Believe

She cried herself to sleep.

This night was no different from any other; just another day of suffering, another day of lives lost, another day of wondering where she went wrong.

Was it back in second year, when she had been possessed by Tom Riddle?

No, she decided, it was that which gave her her perspective.

Was it in the Department of Mysteries, at the end of the school year? she wondered. But she could never pin it down; perhaps it was the moment she was born into this family.

Prejudice goes both ways, but they don't see that. They see "right" and "wrong". Voldemort is wrong, because he hates Muggles and Muggle-borns. They are right, because they don't. I can't see things the way they do, not anymore. I know how they think; I know how Tom Riddle thought.

And it scares me.

She was the only one who ever protested. They went out and fought the Death Eaters, fought people who were associated with Death Eaters. They captured them, imprisoned them, killed them sometimes.

She didn't. When her mother told her she was too young, she and Ron and Harry and Hermione, all too young, everyone had said, they should be able to fight if they want. They're already too involved, what more harm can it do?

Harry and Hermione and Ron all fought. No one blamed her for not doing so; she knew they all thought she was afraid of the Death Eaters, afraid of Voldemort, and they thought she had every reason to be so.

She was glad of it; it gave her something to hide behind. Something that they wouldn't suspect. But they had begun to think she should conquer her fears, that she should deal with them, that she should come out and fight.

They're started to look at me strangely. Why don't you come help us? they ask. When I shake my head, they simply nod and turn away. But I can see in their eyes, they wonder about me.

I wonder about them.

No one knew of her tears at night; no one knew that she was being torn up inside. She was fighting a war of her own; not between the "good side" and the "bad side", but between the forces that told her, they're your family. They have raised you, loved you, and those that said, but they pretend what they're doing is right. They think what they're doing is right.

She didn't know what to do, anymore. So she retreated to her room, stayed there and thought, faced her demons.

But they weren't really demons.

Sometimes even my mother, I can see that she wants them all to die, Voldemort, the Death Eaters, everyone. Because they interfere with her morals. Everyone, even Tonks, does, I can see it.

And I hide from those faces, those high morals. And in my room, isolated from them, I can't help but think: Voldemort, at least, doesn't pretend that what he's doing is right, like them. The Order and the Death Eaters are only the opposite sides of the same coin. In the end, one will rise above. But they're really the same thing.

I don't know who to believe in anymore.

Come out, Ginny, come fight, her brother said at her door. She looked at it, and blinked back more tears. No, Ron, I'm tired, she said.

You're always tired, he said.

It's the war, she said back. All the people dying.

I know, he said. But we'll take care of them.

There was a pause. Then she said, I'll come out in a while.

Alright, he answered.

She listened to his footsteps as he left. Then she stood up. She had to do something, she couldn't bear it anymore.

The sun still shines, the stars still shine. The moon is still out there. I'm not the same, but everything else is.

She opened her window, felt a cool breeze on her wet face.

She climbed out, climbed down. It was darkening outside, and they wouldn't see her leave. She wished she could say goodbye.

She didn't have the courage.

She had left a note; all it said was, don't worry. They need never know where she was going. She knew they would try to stop her; they couldn't understand what they were doing. Maybe now the constant heartache would stop, and she could live her life.

She couldn't hide anymore. She couldn't hide.

~*~*~

Now they wonder where they went wrong with me, what they did to make me what I am now. What happened? they wonder.

Let them wonder. I've had enough pain; now they can have their own.

She often pondered what their faces had looked like when they had first heard the name; what they had said; who they had thought it was. Whether they had even considered her.

But she had more things to do; no longer was she idle, face-to-face with inner devils, battling within herself. She was at peace now. She had found something to believe in.

I am Ginny Weasley. I am Lady Voldemort.