Behind Emerald Eyes

Hey. There was some confusion with the prophecy. I apologize. It made sense to me, but that may have been because I was the one who wrote it. I'll try to clear it up in this chapter, if not, I'll explain it in detail at the end for those who I didn't write back to and explain it to them. Sorry, and read on!

Also, this chapter dedicated to Tylewin who was the 300^th reviewer!

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Chapter 30 -

The Second Son of Prophecy

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The sun was just breaking over the top of the mountains, casting the landscape in a gentle wash of rose light that lay reflected on the crystal waters of the Great Lake. A crisp, cool breeze rustled through the grass and the branches of the tall oak. It blew ripples along the surface of the water; they ran together before breaking apart then finally disappearing, leaving the surface of the lake blank. The morning had taken a long time to come this day, forcing the birds to hold their calls until the first light scattered across the land. Their melodious tunes now carried on the wind, promising better times and happy thoughts. But no amount of singing would stop the heartache of the man sitting in the shade of the oak tree.

Red light, broken by the tree's boughs, lay in scattered fragments about his sullen body. It was held stiffly and erect, as if even a small amount of ease would make it all come tumbling down. His face, spotted with scarlet light, stared forward. Dark hair hung lankly about his head, each strand drooping as if weighed dragged down by an intense weight. A mouth was set in a straight line, the lip corners tilted downwards in an expressionless streak. His brow was lightly creased, set in a faint line that drew darkness to his eyes. His gaze was set on some indiscernible spot above the waters of the lake, his emerald eyes dull, reflecting the crimson light of the sun.

His thoughts were not on the newly created morning, or the soft tune that rang around him from the birds. Nor were they on the rippling surface of the Great Lake, or the majestic castle sitting atop the hill behind him. His thoughts, so numerous and jumbled in his mind, were on one thing - one person. No, he thought with a sickening jolt of his stomach. Two people.

It had been ten days since Ginny was taken. Ten days since Harry discovered the lock for his key. And ten days since he realized that he was to be a father. A father. He was going to have a son.

The words of the prophecy rang through his mind, fluttering like a ribbon caught in the wind. It was connected to his first prophecy, speaking of the 'one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord'. He said that the 'one' would have a son, to a woman who was the 'last and only in a line of fire'. That was Ginny; she was the last child and the only girl in the Weasley family. And they each had orange hair that glittered in the light as if it was aflame.

It all made sense.

He would have a son who was the heir to Godric Gryffindor, or to the 'mighty lion'. Was it merely coincidence that Harry was the one to pull Gryffindor's Sword from the sorting hat when he was only twelve years old? And was it only coincidence that he would use that sword to defeat the Dark Lord for the last time? He did not think so. It was all too closely related. It was all connected.

Like Ginny being kidnapped when she was pregnant with the Boy-Who-Lived's son and heir of Godric Gryffindor. Was it that she was kidnapped because she was pregnant? Or was that another coincidence?

Besides, if she was pregnant, who would know? Harry sure hadn't. Then who else could have found out that he would be a father before him? How could the new Dark Lord have found out? Were his spies that numerous and out-reaching that Ginny herself would tell them of her secret? It was all too confusing and painful. Ginny and their unborn son were gone, taken by a mysterious Dark Lord, who didn't even have a name.

No one even knew if she was still alive.

Harry blinked away a tear that had been building in the corner of his eye. It dribbled down his cheek, picking up the rosy light before dropping soundlessly to his clothed chest. It was all too much. They had no leads, no clues, as to where the Dark Lord's hideout was. A Death Eater meeting had not been called since the incident, and neither Snape nor Malfoy knew where the meetings were actually taken place. They said when the Dark Lord called he would redirect their apparation to his own specified destination. That way, he could not be betrayed by one of his own servants.

There had been nothing as to where Ginny had gone. That was one of the reasons Harry was out here now, on the grounds of his old school, just as the sun was rising. He needed someplace to think, where his mind wouldn't be distracted by others. And this was the place and time he had chosen. Hogwarts had always evoked strong emotions inside him, whether it was the magical air around the great castle, or the many times he had called it home. He just felt safer here, even though so much had happened on these grounds, he could think clearer about things no one else could understand.

This was the place he could be closer to Ginny, even though she was so far away.

. . . - - - . . .

Sounds and images rushed through her mind. Broken fragments of light - white, green, red - they blinded her. She gasped in pain, turned to her side, and coughed up blood onto the harsh cold stone of her cell. Time was lost in this place - this hard, merciless place - there was no way of knowing how long it had been since she had been brought here to wait out the dark moments of life when she was left alone. How she wished she could be left alone.

They would come for her, every night, to eat with the Dark Lord. He would invite her to dinner, to dine on delicious roast meals that wafted streams of moist air into her face. They smelt of rotting flesh and she would eat nothing. She would eat nothing until he came for her. She knew he would. He always did.

Each night she was taken to the upper levels of this house, where grand staircases sat in near ruin and the floors and walls were covered in green vine. She would be taken into a large room with a high, cracked ceiling that smelt of dust and dirt. She would be seated at a long, scratched wooden table, beside the head seat, which was reserved for the Dark Lord. Then he would come - carrying a sharp angular face with dark hair and eyes like ice, he would tell her stories about when he was younger. The stories were filled with death, isolation and pain.

It was on the fifth night that she discovered who he was and what he wanted.

But now, she was left in her small room at the bottom of the old house. It had no carpet and no floorboards. She was left to sit on the cold, bare stone, where moss and weeds were sprouting up from the earth. A metal door was her guard, standing tall and erect, with a slot at the bottom where water was inserted. All she had for warmth were the clothes she had been wearing in the hospital that day, and a thin musty blanket that was full of holes. That sat, discarded, in the corner.

She would use nothing they gave her.

She sighed painfully, leaning against the far war. Her body was so sore from the many Cruciatus Curses that had been placed on it each time she spoke out of turn, or spoke ill of the 'master'. Her clothes were torn and bloody, with her exposed flesh scratched and smeared with grime and blood. Her hair hung in tangled curls around her head, untamed like the vines climbing the walls. Through the thin material of her shirt, she rubbed the small mound on her stomach, wondering, wishing - hoping - that the child was still alive.

It had been a little over three months since she had discovered her pregnancy. Her morning sickness had been late, coming at the same time that her father had fallen ill. It was by some luck of the stars that she was able to tell everyone that she had gotten the same sickness as her father. None suspected otherwise. She felt incredibly bad for not telling Harry. He would want to know that he would be a father, but she wasn't sure if a child would be welcome in a world once again torn by war. She knew everyone would want her to have the baby, knowing it would be a spot of light in a grey washed time. But, she hadn't wanted to tell anyone lest something happened.

Something like this.

She had known that there was another Dark Lord out there who was intent on taking Harry down. And he would do anything to make sure that he had the Boy-Who-Lived where he wanted him. With Ginny being pregnant, if she had told anyone and word got out that the great Harry Potter would soon he a father, it would mean that the news would be taken to the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord. She would be targeted.

It wasn't her own life she had been worried about; it was the child growing in her womb. And it was Harry. She knew that if she was taken, Harry would do anything - anything - to get her back. He would even give up his own life for hers, and that was a sacrifice she wasn't going to let him make. He would come; it was only a matter of time. It wasn't like Harry to give up. Never give up, he had told her years ago, even if the world is falling, never give up. Never.

And she wouldn't. She wouldn't let them break her. She wouldn't bow down to the monsters that terrorized innocent people. She wouldn't let them destroy the one perfect thing that she and Harry had created: their child. She wished upon the brightest stars in the universe, upon all the heroes who died in the first and second wars, she wished that their baby was okay.

It had only been four short months; soon it would be five, since she and Harry had made love. Made life.

Her hand rested on her stomach, her fingers scratched and bleeding, and the other hand soon joined it. She could hear her heartbeat in her chest, and she suddenly found herself short of breath. "I will save you, don't worry my little one. Daddy will be here soon," her voice was hoarse from screaming, but it still carried through the stone room on gentle wisps of air.

"How sweet, the muggle lover thinks her knight in shining armour will come to the rescue!" a disdainful voice sneered. Ginny's head snapped up and her eyes narrowed at the wasted woman standing in the doorway. Her once handsome face was gaunt and scarred, with clothes hanging off a skeletal frame. Dark hair was tied at the back of her head, the roots stained grey. Bellatrix Lestrange wore a savage expression on her haunted face.

"What do you want, hag?" Ginny spat, standing even though pain shot through her body at the sudden movement. Bellatrix laughed a laugh that lacked real amusement.

"Ahh, still got fire, but that will soon be gone, just like the little mudblood in your womb," she said mockingly, laughing when Ginny's face dropped and a hand landed on her stomach. Ginny swallowed the fear rising in her body and glared at the retched woman.

"What do you want?" she asked again, louder this time. And for good measure, she added, "bitch." The hollow laughter stopped, leaving the stone room thick with anxious silence. The two women stared at one another, both their eyes spilling with anger and scorn. Finally, Lestrange's eyes flashed and a sinister smile turned at the corner of her lips.

"What I want and what my master wants are two completely different things," she said slowly, taking a step forward. Ginny fought the temptation to back up against the wall. Instead, she straightened her back, ignoring the pain that accompanied it.

"And what do you want?" Ginny hissed as Bellatrix stalked forward.

"I want you, Potter and your foul child dead. I want all your friends dead, all your family dead, I want anyone who has ever spoken to you dead. Now." Lestrange said, stopping a mere inch from Ginny's face. Putrid air billowed from the Death Eaters parted lips, drifting across Ginny's nose; she swallowed the vomit making its way up her throat.

"How is that different from what your master wants?"

A dark look appeared in Lestrange's eyes. "My master wants Potter to suffer like he suffered. He wants him to watch you and your disgusting unborn offspring die a painful death. He wants Potter to be tortured endlessly, but not to insanity, because he still wants him to be with it enough to watch and understand why all the people he has ever known and loved, die before his eyes." Ginny felt anger rise in her throat, and it was only because of the mound on her stomach that she kept it under control.

"And why don't you want that?"

"Oh, I do, so much. But you have no idea how much little Harry irritates me. All I wish to see is Potter floating ass up in a pool of belladonna." Bellatrix grinned savagely, and before she could act, Ginny was pinned against the hard wall of her cell, with something sharp poking into her abdomen. Bellatrix was still a mere inch from her face, her fathomless eyes like two pools of onyx, spiralling down to oblivion. Ginny gasped as the poke in her stomach sharpened, and a tear dropped from her eye.

"Please -" she gasped, "- don't."

"But I so want to," Lestrange said softy, and the poke got harder. Ginny felt it pierce her skin and she let out a strangled sob. "Don't cry, weasel girl, your baby will survive this day. But that's not what I can say for when your hero gets here. Goodbye for now." With that, the pain left her middle, and Bellatrix stepped back. A silver dagger sparkled in her hand as she walked backwards towards the exit, smiling all the way. When the metal door grinded shut, and she was sure Bellatrix wasn't coming back, Ginny slid down the wall in a fit of silent tears.

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"Has there been any news?" asked a sullen Ron, his once shining face shrouded in sorrow and almost complete failure. The room was full of murmuring Order Members, all their faces delicately masked with half-shadow; if they weren't, hopelessness would be common on all. Harry sat in a corner, just listening, watching, as every few seconds, a pair of uncertain eyes would glance his way.

They all had given up, he could tell. They all thought it was pointless to keep looking, that Ginny was dead and there was nothing they could do. Only the younger Weasley boys, Harry, and Hermione were still carrying the small piece of hope that she was still alive. Each said that they would know if she was gone. They would feel something leave them inside, like a light flicking off.

And that light was still shining bright in each of them, and they knew that she was still alive.

Harry could see Luna sitting on a far cupboard, her blue eyes shining in a thoughtful way as she gazed unwavering at him as he sat in the shadows. She smiled faintly - Harry didn't have the energy to smile back. He didn't have the will. Fred and George were arguing with Bill at the other side of the room; their identical faces were shining in identical expressions of rage, as their older brother merely shook his head resignedly, his head bowed. Molly was absent, more than likely at the bedside of her husband, who was still hospitalized in St Mungo's. Charlie had left barely an hour ago, everything getting too much for the man. Tonks and Remus were talking out of ear shot half-way down the table, their eyes glancing at Harry every few seconds, as if making sure he was still there.

He was still there, but not for long. He didn't understand how they all could just give up when Ginny was still out there. They were just half-heartedly making plans now, their voices giving away how they really felt. Minerva McGonagall wouldn't stop crying; every word she spoke was broken by a sob. Mundungus Fletcher had drowned himself in a goblet of red, steaming liquid, and he was now passed out on the table, on top of his barely-started search plans.

Neville Longbottom was sitting on the stairs leading up to the floor above, his fingers gently touching his chin, as he stared blankly at the cracked stone floor. He was another who did not believe Ginny was dead. He said he somehow knew she was still alive, that he could sense that she was out there somewhere, hurt, but alive. Harry was touched by his semi-comforting words, but they lacked the support he needed.

It was too much. It had been so long since Ginny had been taken, and he knew that in any normal sense she would be dead, but for some reason, he knew she was alive. He put a hand inside his jacket, pulling it back out with a crinkled piece of paper in it. He straightened it out and gazed at the smiling faces of his friends and family, and at the burnt hole where his head once was. He turned the photograph over and stared at the black curly writing with a creased brow.

...

Potter,

Guess who I have? Find her if you can.

...

Find her if you can.

Who would say those words if they were just going to kill the person anyway? It was as if this new Dark Lord wanted Harry to look for her. It was as if he was daring him to go looking for her. But why? Did he want Harry that badly that he kidnapped Ginny to use as bait?

Well it's working, Harry thought grimly. I will find Ginny, and when I do, I will kill whoever took her.

"Are you okay, Harry?" Hermione asked softly as she slipped into a seat at his side. He looked over at her pale, drawn face, and he let his head drop.

"I wish I could say yes, but how could I when Ginny is out there somewhere," he fought the urge to say, out there somewhere with our child, but he didn't think it would go down too well. He felt Hermione take his hand, so he squeezed it.

"We will find her, Harry; we won't stop looking until we do." Her words, spoken to comfort, only fuelled the anger that resided in his heart. He looked up furiously, glaring around at the heroes he thought were the bravest, the strongest, there ever was. All he saw were a bunch of resigned people, having given up when nothing had gone right. He didn't understand why they weren't doing more to search for his girlfriend - his love.

"Why?" he said softly, looking to Hermione, even though he didn't think she would have known what he meant. But, by some miracle of Merlin, she did.

"They're scared and confused," she admitted sadly. "They still remember the second war, how so many people were taken by the Death Eaters. Parties were sent out to get them back, and only a few returned. That was how it was done back then. Someone was kidnapped; others went searching for them, only to be caught in a trap and be killed. That's what they think is happening now; so do I." she said the last part so softly that Harry thought he had mistaken her.

"What?" he said with an open mouth.

"I think the Dark Lord took Ginny so you would go looking for her. He wants you dead, Harry, and I wouldn't put it past him to make a trail of dead bodies just so you would follow them to him," Hermione said seriously. Harry was too exhausted and too miserable to tell her that he disagreed, instead, he nodded gloomily.

"I figured that out a while ago," he said softly, passing her the crinkled photograph. She took it soundlessly with a shaking hand, and the two sat in uncomfortable silence while others talked uselessly around them.

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Disclaimer - I do not own Harry Potter and never will.

Hey.

Another chapter gone. It was going to be longer but I thought that ending was alright. The next one will have some more Ginny-perspective, Harry-perspective, maybe Snape-perspective, or even Malfoy-Perspective. I'm not sure yet. I'll think of it when I get there.

Thanks to those that reviewed and please continue to do so!