Chapter 11: A Plaything of the Mind

The fury did not leave Robards' eyes, but he merely nodded at Salamander to proceed. The younger wizard flashed a smile that, aided by his boyish good looks, was meant to disarm her, but there was a cunning in his blue eyes that Ginny knew was not to be underestimated.

"Ginny Weasley, I believe we've met. Forgive us our precautions, but we'll have to check you over first. Standard procedure these days. I hope you'll understand."

She nodded at him impatiently. He and Savage drew their wands and proceeded to probe and prod at her, checking for magical disguises yet again. When that came up negative, Salamander procured a vial of what looked like purple sludge and made her swallow the sulfur-smelling, throat-burning concoction just to be sure. Even still, they pricked her for a droplet of blood and did a lineage test. A check for the Imperius Curse followed, and she had to bite her tongue to hold back a retort.

By the end of the examination, Salamander and Savage's eyes openly stared at her in disbelief. They'd probably been hung up on the conviction that someone else had cleverly masqueraded as her. Robards had ceased to glower but any further reaction was hidden behind an emotionless mask.

"Now will you give me a chance to explain?" she asked, fists clenching in irritation. At their mutual nods, she launched straight into a summary of her horrific night without a clue how it'd be received when she hardly believed it herself.

Her retelling began calmly, her wording succinct and clear, but part way in, it unexpectedly derailed. The memories seemed to fill up the cramped room, playing out before her eyes as if they had taken on a life of their own.

Silent screams and the crunch of her own bones. Visions of red, smearing walls and coating her hands. A cloying, metallic stench smothering her airways. Ginny's fingers dug into the rough wooden armrests to stop her trembling arms as sweat broke across her brow and slid frostily down her cheek. She choked on her words, half-afraid she'd hurl them back up with the rest of her stomach's contents.

She knew this feeling, knew it as well as one could recall the precise, ghastly details of a recurring nightmare.

Across the table, her interrogators stared back unblinkingly, eyes wide with incredulity even as brows furrowed at her abrupt silence.

"And then what happened?" prompted Salamander, his voice soothingly soft and encouraging, though hints of impatience leaked through. "The Muggle caught up to you and...?"

Words stuttered out of her mouth as if someone else was speaking. She felt oddly detached from her physical body, from her thoughts, even. Her words barely made sense to herself, and from the bewildered stares of her interrogators, they weren't doing much better. Somewhere in the jumble of her half-sentences, she heard herself mention losing control of her magic.

"I think he d-died." I killed him. Her voice of reason absurdly became Malfoy's, telling her over and over, You only did what you had to do. The Muggle would've killed her. Killed both of them. He pushed her to it. She wasn't to blame.

Another room. Another memory. A calming voice weaving through the sounds of sobbing. "There, there, sweetheart. You're going to be okay. It wasn't your fault."

Stop flipping out. But she couldn't stop, couldn't understand why it affected her so badly despite the situation having been out of her control. There were other memories at work that didn't bear thinking about.

Her mind struggled to push the troubling thoughts away as Healers had taught her to do in therapy sessions years ago. Take a deep breath. It's over now.

The remainder of her story slipped hastily from her lips, filling in the rest of the night with broad strokes. She instinctively held back on the little detail that Malfoy had received prior warning from his mother, speaking only vaguely of accompanying Malfoy to check on his parents first as they only had one wand between them. If Mrs. Malfoy had learned of the pending arrest and merely acted to protect her son, Ginny couldn't begrudge her for it. After sticking with her through their ordeal, she wasn't going to pay Malfoy back by dragging his mum into his potential mess—at least, not if Narcissa Malfoy had nothing to do with it. As it stood, Ginny didn't know enough to decide either way.

Even Robards looked thoroughly stunned by the end of her tale. That shock soon faded as his expression turned dark as a thundercloud. With time to finally mull over her own story, Ginny was hit by a sudden realization. Those Muggles. How much did they really know about the wizards they worked with? And what if...what if there were even more of them? She stared expectantly at the Aurors, thinking surely the thought must have occurred to them as well.

Salamander was first to speak. "If she's telling the truth then—"

"But how could this be?" Savage demanded. "There was only one Traced incident last night, and the wizard in question gave us an entirely different story." He spun to face Robards directly. "I can't believe this. If his story is invalidated, then our only hold on Malfoy and only lead in this entire Death Eater debacle is gone."

She sat up straighter, as much as her restraints allowed, her interest in the criminals' scheme to defend their Trace fiasco piqued.

"What did he tell you?" she asked.

"That's not for you to know," Robards said sternly.

"Fine, then. But whatever the story is, he's clearly lying." She raised both her eyebrows in what she hoped was a blatant expression of don't be stupid.

Robards scowled. "His memory checked out, and he was willing to go under Veritaserum if need be. So one of you must be lying, and rather elaborately at that."

"Well, who are you going to believe? A Weasley who fought on the Order's side in the war or an ex-criminal who'd have every reason to lie to you?" All traces of her earlier anxiety evaporated in the rising heat of her irritation. How ironic that she now found herself echoing Malfoy's earlier sentiments; if this was the best their law enforcement could do, then it was a wonder Wizarding England was still standing.

The thought set off a fresh flare of worry at the reminder of the blond. At least the Aurors hadn't been able to interrupt the healing he'd needed. Then again, if it had been that bad—

A door slamming snatched her attention back to the present. Her eyes widened in shock to match their sudden visitors. Spilling from the doorway into the room was the Minister of Magic—a bug-eyed Kingsley Shacklebolt—along with Harry, Ron, Hermione and both her parents.

"What is the meaning of this?" thundered Shacklebolt. At the same time, the rest cried out, "Ginny!" and rushed to her side.

Pandemonium erupted. A livid Robards shouted at Harry—something about suspension and cowardly abusing his hero status. She didn't catch much more with her mum awkwardly attempting to squash her into a hug while she was still firmly secured to the chair.

"Ginny, oh, Ginny. We thought you had—" the rest of her mum's words dissolved into tears.

Overwhelmed, Ginny tried to reassure her mum that she was all right, but she doubted she could be heard over all the simultaneous shouting in the room.

Through the din, her father was demanding her release. She barely recognized his voice, he sounded so livid. Meanwhile, the exchange between Harry and Robards was escalating with Shacklebolt interjecting in-between. Ron, in contrast, remained silent, his hand gripping her shoulder uncomfortably tight while Hermione hovered nearby, her rapid fire questions adding to the cacophony.

Some time past, and though the madness around her continued, her shackles retracted back into the chair. She leapt up immediately, relieved to be free, but instantly her mum pulled her into a nearly-suffocating hug, still crying and speaking frantically through her tears. "Oh thank Merlin. Harry said he saw you, but it couldn't have been you, and then—and then you were gone. He checked back home thinking someone must have just been impersonating you for Rowena knows why, but you were gone. Gone! When he came by and told us, I just about…how—how could you just run out like that, Ginny? For Merlin's sake you're of age. You ought to know better!"

"Mum! Mum, I'm fine." Though guilt weighed on her for causing her parents distress, Ginny prickled with an all too familiar irritation at being coddled and scolded like a child. Despite the terror she'd endured last night, she found herself drawing assurance from the fact that she'd made it through. Not entirely on her own, perhaps, but she'd certainly held her own with a strength her family and Harry didn't seem to believe her capable of. She found herself wishing fervently that they did. How much easier on her, on them, if that was the case. Maybe then they wouldn't go ballistic as soon as she was out of sight.

When her mum finally released her, it was her dad's turn. Mercifully, he didn't add to his wife's scolding but simply held Ginny tight with a single soft and breathless, "Oh, Gin-bug."

"I'm sorry I made you worry," she replied, sincere but unable to keep the frustration from leaking through, "but I'm fine, really."

She understood her parents' fear, yet she wished they could see that she couldn't live her life bound by that fear. Surely she wasn't that naive, helpless little eleven-year-old anymore.

Her dad let her go, making way for Harry. He stared at her, and she stared back. They were less than a foot apart, and yet she felt herself thrown back to when she was ten, watching his face as the Hogwarts Express carried him away, miles and miles growing between them by the minute. The room had fallen silent without her noticing, and a quick glance told her that the Aurors and Shacklebolt had taken their vehement discussions elsewhere. Her family had also quieted, glancing in confusion between the two of them.

Harry finally closed the gap, reaching out with slightly shaking fingers to touch her cheek.

"I really thought you had…" His voice was trembling too, and it tore at her insides to hear it. He cared, and he had worried about her—she knew that without a doubt. But then his eyes turned hard and his tone heated. Even before the accusations flew from his mouth, she was freshly reminded why she'd been so angry and hurt by him just a day ago.

"I heard the gist of what happened. You could have been killed, Ginny. Why didn't you listen? When are you going to stop being so stupidly stubborn and prideful? This isn't only about you. God, before you pull another stunt like that, would you please, for once, think about—"

"Like you're so great at listening yourself?" she snapped, pulling back from his touch.

"Ginny!" admonished her mum, undoubtedly shocked by her daughter's insolent tone.

"Harry," Hermione urged, "this is Ginny you're talking to. You mean well, but you're going about it the wrong way. And Ginny, Ginny you must know he's only acting out of concern for you."

"Of course I know, but that's no excuse," Ginny snapped.

She knew by the stubborn set of Harry's jaw that whatever he said next would only escalate their exchange into another row, but they were interrupted by an Auror bursting into the room. The dark-haired witch rushed at Ginny and handed her the white compact from Healer Clarke while speaking rapidly.

"You're wanted at St. Mungo's. The Healer said it's critical. I'm to escort you there immediately—Robarts' orders. We need Malfoy alive."

No.

The order rankled her, but there wasn't time for petty arguments. In her wandless state, Ginny couldn't just take off on her own either. This in mind, she wordlessly followed the Auror from the room with everyone else on her heels.

"Ginny, what is going on?" cried her mum from behind her.

Even closer came Harry's voice. An angry heat still underlying his words. "I don't trust this one bit. Bloody hell, it's Malfoy. What could they possibly need you for?"

She ignored them all and ran full-out behind the Auror through the unfamiliar stone corridors. The place might have been more of the Aurors' offsite base from earlier or maybe somewhere else entirely.

Behind her, she heard the drift of her dad's voice trying to calm her mum's increasing hysterics. Robards called out to Ron and Harry with thunderous threats of permanent expulsion. She didn't wait to see if they listened nor did she wait to explain anything further to her parents or even check if they were even keeping up with her. The moment the Auror told her they'd arrived in an Apparition Zone, which simply looked like a small office, she grasped the witch's hand without hesitation and let herself be Apparated away.

Everyone present in the ECZ, from the stationed Aurors to Edna and the regular hospital guards, started at the sight of her, eyes springing wide and white. Her Auror guide had barely begun to explain the situation when Ginny whipped right past and slid into the lift without so much as a greeting to anyone.

"Come on, come on, come on," she urged as if verbal encouragement could speed the lift's arrival. She wished she could contact Healer Clarke in the meantime but knew the compact she'd been given was only one-way. It was so relations of patients could be informed of any critical updates, not for people to be able to pester the Healers.

Her nerves were so tightly wrung she physically jumped when the lift at last dinged open for her floor. The run to the healing room reminded her too vividly of the desperate dashes of the night before. Except this time, she was alone.

The compact in her hand buzzed, and she flipped it open while running. Healer Clarke's voice could barely be heard over the blood pounding in her ears.

"Ginny? Are you there?"

She tilted the mirror, and his haggard face leapt into view. "Just got to your floor. I'll be there soon."

"Do you have any way of contacting the Malfoy family? We've tried the Floo, but it apparently has been blocked."

She didn't like his harried tone one bit. "I don't think they're at home, anyway. And no, I've no idea how else to reach them."

"It's down to you then. Hurry, I'll explain when you get here." With that, the Healer's face winked out in the mirror.

Ginny doubled her running efforts, barreling through two more corridors before spotting Healer Clarke exiting the Epsilon room. She approached him at a breathless shuffle, unable to pull anymore speed from her screaming muscles and burning lungs. The imminent crash from the earlier potion had begun to turn her limbs into lead weights.

Before she'd even gathered enough breath to speak, Healer Clarke took one glance at her and conjured a vial of electric blue liquid out of the air.

Trusting his judgment, Ginny downed the potion without question. The bitter concoction shot through her painfully like a series of simultaneous static shocks but left her nearly jittery with overflowing energy. She whistled softly in appreciation.

Healer Clarke nodded grimly in return. "Prescription strength, and you'll likely need it. Please come in."

On edge, Ginny followed the Healer through the glowing blue door.

The concentration of magic inside was so thick that the air felt nearly solid, like she was trying to breathe through the press of a blanket. The hum of energies vibrated through the space with a sound more felt than heard. She could smell it too—a sharp and metallic tang that prickled her nose and wouldn't let up. Everything else about the room only unsettled her further.

Floating glass globes above bathed the space in a bright but cold light that did nothing to dispel the ominous air permeating the obsidian tiled walls, whose darkly glittering surfaces were inlaid with numerous precious stones from quartz to agates and emeralds—all having been chosen for their various healing and magic-strengthening properties.

Such a setup hadn't come cheap, and it left her stunned. How could a Muggle weapon have necessitated all this? She'd never been in this particular room before but knew of its kind—a dedicated healing room that was among St. Mungo's newest and most expensive additions which had been made possible, ironically enough, by a substantial donation from the Malfoys a few years back. Though she doubted they'd ever thought back then that any of them would end up in such peril as to have need of the room.

Presently, she couldn't see Malfoy due to a navy curtain that spanned the room, leaving only a narrow strip of grey slate flooring on her side.

"I don't understand," she said, instinctively keeping her voice hushed. "Did Malfoy's magic react badly to the bullet? I've heard of magical allergic reactions, but—"

Healer Clarke shook his head. "There's not enough time, so I'll have to explain the specifics later. Now tell me, was anything done magically to treat his wound before you got here?"

She could feel the blood drain from her face, wondering if she'd made a fatal mistake. "N-nothing much. I gave him a Sedative Spell when he was in pain and a smaller grade anesthetic before that. I didn't trust myself to do more."

"Anything else? How often did you refresh the pain control?"

"Just the once. He was using Occlumency methods before that to control it."

The Healer blinked, eyes wide. Again he seemed to be muttering more to himself than to her. "Yes, yes, that might just have done it..."

She heard a rustle and turned to spot Healer Blackwell emerging from the curtains with her wand tucked behind her ear and looking more frazzled than ever.

The witch let out an aggravated breath but visibly brightened at the sight of Ginny. "Oh good, you're here. Any new insights, Clarke, or should we have her give it a try anyway?"

"It's extraordinary. Ginny tells me he was using Occlumency to block the pain."

"And that would mean...oh. You think—?"

"Exactly."

"So it won't entirely be a crapshoot then. Thank Merlin."

Ginny looked between the healers in frustrated confusion, but Healer Clarke didn't leave her in the dark for long.

His blue eyes focused on her once more. "We were stunned that your friend has lasted so long given how quickly the previous case went."

Previous? But of course it wasn't the time to have her million questions answered.

"It's an exceptional skill your friend has if indeed his Occlumency was enough to keep him alive. But if so, I suspect it may now be interfering with our efforts to heal him."

Healer Blackwell chimed in, "We've been throwing everything at it, but the enchantment is still spreading through him, however slowly. If the barriers he put up to block the bullet's effects are still being subconsciously maintained, then it might just be blocking our healing magic as well."

What? How...? Her mind was still reeling as Healer Blackwell continued, "Even before knowing about the Occlumency, we've been trying to reach through to your friend on the off-chance that having him awake might make a difference. Unfortunately, he's proven to be too far under. However, if the Occlumency theory holds, then we just need you to break through to his subconscious. That may just be enough."

She felt her eyebrows shoot up into her hairline. "Me? How can I do it if you can't?"

Healer Clarke proceeded to explain, "For the procedure in question, having familiar ties to the subject has often resulted in a much greater success rate. That's the theory behind it, at least. The procedure is still undergoing testing, but the results so far have been extraordinarily promising."

His optimism was hardly reassuring, particularly given how severely mistaken he was about her and Malfoy.

"We don't actually know each other that well. I barely knew him when we went to school together."

The Healer pinned her with a determined gaze. "Since we can't reach his family, you'll at least be a step above us."

"Surely there's someone else!"

"I'm open to suggestions, but they'll need to be able to come here within the hour." His eyes darted anxiously to the curtains. "The sooner, the better, before the enchantment spreads to more critical areas."

Her mind ran frantically through the possibilities. What family did he have beside his parents? She knew no other Malfoys, and on the Black line, even if Andromeda Tonks wasn't still estranged from the Malfoys, she was no longer in England; the memories had been too fresh and raw for her to stay. As for friends...Ginny combed through vague memories for the faces that hung out with Malfoy at Hogwarts, but that was before his family had turned against many of theirs. She knew many Slytherin students Harry's year had simply up and left, fleeing the now infamous legacies of their families.

"There's no one else," she breathed out, strangely floored by the realization.

In her mind, Malfoy had remained the Malfoy from Hogwarts all this time, popular among the Slytherins and aggravatingly self-assured of his high place in the order of things. Was he truly so isolated, so alone these days? A strange feeling swept through her. Whether it was pity or sympathy or something else altogether, she was neither keen nor had time to identify, so she quickly brushed it aside as another idea occurred to her. "Wait, I do know other people who have interacted with him more than I've ever had, though much of it wasn't friendly. Still, wouldn't they be a better option?"

"Not if the relationship was largely antagonistic. Not in our experience. I suppose this means you're his best bet at the moment. Of course, the decision is ultimately yours to make." He flicked his wand and a roll of parchment unfurled in front of her with an accompanying quill floating in midair. "Naturally, you'll have to sign the waiver form if you decide to go through with it."

"Despite it still being in testing, you really don't have to worry," Healer Blackwell assured. "The procedure is essentially a spell that allows your mind to connect to someone else's subconscious, similar to how a Legilimens can enter a conscious mind. As you can imagine, its capacity as a therapy tool is enormous, and we've only just begun to be explore the possibilities. The worse we've observed in terms of side-effects are temporary headaches and general exhaustion as it is a mentally and magically taxing effort if kept up for long."

Presenting it as a choice was laughable. As if she could just let Malfoy die now after all their brutal efforts just to survive the night. Like she could let anyone die if it was in her power to stop it. Never again.

With no better options springing to mind, Ginny signed without even bothering to read the form. They'd always exaggerated on these things anyway just to cover every possible complication that ever existed—from being stuck with dancing feet and burping up bubbles to bleeding orifices and death.

After the quill and parchment disappeared, the Healers cleaned her up and supplied her with several more potions for bolstering her energy and endurance before ushering her through the curtains. Once the apprentice Healers had stepped aside to make way, there he was in her line of sight.

They had him lying on his stomach on a white, altar-like slab of rune-covered marble, resembling a human sacrifice in the rituals of old. He'd been stripped bare except for a grey pair of hospital-issued trousers. His head was turned to one side, his face pale and slack. A sheen of sweat covered every bit of his exposed skin. She could almost mistake him for dead.

But it was the sight of his back that had her inhaling sharply and breathing back out with a swear. There should've been only a bullet wound, a round and dark perforation on his right shoulder, but from it now spiraled a vein-like network, as if black ink had been forcefully injected just under his skin, the tendrils crisscrossing each other in every direction. They'd migrated down his entire right arm and were reaching out towards his opposite shoulder, down his back, and around his chest. Every few seconds, the ominous purple light she'd observed from before would ripple through his skin wherever the black veins touched.

The question tore from her lips. "What the hell is that?"

"A wicked piece of work as you can tell," Healer Blackwell replied as she guided Ginny onto the thinly padded stretcher that had materialized to Malfoy's left, abutting the marble slab, "and not so easily explained in so little time."

"We'll tell you what we know when this is over, I promise. We'll have some questions for you as well," Healer Clarke said before instructing her to lie down. "Ready? You'll want to grab his hand. We've found that the physical contact helps to stabilize the connection."

She nodded and turned on her side to face the pallid blond. Her right hand reached down to twine with his left. Despite its pallor, his skin radiated a feverish heat that seared unpleasantly up her arm. She tamped down the urge to let go and instead, bent her elbow, bringing their clasped hands upwards to settle more comfortably between them.

While the Healers murmured procedural jargon to each other, she continued to stare incredulously at the joined hands before her and at Malfoy's closed eyes only a couple inches away. Weird didn't even begin to cover it, which seemed to be the running theme for her lately.

When you wake up—and you better—you owe me big time, Malfoy. Don't think I'm going to let you forget it. She had to inwardly laugh at herself. It figured that making a silent threat would be a calming balm for her chaotic thoughts.

"All right, we're ready on our end, Ginny," Healer Blackwell said, smiling reassuringly down at her but the strain between the Healer's brows betrayed her concern. "Have you ever tried Legilimency before?"

"Yes, but I'm no expert." The D.A. members had only practiced it to help each other improve their Occlumency.

"The effect of this will be similar, but more intense. You'll feel much more submerged in the other person's mind. It can be intimidating, but try your best to stay calm. You'll probably break the connection the first couple of tries, and that is perfectly normal."

"So what do I do? Get in there, and then what?"

"Call to him. Get his subconscious to stir and react. We're hoping that will be enough. The mind can take any form if you're determined, but you'll also be battling with his. Just try to imagine a setting that works for you. The procedure is still in early testing, so unfortunately, we can't offer you a more concrete guide." The Healer's gaze turned apologetic.

Ginny blew out a breath and nodded her go-ahead. Here goes nothing.

Healer Clarke's willow wand tip felt cool as he rested it against the center of her forehead. Opposite her, Healer Blackwell mirrored the action with Malfoy.

The Healers' mutual incantation drew on a much older language judging by its nonsensical and garbled quality—and lengthy as well, seeming to go on and on much like the spells of old as she lay there, straining with nervous anticipation.

Then all in a flash, it was done. The last sight she saw before going under was a tendril of light being drawn from Malfoy's forehead by Healer Blackwell's wand. The last sound was a clink of wood on wood, as the Healers' wands met in the middle. And the last thing she felt was a flare of blistering heat, its hottest point concentrated right in the palms of their joined hands.

Author Notes:

Whew, this chapter has been stuck in revision-limbo for a couple months now. Unfortunately, it can't be helped when both my beta-reader and I are uni students. But summer's here and I'm not traveling around as much this year, so hopefully that will mean more time to write! Looking forward to seeing what your reactions will be as the plot pieces are pulled together. For those interested, the Whispered Truth will also be getting an update this weekend - just some fine-tuning left for the next chapter.