Ties in the Soul

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Chapter 5





The sudden sight of her boyfriend shook through her body. The erotic haze of Tom’s commands winked out, even as his cum stung at her right eye.



Harry levelled his wand on Tom, while a strange, bewildered horror swept over his face.



‘Ah, Potter,’ said Tom, naked but calm. ‘Your timing, as ever, is impeccable.’



‘You’re dead.’



Tom nodded. ‘Yes.’



Ginny knew she needed to get up, to act, but what could she do?



Shame kept her on her knees. What must this look like to him? The pieces of her clothes littered the stained wood floor and she didn’t want to think what her body looked like.



‘It’s strange, isn’t it, Harry? How we must always return, together, to battle over the soul of one girl.’



‘What is he, Ginny?’ He spoke to her, but his eyes were locked on Tom.



‘Harry… I can’t…’



Tom smiled. ‘Oh, Harry. You really have no idea. This is not a fight you can win by waving your wand. You lost this fight five years ago. Now I must bring it to its inevitable conclusion.’



She knew. Of course she knew. Every shred of sense told her that she was kneeling at the wrong man’s feet. But she couldn’t stand.



Harry turned to Ginny, anger building up in his tone. ‘I can’t fight him unless you tell me what he is.’



‘I’m so sorry… but he’s right…’



She couldn’t confess. He’d know it all. Better anything than have him know.



‘And now,’ said Tom, ash wand ready in his hand, ‘let us bid fond farewells.’



But neither was listening to him. Rage and desperation shone in Harry’s eyes – as if he knew too well what was happening. Could he see her surrender? Did he know how totally he had lost her?



‘Ginny!’ His voice wasn’t loud, but she felt his fury wash over her naked skin. ‘Tell me!’



She looked away, up at Tom’s face. She saw his lurid lust and that little inkling of regret, but there was something else now. He was her fear; he was her weakness, staring down at her.



The wand he held swung up to point straight at her and a sudden calm whispered through her mind.



‘He’s a Boggart, Harry.’



A single second passed and then both of them were casting at once.



‘Avada Ke–’



‘Riddikulus!’



A blow of white light struck Tom and Ginny gawped as he shrunk in on himself: his handsome form collapsing, becoming something new, something different. It was still naked, still nearly human, but looked like skin draped over bone, without flesh in between.



Cowering, the thing huddled, kneecaps pressed against what might be a chest.



‘You were already naked,’ Harry said, a deadness at the heart of his voice. ‘How much more ridiculous could I make you?’



The thing made no response, except for one quiet sob.



‘But it looks like I found a way. This is what you are now, Tom. Your poor tattered up soul… exactly what I saw when I died to defeat you.’ He paused. ‘Not funny, exactly, but laughable perhaps.’



Ginny watched as he muttered a spell under his breath and levitated the small, shrunken Riddle back into the nearby, open suitcase. She should have made some symbolic move. Maybe been the one to shut the case, to redo the lock. At the very least, she should pick up her wand. But all she could do was wrap her arms around herself, feeling each bruise and injury once more.



Harry locked the case. ‘Do you want me to return it, maybe get a refund?’



She gazed at him.



‘I just came from Borgin and Burkes,’ he said, not looking at her. ‘I can put two and two together. You must have bought it there.’



She took a deep breath. ‘There’s no need to be cruel, Harry.’



Harry took several slow steps towards her. He picked up her wand and placed it in his pocket.



‘Don’t talk to me about cruelty,’ he said, so quietly that she barely heard.



He knelt down beside her, placed one arm around her neck and another under her legs. He scooped up her naked body.



Ginny was too weak to resist.



‘Where?’ she whispered.



‘Home,’ he said, as they disapparated.





***





Harry’s room had an air of peace to it. Unlike the rooms of her brothers, no live-action Quidditch matches took place poster to poster across his bedroom walls. Instead a single still canvas set out the view from Gryffindor tower, a blending of purples and greens painting out the rugged Scottish landscape.



McGonagall had given it to him. Ginny had seen tears in his eyes when Minerva told him it had belonged to Dumbledore.



On bedside tables and windowsills, several Wizarding pictures held pride of place. One of his parents holding each other, some old ones of the Marauders and a new one taken in the Burrow just a few weeks ago: Ginny hadn’t even noticed him sneaking a picture of them in the middle of dinner and only found out when the photo popped up here.



Ginny loved this room, but she hadn’t expected it. ‘Why are we here?’



He lowered her onto the bed and let her go. Then he took a step backwards, his green eyes fixed on her face. Still Ginny’s body throbbed under her injuries, inside and out, and in places she would rather not mention, but as she looked up at Harry she became less and less aware of them.



A tension, unlike any she had ever felt, began to hum between them. She was still naked. He had seen her on her knees. He knew, he must do, that she’d been there by choice. So why wasn’t he shouting? Why did he seem more masked off than she’d ever known him to be?



She shuffled to the end of the bed. ‘I’m going to need to borrow some of your clothes, Harry.’



He didn’t blink. ‘Lie back on the bed.’



His words lacked any inflection. He didn’t sound like Harry at all.



‘Why?’



Harry raised up his wand. ‘Because you need to.’



She inched backwards. ‘Harry…?’



His left hand reached out to her jaw, tilting her face up. ‘Lofesio,’ he whispered and brought his wand along her cheek, tracing just one of the cuts. Ginny felt a sensation like a lover’s breath on damp skin. She knew it had healed.



For no reason that she could fully explain, bitter tears welled up in her eyes. ‘Oh, Harry, I’m so –’



‘Quiet,’ he said.



He put a hand on her shoulder and pushed her down. His wand traced slowly over her face. Now he wouldn’t meet her eye, focused instead on each injury. His face was inches from hers as he leant over and Ginny looked at him with pleading, but there was no mercy from him: no humanity.



Harry might as well have been a stranger, a cold Healer in a sterile hospital room. Where had he even learnt the spells? Why was he treating her like a patient?



‘There,’ he whispered, and his attention fell lower, onto her neck.



He stared for a long time and Ginny guessed that Tom’s finger-marks must be bruised into her flesh. She waited for the question, wondering what she could possibly say to explain what she’d done.



‘Meia,’ whispered Harry, and the wand was moving again.



He continued, reciting the same two or three spells again and again. His wand arrived at her lacerated, bloodied breasts. Ginny’s face burnt in shame and she tried to protest. ‘Harry, teach me the spells. I can do it myself.’



He hesitated.



‘Please.’



His gaze returned to her face. ‘Are you his now?’



She paused, heart twisting in her chest. ‘I don’t know what that question means.’



They stared at each other for a long time. She tried to match his strength, to forget that she was naked while he stood over her, fully clothed. Finally, he gave a tiny nod. He reached into his pocket and gave Ginny back her wand.



‘I learnt them after the battle,’ he said tonelessly. He reached forward, cradled her right breast with his left hand, and rested the tip of his wand against a lateral cut. ‘Lofesia…’



Shimmering brightly, the cut healed.



‘There’s a flick on the “f”. But it’s in your mind, not in the wand.’



Ready to try, Ginny clutched her wand tightly. A small burst of strength run from it into her. She hoped it would be enough.





***





‘I found her,’ said Harry.



Hermione stared between the two of them, as gasps and shouts of delight rang out in the Burrow’s kitchen. Even against her relief at seeing Ginny alive and seemingly well, a simple fact nagged incessantly at the forefront of her mind.



Something was wrong.



She recognised the clothes Ginny was wearing. They were Harry’s, badly transfigured to fit her. So what had happened to Ginny’s clothes?



The most logical conclusion was that the two of them had been ‘up to no good’ somewhere, but there were two issues with that theory. Firstly, every single shred of their body language terrified Hermione. She had never seen Ginny hang her head and murmur quiet responses to questions. A dull grief shone in the girl’s eyes, every time Hermione caught a glimpse between her red fringe.



And Harry…



His eyes were lifeless, every muscle in his body tense.



And then there was the second issue. ‘Ginny, your hand was pointing to Mortal Peril,’ Hermione said quietly.



Silence swept through the room. Mr Weasley nodded. Mrs Weasley leaned against the counter and waited. Percy and Ron stood next to each other, their faces suddenly grave.



‘I caught Ginny dodging through traffic in Muggle London,’ Harry said.



‘What?’ shouted Mrs Weasley.



‘I wasn’t thinking,’ muttered Ginny.



Molly Weasley glared at her daughter and then her expression melted. She rushed forward and grabbed Ginny up in a hug. ‘You poor thing. Those things you said to Skeeter? They were nonsense. How could you believe them?’



Hermione was watching Harry and saw him flinch, saw shards of grief and rage flicker in his eyes.



‘Harry, let’s leave the family to themselves for a moment.’



He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t move.



Hermione met his cold green gaze. ‘We’re going for a walk.’





***





‘Bloody hell,’ whispered Hermione.



It was the first time Harry had ever heard her swear. They sat on a low stone wall around the orchard, while the afternoon, stuck in an eerie summer still, began to wane into evening.



‘You have no idea.’ Harry had his head bowed. He couldn’t look at her.



‘Why would she do that?’



‘You tell me,’ said Harry. ‘When I arrived, he tried to kill her.’



Silence ran between them. The first tentative whisper of a breeze began to stir.



‘Harry, look at me.’



His throat constricted, but he did as she asked.



‘I know what she did must seem –’



‘Sirius, Remus, Dumbledore… my own mother… they died to get rid of him. And she brought him back!’



Lines of sympathy rent deep on Hermione’s forehead, but she seemed lost for words.



‘And why?’ Harry continued, desperate for an answer. ‘Because she’s been a traitor all along, right in her heart?’



‘She’s been hurt,’ Hermione whispered weakly.



‘So have I! So has everyone! He’s evil, Hermione. Why would she betray me for him?’ His voice shook and he had to pause, eventually continuing with a quieter tone. ‘I thought this was over, that all would be well. But I was wrong. The villain’s alive in the girl I love. He always has been.’



The wind picked up, roaring down through the valley.



‘You have to talk to her,’ Hermione said.



He sighed. ‘I know.’



For another person, there might have been hesitation, but Harry faced his demons. He knew no other way.



Hermione wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Harry leaned his head against her. The conversation ended, so that for a long time, there was just the sound of the wind sweeping through the creaking boughs of the nearby wood.







--



Author's Note: Apologies for the delay on this one. I had a chapter written but, uhm, it was the cruellest, most horrible thing I'd ever written (without the redeeming feature of being even slightly sexy). So I neutered it and bastardised it and killed my muse for a bit, and then came up with this.



Let me know your thoughts on the chapter. I'm certain it has weaknesses, so it would be interesting to know where they are. I'm much more confident about Chapter 6 which will be up next week and will be pretty much the climax.



elphaba - I love your reviews! Thank you!



Salon_Kitty - I'm really glad you're getting into the story so much: we'll see Harry's reaction played out more in the next chapter!



RedWhammi - That's a serious compliment. I appreciate it. Encouragement like that makes a huge difference.