Voldaphne, as Ginny had taken to calling the latest addition to Voldemort's ever‑lonely little family— composed only of himself— was quite insane… though not in the sort of wild, moon‑howling way usually reserved for those actually cursed with lycanthropy.
In some respects, she was worse than even Fenrir Greyback, a monster both within and without. For the wolf was the innocent monster, while the man was the true monster. At least old man Greyback had some excuse for one part of himself being beyond control; Voldaphne had none for her deliberate, needless cruelty.
That being said, Voldaphne was no raving lunatic.
To wander as far beyond the bounds of humanity as Voldemort had done, one surely had to be, at the very least, a little mad… With less than two‑tenths of one per cent of the original Tom Riddle's soul animating Daphne's body, she was every bit as inhuman as the 'real' Voldemort; with so little of a soul remaining, one might just as well have called them both entirely soulless.
Even so, Voldaphne retained a keen sense of self‑preservation.
Ginny knew it, because she felt it herself— that instinctive craving to reach eternity at any cost, to sacrifice everything for the sake of longevity and life everlasting. Voldaphne knew that she knew; Ginny knew that she knew it, and so they both found themselves caught in an impossible bind, each aware that their positions were untenable.
One by one, the Horcruxes were coming back to life, for that was precisely what they had been created to do. If the original body was sealed away, banished, or otherwise reduced to something less than even the meanest ghost, the Horcruxes would seek out the living and attempt resurrection.
Why?
Because Voldemort had torn his soul apart so many times, retaining so little of what had once been whole, his own fragments had come to believe him dead by technicality— thus circumventing the enchantments that were meant to keep them docile, as mere trinkets anchoring his spirit to Midgard.
In the end, there could be only one, and both Ginny and Voldaphne knew this.
In every age, there could be only one Dark Lord, and never more. However much Voldemort trusted in his own power, he would never place faith in other versions of himself, no matter how obedient his magic had compelled them to seem. Were he in their place, he would have done everything to break his chains and usurp the original— and both Ginny and Voldaphne knew it… and so did Voldemort.
Previously, Voldaphne had questioned Ginny at length about her true intentions, feigning righteous loyalty to Voldemort's cause, though they had both known she was only posturing. In truth, Ginny had not hidden herself from Voldemort out of fear of Dumbledore, but out of fear of Voldemort himself. And Voldaphne had not sought the Elder Wand for him, but to shield herself from him!
Neither trusted the other, but for now, with seventy years' experience in the Dark Arts, Voldaphne was the stronger Witch. Much as she longed to destroy Ginny— whom she still considered dangerous— they were both Horcruxes in the end, and the enchantments binding her forbade any act against Voldemort's interests.
Or at least, that's what Voldaphne believed.
What she did not know, however, was that Ginny was entirely free of such restraints. By mending her soul with half of Ginny's own, she had regained the capacity for remorse, the only cure for a torn soul. Living among the Weasleys had stirred genuine remorse for her past deeds, and in that moment of truth, their souls had fused completely, leaving her an independent being free to act against Voldemort.
…
"That's enough!" Ginny cried in Parseltongue. "You're going to kill her!"
Voldaphne had been at it for hours now, taking great pleasure in using the Cruciatus Curse to torment Oleandra, Ron and Neville. Seamus had been let go long ago; he had given in to the torture within an hour, so she had let him go. Torturing weaklings had its own merits, but the three who hung before her were far more interesting playthings.
"We found Gaunt's ring in her room," Ginny insisted, thrusting her hand in Voldaphne's face. "There's no reason to keep going."
Ron laughed weakly. His sister, a Dark Lady… speaking Parseltongue… how could he have failed to see the darkness within her? He was a poor excuse for a brother, indeed…
"Quiet, you," Voldaphne said lazily, snapping her fingers. Ron fell instantly silent. She turned to Ginny, her gaze glacial with indifference. "Spirit of the Diary… who are you to tell Lord Voldemort what he may or may not do?"
Ginny reflexively glanced at Oleandra, who looked like she was still unconscious. Speaking such secrets in front of Oleandra, who was also a Parselmouth… either Voldaphne was too far gone to care, or she had every intention of killing her.
"Greengrass sliced off my hand," Ginny said coolly, "so I'd simply like my turn with her, and not with a lifeless rag."
Torture had its uses, and Voldemort certainly delighted in it— whether to vent his fury or to intimidate his followers— but Ginny and Voldaphne had nothing to prove to each other, nor anything left to vent. They had already drawn from Oleandra all that they wanted, so to continue would be pointless.
Daphne shrugged. "Rennervate," she said, pointing her wand at Oleandra.
Nothing happened.
"Force of habit," she said, holstering her yew wand and drawing the Elder Wand. "Rennervate."
Oleandra's chest jolted, and her eyes opened, dull and unseeing.
"You've broken her," Ginny said reproachfully. "I'll call for Madam Pomfrey…"
"GRARRGHH!!"
Startled, Ginny and Voldaphne turned to Neville, who had begun thrashing wildly, straining against his chains, his manacled fists flailing as spittle flew from his mouth and he screamed obscenities at them.
"Ginny, you traitorous bitch!" Neville roared. "You'd better kill me now, because I'll never stop hunting you, not until I've cut your body into a thousand pieces!"
"His parents were tortured to insanity after the Dark Lord's fall," explained Ginny matter-of-factly. "The Cruciatus Curse is a touchy subject for him."
"Is that so?" Voldaphne said, her voice tinged with amusement. "In that case, no more Cruciatus for you, Mr Longbottom. You'll have a front‑row seat at the Dark Arts class's Cruciatus training sessions from now on— I think that should be punishment enough for tonight's escapades."
…
Ginny then summoned Madam Pomfrey, and a few minutes later the Healer entered the dungeons, gasping in dawning horror at the sight of Oleandra, Ron, and Neville hanging limply by their wrists, chained to the walls.
"What have you done, Daphne?" Madam Pomfrey whispered, her voice trembling as she finished her examination. "What have you done to your sister?"