Half-Life

HALF-LIFE

~ O ~

Ginny drew her knees up towards her chest, staring intently at the book that was resting on top of them. The words were blurred so badly that she could hardly read them. Occasionally, she would bring a hand up to wipe at her eyes, clearing away the tears that kept threatening to spill down her cheeks.

If her father knew that she was here - sitting outside the door to Bill's room - then he would have been furious. Before Arthur had left for the evening, he had given her strict instructions not to venture up to the top floor of Grimmauld Place under any circumstances. Standing in the doorway, he had looked to his daughter and said, "I don't care if it sounds like a herd of hippogriffs are stomping around up there or You-Know-Who has broken in, don't go anywhere near that door."

Ginny had nodded, and although Arthur had looked far from happy, he had left. Now Ginny was alone. The twins were at their shop, Charlie had gone back to Romania; Harry, Ron, and Hermione were at Harry's uncle's house; her mother was helping out at Hogwarts, and Fleur was in France - planning her wedding and hiding from Bill. The beautiful blonde witch had coped miraculously well with Bill's injuries. However, that had not stopped her from running away two days ago the moment she had realised that they were once again due a full moon.

Even though she worked quickly to repress it, a flicker of irritation invaded Ginny at thoughts of Fleur. As much as she might want to blame her future sister-in-law for not being strong enough to stay with Bill during the full moon, Ginny knew that she could not really blame Fleur. After what had happened during the first full moon - the first since Bill had been bitten - Ginny doubted that the other witch was the only one who found the thought of remaining in the house with him disturbing. Ginny was not sure how she felt about it herself, considering.

"Ginny, love," she heard a voice whisper. "Talk to me, please. I know you're out there. Oh, Merlin, Gin. I can smell you - I can hear your heart." Not for the first time that evening, there followed a small whimpering sound that might have originated from either side of the door.

Ginny closed her eyes, fighting back a sudden wave of emotion. Her hand instinctively went to her shoulder where she lightly fingered the map of dappled scarring. She knew from habit that it was possible to trace the ragged outline of where her brother's teeth had sunk into the delicate flesh.

A shuddering breath escaped her, and Ginny quickly pulled her hand away, not wanting to feel the scarring any longer. It was too much of a reminder. Yet touching it had become something of a nervous habit ever since Madam Pomfrey had removed the bandages and broken the news that she had done as much as she could, that the marks felt behind would probably never disappear completely. Magic could not cure everything, and now she would have to look at the bite mark every day for the rest of her life. Every time that she looked in the mirror then it would be there, reminding her of that first full moon when they still had not known how Bill would react. They had not known whether he would react at all.

Ginny shifted slightly, determinedly keeping her eyes focused downwards at the text in front of her as the increasingly familiar sounds of nails on wood began again. It had been like this last time - or so she had been told. Her mother had been there to prevent her from getting anywhere near the room where Bill was locked on the previous occasion.

As hard as she tried to change the direction of her thoughts, Ginny still found herself thinking about what had happened - about what was happening to Bill inside the uppermost room in the house. It was such thoughts that had brought her up the stairs in the first place and that had subsequently led to her being sat in the hallway.

She could vaguely remember Professor Lupin once calling what had happened to her brother 'contamination'. Ginny thought it a highly accurate description - not only because of what it had done to Bill, but because of what it had done to everyone else around him as well. Recently, Ginny had grown well used to the sight of her mother's eyes tearing up, even as she tried to hide the fact that she was doing so from Bill. Even the twins were visibly subdued whenever their older brother was around.

For Bill's sake, Ginny had tried not to behave any differently around him. It was difficult though, especially after what had happened. Even before that night though, Ginny had felt like she was fighting a constant urge to run around checking on him. It had felt like forever before he was allowed home from hospital, and she had been so excited to see him that at first, Ginny had been unable to understand why he was not more eager to be home and among his family again. It was only when she had realised that he was not just physically ill that she had even remotely begun to comprehend how challenging it was for him. Having to constantly remind herself that he was still recovering had since become a daily chore for Ginny.

She wanted him to be Bill again. She wanted him to be like he was before when he would unexpectedly turn up with a gift for her - some exotic smelling lotion or a piece of delicate jewellery. She longed not to have to watch him begin to fade away as depression caught hold of him and sucked away her lively, adventurous brother.

A sigh escaped her, partly at thoughts of Bill and partly because she knew that she was not being honest. Once again she felt tears spill down over her cheeks, and she admitted to herself that her wishes - her real ones - were far from unselfish.

Reluctantly, she admitted that what she really wanted was not to have to wake up in the middle of the night screaming because the picture of Bill's face as he attacked her was permanently fixed in her mind. Then, perhaps, there would not be the ugly gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach - the one that pointed out that perhaps it would have been better if Fenrir Greyback had been in wolf form when he had attacked. Then, at least, they would have known what to expect. There would have been no guessing involved, and Bill would probably have been safely locked away until the moon went down.

Almost immediately, Ginny felt a rush of guilt. Becoming a werewolf would not have been easier - Professor Lupin was evidence of that. A naturally brilliant man and a talented teacher, he had struggled to make his way in life simply because he had been infected when he was younger. There was no sign that it would have been any easier for Bill - whether they defeated Voldemort or not. Death Eaters might tolerate the help of Greyback and his wolves while they were fighting, but Ginny had the sneaking suspicion that afterwards, they would be treading a thin line in order to remain on Voldemort's good side.

Prejudices aside, Ginny knew that even now it would not be a good thing to be a werewolf. From what she had heard, Greyback was working hard to make sure than anyone who did not answer his call could not answer anyone else's instead. If Bill had become a full-fledged werewolf then he might already have been dead.

No, becoming a werewolf would not have been better - even if Bill was now left living some kind of strange half-life.

She frowned again, wondering what that meant for her. So far there had not been any indication that Bill's bite had left her with anything other than scarring, but she had to wonder whether there would be any more residual effects. No one had said it aloud, but Ginny suspected that there was every chance that if she had been infected with whatever variant that Bill had, then there was a chance that it might not appear immediately. After all, no one really understood what was affecting Bill in the first place. In twenty years time she might suddenly develop the desire to munch on someone.

The thought made her shiver, and not just with fear. A familiar sense of frustrating anger welled up in her. Sometimes it felt like all she ever thought about was the bite - about what had happened and might happen. She would sit and think, tracking everything back to the source - to the one thing which had led to the situation that she found herself in now.

Every time, she came back to one thing: Fenrir Greyback.

She knew that the majority of her family blamed Draco Malfoy for what had happened at Hogwarts. Ginny, however, could not bring herself to do so. She had listened a hundred times as Harry had related what had happened that night on the tower, and each time she drew the same conclusions. The first was that Malfoy had only been trying to protect his family - just like any one of them would have done. The second was that Malfoy was certainly not responsible for what had ultimately happened to Bill - even if he had been responsible for letting the Death Eaters into the school. No, Malfoy had not known that Greyback would be there. Dumbledore had known the truth; Malfoy would never have endangered the few friends that he had like that. He would not have endangered himself like that.

As a result, Ginny's anger had turned easily in a different direction. It had slid past Malfoy, Snape, and Voldemort; and instead it had turned to Greyback himself. It was easy to hate him.

She had seen him that night - had seen the ferocity with which he had attacked. Even with his face twisted by bloodlust, Ginny had noted that he must once have been a handsome man - before the hunger for violence had made it impossible for him to truly be a man again, anyway. He had been tall and broad shouldered, and clothed in surprisingly fine robes. Ginny supposed that she had always imagined that all werewolves would be in much the same situation as her old professor. It was something of a shock to realise that Greyback was probably rather well off.

The insight had only served to anger her more. Fenrir Greyback had a choice. He did not have to attack people on Voldemort's orders, and he certainly did not dislike doing so. For years, the werewolf's name had been used to instil fear in people, and Ginny now knew first hand that his reputation had not been simply hearsay. The man was a monster in more ways than one.

Hurriedly closing the book on her knee, Ginny awkwardly climbed to her feet. Her bare feet made hardly any sound yet she still heard Bill shift on the other side of the door and the scratching sound abruptly stopped. For a second she paused, thinking that he was going to call out to her again, but his voice never came.

Relief flooded through her, and Ginny quickly stepped away from the door and padded down the corridor towards the staircase. There was a sneaking suspicion lingering somewhere in her thoughts that if Bill had said something then she would have ended up giving in to the small voice at the back of her mind - the one that kept telling her that letting him out would not actually be so bad.

She shivered, wondering at the stray urge, and quickly started down the stairs. It was not the first time she had been struck by it that evening and Ginny hated thinking about what the subsequent implications might be. After all, logically, she knew that letting Bill out would disastrous. She was not strong enough to keep him in the house - or even to make him go back into the room before anyone came home. Considering what had happened before when he had escaped, letting Bill out would spell no end of trouble.

That did not stop the voice though. It did not stop her feet from stumbling slightly as she hurried down the steps, and it certainly did not stop her from being fantastically grateful when her father finally arrived home in the early hours of the morning.

END