Ginny knew about the extraction, but only through sheer tenacity and quite a lot of haranguing. I'm older than Ron was when you told him all about the Order hadn't worked with her mother. Neither had These are my brothers and my father, and I deserve to know what's happening.
Fred and George would probably have told her, but they were in and out of the house at all hours. When they came to dinner, it was usually with Bill and Fleur, and then all other talk was subsumed by wedding preparations. Her mother had perfected her strategy of division, forcing her brothers out into the garden for neverending grooming, while keeping Ginny in the kitchen.
Ginny would have complained, but completing without magic the unappealing tasks of wrangling tall grass to a respectable height or halting the advancing dandelion infestation was distasteful enough she didn't fight staying in the cool kitchen. Then, her mother would all but shoo the twins out the door, proclaiming all the while she wished they'd stay the night.
Ron, however, was an easier target. It had been easy to wheedle out of him that Harry would be arriving with Moody in a few weeks. Several days before the event, however, an impromptu Order meeting held in the Burrow kitchen, with several harried members hustling in and out had made it quite clear to Ginny the plan was seriously altered.
She went back to Ron. While he'd put up a surly front, with a bit of coaxing, a bit of righteous indignation, and a threat or two of Hermione's pending arrival and inevitable tell-all, he'd finally told her the whole, changed proposition: the Polyjuice potion, the harrowing night travel, and the date.
A strange sort of balance then existed with her mother. She knew Ginny knew this tidbit of Order business, but still insisted on banishing her from the kitchen during informal meetings. And yet, even her mother seemed to acknowledge the particular cruelty of allowing four of her brothers, her future sister-in-law, her father, her ex-boyfriend, and one of her best friends to all risk their lives on a single night without Ginny knowing about it. She's glad I know, Ginny surmised, she's just happy she doesn't have to tell me about it.
The days crept forward. Hermione arrived. Ginny tried exactly once to ask why she, Ron, and Harry weren't going back to Hogwarts. As usual, they were sharing a bedroom, so Hermione was her one consistent source of information.
"Ginny, I can't tell you," Hermione had said matter-of-factly. "This isn't secretive Order business; I'm not your mum. We're not telling anybody – so no, it's not Ron's weird fraternal instinct kicking in, either. I'll tell you anything you want to know about what else the Order is up to, but not this."
Her answer was so respectfully straightforward, Ginny accepted it.
Ginny alternated between steadfastly avoiding imagining the days after Harry's extraction, and daydreaming incessantly about the interstitial between his arrival at the Burrow and departure for his mysterious quest. Nothing will happen. You know nothing will happen. Still, he would be there: at the breakfast table, passing her on the narrow stairs, playing games with Ron and Hermione in the evenings, brushing his teeth in the cramped bathroom – not a romantic activity, to be sure, but one so homely and comforting she felt her stomach tighten in anticipation. She knew they couldn't go to their usual haunt to play Quidditch anymore, but she daydreamed about that too.
Those images flooded her mind when she let her guard down. Usually, once she acknowledged the fantasies, she could stop them. She didn't know Harry would be coming, because this ridiculous, foolhardy to the extreme, convoluted plan had to work first. While she and her mother waited at home.
Thinking of that upcoming helpless evening made her too angry, so she usually had to redirect her thoughts from that too.
On the evening of the extraction, dinner was quiet, just her brothers, Hermione, Fleur, and her parents. They didn't want any Death Eaters keeping an eye on the perimeter of the Burrow to act when fifteen Order members left the property at once and Disapparated. Better, they'd agreed, to Apparate separately, meet in a secluded location, and depart for Harry's together.
The silence had stretched on so long at dinner that Hermione actually jumped when Ginny's mother said, "What shall we do for Harry's birthday next week?"
Ginny frowned and started, "Mum, let's not –"
At the same time, Fleur said, "Yes! I wouldn't want 'im to feel overlooked."
There was another uncomfortable silence.
Valiantly, her mother tried again. "Ron – Hermione – what do you think? What would he like?"
"Honestly, mum, I don't think he'll want anything," Ron said after a pause. "Dinner and cake, I s'pose?"
Hermione nodded vigorously beside Ron but was otherwise uncharacteristically silent.
Fleur continued, "It is the day before the wedding, is it not? I'll 'ave to remind my parents to bring 'im a gift."
Another pause. Ginny ate a very large forkful of shepherd's pie, in case her mother planned on grilling her next.
Her father broke the silence this time. "Let's just ask him what he wants when he gets here, shall we, dear?"
"Good idea," put in Bill.
"We're getting him a pygmy puff," said Fred.
"Yeah, we're naming it Ginny," said George, waggling his eyebrows at her.
"In case he gets lonely," said Fred.
Ginny rolled her eyes. "I don't think Harry would remember to feed a pygmy puff," she said dismissively.
Once more, the conversation lapsed. This time, her mother ducked her head, scooping herself another portion of beans.
The moment it seemed useful and not rude, Ginny jumped up with her plate, stacking Fleur's and Hermione's on top of her own, and brought them to the kitchen. Immediately, there was a bustle of activity as the others followed her lead.
"I'll go now," her father said. "To the hill. I'll see you all there." Ginny thought they were meeting the others at a hill north of the village, near their old Quidditch haunt. After a long embrace each with her mother and Ginny, he left, walking to the edge of the property and Disapparating.
"Bill and Fleur, you two had better go next," her mother said. "Then Fred and George. Then Ron and Hermione."
Two by two over the next half hour, the pairs Disapparated. Bill seemed the most at ease, saying calmly to Ginny and her mother, "Don't worry, you two. Please. This is routine. We'll all be back in just a few hours." Her mother attempted unsuccessfully to hide a large sniff. Fred and George laughed at their own jokes, as they usually did, but Ginny couldn't join them. Ron's hug was perfunctory and awkward; Hermione's, only slightly less so. Hermione was not a hugger; it somehow made Ginny feel worse that she thought the danger of this mission deserved a goodbye embrace. So much for Bill's assurances.
It had been so much different, when they were at Grimmauld Place. She had worried, of course, thinking of her father and Lupin and Tonks standing guard, to keep You-Know-Who from acquiring his weapon. But she hadn't felt like she did now, so cold she was shaking, hardly able to keep her head clear or carry on a conversation. Was it because the overwhelming air of mystery that had tinged the Order's activities had lent it all a whimsical, almost gamelike quality as she and the others tried to decipher scraps of information? Was it because only her father had been directly involved in missions then? Or was it because she had hardly understood the stakes? Nobody had died yet. Dumbledore was still leading them. Harry had been there, safe.
Now, she and her mother were alone. Ginny couldn't look at her. She sat back down in a kitchen chair and put her palms to her cheekbones. Her hands were cold, her cheeks flaming. The temperature difference pricked the beginnings of a headache in her temple.
Unbidden, a fantasy flooded her mind. Harry's birthday, the day before the wedding. Everyone was there – Tonks, Lupin, all her brothers – Charlie, too, and Percy, in this daydream – Harry, Hermione, even the Delacours. All laughing, crowded inside the kitchen, singing Happy Birthday to Harry, her mother slicing the cake, and Harry catching her eye over his gifts and smiling…
She usually cut off her thoughts here, forced them to return to more neutral topics. It was tempting fate, to think so openly of a happy future that might be shattered, might be crumbling to pieces even now, might be hurtling toward the Earth like one of her brothers' bodies –
Stop. She forced her mind back to the image of the birthday party. She would play it over and over again, on repeat if she had to. She would not think about the Order of the Phoenix.
"Let's make some paper decorations for the wedding," her mother said, cutting into her thoughts.
Ginny removed one hand from her face and looked blearily at her mother. "What sort of decorations?"
"Lanterns, flowers, garlands…whatever you like," said her mother. "Fleur bought some gold paper the other day."
"Fleur can probably charm the scissors to make the decorations in about five seconds," Ginny pointed out. Usually, she hated it when her mother insisted they embark on a project without using magic for Ginny's sake. She found it inefficient and condescending; it was a surefire way to spark a fight between them. When she reflected after the arguments, though, she had to admit that her mother, who'd had underage children for well over twenty years, had incredible patience for the inefficiencies of doing all sorts of tasks by hand.
Tonight, though, Ginny found herself welcoming the distraction. When her mother responded, "I'm sure Fleur could, but I want to get started on them tonight," Ginny acquiesced easily.
She glanced at her watch. Six forty-five.
"The first portkey is due back…" she began.
"Nine o'clock," her mother replied, almost absentmindedly, seemingly without even considering obfuscating or fussing about how much Ginny knew.
Two hours. Interminable.
Taking the scissors to the gold paper was surprisingly calming; her hands were no longer shaking.
"We can charm these, of course," her mother commented, "make them shimmer a bit, make the lanterns glow, or the icicles twirl…I should think they'll be quite clever-looking in the end."
After a while, her mother stood up from the table and went back to the stove. "They may be quite hungry, depending. Ron and Hermione hardly touched their dinners. I might as well knock something else up. It'll keep until tomorrow."
After preparing dinner and vanishing it with a flick of her wand – Ginny was always impressed with her mother's food storage spells – and Ginny had covered the table with decorations, silence fell again. Ginny stood, awkwardly, gathered up the paper in her arms, and deposited it in the cluttered corner of the living room devoted to wedding supplies.
She and her mother fought, often. Ginny knew she bristled too quickly when speaking with her, that she extended her mother less patience than she gave even her brothers, that she was often unreasonable. But she couldn't change her behavior. She felt she'd made a genuine effort, but still, they snipped at each other with a depressing frequency. This summer, with the wedding preparations, it had been even worse.
Tonight, though, they were united. It hadn't always been like this, even recently. A few times earlier this summer when just Bill and her father had gone on a reconnaissance mission, or when Fred and George had let slip they'd received a death threat at the shop, she and her mother had one worry-fueled fight after another, ostensibly about cleaning or Ginny's school supplies for next year or, as ever, the wedding.
Tonight was different. She figured it was because all of them, nearly their whole family, their closest friends, were risking their lives in one night.
She checked her watch. Eight thirty-seven.
She turned on the radio. She sat back down at the kitchen table. Her mother sat opposite.
Eight thirty-nine.
Ginny put her head down on her arms.
Slowly, agonizingly, the minutes passed. At eight fifty-three, Ginny migrated to the back steps. In the darkness, she could see all the way to the dim lights of the village. It was overcast; there were no stars.
At eight fifty-nine, her mother joined her. They stood together, surveying the darkness, waiting. Alone.
Finally, finally, a blue glow illuminated the backyard for a moment, and an oil can appeared on the lawn.
That was it. It took less than a second. The garden was just as dark as it had been a moment before. No one had come.
Ginny had hardly registered what the lone Portkey meant – something went wrong, something went horribly wrong – when her mother choked beside her. "Ron," she whispered.
"Ron? Ron and who?" Ginny's response was too loud, shrill and panicky, especially compared to her mother's tone.
"Ron and Tonks," her mother said, sinking down onto the step. Her hand floated toward her mouth. "They're meant to come at intervals, five minutes apart. Fred and your dad are next."
"Where were they meant to be?"
"Auntie Muriel's." Her mother was still whispering, staring determinedly at the oil can, as though Ron might emerge from it.
"Well then," Ginny sad, rising, "We need to contact them. We can use Floo powder – I can go, or I can just stick my head in and see what's going on –"
"No!" Her mother's voice was absolute, containing none of the quivering panic of a moment ago. "We agreed, it's not safe. If Death Eaters are there, they could come here. And they'd know we're conspiring together. The Burrow wouldn't be safe anymore. We can't do anything until we talk to Mad-Eye, or Kingsley, at least."
If they come, Ginny thought darkly, before she could stop herself.
"Then – what? We just wait for Dad and Fred?"
"Tonks and Ron can fly here, it's not that far. If it's safe." Her mother scanned the skies. Ginny did too, expecting to see a patrolling Death Eater or two circling above them, beyond the Burrow's invisible protection.
Ginny sank back onto the steps, staring intently out over the garden for signs of the second Portkey or brooms coming out of the distance. She thought of Ron's uncomfortable, one-armed hug, followed by him slipping off his broom and falling, picking up speed as he neared the Earth…
Stop. Birthday.
Harry smiling at her over cake, Ron beside him, clapping him on the back as they finished singing…Harry, hit with a jet of green light, toppling backwards off his broom…
Birthday. Cake. Presents. Harry.
"Oh!" Her mother pointed to a second blue glow, streaking toward them. Immediately, Ginny could tell it brought nobody to them. It fell weightlessly, the shoe bouncing once on the ground before falling on its side.
They were still alone.
Her mother began to cry. It was silent; Ginny didn't even realize until she heard a long, shaky breath. When she glanced over, the light emanating from the kitchen caught the tear tracks on her mother's face.
"Jesus fucking Christ." Her mother didn't even lift her head at Ginny's vulgarity. "Okay," she said, letting her breath out sharply. "Okay. If the next one comes back empty, we're contacting someone. Where should Moody or Kingsley be?" She couldn't consider an Order of the Phoenix where both of them were gone.
"They were each meant to go to their own houses," her mother said. "Harry and Hagrid should be back next. Then George and Remus."
She refused to consider Harry's impending arrival. She would not hope. She would not wait. She would spend the next four minutes acting.
"I'm going to write a note. Except it'll take Pig hours to get to Moody's. I'll have him to go to Aunt Muriel's first, in case Tonks is there…"
She reentered the kitchen and rummaged through the drawers, finding a spare bit of paper and some ink. This accomplished, she tried to write with shaking hands:
Tonks – If you get this, Fred, Dad, Harry, and Hagrid haven't returned. Don't know where you and Ron are. Let us know what's going on. Please –
Her mother gasped. "Another one's coming – oh, thank heavens, they're here! Oh!" Her voice grew louder in palpable relief. Ginny stood up so quickly she knocked over her chair, and sprinted to the door, down the steps, toward the two figures collapsed on the grass.
"Harry!"
"Harry! Hagrid!"
It was hard to see anything in the shadowy garden, especially after the blue light faded. They were too far away from the light of the kitchen for Ginny to see Harry properly. He was awake, and so was Hagrid, and they were both clambering gingerly to their feet, seemingly uninjured.
She wanted to throw her arms around him and verify for herself his apparent health, but even amidst the relief and persistent panic, she couldn't help but remember that the last time she'd seen him, they'd been breaking up, and her compunction over maintaining her dignity kept her on her feet and at a distance.
"Harry? You are the real Harry? What happened? Where are the others?" Her mother fired their questions off at Harry before she had the chance.
"What do you mean? Isn't anyone else back?" Harry responded, breathing hard.
In the moment before Harry continued, Ginny imagined a slew of terrifying possibilities, ranging from Death Eaters waiting at each safe house, unbeknownst to Harry, to some sabotage or slow-acting curse targeting the others in Harry's guard.
"The Death Eaters were waiting for us," Harry continued. "We were surrounded the moment we took off – they knew it was tonight – I don't know what happened to anyone else, four of them chased us, it was all we could do to get away, and then Voldemort caught up with us –"
About what she'd been imagining all night then, curses shooting toward her brothers, followed by terrible, mortal falls.
Her mother pulled Harry into a hug, murmuring, "Thank goodness you're all right," and left them to fetch brandy at Hagrid's request. Ginny wished she could hug Harry as easily, as thoughtlessly, but it had always been different for her, always, except for those glorious two months when she could touch him when she liked and he could respond in kind.
Now, though, he was entirely focused. There was no tenderness in his eyes; she could tell he was not vapidly debating whether to hug her, and she felt a shudder of shame for her superficiality.
"Ron and Tonks should have been back first, but they missed their Portkey, it came back without them. And that one should have been Dad and Fred's." She kept her tone as businesslike as possible. "You and Hagrid were third and if they made it, George and Lupin ought to be back in about a minute."
Before any awkwardness could settle over them, her mother returned and Hagrid conspicuously guzzled the brandy. Ginny didn't meet Harry's eyes, instead continuing to scan the grass. Relief flooded her as she saw the approaching portkey with two figures – "Mum!" – but the relief quickly changed to horror as she realized one of them was injured.
George. Lupin stood, arm around her brother's shoulders, George slumped against him. She couldn't tell how he was injured, just that he was covered in blood, and she stood frozen while Harry rushed past her to help Lupin carry him. She followed after them numbly, looking to help, but they muscled him up the steps, through the kitchen, and into the sitting room.
His ear was gone. She gasped involuntarily, stumbling through the last two steps toward him, but her mother beat her there, draping her entire body over George's unconscious form. Ginny's eyes were locked on George's closed ones; there was so much blood, and it was still seeping out of his head, rolling in fresh rivulets down his neck.
"Get some bandages, Ginny," her mother ordered. "We have rags in the closet on the landing. And hot water. Accio Dittany! We don't have much, but it should be enough to stop the bleeding, at least."
Ginny obeyed without thinking, sprinting up the stairs, dimly aware of Harry and Lupin's raised voices in the kitchen, and narrowly avoiding the tiny bottle of dittany flying past her head down the stairs. She knew dittany was extraordinarily expensive, and that her mother saved it only in case of emergencies; she could only recall its use twice in her life.
She fumbled through the closet, found the rags, and took an old sheet for good measure. She hurried back down the steps and dumped them at her mother's feet on the sofa before heading into the kitchen. Harry and Lupin seemed to be arguing heatedly, but she ignored them, filling a pot with water and clanged it onto the range, before impatiently waiting for the tap water to heat and filling a second bowl to take back out to the sitting room.
She'd never done any Healing, had never been present or administered first aid for any major injuries, really. And yet, it was surprising – though gratifying – to her how calm she felt. George was here, and he was injured. She could help treat his injury. That was enough, for now. Best not to think of Ron.
"Good," her mother said curtly when she arrived back at George's side. "Thank you. Please go back to the kitchen and find my first aid book, you know, the big red one. I don't think I should use any more of our dittany, in case someone else needs it, but the bleeding has mostly stopped. I think a Sealing Spell should be fine. And bring the Mrs. Palmore's." Ginny fetched the book and the bottle of disinfectant.
"Start washing off the blood with the rags," her mother continued. "Then put some of the Palmore's on a clean rag and wash the skin around his ear with that." Without waiting to see Ginny begin the tasks, she turned away from George, lifted her wand, and spoke directly into it. "Arthur, George is hurt. Come home immediately." She muttered an incantation Ginny couldn't catch, and a silvery Patronus slipped away, into the kitchen, and out of the house.
"We can't grow the ear back, Mum?" Ginny asked, somewhat timidly. As she washed the blood of George's face, she was relieved to see no more seeped out of the dark hole where his ear had been. Before her mother answered, she registered a new voice in the kitchen – Hermione's, repeating, "Lost an ear?" – and felt a fresh surge of relief.
"This has been cursed off," her mother said, thumbing through the pages of her first aid book. "Have you disinfected yet? We need to do that before I can seal it," she added impatiently.
"Not yet," Ginny said, hurriedly upending the disinfectant over a fresh rag. George didn't stir, even when she pressed it against his injury, and she felt a twist of anxiety. He must be deeply unconscious, if he couldn't feel the burn of the alcohol… why hadn't he come back to them yet?
"Move your fingers," her mother said, and, when she did, pointed her wand at George's ear hole and muttered, "Sementium." Ginny saw no change, but her mother looked pleased. "That should have healed what we can internally, at least."
"How is he?"
Harry's question startled Ginny; she turned and he was there. This was the first time she'd seen him properly in the light. He looked exhausted and his shirt was stained with blood. She wasn't sure if it was George's or his own.
"I can't make it grow back, not when it's been removed by Dark Magic. But it could have been so much worse…he's alive."
Ginny took comfort from her mother's words. From her mother's frantic pace, she had been not at all sure George's survival was certain – she had been imagining all manner of ghastly spells, the effects of which could even now be coursing through George's veins. Her mother sounded confident, though, and Ginny wanted to believe her, so she did.
"Yeah. Thank God."
Ginny asked, "Did I hear someone else in the yard?"
"Hermione and Kingsley."
"Thank goodness." She assumed they were unharmed, or Harry would have said. Harry was looking at her as though seeing her properly tonight for the first time, just as she'd given him a once-over moments before. She glanced down at her hands, dried blood under her fingernails, and at her newly stained shirt. She wanted to ask about Ron, and she wanted to kiss Harry. Before she could decide on a course of action, she heard her father's voice, and he rushed into the sitting room, followed by Fred. He had clearly received her mother's message via Patronus; he looked more frightened than Ginny had ever seen him, and the relief she felt at seeing him and Fred was mitigated by renewed fear for George.
Still, all she could think about was Ron. Bill's Portkey hadn't yet arrived, he could still be safe, but Ron… Ron should have been back. She realized, belatedly, she hadn't sent Pig off with her notes, had been interrupted by Harry's return. She knew Ron and Tonks would come as soon as they could, regardless of any note, but she felt as though she'd failed.
Her father and Fred were looking at George's body. Her mother had started to cry with the arrival of her father, but he had eyes only for George. Ginny put her hand on her mother's shoulder, just as George opened his eyes.
"How do you feel, Georgie?"
George hesitated for a moment, feeling his injury. "Saintlike," he mumbled.
"What's wrong with him?" Fred cried. "Is his mind affected?"
Ginny, however, shot both brothers a sharp glance. Surely she could hear some of George's usual good humor in his voice? Certainly it was convincingly groggy, but she'd lived with the twins long enough to see a joke setup coming. But if she could hear it, Fred certainly could, and he was plainly horrified.
"Saintlike…I'm holy. Holey, Fred, get it?"
Ginny smirked, vindication sweeping through her, for one half second before she remembered Ron. No one else in the room seemed to find George's joke even as funny as she did, even as Fred hid a smile and shot back a retort. Perhaps, though, she scolded herself, they simply haven't forgotten as easily as you the gravity of the situation. Ron, Tonks, Bill, Fleur, Mundungus, Moody. There's nothing to laugh about.
Indeed, the smile evaporated from even George's face as her mother repeated Ginny's thoughts to him. Her father managed an impressively stoic expression, though she knew the worry raged in him just as fiercely as it did in the rest of them. Lupin looked old, as he so often did when very harried or stressed, the lines around his eyes giving him a truly haggard appearance.
But Harry…Harry looked the worst. His eyes were red, from held-back tears or exhaustion. He had a smear of dried blood under his chin, and he looked positively haunted, staring out into space, past the scene on the couch. He clearly felt hideously guilty, and she knew he was wallowing.
Suddenly, his eyes focused on her, immediately guarded. She knew he was still on the brink of despair, but he seemed determined to maintain a façade of control. He gestured that they should walk through the kitchen, and her heart leapt despite herself.
"Ron and Tonks should be back by now. They didn't have a long journey; Auntie Muriel's not that far from here." She wanted to interrogate him, ask if he was sure he didn't see anything happen to Ron and Tonks – how could he not have seen? – but the look on his face stopped her. The guilt was back, but now panic joined it, the same panic she'd seen on her mother's face all evening after the first Portkey came back. He was drowning in it.
Without thinking, without letting herself consider the propriety of her actions or how he would think of her, she walked forward, took his hand, and led him into the garden to keep watching for the others. His hand was icy; it didn't give off the enveloping warmth she'd come to expect from him, and she wanted to hold it in both of hers to warm it, pull him closer and slide one hand under his shirt so he could feel her warmth, and draw from her. But this, holding hands, was enough for now.
She and Harry stood with the others outside, scanning the sky, just as Ginny and her mother had all evening. They were waiting still. But this time, they were not alone.
The minutes passed excruciatingly slowly. A weathered brick and mangled watering can had joined the other junk on the grass; Ginny could only assume those were the missed Portkeys of Bill and Fleur, and Moody and Mundungus. It was hard to feel any more worry and fear. Ginny wanted to suggest again someone go to Auntie Muriel's to check on them, but Kingsley intimidated her, and if her mother had rejected that plan, certainly he would too. Still, though, she couldn't stand here doing nothing. She could finish her note and send it on with Pig, at least –
"It's them!" Hermione's cry cut into her thoughts, and Harry's hand jumped inside hers. Indeed, Ron and Tonks were landing in the garden. Tonks ran into Lupin's arm, and Ron rushed toward Hermione, who met him, and Ginny tried to ignore the twin stabs of envy and hurt, but she couldn't. Harry hadn't run to embrace her when he'd arrived; in fact, he'd shown her mother more tenderness. His cold skin felt suddenly clammy in hers, and she pulled her hand away in time to receive a one-armed hug from Ron, more hearty than the one he'd left her with, but made more difficult by Hermione still clinging to him.
"Ron was great," Tonks said. "Wonderful. Stunned one of the Death Eaters, straight to the head, and when you're aiming at a moving target from a flying broom…"
"You did?" Hermione asked, not moving from her embrace.
"Always the tone of surprise," Ron responded, and extricated himself, but not, Ginny noticed, without tenderly cupping the back of Hermione's head, just for a moment, and shifting her body by guiding her with a hand on her waist to his side. "Are we the last back?"
She couldn't help it. She was angry. Angry at Harry for breaking up with her, for his aloofness even in their reunion, for his apparent steadfast desire to keep his promise and stay away from her. He stood not twelve inches from her, hand dangling uselessly at his side, showing no inclination to take her hand back. She knew she was being petty, but, goddamn it, she was pissed.
"No," said Ginny. "We're still waiting for Bill and Fleur and Mad-Eye and Mundungus. I'm going to tell Mum and Dad you're okay, Ron."
She hurried back into the sitting room. George was sitting up now, Fred next to him. Her mother was sitting on the couch's arm, and her father had his hand on her shoulder, rubbing it soothingly. Unbelievably, Ginny felt tears pricking at her eyes. No doubt she was overwrought and overtired, she figured, and she was just relieved Ron was safe.
"Ginny?" her mother said in alarm.
"No, no, don't worry – Ron is back, he's fine, and so is Tonks," Ginny said in a rush, wiping desperately at her eyes. "No sign of Bill, Fleur, Moody, or Mundungus."
Her mother jumped to her feet to run out to Ron; Fred didn't move.
"Tell Ron to come in here," he said, and Ginny nodded once.
She followed her parents back outside, listening to her mother thank Lupin and Tonks, combing the skies anxiously for Bill. The last of her family. He was so much older than her he was more like a hip uncle, coming into and out of her life with cool mystery at holidays. She didn't have the same snappy repartees with him that she had with Ron and the twins and Percy, but he was still her brother, an omnipresent figure at Christmases and the occasional birthday or holiday.
Finally, Hermione's cry caught her attention, and she saw Bill, streaking towards the ground on a thestral, Fleur behind him, and for just a moment, she felt unadulterated relief. They were fine.
Moody and Mundungus were still gone, and George was missing an ear, and she and Harry were broken up, but Bill was back. Her family was still whole. And she had survived the night of waiting, alone, to find out if her family would come back to her.
Welcome! I'm envisioning this as a 5-6 chapter fic, not necessarily chronological, of various missing moments in Deathly Hallows. They won't all be times when Ginny is literally waiting out some Order mission, but they'll reflect on her sense of helplessness and attempts to empower herself as she goes back to school and the Order continues their work. Subscribe to come along on the journey, and as always, let me know what you think with a review :-)
I'm recently returned to the world of fanfiction, so I also encourage you to check out my other oneshot, a rather fluffy Harry/Ginny fic several years post-DH. I'll also be posting a post-war Neville fic soon, so keep an eye out if that strikes your fancy!