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After
By Senator of Sorcery

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Category: Alternate Universe, Asylum Challenge (2013-3), Asylum Challenge (2013-3)
Characters:Albus Dumbledore, All, Draco Malfoy, Harry/Ginny, Hermione Granger, Lily Potter, Luna Lovegood, Minerva McGonagall, Other, Ron Weasley
Genres: Action/Adventure, Angst, Drama, Romance
Warnings: Dark Fiction, Death, Disturbing Imagery, Violence
Story is Complete
Rating: PG-13
Reviews: 105
Summary: *** Winner of Best Overall, Best Drama and the People’s Choice Award in the Asylum Challenge ***
*Nominated for 2014 April/May and November/December DSTA for Best Romance and Best Drama* *Nominated for 2016 January/February DSTA for Best Drama and Best Completed*

Ginny's plans for the weekend were just perfect: a day out in Hogsmeade with her girlfriends. Spend the morning window shopping and wishing, then lunch at the Three Broomsticks, and then to the local theater for a production of the Scottish Play (Macbeth).


Unfortunately, the bad luck of the Scottish Play strikes before it even starts. The village is invaded by Death Eaters, Dementors, and a man she had hoped to never see again in her life.


And in the middle of the battle, Ginny sees something she'd never thought she'd see. Voldemort and one of her greatest friends dueling; Harry Potter and Voldemort fighting so fiercely, she lost focus on her own battle. Harry Potter, crying out, falling, and hitting the ground. Dead.

And then, someone she never expected to help her saves her from Voldemort’s wrath.
Hitcount: Story Total: 167869; Chapter Total: 5545







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Chapter Five

Fidelis Anima


I stared open mouthed at Dumbledore. He took my silence as a plea for explanation.

“If, when, we bring back Harry, we will also bring back the part of his match’s soul, yes?”

“If you say so,” I mumbled.

“And if we bring back a part of soul that isn’t his, then it is logical to assume that we will bring forth an alien soul.”

“What? As in, things from outer space?”

“No, alien as in foreign. Because Harry’s soul, and the part of soul that belongs to his match aren’t the only bit of soul in him.”

I blinked at him. Dumbledore sighed.

“When Lord Voldemort traveled to Godric’s Hollow to kill Harry, he had the intention of creating another Horcrux. I think that he already had five at this point, and was intending to make a sixth by killing Harry and his parents. You see, the way to make a Horcrux is to kill another person. By killing, the ultimate act of evil, the soul convulses, and tears. There is a spell to rip a part of soul from your body, and contain it inside something else. A diary for example. Or,” Dumbledore held up his right hand, showing the blackened fingers and dead skin. On his middle finger was a ring, made of gold and clumsily set with a black stone, “a ring.”

I shuddered. “You-Know-Who turned that into a Horcrux? And you’re wearing it?”

Dumbledore looked at it, then smiled at me. “I have destroyed the bit of soul that was in it, and this artifact was already magical and mystical before Voldemort defiled it.”

“What was it then?”

“That is a lesson for later, my dear,” he said. I scowled. “As I was saying, Voldemort intended to create another Horcrux after killing Harry. As we know, he did not succeed in murdering our friend. But he did manage to kill James and Lily Potter, and countless others. So when Voldemort went to kill Harry, his soul was damaged and fractured beyond repair. When the Killing Curse rebounded upon Lord Voldemort, a piece of soul severed completely from him, and latched on to the first living, breathing thing it could find. As Voldemort was neither dead nor alive, but in state of limbo, similar to what Harry is in, that bit of soul detached from him and clung to Harry. When Voldemort succeed finally in killing Harry yesterday, the bit of soul belonging to Voldemort went with Harry and his match’s soul to the Waiting Realm. And it is there, now, waiting for the rest of Voldemort to join it.”

I finally closed my open mouth, and drew my legs up to my chest. The idea that both Harry and I had been exposed to Voldemort, but that he had a piece of him inside him, while I had just been controlled and possessed, horrified me.

“Ginevra,” Dumbledore said softly. “I know that you are desperate to bring him back, but I fear that if you do, the piece of Voldemort that was connected to him will return as well. It has been in him so long, that it is a part of him. You know of the excursions into Voldemort’s mind Harry took in his sleep last year?”

I nodded.

“Voldemort and Harry have a link through the piece of soul that is in him, and they have the ability to see into one another’s mind. I assume that his match will have that ability as well, but the link between Voldemort and Harry is dangerous, dark and disturbing. Harry has been having nightmares that aren’t nightmares, that are real, and if we bring him back, the link between his soul and Voldemort will only aid in bringing along the piece of soul that is Voldemort’s.”

I blinked again. The words seemed to take a long time in reaching me. Voldemort and Harry can see into each other’s mind… His match probably can too… If we bring back Harry, we risk bringing back bit of Voldemort… “I assume that his match will have that ability as well…” His match can see into his mind?

“When you say ‘see into each other’s minds,’” I said, choosing my words carefully, “do you mean that they can read each other’s minds?”

“No, just sense emotions, see snippets of what the other is seeing, hear the strongest thoughts, things like that.”

I nodded. “And you think we shouldn’t bring back Harry?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“But to bring back Harry, we have to use the bit of his soul that’s in his match. And to bring back his match’s soul, we have to use the soul that’s in her. So we have four parts of two wholes, and there’s a part of Voldemort that you think will piggy-back onto Harry’s soul to get out of the Waiting Realm?”

“Yes.”

“The way Malfoy explained it to me, we have to use the part of Harry’s soul that’s in his match to pull the rest of him out of the Waiting Realm, and use her soul to pull the bit that was in Harry. But we can’t pull on Voldemort’s soul because we haven’t got a sample to pull with.”

“But because Harry and Voldemort have been connected for so long, their minds are linked for now and forever. There is nothing I or you can do to break that link. The only way to is to kill Voldemort.”

“I still don’t understand, why can’t we just pull Harry’s soul, and his match’s soul, and leave Voldemort’s?”

“Because Harry’s soul has mixed with Voldemort’s! Souls are like a liquid, mixed in a glass or bowl, not pieces stuck together with glue.”

“If that’s how it worked, then we wouldn’t need to pull on the bit of his match that’s in him!”

Dumbledore clenched his jaw. I could guess that he was frustrated with me. Then, his brow furrowed, and his face took on a perplexed expression.

“Perhaps you are right, Miss Weasley,” he said. “Perhaps you are wrong. I will think this over, and discuss it with the other Headmaster’s, and with Lucius Malfoy. If you are incorrect, as I suspect, then Harry will have to stay in the Waiting Realm. If you are correct, then we will go ahead as planned.”

I nodded again. I seem to be doing a lot of nodding today.

“Is there anything else?” I asked.

“No, you may leave,” he sighed. “Thank you for seeing me. And about the two Voldemort’s you saw,” he smiled grimly, “I will find an explanation.”

I couldn’t think of anything to say, so I nodded. Again. I stood, and turned to go. Then, I remembered what Tom had said to me, about my being his equal…

“Professor, when I first saw Tom, I thought he was a hallucination, because I was surrounded by Dementors; he was talking to me, about how we could ‘rid the world of the unworthy,’ or something like that. And he said that he wanted me to be his queen, and that I was his equal, and something about the others being jealous of me, and afraid of me, of my potential. I don’t understand that: isn’t Tom the kind of person who thinks everyone below him?”

Dumbledore touched the tips of his fingers together, an expression of puzzlement on his face.

“What you say is true, Lord Voldemort trusts no one, and thinks of no one as equal. Probably what he was trying to do is trick you, to charm you into changing sides. Why, I cannot be sure… unless…” he trailed off, his eyes locked on mine, the intensity of his gaze so strong, I looked away.

“Unless what?”

“Perhaps… but no… then again, it could be…”

“What?”

Dumbledore stood, and lowered the tip of his wand to touch the surface of the silvery memories, when the door behind us opened, and Alasdair entered.

“Professor, Lucius Malfoy asks that you and Miss Weasley come to Gryffindor tower, to see the last stages of the potion being completed.”

“And we shall respond to our summons,” Dumbledore said, standing. “We will continue this later. Come.”

I scrambled to my feet, and followed Dumbledore to the door. Alasdair inclined his head as we passed, and shut the door behind us. We traveled from Dumbledore’s office to Gryffindor tower quickly, no one passed us, no one slowed us down. Alasdair went with us, and as we walked, I found myself studying him. He held his head high and proud, his handsome features sliding in and out of the light of the torches. His hair was a dark brown, falling in waves over his forehead, reaching down to his collar. His eyes were the color of the noon sky, like Dumbledore’s. Now that I looked, there were subtle similarities between Dumbledore and Alasdair. Their eyes for one. Their jaws were the same, and their cheekbones situated just so.

“Professor,” I said, moving closer to my teacher. “Professor, are you and him related?”

“Alasdair is my nephew,” Dumbledore said.

“Nephew?”

“My brother’s son,” he turned to me with an understanding smile. “He takes after his father in looks mostly, but he is more like his mother. Quite like young Mr. Potter.”

I glanced back at Alasdair, and his eyes flicked to mine. I looked away, to my feet.

“Most young girl’s are smitten with him when they first meet him, but you do not appear to be affected.”

I looked up at Dumbledore, my cheeks warming to match my hair. Dumbledore smiled again.

I kept my eyes determinedly fixed on the ground until we reached Gryffindor tower. The Fat Lady swung open without hesitation as we approached, and Dumbledore led the way into the common room. Draco sat slouching in one of the armchairs before the fire. I felt hatred boil up inside at the sight of him sitting in the very chair Harry would occupy every night. Draco looked up lazily at us.

“He’s upstairs,” he drawled. “With his mad potion. You’d better get up there before he goes ahead without you.”

Dumbledore mounted the stairs to the boys’ dormitories, and Alasdair followed him. I lingered in the common room glaring at the back of Malfoy’s head. He glanced around to me, and drew his lips back in a sneer.

“Better go, little weaselette, your precious dead Potter awaits you.”

I turned away, squeezing my eyes shut as I climbed the stairs. I pushed open the door to the dormitory, and stepped inside. Dumbledore and Malfoy stood over by the window, talking in hushed tones. Alasdair stood by Neville’s bed, looking down at the body. My eyes wandered without permission to land on Harry’s face. Pale, twisted, horrified; my heart tore in two at the sight. My feet carried me unbidden to the bedside. Alasdair glanced up at my approach, and stepped aside. My hand reached out, and, shaking, brushed a strand of hair away from his brow. His skin was ice cold. I jerked my hand back, and stepped away, to the center of the room.

“Ah, yes, Miss Weasley,” Malfoy said. “Come here, are you ready for the completion of the potion?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“No guessing. Either you know or you don’t.”

“Right,” I muttered. My dark mood of this morning had returned. Malfoy frowned at me.

“Come,” he repeated.

I stepped forward, and Malfoy extended the book to me. I took it with a frown.

“Don’t you need this?”

“No, Wesley, you must perform the spell.”

“Why me?”

“The instructions are that Harry himself must perform the spell, but as Potter is, well, dead, you are the best substitute.”

“Okay,” I said slowly, ignoring the blunt reminder that my best friend was dead. “Right, spell…” I opened the book, and found that a ribbon marked a page. I looked up, Malfoy nodded with an encouraging smile. I flicked through the pages until I reached the marked page. I frowned.

“Malfoy, this is all in a different language.”

“French, yes.”

“I don’t speak French!”

“That does not matter, as you sing the spell, the words will change on the page. I do not know what languages they will form, but I am sure that it will eventually become English. Not only that, but by the time it changes to English, the words will describe Potter’s match. Then, an image will form in the steam of the caldron, and form her name.”

“Sing? I have to sing it? I don’t sing either!”

“My dear, I am sure you have a lovely voice,” Dumbledore said.

“Just sing it, Weasley!”

I let out my breath in a shuddering gasp. I focus my eyes on the page, and a melody enters my head. More modern than I expected, with a slow beat, but with the cords of a guitar. Piano played along with it, and before I knew it, the words on the page were pouring from my mouth.

“Qui êtes-vous qui sourit si doucement à moi dans mes rêves?“ Then, the structure of the words changed, right before my eyes, to form Spanish. “¿Quién eres tú que ríe en la noche? Oigo tu voz, oler su perfume.” Again it changed, to what I thought was Irish. “Ach féach mé tú. A thabhairt dom do íomhá. Taispeáin dom do aghaidh.” Then it changed again, to something that I guessed to be Latin. “Sentio ardens hoc desidérium. Libidinosa ignis.” After that, it returned to Irish. “Cé go bhfuil tú go whispers de prophecies thab?”

“Beautiful! Keep going!”

I smiled faintly, and looked back to the page. The Irish words had changed, and now were English. The melody vanished, and now my words came out without the melody. I sighed, and plunged on. “Who are you that speaks of destiny? Bring me your image, show me your face? I take on the power of the moon, its glistening silver, I cast out my soul to find you. More than my own life, I wish to find you. Oh, silver coin of the sky, lend me your strength! I seek one whose lips are sweet and dripping with honey. I seek one’s whose hair is red as blood and rich as the Goblin Hordes. I seek one who’s manner is kind and fiery. Show me her. Caldron bubble, toil and trouble. Smoke curl and twist, Her name will show the name of she whom my heart longs for,
She who completes my soul. Show me. Now.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* ~*~*~*~*


I hear words, but they are garbled, forever shifting and changing. First I think I hear a girl’s voice, and then it is the voice of an old man, then a voice sharp and cold as the crashing waves of the ocean. They speak a language that I do not understand. Once it sounded of hisses and snarls, but then they it sounded like birds singing in the sunset. A sweet melody fills my head, and the figure draped in red and golden light danced to it. I want to reach out to her, to touch her, but she dances away every time I try. A beast in my chest, a beast of desire, raises its head and roars in anger. I try harder; she dances farther. I cannot grasp her. She laughs at me, and beckons to me.

‘Don’t give up.’ Her voice is soft, and melodic in my mind. I stretch out my arm, stretching it farther than ever. And I feel her, her skin on mine. Her hand grasps mine, and she smiles, the golden light growing brighter. I cannot see her face, but I know she’s smiling a smile so sweet, that I want to kiss it. I reach out to touch her face, and she jerks away. I fall to my knees, she starts to cry, and she’s gone, dancing her dance farther away than before. I don’t remember how, but I know this girl. I don’t’ remember why, but I care for this girl. Her running from me angers me, and it confuses me.

‘Come back,’ I want to scream, but the words are lost on my lips, my tongue refuses to obey. She’s gone, I cannot reach her. My body is weak; I cannot stand. I hang my head in shame. Her cries increase, and they pull me to my feet. I chase after her, and she runs. I cannot catch her; she’s too quick. I try to run as fast as she, but she hides from me. I sink to my knees once more, and let out a scream of frustration. It reverberates throughout the white expanse, and I see a glimmer of red light. I reach out to it, and it fades away. She’s hiding from me, why, I do not know.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *~*


I looked in startled amazement as steam poured off the surface of the potion, twisting and curling in mid-air. The strands of smoke gathered in one place, and formed a single word.

“Is it…?” I started, my eyes fixed on the name.

“It is!” Malfoy said triumphantly. “I was right!”

“I-I don’t understand!” I cried. “Why?”

“Did you not expect this?” Malfoy asked. “I knew it from the start.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I cried, flinging the book aside, and waving my hand through the smoke to dissipate the word.

“I thought you knew as well,” he said.

“Well, I didn’t,” I said, my breath heavy. I felt something warm and wet slide down my cheek. “This wasn’t supposed to happen… It was supposed to be someone else…”

“Ginevra,” Dumbledore said quietly, “it’s all right. You-“

“No!” I said. “I thought it would be someone else, anybody else! Not- not…”

“What’s wrong with it?” Alasdair called from the back of the room. “Don’t like her?”

“No, it’s not that…” I trailed off, my words catching in my throat.

“Oh, I see,” Alasdair said, coming up behind me. “You weren’t expecting this. You were caught off guard.”

“Yeah,” I said. I brushed aside tears, then pushed past Alasdair, and ran from the room. I ran to the common room, where Draco called out “What’s the matter, weaselette? It wasn’t you?”

I ignored him, and ran on, out of the common room, slamming the Fat Lady’s portrait closed behind me. I ran from Gryffindor tower down the corridors, down the stairs, until I had nowhere to go. I had run to the basement, and now stood before the fruit painting that guarded the kitchen. I reached out and tickled the pear, the painting swung forward, and I stepped inside. The House Elves were just finished the process of cleaning the kitchens. One approached me, and bowed low.

“How may Lemon help you, miss?”

“Uh, just bring me some hot chocolate,” I said, not really thinking about it. Lemon bowed again, and bustled off to fetch me a mug of hot chocolate. I wandered through the sea of elves, to the fireplace in the very back. Flames crackled in the hearth, dancing and leaping like ballet dancers. I sat before the hearth, and pulled my knees to my chest. Lemon stepped forward, and handed me a mug. I whispered my thanks, and sipped from it. It was delicious, the perfect mix of chocolate and sugar, with a hint of spice. Cinnamon.

I stared into the flames, wishing to forget the whole night. The whole week. Why couldn’t it just be a dream? Could I fall asleep here, and wake up the next morning and the Hogsmeade weekend not have happened? Have Harry still here with me, and my nightmares gone?

The flames dance morphed, from merry leaping to mellow twists and turns. It matched my mood. I squeezed my eyes shut, and wished that it would all just go away.

I opened them, and the flames danced in my eyes. The smoke unfurling from the fire curled in the air, and for a moment, I saw the name in the smoke. But then I blinked, and it was gone.

“Why? Why did it have to be that name?” I whispered. “Why not someone else, I know he fancied Cho. Why not her?”

The words dripped from my lips like honey, unbidden, as the spell had said.

“Why me?”
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