In The Years Following
"I know that you are preparing to fight." There were screams amongst the students, some of whom clutched each other, looking around in terror for the source of the sound. "Your efforts are futile. You cannot fight me. I do not want to kill you. I have great respect for the teachers of Hogwarts. I do not want to spill magical blood."
There was silence in the Hall now, the kind of silence that presses against the eardrums, that seems too huge to be contained by walls.
"Give me Harry Potter, and you will be rewarded.
"You have until midnight."
- - -
I remember that day very clearly. I remember the chaos as students rushed to escape. I remember the screams of the few who didn't make it out in time. I remember so well. I wish I didn't.
I've tried to forget, but it never goes away. It takes up a part of my brain that will always stay the same. Never changing.
I've tried memory charms, potions, even supposed Muggle remedies. Nothing. I've been to St. Mungo's more times than I can count. Mostly for suicide attempts. Who knew that the young Gryffindor with the flaming red hair would be so troubled as an adult.
My name is Ginevra Molly Weasley. I am twenty-one years old. It's been five whole years since the attack at Hogwarts. The Final Battle. So many people perished that day. I can still hear the screams of one small, First-year girl.
- - -
"It's all right," I said to her. "It's okay. We're going to get you inside."
"But I want to go home," whispered the girl. "I don't want to fight anymore!"
"I know," I said, my voice breaking. "It's going to be all right."
- - -
As soon as I said those words of comfort, a violent shudder went through the girl's body. She began to tremble. I didn't know what to do. I decided to go get help. I left that little girl. Alone. Outside. Screaming for her mother.
By the time I got back to the girl, she was long gone. Her skin was cold and pale. I couldn't stand to see that. I picked her up and carried her back to the Great Hall.
I never found out who that girl was. She had on Slytherin robes, but I don't care what house she was in. For that brief moment, I felt like I was her only friend. Her life was in my hands. I let her down.
- - -
"Harry Potter is dead. He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself while you lay down your lives for him. We bring you his body as proof that your hero is gone.
"The battle is won. You have lost half of your fighters. My Death Eaters outnumber you, and the Boy Who Lived is finished. There must be no more war. Anyone who continues to resist, man, woman, or child, will be slaughtered, as will every member of their family. Come out of the castle now, kneel before me, and you shall be spared. You parents and children, your brothers and sisters will live and be forgiven, and you will join me in the new world we shall build together."
- - -
When I heard those words, it was just too much. The flood of tears I had been holding back the entire night spilled over. I went with the remainder of my family outside to see Harry. Ron and I quietly walked behind all of the survivors.
Ron was very reluctant to leave the bodies of his family and future wife. We were one of the few people to have their deceased friends and family all next to each other. I practically had to drag him away from the bodies of mum, dad, Percy, Fred, George, Bill, Charlie, and Hermione.
- - -
When we got outside, Hagrid was holding Harry in his arms. Voldemort and the Death Eaters were standing on either side of the large half-breed.
Voldemort laughed at our grief. "You see," he said with a sneer. "Apparently the Boy Who Lived can only live so long."
The Death Eaters laughed quietly in the background. All of the survivors from Hogwarts were too stunned to say anything.
Then the Dark Lord raised his wand and aimed it at Harry's lifeless body.
"Just to prove it to you," he said. "Crucio!"
Harry was lifted up, as though by Wingardium Leviosa, but it was nowhere near that innocent. The seventeen-year-old boy with the lightning bolt scar didn't even stir. He flopped around as if he were a rag doll.
- - -
After that, everything just went downhill from there. Voldemort has changed the Ministry of Magic to the Dark Arts Headquarters. It's terrible.
I'm pretty much the only survivor from my family left. Ron died only a year after the battle. The last thing he said to me was how he wished that there was no such thing as magic. It scared me. It scared me a lot.
In the years following Ron's death, my life took a turn for the worst. I couldn't seem to hold down a decent job. I was constantly in depression. Plus all those suicide attempts. It was horrible.
- - -
My name is Ginevra Molly Weasley. I am no longer. A few days ago, I found the perfect way to be with my family again.
My name is Ginny Weasley. My last words were, "I'm coming home."