The Rise and The Fall

THE RISE AND THE FALL

Chapter Two: The Interrogation and The Sentence

Her body was cold, so cold and in pain. Ginny coughed harshly as she awoke, feeling the rough, stone floor beneath her and it was freezing. The darkness was consuming too and it seemed to carry on forever, but she knew, in the back of her mind, that she was there to face Lord Voldemort and the darkness was there to strike fear into her. That or she had gone blind. In all honesty, Ginny felt that she would rather take the latter at that moment rather than die. Once Lord Voldemort came into the picture, death was inevitable and it wouldn't be fancy, she wouldn't be going down in a blaze of glory. He would finish her as he finished everyone; the Killing Curse. Harry wasn't even special enough to receive anything different. She knew it was time, mostly because she didn't have any information to give, how could she tell them where Ron, Hermione and Luna were? If she knew then she wouldn't be trapped in this darkness.

Ginny slowly pushed herself up, feeling a little faint and a dull throbbing on the side of her head. She gasped as she felt a thick mess of dried blood in her hair, so thick it was that she could smell the metallic tang. Ginny had never had a problem with blood or open wounds, but when it was coming from her skull it was an entirely different matter, the mere thought made her feel dizzy and if it hadn't been from the noise suddenly buzzing around her, she was sure she would have fainted.

"Look, look!" an excited voice shrieked. "The blood traitor is waking up!" Suddenly a harsh white light was shone on her, making her cringe back into herself. The voice laughed at her feeble movement. "Poor little red, all bloodied up!" And the laughter continued and then reverberated amongst the masses; it was truly deafening, but Ginny kept her fear tightly under wraps and managed to raise her head to peer out through the darkness. There were hundreds of figures surrounding her, shadowed but robed.

"Silence!" a high pitched voice rang out through the dark, louder than the rest but strangely quiet. "We must be hospitable to our guest; we shan't mock her degraded state."

The noise immediately ceased at the command and Ginny stiffened as she realised that it came from Lord Voldemort. Now was the moment, the moment to die, but she was damn well going to make sure she could look her murderer in the eye when it happened. "Let me see you, then," she demanded. "Don't be a coward and hide behind the shadows!"

"How dare you address the Dark Lord in such a manner?!" that voice shrieked again, and it was highly offended and violent. "I'll show you - !"

"Enough, Bella!" Voldemort said harshly. "The blood traitor has a right to see her end." With those words, the lights in the room came on all at once and Ginny saw hundreds of Death Eaters surrounding her, brazenly showing their faces since secrecy no longer mattered anymore, they were the ones in control. If anything, she and her friends should be the ones wearing the masks. She felt sick as she noticed the faces of some of her schoolmates; Nott, Parkinson, a few Ravenclaws and even some Hufflepuffs she had never learned the names of. Seeing them made her feel utterly sick, especially since the looks on their faces spoke of a personal type of loathing, as if she had done something to them so cruelly intimate that they would stand there in silent acquiescence to her fate. All she had been to them was a classmate. "You needn't be too nervous of us, Miss Weasley," came Voldemort's sibilant voice, "you can be sure of how we will treat you, there will be no mistaking that."

"If you think I am afraid, then you are sorely mistaken," Ginny replied coarsely, but her brave response was met with jeers and laughter. They knew the truth; they knew she didn't really want to die. How could she die when Harry had died in a struggle to save them?

"Foolish bravery," Voldemort said lamentably. "Typical Gryffindor..." The masses laughed in agreement, and Ginny felt the tension increase a notch. They were all anticipating the Dark Lord's next move, what would he do with the girl Weasley? Torture her? Murder her? For them, this was entertainment. "Shall we get on with the questioning, Miss Weasley?"

Ginny looked Voldemort square in his ugly, snake-like face and nodded curtly. "Might as well," she said haughtily. "Not that I have anything valuable for you."

"We shall see," Voldemort said threateningly, and he turned sharply away from her, his clothing giving him the illusion that he was slithering away. He sat down resolutely in what looked like a large throne-like chair, looking at Ginny as if she were a mere piece of dirt that was going to brushed away in a matter of moments. "My followers, who apprehended you, have led me to believe that you were with four others. Is this correct?"

"Yes," she replied since there was no point in holding back this information; they very well knew she wasn't on her own.

"Excellent. And, pray tell, remind me of who these people were," Voldemort was smirking now, if that was even possible without lips. Ginny gave him a doubtful look, not really knowing if the Death Eaters they had met had known who she had been with. "Come, come, Miss Weasley, if you don't say it out loud, then I will extract it from your mind... and it won't be pleasant."

Ginny glared at him, wondering why he didn't just do that anyway instead of engaging in all this theatricality. "I was with Luna Lovegood, Neville Longbottom," at this name there was another characteristic shriek from Bellatrix Lestrange, who Ginny now recognised, "Hermione Granger and my brother."

At her final words, there were some audible gasps and furious whisperings amongst Voldemort's followers. Obviously, Hermione and Ron were well-known as Harry's best friends; they would be the ultimate entertainment if they were ever captured. Voldemort was still smirking, his eyes blazing with triumph. "And which brother would that be?" he questioned, something akin to amusement in his tone. When Ginny did not reply straight away, he encouraged her to amuse his follower's ignorance lest he should be forced to amuse them in other ways.

"Ron," she replied shortly, begrudging the situation that she was in. Ginny knew that it could be worse, she could have known where they had Apparated to and Voldemort would assuredly extract that information from her without a doubt. She was glad of that small mercy; otherwise the guilt alone would have killed her, never mind Voldemort's murderous proclivities.

"I see..." Voldemort said slowly, his high voice carrying throughout the room. "Potter's inner circle remains alive, then... They will soon be dealt with. However, their location is of importance. Tell me, Miss Weasley, where are your friends?"

Ginny swallowed hard, still staring straight into Voldemort's eyes, unwilling to back down and show fear. "I do not know," she answered quietly. "If I knew then I wouldn't be here, would I? I would have Apparated with them."

Voldemort laughed a high, mirthless laugh as if he had never laughed before, as if he didn't know how to laugh. "You make a fair point, Miss Weasley," he said humorously, but the humour was gone in an instant and Ginny felt it immediately. "You must know their likely route, and you will tell me everything." She saw his wand pointing directly at her, but didn't fear it, he wasn't going to kill her yet, all he would do was torture her and she could live with that quite easily.

"We were in that tunnel for five years," she replied matter-of-factly. "It suited our needs and we travelled nowhere else. So, no, I don't have any clue about their whereabouts other than the places you would already have thought obvious."

"Yes, that tunnel was quite a stroke of genius," Voldemort admitted. "Your discovery was particularly useful in locating many of the other secret catacombs underneath the city; we found numerous muggles and blood traitors hiding below." Ginny gasped at this, she had never known of the existence of other magic folk below ground, they had never come into contact with anyone else on their treks through London, looting the stores and scrounging for food. Voldemort must be lying, merely trying to goad her into confessing the whereabouts of her friends. But she truly did not know where they could have gone. "Legilimens!" Voldemort suddenly shouted and Ginny shrieked at the invasion.

Her memories of Harry were disturbed and laughed at by Voldemort, particularly when they had first kissed and the silly fumbling they engaged in. He soared through everywhere she had ever been in her living memory. Seeing Fred and Charlie again almost made her cry, it was so real, but it hurt. Every time he entered a new memory, a fresh wave of sickness and pain hit her, each time it became worse. Ginny suspected it was to do with the injury on her head. There were visions of the sandy deserts of Egypt, the River Nile and the Pyramids; then there were visions of Hogwarts, which were left quickly; her village was looked upon with mild interest; then Grimmauld Place was sifted through with excitement, from its location, to the door number, to the insides of that wretched and lonely place. They couldn't possibly be there, she thought, Hermione was not stupid enough to take them back there.

"Stop! Stop!" Ginny heard a voice shouting, and it was desperate and pitiful, thick with tears and pain. Embarrassingly, she realised that it was her own voice and she ceased her cries and shouts immediately.

"You see, Miss Weasley," Voldemort said pleasantly, "you can be quite open when you want to be. Crucio!"

The spell hit her forcefully, sending her skitting across the stone floor, her flesh scrapping along the rougher parts. Her body writhed and wriggled in such an explosion of pain that she had never met with before, but she refused to scream, she refused to shout. Her eyes were leaking tears in betrayal, however, but she had to allow this, she had to allow her body some relief. And then it stopped. Ginny breathed out in such forcefulness that she hadn't realised she had been holding her breath in. But the torture wasn't just going to stop there, and Ginny knew this. "Imperio!" he shouted another spell, and she felt something cool trickling down from her head, the spell trying to tie its strings to her limbs. "Bow to me, Miss Weasley." Ginny's mind instructed her to obey the command, subconsciously telling her that it would feel good to do so, so she did, and a warm feeling encompassed her. But then there was laughing, such mocking laughter as to suggest that she was doing wrong. "Kiss the hem of my robes, Miss Weasley." And there was a fresh wave of laughter at this command, and Ginny wondered why she should do such a thing, why should kissing Voldemort's robes benefit her? She could feel her legs moving to her own horror and she struggled to fight the urge to obey. The onlookers gasped as she halted, her body sinking to the ground as if something was forcing her down and she shouted forcefully, and her body fell completely to the floor as if nothing held her anymore.

There was silence and an obvious air of confusion. "You are stronger than you appear, Miss Weasley," Voldemort hissed her name out in anger. "The Imperius obviously will not work on you. However, I have decided a better fate for you..." Ginny stayed on the floor now, unable to move, but waited expectantly for the Killing Curse; she couldn't fight for her life now, fighting the Imperius had taken all her energy, she had no wand and she had no strength. "I have decided that I will deliver your sentence, tomorrow, I will allow you to fester in the knowledge of your fate for a whole day. Perhaps you will be fortunate enough to go insane." The crowd began whispering amongst themselves again at this verdict. "Lucius!" Voldemort called as if summoning a pet. "Take her to your dungeons at the Manor."

"Yes, my Lord," came the familiar voice of Lucius Malfoy, simpering and obedient.

"But, my Lord, our dungeons are vastly superior in filth than Lucius'," Bellatrix's voice came, even more simpering than her brother-in-law's. "Please, I beg you, allow myself and Rodolphus to take her."

"I have asked Lucius, Bella," Voldemort answered harshly, he was obviously still angered by Ginny's ability to throw off his Imperius. "And Lucius will be the one to take her. That is my final decision."

Ginny felt that there was at least some God, because going into the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange would have meant her death before Voldemort could even have a say in it. She would surely have sent her insane, and there would be nothing more degrading than to die in that manner, to die and not know yourself was truly pitiful. "Get up!" she heard Lucius Malfoy demand, but he didn't kick her as she would have thought, and he didn't even yank her up. To annoy him further, she got up slowly, as if she were disoriented, but as soon as she stood he grasped her shoulder and Apparated away from that ghastly hell hole.

Apparating had been a bad idea; being squashed into the air and shoved back out again was not a pleasant experience, and Ginny believed that it was just like how a baby would feel just after being born. That idea was also not wholly pleasant to Ginny. When they touched ground, she felt herself swoon and watched as bright white spots popped in front of her vision. She cringed as she felt Lucius steady her, but he didn't say anything, he just pushed her forward slightly as if to signify that she should walk forward. The thought was impossible since she could barely even see with all those annoying spots in her eyes.

"Incarcerous!" Lucius hissed, and Ginny flinched as she felt tight, coarse ropes bind her wrists together behind her back. "We can't have you trying to escape," his cold voice explained as she eyed him angrily.

"As if I would bother," she returned obnoxiously, "where else do I have to go?" Ginny was in fact disappointed at this new development, her intent had been to try and run for it but she could hardly open a door with her hands tied in such a manner, let alone a window. But, where they were now didn't seem to contain any windows, no light came through except from the torches along the walls, and the walls themselves were damp and old.

"Am I expected to believe that?" Lucius said in the same cold and aloof voice. "Because, being a Gryffindor, and more importantly, a Weasley, I highly doubt that you were not planning to escape."

Ginny gaped at him, but didn't stop walking. It was at that moment that she noticed he was walking with a limp, his face was gaunt and tired-looking, and his hand that clasped his cane was shrivelled into grey wrinkles. She briefly wondered what was wrong with him, knowing that he couldn't be old enough to die from age but then she remembered that she had her own problems, like her impending death. Being curious about Lucius Malfoy's state of health was of no concern to her, considering that her state of health would not even exist within a few hours.

"Your cell, Miss Weasley," Lucius announced emotionlessly.

There was no light in the cell, except for a tiny sliver of moonlight from a crack in the wall; there was no bed or even a toilet. In place of those things were a bucket, which looked extremely disgusting, and a clump of straw, which seemed to have been there since the first prisoner lay upon it as it had matted almost to the floor. Lucius touched the bars with his wand and watched them melt away, he nudged her inside and before she could protest, the bars had reappeared. He did not leave immediately; however, he stood there for a few moments staring at her thoughtfully.

Ginny glared at him. "What do you think you are looking at?" she reproached, feeling uncomfortable under his stare. "If you think you are going to put your wrinkly old hands on me then think again!"

Lucius laughed a little, but began to cough almost uncontrollably. "Please, do not make me laugh," he said humorously, once he had gained control over his lungs. "How a disgusting idea such as that could enter your head shows how inferior you are. Though, I will admit, some of my fellows are not of the same mind set as myself."

"They can stick it, too!" she answered violently, but feeling genuinely scared. That was something that she could not cope with; torture by the Cruciatus was fine, burning her hair off was fine, cutting off her limbs... anything but that.

"I believe you look far too awful for any of them to belittle themselves anyway," he said just as emotionlessly as before. It was as if he couldn't even be bothered to insult her properly. What were words when you didn't have the appropriate tone to back them up? "What was your mother's name?" he questioned suddenly.

Ginny looked at him suspiciously, taken aback by such an odd question. "Why?" she said cautiously.

"It is of no important matter," he replied nonchalantly, "I was just curious."

"Her name was Prewett," she answered, turning away and sitting on the straw. What was the point in hiding it? It was only a name, and it wouldn't help them find her parents anyway if they were still alive.

Lucius' eyes seemed to brighten at this answer, and Ginny began to get even more apprehensive of him. "Prewett? A fine ancient Pureblood family, and distantly related to the Black family," he said quietly, as if to himself.

"I wouldn't know," Ginny answered with a sigh, wanting him to go away and leave her to think about her life on her own. Talking about blood purity was not high on her list for reminiscing.

"Well, of course, you wouldn't," he said in aggravation, waving a hand as if to silence her. "And the Weasley family, blood traitors, but Purebloods nonetheless. Your mother could have married better, but the fact remains that you are Pureblood through and through."

"What has that got to do with anything?" she said angrily. "I want to be left alone. Considering I am going to be dead tomorrow morning, I think it would be nice to let me have that at least."

"Very well, Miss Weasley," Lucius said, and he left in deep thought still.

Once alone, Ginny decided that he had gone mad and had become obsessed with blood purity beyond what was normal for the Death Eaters. In that moment, she let herself become absorbed in her nostalgic thoughts, any happy memory was welcomed into her conscious mind, even memories of Harry. It didn't matter if she thought about him now, it didn't hurt so much now she knew she was going to join him, but the prospect of meeting her brothers again overwhelmed her and she began to cry. The thought of her dead brothers made her remember the ones who were alive, if she died then she would never get to see them again, she would never see her parents again. Not that it would matter when she died, but it was the thought of dying without them near her that upset her most. In the end, she resolved to sleep and hoped that they could all meet together in a dream.