Fuzzy

Fuzzy

"We hunger for a bit of faith

To replace the fear

We water like a dead bouquet

Does no good, does it dear? "

Grant Lee Buffalo - "Fuzzy"

When he is away, Ginny never sleeps alone. Her bed is large enough for only one, but Bella still crawls in with her at night.

The first night is unexpected because Ginny is already asleep when she feels the bed move and the weight on top of her. She shivers quietly as the cold hands run the length of her legs and sides. In the haze of sleep, it feels like Tom. Ginny can even see his face, until the soft curve of his jaw grows long and sharp and the deep green of his eyes turns black and empty.

"Sweet Ginny," the voice coos. "Such a pretty girl. So good to your Auntie Bella."

Ginny hasn't been a little girl in some years, and she has never dreamt of another woman the way she still dreams about Tom, but she does not complain or move away because it feels so nice to be held again. If she squints just so, she can still see Tom over her.

But Tom never touched her there, at least, not for so long, and it didn't feel as good as it does now. Bella isn't soft or warm, but she is determined and the more her hands glide over her body the more delicious Ginny feels.

The following nights are the same, and over time Ginny learns that she can make Bella moan as well. As desire overcomes her, she grows more confident and proud of her taut muscles and smooth, freckled skin. Bella, on the other hand, is aging without grace, and with each of her desperate movements, Ginny discovers the hidden truth of the woman's vanity.

The two spend many long nights reveling in each other, dexterous fingers moving in a magical rhythm with tongues and lips. Bella's every movement is serpentine, and Ginny mimics the undulations earnestly. Tom has taught her a little, but he has clearly taught Bella more.

Ginny wants to learn.

~*~*~*~

"You have to mean it," Bella explains time and again. "You have to feel it with all your being. That is the only way to conquer the power."

Each time they speak of power, Bella's excitement gets the best of her. Ginny, in turn, becomes mesmerized, her eyes following Bella's progress around the room. It is difficult to pay attention to the woman's words when she moves so seductively. Ginny knows that it must have been this side of Bella that enticed Voldemort all those years ago.

"But I do mean it, Bella," Ginny sighs. "I mean it with my whole body."

"That, girl," Bella says smugly, "is not enough. You have to want it enough to suffer for it, as well."

Bella loves to demonstrate just how much one person can suffer for what she wants. Together, they go through the Unforgivables, exploring every nuance of each curse. Ginny prefers the Imperius curse, not because it is painless for her, as Bella suspects, but because it allows her to forget the past. Under the Imperius, Ginny does not remember the look of betrayal in Ron's eyes when she stepped aside to allow the Dark Lord entrance to their home, nor does she recall Bill's cold stare as their mother's body lay twitching on the dirty floor.

In truth, the Dark Lord had done most of the killing, but not before Bella had tortured each Weasley in succession. Together, Voldemort and Bella danced around the Burrow, mixing Cruciatus with Avada Kedavra. Huddled safely in the corner, Ginny counted each curse, thought she knew the logic of the dance, until the pattern changed. In the end, the screams had faded and Ginny was finally alone.

But there were only seven bodies. Someone was missing.

"I want to keep her," Bella pled, bending to pull at Ginny's hair. "May I keep her?"

"For a while," Voldemort replied distantly, red eyes examining the family portrait above the fireplace. "Dumbledore will look for her, no doubt. We can use her to draw his men out." Turning to Ginny, he pointed his wand towards the bespectacled boy in the painting. "Now, where is he?"

Ginny had wanted the power enough to tell them about Percy and how he had believed Fudge, leaving the family for good. Enough to make the first cut herself, knowing full well that her blood would lead them to her brother. And when they arrived at his flat, she wanted it enough to beg him to open the door for his little sister, ducking just in time to miss the curse.

She had never wanted anything more in her life.

~*~*~*~

Ginny sleeps alone when he comes back. Those are the times she hates the most.

She lies each night with the sheets and her own arms wrapped around herself and listens. The walls keep out most of the cold but none of the sounds, and she can hear them both. His voice, she notes, is always the same: not deep and soft like Tom's but harsh and cold. Bella's voice changes, but each change is always abrupt as the reverent whispers slide into dull moans and back again.

This is not like home. At the Burrow, she could hear her parents too, but they didn't sound like that. Home brought only the sounds of sweet murmurs and soft little giggles throughout the night. In the mornings, her Mum would make breakfast, humming softly until her Dad entered the kitchen, grabbing his wife around the waist and nuzzling into her neck. As a child, Ginny would laugh at her silly parents, not noticing until she was older the knowing winks between Bill and Charlie or the nudges between Fred and George or Percy rolling his eyes.

This is not like home at all.

One night, Ginny decides to slip from her cocoon, padding across the bare floor and down the hall to peek through the partially cracked door. She sees him standing over Bella, one withered hand latched onto the underside of the older woman's arm and the other wound into her hair. Bella doesn't cry, as Ginny had, but she does beg. The difference is that Bella begs for more, while Ginny begged for her Mum and her Dad and Bill and Charlie and anyone else she was taught to yell for when someone tried to hurt her.

The memories pass through her mind until the moment she realizes that he can see her. Ginny takes a step back, afraid, but he never stops moving and Bella doesn't stop moaning. He just smiles at her, in his own way, and turns back to the pile of bones and skin lying face down in front of him. His laughter follows her all the way back to her room.

~*~*~*~

"I knew him first, you know." Ginny reminds her of this because it is the only advantage she has left.

"No," Bella corrects, pulling the sheets around them both. "I knew him first. You knew him before."

"It's the same thing," Ginny counters, and she is angry because she hates when they argue over semantics.

"It is not the same at all," Bella insists, her eyes becoming sharp lines across her face. "If you like, you may ask him about it when he returns. Ask him whom he would pick if he had to make the choice." And then Bella laughs and laughs so hard that the sound doesn't leave Ginny until she finally finds sleep hours later.

Sometimes, Ginny imagines that he does remember her. That he remembers the long hours in the Chamber when her voice was always the same long scream punctuated with grunts each time Tom thrust forward and pulled back again. Tom had grabbed her hair too, but now she wondered if even then he would have preferred an inky black to her own dull red shade. Her mother had always told her children that red hair was a rare and special thing, and that they should be proud. It isn't the first time Ginny discovered that her mother was wrong.

~*~*~*~

On the day that he doesn't return, Bella is inconsolable. He is only a few hours late before the screaming starts.

It begins with crashing, and Ginny is on her feet and up the stairs before the next crash can come. She arrives to find Bella in her bare feet, blood prints on floor behind her from where the broken glass has pierced the soles.

She grabs at the woman's body, tearing the stained, wrinkled dress even more than it already is. There is one sharp smack before Ginny's mouth is filled with blood, which mingles so sweetly on her tongue with the leftover traces of the raspberry jelly she'd had at breakfast. The taste appeals to Ginny, and she knows that the jelly alone will never taste the same again.

"Rodolphus," Bella screams, scanning the room for her long-absent husband. "Rodolphus! We have to find him!"

Ginny is too afraid to remind her that Rodolphus has been dead for a long while.

"Be quiet, Bella. Please be quiet." Unable to stand the screaming, she covers her ears with her hands, praying that one of the many figurines Bella is hurling about the room will find its way into her skull, ending this for good.

"We have to go, Ginny," Bella demands this, and Ginny is fooled for a moment at how rational it all sounds. "We have to go find him! You will come with me, won't you? You must come with me!"

"He told us to stay, Bella. He told us to stay here until he comes for us."

"That's only because of you, you stupid, useless thing. He would never have said that before. I went after him! Don't you see? I was the most loyal!"

Bella pounds into Ginny's body with her fists and Ginny has no doubt that she would be dead now if Bella still had her wand. Between her fingers she can see the broken pieces of wood lying amongst the clutter.

Eventually, they both fall to the floor, and the cuts on Ginny's skin don't burn nearly as much as the Mark did. Bella's hair covers both of them, their tears mixing on Ginny's face. They grab onto each other, limbs entwined, and hold each other tightly, rocking slowly, until night comes.

Every day after that, they sleep in the main bedroom, conscientiously leaving space enough for one more. Bella reminds Ginny that he will be back for them. Ginny believes her because they have both been through this before.

~*~*~*~

When the Aurors finally find them, they are sitting in the parlor. Ginny can hear them coming closer, but she does not move from her place next to Bella until she is forced to do so. There are voices she does not recognize, but they make a nice contrast to the ones that have kept her company all this time.

Arthur and Molly's youngest, gods rest their souls. . .

. . . taken up with the wrong sort. . .

. . . only life in Azkaban, if she's lucky. The old lady will get death for sure.

None of their noise quite registers past Bella's ranting about retribution and salvation and how-it-will-be-when-he-comes-back. As she is led away, Ginny can't help but laugh because the Aurors look so afraid of them both even though they are the ones with the wands.

In the back of her mind, Ginny still expects Harry to appear with his sword raised and wand at the ready, but he's not there and neither is Dumbledore. Part of her is glad because she doesn't feel like explaining anything to them. They couldn't possibly understand now, she knows, because they didn't understand before.

The Aurors do ask questions, though. Some questions she doesn't want to answer, and some she can't, so she sits in silence at the broad table, waiting for the interrogation to end.

Do you know where the other Death Eaters are hiding?

Did the Lestrange woman tell you any names?

How many of them did you kill yourself?

What exactly was You-Know-Who planning before he died?

At the last question, Ginny raises her head. "I want to see Bella," is all she says.

~*~*~*~

As he does each week, the guard takes a detour from his usual rounds at Azkaban to visit the last cell at the end of the adjoining wing. He has grown up listening to stories about the War, and in particular, a young witch who helped murder her entire family, among others. He is too young to remember the Weasleys, but he cannot imagine that this could be the same woman who was the consort of the darkest wizard in history.

He pauses by her cell door and observes the blank expression of the redhead inside. Though her hair is now streaked with gray, he realizes she must have been quite pretty in younger days.

"I know who you are," he speaks quietly through the bars. Guards are not allowed to speak to the prisoners, and the last thing he needs is to attract the attention of his superiors.

He continues when he is met with silence. "You're Ginny Weasley." It sounds like an accusation, though he does not intend it as such. Still, Ginny does not respond.

Each week he repeats the same words, and each week he leaves disappointed. Until, of course, the day she answers him.

"Yes," she says, her voice hoarse from lack of use. "I am Ginny. What do you want, boy?"

"I - - Do you - - do you regret what you did?" he stammers, clearly startled that she has responded at all.

"No. Not in the least."

"But they were your family. You helped the Dark Lord kill your own family."

"We must all make sacrifices, boy. That is the price of power."

The guard shifts from one foot to other, unable to find a comfortable stance. "Would you like me to come back again? Maybe, I could come back tomorrow."

"Why?" It is a simple question, but one he is at a loss to answer.

"Because," he says, "well, because I would like to learn your story. I would like to learn it from you."

"Do you mean it?" Ginny asks, and the boy nods emphatically.

"Then, you may, if you like," Ginny says, eying the wand he holds loosely in his left hand. "I would like a new friend, I think."