Blood Will Tell
by Morvoren

When I was little I used to hear the phrase 'blood will tell' quite a bit. Of course, I never understood it, not back then. I always used to ask Mum what the blood would tell me, and how. She always smiled, laughed and told me I'd understand when I was older.

And now I do. Oh, how I do.

I see the way they look at me, how they've looked at me since my first year. The year that I was possessed and I almost killed people and almost got my brother and Harry killed.

I understand now what they mean by 'blood will tell'. Blood will tell you everything important in the first few seconds after it's spilt. The first few seconds where you can't believe it, before the pain sets in and you actually register the cut.

Blood will tell.

They all look at me with cold eyes now, like they don't trust me. I've tried to tell them I'm not Tom any more, that I'd never betray them. I've tried to prove it with every move I've made since that first year.

Aren't first years supposed to make mistakes? Everyone forgives them for the stupid things they do in first year, when they're learning the steps and figuring out their place in everything.

I made a mistake -- granted a big one -- but I was a first year. I was only eleven. Shouldn't they forgive me too? I didn't mean it, any of it, but they all stare at me with guarded eyes and cold expressions and I am not forgiven. In the hearts of everyone I meet, I am branded 'the girl who almost killed the Boy-Who-Lived'.

Blood will tell.

It's telling me now, it is. Telling me secrets while it runs down my arm just as the tears have run down my face. It's telling me that they never forgive, never forget, and I'll always be guilty, I'll always be Voldemort. I'm no longer Ginny Weasley, I am His servant, His to bid and His to call. I have never been free from his clutches, even after the diary was gone.

Blood will tell. Bad blood will out. The bad blood's inside of me, and I have to get it out. Bad blood will out, and it's out of my veins and forming a nice red pool by my feet. The carpet won't come clean from this, and neither will I. The bad blood's out, but I'm still bad inside. The blood is telling me I can't be free.

As the blood runs in rivers down my skin the tears run rivers down my face and I lay down in the blood and the tears, bathing in them like the evil I am. After all, blood will tell.

Blood will tell.


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