Find Him

CHAPTER THREE: GIVE AND TAKE

It was unbearable not knowing. How could she be expected to just sit here in this room, hoping against hope that Harry would turn up alive? How could he have been so ignorant to just leave on his own, unexpected and without a single word of warning to his friends? He had left everyone in the dark with his actions. He had been stupid and selfish.

But she couldn't hate him. She looked across at Ron and Hermione and saw the pain and fear in their faces. She could note the betrayal in their eyes; a look probably reflected in her own. Harry had betrayed them. They had all sworn to stick together, to always be by each others' side. Words had not been needed for such a declaration; they all knew. Harry had broken that unspoken vow, but she couldn't hate him for it.

She turned to Neville. He gave her a warm smile. Neville was strong. Neville had faith. He believed in Harry. She had seen it for over two years now: Neville looked up to Harry. Even now, in the midst of his disappearance, Neville had complete trust in his friend. She couldn't help but smile back.

"You do know why he did it, don't you?"

She nodded weakly. It was obvious why Harry had left without a word: to keep them safe. Stupid boy. He had gone because he was the only one who could finish it, the only one who could destroy Riddle once and for all. Stupid, selfless, wonderful young man.

"He'll do it Ginny. He'll pull through." Neville spoke firmly. "He doesn't know how to fail." She looked deeply into his eyes. There wasn't a hint of a lie, not the merest shade of disbelief. It warmed her in a way the roaring fire they had Required couldn't. Neville was right. Harry would not lose.

She rested her head on the back of the chair and closed her eyes. She could feel a snug comfortable feeling springing up from the very centre of her being. She thought at first that Neville and his kind words were the cause, but she was mistaken. It was a feeling she had ignored for too long, a knowledge buried deep. It began to flow freely in her veins, forcing past the dam she had built to hold it back. It was Harry.

She looked wildly around her. The other four - Ron, Hermione, Neville and Luna - they had the same expression on their faces, of confusion and awe. They felt it too. Yet, for her it was all-consuming. Harry was calling out to them, but to her the strongest. The bond they had sprang to life, a bond they had unknowingly shared ever since he had saved her life. She could feel it; it had opened its wings and was flying within her.

She gasped loudly and the others turned their attention to her. She felt powerful, wonderful. A purity she had never felt was pouring through her. She knew what was happening. Harry was taking something from her, from all of them. She looked over to her brother. Yes, there was something in his eyes, something transparent. She could see the strong bond of friendship. It was the same in all of them, but for her it was different. The purity was overwhelming. She looked at her hands - they were glowing. Her skin was prickling with magic. It was all too much, but it was joyous. Whatever it was, she knew it wasn't dangerous - it felt right. It felt good.

Everything clicked. Harry had told them the words of the Prophecy several months ago. This was it; this was the power the Dark Lord knows not. Harry was using it now. He was taking it from them. No, he was asking them for it. She opened herself up to him. She saw Ron rise from his chair - he was looking at her in wonderment. She could tell she was suffused in an extraordinary white glow, but all her energy was in giving herself over to Harry. Whatever he needed he could take. The purity within her burst forth anew. She could feel him. He was in the room. He was all around her, taking from her, drawing out the power he needed from all five of them, but from her most of all. Ginny smiled at her brother, and collapsed.

It had been mid-evening when the Mark had burnt. He hated the powerlessness of it. He hated the prison that the Mark created. But he had made his choice. He had to live it.

He tried to stand tall. He wanted so much to not be afraid. He wanted to feel powerful, to be something he had never been, something he never would be. But he couldn't. Not at school. Not with his friends. Not here kneeling at Terror himself.

The Dark Lord looked happy. More than happy even. His master was delirious with pleasure, and it was truly frightening. The mania. The insanity. The power. It made him shake in fear.

Why couldn't he be strong? Why couldn't he be confident or brave? He was none of these things. Yet, he had been placed in Gryffindor. Why? Was it some sick joke of the Sorting Hat? Had it found none of the qualities that suited any of the houses? He wasn't smart. He wasn't loyal. He wasn't cunning. Why Gryffindor? Why the house of the brave and true when all he did in the presence of the Dark Lord was feel an incalculable level of horror and unfathomable fear?

He tried to shake himself free of such thoughts. Looking around, it was clear one was missing. The red eyes pierced the souls of all, one by one. He could feel the dread welling up inside of him. Someone was about to suffer greatly. He prayed it wouldn't be him. Yet, there was also some sick, sadistic glimmer in him, some hope that Malfoy would appear soon. The arrogant bastard was late, which meant he would feel his master's wrath.

He got his wish. Malfoy arrived. Only he landed face first on the ground, his long blonde hair splayed about him. There was an intake of breath from everyone. Malfoy was magically bound, unable to move. He looked dead, but the man's moan of pain at having hit the hard ground could plainly be heard.

In disbelief, he looked to the Dark Lord. Even Terror himself looked shocked, stunned. But, while everyone else remained motionless, speechless behind their masks, his master had his wand out and was moving forward.

"Accio!"

A single word that cut through the tension, that shook in the silence. His master was pulled through the air to a point just before Malfoy's prone body, and promptly disappeared.

No one moved for a second. Then: uproar. Their master had vanished. Confusion swept through his fellow Death Eaters. Some of the senior ones began to bark out orders, but he didn't move. He stared at the spot where the Dark Lord had disappeared. He had been taken - that much was obvious - but by whom? Who was daring enough to take on the most powerful wizard in the world? Who was foolishly brave enough to take on you-know-who alone?

He racked his brain, singled out the solitary word, the single command. It came to him. He recognised the voice behind the summoning charm. It had been the boy. Prongs' son.

Harry Potter. The boy-who-lived had been here. Ridiculous. Impossible.

Undeniable.

He was afraid now. If Potter could get at his master, what could stop him from coming after him, avenging the betrayal? What was going to happen now? Would the boy defeat the Dark Lord? Could Harry overcome what he himself had never been able to?

After several minutes of complete chaos in the chamber - Death Eaters running around in bewilderment - he began to sense something. It was in the pit of his stomach. He sat slowly down on the ground and concentrated. What was it? It was beginning to swell, spreading unbidden. Then he knew. How, he didn't know, but he recognised it for what it was. He welcomed it. He began to grow light-headed; this drug flowing through him was making him dizzy, but he didn't care.

One of the Death Eaters kicked him. Faintly, he could hear some kind of command, but it was muffled and besides, it didn't matter. He didn't have to take their orders anymore. He wasn't weak. He wasn't feeble any longer. There was a power within him now. He looked up into the eyes above him, smiled, and keeled over.

He wasn't afraid anymore.

Over fields and hills; over lakes and rivers; through wind and through rain. There were no obstacles to her; nothing was going to stop her. She could feel the connection that bound them together. His magic was strong, so unbelievably intense, and she was attuned perfectly to it. She knew where he was, like an invisible straight thread that stretched for mile upon mile to the south. It wouldn't take long.

It had been a strange couple of days. Then again, strange things seemed to be ever attracted to her master. Accepting it was part and parcel of being his companion. He was strange himself, different than anyone else, unique. He was a part of her, had been ever since the giant man had handed her over. Always she had felt his presence, like a second heart beating in her chest. It was strong now, potent and deep, but not so long ago it had vanished from her for an infinitesimal moment. Then it had returned fiercer than ever before, even more so than earlier on that day when his magic had been so prevalent and tangible her feathers had ruffled. She knew he was stronger than anyone else of his kind, but never had she felt so close to him as she did then.

She had been bouncing around the rafters for hours, trying to calm her nerves, attempting to distance her agitation from the inordinate power coursing through him, pulsing down the thread that bound her to him. She would never admit it, but she had acted like that little fur ball the redhead friend owned, zooming around excitedly, unable to pause or catch her breath. Eventually, when the excitement just would not go away, she had decided to head out into the daytime breeze and spend her seemingly limitless energy hunting. She could feel it intensify as she had caught prey after prey; his power grew and grew.

But then, as the great light had begun to set, she had felt the presence of him suddenly begin to fade with it. She had become afraid for him as the light fell below the horizon, his essence lessening and lessening to a level it had never reached before. With the darkness came fear; hunting was impossible knowing she was struggling to sense the beating of his magic within her. She had flown back to her perch amongst her fellow owls and had tried to focus upon him. She had closed her eyes and reached out for him like she never had before.

For the briefest of moments he had disappeared completely from her, leaving her bereft and despairing. But her worries had faded instantly when he returned in full force. It had been different this time though - even stronger! She knew it should have been impossible for one of her kind to be so connected to him, to feel a power beyond reckoning, but it was there nonetheless. Immobile on her perch, the sense of him had saturated her entire being, and all she could do was absorb his magic and to relish in the feeling that even if he wasn't safe, he soon would be. He wasn't giving in, he was fighting against Death and he was winning, taking power from all around, from the earth and from the air; he was taking strength from her. She gave willingly.

Flying south now, she knew her master never lost, never gave up hope. She would not fail him now. When the old, dying man had crept into the room as the great light had began to return, she knew what he was there for. He was obviously afraid, but she had comforted him. There was no need to be afraid. Not anymore.

Past forests and towns she flew, confident that he was getting closer and closer. There was no need for rest or food; she took her strength from him now. He needed her. She could sense his struggle - determined and unwavering against the blackness. She had to be there to help him pull through. She soared on through the air, as fast she could go. There was no stopping her now.

The great light had returned fully now, but she ignored the heat that came with it. There was only him in her mind. The invisible thread that showed the way pulled her along. Yes, he was close now. He was there, over the hill ahead. There was no time to pause in her flight when he was so near. She swooped low to gain some speed, feeling the strain of the wind on her wings; faster and faster she went. Even though she could feel him she had to see him. She worried for him and until she laid her eyes on him she would not be satisfied.