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Lady Macbeth.
I pray you, speak not; he grows worse and worse;
Question enrages him. At once, good night:
Stand not upon the order of your going,
But go at once.
Act III, scene iv, Macbeth by William Shakespeare
Lady Macbeth.
Here's the smell of the blood still: all the
perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little
hand. Oh, oh, oh!
…
To bed, to bed! there's knocking at the gate:
come, come, come, come, give me your hand. What's
done cannot be undone.—To bed, to bed, to bed!
Act V, scene i, Macbeth by William Shakespeare
Ginny crept down the hall towards his study, her bare feet padding silently against the dusty hardwood. Past Walburga’s portrait snoozing behind her curtain, past the dining room that had been turned into a dueling room.
He never told her anything anymore, and she didn’t like it. After the Battle of Hogwarts, he confided everything to her. Every day, they would discuss his dreams, create plans for his ambitions, and strategize about the best ways to bring rogue Death Eaters to justice. They were a team. She had been the catalyst to help him win. Yet, he seemed to have forgotten that in the last several months.
Ever since Hermione died five months ago, he had isolated himself either in his study or in Sirius’s old room. He never slept in their bed anymore, and neither did she.
He had become more paranoid as his soldiers started to fall one by one.
He’s going to take you from me.
“Sshh,” she whispered.
She could hear him muttering as his boots thudded against the carpet. He must have been pacing. With one of her brothers’ old Extendable Ears in her hand, she crouched down next to the cracked doorway, making sure no part of her crossed over from the darkness to the sliver of light leaking out from the fireplace. Performing a bit of wandless magic, she disillusioned the Ear and slid it into the room.
“She knows something.” Harry’s voice was strained. A sign that he was trying to convince whoever he was talking to that he was right.
“Think about it,” the other person cajoled, Neville by the tone of his voice. “You really think Luna is capable of betraying you? She’s been by your side without hesitation since second year. She’s probably the most loyal friend you have left.”
Harry scoffed, “I used to think you were my most loyal friend, but you always straddled the line a bit, yeah?”
There was shuffling. The clink of glass on glass. One of them must have gone to the bar cart.
“I’m still here, aren’t I?”
There was a challenge in Neville’s voice. Gin had told Harry that he shouldn’t have taken Neville on that mission to track down Parkinson, but he wouldn’t listen. Had kept going on and on by testing the other Gryffindor’s commitment to the cause. “Who else answered their coin tonight, Harry? I don’t see Ron or Viktor here. So, I would tread carefully before pissing me off by not only questioning my loyalty but also accusing one of my best friends of treachery.”
“Or what?” Harry snapped.
The silence stretched, and Gin almost thought that her friend had left. She was about to get up, but he stopped her.
Wait. Listen.
Neville’s tone dropped to a lower register. “Have you been paying attention to what’s been happening to your wife for the last two and a half years? How she doesn’t leave this house anymore? How the only person she will talk to is Luna?”
She could almost picture him towering over Harry, trying to intimidate him. But that’s what they all didn’t understand. You couldn’t intimidate a man who had already died. A man who came back drunk on vengeance with a piece of his soul missing.
Glass shattered against stone. “My wife’s condition is nobody’s business but mine.” His magic pulsed from the room, the way it always did when he got angry; she instinctively shrank back into the darkness more. “If Luna is keeping secrets from me, then she could be causing Ginny’s issues. I want her dealt with now.”
“Then you’ll have to get someone else to do it. I’m tired of watching women die because of us. I’m done.” Something thumped against the hardware, the soft clang of metal being dumped unceremoniously.
The door whipped open before she got a chance to get back upstairs, so she pressed her crouched body against the wall. Neville stormed out as Harry yelled, “You’ll be back. We’re not done until everyone who stands against us is dealt with!”
The larger man halted when he caught sight of her. Shaking her head, she held her finger up to her lips. He reached his hand out like he would help her up—maybe even take her out of this mausoleum. But he stopped when she shook her head harder and flinched away from his touch.
Stay.
She knew she had to remain. It was what needed to happen.
Neville finally gave up and stomped out the front door, slamming it closed behind him. Slowly, she rose, prepared to skulk back to her room.
“I know you’re out there, Gin.”
That’s all he needed to say, the unspoken command pulling her into the light. Her eyes blinked against the harsh flames of the fire as her thumb unconsciously rubbed the spot in her left palm, trying to ground herself. “I—”
“Don’t bother making up an excuse,” Harry scoffed. “I know you were spying. Jealous that I won’t tell you my every plan and idea anymore, yeah?”
He slumped in the wingback chair next to the fireplace. It had been moved recently; she didn’t remember it always being that close to the flames. A memory flickered—him stating that he was always so bloody cold all the time. It was probably lingering PTSD from almost freezing to death in that tent.
“What do you want?” he barked.
So many things. To be able to sleep. To see her mother’s face without seeing the pain of grief etched deeply into her skin. To love her husband. To be with the person to whom she rightfully belonged.
Mostly, Ginny wanted silence again. It was never quiet inside her mind. Not since the final battle.
“I want a time turner,” she finally said.
Harry snorted. “And how far back would you go, exactly?” He didn’t actually need to ask her that question; he already knew the real answer.
But she was feeling spiteful, suddenly, so she answered innocently, “Far enough back to save Hermione.”
She watched as her husband’s jaw clenched, red creeping up his throat as he failed to quell his anger. He was always so angry now. At first, she didn’t care that much. He had every reason to be angry. She had actively encouraged it as it drove his ambitions to create a better world. But now, she could see it turning on her.
They had once been partners. She had fought for Harry. She had bled for him.
She had killed Voldemort for him.
It was never spoken outside the walls of Grimmauld. No one except for the two of them and Luna knew what really happened in the Great Hall when Harry and Voldemort’s spells collided. How she had slipped behind Harry and cast the killing curse at the monster who had taken so many loved ones from them.
But when her Avada flew past Harry and hit Voldemort in the chest, it wasn’t the humanoid man who looked at her with shock—it was him. The first boy she ever loved. The first boy who took an interest in who she was.
Ginny had missed Tom so much for five years, and when she killed the monster, the boy came back to her.
May 2, 1998
Hello, Ginevra.
She released a small gasp, her eyes darted around the abandoned corridor where she had been searching for fallen Order members. It couldn’t be him.
I’m here.
A warmth bloomed inside her chest, and she wanted to cry at the feeling of him being with her again. “But how—?”
Does it matter?
The window across the hall was still intact, and she frantically approached the pane of glass. She stared at her reflection as the early morning light poured into the empty hallway. It was only her own face staring back for several moments, but then something shifted behind her. A shadow approached, yet she dared not tear her eyes away from the glass.
As the shadow morphed into someone she hadn’t seen in so long, she croaked, “I missed you, Tommy.”
I hate it when you call me that.
Her fingers reached out, grazing the reflection of his cheek on the cool glass. “And I’ve told you I hate being called Ginevra,” she whispered with a small giggle. “So, fair play.”
She watched as he ran the back of his finger up her neck, feeling the goosebumps in his wake. “Is this a dream? Will you stay with me this time?”
Of course, pet.
Something started ticking, and she sobbed. Her hand reached into the pocket of her trousers and clutched the pocketwatch—a memento from their time together in first year. It hadn’t worked since he left her the first time, no matter how many times she had tinkered with it. She even asked her dad to try to fix it one summer. But now, as she stared at the white face with the initials T.R.S., the gold minute hand began moving.
Her time with Tom had finally started again.
October 16, 1999
Her brow pinched as she argued with the mirror. “But I don’t want to marry Harry.”
But you love him.
“Not like I love you, though.” She shook her head. A part of her did love Harry, but he wasn’t Tom.
And I love you, pet. But we will need him. I need a physical body, and you need access to the library to find a spell that will bring me back.
“What will happen to him?”
He’ll still be there. He and I co-existed fairly harmoniously until he decided to cast me off.
“I don’t know,” she sighed. Harry had been through enough; she didn’t want to cause him any more pain. But having Tom back was a necessity.
Don’t you want me to return to you?
“Of course, I do, Tommy. You know I do.”
Then why are you not listening to me?
“I am, I just want to make sure that Harry will be ok.”
I see. You love him more than you do me.
The shadow figure’s reflection in the mirror began to fade.
I should leave you to it then.
The pocketwatch tucked into a hidden pocket of her dress slowed down.
Ginny clawed at the mirror. “Please don’t leave. I—I’ll do it; whatever you need. Just don’t leave me again.”
A tendril of shadow brushed against her cheek.
That’s my good pet. Marry the boy. Help him achieve his goals, and then we can be together.
The bonding ceremony in the backyard of the Burrow had been lovely. Her father sniffled and squeezed her hand as he walked her down the aisle. Her mother gushed about how beautiful she looked and how happy they were. She danced with Harry under the twinkle lights and kissed him, even though his lips felt desperate. Every time he touched her was like that—like he was trying to remind himself that he had actually survived and everything was real.
When they fell into their marital bed, and he repeatedly whispered how much he loved and needed her against her skin, Gin kept her eyes closed and listened to another man whisper to her.
One day, I’ll be able to touch you. Won’t ever stop touching you.
“Mine,” Harry murmured into her neck, his body rocking into hers.
Mine, forever, pet.
“I love you,” she cried out as she crested.
I love you, too.
“I love you, too.”
She spent her days trudging through the library at Grimmauld Place, reading archaic texts and looking for the right spell. The only times she left the library were when Harry needed her for something or to visit her parents. He would scold her for not keeping the house tidy or not having dinner ready when he returned home from missions, but she didn’t have time for all that. She needed to help Tom, who had started to grow impatient.
The boy isn’t doing enough, and you are taking too long to find anything useful.
“I’m trying,” she said into the bathroom mirror, the metal of the pocketwatch digging into her left palm. The shadowy figure behind her faded, the warmth of his presence growing thinner.
You’re not doing enough! You’re wasting time playing house or going out with your friends. Not to mention all the days wasted at that hovel your parents call home.
“Tommy, please don’t be cross,” she pleaded as her nails scraped against his reflection.
Then do better.
“I will,” she swore, nodding her head.
That night, they discussed Draco Malfoy’s upcoming trial as she sat around table with Harry, Ron, and Luna.
Harry traced the lip of the tumbler with his finger. “What do we say if he brings up the Manor?” His eyes darted over to where Luna sat, peering at a still portrait of a young Sirius and Regulus. “We could always tell them…”
Ginny interrupted his thought. “You tell them that you don’t know why he didn’t identify you and remind them that he stood by and watched as Bellatrix tortured Hermione.”
“And what about how Narcissa lied about me being dead in the Forest?” he pressed.
Let the Malfoys pay for their incompetence.
“They don’t deserve our empathy,” she snapped. “Or have you forgotten how Remus and Tonks were laid out next to my brother in the Great Hall?”
Ron shifted in his seat, always uncomfortable when she lashed out at Harry. But her brother didn’t understand that he needed the push to do the things that needed to be done.
“I haven’t forgotten,” he bit out before tossing the drink back. “But I also want to make sure the trials are accurate. We don’t want them released on a technicality in four years.”
The pocketwatch ticked against her chest. Some days, she wore it on a chain hidden under her shirt so Harry would stop complaining how much she fiddled with it.
“They can’t appeal once they’re dead.”
Ron scrubbed his hand down his face. “Fuck, Gin. Do you have to be so literal?”
“I don’t remember you feeling so forgiving when it was Greyback on the chopping block.”
Her brother narrowed his eyes at her. “You know why that bastard deserved to die.”
The beast was wild, I can admit.
“And so do the Malfoys. We keep our mouths shut and let the justice system do its job.”
Harry knocked his fist against the table top, their signal that they were dismissed. “Sounds like a plan. Now, if you will excuse us, gentlemen, the wife and I have a dinner date to get to.”
“What do you mean Parkinson is dead?” she yelled at an obviously exhausted and disheveled Harry. Her fingers dug into her hair, scratching at the dry patch of scalp that irritated her constantly.
Stupid boy.
“Just…how could you be so stupid?”
Harry stepped into her space, rage burning in his eyes. “What did you just say to me?”
“I said,” she emphasized by stabbing her finger into his chest. The ticking in her brain was growing louder. “That you were stupid for doing that. What does killing Parkinson do for us? Nothing. All you did was create a paper trail. At least with Nott you could pretend you didn’t know he couldn’t swim.”
“I’ve got it covered,” he gritted out.
“Do you?” she challenged. “How do you have it covered now that your precious Hermione isn’t there to clean up after you?”
Gin knew bringing up Hermione was a low blow, but she didn’t care. If he wanted to pretend like he wasn’t pining after his best friend, then she could open the wound a little more.
“Watch it,” he warned.
Ginevra.
Scoffing, she mocked, “Oh, did I hit a nerve? Is Mr. Chosen One still sore that his little slag isn’t around to pat him on the back and ooh and aah over him?”
Harry’s hand wrapped around her neck as he slammed her back against the wall. “Don’t push it, Gin. And don’t act like I don’t hear you whispering to some other man in the middle of the night while lying next to me.” His lips ghosted against her temple. “We agreed we wouldn’t begrudge each other our secrets, remember, love?”
“I remember,” she bit out before shoving him away.
Give him what he needs and be done with it already.
He fell back into one of the chairs of the round table they sat at during DV meetings. Fisting his messy hair, she jerked his head back as she climbed atop him. “I think it’s you who needs to remember who is actually here for you.”
She rolled her hips against him, and he bucked his growing erection up to meet her.
“I’m sorry,” he whimpered. His arms banded around her middle and drew her to him. “I need you, Gin.”
“I know,” she whispered against his lips. “I need you, too. More than you can ever know.”
Not enough.
More.
You must find it.
“I know,” she cried out, pulling at the strands that irritated her scalp. The ticking was so loud, she feared her eardrums were going to rupture.
She paced the attic, trying to figure out what to do. The entire library had been scoured, and there was nothing.
FIND IT!
“Ok!” she shouted into the air. Stomping down the stairs, she grabbed her coat from the hook in the hallway.
“Going somewhere?” Harry called from his study.
“Just…running some errands.” She didn’t move closer to the open doorway, not wanting to have another row with him today.
“Come in here a sec.”
“I really can’t right now, Harry. I have an appointment.”
“Stop lying and get your ass in here!” he bellowed.
What does the troublesome boy want now?
She sulked into his study like a petulant child. “What do you want?”
“Is that any way to greet your husband?” he jabbed.
“It is when my husband has been missing for three days,” she snapped back, folding her arms across her chest.
Just let him have his fit and go.
“Have you talked to your brother lately?”
“Which one?” she deadpanned.
“Don’t be a smartass.” He grabbed the decanter of firewhiskey from the bar cart and swiftly poured and drank two fingers of the amber liquid before refilling his glass again. Without making eye contact, he admitted, “Lavender is dead.”
Do you see how unfit he is, Ginevra? Can’t even follow orders and bring the werewolf to our side.
“And why is Lav dead? We decided it was best to try to blackmail her into helping us track down Dolohov and Rowle.”
“Yeah, well,” he chuckled mirthlessly. “The plan changed when she ripped McLaggen’s face off.”
Scoffing, she threw her hands into the air. “Who gives a shit if McLaggen got mawled? You were supposed to get her to help.”
Harry was on her in an instant, his fist slamming through the drywall next to her head. “I give a shit! I’m the one putting my ass on the line during every mission, and you stand there and lecture me instead of asking if I’m ok? When did you become such a heartless bitch?”
She slowly brought her face mere millimeters from his and hissed, “Right around the time I realized the only reason you’re still around is because other people have kept you alive.”
A hint of sadness flitted across his face before he grabbed her by the jaw. “Sometimes, I really fucking hate you, and I don’t know why. We were supposed to be great together, just like we were before I left.”
“That was all an illusion,” she whispered as her nail dug into the flesh of his forearm. “We are just an illusion. None of this is real.”
Careful, pet.
The ticking began to pound in her head.
“What happened to you?”
“I fell in love,” she confessed.
A knocking on the door interrupted them, and they quickly separated and righted themselves.
“Hello. Hope I’m not interrupting.” Luna smiled brightly at her, and Ginny instantly felt lighter.
Ah, my friend is here.
Tom always liked having Luna around, and, when she was able to visit with both of them, his shadow didn’t weigh her down as much.
Harry eyed Luna for a moment before sucking on his teeth and waving Gin away. “We’ll finish this later.”
“Looking forward to it,” she deadpanned before turning her back on him and striding toward Luna.
“Hiya, Lu.”
“Hi, lovey,” Luna cooed back.
Intertwining her fingers with her best friend's, she tugged her up the stairs. The attic was the one room Harry didn’t barge in or try to spy on, so, naturally, it’s where she had begun spending most of her time.
“Did you bring those cakes I like?”
Luna nodded. “I have, but you have to take a bath first.”
“A bath?” She scoffed, “I just took a ba—” She cut herself off, trying to remember the last time she had showered. She had been so consumed with going through the library for a third time that she hadn’t bothered with any personal hygiene aside from the random Scourgify here and there.
With a sweet smile, Luna changed their course and headed to the main ensuite instead of the fourth floor. She waved her wand and drew a warm bath. “Come on, lovey. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Tell her.
“Patience,” she whispered. With a sigh, Gin lowered herself into the tub and dunked her head under the water. It felt nice being submerged, to pretend that she was as unburdened as she felt. To imagine how different her life would be if she hadn’t melded herself with Tom and Harry when she was a child.
Tell her.
Grumbling, she straightened up and turned so her back was to Luna.
“He wants you to sing to him.”
Luna lightly chuckled. “Being insistent, is he?”
“Always,” she admitted.
Her fingers brushed over Gin’s temples as she entered her mind. Having Luna in her thoughts was like being wrapped in one of her mum’s afghans. Luna’s presence was akin to going home to the Burrow, so much so that she could also smell the Sunday roast.
She never knew what the two spoke about during their little visits, but it gave her a much-needed reprieve from Tom. So, she sat in the silence and breathed in deeply the aroma of the eucalyptus and mint that permeated the bathroom.
Humming, Luna worked shampoo through the tangles in Gin’s thick hair, being gentle with the knots. After cleansing it twice, they let the conditioner set for several minutes as Luna rambled on about office gossip and the new book she was reading.
“How do you do it?” she asked, tentatively.
“I sing him to sleep.” Luna shrugged, “I think it’s a Seer thing. My mother always said our abilities extended beyond simply seeing beyond our current plane.”
Gin finished washing up and allowed Luna to help her out of the tub and into a fluffy robe before braiding her hair into two plaits.
The two witches ascended the stairs to the attic and lounged on the daybed together.
“Sleep, lovey,” Luna softly commanded.
“What would I do without you, Lu?” she asked sleepily.
With a gentle kiss to her temple, Luna responded, “I’ll always be here for you, promise.”
Look how he blubbers over the Mudblood. Pathetic.
“Don’t, Tommy,” she whispered. “Don’t make your hatred about Hermione.”
Swallowing back the emotion that threatened to erupt, she walked away from where Harry still stood by Hermione’s casket, his body hunched over, murmuring words that sounded like apologies mixed with accusations against the wood.
None of her family were there. Harry had forbidden them from attending, stating that they were partially responsible for Hermione’s death due to the strain Ron’s disappearance had on her already fragile mental state.
Ginny knew it was horseshit.
He did it because they wouldn’t cower to him and confess where Ron was. It was entirely possible that the only person who actually knew where Ron had run off to was about to be lowered into the ground.
He’s weak now.
“I know.” She ambled around the cemetery, looking for Luna.
We need to find the spell.
“How many times have I told you, I’m trying?”
Are you going to disappoint me again, pet? You couldn’t get the task done eight years ago, and I’m starting to believe you are incapable now.
Her palm rubbed at her chest, trying to bring back the warmth that he had pulled away from her.
“Please stop, Tommy. You know I hate it when you talk like that.”
Then stop proving me right. I’m stuck here because you chose him over me during the final battle.
“That’s not true,” she pleaded, no longer able to stave off the tears.
Isn’t it? I didn’t imagine your wand being the one to send the killing curse at me, Ginevra.
“Stop, please.” Her body slumped against a nearby tree. “You know how much I love you.”
Prove it.
Something was wrong.
Harry had been gone all day, and now Neville was downstairs frantically calling her name.
Don’t go.
“It’s just Nev, Tommy. It’s ok.” She tried to smooth the greasy strands that stuck out from the barely held-together braids Luna had fixed the last time she visited.
Don’t. Go.
Huffing, she tried to walk across the threshold of the attic; yet, her foot hovered mid-air, frozen—an invisible barrier preventing her from leaving the room.
Frustration settled in her shoulders as she strode over to the rusted full-length mirror leaning against the adjacent wall. His shadow crowded her reflection, the tendrils snaking around her neck, arms, and waist.
“Just let me see what he wants, and I’ll send him away,” she cajoled, stroking one of the strands. “Two shakes of a kneazle's tail, promise.”
The dark mist relaxed its grip on her enough to let her leave the room and lean over the banister.
“Up here.”
She watched as he took the stairs two at a time to reach her—his breathing haggard and his face covered in sweat.
“Fuck, Gin,” he wheezed. “You couldn’t have barricaded yourself in the basement?”
The pocketwatch ticked louder, pulsating against her palm. “What’s happened, Nev?”
“Lu sent me.” He took several deep breaths to try to steady it. “We have to go.” Reaching out for her, he added, “I think Harry might be hurting her.”
She tried to lurch forward to him. Not Luna. He couldn’t take Luna from her.
Harry couldn’t take Luna from Tom.
You can’t leave.
A force jerked her back to the door. Neville shouted in response to her body flying through the air. “What the bloody fuck?”
“Please,” she begged.
You’re mine.
“I know, and I’ll come back, I swear. But I can’t let him have her. Not her.”
She screamed as she fought against the shadows, her body writhing on the floor. “Please, Tommy. Please let me go.”
No.
Neville rushed into the attic, trying to help her up, but her leg involuntarily jerked out and kicked him in the bollocks. He stumbled backwards, dry-heaving.
“Let me go,” she cried as her back arched off the floor. “You’ll lose her too if I don’t go.”
Who do you think whispered the idea in his ear as he slept each night?
“No,” she sobbed.
You’ve grown complacent, pet. And the boy and I have both become impatient.
“Don’t do this.” Her nails broke off as they dug into the wooden floorboards in a futile effort to get to the door of the attic.
Again, Neville approached and managed to get his big arms around her to lift her off the floor. He began dragging her body toward the door.
It felt like the shadows were flaying her skin away from her muscles as Tom fought against it. A guttural shriek tore from her throat as an explosion of accidental magic erupted, sending Neville flying through the door and over the railing.
She heard his body smash into the second-floor banister before landing with a sickening crunch on the ground-floor foyer.
“No,” she choked out.
You’re. Not. Leaving.
All the strength left her then, and she collapsed in a heap.
As her body trembled, his warmth blanketed her in an attempt to comfort her, but she never felt so chilled to the bone.
It’s for the best, pet. You’ll see. It’s better when it’s just the two of us. Just like we were always meant to be.
She was still lying comatose when she heard heavy footfalls on the stairs. The man who crouched in front of her looked almost unrecognizable.
“What have you been up to?” he asked, brushing a stray bit of hair from her forehead.
“He tried to take me,” she whispered. As the pad of his thumb soothed her icy cheek, she implored, “Please say Lu is ok.”
Harry appeared remorseful, his expression twisting her insides. “She went to Kingsley, Gin. She betrayed me.”
Another tear fell from her lashline, dropping onto his skin. “She was my only friend.”
“Hey,” he cooed, picking her up and cradling her body against his. “That’s not true. You have me. I’ll take care of everything from now on.”
You have me, pet. You don’t need anyone else.
In that moment, prone in the lap of her husband, the gentle brush of her first love’s shadows against her face, Gin realized then the awful truth of it all.
She had never been in control.
Gin didn’t know what day it was. Or if Harry was home. Or if anyone cared anymore what had become of her. There was only the ticking of the pocketwatch. And Tom.
She never left the attic. Harry never came to see her.
Food would appear. The chamber pot she had taken to using would get magically cleaned, but she never knew who was doing it.
I’m all you need.
“All I need,” she repeated.
He didn’t let her sleep. His shadows would squeeze her to the point of asphyxiation as he whispered how he was the only thing she needed.
Chunks of her hair lay strewn on the floor.
“The spell.”
The ticking grew louder.
“All I need.”
The shadows wrapped around her.
“The spell. Need a body. Need a soul.”
All I need is you, pet.
Ginny heard murmuring on the other side of the door.
“She’s been asking for you, sir.”
“I doubt that,” scoffed Harry.
“She has,” a soft, feminine voice repeated. “Says she needs you. I think you must see to her, Mr. Potter. She’s in an awful state. The isolation—”
“No one is isolating her,” he snapped. “She’s in there because she wants to be in there.”
“All the same, Mr. Potter, I think it best that you try to speak with her. She’s been inconsolable for the last several days.”
The shuffling of feet sent her back to the safety of the shadows.
Hush, now, pet. It will all be over soon.
The door swung open, and Harry walked in. Two strangers peered in behind him but remained in the hallway.
“Gin?” he called.
She wandlessly closed the door behind him, coupled with a Silencio.
He mused, “Someone’s getting their strength back, I see. Mrs. Fitch said you’ve been asking for me.”
Her eyes tracked down his body to the object she knew he was never without as he walked to the small table in the middle of the room. He pulled out a small pink cake box. “Come sit, darling. I brought those cakes you like so much.”
Slowly, she emerged. Once, she would have been ashamed at the tattered nightgown she wore, the patches of hair missing, and the dirt under her nails, but none of that mattered anymore.
Only Tom mattered.
Harry gave her a tight smile. “There she is.”
“Hi, Harry.” She tried to get it out smoothly, but her throat was so dry that she got caught on the H of his name and devolved into a coughing fit.
He remained seated and let her gather herself. Drawing closer, she clutched the pocketwatch in her left palm. There was a chair pulled out for her, but it stayed empty as she stopped right before him.
His nose wrinkled—probably from the smell of her unwashed body—but he didn’t say anything rude. Instead, he reached his hand out to hers. “I don’t know where we went wrong.”
It was nice, the feeling of another person’s skin against hers. It had been so long now that she had almost forgotten the sensation. Quietly, she intoned, “I don’t know if we ever had it right. Not really.”
“You know I didn’t want to do that to Luna, yeah?” He stood and cupped her face in his hands. “She would have taken you away from me, and what would I have done then? I need you, Gin.”
“I know,” she rasped. “I need you too, Harry. So much.”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.” She leaned forward and sealed her mouth over his, her hand sliding down his side.
He ran his tongue along her chapped bottom lip, and she opened for him. She had missed this—physical intimacy.
Her hand slipped between them as she pulled back slightly. “You remember how I said I wish I had a time turner, and you asked me how far back I would go?”
Eyebrows furrowed, Harry shook his head. “I don’t remember. So, tell me now. How far back would you go?”
“I would go back to my first year when I found the diary.”
“Why?” he asked.
“Because then we would have had an actual chance.”
The blade drove into the spot between his ribs, piercing his lung, exactly where Tom had told her to place it. Harry gasped, the air leaving his body as he sank to his knees.
Something akin to sorrow weighed on her as she jerked the blade out. It would be quicker this way. He didn’t need to suffer wantonly.
“I’m sorry, Harry. But it’s only ever been him.”
Only us. Always.
“It’s always been Tommy.”
The life fading in his green eyes, Harry reached for her, but the shadows prevented it.
The ticking began to slow, and Gin dropped the knife and turned to the round window facing the park.
For the first time in decades, the pane swung open, the rusty hinges whining in protest. Peering down at the young man sitting on the park bench and looking up at her, Ginny drew in a chestful of clean air and laughed. The nighttime wind blew his dark hair into his black eyes.
Tom always looked so beautiful in the dark.
I’m waiting, pet.
“I’m coming, my love.”
There wasn’t anything weighing her down or holding her back as her foot lifted from the floor and stepped out into the night air.
She was finally getting to be with her true love.
Forever.
Background Note for Harry/Voldemort/Ginny soul splitting
To avoid info-dumping in the middle of the plot of Ginny’s 1-shot, I’m adding the context for what exactly happened at the Battle of Hogwarts with regards to Harry, Voldemort, and Ginny’s souls here. In The Deathly Hallows, we see that the soul fragments trapped in the Horcruxes resist being destroyed; yet, when Harry is struck down in the Forbidden Forest, we don’t see that struggle. We only see him land in King’s Cross/purgatory. For this story, the idea that the Horcrux in Harry would fight against destruction is carried through. When Harry is hit with the Avada, the part of his soul that is Voldemort tries to hold onto him. If Harry had boarded the train at King’s Cross, the remnants of his soul would be gone, but he would still be resurrected with the piece of Voldemort’s soul that lingered there. However, by choosing not to board the train, there have to be consequences for both the Horcrux and his soul. Therefore, a piece of Harry must be sacrificed along with the Horcrux in order for him to return to the living.
That is why Lavender’s wolf says he smells like decay, and why Luna goes searching for the missing piece in the forest. There is a part of Harry’s soul missing, which affects his personality to a degree. However, even if this little bit of soul magic wasn’t a part of the story, I would still maintain that Harry’s behavior would be significantly different after the final battle due to PTSD and something akin to a traumatic brain injury. No one comes away from being literally dead and seeing people whom they considered family splayed out on the floor of the Great Hall and be as ok as the Epilogue would have us believe.
Ginny is possessed by the fragment of Tom Riddle’s soul that resides in the diary during Chamber of Secrets in order to accomplish the task of reopening the Chamber and releasing the Basilisk. When Harry gets to the Chamber, Tom tells Harry that she will not wake as he is draining her life force to come back (we’ll ignore the lack of explanation of how easily that was supposed to work). Using that logic, when Harry destroys the diary, which again doesn’t fight against its destruction like the other Horcruxes from Deathly Hallows, a small part of Voldemort stays with Ginny as her life force rebounds back to her. The idea for this story is that the piece of soul that remains becomes dormant. When Ginny kills Voldemort at the final battle, that part of his soul rewakens and over the next three years grows stronger as it seeps further into her. What we see happening in “The Mad Woman” is essentially the same as in Chamber—Tom’s soul fragment is leeching the life from her and driving her mad with whispers and hallucinations.
Besides the soul part, there is a very real psychological aspect of Ginny’s madness. In her mind, Tom was the first person who saw her—not Harry—and at a pivotal age, she forms a strange co-dependency with Tom that she viewed as love. Despite the events in Chamber of Secrets, that bond never goes away for her. Killing Voldemort is what she has to do to protect Harry, but she is also killing her first love for him. The guilt she carries over that eats away at her the same way we see Lady Macbeth’s guilt eat away at what she’s done in Macbeth. When Harry takes it too far and kills Luna, the only person really keeping her tethered to reality, she fully snaps and succumbs fully to her delusions of Tom.
Killing Harry in the end is an act of vengeance for taking Luna from her, while jumping from the attic of Grimmauld is her choosing to join her lost love.
There is a reason why Macbeth is one of William Shakespeare’s most recognizable plays. Its theme about the consequences of the no-holds-barred pursuit of power is one that is easily absorbable by audiences regardless of time or culture. Lady Macbeth can be interpreted as one-dimensional—her lack of morality leads to her ultimate demise. Her descent into madness is viewed as warranted. Not only does she admit that King Duncan reminds her of her father as she plots his murder, but she also calls upon demons to take away her feminine nature. She goads Macbeth into murdering the king by emasculating him. Most likely, Shakespeare did not intend for her to be a sympathetic character in the slightest.
However, Shakespeare wrote during the sixteenth century, when women were viewed as property more than people. Thinking about Lady Macbeth through a modern lens, she becomes a symbol of privilege. She is a heterosexual, high-born, white woman who whispers in the ear of her husband and then feigns ignorance of politics. She benefits from her standing, even as the men she supports tear apart the very system that allowed her to gain the status she has. But the problem with that privilege is, when you work to undermine it, eventually it catches up to you. The current IVF debate amongst conservative groups is a prime example. For decades, conservative women rallied against abortion rights. Now they have politicians who very loudly proclaim that all abortions should be illegal, and they work toward that goal. However, these women couldn’t see the forest for the trees and failed to see that the very men who are promoting “family values” don’t have a basic understanding of reproductive services or the snowball effect of electing this type of man to positions of power. Now, they are having to scramble when the Alabama Supreme Court rules that freezing unused embryos is illegal. They are having to lobby their representatives not to outlaw fertility treatments that involve the extraction of eggs and test-tube fertilization. They are now required to beg these same politicians to understand that birth control is not just used for family planning, but also as a treatment for various hormonal issues. Like Lady Macbeth, they created a monster, fed the beast, and now they can’t put the proverbial genie back in the bottle.
In canon, Ginny is privileged. Even accounting for the Weasleys’ financial issues, she is still the daughter of two established wizarding families. Fanon presumes that the Prewetts and the Weasleys intermarried with other Sacred 28 families, and it can be surmised by the reader that even in poverty, those names still carry more weight within wizarding society than an unknown Muggleborn or halfblood. She is not a squib, she is white, and her family has connections to those with more power. Her privilege is further cemented when she is coupled with Harry.
That is not to say that having privilege automatically means a person is immoral. There are plenty of examples of fictional and nonfictional people who use their privilege for good. Privilege can be a subconscious thing. Imagine walking up to Ginny, with all of her experiences from canon, and calling her privileged. She would likely punch you in the face and remind you that she was possessed by Tom Riddle because an adult decided to place a Horcrux in her cauldron while out shopping. She would tell you stories of how her family struggled to put food on the table and clothes on their backs. She would point to her two dead uncles, one dead brother, and another disfigured one because they fought against evil. However, those experiences do not outweigh the privileges listed earlier. Nor are they meaningless when comparing. They are simply all there, shaping her life trajectory.
But Ginny’s story is not really about a woman hell bent on getting what she wants and not thinking about the consequences. It’s about a girl who was manipulated when she was eleven years old to the extent that she marries a man she doesn't want to in order to bring her lost lover back from the dead. She has helped Harry gain power and, like Lady Macbeth, failed to realize the ramifications of that until it’s too late, and she loses the one person who tethered her to the real world.
When I started this series, I had a very clear vision for how I wanted these five stories to go. But as usual, the characters had a mind of their own, and things changed as they progressed. I knew that Ginny’s story was going to be the hardest for me due to the mental and physical abuse that would take place, but I felt it was important to have her be both a victim and a perpetrator.
Her lack of empathy in the scenes where they discuss the Malfoys, Pansy, and Lavender is purposeful. She is very firm in her belief that the Malfoys deserve to be executed. Pansy’s death is easy for her to cast aside since she fully believes that Pansy would have given Harry over and that his resulting wrath is justified. In her eyes, even though Lavender fought for the Order during the final battle, she was a monster, someone less than a true woman anymore. Her anger is fully rooted in Harry's deviating from the plan.
The tide in her begins to change with Hermione’s death. There also is a change in Tom’s attitude toward her starting around this time as well, but she doesn’t realize it until it’s too late to save Luna. It’s here that she finds out that Tom has been using her just like he did during first year, but this time Harry is not coming to save her this time.
Luna’s death serves as the tipping point for Ginny. Not only is the only person who was capable of helping her manage the possession, but the only person outside of Harry she had contact with. Couple that with Ginny being haunted by the ghost of the first man to manipulate her, and she finally “sees the light,” so to speak.
I had originally intended for Ginny to have some type of redemption with a grand realization that she needed to kill Harry, but once the other stories had been written, I realized that type of ending wouldn’t fit the motif of the others. So, just like with Lady Macbeth, Gin is fully taken with the madness inside of her and kills Harry before walking out of the attic window because she wants to be with Tom.