Something was wrong. Terribly wrong, Ginny corrected.
She was still inside the Great hall, but she didn’t feel like calling it the Great hall anymore. Green spells were rocketing around, Greyback was mauling someone underneath the tapestry, House banners were torn from side to side, glass was shattered all over the floor, dead bodies fell limp every corner she dared to look. Fight to kill, she remembered Rodolphus’s orders.
Something? Everything is wrong.
Except that now there was a new development. Above her, she could hear a frantic sort of ticking. She could feel that ticking inside her. No time, it told her. She knew what clock that could be. Disoriented, with a giddy feeling in the the pit of her stomach telling her she probably knew why and how, she slowly got up.
Some instinct told her to stay on the floor. Ginny Weasley is dead, girl. Avada Kedavra hit her.
That was Ginny.
If you get up now, you’ll give away the secret you kept for six years.
There is no secret to keep now.
She was painfully aware of the blood pounding furiously in her veins at the thought of revealing, at last, but she got up nevertheless, summoning the wand to her hand with ease. Flinching, she realised how much had changed. Using wandless magic to summon a wand. She felt that power flow, that sudden, deliberate, release. Casually. She smirked. Free to be different. At last. She knew one person who was unhappy to be different, though.
He lived fifty years ago.
She would tell him how wrong he was.
She looked down at the redhead lying down her, the once-fiery eyes glazed over, frozen. Every part of her body was screaming no at her.
You are risking your own life now. You have only one left.
At that the other voice quieted. A fury took over her, so intense, so free, so energetic she felt almost scared of it.
Someone here was risking seven. Or less, she didn’t know.
She felt that freedom reach its peak, as all the thoughts she had shielded from the dead girl ever since she was eleven bubbled up to the surface. Even the other voice agreed. The scarred one, the dead girl’s brother, the bushy haired one, they all knew. She wondered why their names caught up in her throat. Why had the fools been keeping it away from her? She could have helped them instead of simply drinking that Felix Felicis and dodging green curses she knew she would never be able to send back to their users in the presence of the other girl.
She flicked the curse away carelessly. Technically, the ability should have sickened her to death. She knew it was impossible to deflect an unforgivable unless she meant it more than the user himself, who in this case was Antonin Dolohov, staring at her with shock.
“You!” He spat. “I killed you! Surely they don’t have another redhead in the family….”
The green spell hit him square on the chest. He looked at its conjurer in shock.
“Yes, we can use it, too.” snapped the girl tiredly. And as he toppled over, darkness closing in around his eyes, she turned on her heels and ran.
She had so much to retrieve.