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Author: hairy_hen Story: To Save a Life Rating: Teens Setting: Pre-HBP Status: WIP Reviews: 9 Words: 39,733
She could hear Tom Riddle's voice in her head, mocking her. "Goodbye, sweet Ginevra. There is no one to save you now . . . your precious Potter will be too late . . . just give in to the darkness, let it claim you . . ." His high, cold laughter was echoing all around her--it would be the last thing she ever heard . . . A pair of horribly cold hands were pulling her to her feet. Ginny felt herself go limp. She had no will to resist, no desire to fight the doom that was fast approaching. She was losing consciousness . . . Dimly she heard a voice in the distance, shaky at first, then gaining strength. "Expecto--Expecto Patronum!" A brilliant white light was flooding her senses, even through her closed eyelids. Ginny felt the horrible hands release her, and she went tumbling to the ground. The Dementors were withdrawing, driven back by the Patronus--she was saved. "Ginny!" the voice cried. A moment later she felt herself being lifted in the air again. Was it--Hagrid? Ginny opened her eyes. With the Dementors' retreat, her surroundings had become visible once more. She shivered violently, feeling the awful cold lingering on inside her. "Harry," she muttered, looking around from her vantage point on Hagrid's shoulder. "Hagrid--Harry--" Harry was nowhere in sight. Where had he gone? "Come on," said Hagrid urgently. "Let's get yeh out of here." The trees began to move quickly by, as Hagrid set off at a tremendous pace through the forest with her still on his shoulder. She could hear Fang barking as he ran alongside them. "Hagrid, they took him, he's gone!" cried Ginny in desperation. Didn't he understand? Harry must even now be on his way to You-Know-Who, if the Dementors hadn't Kissed him already . . . "Took who?" asked Hagrid worriedly, slowing his pace. "Harry!" Ginny could feel herself weakening as she began to tremble uncontrollably. Her vision was blurring, and she could not think clearly through the fog clouding her mind. If Hagrid replied, she didn't hear it. With a faint gasp, Ginny gave in to the cold and despair, as she sank into unconsciousness. The next thing she knew was a blinding white light. She tried to block it out, but found that her eyes were already closed. Faint voices could be heard somewhere in the distance. "Lucky Hagrid was there--" "What on earth were they doing in the forest?" "How could they have got in?" With a tremendous effort, Ginny opened her eyes. It took a few seconds for the scene to register, for her mind seemed to be moving very slowly. Gradually, her eyes adjusted to the light. She was in the hospital wing, lying comfortably in bed with her head propped against several pillows. She didn't know how she'd gotten here, but at the moment Ginny didn't care if she never moved from this position again. How she would like to drift back into sleep . . . A sudden tightness in her throat made her cough. The sound attracted the attention of the people sitting quietly at the side of the bed. "Ginny! You're awake!" Ginny managed to turn her head in the direction of the voice, and saw Ron and Hermione looking anxiously back at her. "Yeah," she said, coughing again. "What's going on? Where's Harry--?" She broke off as another coughing spell hit, worse than before. When it had subsided, Ron held out his hand to her. He was holding a block of chocolate the size of a brick. "Madam Pomfrey told us to give this to you when you'd woken up," he said quietly. "She's a bit busy at the moment--" This was certainly true; the nurse could be seen bustling frantically about the hospital wing. It looked like she was trying to tend to at least twenty patients at once. Several students appeared to be helping her. Ginny took the chocolate from Ron without looking at it. A sudden thought occurred to her. "Hogsmeade!" she cried, trying valiantly to sit up. Hermione forced her back down again. Ginny took a bite of chocolate and continued, "There was an attack--what happened?" Hermione and Ron looked at each other heavily. Hermione swallowed, appearing close to tears. "It was awful," she said, her voice shaking, as Ron put a supportive hand on her shoulder. Taking an unsteady breath, she went on, "The Death Eaters were everywhere, cursing people as they tried to run--torturing them, levitating them in the air and letting them fall, putting people under the Imperius Curse . . . and then there were the Dementors . . ." A strangled cry came from her throat as tears began to flow freely down her face. Hermione turned and flung her arms around Ron's neck. Ron put one arm around her in return--the other, Ginny noticed, was bound in a sling. No one spoke for a few minutes. Ginny took a few more bites of chocolate. She could feel its warming effects on her body, giving her strength, but nothing could sate the feeling of emptiness inside her. She coughed and gasped for breath. "A lot of people got the Dementor's Kiss," said Ron after a while. His voice was very quiet. Ginny felt her eyes go wide with horror as he continued, "It was the most horrible thing I've ever seen. They just went sort of rigid--like they were trying to scream, but couldn't make a sound. And then afterwards--they just had this blank stare on their faces, like they didn't have a clue what was going on--" Ron trailed off, clearing his throat. He looked as though he were making a mighty effort not to cry himself. "Who got Kissed?" asked Ginny softly. Ron looked away, not meeting her eyes. "Please, tell me," Ginny said, reaching out to take his hand. "I want to know." "Michael Corner," said Hermione, in a very small voice. "And--and Cho Chang." Ginny felt as if she had been punched in stomach, as a blow of shock went through her. How could this have happened? She'd been angry with Michael for a while after their break-up last year, and to her shame, she'd harboured a faint resentment against Cho for a long time, despite her best efforts to force it away. But she'd been on reasonably good terms with both of them this year--certainly she'd never wished either of them any harm. To hear that they'd become victims of the Dementor's Kiss--especially after having been in the DA--was more than she could bear. "It's so hard to do the Patronus with the Dementors right there in front of you," said Hermione. "I don't know how--how Harry ever managed it. It seemed easy enough when he taught us last year, but we were just in a bright room then." Ginny had a fleeting thought that she'd never found the Patronus to be an easy spell, even in the best of circumstances. And she remembered suddenly that she hadn't been able to do it in the forest-- Taking another bite of chocolate, and breathing deeply, she steeled herself for her next question. "Where's Harry?" she asked. He had to be around somewhere--he was probably in the next room-- No one answered her. Ginny felt a whine of panic beginning to cloud her thoughts. She could think of nothing but Harry. Where was he? Why wouldn't they answer her? "He isn't--he's not--?" "We don't know where he is," said Ron, his voice trembling. "Hagrid said you told him Harry was missing, that the Dementors took him away in the forest--" Ginny could not remember saying any such thing, but she knew at once that it must be true. Harry was gone . . . she'd failed him . . . "But they'll look for him, won't they?" she said, trying desperately to hold on to whatever hope she could. "Dumbledore and the Order, they'll find him. They'll bring him back." "They can't," said Hermione. She looked to be on the verge of tears again. "Why not?" Ginny demanded harshly. Of course the Order would look for Harry. They had to! "Because . . . because . . . oh, Ginny, the Order--" "They took a real beating in this attack," said Ron stoically. "They were outnumbered, and there were so many innocent people in the way--students, villagers--people injured and dying everywhere. They couldn't fight them all off, even when the Ministry Aurors showed up it was still a tough fight--a lot of them were killed in the attack. Moody, Hestia Jones, that new bloke Collins, Elphias Doge--" "But what about Dumbledore? He's the most powerful wizard in the world--and he knows all about Harry. Why doesn't he--" "Dumbledore . . . is in St. Mungo's," said Hermione, as if she could not believe her own words. "Professor McGonagall told us. They don't know if he'll live." Ginny was shocked. Dumbledore, in St. Mungo's? What could possibly do that to the only wizard You-Know-Who had ever feared? What hope did they have without him? "He got hurt--by the giants," said Ron. "About twenty of them showed up towards the end--they knocked him around like he was nothing--" "The Aurors killed them all," said Hermione. "All of them. It was awful." Ginny felt as though she were falling into a bottomless chasm of despair. "What about Mum and Dad, and Bill?" she asked, preparing herself for the worst. "They're fine," said Ron. Ginny felt a profound relief at this news. She sank back onto the bed, feeling the tears welling up in her eyes. Immediately her thoughts went back to Harry--Harry, who had been taken away by the Dementors, and was now most likely dead. Harry, whom she had failed through her own weakness and inability to do the Patronus Charm. Harry, who had so nearly kissed her this morning-- "But they've got to do something!" she cried, as hopelessness threatened to overwhelm her. "They can't just give up! We need Harry!" I need Harry, she thought. "We tried to ask them what they were going to do," said Hermione. "But everyone's busy--tending the wounded, trying to find out how the Dementors could have got into the school in the first place. And they don't have any idea where he is--even Snape doesn't know. He says he didn't have any idea what was going to happen." Rubbish, Ginny thought, a savage anger at Snape building inside her. He doesn't care about Harry, he probably banned him from Hogsmeade on purpose so Wormtail could lure him into the forest-- She exhaled forcefully, some part of her realising she was being ridiculous. It was entirely possible that the plan to capture Harry--for she knew now that that had been the aim of Malfoy's and Wormtail's plot--had been conceived without Snape's knowledge. If You-Know-Who suspected him of being a double agent, he would have kept him out of the loop. The attack on Hogsmeade, brutal as it was, had merely been a gigantic diversion to get everyone out of the way so that the Dementors would have a free hand at Harry in the forest. "I doubt anyone in the Order believes in the Prophecy," said Ron, in a voice so laced with bitterness that Ginny almost didn't recognise it. "And why would they?" he fairly snarled, "Harry Potter, attention-seeking little boy, always causing trouble . . . who'd want to believe he's supposed to save the world?" "Dumbledore probably didn't tell any of them what it actually said," Hermione murmured. Ron let out a breath and turned away. "Too late now," he said, his voice quiet once more. "They want to give him up for dead. They say they can't risk wasting manpower and resources trying to find him, when they've got so much else to deal with, and when . . ." He trailed off, glancing at Ginny, and then looked down at the floor. "When it's likely that You-Know-Who has probably killed him already. Bill told us." As he said this last, Ron's voice broke, and tears began to run silently down his face. Ginny felt as though someone had plunged an icy knife into her heart. "It's my fault," she said, her own voice breaking. "I could have stopped him from going into the forest, but I went with him, I didn't even stop to think what might be happening . . . and I couldn't do the Patronus . . . it's my fault he's gone . . ." And we were arguing just before the attack . . . he was going to kiss me . . . I never even got to say goodbye . . . She could not bear to voice aloud these thoughts. "No one blames you, Ginny," said Hermione quietly. "It isn't your fault--you couldn't have known--" But her voice was lacking its usual conviction as she said this. Ginny fancied there was something accusatory in her face, and looked away, unable to meet her eyes. She could feel her own tears beginning to flow, and didn't try to stop them. The three of them sat crying together, mourning the friend they had lost, until the evening sun shone red through the window on the horizon. * * * Darkness. Cold. Slowly, painfully, as though he were inching his way to the surface from the bottom of an endlessly deep ocean, Harry felt himself regaining consciousness. His first coherent thought was that he did not know where he was. His second was that he did not know how he had gotten there. His third was that he could not see a thing. Harry's next thought was an immediate and horrifying answer to all of these. He could hear the voices screaming inside his head. A horrible cold was filling him, tearing apart his insides. He knew he would surely die of it if he did not get away. He had to escape. With a mighty wrench, Harry tried to move himself forward. A sudden, intense pain shot through him, as though someone had put a hundred thousand volts through his body, and Harry screamed. It was horrible . . . it felt as though every nerve in his body were on fire . . . the pain would surely kill him if it didn't stop . . . He could not move, for his body had gone completely rigid . . . As abruptly as it had begun, the pain stopped. Harry gasped for breath, feeling himself collapse. But he did not reach the floor. Dimly, he recognised that he standing with his back to a wall, his arms chained tightly to the wall on either side of him. The pain had begun in the chains attached to his wrists--he knew they must activate whenever he tried to struggle. He resolved not to do it again. Struggling would accomplish nothing--there was no way for him to escape. An icy despair was threatening to drag him down into oblivion. Harry could not think of any way to get out of his current position. He was trapped. Voldemort had fooled them all--such a simple, clever plan, using Malfoy and Wormtail to lure him into the forest while everyone else was distracted by the Hogsmeade attack--and he had fallen right into it. He had allowed his anger to get the best of him . . . blinded by that terrible, unnatural headache, he had not stopped to think about what he was doing, never knowing that he was walking into a trap, until it was too late. Harry's head bolted up in shock as he remembered. Ginny had been with him in the forest. What had happened to her? She hadn't been able to do the Patronus, and no one had come to save them. Surely the Dementors must have got her. A feeling of sickness was rising inside him. Ginny was gone--the Dementors had got to her first, they had Kissed her before he could . . . Harry heard a horrible, mad laughter, and realised it was coming from his own mouth. He did not try to stop it. He was so slow, he had wasted so much time, that even the Dementors had been able to kiss Ginny before him . . . it was funny . . . he could not stop laughing . . . He felt himself pitch forward as he lost control of his own movements, and his laughter turned to screams as the chains began to shock him again. As the pain and screaming subsided, Harry gasped for breath, his body shaking uncontrollably. Vaguely, he wondered what he had been laughing about, as there certainly wasn't anything funny about his current situation. He was imprisoned, no doubt in some stronghold of Voldemort's, and he had no way to escape. It was as if he were in Azkaban, before the Dementors had deserted the Ministry to join Voldemort. Why, though? Some part of him wondered, somehow registering in his mind through all the screaming. Why was he being held captive, instead of Kissed or killed? What could Voldemort possibly want from him? Given the number of times he'd escaped in the past (he could remember nothing of how he'd actually escaped, knowing only that he had, somehow), wouldn't Voldemort want him dead as soon as possible? Unless he just wanted to make him suffer before finishing him off . . . in which case he was doing an admirable job of it. How long he stood there in the dark, chained, hearing the screaming voices in his head over and over again, Harry did not know. Eventually, however, he heard the sound of footsteps approaching, and a cold voice saying, "Leave us." Harry looked around, feeling his muscles tense, becoming more alert despite the fog obscuring his thoughts. He could hear a swishing of cloaks, and felt rather than saw several hooded figures moving away from him. The voices in his head were slightly softer now, muted, less distinct--the Dementors must have withdrawn some distance. "Lumos." Looking up, Harry could just make out the shape of a tall figure standing a few feet in front of him. He could see nothing of its face, but there was no mistaking the eyes, two points of red light showing faintly against the surrounding darkness. It was Voldemort. For a moment the two stared at each other, neither saying a word. Then at last, Voldemort spoke. "Well, Mr. Potter, I see you are awake at last," he said softly. Harry did not reply. Voldemort went on, "So kind of you to join us in my humble abode. I trust you're enjoying your stay?" His tone was mocking and cruel. Harry felt a flash of anger awake inside him. His thoughts became clearer. "Whatever it is you want, just say it and be done," he spat, somehow managing to put a confidence he did not feel into his voice. "If you're going to kill me, then go ahead. I have nothing to say to you." Voldemort laughed then, and Harry felt a sharp pain along his scar. He clenched his mouth tightly shut to stop himself crying out. "Oh no, Mr. Potter, I'm afraid you have very much to say to me before I dispose of you. You can either tell me what I want to know willingly, or not, as you wish. The choice is entirely your own. If you do tell me, without too much fuss, it will ease your passing considerably. If not, then . . ." he trailed off ominously. Harry felt a stab of fear as he imagined the fate awaiting him. He was alone, trapped in Voldemort's lair, without a hope of being rescued. No one even knew he was here . . . they must surely think him dead . . . he should just give up, and tell him what he wanted to know, and let it all end . . . he wouldn't have to worry about anything ever again . . . Unbidden, an image flashed through his mind, that of a small glass sphere. It was a very familiar sight, though it had been a year since he'd seen it. More images were flying across Harry's field of vision. He realised that they were his own memories, being replayed at high speed. They seemed to moving towards a particular point in time--a time when he had been in Dumbledore's office, a time when he was throwing and smashing things about the room in a rage, a time when Professor Trelawney was speaking harshly into the silence out of the Pensieve. "Yes," whispered Voldemort, the merest trace of satisfaction in his voice. "That's it, Harry . . . just tell me what it says . . . that's all I want to know . . ." He heard the words, as clearly as if they were being spoken aloud right then and there. "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches . . . Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies . . ." No, said a second voice in Harry's head, struggling to make itself heard. But the other voice was continuing-- " . . . and the Dark Lord shall mark--" NO! cried the second voice, much stronger this time. Harry felt a shock of pain, and he was screaming as the chains once again did their work--but an incredibly powerful force had pushed itself outward from his mind-- Suddenly he was aware of his surroundings again, as the unwanted memory vanished from view. He opened his eyes, just in time to make out the red-eyed figure in front of him go flying backwards, landing with a crash several feet away. Harry gasped for breath as his mind caught up with what had just happened. He had done it--he had forced Voldemort out of his mind. Without even realising what he was doing, his Occlumency skills had taken over, protecting the one thing he knew Voldemort must never hear, the one thing he wanted to know above all else. Voldemort had got to his feet. "So," he said, his voice dangerously quiet. "You resist. I offered you the chance to tell me willingly, but you would not. Very well, Potter, as you wish. You will find that I have ways of persuading people to tell me what I want to know . . ." Harry was drained, completely exhausted from the effort of having forced aside Voldemort's mental intrusion. He didn't know how he could possibly keep defending himself, when it had cost him so much just the first time. The screaming voices were growing louder again, and Harry was plunged into complete darkness as overwhelming despair flooded over him. He could hear the awful sound of the Dementors drawing their rattling breaths, and he felt his insides begin to freeze again. "It has come to my attention, Potter," said Voldemort thoughtfully, "that our hooded friends here have a particularly strong effect on you. I can't imagine why . . . Perhaps they enjoy your happy memories more than you do . . ." Dimly Harry wondered what he could possibly mean by happy memories. The concept was meaningless to him . . . he knew nothing but fear and hopelessness . . . there was no point in living when that was all he knew . . . Let it end, he thought desperately. Please, let it all end. "Ah, I know just the thing!" said Voldemort, sounding delighted. "You'd like to have a happy memory, wouldn't you, Harry? I'll give you one, if you like. Are you ready?" Harry felt a sudden thrill of dread. Remember the Occlumency, a faint voice seemed to say. Don't give him what he wants. He knew that this was very important, that he had to hold on, to keep fighting, no matter what, though he could no longer remember why it was important . . . The scene changed . . . He was walking briskly towards a large house set back from the road, striding purposefully up the stone path. His wand was in his hand. Tonight he would be rid of this nemesis--after this no one would dare stand in his way. He would be invincible . . . A cruel smile twisted his lips at the thought of it. As he came to the door, Harry raised his wand. "Reducto," he said, and the house shook as the door exploded noisily into a million pieces. He stepped forward and entered the house. He could hear a man's voice shouting from a room nearby. "Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off--" A nearby door opened suddenly with a crash, and a man with dark hair and glasses burst into the room. "Stupefy!" he roared, aiming his wand at Harry, who swatted the bolt aside. "Well now, we meet again, James Potter," said Harry with an evil smile. "I must say, it's been too long. I've so enjoyed our little chats in the past. Where are your wife and son? Perhaps you'll invite them down here to join us--" James' second Stunner interrupted him. Once again he deflected the blast. "You'll never touch Harry!" shouted James, sending a Bludgeoning spell his way. "I'll die first!" Harry laughed. "You're right, Potter," he said, deflecting the spell straight back at him, so that James was forced to leap aside to avoid it. "You will die first. Avada Kedavra!" There was a brilliant flash of green light, and James dropped quickly to the floor to avoid the curse, which sailed over his head and ignited a table in the next room. James raised his wand, aimed it at a point behind Harry. "Reducto!" There was a sudden crash behind him, and Harry looked around to see what had caused it-- A splintered chest of Quidditch balls lay in ruins in the next room. A pair of Bludgers burst into the air, sailing madly towards him. For an instant, Harry felt a stab of irrational fear, then forced it aside. "Evanesco," he said, waving his wand at the Bludgers, and they Vanished without trace. A sudden premonition struck-- He turned quickly on his heel and Disapparated, reappearing across the room--in time to see a stag charging towards the point he had just occupied, its antlers lowered to gore him. The stag turned suddenly back into a man, who looked wildly around, trying to see where he had gone. Spotting him, he raised his wand-- "Crucio!" James fell to the floor, yelling and thrashing about in agony. So Potter was an Animagus, Harry thought, mildly interested, wondering how such a fact could have escaped his notice. Had Wormtail perhaps neglected to report this to him? Coldly he dismissed the thought. It was not important, and he was wasting time. He had more important business awaiting. "And so it ends," he gloated, releasing the spell, as James lay panting on the floor. "You have fought bravely, Potter. I always value bravery--but your time has come. Without true power, you are nothing. You cannot hope to defeat me . . . and I will destroy your son . . . there will be none to oppose me." He raised his wand again as James moved suddenly, quicker than he would have thought possible, reaching for his own wand on the floor . . . he was on his feet, aiming at Harry . . . "Expelliar--" "Avada Kedavra." There was another blinding green flash, a rushing sound of something huge moving through the air--and the unmistakable thud of a body hitting the floor. Harry gazed into James Potter's face, frozen forever in an expression of defiance and fearless determination, eyes wide and staring at nothing, and he laughed, a high-pitched laugh filled with hatred and cruel triumph . . . And even as he laughed, Harry screamed, his scar seeming to burst into flame, threatening to split his skull in two. NO! he thought, his body shaking uncontrollably. He was a murderer, he had killed James . . . "You didn't like the happy memory, Harry?" said Voldemort, laughing at him, and Harry's scar burned worse than ever. "Why, perhaps you'd do better to stick with unhappy ones, then. You have such an abundance of them--" But Harry suddenly felt a new resolve. His father had not given up--he had fought to the bitter end, trying to defend himself and his family, even knowing that he would die, and Harry knew that he had to do the same. He was sure he was going to die, that he was fast approaching his end, but he couldn't give in to Voldemort's demands, even if it meant his death would be much more painful . . . even if he didn't know why he was fighting any longer, he knew he had to resist . . . The thought gave him strength. Occlumency! Harry thought suddenly. If he could block out the screaming in his mind, he could keep his focus, stay alive as long as possible. He began to run through the Occlumency exercises, somehow able to clear his mind despite the awful cold still penetrating him. It was working--the screaming voices were decreasing in volume . . . he could no longer make out any of the words . . . but he could think of nothing else, either . . . his mind was completely empty, deprived of all happy thoughts by the Dementors, shutting out his horrible memories with Occlumency . . . Harry found he could barely think any longer. He didn't think he could keep his mind empty for long before he went mad altogether. His scar began to hurt again as a sudden flash of anger jolted through him, an anger not his own. "So, Potter, you still resist," said Voldemort, not sounding remotely amused now. "Well, no matter . . . we have plenty of time, I am in no hurry . . . you are not going anywhere . . . I will kill you in the end, no matter how long it takes to break you . . . perhaps you would respond to a dose of pain?" Harry braced himself for the inevitable as Voldemort cried, "Crucio!" He screamed, again and again, as the curse seemed to tear his body apart from the inside. It would be better just to die, he would do anything to end this agony . . . but he couldn't . . . Harry didn't know how much longer he could hold out.
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