfoy and her husband worked in the Ministry’s Loyalty Department. Strictly speaking, neither needed to work to get the money, but the Dark Lord had strongly expressed his desire that all his supporters do their duty in running and reshaping the wizarding world in accordance with his designs.
“Hardly,” said Malfoy. He turned his gaze to Ginny. “No, it was quite strange. We received an anonymous letter of complaint. I’m surprised whoever it was didn’t send a Howler. It was quite a scathing letter, you see.”
“How so?” Blaise asked curiously.
“Well, as your wife might be interested to know, it was a letter denouncing our actions against Percy Weasley,” Malfoy said, still looking at Ginny, as if anticipating a strong reaction. Now she understood: he clearly had decided to bait her more indirectly in order to incite her anger.
Blaise’s interest was indeed piqued. “That is odd. We’ve only received letters praised us on that point so far.”
Ginny bristled but remained silent. She forced herself to recall that reacting would only make matters worse.
“That’s what I said to Barkley! I had him read it to me out loud. Boy, what a laugh we had,” he said, chuckling at the memory. “It was totally preposterous.”
“I gather you saved it,” ventured Blaise hopefully.
“Never fear,” Malfoy replied. He laughed again. “The last line had us going for five full minutes… Went something like, ‘Though your despicable families had no honor to begin with, you’ve sunk to a new low. Percy Weasley was twice the man you’ll ever be!’”
Blaise cracked a rare smile. Malfoy, seeing this as encouragement, delved on.
“And Barkley had a great line just then”oh! What was it? Oh yes: ‘He’s also twice as dead as I’ll ever be.’”
Blaise laughed in genuine amusement. When the two did not display any sign of ceasing their cruel laughter, Ginny lost her resolve at last. Breathing sharply, she jerked to her feet. This sudden movement did not escape Blaise’s notice.
“Upset, my love?” he crooned, reached for the drink the house elf bore on a tray over its head. Ginny seethed. He used that phrase when he wanted to truly infuriate her.
“So it would seem,” Malfoy tittered, taking a sip from the glass he chose off the tray. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say her face’s redness rivaled that of her hair.”
Ginny released a frustrated growl and whipped her wand out of her sleeve, lumbering towards their guest. She was ready to hex them both for their despicableness, for their audacity to toy with her as if she existed solely as the object of their scorn. It drove her mad to sit there and listen as she did. She hesitated briefly, torn between hexing Malfoy or her husband first”
“Expelliarmus,” Blaise said lazily, just in time to spare himself a set of nasty boils. Ginny’s wand jumped from her hand to his own. He pocketed it suavely, tipping his head to Malfoy. “I learned to be quick with that one early on in our marriage,” he said seriously to his guest. “She can be nasty when she gets angry.”
Malfoy looked mildly uncomfortable, as if recalling some moment of discomfort from ages past. He shrugged haughtily. “I am glad of it,” he said, voice stiff. After a tense moment, he let out a short bark of laughter which Blaise returned.
At that moment, a house elf entered the far end of the room with Eloise Malfoy”formerly Eloise Lestrange, Malfoy’s not-so-distant cousin, Ginny recalled with disgust”in tow. She took in the scene severely, noting the smug, mirthful men lounging across the room from one another and the splotchy woman, standing rigid and glaring from one wizard to the other. “I apologize for my delay,” she said, unprompted. “I do hope I haven't kept you waiting long.”
“Not at all,” Malfoy said. He grinned maliciously. “We’ve been quite entertained. Ginny is an endlessly amusing hostess.”
Eloise sniffed disapprovingly and approached, ignoring the tray of drinks. Ginny felt her rage increase as the witch drew nearer. This woman stood for everything Ginny loathed; to top it off, Eloise was Bellatrix’s personal favorite. Looking at her features devoid of any amiability, Ginny began to feel sick. She could no longer bear the strain; the cruel treatment combined with her already plunging spirits was too much.
“I feel rather ill, actually,” she announced, endeavoring to parallel Eloise’s coldness of tone.
“What a shame,” yawned Malfoy. “Do rest up, then. Blaise so desires a healthy child or two to make his marriage worthwhile.”
Blaise shook his head, amused. “Go on, then,” he said to her, waving a hand lazily. His nonchalant gesture did not match the possessive intensity in his eyes as he watched her turn away.
She nodded curtly and moved quickly out of the room, shutting her ears off as Malfoy resumed his earlier tale.
Lokie was waiting just inside the door. In her mistress’ relatively short absence, the house elf had tidied Ginny’s side of the bed and prepared a cup of warm milk. A powerful longing to be held and cared for swept over Ginny. She wanted to see her mother, to hear the gentle words of consolation she craved but only received on occasions few and far between.
More than anything, though, she wanted Harry.
In another, happier life, they would have been together, completely inseparable, she was sure of it. They were meant to be so, and that was what she could not stand more than anything else. But he had abandoned her and their glorious future, and for what? To protect her? It was devastating to recall that final night of hope. They had fought so much…
But Ginny would not take back what she had said either, given a Time Turner. Her beliefs were firmly in place. That fact did not assuage her, though; it only perpetuated her anguish.
She preferred not to dwell on that other, dreamy life. It only pained her more. The past is dead, she thought. Lokie lead her into the adjacent room to change.
Just as she reached the doorway, the child within her leveled a violent kick at her kidneys. Ginny paused, rubbing her side. This child… what would become of it? Raised in a world run by Death Eaters, how could its future possibly be bright?
It occurred to Ginny that she need not hate the child before she had seen it. With chagrin, she realized she would love it unconditionally, even if it had light, chocolate-colored skin and dark eyes. A stranger’s baby, not a love it child it would be, but the newborn would still claim a part of her soul.
For the first time in months, a tender feeling trickled into her heart as she imagined her baby. In the end, she noted, it would still be hers, and if she poured enough of herself into the child’s heart… maybe it would turn out less like its heartless father. Maybe there was hope for the future.
Ginny managed a wry smile as she disrobed. Malfoy’s words about her marriage danced in her mind. She thought darkly, I, too, desire a child to make my marriage worthwhile.
They could never quell the rebellion in her heart. It would survive the siege, and she would instill her spirit into her child’s being so that someday… dawn would break again, to end this terrible night.
* * * * * *
The Hogwarts dungeons were a familiar place to Harry and Ginny: Potions lessons and so forth had brought them down there with regularity. The rooms had always been cold and dank, and they did not vary much as far as night, day, or seasons went. But never had the rooms felt so frigid as they did that night; never had they felt more cell-like.
Harry and Ginny lay on their sides, each tied. The Death Eaters who had deposited them possessed their wands, so they could do nothing but wait. Neither prisoner had the energy to find a way into a seated position.
Ginny stared blankly at the back of Harry’s head, stunned at the incomprehensible events of the past few hours. It did not seem possible that she had been in the midst of a heated battle only hours before; she had dueled and escaped more than a few Death Eaters before stumbling into the forest to take cover.
At the time, she had felt and inexplicable pull to plunge deeper in, so she had, not questioning her instincts. After some aimless stumbling, she had been hit by a spell that had knocked her to the ground, kicking the breath out of her. Nott, her attacker, had subsequently approached, wand ready to bind her with rope. Before he had succeeded, she had managed to kick him over and scuffle to her feet. His binding spell hit her shortly after.
And then, in the clearing, a nightmare had unfolded. Encased in an invisible cylinder, she watched in horror as Lord Voldemort had coerced Harry”turning his protective, noble instincts against him, of course”into making an Unbreakable Vow. Her screams had been soundless, her shock insurmountable.
How easily they had failed! All the efforts of the Order had been undone in that single moment. Ginny could not comprehend it. And as Harry had stepped away, she had caught a glimpse of his face”blank. It was as if he could no longer show any feeling. She wondered if he felt as numb as she.
Of course, they had been tied up and thrown promptly in the dungeon. Lord Voldemort had ensured them their situation was only temporary; it also only involved the dungeons because part of the wall at the top of the stairwell spiraling into the bowls of the castle had caved in. The Death Eaters had only just called off their force of giants, one of whose wayward clubs had dealt the castle wall a heavy blow and caused the convenient fissure to appear. At any rate, Ginny knew they would not be left in their current position long; their guards would retrieve them once Lord Voldemort had rallied his supporters, giants included. Lord Voldemort’s proclaimed hour of judgment approached, now that Harry had presented himself as commanded and promptly submitted himself to his enemies. Ginny did not doubt that Lord Voldemort wanted to present his conquered adversary at precisely the right moment. What better way was there to eradicate in an instant all joy and hope?
The silence became oppressive. Ginny took a breath and said, “Harry.” She cringed at the sound of her voice: it resembled that of a victim of a Dementor’s kiss.
He turned his head slightly, giving her a view of the side of his face. She waited for him to speak, beginning to squirm in an effort to rearrange her limbs into a seated position. She glanced at him again and felt a shock as she realized the reason for his silence: there were tears sliding down his stone-like cheek.
“Oh, Harry,” she said miserably, scooting nearer to him. Normally it would have bothered her to see him cry without a funeral march playing, but as he rolled onto his back, she lay her head on his chest and stroke his dampened face.
“I’m so sorry,” he said at last, voice weak.
“I know,” she soothed, holding his gaze. “You never wanted to make the vow.”
To her surprise, he grimaced and shook his head. “No, Ginny,” he said, “I’m sorry I couldn’t save the others. Fred””
“It wasn’t your fault,” she said flatly, looking away. An unpleasant taste was on her tongue. “He died in the fight of his choosing. Better that than ending up alone and ruled by Death Eaters.”
“How can you say that?” Harry demanded. “Even if you’re alone and times are hard, you’re alive. You’re free.”
“Free?” Ginny flared up. “If he had lived, would he be free right now? Maybe. How about in an hour? No, he would be submitting himself to enslavement, thanks to the horrible vow you just made.”
Harry’s face hardened, clearly irked by the sudden and unforeseen turn in their conversation. “You know I had no choice.”
“Don’t by ridiculous,” Ginny spat. “You had a choice, and you chose to abandon all our chances. And for what? To save me? How could you be so blind, Harry? You haven’t saved anyone. In fact, I’d wager you effectively just did the opposite. You’ve condemned us, Harry, every one””
“Stop it!” he yelled, forcing himself to sit upright. “That’s not true. I did what I had to.”
“No, no, no!” Ginny yelled back, though their faces were hardly a foot apart. “We had a fighting chance before, but now… Have you thought this through to conclusion? Don’t you realize the significance of your actions? With you as Voldemort’s slave, chaining all the rest of us, our future is in the hands of the Death Eaters!”
“I know it looks bleak, Ginny, but there will always be hope. There will always be rebellion, even if I can’t be part of it. Remember the DA?” he insisted.
A brief scuffling sound outside the door caused the two to pause momentarily. Ginny did not bother to look, preferring to glare at Harry until he looked back at her.
Quietly, she argued, “Yes, but how and when will the rebels have enough strength to undo what you’ve just done? In a year? Ten? A hundred?”
“I don’t know!” Harry whispered hotly.
“And what about killing Voldemort himself? Wasn’t that your job? Your mission, ordained by Prophecy and assigned by Dumbledore? I don’t know how you can remember Dumbledore without shame. Voldemort’s practically invincible now!”
“No, he’s not! He made himself Horcruxes, Ginny; he broke off pieces of his soul. But we destroyed them all…”
“Then why’s he still living, breathing, and killing?”
“Well, we didn’t get to kill the part left unsplit in him”or the part in Nagini, his snake, for that matter, though we got rid of the one in me””
“Hang on,” Ginny interrupted, but Harry barged on.
“So really, he’s not at all invincible, and I think he knows it.”
“He’ll just make more Horcruxes, then.”
“Not too many, though.”
“Why not?”
“I’d wager he’s gradually becoming aware of how unstable his existence already is.”
Ginny made a noise of exasperation. “You don’t make any sense. And your noble intentions have just empowered him to rule unopposed, so””
“No! I won’t allow it.”
Ginny sighed heavily. “Just listen to yourself. How will you stop him? You just swore you’d support and obey him to your last.”
Harry simply shook his head, eyes livid.
“What I don’t understand,” Ginny said quietly, “is why you felt compelled to save me if you’ve somehow placed magical protections over all of us.”
Harry glared at the floor, pressing his hands into the floor in frustration. “There is no way for me to know just how this protection will work. First of all, it’s spread over a huge group of people, one that includes anyone who has every openly defied Voldemort. Second of all, for all I know, Nagini is a separate issue entirely. What if only spells are blocked? How can I be sure that the Death Eaters can’t just pull out Muggle weapons and shoot you all?”
Ginny frowned, skeptical. “Shoot us?”
“Or poison you! Or something,” Harry said irritably. “There isn’t exactly a rule book that governs how sacrificial protection works.”
Ginny let out a frustrated breath. The words coming out of his mouth were ridiculous by her standards. Whatever angle she chose to look at the issue, she saw the same terrifying prospects. She averted her eyes; looking at Harry was suddenly unbearable. In her mind, he had betrayed them all to a fate worse than death. A blazing thought scorched through her mind.
“You’ve failed them,” she murmured tonelessly.
“Sorry?”
“Them,” Ginny repeated, her voice rising. “Dumbledore, the Order… Sirius… your parents… everyone.”
Her accusation left Harry dumbstruck. He looked like a piece of statuary, as if he had been turning slowly into stone and only just realized it, now that it was too late.
Ginny’s voice became thick with bitterness. “Well, at least you’ll live to rot for a hundred years. Hopefully one day you’ll figure out that you never should have made that vow.”
The words hit Harry like a heavy punch to the gut.
Before the conversation could continue, heavy footfalls on the stone steps reached their ears. One of their captors was approaching. Letting the silence stand, Ginny moved slowly away from the person she had once loved more than life itself.
Nott entered, a bounce in his step. He took no notice of the obvious breach between the two prisoners. “Showtime,” he announced cheerfully. He pulled Harry to his feet and quickly released the spell binding him. “Don’t try anything,” he warned, jabbing Harry in the back. To Ginny, he said, “Someone will fetch you soon enough. Until then, sit tight, beautiful.” He grinned widely and herded Harry out of the room.
It took Ginny a minute to allow the words she had just exchanged to sink in. The conversation played over in her head, muddling themselves into an incomprehensible jumble as she mulled over the confusing wash of feelings coating her consciousness. Random, distressing phrases bubbled in her mind, filling her with both fear and dread: the words she had spoken were so weighted, now that she recalled them in context. Then she realized that they were probably the last she would say to him for a long time.
An emotion akin to remorse pinched her and gave her pause. Harry, whom she had always loved, had seemingly betrayed her, but he had done so out of love and loyalty, as contrary as that seemed. She did not resent his protection; rather, in this moment of panicked loneliness, she grasped at it, burning it into her memory as proof of their connection. What she resented were the repercussions, which a moment ago had seemed crushing.
The longer Ginny spent alone in the dungeon, the longer the deed itself pulled her focus. Harry. She loved him fiercely. It was foolish to suggest this tragedy could have changed that fact so suddenly. She wondered if they would ever be truly reunited.
Feeling the perpetually cold stone against her skin, Ginny thought she knew the answer to her own question: no. It was over. Done.
It was only then that desolation cut through her heart like a knife. She dropped her head miserably against her chest, feeling so hollow and lifeless. If the Death Eaters cut me open, she thought, they will find nothing. She could not even cry, for the dead feeling growing within her was too great: she had no emotions left. Only the haze of her waking nightmare remained, leaving her cold in the dungeon, hardly breathing, her eyes glazed over.
The Dunnest Smoke of Hell by Scarlet Crystal
Chapter Notes: "O, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown!"
-- Hamlet