A/N: I know this sort of violates canon a little, given that Rowling states Harry only properly talked to Hagrid, Ron and Hermione afterwards, but just roll with it. I'm planning on a second chapter in Order of the Phoenix after Sirius' death.
Chapter 1: The Morning after Cedric's Death
She shouldn't have been here. That much she knew.
Ginny Weasley was, yet again, pacing outside the entrance to the Hospital Wing, plucking up the courage to enter. Just like it had been during her first year, when she felt she had no choice but to apologise. Even though her apologies fell on deaf ears at the time, it had still been worth it, not least as a means of figuring out what had happened. Unbidden, up came suppressed memories of the pipes, the slime, the frozen look of pure horror on each of their faces…..
Just like that on the corpse of Cedric Diggory the previous evening.
Shut up. You never killed anyone, and you never attacked anyone either. That was Voldemort.
She was now almost fourteen. She could do this.
Suppressing the worm of guilt writhing in her gut at leaving Michael so early during breakfast without telling him what she was doing, Ginny knocked twice. Madam Pomfrey, looking harried as per usual, opened the door.
"Miss Weasley," she sighed. "I know who you want to speak to, but the Headmaster specifically said no visits." She sniffed, and Ginny noticed her puffy, slightly bloodshot eyes. "Never before has a student died on my watch, Miss Weasley, and I can't imagine what that poor boy has been through. No-one can."
"Actually…." began Ginny in a small voice that felt far too timid but also far too mature for her. "I might. But maybe I'm wrong." Yet again, the adults as well as her favourite bushy-haired friend and her own dimwitted brother had neglected to remember exactly who had faced Tom Riddle for a whole year, and it plainly infuriated her. Sighing in resignation, she turned away, but a familiar voice laced with fatigue then called out.
"Who's that, Madam Pomfrey?"
"Ginny Weasley," the Matron replied.
"Let her in," Harry called back.
Madam Pomfrey coughed and Ginny turned around to face her. "Five minutes," she said sternly.
Ginny nodded her thanks as she was let into the Hospital Wing. Today, the weather seemed to be deliberately mocking the mourning, shell-shocked inhabitants of Hogwarts Castle. A light breeze, not a cloud in sight, and perfect conditions for Quidditch. The rising sun bathed a pleasant golden glow on the ward, all the beds perfectly made up with crisp, clean sheets, save for one that had the privacy curtains drawn, and the last bed, which was also occupied.
Harry was idly playing with his breakfast on a tray, refusing to look up. Nodding vaguely in Ginny's direction, he mumbled a greeting. "Hi Harry," she whispered, subconsciously adopting a quieter voice as though a louder one might shatter Harry's delicate façade.
The greeting made Harry look up. Absolutely typical, Ginny thought, as she examined the boy she once – no longer of course, she was now dating Michael – had a formidable crush on. More scars, cuts and marks. Including a particularly nasty one on his right hand. Harry noticed her nauseated look, and rolled up his sleeve as far as it would go. "I'm not going to go into detail about what happened, Ginny. I've already told Dumbledore, Siri-, I mean, your parents, and of course Ron and Hermione. I don't want to relive yesterday evening again so soon."
"Who did you mistake me for?" Ginny parried crossly as she took a seat by his right side. "Rita Skeeter?" Seeing Harry's glance, she rolled her eyes. "Come on, Harry, I know what that woman wrote about you, as well as Hermione, Dad and Bill. But I'm not here to gawk, believe it or not."
Harry smiled slightly and nodded his head. "Fair point. So what do you want to talk about?"
What indeed to talk about? How Cedric died was off-limits, clearly. She knew courtesy of Professor McGonagall that Amos and his wife would be discussing funeral arrangements with Dumbledore later today. This was like the old days, she knew. Mum and Dad hadn't told her much, but she knew enough, especially with what had happened to Uncles Fabian and Gideon. How many more of these sad, solemn breakfasts would Hogwarts see? As far as she knew, no Hogwarts student had died while at school since Myrtle's murder by the very same Tom Riddle. If there was going to be a war, it was inevitable that more students would meet Cedric's fate. And was she ready? Merlin's beard, no.
"I'm scared," she confessed simply. "We all are." At that, Harry let out a dark, humourless chuckle. "Join the club," he muttered. He sat up a little as he looked Ginny full in the eye. The situation precluded any chance of her blushing, but Ginny felt no shortage of guilt for feeling thankful for that.
"That's why we all need to be ready," he finished. "Even if the Ministry aren't. Fudge, he didn't want to accept it at all."
"So did he come for the Death Eater here?" Ginny queried. Harry shook his head.
"The Death Eater was Barty Crouch's son, in disguise, and he killed his father. The real Moody was kidnapped and locked in a trunk – he's now in that bed just there."
"What?" she cried out loudly. Harry shushed her; the prospect of Madam Pomfrey chucking her out was all too real, not to mention that the convalescent Moody needed his sleep. But this information raised more questions than it answered. How many other supposedly dead people were actually alive?
"Is Crouch back in Azkaban?" she questioned. Harry shook his head.
"I doubt Fudge ever intended on him going back to Azkaban, to be honest. He insisted on a Dementor escort while questioning him, but Crouch was Kissed almost instantly." He swallowed, looking nauseous, and Ginny barely resisted putting an arm out in comfort. How times had changed, she thought wryly.
"I know what those horrible things do to one, Harry," she replied hesitantly. "But Crouch was a monster. He deserved to go." Harry frowned in reply.
"Even if he did, it's too convenient now for the Ministry. They have no first-hand evidence besides me, and according to Fudge, I'm now some nutter who has hallucinations and can speak to snakes. Probably will form the basis of Rita's next column."
At that, Ginny smiled. The previous evening, Hermione had filled her in on the basics of what had happened after she and Ron had returned to Gryffindor Tower. The one consolation though, was that the predatory Prophet reporter wouldn't be bothering anyone dear to them for ages, that much she knew. However, she thought it better for Hermione to spill the beans to Harry – it was after all, she who had been injured by that hate-mail, and her reputation that had been destroyed by that utter cow.
"You know Harry, I think you're wrong," she responded pleasantly, deciding after much deliberation to pat his shoulder. "Because you have friends here and at the Burrow who won't stand for that. You're not alone Harry, and you never will be. Just remember that." Harry stared wistfully out at the grounds visible in the window. It was a look Ginny knew she'd worn too many times, the look of someone who had seen too much, or alternatively had poisonous secrets locked inside them.
"Do you have any regrets?" she asked tentatively. Without waiting for a reply, she ploughed on. "Trust me Harry, I know the look of someone who does."
Harry looked away from her, and in a much more uneven, hesitant voice answered "Yes."
"And?" she demanded. Hermione would tell her she was being rude, tactless, insensitive and about a dozen other negative pushy traits, but in Ginny's experience, tackling these issues head-on was always far less painful.
Harry turned back to her, and she was surprised to see the first glimmer of tears in his eyes. "We got to the Cup at the same time. I could've taken it, Cedric insisted on me taking it, but I couldn't. We'd saved each other's skin, and it was a Hogwarts victory. So I guess, in some small way, it's my fault."
At that, Ginny's anger boiled over. The same tactics had been used on her so effectively, for so long by Tom Riddle, and she was not going to let the Boy Who Lived, of all people, wallow in a cesspool of guilt.
"Hippogriff shit," she snarled, making Harry jump at the ferocity of the reply as well as the expletive. She was, after all, Fred, George and Ron's sister. She drew nearer to him. "Harry, that's how he controls people. Guilt, second-questioning your motives, your morals, your values. Believe me." This was really worthwhile, she thought. The accumulated anger at that hideous man, what he had done to her, to Cedric, to Harry and countless others now had an outlet, and having that dam of emotion burst was so cathartic. So much the better if it was going to help Harry.
The conversation subsequently moved onto lighter subjects, and she noted with relief that Harry was looking slightly perkier. Knocking some sense into him with the sledgehammer technique had clearly worked, although she was still annoyed that so much was effectively off-limits. One day, she thought.
As she made a particularly rude joke about Ron and Viktor Krum that made Harry simultaneously smirk and blush a little (her stomach hit a sudden bout of unexpected turbulence when she spotted this), Madam Pomfrey burst in with a thunderous look on her face.
"That's been fifteen minutes, Miss Weasley. Out!"
With an apologetic grimace, Ginny waved goodbye to Harry, miffed at the shortness of the visit, but pleased beyond her wildest imaginations that she somehow had helped. It was almost as if an affinity now existed between the pair.
Not that that mattered after all. She now had her first boyfriend, and Harry had his own path ahead of him too.
Madam Pomfrey had returned to her desk outside the Hospital Wing when Ginny passed through the doors, and tried to not listen to the pleadings of a certain Fifth Year Ravenclaw.
"There is something I desperately need to talk about, Madam Pomfrey! I understand he needs rest, but ….."
"I'm sorry Miss Chang. Only Potter's friends and staff are allowed in, I'm afraid." At that, Cho Chang turned wide-eyed to the girl passing by her, the pleading look visible in her red-rimmed eyes.
"I can't imagine what you're going through, Cho," Ginny responded in her most sympathetic voice possible. "But it's not a good time for him." Briefly laying a hand on the older girl's shoulder, she felt an unexpected surge of protectiveness for Harry, a totally foreign concept for her. Grieving girlfriend of Cedric she may have been, but absolutely no bloody way was Harry going to be pumped for information on the moment he died. Not if Ginny could help it.
As she walked away, hearing the slight sounds of sobbing from behind her and Madam Pomfrey's vain attempts to comfort Cho, she felt another surge of guilt as something akin to jealousy defeated sympathy. It wasn't jealousy of course, and it didn't mean anything.
It didn't mean anything. The same monotonous statement, no, fact, that she'd been telling herself for two years.
If only someday she could completely believe it.
