The Amplitude, Frequency and Resistance of the Soul Bond

Part One: The Resistance

Chapter One: The Plastic of Eden

The scorching sun beat down upon the pristine garden, in which each leaf glistened with beads of moisture on their waxy surface, every blade of lively green grass was trimmed to perfection and not a single plant grew that was not desired. It was like looking at a plastic model of the Garden of Eden. Undeniably, it was beautiful, but it lacked that which a garden thrived on; Life.

One lone boy worked with a, pair of familiar, well worn, yet still sharp shears, trimming the edges of the hedge. He let go of the tool with one sweaty, dirt smeared hand and brushed a drop of sweat that was rolling down his brow. In the process he flicked away stray strands of raven hair that were slipping into his eyes. Fingers that were rough and calloused from an excess of labour patted down his unkempt hair that stuck up at weird and infuriating angles.

The boy gave up on the task of flattening his hair, and returned to the more urgent task of trimming the hedge. If he wasn't finished the garden before the afternoon he would be eating just half a meal for dinner tonight. With a concentration unheard of for a twelve year old boy, he began clipping the expansive hedge that boxed in the the pristine plastic garden.

However, he was still just twelve years old, and his concentration wavered for just a moment when he saw life within the plastic. A single budding flower, barely taller than the boy's hand was hidden away from sight within the recesses of the hedge. He had seen that species of flower more times than he could remember, and every time he had been forced to tear it out of the ground, and condemn it to its death. It was a weed after all, the definition of a plant that was unwanted, even if it appeared beautiful to someone else.

Sighing, the boy knelt down, and reached his hand past the pristine hedge, and grabbed the flower between his fingers. Ugly orange petals crowned the young stem, brightly defying the perfect order of the plastic garden. In its resistance to grow under such conditions, the boy though the flower was quite beautiful, despite the garish colour. Despite this, he didn't hesitate for a moment before tugging at the flower.

He frowned when the plant resisted, the roots grappling firmly in the dirt, refusing to be removed. He leaned in further, trying to wrap his fingers around the stem, but flinched when the hedge left violent scratches on his exposed arm and shoulder. Frustrated, he squeezed the flower, with its obnoxious, garish orange petals that refused to be pulled away, and yanked at it with all his might.

"Damnit," he swore, when his hand slipped off of the flower, thorns imbedded in his fingers, and blood seeping out slowly. He lurched backwards, his feet got tangled in the shears, and he stumbled, landing heavily on the countless blades of grass. Defeated, his back to the ground, he stared up at the blinding sun, which refused to grant him mercy.

Why did the flower resist? At that moment the boy understood why his uncle called this plant a weed, an unwanted specimen. With its spiky thorns, its ugly, bright, orange petals, its stubborn nature, what was there not to hate?

And then the boy began laughing. Not because he found the situation funny, but because the whole thing was ironically sad.

Shut up Harry, I'm not in the mood for your whining.

The boy stopped laughing, for indeed, his name was Harry, Harry James Potter to be precise, and when the voice in his head gave him an order, it was often best to comply. However, talking back and thinking back were currently two different concepts.

You try gardening for a whole day without any water breaks and not whine.

It's your own decision to not take water breaks. What your uncle doesn't know won't hurt.

And what he does know will hurt me a whole lot.

He wouldn't actually hurt you, Harry.

That's what you know…

Just get out of my head, please?

Trust me Ginny, if I could I would.

There was no sudden silence when the conversation ended, because the conversation had been silent to begin with. Harry had been having a mental conversation with an eleven year old red headed witch. Some would call him crazy, he would rather call himself magic.

I can still hear you.

Harry sighed as he stood back up to his feet, and placed his thorn prickled fingers in his mouth, trying to suck the blood and pain away.

Well, what do you want me to do about that?

Harry pulled the remaining thorns out with his teeth and spat them onto the ground. He knelt down, groaning at the weariness in his knees, and retrieved the shears. With the sharp tool still latched in his hand, he reached into the hedge and positioned the blades around the stem of the flower.

I don't know Harry! I don't care either just do something! I hate you in my head!

Harry held the shears in place around the flower that resisted, but his hand shook slightly as he hesitated.

I hate you too…

I hate you more!

I should have just left you in the Chamber!

What was possibly the first time since Harry had rescued Ginny from the Chamber of Secrets, there was complete silence within his mind. He angrily tightened his grip around the shears that were now shaking violently.

I'm sorry, that crossed the line.

Just leave me alone!

Ginny's thoughts resounded in his head painfully. They were brimming with emotion. Fear, as she remembered the Chamber, despair, as she realized their predicament, anger, as she recalled Harry's words, and finally, basic teenage frustration. Harry could visualize Ginny storming out of the room, slamming the door shut behind her as she fled the scene.

Except that she was still there. She was still in his head. It was impossible for either one of them to leave, and had been since he had saved her from Tom Riddle.

The Basilisk fang fell out of Harry's hand as his body went limp. It was over. The Basilisk was slain, the sword of Gryffindor was still lodged within its skull, and now Tom Riddle was gone, the Basilisk fang still lodged within his diary. The parts of Ginny's soul that had been used to feed Tom remained however. A faint, orange glow, tinted with gold, hovered in the air, reminiscent of the aurora lights.

Ginny laid on the floor unmoving, her skin a sickly hue, and so only Harry saw the light. He gaped at the pulsing aura blearily, too tired to determine whether it was an illusion or not. After discovering magic was real, he tended to believe phenomenas more readily, which was why he wasn't surprised when he felt the light being sucked towards him.

It was an eerie sensation. Ginny's soul that had been drained out of her body had nowhere to go. Her body was dying, and her soul was searching for a suitable container to reside and survive within, and the only other living being was Harry.

Harry felt something inside him, not an organ, or a bone, or his blood, but something much deeper, sucking Ginny's soul into him. The orange light encompassed his chest, seeping through his tattered shirt, and then into his skin. It continued deeper, not moving through his body, but rather further inside.

Then suddenly, Harry exploded. He screamed in agony as his own soul was torn apart to accommodate Ginny's. One can live with a split soul, but no one can live with more than one soul. The pressure was too much, and Harry's body erupted in a cacophony of magic and soul fragments. The light that left Harry's body was a soothing, aurora green, blended with fierce, pulsing orange.

Harry could literally feel the magic in the air, with the hair on his arms standing upright. It flowed slowly along with the aurora soul light, until it passed over Ginny's unmoving body. With a sudden display of speed, the combination of magic and soul light pierced her chest. The magic resuscitated her body, while the soul light, half Harry's and half Ginny's, filled her insides.

Harry stared at Ginny, still lying on the floor, but no longer sickly pale, with his mouth still open for three long seconds. He would remember them forever after, because since that day, it had been the longest time his mind had ever been silent.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Ginny picked herself up, until her chest was off the ground. She groaned and rubbed her eyes weakly, blinking stupidly as she tried to wash away the fatigue. Her mouth stretched open as she yawned, and she tried to close it, but it was a losing battle. That was all Harry heard through his ears, however…

Uhh, my back, I'm so sore. What happened to me last night? Actually where am I ri-i-i-ight now, whew that was a big yawn, I'm exhausted. I hope I didn't have another blank out again. Why are my clothes all wet? Don't tell me I fell asleep in a bathroom again. It's a pretty dark bathroom though…

Suddenly Ginny seemed to regain her senses, and her brown eyes locked onto Harry. She took a quick, panicked breath, and her cheeks flushed bright red. Her mouth opened in surprise, and she appeared to be trying to say something, but the words wouldn't come out. Harry would have said something consoling to her, but he was currently preoccupied with the voice in his mind that had suddenly grown panicked.

It's Harry! Oh my goodness, it's him, it's actually him. Stop staring at him Ginny. Snap out of it, you have to say something, anything. Damnit, I can't say anything. This is so embarrassing. Look at his clothes, they're all torn up… is that blood! Oh my gosh, he looks just like a hero. Aww, I love him so much.

By this point, Harry had realized that he was overhearing some sort of conversation Ginny was having with herself. Therefore, he began spluttering when he heard her love confession.

Wait, I heard something! What was that?

Ginny suddenly started glancing around her, searching for something. She looked rather frightened when she couldn't find anyone talking.

I wonder whose voice she heard.

Yours, obviously! Where are you, come out, you're scaring me.

Harry blinked at her as she continued to glance around the room. By now she realized she was not in any normal place in Hogwarts, but that didn't seem to bother her as much as the mysterious voice. A feeling of dread slowly crept over Harry as he realized what might be happening.

Please don't tell me you can hear this.

Of course I can hear you talk, I'm talking back to you.

Then how come your lips aren't moving?

After Harry thought that, there wasn't quite silence, per say, but there was an absence of any coherent communication. Rather, a jumble of mixed messages and half constructed phrases were sent tumbling into his mind.

"Ginny, are you alright?" Harry asked, concerned when she wrapped her arms around herself protectively in a frantic panic. It even looked like she was scratching herself with her nails.

I can feel the pain in my arms from my nails, so I'm not dreaming, so what on earth is happening. Harry just spoke to me, I need to reply. He already thinks I'm really weird, I need to say something… wait, I recognize his voice.

She recognizes my voice?

I recognize that voice!

But I'm not talking.

And I'm not listening.

So what are we doing?

Green eyes stared at brown eyes, and the totality of their situation hit them. Ginny flung herself up to her feet and began running away from Harry, hyperventilating as she struggled to breathe. Harry was less emotional in his realization, and instead just sat frozen on the floor, his arms wrapped firmly around his knees.

Not again, not Riddle again, I don't want someone else in my head ever again. Get out. Get out! Get out please!

No one can know about the Dursleys. She'll find out everything. No, no, no! What will everyone think of me? Get her out of my head!

Get out of my head!

Get out of mine!

"GET OUT!" They both screamed at each other from opposite sides of the cavern. A dead Basilisk lay between them, but their current predicament bothered them both far more.

They stood there in Slytherin's secret chamber, chests heaving as they breathed heavily, trying to comprehend just what had occurred.

This is the last thing I want.

That makes two of us, Ginny.

At least we can agree on something.

They both smirked at each other, each hearing the other's sentiments and realizing that this new development was out of their control. They were both pawns to this mysterious connection that was between them.

A cord.

Harry stared at Ginny confused. Despite being able to hear her thoughts, it didn't mean that he could decipher her unique way of thinking that took her eleven years to develop. Therefore Harry couldn't follow her train of thoughts, and her sudden statement simply confused him.

Why are we talking about music all of a sudden?

Not a piano chord, a rope cord, something holding us together.

Yeah, except this thing holding us together never shuts up.

Fine then! What do you want to call it?

Considering it never shuts up, how about a chord?

I just said that!

No, the other kind of chord.

Oh, for Merlin's sake, think more clearly, and I mean that literally Harry.


Harry's apology was sincere. He had been slowly distracted by the realization that the two of them were still indeed within the Chamber of Secrets, and thoughts of escape had clouded his mind. More importantly…

Is Ron ok?

He's fine, just trapped behind some rocks.



It's just a joke Harry. It's just that, we really won't want to see how he reacts to this… chord.

See, it's catchy, isn't it.

Technically I did come up with that name.

No, technically you came up with the rope cord, and I came up with the piano chord.

Harry! Shut up! I'm not in the mood.

Right, sorry, I mean, it's not like I saved you from a Basilisk and baby Voldemort.

Don't say his name.

Harry and Ginny glared at each other. As the mental argument had raged, they had slowly advanced towards each other, and they could now see one another's face clearly, and were separated by the thick body of the dead snake.

I can see we're going to be having a lot of problems.

Ginny nodded once in agreement. Harry glanced around the room, and realizing there was nothing alive to help them escape, except for Fawkes, who seemed happy enough to simply glide softly in slow circles around the cavern, decided that it was time to leave.

You read my mind.

You can say that again.

Harry limped over to the head of the Basilisk, and with as much strength as he could muster in his scrawny arms he began pulling the ruby engraved sword out of the monster. Three solid tugs later the sword crashed to the ground with a clang, and Harry knelt against the Basilisk, breathing heavily. Ginny eyed him disapprovingly.

My hero…

No need to sound so happy.

Together they left towards the exit, Harry leading the way, as Ginny had no memory of her entrance. They followed the dreary, slippery drain pipes, their feet squelching against the faint remains of stagnant water, and struggled desperately to block one another from their mind.

You know… we don't have to tell my brother.

He's my best friend Ginny, I can't not tell him.

I'm his sister, do you know how much I'll have to put up with if he finds out about this chord.

I don't know Ginny…

Harry, this is the boy who gets jealous over breakfast food.

I still think we should tell him.

Harry James Potter! You listen to me! We are not going to tell Ronald a single thing about the chord. Understand?

Are all women this angry inside?

I can hear you thinking Harry, don't push it.

Fine, but if we're not telling Ron, we're not telling anyone.

No one at all?

No one.

Not even Dumbledore?

The conversation paused, even though the hum of their minds activity continued within. Harry glanced at Fawkes, who was lighting the way with his brilliant, burning feathers. Would Dumbledore be disappointed if Harry continued to keep secrets? If Harry had told him about the voices he had been hearing through out the year, perhaps the Basilisk incident would have been solved sooner.

He should have been able to solve the problem without your help as it is.

You can't say that. Ron and I only found the Chamber by luck. Besides, Dumbledore's been under pressure by the governors all year.

And that makes it all right for a twelve year old boy to fight a Basilisk.

Fine, we won't tell him. We won't tell anyone. Not a soul.

"Harry? Is that you?" Ron's voice called out from around the corner. He sounded tired, frustrated and worried simultaneously.

"Ron! It's me, we're safe," Harry called back.

"Ron!" Ginny cried, and despite her harsh words earlier, she still sobbed as she ran to her brother's arms. Ginny's emotional thoughts tumbled through the chord in a mass of incoherency, and Harry felt disoriented, almost car sick, at the foreign feeling.

"I cleared enough rocks to climb through," Ron explained, pointing to the hole he had climbed through. His hands were red and raw, and his whole body was coated in a fine layer of dust.

"Thanks," Harry said appreciatively.

"No, thank you mate, you saved my little sis." Ron clapped him on the back warmly. "I can see the blood on you, so it must be one hell of a tale."

"It is," Harry agreed.

"You can tell me later, let's get out first," Ron said cheerfully, glad that everything was back to the way it was.

Suddenly, I'm feeling really relieved we didn't tell him.

Told you.

"By the way, where's Lockhart?" Harry asked, and Ron suddenly looked quite sheepish.

Lockhart? Lockhart! What is he doing down here? I've had enough of him this year, why does he have to be down here now?

"Why hello there chaps," Lockhart exclaimed, sprawled on the ground, his usually perfect hair an utter mess. "This fine gentleman here has just been showing me around his home." Lockhart glanced between Harry and Ginny and frowned. "You two don't happen to be the husband and wife of this household do you?"

That's it, we're leaving him down here.

"And so you pulled the sword of Gryffindor out of the sorting hat, slew the Basilisk, stabbed the magical diary with a fang, and flew away with the aid of Fawkes?" Dumbledore confirmed, peering at the three young school children. He was filled with pride at the bravery of the students of Hogwarts, even if their actions were reckless and life threatening.

"Yeah, that's about it," Harry admitted. Ron's mouth was still wide open, still trying to process the epic tale he had just heard.

"And there's nothing else you need to tell me?" Dumbledore questioned, staring at the three children, but directing the question at Harry. "No mysterious voices in your head?"

Despite the fact that Dumbledore was joking, and referencing Harry's earlier visit to the office, Harry felt his heart beating faster at Dumbledore's statement.

Don't tell him anything, you understand! If you do I'll knock you out and you won't wake up till next school year. I live with six brothers; don't think I won't be able to.

"Nothing except a voice in my head telling me to sleep," Harry replied with a serene smile on his face. He struggled to keep a straight face while Ginny struggled to control her temper. Dumbledore appeared not to notice their chord however, for he simply smiled benevolently at Harry.

"Of course, it is not wise to disobey such orders," Dumbledore said, "Alas, I haven't slept for over seventy hours, and the voices in my head are really quite angry."

"So are mine sir, so are mine," Harry replied, solemnly nodding his head.

The next and last few days of the school year passed all too quickly. The petrified patients were revived, and all but Hermione were immensely relieved to hear that they were exempt from exams. How Hermione planned to pass when she was absent for a quarter of the year was beyond Harry, but when he tried mentioning that to her he received a lecture in return.

Of course, that then led to Harry thinking about how all women were crazy, which resulted in another lecture from Ginny through the chord. Ron couldn't understand why Harry looked so dazed for the rest of that day. It was impossible to explain that there was no solace for Harry anymore, within or out of his mind.

Harry, and Ginny in particular, was pleased to discover that Hermione didn't think he was acting strangely, and simply decided that any new quirks in the boy-who-lived had simply developed in her two month long absence. She wasn't necessarily wrong; it's just that she couldn't comprehend such a drastic change occurring. It also probably helped that Harry and Ginny refused to spend any time together. Physically, that was. Mentally they were always together.

Harry spent the train ride home playing exploding snap with Ron and Hermione, and feasting on a "Congratulations on killing the Basilisk/get well soon/thank you for freeing me/I'm sorry I almost killed you" gift basket from none other than Dobby, who Harry had managed to free from the Malfoy's with a single, dirty, blood encrusted sock. Harry cringed when he saw Dobby wearing it on his head like a beanie.

You sure you don't want to join us?

I'm fine, Harry.

Harry winced. It wasn't the first time he had thought concerned thoughts about Ginny that were then unconsciously passed through the chord. It wasn't his fault, he could tell through the chord that she was sitting along in a cabin. She was quickly becoming irritated with Harry's constant concern.

I'm reading a book.

I know, I've been hearing every word you read in my mind.

And I've been hearing your every whining thought about the Dursleys all train ride!

You've already read that page.

Harry winced as a torrent of emotions blew up in his head, the chord thrumming loudly in his mind as Ginny rattled his brains. Hermione stared at him in concern, but he shrugged it off, saying it was just a headache.

Hours later the train finally embarked at Platform Nine and Three Quarters, and although Harry's head was still ringing, Ginny had quietened down. They descended off the train, baggage in hand feeling glum, Harry because he could see the Dursleys, Ginny because her book was never finished.

What are we going to do Ginny?

I don't know Harry, I just don't know.

In the plastic Garden of Eden, Harry continued to kneel in front of the hedge, the shears clenched in his fist, the blades wrapped around the weed of a flower. In the world of perfection and normality that surrounded it, the single, orange flower dared to grow, and dared to resist. Yet all Harry had to do was lean in, squeeze the handles of the bladed steel and the resistance will have been for nothing.

Harry stared at the flower, and couldn't help but notice that the orange he had earlier found garish and grotesque now appeared quite stunning. Perhaps it was the change of light, as pins of sunlight found it's way through the compact hedge, but Harry suddenly found himself quite attracted to the rebellious, resisting flower, that dared to thrive.

The orange petals were the same colour as Ginny's hair.

That was it for Harry. He let himself fall backwards and threw the shears to the side.

Why thank you.

Don't worry, I didn't do it for you.

I wasn't worrying.

I know you weren't.

Stop peeking in my mind.

You stop peeking in mine!

You know I can't.


I lost my page.

Harry glared up at the sun, which still refused to grant any mercy on those already fallen and downtrodden.

What are we going to do Ginny?

I don't know Harry, I just don't know.

They spent the rest of the afternoon in what they considered silence. They didn't make any direct communication with one another, so instead of their chord throbbing, it simply hummed at a low, constant vibration as their erratic thoughts passed by their mind. Ginny lost herself in the daydreams of her book, while Harry lost himself in the manual labour of the gardening.

When the sun finally began to set, Molly called Ginny down to help her with dinner while Harry settled down by the hose, greedily gulping down the water now that the gardening was finished.

He stumbled towards the back door, eager for food, but filled with the depressing foreknowledge that he wouldn't be getting any until dinner, when Uncle Vernon walked out to meet him halfway. Harry glanced around the yard nervously, making sure there weren't any tools littering the lawn. He was confidant that the rebellious flower was well hidden within the depths of the hedge and that his Uncle wouldn't spot it.

Relieved that there seemed to be nothing to get him in trouble, Harry turned back to his uncle. The burly man took a deep breath, preparing to threaten Harry about something new. What it was Harry couldn't remember, but it was at the edge of his mind, alongside with the cooking instructions Molly was berating Ginny with.

"Boy!" Vernon snarled, "I hope you remember what day it is."

It's Thursday.

That's not what he means… oh, never mind.

Harry was fortunately saved from responding, as his uncle didn't like it when Harry actually spoke, so he answered the question for him.

"It's Dudley's birthday," Vernon explained.

Oh no.

"And he's having his friends over for the night."

No, no, no, not good.

"And unfortunately, Mrs. Figg doesn't want to take you overnight, so you'll be staying in the house."

They'll murder me in my sleep.

Oh, stop exaggerating

Fine, they might not kill me, but I'm not going to wake up properly either.

"I don't want any freaky stuff while they're here," Vernon snarled, thrusting a finger at Harry. "You understand," he said, leaning in with his red, flushed face and hairy mustache.

"I understand," Harry promised. Vernon glared at Harry in disgust, but seemed appeased. Harry felt far less comfortable however. He didn't plan to do anything, but for some reason, freaky stuff just seemed to find him.

The chord thrummed with Ginny's irritation.

You can say that again.

Time for those ever fun after notes. So, in case you readers haven't yet noticed, this is a soulbond fic in which Harry and Ginny do not passionately fall in love after seconds of their first pre-pubescent kiss. There will be fluff in this story, just like every other SoulBond fic, but they will have to work for it.

Second, the mind dialogue through the "chord" Is purposely meant to be confusing as to who is the speaker. That is why there is no (Ginny thought/Harry thought) after wards. It's meant to establish the chaos and annoyance that the soul bond presents.

I'm also going to send this through quite a fast pace hopefully. No summer will last longer than two chapters, and the Hogwarts years should be done within five or so chapters.

I think that's it. No serious warnings, other than cloudy with a chance of fluffiness.