- Rating:
- PG
- House:
- The Dark Arts
- Genres:
- General Drama
- Era:
- Multiple Eras
- Spoilers:
- Philosopher's Stone Chamber of Secrets Prizoner of Azkaban Goblet of Fire Order of the Phoenix
- Stats:
-
Published: 02/21/2005Updated: 02/21/2005Words: 2,786Chapters: 1Hits: 645
The Sun
Eliane Fraser
- Story Summary:
- Each of them had a reason to leave. There were lovers, and mothers, and siblings waiting for them in the safety of their home. They had goals, and dreams, and wants yet to be fulfilled. Everyone has a reason to leave- but everyone has a reason to stay.
- Posted:
- 02/21/2005
- Hits:
- 645
Seamus kneeled behind a tree, sweating profusely. His task was simple -the Death Eaters would charge, and he would start the first wave of defence.
It was simple, really, and ingenious. He would merely be setting off small containers full of various concoctions mixed up by Blaise Zabini, who was filling in for Snape while Snape performed his difficult task of betrayer. The delicate glass bottles would explode, maiming, possibly killing, but definitely scattering them during their first assault.
If only things were ever that simple.
There were a hundred things that could go wrong. Blaise could have improperly mixed the potions ingredients. The ingredients could have gotten wet. The hardest thing, however, was timing the explosions just right. Seamus wiped a fresh trickle of sweat off his forehead, his muddied hands leaving streaks across his face. If they went off too early, the Death Eaters would be alerted. If they went off too late, he'd never create the chaos needed to throw them off balance. His aim had never been good. Seamus was tired, hungry, and all he wanted was to lie down and fall asleep forever. This was going to be hard. He never thought he'd have to do such a thing.
His arm ached. He dug his fingernails into his hand, willing himself to stay awake. He wanted to sleep, so badly. The evening sky was as black as the Dark Mark burnt into the arms of the enemy.
He never thought it would be so hard to stay awake. He never thought his aim would ever mean a thing. He never thought he'd ever be sitting behind a tree, hoping against hope that he could live through this horror, this hardship- he never thought he'd have to take a life. This was unsettling. This was painful. He wasn't sure he could do it.
He was tired. He was hungry.
The Death Eaters charged.
He had to protect his family. He raised his tired arm and trained his wand at the target.
Nec aspera terrent. Difficulties be damned.
Arthur sat in a rickety chair, waiting for the oncoming wave. He had been waiting, and waiting, and waiting. The sickle moon shone wanely through the dirty window of the pub, the stars too weak to shine through.
Sometimes it felt like all he was doing was waiting.
War is an ugly thing. And to a man like Arthur, who cherished peace above all other things but love, it was horrible. He couldn't sleep at night; images of torn bodies and smoking ruins flitted into his already troubled rest. He would wake up screaming in horror. He had to sleep downstairs because he kept waking his Molly up with his anguished screams. He wanted to stop fighting, stop worrying, stop screaming. He could do it. He could.
He wanted it to end. The pain, the blood, the nights worrying and the days crying. He kept his fears to himself, but the bitterness of it all slowly picked at him, worming itself under his skin and writhing until he couldn't concentrate enough to write a simple letter to his youngest son.
Arthur dipped his fingers into his pocket and pulled a small photo out. Ron waved merrily to him, flanked by Hermione and Harry, with Ginny sitting on the ground. He wanted peace for his children, peace and safety. His mouth firmed, and his resolve stiffened.
He heard the pounding feet of the enemy. He stood up and walked out the door, wand hand steady.
Si vis pacem, para bellum. Let he who desires peace prepare for war.
Remus paced in his small clearing, leaving trails of worn dirt in his wake. Back and forth, back and forth, fatigue and despondency seemed to fill him. The moon had crossed the sky, shining mockingly at his back. The dog star flickered to the north. He crossed the small space again.
Why was he doing this?
It was all so futile. This was his second war. And what did the first war give him? A betrayer, three dead friends, and an orphaned child he wasn't allowed to see for 12 years. So much despair in such a short time. It was as if all he could see was bleakness. Bleakness, anger, and pain. It was useless. He wanted to just lay down and die.
What was left?
Was there anything left?
A warm wind blew from the west, bringing a faint smell. Remus smiled; it was the scent of heather. Memories came unbidden, of Lily and James' wedding, where Lily had threaded heather and ivy into her long red locks, and Sirius had made himself a garland of roses, which he insisted on parading around with it wound on his neck. Remus chuckled at the memory. Thought after thought bubbled off, scraps of a life he had once known. A life that, although was partially over, had still existed. Roses and ivy and heather flashed in his head, and louder was a girl's tinkling laughter and a group of boys' deep guffaws. They warmed him, sending passion into his heart.
Shouts of evil men resounded in the air. Remus motioned to the men behind him, readying them for battle.
This is for you, James, Sirius, and Lily. And for you, Peter, and what you used to be, he thought.
Je me souviens. I remember.
Snape fidgeted. He schooled himself to stillness, but he could not make himself look Rabastan in the eye. He really didn't want to do this. The light of the bonfire lit up the inky sky, reflecting off their masks and leaving crude shadows across their faces.
Rabastan and Snape had been best friends in school. They had shared ambitions and exploits together; many a young Gryffindor had suffered much damage to their pride because of the two. But now they served different masters.
Severus wished things had been different. He wished that he had never come to the light, or that perhaps Rabastan had left the dark. He wished that they had never met Voldemort. He remembered when they had first heard of Riddle, and how they had spent months agonising over whether to join. Ultimately, Bellatrix has turned, and Rabastan followed. And Snape, out of love and loyalty, had gone with him. And now he stood at the brink of battle, ready to betray the man who had stood with him through the darkest of times. He was going to betray the man who called him brother, and had vouched for him and protected him. Severus was going to betray the only person he had ever cared about. More than anything, Snape wanted to fall to his knees and confess. But had a promise, one he had made to an old man. He had broken so many before, he felt he had to keep this last one.
And there were people he had sworn to protect when he forsook the dark. There were innocent people who depended on him, people he loathed, but people none the less.
"I am so sorry, Rabastan," he whispered, and for the second and last time in his life, he meant it. He lifted his wand into the air to signal the Order.
Estas cosas que hacemos que otros pueden vivir. These things we do that others may live.
Terry silently spoke as he threaded the beads of his rosary through his fingers. Susan and Daphne knelt in the long grass, hands clasped together as they faced one another and wept silently. Here and there, children sat, lay, or stood, quietly watching the night sky as they waited for their enemy. The stars were out now, and their light danced on the nearby river.
None of them wanted to be there. Dean thought of his mother and stepfather, both unaware of the atrocities that Dean would commit against his fellow man, no matter how vile they were. Terry prayed to a God he wasn't sure existed; surely a just and loving God would stop this hatred? Susan and Daphne remembered their mothers, who were fighting as they were from their seats as lowly Ministry Officials, and they remembered Susan's aunt Amelia, and Daphne's Uncle John. Parvati and Padma had each another in their arms, reciting stories from their childhood. Everywhere, children remembered where they'd have much rather been right then.
They had dreams they wanted to fulfill; Daphne wanted to be a Mistress of Magic. They had lovers at home; Susan had a promise ring from her Muggle boyfriend. They had family at home; Dean craved his mother's rich chicken soup, and Terry thought of his little sister, who snuggled in his lap and demanded stories. There were a hundred places they wanted to be, but this battlefield was not one of them.
Each of them had a reason to leave. There were lovers, and mothers, and siblings waiting for them in the safety of their home. They had goals, and dreams, and wants yet to be fulfilled. Tears poured down the faces of more than a few boys and girls, squeezing out from behind tightly-closed eyelids as they hoped and dreamed and prayed that when their eyes, this would all be an awful dream, and the worst thing they would have to worry about were NEWTS and OWLS.
But they knew that when their eyes opened, the carnage would still be there. They heard the running footsteps of the Death Eaters. Terry finished his prayer.
There were lovers and family and dreams in their minds. There were hopes and promises in their heart.
The Death Eaters advanced.
There were friends to protect, and principles to defend.
There were a thousand reasons to leave.
They charged.
Au dernier homme. To the last man.
Neville snarled uncharacteristically. At his feet, at his mercy, lay the quivering form of the person he hated more than Voldemort himself. Bellatrix Lestrange screamed incoherently, begging for her life.
More than anything else, he wanted to strike her down forever, send her into the deepest pits of hell. A sense of immense satisfaction welled in him; he would finally prove himself, and the world would know that scared, shy, shaky Neville Longbottom had not only beaten, not only killed, but had totally destroyed Bellatrix Lestrange.
A film of red covered his eyes as anger overtook him. A thousand ways to kill Lestrange, to make her pay forever flashed through his head. There were no rational thoughts left in his mind; all he could hear were the screams of his parents, and all he could taste was Lestrange's blood. He lifted his wand.
Please, sir, have mercy! Have mercy for my child!
A voice that sounded oddly like his mother's, a voice he knew only from a Pensieve filled with his grandmother's thoughts, rang in his head. His eyes, still radiating bloodlust, glared down upon Lestrange's cowering form.
Neville's eyes traveled further downward. Strangely, as if from a distance, he saw his Gryffindor tie, covered in blood and dirt.
Neville began to take deep breaths. Remember who you are he thought to himself. Remember WHAT you are.
But he could taste her blood, taste her fear. He wanted to end this now.
Remember.
He raised his arm higher.
Have Mercy.
And slammed his fist into Bellatrix's temples. She crumpled to the ground. Let the Ministry deal with her. He was no killer.
Inest Clementia Forti. Mercy is inherent in the brave.
Luna stared out the window onto the grounds. Faintly, in the distance, she could see her schoolmates running. She could see them killing. She could see them dying.
She had been injured and left behind to help protect the younger children. But all she could see was blood, and pain.
It hurt to watch, to hear. Even in her serenity, her hope began to waver. This was war to the knife, no quarter given, no mercy shown. Humanity against humanity, because in the end, that was what it truly was- men fighting men, women fighting women. And in the end, people still died.
She didn't know what to do. Here, in this room, she felt helpless. She couldn't help in any way; she was useless, locked up in a shoddy tower. There was nothing she could do for her friends. They would fight, and she would have to watch them die. She couldn't do anything for them.
The darkness descended upon her heart, and for the first time in ages, Luna felt despair. What good could she do? Everything she loved was in danger, and it was just her, a few older professors, and children locked up in a room.
Her eyes lifted slightly as a streak of purple appeared in the sky. The sun was clawing its way out, slowly fighting against the darkness as it attempted to force itself out. Luna's eyes watered; the pale light only illuminated the horror of the scene below. And she was stuck.
A small child, only waist high, tugged on Luna's skirt, begging to be held. Luna knelt down to hug the child. She smoothed hair back, hair as fine as hers had once been when her mother had done the same thing.
Her mother.
She would see her mother again.
Luna folded her hands in front of her, clasping the child's hands in her own small ones. She closed her eyes. Luna did the only thing she could do for her friendsas they fought for survival.
She prayed.
Servabo Fidem. I will keep faith.
Ginny slumped against the walls of her cold stone hell, tears streaking down her face. Her resolve was almost broken.
She had been captured early on in the war, and after her captors found that she could not talk, would bite her lip when under Veritaserum until it bled and would scream incoherently under Imperio, they had left her to fade away into the damp darkness of her prison. They threw in bits of stale bread and she drank water that dripped into her cell.
For months, all she saw was darkness. Not even a sliver of moonlight ever wound its way into her solitude; she was alone, falling apart in the quiet emptiness.
It had been two months, one week, and five days since she had been thrown in that cell. It had been two months, one week, and five days since her dark brown eyes had ever seen any light. It had been one day, and one hour, since she threw hope to the wind. She had heard the Death Eaters move, and she knew they were never coming back. They would win. Darkness would fall; the sun had set.
Screaming, she threw herself against the wall. Anguish brings irrational thoughts. Ginny was afraid of the dark, now. Evil things lurked here; spiders crawled in her hair as she slept, and rats chewed at her fingers when she passed out from exhaustion. Waves of pain and sorrow washed over her.
All she wanted was to see light one more time. But the sun had set; there was nothing left.
She wanted to simply lie down and let it go. Only her innate Weasley stubbornness prevented her from ever giving in completely, and the small, screaming part of her that flared scarlet and gold refused to let her go down. She held on with sheer will, even though everything was gone.
Faintly, faintly, she heard a voice. No, she sobbed in her head. No, please, not this.
She could hear Ron screaming for her. She couldn't hear what he was saying, but she recognised his voice. It ate away at the darkness, reaching for her and pulling her out of oblivion. She was going mad.
GINNY!
She stubbornly pushed the voice away, willing it from her conscience.
GINNY!
She tried to mute it, send it back into the bleak recesses of her mind.
GINNY! WE'RE COMING! HOLD ON!
Ginny screamed. Please make it stop, she begged herself.
GINNY! GINNY! HOLD ON! WE'RE ALMOST THERE! WE'RE COMING! GINNY!
The darkness fell onto her even more, and she was comforted that the last thing she would ever hear was the voice of her favourite brother coming to save her.
GINNY!
The door burst open, and a flare of light dazzled the room. Ginny felt herself being picked up gently and wrapped in something warm and soft. Voices ran over each other, promises of love and safety.
Ginny.
Ginny opened her eyes and looked up into Ron's face.
We're almost there. You're safe now, Gin.
As they crossed the threshold of her prison, rays of light burst onto the horizon. Ginny lifted her eyes and welcomed the healthy burn of the radiant morning sky.
Il sole si leva anche. The sun also rises.
It was simple, really, and ingenious. He would merely be setting off small containers full of various concoctions mixed up by Blaise Zabini, who was filling in for Snape while Snape performed his difficult task of betrayer. The delicate glass bottles would explode, maiming, possibly killing, but definitely scattering them during their first assault.
If only things were ever that simple.
There were a hundred things that could go wrong. Blaise could have improperly mixed the potions ingredients. The ingredients could have gotten wet. The hardest thing, however, was timing the explosions just right. Seamus wiped a fresh trickle of sweat off his forehead, his muddied hands leaving streaks across his face. If they went off too early, the Death Eaters would be alerted. If they went off too late, he'd never create the chaos needed to throw them off balance. His aim had never been good. Seamus was tired, hungry, and all he wanted was to lie down and fall asleep forever. This was going to be hard. He never thought he'd have to do such a thing.
His arm ached. He dug his fingernails into his hand, willing himself to stay awake. He wanted to sleep, so badly. The evening sky was as black as the Dark Mark burnt into the arms of the enemy.
He never thought it would be so hard to stay awake. He never thought his aim would ever mean a thing. He never thought he'd ever be sitting behind a tree, hoping against hope that he could live through this horror, this hardship- he never thought he'd have to take a life. This was unsettling. This was painful. He wasn't sure he could do it.
He was tired. He was hungry.
The Death Eaters charged.
He had to protect his family. He raised his tired arm and trained his wand at the target.
Nec aspera terrent. Difficulties be damned.
Arthur sat in a rickety chair, waiting for the oncoming wave. He had been waiting, and waiting, and waiting. The sickle moon shone wanely through the dirty window of the pub, the stars too weak to shine through.
Sometimes it felt like all he was doing was waiting.
War is an ugly thing. And to a man like Arthur, who cherished peace above all other things but love, it was horrible. He couldn't sleep at night; images of torn bodies and smoking ruins flitted into his already troubled rest. He would wake up screaming in horror. He had to sleep downstairs because he kept waking his Molly up with his anguished screams. He wanted to stop fighting, stop worrying, stop screaming. He could do it. He could.
He wanted it to end. The pain, the blood, the nights worrying and the days crying. He kept his fears to himself, but the bitterness of it all slowly picked at him, worming itself under his skin and writhing until he couldn't concentrate enough to write a simple letter to his youngest son.
Arthur dipped his fingers into his pocket and pulled a small photo out. Ron waved merrily to him, flanked by Hermione and Harry, with Ginny sitting on the ground. He wanted peace for his children, peace and safety. His mouth firmed, and his resolve stiffened.
He heard the pounding feet of the enemy. He stood up and walked out the door, wand hand steady.
Si vis pacem, para bellum. Let he who desires peace prepare for war.
Remus paced in his small clearing, leaving trails of worn dirt in his wake. Back and forth, back and forth, fatigue and despondency seemed to fill him. The moon had crossed the sky, shining mockingly at his back. The dog star flickered to the north. He crossed the small space again.
Why was he doing this?
It was all so futile. This was his second war. And what did the first war give him? A betrayer, three dead friends, and an orphaned child he wasn't allowed to see for 12 years. So much despair in such a short time. It was as if all he could see was bleakness. Bleakness, anger, and pain. It was useless. He wanted to just lay down and die.
What was left?
Was there anything left?
A warm wind blew from the west, bringing a faint smell. Remus smiled; it was the scent of heather. Memories came unbidden, of Lily and James' wedding, where Lily had threaded heather and ivy into her long red locks, and Sirius had made himself a garland of roses, which he insisted on parading around with it wound on his neck. Remus chuckled at the memory. Thought after thought bubbled off, scraps of a life he had once known. A life that, although was partially over, had still existed. Roses and ivy and heather flashed in his head, and louder was a girl's tinkling laughter and a group of boys' deep guffaws. They warmed him, sending passion into his heart.
Shouts of evil men resounded in the air. Remus motioned to the men behind him, readying them for battle.
This is for you, James, Sirius, and Lily. And for you, Peter, and what you used to be, he thought.
Je me souviens. I remember.
Snape fidgeted. He schooled himself to stillness, but he could not make himself look Rabastan in the eye. He really didn't want to do this. The light of the bonfire lit up the inky sky, reflecting off their masks and leaving crude shadows across their faces.
Rabastan and Snape had been best friends in school. They had shared ambitions and exploits together; many a young Gryffindor had suffered much damage to their pride because of the two. But now they served different masters.
Severus wished things had been different. He wished that he had never come to the light, or that perhaps Rabastan had left the dark. He wished that they had never met Voldemort. He remembered when they had first heard of Riddle, and how they had spent months agonising over whether to join. Ultimately, Bellatrix has turned, and Rabastan followed. And Snape, out of love and loyalty, had gone with him. And now he stood at the brink of battle, ready to betray the man who had stood with him through the darkest of times. He was going to betray the man who called him brother, and had vouched for him and protected him. Severus was going to betray the only person he had ever cared about. More than anything, Snape wanted to fall to his knees and confess. But had a promise, one he had made to an old man. He had broken so many before, he felt he had to keep this last one.
And there were people he had sworn to protect when he forsook the dark. There were innocent people who depended on him, people he loathed, but people none the less.
"I am so sorry, Rabastan," he whispered, and for the second and last time in his life, he meant it. He lifted his wand into the air to signal the Order.
Estas cosas que hacemos que otros pueden vivir. These things we do that others may live.
Terry silently spoke as he threaded the beads of his rosary through his fingers. Susan and Daphne knelt in the long grass, hands clasped together as they faced one another and wept silently. Here and there, children sat, lay, or stood, quietly watching the night sky as they waited for their enemy. The stars were out now, and their light danced on the nearby river.
None of them wanted to be there. Dean thought of his mother and stepfather, both unaware of the atrocities that Dean would commit against his fellow man, no matter how vile they were. Terry prayed to a God he wasn't sure existed; surely a just and loving God would stop this hatred? Susan and Daphne remembered their mothers, who were fighting as they were from their seats as lowly Ministry Officials, and they remembered Susan's aunt Amelia, and Daphne's Uncle John. Parvati and Padma had each another in their arms, reciting stories from their childhood. Everywhere, children remembered where they'd have much rather been right then.
They had dreams they wanted to fulfill; Daphne wanted to be a Mistress of Magic. They had lovers at home; Susan had a promise ring from her Muggle boyfriend. They had family at home; Dean craved his mother's rich chicken soup, and Terry thought of his little sister, who snuggled in his lap and demanded stories. There were a hundred places they wanted to be, but this battlefield was not one of them.
Each of them had a reason to leave. There were lovers, and mothers, and siblings waiting for them in the safety of their home. They had goals, and dreams, and wants yet to be fulfilled. Tears poured down the faces of more than a few boys and girls, squeezing out from behind tightly-closed eyelids as they hoped and dreamed and prayed that when their eyes, this would all be an awful dream, and the worst thing they would have to worry about were NEWTS and OWLS.
But they knew that when their eyes opened, the carnage would still be there. They heard the running footsteps of the Death Eaters. Terry finished his prayer.
There were lovers and family and dreams in their minds. There were hopes and promises in their heart.
The Death Eaters advanced.
There were friends to protect, and principles to defend.
There were a thousand reasons to leave.
They charged.
Au dernier homme. To the last man.
Neville snarled uncharacteristically. At his feet, at his mercy, lay the quivering form of the person he hated more than Voldemort himself. Bellatrix Lestrange screamed incoherently, begging for her life.
More than anything else, he wanted to strike her down forever, send her into the deepest pits of hell. A sense of immense satisfaction welled in him; he would finally prove himself, and the world would know that scared, shy, shaky Neville Longbottom had not only beaten, not only killed, but had totally destroyed Bellatrix Lestrange.
A film of red covered his eyes as anger overtook him. A thousand ways to kill Lestrange, to make her pay forever flashed through his head. There were no rational thoughts left in his mind; all he could hear were the screams of his parents, and all he could taste was Lestrange's blood. He lifted his wand.
Please, sir, have mercy! Have mercy for my child!
A voice that sounded oddly like his mother's, a voice he knew only from a Pensieve filled with his grandmother's thoughts, rang in his head. His eyes, still radiating bloodlust, glared down upon Lestrange's cowering form.
Neville's eyes traveled further downward. Strangely, as if from a distance, he saw his Gryffindor tie, covered in blood and dirt.
Neville began to take deep breaths. Remember who you are he thought to himself. Remember WHAT you are.
But he could taste her blood, taste her fear. He wanted to end this now.
Remember.
He raised his arm higher.
Have Mercy.
And slammed his fist into Bellatrix's temples. She crumpled to the ground. Let the Ministry deal with her. He was no killer.
Inest Clementia Forti. Mercy is inherent in the brave.
Luna stared out the window onto the grounds. Faintly, in the distance, she could see her schoolmates running. She could see them killing. She could see them dying.
She had been injured and left behind to help protect the younger children. But all she could see was blood, and pain.
It hurt to watch, to hear. Even in her serenity, her hope began to waver. This was war to the knife, no quarter given, no mercy shown. Humanity against humanity, because in the end, that was what it truly was- men fighting men, women fighting women. And in the end, people still died.
She didn't know what to do. Here, in this room, she felt helpless. She couldn't help in any way; she was useless, locked up in a shoddy tower. There was nothing she could do for her friends. They would fight, and she would have to watch them die. She couldn't do anything for them.
The darkness descended upon her heart, and for the first time in ages, Luna felt despair. What good could she do? Everything she loved was in danger, and it was just her, a few older professors, and children locked up in a room.
Her eyes lifted slightly as a streak of purple appeared in the sky. The sun was clawing its way out, slowly fighting against the darkness as it attempted to force itself out. Luna's eyes watered; the pale light only illuminated the horror of the scene below. And she was stuck.
A small child, only waist high, tugged on Luna's skirt, begging to be held. Luna knelt down to hug the child. She smoothed hair back, hair as fine as hers had once been when her mother had done the same thing.
Her mother.
She would see her mother again.
Luna folded her hands in front of her, clasping the child's hands in her own small ones. She closed her eyes. Luna did the only thing she could do for her friendsas they fought for survival.
She prayed.
Servabo Fidem. I will keep faith.
Ginny slumped against the walls of her cold stone hell, tears streaking down her face. Her resolve was almost broken.
She had been captured early on in the war, and after her captors found that she could not talk, would bite her lip when under Veritaserum until it bled and would scream incoherently under Imperio, they had left her to fade away into the damp darkness of her prison. They threw in bits of stale bread and she drank water that dripped into her cell.
For months, all she saw was darkness. Not even a sliver of moonlight ever wound its way into her solitude; she was alone, falling apart in the quiet emptiness.
It had been two months, one week, and five days since she had been thrown in that cell. It had been two months, one week, and five days since her dark brown eyes had ever seen any light. It had been one day, and one hour, since she threw hope to the wind. She had heard the Death Eaters move, and she knew they were never coming back. They would win. Darkness would fall; the sun had set.
Screaming, she threw herself against the wall. Anguish brings irrational thoughts. Ginny was afraid of the dark, now. Evil things lurked here; spiders crawled in her hair as she slept, and rats chewed at her fingers when she passed out from exhaustion. Waves of pain and sorrow washed over her.
All she wanted was to see light one more time. But the sun had set; there was nothing left.
She wanted to simply lie down and let it go. Only her innate Weasley stubbornness prevented her from ever giving in completely, and the small, screaming part of her that flared scarlet and gold refused to let her go down. She held on with sheer will, even though everything was gone.
Faintly, faintly, she heard a voice. No, she sobbed in her head. No, please, not this.
She could hear Ron screaming for her. She couldn't hear what he was saying, but she recognised his voice. It ate away at the darkness, reaching for her and pulling her out of oblivion. She was going mad.
GINNY!
She stubbornly pushed the voice away, willing it from her conscience.
GINNY!
She tried to mute it, send it back into the bleak recesses of her mind.
GINNY! WE'RE COMING! HOLD ON!
Ginny screamed. Please make it stop, she begged herself.
GINNY! GINNY! HOLD ON! WE'RE ALMOST THERE! WE'RE COMING! GINNY!
The darkness fell onto her even more, and she was comforted that the last thing she would ever hear was the voice of her favourite brother coming to save her.
GINNY!
The door burst open, and a flare of light dazzled the room. Ginny felt herself being picked up gently and wrapped in something warm and soft. Voices ran over each other, promises of love and safety.
Ginny.
Ginny opened her eyes and looked up into Ron's face.
We're almost there. You're safe now, Gin.
As they crossed the threshold of her prison, rays of light burst onto the horizon. Ginny lifted her eyes and welcomed the healthy burn of the radiant morning sky.
Il sole si leva anche. The sun also rises.