Silent Insanity

Chapter One

...

It didn't matter that the walls were white, and the only bars were on the windows. It didn't matter that she was dressed daily, bathed regularly, and fed three times a day. She was still inside a cell, the hospital ward her prison. And parents she had thought loved her had put her there.

Apparently the love wasn't enough. They still feared her, she terrified them with her whispers, with her noise, with her silence, with her screams. All because Voldemort still lurked behind her eyes, her mind twisted and broken with blood and torture and screams and the splitting of his soul from hers. Their souls had been twining together for an entire year, and a fang in a diary was only enough to stop the soul melding from its' completion. When Harry had plunged the basilisk fang into the worn book, he'd stopped Voldemort all right. But Voldemort took her sanity as he disappeared from her body, his soul scattering like dust and ashes. She'd woken up in the freezing Chamber, Harry's bloodied and bruised face above hers, and she'd screamed. She'd screamed, screamed, and screamed. She hit and bit and punched and kicked when he tried to touch her, tried to help her stand. He'd left her there, going with Fawkes to find Ron and Lockhart, and she'd stayed down there screaming until Dumbledore himself came down into the Chamber.

A Stunning spell, numerous potions and spells later, Ginny woke to find herself in Hogwarts hospital ward, surrounded by healers from St. Mungo's. She was poked and prodded with wands, more potions stuffed down her throat, her hands clenched tightly around her wand when any of them came too close. They'd deemed her insane and took her away. Her parents had only watched, clinging to each other, but not moving once to her.

A healer looked into the room, her face obscured slightly by the white bars on the window of the door. Seeing that the Weasley girl was sitting on her bed, she opened the door and walked inside, careful to keep her wand in her sleeve securely. The last time the Weasley girl had got a hold of it the door itself had exploded. She didn't try to touch her - that only encouraged the Weasley girl to scream - but checked over her vitals from a distance, the tray in her hands filling with the various potions that her patient would need to take. She left the room without a word, closing the door behind her. Talking to the Weasley girl was worse than talking to a brick wall. At least the brick walls didn't stare in that creepy way she did, as if she could see into her mind, and dredge up every single thought and memory within. Shuddering slightly, the healer continued down the ward to the Longbottom's. At least she could be around them without feeling so uncomfortable.

Ginny continued to sit on the bed, her mind swirling with everything Voldemort had taken and left behind. Spells that a sixteen-year-old Slytherin boy knew, but an eleven-year-old Gryffindor girl had no idea about. He'd stolen her sanity, but sanity was a fleeting thing anyway. Not one person here had a semblance of it, especially not the healers. All of them pretending to be normal, covered in white and yet what she saw about them was that they were all afraid. Terrified of their own sanity, as if this ward was contagious, their own normalcy slipping when they began to agree with their patients.

Days, weeks, months, years went by. She no longer saw her family, their visits becoming fewer and far between as their lives went on beyond their crazy daughter, beyond their silent sister. Inside the ward, the routine never differed, and no one talked to her. She would scream if any of them tried, and they soon gave up, even the nicest healers they had were more than frustrated at her ability to shut down any attempt of conversation. She had her reasons, not that one ever knew that, not that she'd tell them. Words had power. Spoken, written, mumbled, thought, any type of word; they all wove their power around those who heard them. Power to be good or evil, but even words that were intended to be good had the potential to be evil. Words to make a friend turned against her, turned to take her soul, take her sanity, take everything she'd offered, and then some more. Too much power to have over one person.

Then one day, the routine became very different. There was a new healer on the ward. Draco Malfoy, she heard the women whisper and giggle. Ginny knew his relation to Lucius, to the diary, to Tom and Voldemort, but she didn't bother with anything other than recognition. She didn't care. Voldemort was long gone, the war over, the Heroes of the Light subsequently rewarded with money and positions in the newly formed Ministry. Just because she didn't talk, didn't mean that Ginny was stupid or didn't understand what was happening. Quite the opposite, she knew too much, knew that with just a glance, she could have the entire person's life in her head. Very handy to learn new spells, but they'd taken her wand away long ago.

So, for most of the day, she continued to sit on her bed and listen and be brought her potions and eat her food. Usual routine stuff, and then it happened. Draco Malfoy came into her room. He was with another healer - a woman who fancied him and was too flustered to do much else than throw out Ginny's name - but he didn't look overly interested in what she was saying. The woman, attempting to impress Draco, moved closer to Ginny and touched her. Actually touched her. She put her hand on Ginny's shoulder and she touched her. Ginny screamed, all of it tumbling out of her mouth in a loud scream to get her away. The healer did, jerking her entire body away from Ginny's quickly, her face a bright beet red as Draco moved closer. He moved so he was squatting directly in front of Ginny.

"You don't like to be touched?"

Before he'd even finished his sentence, she'd covered her ears, blocking him out effectively. She stared at him, her eyes wide, but her hands not moving, even when he stopped talking. She didn't like words. Stay silent, stay safe, don't talk, don't listen, don't let the words take over; don't let them have power over you. Quiet, quiet, let it stay forever silent and quiet and there would be peace.

She stared at him in the way that made the healer uncomfortable, seeing every memory, every minute, hour, day, week, month, and year of his life. She saw the war as none but him had seen it, saw the fall of Voldemort, saw the death and destruction, even saw her own family - the first time in years - and found out that Fred had died in the war. Saw Harry's marriage to Cho, saw Snape's death and redemption afterwards, and saw Draco's decisions and choices that had led him to become a healer in the mental ward.

"We have to go now, there's the rest of the patients to be attended to," the healer said, frowning down at Draco and the Weasley girl.

Ginny continued to stare at him, surprised. Usually people looked away long before now, her stare making them uncomfortable. Not with Draco. It almost seemed like he wanted her to see it all, to see everything that he'd done and been and was now becoming. Satisfied that everything was silent once more, she uncovered her ears.

With a tiny nod, Draco stood up and left with the healer, the white door closing behind them.

...

End of the first chapter.

Thank you for reading!

...

Chapter Two

...

"She never says a word, hasn't for a long time now. Not even those screams make sense, and you can usually tell what's wrong when someone's yelling with words," the healer was saying, willing and eager to supply him information, if only to be in his presence another minute.

"So no one knows why she doesn't like to be touched? Or be spoken to directly?" Draco asked.

He'd watched Ginny over the past week, seeing how she stayed in her room for nearly all that time, until the group sessions in the common area. He'd seen how she listened to people's conversations, her head titled to the side with her eyes closed, how she didn't look at anyone for long at all.

Her case intrigued him more than most, even though he hadn't chosen this ward for her in the first place. But he had a feeling that Ginny knew that. He'd felt her in his mind, a talent used with such subtlety that he almost missed the feather-light touch, and yet he'd still let her see it all.

He knew from the other healers that she hadn't had any visitors in a long time - possibly years - and only the ones who had been working there the longest remembered her birthday. Even the Longbottom's had more visitors than the Weasley girl, and due to the war, the Weasley's were just as revered and loved as the Longbottom family. Yet, here she was - the youngest in such a favoured family - completely forgotten by everyone.

"No one knows a thing. She just screams the moment anyone gets too close. Well, you saw her last week," the healer added, attempting a smile.

Draco just nodded, but didn't reply. He'd seen Ginny scream when she'd been touched, and avoid listening when someone spoke to her directly. She stayed away from the books the hospital provided - even the blank ones for drawing in - and she shut her eyes the moment anything written was brought near her. He'd seen many things over the course of the war, including fear, and it was easy to see that she was terrified, but he had no idea why.

The curiosity began eating at him, gnawing at his brain to find out what it was that had this girl so petrified. By the end of his shift, Draco had restrained himself three times from going into her room and shaking the answer out of her. He Apparated to Diagon Alley, ignoring the fawning witch who looked put out at his sudden disappearance.

Walking down the cobblestone street, Draco nodded or ignored witches and wizards who recognised him from the war. He didn't even stop to talk to Blaise, who had been one of the few who'd fought beside him, continuing to the very end of the street. Not bothering to glance up at the rooftop man with the top hat and disappearing rabbit, Draco opened the door and walked inside Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes.

George greeted him with familiarity, but still looked surprised nonetheless. Draco wasn't surprised at George's reaction- they'd barely spoken after the war, and it was the first time he had sought the one-eared twin in years. When the last wandering child and customer had left the store, George locked the door and led Draco to the back rooms of the store without a word.

"What is it you want, Draco?" George asked, glancing at him as he stirred a potion simmering in a cauldron.

"I want to ask you about your sister," Draco replied, not bothering with formalities and niceties. He and George had known each other too long for such trivial things.

George stopped stirring the potion, and even though he couldn't see his face, Draco saw how tense his shoulders were, and figured that he had a death-like grip on the stirrer. Moving to him, Draco saw he was right. He took the stirrer from him before it shattered in his hands. George flexed his hand, but his tension didn't lessen in anyway.

"We... we don't talk about her, Draco," he said finally, turning away.

He purposely gave Draco his right side, the hole on the side of his head unable to hear much other than extremely loud noises these days.

Using a spell to project his voice to George's left side, Draco began again. "How long has it been since you last saw her? Has anyone told her that Fred's died? That Bill's all but become a werewolf? That Ron's married to Granger? Anything about the war? Did anyone even tell her that Voldemort came back?"

"We didn't want to worry her unnecessarily," George said, his words clipped. "And it's not like she didn't know about Voldemort coming back, what with him still inside her like that," he added, his hands clenched tightly.

"You don't believe that, George," Draco muttered, shaking his head at the older man.

"Have you seen her eyes?" George asked in disbelief, turning to face him.

"Yes, actually, I have," Draco replied. He crossed his arms across his chest. "I doubt anyone's seen her eyes for a long time, the way the other healers went on about it," he added, a smirk slipping on his face.

"And? Were they still red? Could you feel Voldemort staring at you from behind those eyes? The eyes that used to be my sister's?" George asked, his voice raising.

"They were brown, George; as brown as yours. Not a hint of red in them. And Voldemort is long gone from wherever he was inside her. I would have known if there was even a trace of him in there," Draco added, his hand slipping to his left forearm.

"That's what we thought, you know," George replied. "Even had Snape come look at her, to check. He said the same as you: Voldemort wasn't in there. We even started to believe him, and then... Then she got hold of a healer's wand." His voice dropped and he rubbed his face, his body still tight and tense. "They say that Alice and Frank still can't go near Ginny without screaming. It was the last straw for Neville, you know. He used to visit her every fortnight when he saw his parents, but after that... Well, could you blame him?"

Draco watched as George continued to talk about Ginny, the words spilling from him, as if they'd been pent up for a long time. He didn't interrupt; just listened as George talked about the last time he'd gone to visit Ginny, sans the rest of his family.

"It was a week before Fred died, actually. I thought she might want to talk, might've thought that Mum and Dad had been too suffocating or whatever. She just stared at me. I tried to take her hand, or something, I don't even remember now, and she just started screaming. She wouldn't stop, she just screamed and screamed. And her eyes were red; that I remember clearly. The healers pushed me out of the room, and I... I just didn't go back in. I couldn't, couldn't bring myself to see her like that again. I haven't been back since," he added, his throat constricting as he choked on a sob.

"Well, no wonder she screamed," Draco drawled. "She doesn't like physical contact, George. And I'm not surprised her eyes were red then; Voldemort was still alive, wasn't he?" George was silent, and Draco continued, "But he's dead now, isn't he? We all saw the proof of that when Potter cut his head off," he said.

"Took him a couple tries," George said, a grin flitting onto his face.

Draco snickered at the joke. It had taken Potter three times to actually get Voldemort's head off; something that was conveniently left out of all of the news articles and unofficial biographies that surfaced afterwards.

"So... She's all right now? Voldemort's really not there?" George asked, his throat feeling tight again.

"She's not all right, George. She's been deemed insane by the rest of the world, hasn't seen her family in years, and can't stand physical contact. Oh, and she also doesn't like to be talked to," he added.

"Doesn't like to be talked to?" George echoed, looking slightly confused.

Draco shrugged slightly. "She doesn't like people talking directly at her, but I've noticed that she listens to the conversations around her more often than not. She's not stupid, George."

"Never said she was," he replied defensively. Then his stern face slipped, and he just looked tired. "Well, I don't mind that she doesn't like being talked to. Not a fan of my own voice, really," George said, a slight grin surfacing.

"Could've fooled me," Draco said, rolling his eyes. "Just let me know if you do come to see her, George. I can get you to her quicker than the healers there. They'll try to drown you in red parchments," he added over his shoulder as he left the room.

...

End of the second chapter.

Thank you for reading!

...

Chapter Three

...

George figured that he shouldn't have been surprised that he was Flooing to St. Mungo's less than a week later. Draco's words had been running through his mind over and over, distracting him even from the shop. Besides, today was the anniversary of the Final War, of Fred's death, and he was always nostalgic around this time. Even if Draco hadn't talked to him, he might have come to see his sister anyway. Well, probably not, but he didn't admit that out loud.

Draco had been right about the red parchments. Nearly every healer they passed stopped and stared at George walking through the hall, and then hurried over, saying something about signing some form or other. Draco fielded them all off with charm and smiles, but it still took almost ten minutes to get from the entrance to Ginny's room, when it only should have taken one or two.

"Geez, you weren't wrong about those red parchments, were you, mate?" George muttered, brushing off his robes.

Now that they were closer to Ginny's room, they could hear the loud scream filtering out. Draco looked inside the barred window with a frown. One of the healers was standing in front of her, a brush in her hand. Someone had probably seen George coming and ran off to get Ginny 'presentable' for her brother.

"I'll deal with this, thank you, Healer Thorn," Draco said, stepping inside.

She glowered at Ginny, shoving the brush into Draco's hand as she turned to leave. "Good bloody luck," she muttered, leaving the room in a huff.

Even though the woman had gone, Ginny still screamed, staring at the brush with wide eyes. Draco went to put the brush in his pocket to hide it from her view, but then the pitch of her scream increased, terror laced in the note. Frowning, he looked down at the brush. A single strand of red hair was caught in the bristles. Healer Thorn must have gotten close while Ginny was sleeping.

Holding the brush out to her, Draco watched as her scream died down. She watched him warily, even as her hand snatched out to grab the brush with reflexes that any Seeker would have envied. She picked out the hair, her eyes looking over the rest of the brush to check for more. Satisfied that she had her hair back, Ginny dropped the brush onto the bed an arm's length away. Draco was sure she would have thrown it or dropped it on the floor had it been any other healer. With a nod of thanks, he took the brush and left the room to see George standing there waiting. Well, at least he hadn't run off this time.

"I'll have to take your wand, sorry. Ward policy. But you can conjure up a chair before you go in, if you'd like. Not much in the way of comfortable furniture inside," Draco added.

"Thanks," George said, conjuring up a chair quickly.

To his credit, Draco didn't even batter an eyelid when the extravagant purple and red chair appeared. It looked a lot like an overgrown jester's hat, and even had little bells on the end of each branch.

Taking George's wand away, Draco held the door open for him to go inside.

"Just call if you need ... help," Draco murmured.

Ginny glowered at him, but it didn't last long. He had to say that to every visitor, no matter who they were seeing, and they both knew that.

"I'll be fine," George said certainly, but even Draco could see the tiny bit of fear in his eyes.

"If everything goes well, I'll be back in an hour. Don't give your sister anything to eat. The wards around this place would go nuts if she had a Canary Cream," Draco added, smirking.

"In that case, you'd better take the Ton Tongue Toffees too," George said, fishing into his pockets quickly.

Draco conjured a clear box, and George dumped a lot of tiny lollies and food packets into it. Before Draco could leave, George grabbed a round white disc.

"Peppermint," he said in explanation, popping it into his mouth with a grin.

Draco shook his head and left the room, keeping the door propped open with a slipper that had been outside. He frowned slightly, recognising the pink and purple slipper as Alice Longbottom's. If the Longbottom's couldn't go near Ginny without screaming, why was Alice's slipper next to her door?

George looked at his sister, a slight frown forming. A part of her long hair had been brushed before her screams had stopped the healer, but the mess didn't bother him. He'd seen worse on himself, after all. However, as he looked at her, George could tell that it really had been a long time since any of them had come to see her, simply because of her clothes. Her shirt looked to be a few sizes too small, even though it was obvious it had been stretched with magic. And the last time he'd seen her, Ginny's hair had been considerably shorter, not even reaching her shoulders. Now, even with the yearly haircuts the patients received, her hair was halfway down her back.

He looked at her eyes, unable to stop the flinch when she stared back at him. He relaxed visibly when there was no hint of red in them, settling back on his chair. The bells jingled with his movement, and Ginny - Ginny, who never said a thing, whose only form of communication was through screaming, who hadn't even cracked a smile since arriving in the ward - let out a tiny giggle.

George stared, as if he'd been tricked or been hearing things. True, his right ear was basically useless, but his left ear... It hadn't played tricks on him before. He moved again, the bells tinkling, and there! There was another giggle. Small, tiny, a complete contrast to her serious and pale face, but it was still a laugh nonetheless. The happiest he'd heard his sister since before Hogwarts.

He moved some more, dancing in the seat, his own laugh escaping as Ginny's giggles continued.

Out in the ward, it was as if someone had cast a Full Body Bind on everyone at once. Silence descended and everyone, healer and patient alike, stopped still to listen to the laughter coming from Ginny's room.

A grin flitted onto Draco's face, before the usual mask returned and he continued with his work.

Slowly, everyone resumed their tasks, but everyone seemed a lot calmer than they had been earlier in the day.

...

End of the third chapter.

Thank you for reading!

...

Chapter Four

...

Ginny listened as Draco Malfoy walked across the ward with her brother. George, her brother, had come to see her for the first time in so very long. It was a sad day, anniversary of the war - of Fred's death - and the mood in the ward had been sombre even with the most cheerful healers.

She could feel George's uncertainty, his fear, his hope, his overwhelming hope. All of it there and mingled, and she didn't know if she could feel him so clearly because he was her brother, or just because his emotions weren't so muddled with potions and spells like the patients were. Both, maybe? Did it even matter? He was there, here, the first time in years, and he had come to see her.

Her happiness didn't show on her face, and she'd been so distracted by her brother's feelings that she hadn't seen the healer before her, until she'd felt the brush in her hair.

No, no, no, no! Her hair! Her body, her being, her limbs, her skin. It was hers! She needed it back! Give it back! Not allowed to take it! Hair, skin, nails, tears, any and all of it could be used in spells, in potions, take away her control over her body! Her hair, the long strand there on the brush! It was hers, hers, hers, hers!

She screamed her fear, hatred, disgust, every emotion, and she could already feel herself slipping away with whatever they were going to use her hair for.

Her eyes were focused solely on the brush, and she didn't even notice when Draco stepped inside. She did notice when the brush was going to be put away, and her scream increased. Suddenly, the brush was being held out to her. Looking up, she finally noticed Draco. Wary at this sudden change, she snatched the brush away before he could change his mind.

Her hair, her hair, her precious hair. It was all precious, every strand, every piece of skin, every fluid, every nail. All of it could be taken and used against her. It was hers, hers, hers.

Clutching the hair to her, she dropped the brush to the side of her, instead of on the floor or across the room. It was her way of thanks without words. Draco seemed to understand, giving her a nod before leaving.

There was some talking, but Ginny was busy hiding her hair away, away where no one would ever find it. Satisfied that it was hidden, she turned to see George, her brother George, dropping hundreds of tiny lollies and packets into a box that Draco was holding out. Then the door was semi-closed, and George was sitting on... a large hat? And they thought she was insane!

Bells jingled, as if agreeing with her, and Ginny giggled. A small noise, that both seemed to startle and surprise her brother. He grinned suddenly, moving more, the bells tinkling and jingling louder. They drowned out the noise, drowned out the sadness, the fear, every negative emotion in her brother, and she giggled some more when she felt his happiness increase. She hadn't been this happy since... oh, who cared? She was happy now, whether it was her own feelings, or her brother's, it didn't matter.

Then George, wonderful, brilliant, bright, loving George, started laughing. Ginny had to hug herself tightly at the love and happiness and everything he felt, her own giggles continuing with the sound of the bells.

...

So, it continued. Every time George came to visit, Draco left the brush on her dresser, and gave her five minutes alone. Ginny brushed her hair as best she could - even with the anti-knot spells on the brush, it was still difficult - taking out strand after strand and hiding them away before putting the brush back carefully. She put it back exactly where it had been placed, sat exactly where she had when Draco had entered, and pretended that nothing had happened. It was a game, but she always lost. Every time Draco nodded, knowing that she'd used the brush on seeing that her hair was becoming flatter and less-tangled.

And George, loving George, brought his jester-hat chair into her tiny room every time he visited, the bells and their laughter mingling together. He always made her feel better, even on one of her "bad days", as healers whispered when she screamed and screamed and yelled and screamed for hours.

He even brought her some new clothes to wear. Well, they weren't new, but they were better than the small and ill-fitting clothes she had. She didn't stop wearing the large Irish Quidditch team's shirt for a whole week.

As the time went by, Ginny found that George let her look into his eyes more and more often. He always looked away first, but it was long enough for her to see how his life was progressing, how her family were, all of the minutes, hours, the spells, the potions, the joke shop, all of his guilt, happiness, sadness, love - no matter what, there was always love; George was the most loving person she'd ever seen. If she had the ability to do so, she would have hugged him, taken away his guilt, shredding his sadness until it was so small he didn't even notice it. But even her brother, her loving brother, couldn't touch her, and she couldn't touch him, and so she smiled and giggled more and more to keep him happy.

In the common area, she stole paints and a piece of parchment when no one was looking. Then, late at night, when she was alone, and couldn't sleep, she painted a picture for her brother. A picture's worth a thousand words, but not one was written on it. It wasn't even a picture, really. Just an abundance colours, covering every inch of the parchment. Every colour a feeling, a memory, a piece of happiness and love, all of it swirling together in a colourful mess. Every morning, she woke up with paint on her fingers - never red, she hated the red on her fingers, even less in paint, could barely stand seeing her own hair for very long - the paint brush lying on the floor, and the colourful parchment nearby.

She'd decided to give it to him when the time was right, not just willy-nilly. It wouldn't be appreciated as much, just thought of as a mess, but if the time was right - and the timing was ever so important - then George, loving George, he would see and more importantly, even more important than the timing, he would understand.

George arrived later than usual one weekend, and Ginny had been screaming for almost an hour now, her worry and fear combining. Not even Draco could calm her down. The moment George arrived, the greeting healer all but ran him down to Ginny's room. Her screams died the moment George stepped inside, and she sat on her bed, trembling in relief. Her legs up to her chest, her arms wrapped around her knees as she stared at her brother, trying to determine if he was real, or just an illusion the healers had created to keep her quiet, calm her down, make the noise just stop.

She stared at him, her eyes rimmed red from her tears. She hurried to dry them - her precious tears, her body, her hair -and returned to look at him. Satisfied that it was actually George, she saw why he was late. Her parents. Her parents who had put her in a cell, locked her away in the white tower with no knight to save her, no one to stop the monster inside from taking the princess on the outside. George had gone to see his parents to get them to at least see Ginny. They'd refused to even listen to him, and they'd argued, loudly, too loud, the noise, the hurt, the pain, the disappointment, and still, the love. He loved them, and was hurt even more because of that love. They refused to talk about her, she was always in their minds, but pushed to the very back, their own failures as parents rising when they thought or talked about her. Ginny was hurt, a small sob escaping, but she hadn't seen her parents in so long that it didn't hurt for very long.

She pushed away the hurt, watching as George was left alone with her. Waiting until they were gone and no healers were standing at the door, Ginny scrambled back to reach behind her bed. She pulled out the parchment slowly, looking over to the door to make sure. When she was completely certain, she dropped the picture, the paint-covered parchment, the emotions, the love (no red, not a drop of red to be seen), in front of George. She offered him a tiny, tiny, minuscule, microscopic, even smaller than small smile when he looked at her.

He picked up the parchment, looking at the colours everywhere. He hadn't conjured his seat yet, and so he moved to the bed to sit down. Ginny, eyes wide, moved as far away as possible, all the way up to the top of the bed, but he didn't notice. As he stared at her picture, looked and began to understand, Ginny saw that the healers hadn't taken his wand.

His wand! Oh, to feel the magic, to make the magic flow through her again. To feel the rush of magic and rightness and everything in her body again. Her eyes glanced at him, seeing he was still distracted, and she snatched the wand from his pocket quickly.

She didn't do a spell, just held it, as if it were a long lost friend. She looked at the wood, stroking it softly, her hand, arm, body, mind, every part of her thrumming with remembrance. The magic flowed to her, through her, filling her, every part of it. Then the pain started.

It was too much, too much, there was too much of the magic, it wasn't rightness anymore, and then her mind started to whisper. Her mind whispered, excited about the magic, about the power, the remembrance, the magic, the everything. She couldn't control it, had no way of controlling it, didn't know the spells, the words, the anything to control it. She dropped the wand as fast as she had taken it, but her hand, her body, her entire being, all of it still had that uncontrollable magic in her. With a small scream, she ran from the room.

...

End of the fourth chapter.

Thank you for reading!

....

Chapter Five

...

George looked away from the picture when Ginny screamed, confused and frowning as she ran out of the room. He saw his wand sitting beside him on the bed, and with sudden realisation, he grabbed his wand and hurried out after her. She wasn't hard to find, considering all the screaming that was happening. But it wasn't his sister. It was from the healers. Even the patients were silent, the same patients who usually screamed and yelled and cried the moment anything out of the ordinary happened.

One of the healers was attempting to hex Ginny, his expression twisted into something that just seemed so wrong on a human being's face. The desire to protect Ginny - his sister, his only sister, protect her in the way he hadn't been able to in her first year - overwhelmed him, and George found himself pointing his wand at the crowd of healers. He cast the spell without thinking, without realising what he even said, and a barrier formed around Ginny and the two people she was standing with.

The Longbottoms. Alice and Frank didn't seem perturbed by her presence, and Alice even offered Ginny a gum wrapper. Frowning, George made his way over, ignoring the shouting healers. His sister had gone to two people who were supposed to fear her with everything they had, but here they were sitting together, and Ginny was holding their hands, all three of them looking fairly comfortable the way he saw it. Neither Alice nor Frank looked as though they were about to start screaming, start beating at her to get away, and Ginny's screams had stopped too.

"What is going on here?" Draco asked, coming over at all the commotion.

He'd been at the very far end of the ward, but all of the screaming had brought him over to deal with whatever had happened. He had at least thought he'd be dealing with patients, not his bloody colleagues!

"It's the Weasley girl. She's gone and taken the Longbottoms' hands, and our spells can't stop her!" one of the healers replied. "He put a barrier around them," she added, glaring at George.

"Let me get this straight..." Draco said, a few more of the healers stopping their noise. "You're trying to hex Ginny Weasley because she's holding Frank and Alice Longbottom's hands?" he asked, his disbelief and scorn making the noise stop entirely. "And you're upset because her brother - her guardian, due to his presence here, I might add - stopped you from hexing her?"

The fact that Ginny had willingly touched anyone surprised him, but their ridiculous response to it was just uncalled for. She wasn't harming anyone that he could see, and it seemed that she'd even fallen asleep, for the gods' sakes!

There was silence from all of the healers, and not one looked at George as he and Draco waited for an answer. When no answer was given, the healers began to slink away quickly, still looking anywhere else but at Draco and George.

"Take the barrier down, would you? I'll check that Frank and Alice are all right, and you can take Ginny back to her room if you'd like to stay," Draco said.

George nodded, the barrier falling away with a word and a flick of his wand. Draco made his way over slowly, even though it was obvious that Ginny was still asleep. Frank and Alice were stroking her hair gently, another odd happenstance for the day.

"Frank, Alice, are you all right? I'm just going to check your vitals, okay?" Draco said, his voice soft as he held up his wand, not wanting to spook them.

"We're fine, actually. Would you be a dear and call our son?" Alice said, smiling up at him.

If he'd been anyone else, Draco's mouth would have hit the floor. Beside him, George's mouth was hanging open, and for a moment, all either of them could do was just stare. Alice looked perfectly sane, her eyes were clear, and beside her, Frank looked the same.

"I'll... I'll still need to check your vitals before I call Neville. If you don't mind?" Draco asked, looking between them.

"Go ahead. But I have a feeling you'll be surprised at the results," Frank said with a bit of a smirk.

Draco nodded, completely in agreement with him. And when he saw the results of his spells, he saw that Frank hadn't been lying. Their brainwaves, which had been tangled messes with little coherency, now seemed to be ... well, normal.

"I ... I don't understand," George said, staring between the two adults and his sister, still sleeping between them.

"It was your sister. She helped us. She tried to help last time, but she hadn't had enough time yet," Alice said, looking down at Ginny fondly.

"Time? Time to do what?"

"To sort through Voldemort's thoughts, of course," Frank said, as if the answer was obvious.

"I think you should start from the beginning," Draco said, feeling as confused as George looked.

So they did. Sitting there in the common area, stroking Ginny's hair as if it was an everyday occurrence, Frank and Alice explained Ginny as not even the young girl had been able to do.

When Voldemort had stolen Ginny's sanity, he'd left his own memories and knowledge in her mind. Harry had killed him too quickly for him to take it all back, so instead Voldemort had made a choice to make Harry suffer with the knowledge that he'd made the Weasley girl go insane. And in Ginny's mind swirled all of Voldemort's thoughts, his desires, his power, his ambition, his abilities, every single thing he'd known in his sixteen years of life. It was enough to drive anyone mad, and since she'd already had her sanity stolen, there wasn't much else for Ginny to do. She couldn't escape the insanity, so she drowned in it.

Voldemort had the ability to see into people's heads, to see their memories, their lives, their fear, their everything. Ginny had gleaned this ability from him, but her eyes had glowed red when she used it at first, and she'd been unable to stop it from happening every time she looked at someone. As such, this continued to terrify the people around her, even though it wasn't Voldemort - it was all her.

And the words and books and conversations? That was her own fear, warped and twisted and mutated over time. Words had power. Written, spoken, thought, whispered, mumbled, all of it had the power to wrap around an innocent mind, meld it, and torture it. Words that had the power to control others, make them do things that they hadn't wanted to do, make them hurt friends, hurt strangers, even hurt family. All of it could be used against her, and her fear continued long after Voldemort's death. She'd felt him die, felt him disappear from the world, but by then her fear had wrapped itself around her mind, and she couldn't even talk. She was still insane, but within the insanity there was sanity. As much sanity as the rest of the world pretended to have, but without words, without the ability to get past her fear, Ginny had no life outside of the St. Mungo's ward. The world had become a foreign concept to her, and her routine became everything.

So she'd sat in her room every day, processing the thoughts that Voldemort had left behind, listening and watching and waiting. The thoughts of spells, of potions, of harm, of torture, of blood, of the undead living beneath the water. Her nightly screams were nightmares of Voldemort's memories, of thinking them to be her own, believing it was herself that did them. It was the reason she hadn't slept in almost three years.

The screams whenever someone touched her? Oh yes, she had a reason for those too. Her last sane memory was of being touched, of being taken down to the Chamber of Secrets. Of being held and pushed and thrown to the ground and her soul starting to leave her body... She didn't want anyone to touch her, didn't want to relive those feelings every time someone came too close. Even if it was her beloved loving brother.

You understand her picture now, don't you? Good, she thought you would. It's all of her love for you, and it's everything she's ever felt from you. Don't cry now, dear, it's all the best feelings, all the good ones so you can always feel them when you look at the picture, no matter what's wrong. You always made her feel happy, no matter what nightmare or thought she had in her mind. Smile a bit now, there you go. Have some gum, dear.

The hair incident? Oh, I thought you of all people would have understood. You know how little of a person's being you need to control, to affect them. A strand of hair in Polyjuice Potion, for example. A nail, a piece of skin, a tear, a drop of blood, all of it can be taken and used against the owner's will. No matter if they're dirt poor, or have more riches than the Minister himself, a person's body can be turned against them. Ah yes, now you understand. Now you might take a bit more care of your own bodies, won't both of you?

Frank and Alice finished their tale, still stroking Ginny's hair slowly. She didn't move from between them. Silence fell as Draco and George tried to process everything they'd said.

As Draco's mind did process it, he realised that Alice and Frank had been talking about Ginny in past tense. His face drained of its' blood, and he stared at the girl between the two adults, taking a step forward.

"She didn't just do this for us, you know. She did it for you too," Frank said, looking at him.

"Like we said, Ginny could see everyone's life with just a look. She knew why you came here, and she knew what you were going to do to save us," Alice added.

"She loved you, in her own way. She didn't want you to do it, so she did it so you wouldn't leave. You're good for this place, you know," Frank added, looking at the patients milling around.

George seemed to realise what they were saying, and he fell to his knees, staring at his sister. His silent, screaming, sanely insane sister, who hated to be touched, hated anyone getting too close, his sister who was lying there between two people, letting them stroke her hair. No, she wasn't... She couldn't... The words seemed to stick in his throat, and he moved to her, to touch her, to be close to her. He wouldn't even mind the screaming. Just scream, yell, hit, punch, bite, do something, do anything. Please, no...

A sound of pure sadness escaped him, unable to form his emotions into words. Tears began to track their way down his cheeks, and he hurried to wipe them on his sleeve. His precious tears...

"She loved you best, George. Always had, but don't tell your brothers that," Frank said, a small understanding sad smile on his face.

George stood up and picked his sister up in his arms gently. He hadn't held her like this since they were both children, just kids running around, with no thought of war, only siblings and love in their hearts and minds. He carried her to her room, not saying a word when the people around him stilled and stared. Cradling his beloved sister in his arms, he cried with every emotion he had inside.

Draco stood before Frank and Alice, unable to comprehend what Ginny had done. She'd done it for him, so he wouldn't die. It had been the only way to save the Longbottoms from their fate, his research over the years had come to the final conclusion that a life must be given for their sanity to be restored.

Draco hadn't been rewarded as the Golden Ones had, the mark on his left forearm made sure of that, but he worked for money. He had knowledge of things, of spells, of the darkness that had infected people and things, and he knew how to cure them. For a price, of course.

He'd been paid well by Neville to find the solution, and then promised double to cure them. Draco hadn't told Neville what the solution was, worried that the foolish Gryffindor would offer his own life just so he wouldn't have to pay Draco to do it.

Dead men had no use for money, of course, but he'd already organised for the money to be donated to the permanent ward of St. Mungo's. He'd seen what had been going on, the lack of money, the Ministry pulling their tight little strings, cutting funds, the absolute hell that people had to go through just to see a relative in the ward. They could have used the money more than him.

And now... now, Ginny had done what he hadn't been able to do yet. He'd just wanted one more week, one selfish week, where he could see her red hair, see her glare and roll her eyes at him, and watch as she listened to everything around her with closed eyes, listen to her screams to understand her a bit more, even look forward to some more laughter, even though it wasn't for him.

He felt sick, wondering if the price had been too high for this job.

"She wanted to go, dear. She didn't want it to be so soon, but she knew if she'd waited, you would have done it instead," Alice murmured, standing and rubbing his back soothingly. She kissed his cheek briefly and went with Frank to firecall Neville on their own.

No healers stopped them, and not one person said a thing when Draco sat on the armchair, staring at nothing for the rest of his shift.

...

End of the fifth chapter.

Chapter Six

...

A year later

George walked down the path, his dress robes brushing the cobblestone beneath him, and his hands going to his pocket every so often, as if to reassure himself of something precious still being within the fabric square.

Crossing the grass, he saw a couple waiting outside the building. Alice and Frank saw him, faces breaking open into smiles and encircled him tightly, proudly. He hurried inside with them, more to escape the cold than a sudden desire for the night to start.

"Are you ready for this, George?" Alice asked, looking at him carefully.

"As ready as I'll ever be, ma'am," he said with a small smile.

"Ginny would have loved this," Frank murmured, his hands touching the plaque outside the ward.

"She would have, wouldn't she?" a voice said from behind them.

George turned to see Draco standing there, wearing his purple Head Healer robes, and looking as uncomfortable in them as George felt in his dress ones.

"You made it," George said, grinning at him as he hugged the younger man.

"Bloody well had no choice, did I?" Draco replied, smirking.

"Right then, let's get on with it. Hopefully I can get that lovely young healer drunk again, like I did at the Christmas party," George said, grinning at the memory.

"She had a hangover for three straight days, I doubt you can get near her this time," Draco muttered.

"Ah, you're just jealous because she's not fawning over you anymore," George said, laughing.

"That's enough, you two. Come on, dear, Neville's waiting for us inside," Alice said, leading her husband into the ward.

Draco went to follow them, but George grabbed his arm gently, suddenly looking serious. "I just wanted to say thank you for doing this, Draco."

"Didn't do it for you, George," Draco said, trying to use humour to cover his other emotions.

"Yeah, I know that. But thanks anyway. Frank was right, Ginny would have loved it," he added, giving Draco another quick hug before heading into the ward as well.

Sighing heavily, Draco's fingers traced the letters on the plaque. Ginevra Weasley's Ward for the Permanent Residents of St. Mungo's. A whole lot of words to say that she'd died to save two people, despite the fact that there had been no war, nothing threatening them. Just a way to give them a life again. Come to think of it, she'd saved three people, really...

Adjusting his uncomfortable robes one more time, Draco stepped into the newly-named ward.

Colours surrounded him, colours of love - not one bit of red - colours of hope, of trust, of tumbling emotions and thoughts, of everything around them.

When George had packed Ginny's belongings, he'd asked Draco to help, unable to do it by himself. There hadn't been much really, just some clothes and some paints taken from the common area. Draco had thought it odd, considering how protective Ginny had been of things like her own hair.

Again, a gnawing had started at his brain, working away on his mind until he couldn't think straight, and he was standing there with an Irish Quidditch team shirt in his hands for thirty minutes straight. Eventually getting fed up with it all, he'd practically shouted a spell that wasn't quite Light inside the room, willing everything she'd hidden to show themselves. What they'd found had astounded them both.

Paintings had appeared everywhere. Every surface, even the walls, had been covered in paintings. The back of each and every parchment had been painted white so that they couldn't be seen past the whiteness of the room itself. The colours of her life, of her thoughts, of her mind, of her sanity and insanity, of her screams, of her silence, of her everything, all of the colours piling up in the middle of the room.

Her hair - her long red hair, the ones she'd screamed over, snatched out of thin air, removed carefully from every surface and brush - spilled out of her pillowcase, the only red colour in the entire room apart from George's own hair.

George hadn't known what to do with them all, and Draco surprised himself by offering an answer. The answer had the paintings on display all through the ward, showing the colour, life, and emotions of one person who had been shunned and silent for over ten years of her life. All except two of the paintings had been framed and hung in the ward, one currently folded and resting in George's pocket, and another hanging in the cottage Draco lived in. They'd kept a few strands of her hair each, a remembrance for her life, for her wonder, for everything they had yet to live and experience. The rest had been burned, making sure that no one would ever be able to hurt her or take control of Ginny again, even after death.

There was a jingle of bells nearby, and Draco smirked when he saw that George had his arm around Healer Thorn's shoulders, both of them sitting on an overgrown jester's hat chair. Frank and Alice were by the fireplace, talking with Neville about some plant or other he'd discovered in Africa.

Checking his pocket watch, Draco saw that the speeches wouldn't start for a while yet. Slipping outside once more, he Apparated with little more than a pop. Arriving in the cemetery, Draco made his way along the grass certainly. He'd been here often enough before, even in the middle of the night, staring at her tombstone and trying to work out why she'd done it. Oh, Alice and Frank and told him why, but he still couldn't comprehend that Ginny would give up her life for his... Tonight was no different.

He didn't talk when he came to see her, didn't think it necessary. He hadn't talked to her when she was alive, so what was the use when she was dead? But tonight, it seemed, was different after all.

All of it spilled from him. His confusion, his wonder, his anger, his regret, his every emotion. He told her about the ward, about the paintings they'd found, the one he'd kept for himself, the rest that they'd hung in the hospital ward, about all of the colours, and the jester cushions. He talked about Alice and Frank, and George. He told her how Neville had tried to paid him for healing his parents, and how Draco had put it into the ward anyway. It didn't feel right keeping it, not when he hadn't healed them, not really.

He finished talking a time later, his throat sore, and the speeches long over. Draco looked at the marble tombstone, wondering if she'd heard everything he'd said, and more importantly, what he hadn't said.

"Goodbye, Ginny. Thank you," he said, his fingers touching the tombstone gently. "Thank you for everything."

He left without another word, the sun starting to rise in the distance.

Ginny Weasley

1981 - 2002

Forever loved

...

The end

...