Ashes to Ashes

It's the emptiness that follows you down

It's the ache inside when it all burns out

It's poisonous it muscles it aches

It's everything you had when it breaks

It's the emptiness that's all you have left

Too terrified of your frozen breath

It's a bitter mouth it's buttered and knived

It's the awful truth you fight for your life

I went all the way down

Fill your hungry wretched life

Here they come it's closing time

It's the bitter root twisted inside

It's the heart you used to have when it died

It's the emptiness it poisons it lies

It's everything you'll never find

I went down for the remains

Sort through all your blurs and stains

Take your rapture blister burns

I will follow you

Anytime anywhere

I will come for you

Just say you don't care

- Hole, Use Once and Destroy

***

"He's dead. Forever."

Those three words, spoken by her father's exuberant, dirty and tear-streaked face, slammed into Ginny with the force of an angry three-headed dog. As from a far distance, she watched her mother start crying with happiness, clinging to Arthur. Ron, the only of her brothers not allowed to go fight, started cheering wildly, jumping up and down. She wasn't sure when the rest of them would come back.

She sank to her knees, slowly, and the sobs shook her body. He was gone, the Dark Lord wouldn't be coming back, ever again; the rush of emotions hit her so hard she wasn't sure if she was happy or sad. Her family, celebrating, didn't notice her, shaking in a crumpled heap on the floor. The thought crept into her head, as slyly as a snake. Too bad the diary's destroyed, a malicious little voice said.

Hiccuping, eyes wide, she pushed the thought out immediately and got up and joined her family at the kitchen table. They were all babbling at once while she watched, and finally her mother calmed them down, then asked, "How did it happen?"

Arthur began speaking, eyes sparkling. "The armies were fighting like mad, but no one could find You-Know-Who, Professor Snape, or Harry. I wasn't there to see it, but I heard it later, while they were talking to Dumbledore. Apparently, Harry went into the castle to seek out You-Know-Who, hoping for a chance to fight him. I suppose You-Know-Who was looking for him, too, because they found each other. According to Harry, Professor Snape was there too. He looked terrible, even after they had cleaned him up - I don't know exactly what was done to him, but..." he shuddered. "One can imagine."

"Go on, Arthur," Molly encouraged gently.

He nodded. "Harry said that he had started dueling with You-Know-Who, and was backed into a corner, when a knife thrown by Professor Snape killed You-Know-Who. He had thought Snape was unconscious, but Snape said he was waiting for You-Know-Who to turn his back on him. He's gone for good this time." Arthur grinned.

Ginny stared. Snape, greasy, awful Professor Snape had killed the Dark Lord with a knife to the head, and he was going to teach her sixth year potions in a few weeks? Now that was odd. Everyone had believed it would be Harry-

"But didn't his spirit get away?" interrupted Ron.

"Not this time," said Arthur. "They burned the body and put the ashes in the very same unbreakable jar that Hermione had used for Rita Skeeter. It's been watched round the clock ever since, and nothing has been reported. They're trying to figure out what to do with it. The dark army has either fought to the death once they heard the news, or fled. The remaining Death Eaters that were caught are being taken to Azkaban, and the Dementors have returned there. It's finally over. Dumbledore said he was able to die because of the ritual that gave him Harry's blood, it made him mortal."

Ginny got up and walked outside. She shut the door and leaned against it, breathing in the cool night air and going over the last year in her head. Voldemort had come back full strength in her fourth year, and the populace had been terrified. There were attacks on Muggleborns and explosions in crowded areas, making Diagon Alley practically deserted. That was terrible for business, and it caused a recession, which caused a panic. Of course, that had all been gradual, and at the end of her fourth year, Dumbledore had started mustering an army. By the end of the summer, it was complete, although no one really knew where he had gotten all the people and trained them so fast, but it was enough to hold off Voldemort's forces at the end of her fifth year while Harry sought the Dark Lord out.

And then he was dead. Ginny stifled another sob, wondering at her feelings. She was rather disgusted at her vacillating between joy and anger, the part of her that was morally horrified by the part that wanted Tom back. She squished that thought, too, and resolved to think no more of it. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and made an appearance at the celebration.

And when it was over, she went up to her room, and sat on her bed, staring at the tiny blade in her hand. Tom had asked her for blood, just a little bit, and she had found the dagger - she didn't even remember where anymore - and pushed it into her arm a bit, letting the drops fall on the diary. Of course, that was when he took possession of her, using her to open the Chamber of Secrets, but she didn't know that then. She had been only eleven, a silly little girl.

She knew it now.

Nudging the point against her right arm, she wondered what would happen if she gave to Tom again. Sacrifice, the little voice sneered. Sacrifice.

It slipped in before she could stop it, and she took it out with a gasp, feeling the sharp, burning pain a moment later. Staring at the blood squeezing out of the little slit on her arm, she curled up, wanting the hurting to stop. She didn't even remember wanting to cut for Tom, only wondering what would happen. Of course, she didn't have the diary, but maybe... She waited.

Nothing happened.

Silly little girl. Silly of her to think something would come up, rise into her and take control. She didn't even have the diary. Where was it, anyway, she wondered - no, she wouldn't think of the diary. She was past that. It was just a stupid little game she had played when she was eleven, thinking she had finally found a friend, and he used her. No, she was past all that.

They had diagnosed her with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. At eleven, Ginny didn't even know what it was; now, she remembered ironically. She had shaken uncontrollably sometimes, and had screaming nightmares, like Harry's. Sometimes she would hear Tom in her head, but no one believed her, and the therapist had said that it was just her imagination. It was possible, of course, in the wizarding world, but the diary had been destroyed - hadn't it? - and Harry had given it to Lucius Malfoy. Don't think of the diary, no. She was past all that.

Luckily, Bill had agreed to put a silencing charm around her bed for the nightmares when she came home the summer of her second year, so no one would notice. The last nightmare had come a few days ago, and she had woken up, mouth stretched wide like Salazar Slytherin's, letting out the basilisk. She had panicked, hyperventilated until finally her senses kicked in and told her, It's just a dream. Luckily, Mum never noticed; luckily, she had always remembered to put on one her bed at school.

But I'm older now, thought Ginny, staring at the dagger, slick with blood. I don't have any stupid disorder. Tom's evil. But her subconscious whispered to her, said, You want him back, and she tried to push it out. She knew what would happen if she let that thought inside her head. The tremors would come, the uncontrollable shaking, and afterwards, the headaches where her head was almost split in two. She carefully cleaned off the knife and her arm, not allowing herself to think about it, and wondered when they would be going to Diagon Alley to get the rest of her school supplies.