'Never to suffer would have been never to have been blessed.'
Her eyes followed the intricately painted figure of Edgar Allen Poe as he strode about his small painting. His face was solemn as he sat with a book in his lap, the girls lips twinged at the corner at the thought that the painted man had perfected the art of sleeping with his eyes open. Suddenly the authors eyes darted to hers and his mouth opened into a grin. He looked as though he was about to speak with his mouth open and his pointed finger hanging in the air. But he did not, he did not want to disturb the other people in the room. So, instead, he gestured to the quote written behind him in the artwork. As he did, he accidentally disrupted a small flock of birds perched behind him and attempted to remain respectable as he swatted them away. This commotion within the frame brought a true smile to the young girls face, but the smile failed to reach her eyes. She let out a large breath and squeezed her eyes closed. Her heart was still racing from the events of the night, her head ached and her body felt stiff and perpetually cold.

Her eyes were red and raw, their puff had not decreased despite the tears stains that marked dry cheeks. She was as silent as death as she sat in the Headmaster's office, a sick, twisting feeling slowly building inside. Looking to the elevated ceiling, she let out a shaky breath and closed her eyes, her heart feeling heavy as she sat, waiting for others to decide her fate. She expected him to expel her, it made sense after what she did, but the waiting – these last moments of indecision weighed heavier than anything else. She looked around her at the other odds and ends compiled around the headmasters study. She gave stories to each, so to keep her mind off the horror that had befallen her earlier that night.

Tears welled once again in the eyes of the scared child as her breathing became irregular. She could feel the emotion in the room and it was seeping into her, she just wanted to scream, to do anything to stop the pain. Her attention moved back to the front of the room where her mother and father were in a heated conversation with Professor Dumbledore.
"Please, Mrs Weasley," Dumbledore held up his hands and quietened the pair. "I know you're upset but everything is fine now, it has all been handled," he finished calmly.
"Handled!?" Molly screeched. "My daughter almost died down there! That was not being handled!" She collapsed into a chair, in her eyes Ginny could see the signs that her mother had also been crying. Molly looked desperately at her husband to support her. Arthur Weasley sighed softly, his entire body, from his slack shoulders to the defeated look on his face, told the old man that Arthur was ready to take his daughter home, and be done with this. Ginny watched as he sat slowly into the chair in front of the Headmasters desk. He looked weary, but she knew that only the despair of almost losing your only daughter could cause this look.
"Professor," he said, clearing his throat, "We just don't understand how something like this could happen again without you fixing it swiftly?" His voice was constricted, his hand moved to his eyes, rubbing them to clear his thoughts.
"I know you are all distraught, but you have to believe me when I say, we could never have predicted this incident to repeat itself."

Mrs Weasley seemed to regain her fire as she stood back up and almost slammed her hands on the desk separating herself and the shocked Headmaster.
"First time a girl dies, the next a twelve year old manages to save my daughter with no help from any of the multiple qualified witches and wizards in the damn building!" she said, her eyes now flowing again. She clutched at her chest as her husband's arm lay across her shoulder.

Behind them Ginny sat, her face covered by her shaking hands. She did not want to close her eyes, for then she saw the pale face of Harry Potter and the dripping ink, trailing to the dead corpse of the basilisk. Though open, all she saw was the horror that her parents had been though trying to understand how this could have happened to her.

Dumbledore's eyes seemed to be drawn to hers and she felt her heart skip a beat. With a sorry smile the elderly man stood from his chair.
"Molly, Arthur… I would like to have a moment to talk to Miss Weasley, if it is okay with you," he said, glancing between the two. Molly looked horrified but Arthur seemed to understand that this was important. He nodded his head, leading his protesting wife from the room. Silence fell in the room as the man and the girl continued to look at each other, until the former spoke.
"I saw you admiring Mr Poe in his painting." Ginny nodded, her eyes shifting to the floor. "Do you understand the meaning of the quote?" He asked, his piercing blue eyes baring into her soul. She shook her head again, repeating the action from before.
"I believe in times like these, we must look to those before us." Dumbledore stood from his chair and slowly made his way around the table. He leaned against the aging wood and looked down over his spectacles at the girl. "One of my favourite quotes is 'Happiness is not something ready-made. It comes from your own actions.' Do you know who said that?" He asked. Ginny shook her head for the last time that night.

They were interrupted by the opening of the door. Harry stood there, his cheek still swollen and his clothes still torn. Ginny felt the darkness ebbing away as he looked at her. His eyes moved to the Headmaster and a small smile fell across his face. Albus Dumbledore smiled back and leaned slowly to whisper in the girls' ear.
"Find what makes you happy and hold onto it, do whatever you can to keep it for as long as possible." Ginny looked at him, shocked. He just left her with a soft smile and said:
"How about we all go and enjoy the feast?"

Ginny looked back to Harry and her heart felt lighter. With a small nod she followed him from the room. As they left the Headmaster called to her.
"Oh, and Miss Weasley." She turned to face him as he said, "I hope to see you back here when you have healed and rested." Ginny felt extremely relieved as she replied:
"You will, Professor, Thank you."

A/N: Written as Chaser 1 of the Tutshill Tornados for round four. My theme was: Sad/Sadness. Prompts used were: (quote) Never to suffer would have been never to have been blessed. (word) Skip. (quote) Happiness is not something ready-made. It comes from your own actions. Words: 1139.