In Dreams, To Whom I Never Have by wind rider

In Dreams, To Whom I Never Have
Chapter 1: Nothing Like a Dream

Ginny blinked. The first thing she noticed was the heat, and a cacophony of metallic clanking that grated at her ears. Then the smell hit her nose, and it was all she could do not to vomit. – Sour like vinegar, metallic like blood. – And then she noticed odd people working on what looked like sturdy, crude kitchen counters by each an… open stove?

She pinched her nose and padded closer to one of the graceful, other-wordly people with long hairs, who seemed to be instructing the two others. (However they could hear what he was saying, she did not know.) The heat was nearly unbearable, close to the working area, but she swallowed the discomfort as best as she could. She had to find out where she was, and also the way home. (There was no way she would stay in this horrid place.)

She remembered her mother tucking her in for the night, and it had been such a peaceful night… This was far from peaceful, and it did not feel like a dream at all. Everything was so real, including the grit and filths on packed-dirt floor that pricked uncomfortably at the soles of her bare feet–

Bare feet?

She looked down at herself, and found that she was garbed in her rattiest but most comfortable nightdress.

It was really, really not a dream. Someone had taken her elsewhere, straight from her bed.

But who?

Ginny went into a full-blown panic. And following the frightening discovery, her knees bumped the crude kitchen counter, and she nearly fell on top of it. It was right as the man who worked on that section laid a white-hot bar of metal on it –, straight from the flames of the open stove to the side of the counter. She shrieked.

A pair of lithe but strong arms prevented her from a very, very unpleasant contact with the metal bar. They righted her up on her feet, but she found herself unable to stand straight. Her knees buckled, and she hastily grasped the edges of the counter for support. Her breath choked in her throat as the shock set in. The heat had been so, so intense and so near, as if hungering for her flesh.

A slender finger tilted her chin up, and Ginny looked into her saviour’s eyes. Glowing, brilliant grey… almost like the metal bar. – She looked away and whimpered.

What sounded like a woman’s voice spoke behind her, seeming to address the man. But the man did not answer. He just stepped aside, bringing Ginny with him, and motioned at the nearly-molten metal bar on the counter. Ginny did not understand what he meant with that, nor what the woman-like voice had said, but the man did not elaborate more, neither with gestures nor words. He guided her away from the working area, firmly but not unkindly, and steered her towards a closed door on the far side of the large room.

What she had hoped was open air, however, turned out to be yet another room; smaller and filled with knickknacks, as if an experiment room of some sort. (She knew, because her father had one in their run-down shed, which her mother was oblivious about for the time being.)

But she did not have chance to inspect the room in detail, since the man swiftly – yet still gently, somehow – turned her around to face him. The door clicked shut behind him, kicked by a booted foot.

Ginny gulped, her lips trembling. Her heart pounded in her chest and ears. This was worse than it had been in the filthy, hot, smelly room behind that door. Her parents’ oft-repeated caution and advice about dealing with strangers came up in her mind, but it only made her feel more wretched instead of comforted. She wanted to succumb to tears, but somehow she got the feeling that the man might do worse to her if she did cry.

For now, though, the man only studied her closely. – She could feel his eyes, sharp as an eagle’s and glowing like a wolf’s, from her (tangled-haired) head to (bare) toes. – What did he find? What was in his mind? She found herself hoping he decided she was unworthy of his attention and dismissed her, now. But she did not know where she was, and had nothing to survive alone…

And then the man spoke. His voice was light, rich, melodious, almost like a woman’s. It entranced her, like what Bill had told her about some type of enchantment placed on cursed sites at sea. (It had earned her poor eldest brother a week of punishment, when their mother had found out, after catching her five-year-old self trying to recreate the enchantment on their frog-pond.) Was this the man’s way of luring her from her fright, then? What would he do with her after she had truly fallen into his grasp?

Steel entered the man’s tone now, sheathed in velvet, as if he could hear her thoughts.

Ginny cringed and cowered away, bumping against what felt like the edge of a sturdy working table. How had he known?

He stepped towards her and grasped her shoulders, although not harshly. With firm gentleness, he steered her towards the door, and reached a hand over her left shoulder to turn the door handle. Ginny wished she knew what he intended to do with her, or where he would bring her; but he did not even talk to her now, perhaps realising the futility of it.

He guided her past the large room, ignoring the other two people’s open stares. A double door stood on the other side of the room, and this he opened slightly to let them out.

A well-tended, well-grown lawn welcomed Ginny’s nose and vision, looking so familiar and smelling like home and more to her. (It looked more alive, more vibrant than even the most magical site she had ever visited, but it still felt like home.) Stepping out onto the grass, she inhaled the fragrant afternoon air deeply and arched a shaky smile. Like home, definitely, despite everything.

The man noticed it. – His impassive look flickered briefly with an unidentifiable emotion. – But he said nothing, and his pace never faltered.

A house stood a distance away, a sprawling mass on the horizon. It reminded Ginny of the Burrow, her own home. But while her ancestral house looked rather odd, this building was magnificent in its own way. (Of course, it helped that this building did not lean to one side as if about to collapse.) Fields and gardens and woods surrounded it. – And how she longed to play and run free, exploring those enticing, delightful open spaces!

(The familiar yet alien view ignited her homesickness anew, but she quelled it as best as she could. It was easier thinking about how to live her life here than trying to find her way home. Surely a day would not matter? She would resume her attempt then, and she would probably be home before her parents went into a frantic search. Then she would be free of their lectures too, unlike her closest older brother Ron yesterday. (He had been missing for the whole day, and Charlie had found him in their pond near dusk, trying to catch some fish for Mum’s birthday.) So, with that thought in mind, her steps became much lighter, and she was even skipping slightly the closer they got to the odd mansion. (Or was that a small fenceless castle?)

She peeked at the man strolling beside her when she became aware of her show of merriment and embarrassed by it. To her dismay, she noticed that a tiny smile was playing on his lips. She read pride for his home on his countenance, like her father had oftentimes displayed in greater measure on his home-coming. But she could also detect another, stronger emotion lurking beneath this man’s smile, and that put a damper on her joy. She could somehow sense that it was about her, but she did not know what he was specifically thinking about, and that alarmed her.

She would take all that she could get if the man would not harm her, though. Now that she again remembered how she had ended up in that terrifying hall of open stoves and white-hot metal bars and how odd the people and place were actually, she felt so tired…

It was definitely not home, however faithfully she compared it to the Burrow. And right now, she only wanted her familiar bed at home, with her six older brothers banging around the tilting, rickety house and Mum and Dad silencing the howling ghoul in their attic.

She lagged behind, but the man only seemed to notice her after a few strides. She stiffened when he returned to her, looking oddly baffled, but she did not struggle when he picked her up and stroked her back. Only then she realised that she was crying silently, and now her tears mixed with the man’s soot-covered tunic. It was not long though before she went into a light doze.

The man was too much like Dad…

In Dreams, To Whom I Never Have
Chapter 2: Colours of a Dream

Ginny regained awareness still resting against the man’s shoulder, held securely and cradled like a child much smaller than she was. It embarrassed her to no end, and yet she was inwardly pleased. Her father had not held her like this for quite a long time, being too busy with his job in the Ministry of Magic and his Muggle toys, and she had forgotten how it had felt. It was so comfortable…

The man did a sitting-down motion and she could not help but stir. Where had he brought her to? It felt slightly different from the large open field they had traversed before. For one, there was a lot of tree-shade here, like in the woods near her home.

She raised her head slightly and peeked over his shoulder. Spying red apples hanging from a low branch, she suspected that they were sitting in an orchard. It baffled her though. She had not glimpsed anything resembling even a clump of trees on their way to the weird mansion! How big was the man’s home then? The thought alone daunted her, but she did not dare raise any objection when the man put her down on the bench beside him. He left then, and she felt bereft like she had never before even when Bill – her eldest brother – had first gone to Hogwarts. It did not help that he did not return for a long time, during which she only dared look around, touching nothing and sitting nearly motionless on the garden bench.

At length though, she spied something that made her greatly curious. Breeze was stirring the leaves of the apple trees around her, and light filtered through the leaves and branches here and there along the rustling motion of the trees. But it was not the ordinary daylight that she had suspected. Instead, it was a rich gold colour that would make the sun pale in comparison. It made her want to touch it, to feel it, to seek it...

She jumped down from the bench as if in a trance, scampering along the path and looking up, always looking up to the gaps in the foliage. Was this why everything had looked so much more vibrant back then in the lawn? Because there was something that rivalled the sun here? Was it even possible?

And then, after much stumbling and flailing, she came suddenly upon a grassy clearing ringed by pear trees and purple-flowered bushes.

However briefly she had been in this strange place, she had taken for granted how green and nearly-translucent the grass-blades were. And now the ambient light also made the soft purple hue of the wide-petalled flowers so much richer…

She gazed long at the flowers, taking in and admiring their beauty, then laid herself on the grass and looked up towards the sky.

There was no sun there. Instead, a flickering light bathed the expanse with a bright, bold golden hue that seemed so… alive, for lack of a better word. Ginny watched every minute shift of the golden shades avidly, her mouth gaping. It was so beautiful! So other-worldly, yet somehow recogniseable and so lovely…

It topped off all the rich things she had seen so far.

She loved it.

But what was it?

She wanted to touch it, dance with it, hold it, be one with it…

As taken as she was with the view above, she was not aware of a shadow looming nearby. She only realised that she had company when a fingertip alit softly on her right shoulder, startling her. Sitting up and curling into a defensive position, she stared wide-eyed at the intruder of her peace.

Which turned out to be the man from earlier. He was gazing oddly at her, with the familiar sharpness but with more calculation involved. The emotion lurking in the depths of his bright grey eyes was more prominant too, tickling at her sense of curiosity mercilessly. What was he thinking about? Where had he been? Why so long? Why had he come back again? What would he do to her now?

He reached out a hand at her, palm up, as if in supplication, gift-giving… or an offer to come with him. She stared at the appendage with uncertainty and no small amount of apprehention. Where would he lead her to? What was his intention with her then? Would she be safe with him?

Her stomach growled with hunger. It decided it for her. Shily – and hoping that he would not betray her trust – she unclasped her right hand from her left one around her knees and lay it atop the man’s.

It was like a tightly-coreographed drama or a careful dance, the way he almost gingerly curled his fingers around hers and grasp her hand, rising up and pulling her with him. But they did not immediately walk away. Instead, he seemed to take his time scrutinising her – again – from head to toe, as if discovering something he had missed before and in – dared she hope? – hidden delight.

When he finally looked away, she peeked aside to the rest of the clearing, saying a silent good-bye. It was too lovely to leave so soon, with the lush grass and purple flowers and golden not-sun, but she did not dare defy the mysterious, scary man.

Her heart leapt when he dragged her to one of the bushes, which bore the most flowers. He picked one of the biggest purple flowers and slipped it amidst her tangled hair, all in a nonchalant manner, as if they had done this for countless times already.

Her breath caught in her throat, and her chest squeezed painfully. Dad…

They immediately left the clearing, thankfully. Ginny did not know how long she could fend back her tears, if they had staid longer. Her home-sickness had returned with a vengeance. But she also did not know if there would be others that would incite the tears anew once they left the orchard, as she knew absolutely nothing of this place and the people in it. Did the man have family? How would they react when – or if? – he presented her to them? Would he ever present her to them in the first place?

Her uncertainty was soothed when they once again crossed the large expanse of lawn towards the sprawling house.

Two horse-riders were crossing the field closest to the house in a leisurely pace, two people looking to be Bill’s age who bore rather close resemblance to the man whose hand was gripping her own tightly. (They seemed to be returning from a trip, judging from the bags and bundles they carried on the backs of their horses.) They seemed to notice the unlikely pair and zoned in on her; and their curious gaze, sensed even from afar, sharpened. Ginny wished she could shrink into herself and hide among the lush grass, or perhaps behind the man’s back. But the man waved them away, in the same pointed manner, and they obeyed.

Ginny and the man crossed the remaining distance from the house afterwards without any other incident. She felt strangely pleased about that, and how the man had handled who most likely were his relatives, if not his sons. She was more assured that he would protect her, if everything went figuratively downhill.

In Dreams, To Whom I Never Have
Chapter 3: Feelings in a Dream

Without her quite realising it, the man had brought Ginny to what she presumed was the front door of the odd mansion.

– Which turned out to be the back door, instead, as she found out when he opened it for her. She stepped into a large kitchen, which was occupied by a dark-auburn-haired woman and two little boys (one fair-haired and the other dark-haired), who were busy preparing a meal. Who would let in a guest through the back door and kitchen? Mum would have railed at her if she had done that to anyone.

But she could pretend that it was her mother she was seeing, and a smaller version of Ron and herself… almost.

The woman looked up from overseeing the boys pealing potatoes, and frowned. Her gaze fell heavily on Ginny, and then the man coming up behind her.

“Fëanáro,” she… greeted? – said to the man, ignoring Ginny for a moment – to her relief.

The man only stepped casually to Ginny’s side, at first. But then, when he had settled (casually, as if it were an everyday occasion) beside her, he said something in the beautiful language of the beautiful people to the woman while gesturing at himself and Ginny, then took her hand in his own.

The woman nodded, although reluctantly, so Ginny supposed that he must have asked for a favour of her, and she had granted it to him. (But what?)

And the said woman was now staring sharply at Ginny, up and down and thoroughly, as if she were a potion ingredient or a piece of work to be scrutinised and judged. Twice now she had to endure such a look, and she found she detested it. What was it with these people and powerful, searching stares? It eclipsed that of the great Albus Dumbledore, the one time he had visited the Burrow for a spot of tea and a – private – talk with her parents!

Did it have something to do with the favour asked by the man? The woman had indeed looked reluctant…

So she was going to be welcomed here by pure charity? Would the family despise her more and more the longer she staid?

Ginny shrank away, pressing her back flat against the doorjam, trying to stem her tears. Only then the woman released her from her gaze, turning away to once again confront the man. She said something to him, gesturing at Ginny, and he nodded. Then she said something to the little boys, who bobbed their heads – unenthusiastically – in assent. Her weary countenance then would have looked just natural on Ginny’s own mother: exhaustion of raising many boisterous children at once.

– Mum…

It was harder to stem her tears now, Ginny found out, as she tried to hide her face underneath her tangled red locks, making the purple flower the man had slipped in there dangle into her vision. (The flower had felt like ages ago…) Her chest squeezed painfully, and she felt like a single rabbit eyed by a hungry eagle; lonely and afraid.

When the woman’s eyes returned to Ginny, though, they had surprisingly softened from the earlier sharp, heavy suspicion. – They were kind and… concerned, almost. – It was a huge leap of change to Ginny, one that nearly tipped her balance figuratively and literally. But she was not going to complain about this new, unexpected development.

When the woman beckoned her, she followed the older female across the hallway with only a slight hesitation, and a brief glance at the man. (He was glaring down at the two little boys, who were doing exactly what the woman – their mother? – might have feared: playing with the vegetables instead of chopping them.)

The pair walked quietly for a while, as they passed rooms after rooms and hallways after hallways set in a convoluted manner. Ginny despised the silence, since it was awkward and laden with subtle tension, but she could not do anything to dissolve it. (Anything that would not mean more trouble for her, anyway.) – It was not her wish to be spirited here, for Merlin’s sake! She had been contented with her life…

Had she?

But she had always hoped that her father would gain fame and a good fortune, had she not? And she had always wished herself bigger, stronger, so that her elder brothers would not see it fit to mollycoddle her (and subsequently keep her out of the fun things), had she not? And she had always dreamt a better chance at living, more opportunity for her to study what she really wanted to study, had she not? She wanted to be a musician like the Weird Sisters (her favourite band), an artisan, a writer, an explorer…

This family, this place, seemed to offer her all, and then some. Was it right and good for her to gripe all along, then? She wanted to be a Gryffindor when she went to Hogwarts, and Gryffindors would not baulk from adventure and adversity.

But would there still be Hogwarts, let alone Gryffindor, when she was old enough for it?

No, no, she did not want to think about it right now.

The woman led her into a side hall and a single door, at last. They stood awkwardly, facing each other, in the sitting-room beyond the door. But while Ginny looked away wishing miserably that she were in her old home and rickety bed, the woman regarded her in that strange, unnerving manner of these beautiful people. (She knew, since such a gaze could hardly be missed.) The suspicion was back, although it was now tempered with hesitation and concern. Still, Ginny had to stifle an instinctive urge to hunker down in self defence.

The woman smiled knowingly, but said nothing in response to the gestural confirmation. Instead, in an almost business-like tone, she pointed to herself and said, “Nerdanel.” There was a vague warning in her look as she patted her lower belly and counted with her fingers slowly, saying, “Maitimo, Makalaurë, Tyelkormo, Carnistir.” It was as if she wanted to say, “I have four children. Hurt them on your peril.”

They locked stares. Ginny looked away first, but only after she glimpsed yet another unidentifiable emotion, similar to that is shown by the man, lurking in the depths of the woman’s eyes. It unnerved her, and yet it made her also curious.

The woman led her around the sitting-room and waved her hand as if saying, “please look around.” Then she pointed at a smaller door leading away from the sitting-room and proceeded to go there.

Ginny did just that. She was glad to finally have a chance to leisurely look around. (She had been too nervous and afraid to do so before.) And what a marvel to behold! She could ignore the stifling heat permeating the space around her, the characteristics of a room which had not been opened for a long time and left under the direct mercy of strong sunlight. She could ignore virtually everything now, even though she had always felt icky when sweat had begun to bathe her like this.

The room alone was… exquisite, to say the least. It was beyond the best and most beautiful of all the magical sites she and her family had ever visited. And she had visited many, in spite of her family’s poverty. (The seven children her parents had never lacked in knowledge and education, if they did clothing and belongings.) It was, to her, magic at its peak, although it did not seem to be manifested obviously, like all the sites she had gone to before. Here, she felt as if everything was not built or made by human hands. So fitting, really, given how these people she had been dropped amongst looked as unearthly – but realer – than the little tree fairies in the Burrow’s back garden.

The two windows there were currently shuttered, which explained the stifling air and the heat to her. The lighting which substituted natural illumination worked just as well, and was just as gorgeous in her opinion, although it did not help subside the heat. She could see neither flame nor Muggle steel-yarns in the round stones that emitted the cold, other-worldly blue glow, however. Spread out in strategic places to minimise shadows, the strange lamps illuminated the room in a way she could not give word to. It was… She was… She just wished…

And the paintings—! They were somehow realer and more life-like than the moving ones at home. Each depicted a person at work, and one particularly-big one captured the activities of a family – the people she had encountered so far, minus the two workers in the horrible hall she had gladly left behind. All of them were displayed beneath the illumination of a lantern each, as if the person who had put them there was quite proud of his works – or perhaps, his family?

She looked away. No, it was too unreachable – they were too unreachable.

She padded to a corner opposite the door, attracted (to her relief) to a portable fountain boasting the carving of a pair of dolphins in playful mid-leap, framed by a roughly-hewn stone basin and set on a narrow but sturdy nightstand. The dolphins, water spouting in rivulets from their tail,  looked as if they could jump out of the large stone bowl any time soon, whistling and chattering. She loved them, their watery home and the rough perimeter somebody had so skilfully created to mimic natural stone. She could spend hours there, just listening to the music of the fountain while drawing or wittling. If only the lighting were a little warmer and the heat less oppressive…

She padded closer towards the merry little fountain and knelt in front of it, carefully fingering the rough rim of the stone basin, admiring the play of light on the fine sprays and how alive the dolphins looked. The water’s song was so sweet. She could really spend hours listening to it, regardless of the illumination… if she could, of course.

And thus she was brought back to the reality of her situation, and the peace the water had lent her shattered like tiny shards of glass.