Chainless Soul

Chainless Soul

by Cinnamon

Chapter Six

I had shown them what scared me more than snakes, hurt me more than silver, and degraded me more than rape. After that, it was easy for them to tear down all the walls I had left standing inside me and use the pieces left over to build me back into a monster. I would try to tear out the eyes of anyone who so much as mentioned Remus’ name to me or insinuated that what we had shared was anything less than pure and good, anything less than love. They taught me to react with that same fiery rage towards anything else, until I would attack anything that angered me or scared me. I forgot how to deal with negative emotion using reason and trust. Instead, if something made me wary, I would set out to destroy it.

Once I reached that stage, Draco stopped coming to taunt me at night. I really don’t blame him.

As Lucius had told me before, he had set up a large and fancy social gathering with various business partners from America and across the globe, all interested in purchasing one of his wolves, or just coming for the pure pleasure of having been invited to one of the most notorious wizarding family homes. I knew it meant there would probably be more than a few Death Eaters, come to hang out and discuss evil and Muggle torture while monsters like me were bartered over and traded.

I didn’t care. I didn’t care about anything anymore. I can hardly remember what it felt like then, except I was like a wounded animal, and I couldn’t find the source of the wound. I wanted to kill; I wanted to taste blood.

The night of the gathering, I was brought out of the dungeon and into the back garden, where Lucius had set up half a dozen metal cages, all carefully wrapped in wards and enchantments to protect potential buyers. Already, other people like me occupied three of the other cages. One of them, a young man with wild black hair and green eyes that reminded me of Harry’s, was huddled against the cage, eyes wide, looking terrified. The others paced the perimeters of their cages and snarled.

I was led to a cage on one of the ends, pushed inside, the door closed behind me. I didn’t care. I didn’t care about a thing. My fingernails were caked with dirt, my hair was wild and matted, and my clothing was filthy, but I didn’t care. Nothing mattered except looking for threats, all of my senses sharpened and ready to fight if there was danger. Fighting was the only way; if I didn’t fight, I’d be hurt. That’s what Lucius and Draco taught me. What was it Lucius had said to me? The sweet ones are the best to train because once they broke, they turned less human than any others. I knew now why that was. My belief in the fundamental goodness of humankind is what had kept me sweet, and when I broke, that shattered, and I didn’t believe in anything any longer.

My memories of the first part of that night are vague. Thousands of people came, parents of people I had gone to school with, Americans who spoke with strange accents and watched me carefully, judging my worth. The people who had seen me before while picking their children up at Hogwarts did not recognize me, and neither did those who worked beside my father. After all, I certainly bore no resemblance to the chatty little girl they had seen holding my mother’s hand and blushing every time Harry looked at me.

Some of the men wanted me for more than just fighting, I could smell their lust on the air, and I just wanted them to try anything with me. I was lusting after blood myself, and I wanted to tear their still warm flesh from their throats and swallow it before blood stopped leaking from their arteries. The image comforted me as I watched them inspect me through the bars of the cage.

Draco, dressed in a sophisticated and resplendent set of black dress robes and holding a tall glass of sparkling champagne, made his way over to me eventually, leaning casually against the cage and saying snide things about how he was going to miss me when I was sent off to be the whore and pet of an American. I didn’t listen.

Something on the air had changed in a subtle way, and I slowly rose to my feet, eyes narrowing with wolf-like intensity as I searched for the cause of the disturbance in the very fibers of the air. I could sense it but I could not see it, and it made me uneasy. It was like the second before a storm broke, and it made me nervous and excited all at once.

Draco was unnerved by my sudden strange behavior, and glanced around to see what I was looking at. He couldn’t see it, of course, I couldn’t even see it. He licked his lips nervously and turned back to say something else to me.

I started to growl, but the growl changed suddenly into a whimper.

It was strange how I knew who he was just from being near him when I hadn’t ever really seen him before, but at the same time, it makes perfect sense. After all, it is easy to spot the other half of your soul across nearly any distance, and that’s what he was to me. My soulmate, though not in the traditional sense. Half of the fibers that made up the adolescent he used to be now lived on inside of me, and half of my soul lived inside him.

He wasn’t that far away, and I stepped closer to the bars, my eyes fixed on the back of his head. He was turning slowly, a cold smile on his lips. Lucius was talking to him, smiling his silky smile. He was turning to look at Lucius, and the sliver of moonlight in the sky glinted off his eyes, which were the colour of moss, but more green than brown.

I hissed his name and the sound seemed to carry through the night air. He turned away from Lucius, his eyes narrowing as he sought out the speaker.

“Tom Riddle.”

He turned to face me and the light of the moon was shifted, the shimmer dying in his eyes and taking with it their sweet hazel lights, and they shone a dull red now. Lord Voldemort watched me from across the garden.

It was Tom Riddle at the same time that it was not. I knew Tom must have existed somewhere inside the body Lord Voldemort now inhabited. The boy I spilled my soul to. He had sucked up every bit of it and used it to give his memory a life of its own, nearly killing me in the process, but the spell was not as simple as that. He had to give for everything he took from me, and just as much of him lived inside me as of me lived in him, and even now, I could feel the same parts of his soul inside my body that had awakened in the tiny room with the snakes stirring to life, calling to him softly, a magic more ancient than any I possessed.

Lord Voldemort did not tear his red eyes from me, and I smiled slowly, chillingly, my breath hissing out between my teeth.

Draco was terrified. He glanced from me back to the leader of the Death Eaters, and then back to me again, before, in panic, he cried, “What are you doing?” He reached into the cage and grabbed my arm, jerking me towards him and raising his other hand to strike me.

A fist wrapped in dragon hide gloves stopped him before his hand could fall. Lord Voldemort held his arm in an iron grip, a cold smile on his lips.

“Leave her,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.

Draco stepped back quickly; he was pale and trembling, and I smirked at him. “Okay,” he agreed quickly.

Lucius was there suddenly, an oily smile on his lips. I shrunk away, all insolence slipping from my features. When he had broken me, he had crushed any spirit I had, and I obeyed him in all things without question. “Is there a problem?” He asked, shooting me a quick look that promised retribution if there had been a problem. I began to tremble.

“No,” Voldemort said smoothly, turning to inspect me. He seemed faintly puzzled, and I knew he recognized me and did not know why. He wouldn’t remember the deal with the diary, of course. It hadn’t really been him, it had been a memory of Tom Riddle. It is hard to understand. His memory had no trace of me in it, but his soul remembered. “Who is this girl?”

“No one,” Lucius said quickly, who still didn’t know my name.

Draco cleared his throat. It is one thing to keep my identity from his father, who had paid so little attention to me when he had slipped me the diary in my first year at Hogwarts that he did not remember who I was. It was another to lie to Lord Voldemort. “Her name is Ginny Weasley,” he said weakly. Lucius looked furious but did not say a thing, and Voldemort’s eyes narrowed.

“A werewolf and a Weasley,” he hissed. “Any other secrets you keep, girl?”

“None,” Lucius hurried to say.

I licked my lips slowly, searching for any trace of the Tom Riddle I had trusted with all my secrets in Voldemort’s eyes. “A part of your soul,” I whispered. And then I called him by name. “Tom.”

He drew away as if stung, and Lucius scowled at me, his hands clenching into fists. I knew he was already planning what form my punishment would take, if I was not sold that night and had a chance to be punished, of course. “This insolence will be beaten out of her, my lord,” Lucius said placatingly.

Voldemort raised one fist for silence. “I wish to speak with her,” he said. Draco and Lucius, of course, did not object. “How is it you claim to own half of my soul?”

“You gave it to me,” I said earnestly. My new obedience meant I would not lie to him. I would do anything he or Lucius asked. “The diary—”

He smiled slowly, and I smiled back in reply, glancing nervously at Lucius to be sure he was not angry. “The diary,” Voldemort repeated. “You found my diary.”

“I gave it to—” Lucius began, but Voldemort cut him off.

“You will give her to me.”

Lucius, worried now about a potential financial loss, began, “But my lord, she—”

“You will give her to me,” Voldemort snarled.

“Of course,” Lucius agreed smoothly, though his face was pink with rage.

“I will take her now. This party bores me. All the business I came to attend to is complete. I will leave now, with the girl.”

“Draco,” Lucius said, barely restrained annoyance in his tone. “Get her out of the cage.”

Draco unlocked the cage and whispered, “Good luck,” snidely in my ear before shoving me towards Voldemort. I stumbled and fell to my hands and knees before him, and I was more surprised than anyone when he extended a hand to help me to my feet.

“Your son displays a most unbecoming degree of insolence,” Voldemort said calmly, pulling me up. His hand was warm in mine, and I was surprised. I had always expected him to feel cool, like a snake.

“He will be punished, of course,” Lucius promised, his eyes glowing at the prospect of having someone to take his frustrations out on. I very nearly felt pity for Draco. Nearly.

Voldemort pulled a small charm on a golden chain from his pocket. The charm was in the shape of a bat, a tiny mouse clutched in its talons. “This is a portkey,” he told me. “Hold onto it with me and we will soon be away from all this.”

I touched it with the hand that was not still clasped in Voldemort’s, and he whispered something I didn’t bother to listen to.

Moments later, we arrived in a dusty, dirty kitchen I had never seen before.

Voldemort, contrary to what I would have expected of the man who ruthlessly murdered so many people in his quest for power, was remarkably gentle with me. I guess he had learned what the Malfoys had not. You catch more flies with honey rather than vinegar; my mum always used to say that.

He was stroking my hair absently as he inspected the shallow cuts on my face from the silver ring Lucius had been wearing when he had hit me the day before.

“Some people,” he said mildly, “don’t know how to treat delicate things. Come along, then, I’ll have Wormtail fix you some hot chocolate. Then, do you think you can answer some important questions for me?”

At this point, I was still the broken shell that would do whatever necessary to survive. “I’ll do anything you want me to, as long as you don’t hurt me,” I replied in a quiet whisper.

He smiled triumphantly. “I thought so,” he said pleasantly, taking my hand and leading me from the kitchen like I was a little girl

Mercy from Lord Voldemort is a strange thing to consider, but at that point, I was so shattered that it never occurred to me that anything he gave me would have a price. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway, because he was Tom Riddle, the other half of my soul, a part of me, and he had saved me from Lucius and Draco. At the beginning, when survival was the only objective I had left, I would have done anything for him.

He led me to a large, slightly grimy bedroom that was twice as big as my bedroom at home, and used his wand to transform it into a gorgeous, sparkling room of gold and the colour of warm champagne. The bed was hung with curtains of gold silk, and piled with pillows, the walls were heavy with molding in the shape of trailing ivy and flowers, and there was a roaring fire in the hearth. After Lucius’s dungeon, I cried just standing in the center of the room and looking around.

Tom Riddle’s hand was still running through my tangled hair, and he said gently, “There now, this is better, isn’t it? Wormtail hasn’t had time to clean out all the rooms. Our other dwelling was too widely known, we only just arrived here recently. There is a bathing chamber through that door, Wormtail will be up with some hot chocolate in a moment, and then we shall talk.”

He swept from the room, his black cloak billowing behind him, and for a moment, I just started around in awe, tears running down my face. I moved tentatively to the bathing chamber, afraid to find out this was all a dream.

The bath had already been drawn, and misty steam rose from the water, large fluffy towels set aside for me to use. I bathed and washed and then returned to the bedroom. A soft, nearly sheer night dress lay on the bed for me, and I slipped it on thankfully. I didn’t sit on the bed or even touch it, I went over to the fire and curled up in front of it like an animal. The fire warmed me and lulled me into sleep, and my eyes were just slipping shut when Wormtail, Tom’s loyal servant, appeared with a scowl. He gave me the hot chocolate and left, leaving the door partially ajar.

I sipped the chocolate and stared into the dancing flames, still so scarred and twisted inside that memories of who I had been before were faded. Almost like my family and Remus had just been some dream. The only thing that mattered to me anymore was warmth and survival. And now I had both.

I felt eyes on me and I did not bother to look up, staring transfixed into the flames. The soft hiss of something moving across the floor was what finally drew my attention, and I leapt to my feet, a growl in the back of my throat as I reacted to a potential threat.

The largest snake I have ever seen had come into the room, slithering over to curl up before the fire, and I gradually relaxed. Even after all the training I had gone through, snakes did not scare me.

She was watching me, eyes shining and dark, and I sank back to my hands and knees, crawling back over to the fire and curling up beside her. The snake’s presence comforted me, and I nearly fell asleep again.

Voldemort returned to the room sometime while I slept before the fire. I did not wake when he arrived, which in itself is proof of how exhausted I was. Even in my cell in the dungeon at the Malfoy mansion, I woke every time a rat moved in the darkness, because it could be a threat. I felt safe in the giant snake’s company and knew, strangely, that she would protect me with her life.

When I woke up hours later, Tom was sitting in a red velvet chair near the window, watching me sleep, his face cast in shadows. When I saw him there, I leapt to my feet, stuttering, “I’m sorry, sir, I was just so tired.”

He waved an airy hand. “It doesn’t matter, I had things to think about anyway.” He leaned forward and the firelight lit up his face. He was smiling like a little boy with a new toy. “I see you and Nagini are getting along,” he said.

I didn’t reply, but I glanced at the snake. She was watching me calmly, her tongue flicking absently, and I remembered the other snakes telling me about the sisterhood of Parsel. I smiled at Nagini and she lowered her head again, staring into the flames.

“I’ve brought you a gift,” he said quietly, reaching into his robes and pulling out a small black box. I rose to my feet and watched warily, wanting to go closer but afraid that he’d hurt me. He opened the box and held it out to me like a peace offering, a coaxing note in his voice when he said, “I thought it would look beautiful on you.”

It was a ruby in the shape of a teardrop with in a twisted setting of gold, hung on a golden chain, and it shimmered in the firelight. I took a step closer.

“Come and I’ll put it on you,” he called, his voice drawing me even closer. He took my hand and pulled me gently forward, seeming to understand my wariness and seeking to calm it.

I knelt with my back to him and he lifted my hair out of the way, slipping the necklace around me and doing up the clasp. The amulet felt warm against my skin.

“There now,” he said, patting my head. I turned around and smiled shyly at him, unsure how to deal with kindness. It hadn’t been part of my training.

“Thank you,” I said quietly, already feeling something like loyalty towards him growing inside. After all, any dog would feel loyal towards the man who took it from cruel masters and gave it kindness. I think that’s what Voldemort intended.

“Now, Ginny,” he said, smiling down at where I knelt on the floor by his chair. “Tell me the story of how you came to know me through my diary. It took months to enchant that, you know.”

I told him the whole story, about the Chamber of Secrets and the basilisk and the betrayal at the end, when I had nearly been killed. By the end of it, my head was resting on his knee, I was leaning against his leg, and he was stroking my hair. Either I was a lapdog to him, or he was treating me like a little girl, his little girl. I think Voldemort thought of me as a child the way Lucius thought of Draco. There was a bond there, because I was a part of him, but greater than that bond was the thought that maybe if he raised me right, I’d be an asset to him. He was planning to train me like Lucius had trained me, only Tom’s methods were more subtle. He treated me kindly, like I was his daughter, and in return, earned almost undying loyalty from me. Almost. He probably would have had my loyalty forever if I hadn’t first met and fell in love with someone who loved me as I was and had no intentions of trying to train me into something else.

After I told him the story of the Chamber of Secrets, Tom pulled me onto his lap, cradling me like a child. He said, “Now, you know I would never hurt you, don’t you? I wouldn’t have killed you, back in the chamber. I love you.”

Gazing up into his eyes that glowed with strange dancing red lights, I nodded. “I know,” I whispered.

“You helped me there. In the chamber.”

I nodded again. “I would have done anything for you.”

He touched my face and beamed like a proud father. “And I for you. Come now, it’s time for bed.”

He carried me to the four poster bed draped in gold that I had been to frightened to touch before, pulling back the blankets with one hand and lowering me onto the sheets. He tucked me in, pulling the blankets up to my chin. He watched me for a few moments, and I blinked sleepily up at him, the warmth of having someone see after my comfort soothing the animal part of me.

“Ginny, you said you would have done anything for me. Is that still true?” He asked at length.

I nodded, my eyes fluttering with exhaustion. “It is,” I swore, meaning the oath with every part of me. I would have done anything for him, as long as it meant not going back to Lucius. “I’ll do anything as long as you don’t hurt me.” I recited the very same thing I had screamed so many times while Lucius hurt me.

Tom was smiling again, a slightly cold and chilling smile I didn’t really understand. “Excellent,” he said thoughtfully. Then, with a wave of his wand, he conjured up a teddy bear and handed it to me. I don’t know what made him do that; maybe he just wanted to solidify the strange father-daughter relationship he was trying to create with me. It worked; I wrapped my arms around the bear and fell into a deep sleep.

Nightmares I would not recall upon waking haunted me that night. All I can remember from them is a few hazy images of fire and molten silver and pain. I woke up screaming sometime just before dawn, and Voldemort heard me. He appeared at the doorway, lit the fire that had died in the hearth with a wave of his wand, and came to my bedside. He didn’t ask questions, I think he already knew what the nightmares had been about, after all. He had rescued me from Lucius and he probably had a good idea of what Lucius had been doing to me.

“It was just a dream,” he soothed, taking my hand. My other hand clutched the teddy bear, and I was trying desperately not to cry.

“Tell me a story,” I whispered, like a frightened little girl. He, of course, looked shocked. A pleased smile spread sincerely across his face. I think it was as new and novel to him as it was to me, the strange bond of family we felt. After all, he had helped create me. He was partially responsible for me. He was like a father to me.

I could vaguely recall my father telling me stories when I was a child, after I had had a bad dream. The memories caused unease to coil in my belly, and I forced them away. They weren’t real, after all. Just dreams.

Tom told me a strange, haunting story that seemed almost familiar but at the same time very frightening. He wasn’t very good at telling stories, he kept losing his train of thought. But still, his voice was comforting and it lulled me back to sleep, even as I longed for my father’s funny stories of Muggle knights and ladies.

I slept without dreams until late afternoon.

When I awoke, another gown, this one of dark emerald, lay waiting for me, and I dressed in silence, before making the bed and setting the teddy bear atop the covers. Then I went searching for my master.

I heard his voice before I saw him, coming from an opened door down the hall from my room.

“It’s very necessary,” he said, his voice sinister. “If we are to use her, she must be initiated into the order.”

“Surely you can use her without initiation,” a voice I should have recognized replied, sneering. “After all, she’s just a girl. Use the Imperius curse.”

Voldemort grew angry and I could tell it from his tone. “She is not some simple witch to be ordered about, she could prove essential to our plans, but her efforts are to be sincere and not brought on by a curse.”

I knew they were talking about me, using me, but I didn’t care. After all, I trusted Tom. He had been kind to me.

“I don’t see why she matters that much. Arthur Weasley’s daughter,” the voice I did not recognize scoffed. His voice as oddly, hauntingly familiar, but I could not place it.

“She is no longer Arthur’s daughter,” Voldemort said silkily. “I have decided she shall be my heir.”

There was a shocked silence, and then, “Your heir? That Weasley girl?”

“She does not carry my blood, but she does carry my soul, and that is enough for me. She will be initiated into the order. I did not call you here to discuss the girl, I called you here to discuss getting my hands on Harry Potter.”

The name caused a faint whisper of unease to slip through my mind, but I forced it away. I still refused to think of who I had been before Lucius had broken me; I refused to remember.

“Lucius will be most unhappy with this,” the stranger replied. “He’s been waiting to take over for years.”

“Lucius is a fool.”

I was standing at the doorway now, looking in hesitantly. Tom was sitting in a large armchair facing me, another armchair between us where the stranger sat. I cleared my throat a little, and Voldemort looked up, smiling at me. “Ahh, Ginny! Do come in, we were just discussing you.” He held out a hand to me, and I walked over to him, sitting beside his chair on the floor, leaning against his legs. He rested one hand on the top of my head.

I finally glanced up at the Death Eater he had been talking to.

Severus Snape, my Potions professor, stared down at me with disgust in his dark eyes.

“Miss Weasley,” he greeted in an icy tone.

I licked my lips and glanced away, angry at being forced to face something of the past I tried so hard not to think about. It didn’t matter anyway, all that mattered was that I was warm and safe and Lucius couldn’t touch me.

Snape left soon after that, and Voldemort motioned for me to take the chair he had occupied. Wormtail brought some food and wine, and we ate together, my master asking me things like how old I was and when my birthday was, idle chatter that ended abruptly when he set down his goblet.

My mind was hazy with wine, and I looked at him in question. He looked solemn. “Now, then, Ginny, I have a few difficult questions for you,” he said. “How long were you with Lucius?”

I frowned thoughtfully. “More days than I can remember,” I said finally.

“And he hurt you?”

I nodded, glancing away as my face reddened with shame. “Yes.”

“And your family, what of them?”

Phantoms of memories started to stir in my mind and I forced them away. “What of them?”

“Were they not aware you had been taken to be trained as a wolf fighter?”

“They didn’t know I was a wolf,” I mumbled.

“Didn’t know? Didn’t they care about you?”

I shrugged.

“Come, now, Ginny, if my daughter was captured by a werewolf trainer, I certainly would have rescued her. Didn’t they even try?”

“I don’t think so. I haven’t seen them in months.”

“Shameful! Why, they must not love you at all!”

I shot him a hurt glance, tears filling my eyes. “I guess not,” I agreed reluctantly.

“It’s horrible, imagine, a family not loving their daughter enough even to look for her after she went missing.”

“I ran away,” I whispered. “Harry came to stay and they were ignoring me and I ran away.”

“Oh, poor darling,” he cooed, taking my hand and squeezing it consolingly. “They always did love him like another son, didn’t they?”

“I guess.”

“Loved him better than you?”

I shifted uncomfortably, the instinct to lash out at what was making me hurt nearly clouding my judgment. Tom wasn’t responsible, after all, I told myself. He was just pointing out what my family had done.

“I guess,” he instructed carefully, “that all the pain Lucius caused you can be traced back to your family. It’s their fault, after all, isn’t it?”

I nodded slowly, my rage channeling itself towards my family. “It is,” I whispered. “It’s all their fault. They should have loved me more.”

He smiled gently. “But I love you, Ginny. You know that, don’t you? I’ll never let you hurt the way they did.”

His eyes were glowing with sincerity and I allowed myself to become lost in them. I could see Tom Riddle in his face, and I remember some distant voice in my head rejoicing because I had always known he hadn’t betrayed me. He’d come back for me. He loved me. “You’ll never hurt me,” I echoed softly.

He had turned my hand in his palm until the tender, pale underside of my wrist was facing upwards, and his fingertips were now tracing swirling patterns there. “They should be punished,” he hissed. He was smiling at me.

“Yes.”

“Will you help me make them pay?”

“I will do anything you want me to as long as you don’t hurt me,” I recited.

His nail grazed the skin near the bend of my elbow and I shivered. “Will you swear it on your soul?”

I smiled adoringly at him. “You already own half my soul.”

“Will you give me the other half?” He asked in a silken whisper.

“Yes, father,” I promised.

He smiled brilliantly, proudly, and then his nails ripped into my skin. His other hand was clutching his wand and his eyes flashed scarlet, his voice deeper than I had every heard it as he cried out the words to a spell I had never heard, but that crawled over my skin like a thousand tiny insects. My blood was gushing out of the inside of my arm where his fingers still sunk into my flesh, but oddly, it didn’t hurt. He had promised, after all, that he would never hurt me. Instead, it felt like feathers in my bloodstream, dirty feathers, that brushed through every part of me and left a taint, a smudge, like a fingerprint. It was rather like a heady potion that made my entire body tingle, my eyes roll back into my head and pleasure like I had never known, tainted with wrongness and evil that made it all the more addictive, run through my body like lightning. I remember thinking as I fell back, moaning at the feeling, that if this was what the Dark Arts felt like, I never wanted to go back into the light again.

When the last of the feathers left my body, Voldemort was sitting back in his chair, watching me with a faintly indulgent smile. I was gasping, trying to catch my breath, and when I had, I sat up, pushing my hair out of my face and wondering why my face was so sweaty. I lifted the arm he had torn apart to my forehead to feel if I had a fever, and a strange mark on the inside of my arm caught my eye.

A skull the colour of dried blood with a snake coming out of it’s mouth.