Wallflower, Ginny, PG-13

[melusinahp.livejournal.com]

Title: Wallflower
Author: melusinahp
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Harry Potter
Warnings: Physical and mental trauma
Prompt: "I'm no longer driven to prove I'm worthy. That war is over, even if there are still days when I have to do battle.”--Anita Baker
Summary: Ginny, irritated at being left behind by the trio, decides to take matters into her own hands.
A/N: Thanks so much to snorkackcatcher for his last minute beta and advice.



They should have known better. The Twins might have been away, but Ginny was still around. Where else was she going to go? And she knew exactly where Fred and George hid their supply of Extendable Ears.

So she snuck up and listened in, sitting on the floor, scratching absently at the splintering wood of the door. She heard everything. She listened while Harry talked about split-souls and Horcruxes, silver cups and golden lockets. She listened while he outlined their plan of action, talked about Godric's Hollow and his parents' graves. She shrank into herself when he spoke about caves, shrivelled hands and the slimy dead emerging from murky water.

They could die, all three of them, quite easily – her friend, her brother and even Harry. Especially Harry. They were just kids, really. How could they possibly defeat all that dark magic? She felt cold with fear and almost regretted eavesdropping. Almost. At least her expectations would now be realistic.

Ginny squeezed her eyes shut and hugged her knees to her chest. She listened until their room fell silent, and then she went to her own room and screamed into her pillow in frustration and worry and helplessness at being unable to do anything to aid them or keep them safe. She felt useless, like a pouting wallflower.

She tried to be grown-up about it, to see things from their perspective. She tried, but she was hurt that they were leaving her behind. She'd fought alongside them on more than one occasion. Why did they still have so little faith in her? This role -- the girl left behind – didn't suit her at all. She was only one year younger than they were. It wasn't fair.

She kept her feelings to herself the next morning, as they stood in the kitchen saying their goodbyes. Her mother had created enough of a scene; Ginny didn't want to be another emotional stone round their necks.

She did, desperately, want to grab Harry, to hold him tight. She knew it could very well be the last time she'd ever see him. Instead she threw herself on Ron, who was already damp with their mother's tears, and threatened him with every hex she knew, if all three of them didn't return safe and intact. He kissed her softly on her forehead, and the unprecedented gentleness of the gesture chilled her to the bone.

Hermione hugged her, and warmed her back up by whispering, "I know. I know. Your time will come Ginny, but this is something the three of us need to do ourselves."

She released Ginny and stepped away. They all turned to Harry.

He was staring intently out the window. Ginny supposed that he had already left, in his heart and mind -- withdrawn into his own world, completely absorbed in his quest.

Hermione took Ron's hand and led him out the door into the front garden. Ginny watched them go.

"Gin."

She turned and jumped. Harry was slouching against the wall, staring at up at her though his fringe, his hands in his pockets. He looked wary, but determined. It was the first time they'd been alone in months. Ginny drank him in. He was just Harry, just a boy. He didn't look like a hero; he looked like a kid.

"Ginny. You must realise that you'll probably hear things… about what we're doing."

She squelched the sharp disappointment that blossomed in her chest and simply nodded.

"Promise me you won't do anything stupid. I know you. I know what you're like. Promise me you won't try and come after us."

Ginny crossed her arms.

"If… if something happens," he continued, and stretched his arm out towards her. Something gold and shiny rested on his palm. "It's a Galleon. Hermione charmed it for me. Just squeeze it and say my name. I'll know that you need me."

She couldn't keep the note of bitterness from her voice. "No, Harry. You go. Go and save the world. Don't distract yourself by worrying or thinking about me. I'm not an eleven-year-old child anymore. I can take care of myself."

Harry glared at her and she glared right back. "Just take it. It will make me feel better. Okay?"

Reluctantly, she took the coin and put in her pocket without even looking at it.

Harry lowered his face and ran his fingers through his hair. When he looked up at her again -- well, she could have killed him for his expression, for the sadness and longing it contained. She bit her lip, refusing to let herself cry.

"I'll be fine," she whispered. "Go. Just go."

And he went.

And she was on her own.



It wasn't so much that there were fewer students, it was more that the overall energy at Hogwarts had changed. There was less goofing off, more studying, and more silence. The students chatted less as they walked the corridors between classes. The Great Hall was filled with the sound of quiet murmuring at meal times, rather than the ebullient chattering of past years.

Everyone seemed to be waiting, tense and expectant; waiting for something to happen – an attack or an announcement, something. Instead, long periods of nothing alternated with tiny trickles of news. More deaths. More horrors. More helpless dread.

There was no news regarding Harry, Ron or Hermione. Ginny understood that they couldn't send owls. The very idea was ridiculous. Not knowing anything – whether they were dead or alive, if they'd been remotely successful – was killing her. She was tempted, so very, very tempted, to jump on her broom and seek them out. They'd be angry, at first, but she'd let them know that they had no choice but to let her tag along. She'd prove to them how useful she could be.

But she didn't go. Something stopped her. Maybe it was her promise to Harry, but, more likely, it was the dreams.

Every night she dreamt of a silver cup buried in rancid dirt, shining though the filth, gleaming in the dark. The image wouldn't leave her alone, not even when she was awake. She often found herself sitting in class, her chin resting on her palm, staring vacantly into space. The cup throbbed in her mind, glowing sickly green, irritating her like an itch or a splinter. She couldn't stop thinking about it.

"Miss Weasley!" snapped Professor McGonagall. "Do you expect that lemon to Transfigure itself?"

Ginny started and shook her head. "Sorry, Professor."

When class ended Ginny stashed her wand in her robes and gathered her books. She stood and turned to leave, but felt a hand on her arm. She looked up to see McGonagall looking down at her, a concerned expression on her face.

"Is everything all right, Miss Weasley?"

Ginny blinked and forced herself to smile. "Everything's fine, Professor. I'm just a little tired."

Professor McGonagall's face held an expression Ginny had hoped she'd never have to see again. It was the expression all the Hogwarts Professors had looked at her with for her entire second year. A searching, concerned but slightly suspicious expression -- an expression that asked, "Who exactly am I looking at? The Weasley girl or Tom Riddle?"

Ginny pressed her lips together impatiently. "I have a lot of homework to get through tonight, Professor…"

"Right. All right." Professor McGonagall patted Ginny on her shoulder. "But if anything is… disturbing you, please don't hesitate to let me know."

Later, in the common room, she sat by herself, fuming. It had been five years since she'd been possessed, but, still, she was seen as the helpless little girl who had to be saved from death by The Boy Who Lived. Harry, Ron and Hermione had no faith in her, and everyone else expected her to start writing in blood or foaming at the mouth at any given moment.

It made her feel extremely cross.

She would show them. She would show them what she was made of, if it killed her.



It was shortly after midnight when it hit her. She awoke from a particularly vivid dream, and when she sat up and opened her eyes the image of the tarnished silver cup floated before her as if she were still enveloped within her subconscious mind. The rest of the picture came into focus around the cup, and she knew why the image had been haunting her.

She seen the cup before, while she was awake. She'd seen it during her first year.

She had virtually no memory of what it had been like when she'd been possessed by Tom Riddle, but she could remember fighting him. As he grew stronger and she grew weaker, he had stopped holding on to her so tightly. He'd dragged her down into the various tunnels beneath Hogwarts, toyed with her, let her go and then snatched her back again. She'd struggled against him with all her might.

It was during one of the brief flashes of lucidity he'd allowed her that she'd seen the cup. It had been half-buried, but the shape of it had been unmistakeable. The image had lurked in the back of her mind like a metal thorn. It was in the bowels of the castle – one of Voldemort's Horcruxes.

She could get it. On her own. She would get it.

Before she set off, she did one important thing. She fished the Galleon Harry had given her out of the pocket of her robes and left it on her nightstand.



She wasn't afraid. Tom Riddle was gone, dead, destroyed. He couldn’t hurt her. There was nothing to fear in the caverns beneath Hogwarts. She wasn't frightened. Her heart beat fast because she was excited. It was anticipation that made her skin feel cold and damp and her stomach queasy.

She left her bed at midnight and tiptoed carefully down from the tower, through the Hogwarts corridors, down, down until she reached the entrance to the secret tunnel the Twins had shown her. She lowered herself down into the darkness.

"Lumos." Navigating by instinct, she crept forward through the pungent earthen walls of the tunnel, following the faint call of the cup she heard within her head. As the csong grew louder her skin began to tingle and grow hot. She felt a tugging pressure in her gut, as if there was a hand entwined in her insides, pulling her onwards.

Eventually, she reached a fork. The path on the left led to the cup, the one on the right, elsewhere. There was no choice to be made -- it was as though a magnet were drawing each individual cell of her body leftwards. She ignored the sudden, intense longing to run down the other path, to find her way back upwards, towards light and moving air.

She steadied herself, and went with her instinct. The path on the left grew narrower and darker as she proceeded. She could feel the cup drawing nearer; she could taste its metal flavour on her tongue.

She took another step, and the ground changed. It shifted. Suddenly, it was like she was walking on piles of soft rope – soft, spongy rope that crunched when she ground her foot into it. She lowered her wand. The image and the sensation hit her simultaneously – smooth, strong bands of muscle wound around her ankles and she saw that the earth was carpeted in snakes.

Ginny didn't have any particular aversion to snakes, but seeing so many of them piled together, entwined and braided, writhing, slithering, was horrifying. Her muscles became as tense and hard as if she'd been Petrified, and she felt snakes creeping up her boots and thudding against her ankles through the leather as they tried to bite her.

She screamed "Protego!" to shield herself against their strikes, and tried to run, but tripped to the ground landing face first in the wriggling mass. Instantly, they swarmed over her body. Kicking and fighting, Ginny tried to pull herself free, but it was like being restrained by a thousand living ropes. For a moment, she went blank. Her mind was iced up by panic and she let the snakes take her.

As her muscles trembled in shock, however, she was reminded of the wand clutched tightly in her hand. She squeezed her eyes shut and cried out. "Evanesco!" The pressure around her body lessened slightly, and she felt her courage returning. "Evanesco!"

More of the snakes vanished and she was able to push herself up and get into a sitting position. She yelled the spell over and over, until her voice was hoarse, yet there were still more snakes than she could ever hope to Vanish slithering along the ground. She followed them with her eyes and saw that they were emerging from an opening in the dirt wall. She knew, then. She just knew that crawling through that opening teeming with serpents was the only way she was going to get to the cup.

Once again, she considered turning back – just giving up and creeping back through the tunnels and up through the castle to Gryffindor tower. She was cold and her body was starting to ache from her fall. She imagined what it would feel like to be tucked up in her soft[,] curtained bed. She'd be safe and warm, but she'd be a failure. If she gave up now, it would mean that the others were right about her.

She took a deep breath, pointed her wand at the quivering mass of snakes slipping from the opening in the wall. After six blasts of the Vanishing Spell, there was enough space for Ginny to squeeze her body through the tunnel of snakes. She gritted her teeth and closed her eyes as she pushed through them, feeling scaly bodies squish and crunch under her knees. It was almost impossible to move though the moving creatures, but she pulled and forced her body forwards. The snakes closed in around her, encasing her completely. She felt their slick scales against her own skin. Finally, she emerged from the opening and fell down onto the dirt floor of another tunnel.

She lay there, gasping, and realised that she was no longer covered with snakes. Not being covered with snakes was bliss. The tunnel had narrowed, however, and the air was moist and heady with the smell of earth. She began to crawl. It was an adventure. She was having an adventure. She'd tell her grandkids about it when she was old.

The cup's call was stronger than ever now. It beckoned her with a throbbing she could feel in her temples. She was surprised by how easy it was to find it – a few turns and twists and there it was sitting on the ground, as if it had been dropped there accidentally. It wasn't enclosed in a chest or cushioned on a velvet pillow, but merely lying in a corner, half buried in dirt. Ginny thought it was one of the most beautiful things she'd ever seen.

The ghostly, green light emanating from the cup pulsed, and Ginny felt her heart swell and contract along with it. The sick, cold feeling in her stomach battled with the pure, white joy spreading through her mind. The longer she stared at the cup, the more it radiated, the more she felt the light humming within herself. Her knees shuffled forward. Her hand reached outward. Her fingers, trembling, brushed against a silver handle that was surprisingly cold to the touch, and Ginny had less than a split second to instinctively grip her fingers tightly around it, before the knowledge that she'd made a terrible mistake splintered through her like a thousand shards of broken mirror.

There was laughter, high, shrill laughter that filled her ears like a siren. It was funny, hysterical that she'd ever thought she could do this. She was a child, a little girl who had done almost nothing in her life except follow Harry Potter around like a sad puppy. She was laughing so hard that her chest began to ache. She was weak; that was why Tom Riddle had chosen her, out of all the students at Hogwarts, to be his puppet. She was nothing, a shell, a useless, silly shell, a helpless pawn and she'd never be anything more than that.

The icy metal of the cup's handle seemed to burn into the flesh of her fingers. She'd never been so cold in her life. Her body curled into a ball, yet still she gripped the cup, and still she laughed. Ginny Weasley, the pesky little sister, the baby of the family, went off to find a Horcrux. What a joke! Who wouldn't laugh? Harry, Ron and Hermione were right to have left her behind. She would only have held them back.

With her knees drawn to her chest and her face pressed against them she convulsed, gripped by hysteria. Her lungs burned from laughing. She couldn't breathe. And why should she? Why should she continue to take in air that would be put to better use keeping more worthy humans alive? Or animals? Weren't horses and dogs and even worms more important than she was? Ginny clawed at her face. She was less than dirt, less than ash.

She saw herself, lying in the dirt, clutching the cup. She saw herself lying there forever, until she starved and her body crumbled away to dust. It was no less than she deserved.

She felt the cup throb again against her fingers and the tingle of its magic stoked some primitive instinct deep within her. As her conscious mind continued to self-destruct, something in the very back of her brain kicked in. I will not give in. I will not let him consume me. Not again.

She tore her hand free of the cup, and the spell immediately dissipated. She lay curled in the dirt for quite a while, marvelling at the strength of the spell and the way it directly pierced her weakest spot. She sat up and looked at the cup once more, glared at it, let it know it wouldn't beat her.

She used her wand to slice a yard of cloth off the bottom of her robes and gingerly picked up the cup using the cloth to protect her skin. She tied the cup up securely in the fabric and carried it in her fist, pouched, as she crawled off down the tunnel once again.

She thought that she'd retraced her steps, but when she reached the point where she would have to crawl back through the tunnel of snakes, there was no tunnel and there were no snakes. It took her about half an hour to realise that she was hopelessly lost.

This time her despair was real. Her screams of frustration didn't even echo. They melted into the dirt walls of the tunnel like water and stopped. She knew she wouldn't be heard, but the sound of her own voice gave her a weak feeling of comfort.



After a few days, she grew accustomed to the throbbing in her palms and knees. They felt thick, coated with ground-in dirt and blood.

She sang – the notes thick in her ears – sang songs her mother had sung to her, songs she'd listened to on the wireless with her brothers, anything she could remember. One after the other, just to occupy her mind, to keep it off the darkness and the grinding dirt, the smell of her stale, fear-tinged sweat.

About the time she lost the first two of her fingernails, she really started to crack. They snagged on something, and tore right off as if they'd barely been attached to her. The pain was just a pinprick compared to the constant throbbing ache that was her body. It was the idea that she was literally falling apart now that did it. She'd fought and fought but now bits of her were falling off and she didn't know if she could take it anymore.

She imagined how her body would rot, how her fingers and toes would be eaten by worms and rats, how her body would swell and blossom with dark decay until rats came and ate her flesh and entrails and the remains of their fellows in her stomach. She didn't want to die underground like this. She wanted a chance to see the sky again, to feel moving air against her skin. She couldn't stand the idea of her mother having no idea what had happened to her, why she'd disappeared, and rifling through her imagination, to come up with horrific scenarios.

She bit into her fingers, hard, until the pain finally overwhelmed the panic and despair. Her gums ached and her teeth felt soft and grainy.

She crawled forwards, once more.

The rats had learned to avoid her. She was starving.

She wouldn't fail, not now, not when she was so close to finishing. She thought of her family and their grief, their fury at her for putting herself in danger. Dragging her arm across the dirt, she pointed her wand towards the rectangle of light in the distance. She dug deep into her mind to pull out a memory, something beautiful, something strong. It hurt, opening that door which she had locked shut during the last few days. Along with the memories, she was flooded with thoughts and emotions – fear and horror, despair.

And then she found it – the cool night air, her bare feet on the grass, the slight creak of the broomshed door as she enchanted it open… and then the feel of slick wood against her palms as she clutched her brother's broom and took off, like she was born to do it, into the sky, with no fear, flying, all by herself, no one telling her to stop, warning her, teasing her…

That did it. She'd found something from her core, something that was purely herself, something no one else would ever be able to touch.

She spat the spell from between cracked, dry lips, "Expecto Patronum!"

The animal - something large and feline – rushed forth from her wand.

She knew Professor McGonagall would recognise her Patronus and come and find her She knew, now, that she'd actually succeeded. She'd found the Horcrux. She'd brought it back to the castle. Her joy was simple and pure and had nothing at all to do with Harry, Ron or Hermione, or proving herself to them [or] anyone else at all, really.

No matter what happened now, Ginny knew that she was strong, that she was a survivor and that, no matter what anyone else thought of her, she could accomplish anything if she put her mind to it.

- The End

Comments

[lilacsigil.livejournal.com]

Go Ginny! I loved this adventure story, but no prize comes for free. Was Ginny's Patronus a lioness? Her fierce nature suits it.

[melusinahp.livejournal.com]

Yay! Thanks so much, I'm really glad you liked it.

I do see Ginny's Patronus as some kind of a large cat. :)

[lazy-neutrino.livejournal.com]

Oh, very nice! Totally in character and exquisitely written. And it has plot! Thank you for writing this.

[melusinahp.livejournal.com]

:) Thank you so much! This was really hard for me to write, for some reason, and I was very nervous about how it would be received. I'm so glad that you liked it.

[a-t-rain.livejournal.com]

Eee, tense stuff. I like the protection spell on the cup -- it feels very canon-ish, since the real monsters in HP are always the ones inside one's mind.

[melusinahp.livejournal.com]

Thanks! :) I wanted the spell to underline the theme of the story and to also nod at some fandom conceptions of her character. Makes it all sound very deep, which it isn't. Heh.

[lyras.livejournal.com]

Oh, excellent. A real adventure story - something Ginny's personality seems made for! This felt very true to her character, too - borrowing the extendable ears, taking matters into her own hands - and being resourceful enough to cope with almost anything. The memories of her first year were painful, too; I like the way you worked those in. Lovely!

[melusinahp.livejournal.com]

I really struggled with this one, for some reason. I think I did capture some elements of Ginny's character, but I think I didn't manage to convey some important ones as well. But I'm really glad you liked it. :)

[purple-ladybug1.livejournal.com]

wow. Ginny is amazing. I love that she's strong and independent, but not cliche and running after the Trio.

[melusinahp.livejournal.com]

:D I'm really glad you liked her. I'm a big Ginny fan and I hate to see her portrayed as weak.

[aperfectsong.livejournal.com]

I was just linked to this when I asked for strong!Ginny fics and it definitely exceeded my expectations. Excellent writing, too.

[melusinahp.livejournal.com]

Thanks! I'm really glad you liked it, being a strong Ginny fan as well.

[qurinas.livejournal.com]

Wooo!!!! A Ginny fic! A pure Ginny fic!! That was awesome!

Being SCARED TO DEATH of snakes, that scene was rough hehe. Very scary and very well done!

I love your Ginny, you do a great job with her!

[melusinahp.livejournal.com]

:D

Thank you! You are certainly helping my self esteem today, lol.

Ah, looking back at this fic now makes me really sad. I had so much hope that JKR would do something interesting with her in DH. Alas, no. Thank goodness for fanfiction, ay?

Oh, and sorry about the snakes. Hee.

[qurinas.livejournal.com]

Glad I could help ;)

I know, there was SO MUCH potential for Ginny to be cool and be something other than Harry's baby momma in the epilogue. (which usually I pretend didn't exist)

But yes, fanfic rocks!

I will likely read a bit more of your fic in the coming days. There are a few more I find interesting.

And, you should write a fic for the marriage equality comm so I can bid on it! :)

[sarvs.livejournal.com]

I actually agree entirely (and strongly) with the sentiment that Ginny had when writing the story. I understand why JK Rowling had only Harry, Hermione and Ron go off to find the Horcruxes, but Ginny was a strong independent women worthy of Harry and needed to prove herself as well - I like that JK had Ginny lead the rebellion at Hogwarts, but I love what you have done even more.

You have really shown the fierce determination that is uniquely Ginny, right from that wonderful line in OTP where Ginny tells Harry, "Well, that's a bit stupid of you...seeing as you don't know anyone but me who's been possessed by You-Know-Who, and I can tell you how it feels."

Lovely fic.

[melusinahp.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much! It's always lovely receiving comments on older fics and it's wonderful to know that other people see Ginny the same way I do. I do wish she'd been allowed to show a bit more on-screen heroism in DH, I'll admit, because I definitely believe she'd have been up to it. :D