There's Something About Ginny

She was his favorite of the other six. With her fiery red hair and dragon spirit, Charlie had always shared a kinship with his only sister. He was her protector, and she was his savior.

He took the first portkey home when he heard of her abduction, sharing grief, hope and anger with the rest. And he too had felt a candle extinguish within him when he heard that it might be days, weeks, months... nobody knew when their only tangible hope would resume consciousness. He was being treated by a St. Mungo's healer and Order member upstairs, Hermione as his assistant. Charlie could run his numb fingers through black hair, caress a pale face, he was here, yet he was useless.

So they waited. Time passed slowly as the cried, spoke, sat in silence and remembered, drinking themselves into oblivion as they kept stealing glances towards the door, as though she might come through it at any moment.

Snape had apparated the evening before, weak and covered with robes colored a deep shade of red, blood upon black. And Charlie could not help but worry about how the situation would end as he washed his hands after carrying the older man upstairs, sanguine water running down the faucet. He was not sure who would eventually win the great wizarding war; he did not know who to rely on or what to expect; however, he did know one thing for certain.

He wanted his sister back.

~*~

The cold night air felt almost affable against Ginny's skin as she ventured outside, taking a deep breath as the zephyr brushed against her. The fresh air was a welcomed respite from her imprisonment, and it sharpened her greatly needed senses.

She had been trapped in hell for days, though it felt like a lifetime. Tears ran down her cheeks... it was so hard, she had been through so much, and looking at the garden ahead of her she did not wish to think of what laid ahead. Yet, wandless and exhausted, she continued.

A heavy silence suffocated the maze of paths and flora, which was illuminated by twilight. A humid mist pervaded her, dampening her skin and giving the elegant, morbid plants an impregnable aura.

Slowly, Ginny continued, till her heart leapt as she spotted a gate. Its archaic features made her hope that it had been forgotten, yet she was not easily fooled. She had been proved, by the Sphinx, that there were obstacles ahead. Yet a calm, fatalistic mode enveloped her, and fear did not make her heart race or her hands tremble. She knew that were she forced to die or return, she would choose the former.

Deep hatred and loathing drowned her as she remembered the occurrences of the days past, so strong that she barely felt the tingling sensation that came upon her, as she discerned that she was being watched. She did not have time to react as a figure immediately stepped out of the mist, and a hand with long fingers was placed around her shoulders, grasping it cruelly and forcefully turning her around. Neither did she have the strength to scream as an icy blue gaze penetrated into her own, forcing her to set her eyes upon Tom Riddle.

"Good evening, Ginevra," he whispered maliciously. "Where do you think you're going?"