The Invisible

Chapter 2: The Past Pt. II - Through the Heart of One

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"Miss Weasley, I thank you for giving me this unique opportunity."

Ginevra Weasley smiled at the journalist that sat before her. Rita Skeeter had aged in the past decade. Her curled blonde hair was now streaked with white. That, coupled with her haphazard hair styling, made a very poor first impression on others. If Ginny didn't know better, Rita could have easily passed off as a madwoman.

But the times hadn't been very kind to her either. She could still remember the carefree days back in Hogwarts, how she missed the times where the only things that she worried about were schoolwork and her lack of a boyfriend. The world moved on though, and she had to move along with it. There was little choice in that matter.

Everyone said that Father Time had been good to her. She put on a couple of pounds as she grew older. Her chest filled out, her hips widened, and some of her freckles had faded. But her tell-tale mane of crimson hair remained, and everyone told her that she had a youthful beauty. She always nodded her head and thanked them for their kind praise, but she knew they were only being nice. Everyone knew what her family had been through. The Weasley family had lost much, and the losses still hurt.

Still, she had to live on no matter how hard it was. "I'm sorry, but my room is rather small. The family is out, so I hope you don't mind doing this in the kitchen."

"Of course not, Miss Weasley." While aged, Rita Skeeter's journalistic skills had never left her. Ginny tried to keep smiling as she watched the journalist cast a critical eye over the furnishings. The Burrow had never looked as good as it did now. With all the children done with Hogwarts and making a solid living, her family was now pretty well off, and the new furnishings were testimony to that.

But she knew that a large portion of the new-found wealth was from well-wishers and those who claimed that they were forever in debt to a particular Weasley. She swallowed, and forced back the bitter memory. Now was not the time. "Well, Miss Skeeter? Where do you want me to start?"

"Oh, please. Call me Rita."

Ginny smiled. "Then please call me Ginny."

The older woman's smile sparkled. "Very well, Ginny. Once again, I have to extend the Prophet's gratitude. When we heard of your appointment, we knew that we had to be the first to break the good news, and what better way than an exclusive interview?"

"Of course." She remembered the days where she was terrified of reporters and the like. Those days when everyone hounded her and her family, asking many painful questions, questions that she did not dare ask herself. But time moved on, and with her new job, she had to at least speak to a newspaper sooner or later. She decided that now would be as good a time as any. Hopefully, Skeeter would cooperate.

"For the record, you've just been announced as Hogwarts new Professor of Muggle Studies. At such a young age, you're joining an excellent institution with a rather impressive pedigree of teaching staff. How does it feel to return to your alma mater so quickly?"

"Wonderful, just wonderful. After graduation, many of my friends told me that they would never want to step foot into Hogwarts ever again," she chuckled, "but imparting knowledge is a sacred duty, and one that I have always enjoyed doing. Now, I'll just get paid for it."

"Indeed, we all know why you've been selected to teach the rather difficult field of Muggle Studies, why with your parentage and all, but what are your feelings about the Ministry's increased emphasis on understanding Muggles, and why do you think the Ministry is headed that way?"

"Tough question," she paused. It was a tough question. As of late the Ministry of Magic had been making it extremely obvious that wizarding-kind can no longer ignore Muggles or treat Muggles as an interesting distraction. Her father had just been made Minister of the newly created department of Muggle Surveillance. She had recently been to the department. It was amazingly huge, with desks, cubicles, and masses and masses of Muggle artifacts. His office was no longer a dinky hole in the wall. Now, it was an office fit for a Minister. A desk, couches, and a lovely view from the window were just some of niceties that her father now enjoyed. "I believe you should ask my father about this one."

"Ah, but I asked you." Rita gave her an inquisitive look. "We all know what your father says; that's his job, but as someone who is going to be teaching kids about Muggles, I believe that your own opinion counts more."

"You may not like the answers."

"Please," the woman laughed it off, "give me your best shot."

Ginny let out a sigh. She was going to see this through. "The Ministry is correct in taking action to address something that we have neglected for far too long."

"The Muggles?"

She nodded. "We have long operated under the impression that the Muggles have no knowledge of us, and that, as far as we can tell is true. But such thought breeds contempt."

"Ah, so you're speaking of the Death Eaters."

Yes, the Death Eaters. She had fought them tooth and nail years ago, but the memories were still fresh, fresh as though she had just finished yet another battle yesterday. "Yes. We cannot afford to make the mistakes that we just finished correcting." But they haven't finished correcting the mistakes. The Death Eaters were still out there. Everyone knew, but everyone wanted to forget.

"But surely we know everything there is about the Muggles. You've been taught everything about Muggles during your time in Hogwarts, the same lessons that I've been through, and a thousand others had been through."

"That's the problem. We study the Muggles as though they were part of history;,a book that will never change, but we live among them. They are as much alive as we are, and therefore, they should evolve as much as we have."

"Are you suggesting that what we learn about Muggles is outdated?" A strange gleam lit up Rita's gaze.

"I am not suggesting anything, because I don't really know. As a Professor in Hogwarts, I will make full use of the resources at my disposal to try to understand Muggles as much as possible."

"A bold gesture. Now I see why Headmaster Dumbledore chose you as the new Professor. Now, if you will, I'd like to focus a bit on your past. After all, it's the past that makes us the people that we are, and I am sure that Headmaster Dumbledore chose you partly because of your legendary adventures."

"I hardly see myself as a legend." She tried to calm herself down. She had to face this. She had to recognize that her past was never going to be changed, no matter how unhappy it was. Avoiding it forever was folly. Her future students would be bound to ask, and she couldn't ignore their questions forever.

"But everyone else does."

That was the problem. Everyone wanted to hear about her battles with the Death Eaters. Everyone wanted to know what it was like to hold back an army of trolls for hours on end while waiting desperately for reinforcements to arrive. Everyone wanted to know what a massive wizard's duel in the tomb of an ancient Dark Wizard felt like. Everyone wanted to know how the she made it out of the fiery inferno that consumed the Dark Lord, Voldemort, and his hardcore cadre of Death Eaters. Everyone wanted her to spin a hero's tale, but no one wanted to know about the tragedy of war. "I..." she began.

"Just tell me to stop if you feel uncomfortable. I understand."

"You do?"

"Please, Ginevra." Suddenly, Skeeter looked a hundred years older. "I know that I gained a certain reputation when I was younger, but even journalists are not left untouched by wars. I lost much, and I do know what it means to feel loss. I have the utmost respect for those who fought, even though I didn't."

Ginny nodded reluctantly. Knowing that she could back out did make her feel slightly better, but you never knew when it came to Rita Skeeter.

"If I recall correctly, your final assault on the Dark Lord's fortress was clad in such secrecy that even Minister Fudge knew nothing about it. Tell me about those last few days of the war."

"I'm pretty sure that what I'm going to say has already been said by others a dozen times over." At least she didn't ask about anything too personal. "But I think you still want to hear it."

Skeeter smiled her encouragement.

"As you know, we spent quite a lot of effort in repulsing the troll invasion. As it turns out, a core contingent of Death Eaters was leading the rather mindless troll horde, and in one of our assaults, we managed to breach their defenses and strike their main encampment."

"You used dragons pretty effectively."

"That was mostly Charlie's work, but yes, the dragon clans did lend us quite a lot of aid during that campaign. As I was saying, our rapid assault did catch the enemy by surprise, and we managed to surround the Death Eaters in their own headquarters before they managed to fight their way out."

"Those were the Goyles and the Parkinsons," Rita Skeeter added.

"I think so. I was part of the vanguard, and participated in the would-be blockade. Dumbledore wanted them to give up, but in usual Death Eater fashion, they preferred to fight it out. We took some casualties but in the end, none of the Death Eaters survived." She shook her head in an attempt to cast away the images of the fiery battle. "I'm not sure whether it was overconfidence or stupidity, but the Death Eaters never did manage to destroy all their parchments. From there, we managed to locate the underground lair of Voldemort."

"Tell us about that great battle."

"It wasn't a great battle." Ginny shuddered. What should she say? How should she say it? She remembered that awful night. Two or three dozen hooded figures, including her, shuffled through the darkness, wary of what a single misstep might bring. "It was a very costly battle. Many wizards wanted the war to end. They wanted to raid Voldemort's stronghold. It was insane, but everyone went along with it. We were all weary, and we wanted everything to end. Most of the forces were sacrificed in order to distract the defenses..."

"A ruse that worked."

"A distraction that was very costly," she countered. "A cost that we now have to bear forever."

The journalist gave a grim smile. "But you weren't part of that diversion."

"No, I was not." Why did they ever allow her to go along? She never knew the answer, but she did what she could. She had to.

"Many say that you were one of the best. Only the best could be given that responsibility."

That was what she told herself every night. It never got any easier. Could she have done more? She remembered the constant fighting that they went through. Every single nightmarish abomination that the Dark Wizards could think of was thrown at them, Muggles under the Imperius curse, Ghouls, Gargoyles, and many more monsters. They fought; some fell, but still they fought.

"Tell me about that final battle, the battle that saved us all."

"What is there to tell?" She whispered. So few of them made it through the dark hallways, past the deadly traps, and away from the never-ending hordes of vicious enemies. Then they still had to face the greatest evil that ever walked the Earth. Many were wounded, as she was. She remembered the look of concern on her brother's face as she struggled with several wounds to her arms and legs, but she willed herself to go on. "It sounds incredibly clichéd, but we managed to fight ourselves into the last room of that dungeon. He was there along with his minions. He talked about how we were all fools for challenging his power and about how we were all going to suffer and die. Dumbledore gave him one final chance, and then the fighting started."

"No one has ever heard about your part in the fight."

"I didn't do much. I had been injured pretty badly and could only lend minimal support to those who took on the small army of Death Eaters that sprung from the shadows." The memories never got any lighter. The massive battle in the pit of darkness still raged within her mind. She remembered curses being flung around. She remembered Dumbledore as he single handedly held off half a dozen or so Death Eaters. The other members of the Order fought hard. Remus, "Mad-Eye", and her brothers were all there, battling away, and she was also there trying her best to cast spells even though her body wailed against her.

"The Dark Lord was defeated thanks to your efforts." The Dark Lord was defeated, but not because of her, because of Harry, poor Harry. She remembered the three of them rushing up together to confront Voldemort as they did every time they faced any trials. The Dark Lord laughed and called them children, and they fought. She watched their battle from a distance, wanting to aid them but knowing that she could do nothing.

"He was only just defeated." She pursed her eyes and forced herself not to cry. Ron was the first to fall, nailed by the Cruciatus curse while he attempted to shield Hermione. Hermione let fly a curse as she tried to drag Ron's shuddering body away from Voldemort. The Dark Lord gave a horrible laugh and managed to land several curses on her when her back was turned. Harry went into a mad rage, a rage that culminated in him casting what seemed like an improbably powerful spell. Even Dumbledore was shocked when he saw what was transpiring. And then, the end came, a massive explosion afterwards. All that was left of Voldemort and the three friends who went together was a wall of fire.

"I can see that you're not enjoying this." Skeeter gave her a concerned look as she pocketed her parchment and quill. "I'm sure that this will be enough."

Ginny smiled thankfully, rose, and walked the reporter to the door. "Once again, thank you so much," Rita Skeeter said as she stepped outside. "Your family has given too much to us. We are all really sorry about what happened to your brother. I wish you the best of luck in your new job."

She felt a sob stick in her throat. She nodded her goodbyes and quietly closed the door. Everyone was sorry about what happened to Ron, but they never really knew the truth. No one would know what it was like to see her brother lying comatose on a bed for so many months. The mediwitches, bless their souls, never gave up on him. They all said that he was too young to go, and that they would never forgive themselves if they gave up on a hero.

But the family had almost thrown in the towel. Even in his writhing state, he had seen Voldemort put Hermione down. He must have seen Harry in his sacrificial duel with the Dark Lord. Ron surely did see his best friends die in front of him. Ginny never had bosom friends the way Ron had Harry and Hermione.

She remembered the day that Ron finally opened his eyes. She also remembered the day that he managed to climb out of bed and take a few steps. Everyone was overjoyed. Ron had finally returned to them. But that joy was short-lived, for the Ronald Weasley that stood before them was not the Ronald Weasley that they all knew and loved.

Who could blame him? He was but a young man, barley into his teens when he was thrust into a war that would shake the earths, and, in the cruelest twist of fate, he had to witness what was surely the death of his two greatest friends, yet be spared the same end. The first few days spent with him after his recovery were full of happiness and joy. Ginny remembered the massive meals that her mother cooked and the parties that the twins threw. However, all that excessive laughter had to die down someday, and when it did, it became evident that Ronald Weasley had changed far more than anyone expected.

The only thing he ever talked about was revenge, revenge, for Harry and Hermione and revenge for the other comrades who lost their lives fighting the Dark Lord. Everyone knew about the immense trauma that he went through, but everyone thought that the love of the Weasley family would turn him away from this self-destructive behavior. But alas, the loyal, courageous Ronald Weasley of old was gone. She still remembered the day when he announced to their parents and everyone else, with that strange mix of sadness and fury in his eyes, that he was going to become an Auror so that he could slaughter the Death Eaters that had not paid the ultimate price for their sins. She remembered everyone telling him that he had given enough, but he was adamant. Harry and Hermione would never forgive him if he shied away this time, he argued. But would Harry and Hermione ever accept his lust for vengeance?

The point was moot. Ronald Weasley threw himself at his work. Ginny barley saw him at all after he graduated and became a full-fledged Auror. Sometimes, he would come home for a day. His eyes still burning with anger, he told tales of hunting down anything, anybody that bore a trace of Voldemort's touch. Ginny was frightened, but she dared not say anything. Her brother was fighting for everyone, or so they were told.

The months passed and he won award after award for exemplary service, service in the British Isles and service on the Continent itself. Ronald Weasley was everywhere except at the Burrow. She could see the sadness on her parents' faces, but they could do nothing. Nothing would convince their son that his fury was misplaced. After all, they did not see what he saw.

It was like that until the end when Alastor Moody, the Chief Auror himself, came to the Burrow to tell everyone that Ronald Weasley had been slain on a mission on the Continent. The sorrow was immense. She wept herself to sleep everyday for a month after hearing the news, and she knew her mother barely slept at all during the same period. There was no body, just news that Ron was gone. He was gone in spirit after the war ended, and now, in pursuing his quest for vengeance, he was finally gone in body.

Ginny let out a sob, but the tears did not come.

She had cried her eyes dry countless times. She had cried for Harry, the boy who sacrificed his life to save everything. She had cried for Hermione, the girl who stood and fought beside her friends to the end. She had cried for Ron, a mere boy who lived through what was surely hell. And she cried for herself, knowing that no matter how much she had tried, she would never be able to empathize with the suffering that wracked her brother.

A hundred lifetimes worth of horror, agony and grief weighed down upon her, but she had not even seen her twenty-fifth winter. It seemed like forever, but only two years had passed since the news of Ron's death had come to their doorstep.

She knew the date.

It was now July, in the year 2006.

But the ache was still fresh.

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