Who: Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, and Harry Potter When: July 11, 2002; 3am Where: Venice, Italy Rating: TBA, at least R for graphic violence. Status: Threaded / Incomplete Summary: The Lord Of The Snakes strikes again as Ginny tries to put Hermione and Ron six-feet under. Again. Bad Voldemort!
Ginny was the type of person who had dreams often. Dreams that she could remember long after she had awoken for the day. During her enslavement to the Lestrange's she often woke up confused as memories of her old life would come to the forefront playing like a movie reel that never truly made sense. Of course there were dreams when she was herself, dreams of quidditch, broomclosets, and a green eyed Gryffindor out to save the world. Good dreams, she thought, dreams of what life had been and if the sodding world ever ended; what it could be.
But, of course, there were others. The nightmares of the Chamber, of her encounters with Voldemort or others that served his reign. She had gotten used to them, although it was still far to often that they got the better of her and had her waking up in a cold sweat or with a scream trapped in her throat. As Harry was a perpetual light sleeper he was commonly awake with her being instrumental in calming her down and reassuring her that they were indeed only dreams.
However Ginny had never woken from a nightmare and not been herself, but her dream had not been a normal dream. Like most other nights she had tucked herself against Harry's chest and drifted off to sleep with the sound of his breathing and heartbeat in her ear, lingering fear of what might happen tomorrow the only true worry she had. The dream had been vague, crumpled bodies of red hair and curly brown littering the floor. Streaks of blood, and the high pitched laughter that would forever make her blood run cold even once Harry had put Voldemort into silence. Doubting that fact was not a possibility she entertained.
To anyone that might have been watching the scene, the stiffness of Ginny's small body and the unnatural movements would have been enough to suspect a problem. To suspect that perhaps Ginny wasn't indeed Ginny. Harry slept on as she crept out of bed, the slight glint of red evident in her eyes as she passed a wall mirror. Ginny Weasley had once again lost the control of her own body. It was that fact that left it so tempting to simply summon Harry's wand and do away with him, it was always tempting with him so close at hand. But the desire to watch him die, or to even beg for it was still an idea he entertained. With great reluctance the small frame moved along with silent steps, easing through the door and into a silent hallway.
It would be ironic that the same knife from the earlier failure would be used to finish the job in the dead of night when there were no wands to prevent him from slitting two throats. It was sharp, large enough to preform quickly; neatly and even as the hand holding it began to tremble in a small effort of protest a mane of fiery red hair crept on towards Hermione's room.