Cold Embrace

I trudge up the stairs single-mindedly. There is one sole purpose to my seeking, to my questioning, to my trudging.

To be with her.

That's all I've had my mind on for a long time. Ginny.With an afterthought of "I love her."

I love Ginny. My Ginny.We love each other.

And that's all that I can think about.

Before, she idolized me. Harry Potter, the hero. The Boy-Who-Lived. The teenager who'd seen Voldemort's ugly pus far too many times for him own good. Now, she's the lofty goal. I follow her around, I worship every strand of her fiery hair, I'm struck speechless when she shows that she cares about me.

When she kisses me.When she murmurs my name. When she tells me, in all but words, that she's my Ginny. Mine to love, mine to cherish. Mine in every way that she can be possessed.

I drink in her flawless form as my lips travel across her body, and I pause only to look into her eyes - bright, beautiful brown eyes - and I tell her, in all but words, that she's in good hands.

And I will never let her slip away.

So here I am, trudging to be with her. Trudging up the stairs to the girls' dormitories, rushing to the appropriate door. I pause only to knock.

Ron answers, and his eyes - usually alight with a warming fire - are cold and dark. What once was the bright, cheerful blue of the sunny-day sky has faded into the cloudy gleam of sapphires.

Instead of smiling, as I normally do when I see my best friend, I shiver.

He stares at me with those haunting eyes. "Harry," he says blankly.

I don't want to meet those eyes. I don't want to quail beneath their chilling touch.

And I don't want to reply to his words, so unusually devoid of emotion. That might lead to me knowing what terrible thing has made my best friend this way, and frankly, I'm afraid of what it could be.

Because I can't even conceive of it.

Instead, I remain silent, and look beyond him. A single red rose lies on the floor, crushed, like my dream of finding happiness in this room. Yet, I still find what I was looking for.

She stands alone beyond him, eyes bloodshot from shed tears. Her hair spills about her face, pouring like liquid hot magma over her features - burning her.

No wonder she cries. I rush to her side, and brush the hair back gently from her cheeks. She raises her lowered head to meet my gaze.

Her eyes - those bright, beautiful brown eyes - are completely gone.

The eyes I look into are not hers. The eyes I look into now might as well be hollow sockets, for how empty and unreadable they are.

And the eyes I look into slip away, to look at Ron.

"We have to kill him," she says bluntly. The razor-edge of her voice catches me off-guard, and stabs me in the back.

I remind myself, this isn't my Ginny. I saw her eyes, and they're not the eyes of my Ginny. She's been changed. She's under the Imperius Curse.

She doesn't want to kill me. Not my Ginny. Not my real Ginny.

"I can't," Ron replies. His voice is empty. Defeated. That's because it's the voice of the fake Ron, who has just been overpowered by the real Ron, who would never betray me.

Fake Ginny pauses, and I know the real Ginny is in there somewhere, struggling to be free. "You do have a choice," she says, as if making a realization. Fake Ginny knows that real Ron's giving his Imperius the slip. This does not bode well....

"You can kill him," she continues, giving as much thought to my referral as I do to Divination, "or you can kill me."

What? No! Ginny's not the one who started this Imperius thing, killing her might release Ron - but it won't achieve a thing! And if Ron kills her, he's as good as gone -

- of course, fake Ginny knows all these things, I tell myself. She's just trying to trick real Ron into making a mistake.

I keep my cool. I can't risk breaking real Ron's concentration; it's hard enough to break the Imperiuscurse without having to think about something else and have your best friend talking to you at the same time.

"Ginny," he answers quietly, "you know I can't make that choice."

Yes! Good on you, real Ron!

But fake Ginny draws her wand, and Ron and I go stiff in anticipation. Best not to make any sudden movements when someone's got their wand drawn and looks as deadly as Ginny does under Imperius.

Then again, Ginny, being a Weasley, looks plenty menacing without any curses, if she should be so inspired.

"I'm sorry, Ron," she says, and Ron looks likes he's realized something from her tone of voice. He tenses. "But the decision has to be made."

Her wand is pointed at me, and adrenaline spurs me into motion, at the same time Ron springs and Ginny utters the fateful words.

"Avada Kedavra," she says, and I remind myself that it's not real Ginny, it's fake Ginny. To comfort myself, I just pretend it's the voice of someone else. I don't even associate it with her at all.

It's easier that way.

Easier to watch him fall in front of me, limp and lifeless.

Easier to watch my best friend die by the hands of my lover.

Ginny's back now. Real Ginny - my Ginny. I can't tell by her eyes, which are brimming with tears, but I think the fact that she's doubled over in sobs after her brother's death clinches that it's her. I rush to her side once more, and try to put my arms around her.

She pushes me away. She won't even look at me. I remember the presence of the knife in my back, but remind myself what's just happened.

"Ginny," I plead, "it'snot your fault. It wasn't you."

She laughs. High, shrill, and hysterically, she laughs, tears burning furrows down her face as she does.

"Of course it's not. It's yours, of course. How many have to die, famous Harry Potter? Special, wonderful, world-saving Harry Potter? How many have to die, for you to survive?"

The knife twists. I grab her by the shoulders and shake her.

"This isn't happening!" I cry. "This isn't your fault, this isn't mine, and everything is going to be all right! Everything!"

She stares at me, and I get a good look into her eyes.

They're as hollow as empty sockets.

"No," she says coolly, removing my hands from her shoulders with a deft touch, though my skin scorches hers.

"No," she repeats, and she ignores my trembling and my tears, and the way my skin burns hers like fire. "Nothing is going to be all right."