The world was swimming around her.
Those dark, cold words were echoing in her spinning mind, her eyes blinking as they stared unseeingly forward. Words to hard for her to take in, words to bleak and devastating to surely be true. Her face was growing warm but the air felt cold; her heart was hammering hard inside of her chest, so hard that she was certain all of the others in the room could hear it. She became aware of their eyes on her, she could hear the distant, drawn out syllables as someone spoke her name… Her knees were wobbling then, threatening to give way, and then she felt someone at her side. A hand on her elbow, warm and strong, guiding her towards a chair. She allowed them to sit her down, to push her down so her face was pressed to her knees, and she listened as they instructed her to breathe in and then out. For what felt like an eternity she remained like that, the voices around her falling silent, footsteps the only sound as someone else approached her.
"Ginny…" Someone was speaking to her and she lifted her face, brown eyes finding green, but they were not the green eyes she longed to see. "Do you understand what I said?" He asked quietly, his hand reaching out in an effort to comfort her, but she immediately drew away, turning instead to look at her mother who stood across the room from her.
Molly Weasley could not stop the tears that were streaming down her face, though she wished she could be stronger. She looked upon her daughter, who's face had gone deathly white and who's eyes seemed far too large for her face, and wished she could do something for her. Remus was kneeling before her, speaking soft words that Molly could not hear. "Ginny…" Remus' tone was a little louder and the trembling redhead jumped at the sound, turning away from her mother to instead focus on Remus once again. "Harry is dead, Ginny. I'm sorry." He reached for her once more, slipping a hand over hers, his fingertips brushing across the diamond ring he'd witnessed Harry giving her only a few months prior. He felt a pang in his chest and felt immense heartbreak for the girl before him.
"No. That can't be." For the first time since Remus and the others had arrived, fleeing from a battle they had lost, Ginny was speaking. She shook her head, red hair slipping over her shoulders. For the first time since Remus had first uttered those awful words, she looked as if she were understanding. Her face was crumpling and tears were filling those doe-like eyes. "That can't be." She repeated, her lower lip trembling as she fought against the tears that were sure to win. "He's not dead." It was a simple phrase. Spoken in a flat tone as she composed herself, swallowing down her tears and shaking her head. No, she simply would not believe it. "There's no way he's dead."
"It is true. I saw it with my own eyes." Remus said softly, his eyes downcast and full of anguish, his feelings for the boy like that of a father to his son. He had cared for Harry like his own, for more reasons than he simply being James' boy. "He is gone and we must prepare for the worst to come." He stood then, like her looking stoic and swallowing down his emotions. He turned from the young woman in the chair to instead face the others in the room. "Hermione and Ron are missing as well, I can't say if they live or die, but we can only hope for the best."
Across the room, Molly choked on a sob and beside her, Arthur slid an arm around her waist. Silent tears poured down his cheeks as he thought of the boy he'd considered another son dead and lost to them. And his own son, his own flesh and blood, missing alongside the young woman he'd grown to care for as another daughter. Just like that, their whole family was falling apart. "Neville… Has someone gone to him?" Arthur spoke up then, speaking the words that needed to be heard. Neville Longbottom had been the other boy the prophecy could have spoke of. With Harry dead, Neville would become a target as the only other person who could stop Voldemort. He would need to be found and protected. Much like the others, he'd joined the ranks of the Order as soon as he could, and he had been on a separate mission when the battle had taken place. "He'll need to be protected."
"He's safe. We've put him somewhere safe." Remus replied with a nod, running a hand through his gray-streaked hair, turning his eyes from face to face in the room. So many faces, all reflecting the very same emotions: sorrow, fear, and anxiety. They had all lost a person they cared for deeply, someone important for more reasons than being the Boy Who Lived. Harry had touched all of their lives in one way or another… He was more than the boy of a prophecy. He was their friend, their family. And worst of all, there were two more potential losses they might have to suffer through. Not knowing what had happened to Hermione and Ron was almost worst than knowing they were dead. Anything could have been happening to them. They could only hope that they were somehow safe. His gaze came back to rest upon Ginny, who remained seated at the table, her brown eyes staring out but he was certain she saw nothing. She looked lost, so small and pale in the chair, her red hair falling into her face. Then to Molly and Arthur, who had more or less lost a son that night, while two other of theirs (Hermione was like a daughter to them, much like Harry had been like a son) were out there in the unknown. They looked miserable and he knew he probably looked the same.
Ginny had stopped listening. She heard Neville's name be brought up, heard Remus and her father begin to talk, but she was not listening. She could not listen. Thoughts were racing through her mind; Harry dead… Ron and Hermione missing… No, it was just too much. It was too much for her to bear. Rising up from the chair, she pushed past Remus and her parents, past the twins and took to the stairs, taking them two at a time until she reached the landing of the floor her bedroom was on. She heard her mother calling after her, but she did not stop, instead she raced down the hall and threw open her bedroom door, slamming it closed behind her. For several long seconds she leaned back against it, breathing deeply, trying to keep herself in control. But it was no use. A strangled sob escaped her and she slid down the door to the floor, drawing her knees towards her chest as she began to quietly cry. Burying her face against her knees, she cried for what could have been minutes, or it could have been hours. She'd lost track of time. She cried until she could cry no more, until every single tear had been used up and she was dry.
Blinking her tired, swollen eyes she pushed herself up onto her shaking legs, tiptoeing across the floor to drop down onto her bed, falling face down against her pillow. She lay there for a few moments until she rolled onto her side, one arm slipping beneath the pillow, her fingertips brushing against something. Pulling her arm out, she pulled out a photograph, placed there by her own hands months before. The people in the photo waved happily at her, the girls arms around each other as the boys stood behind them; it was of her and the others, Harry and Ron and Hermione. She and Hermione wore matching scarves and Harry and Ron had attempted to do their hair nice that night. For a single moment a smile spread across her lips and then as she traced her fingertips across the surface of the photo, she felt the tears begin to fall yet again. She threw the picture away, watching as it sailed across the room to land on the floor in the center of the room. Her eyes swept over the empty bed that would have usually occupied Hermione, made neatly with the topmost blanket tucked neatly around the mattress. She thought of Harry and of the times they had spent in her bed, she recalled how he had kissed her that last time, and told her he loved her. She reached over with her right hand, idly spinning the diamond ring he'd given her that summer, wondering why he'd given her such a thing if he was only going to die. No, she reminded herself, he had never intended for that to happen of course.
She thought of the last time that she had seen him, only a few nights ago, when they had parted ways in the kitchen below. He had kissed her briefly and smiled, his emerald eyes reflecting the dying sunlight as the sky faded from blue to hues of crimson and gold. "I'll see you tomorrow," he had said with a grin, lifting his hand in a wave as he and the others slipped from the Burrow, heading out to what was supposed to be a routine mission. Just what had gone so wrong? She had waved at them as they left, laughing as Ron doubled back to press a kiss to her temple, something he had not done in years. She had been left standing in the doorway long after they'd gone, until her mother had touched her shoulder and asked if she was alright. It was then that she had returned inside to ready herself for her own mission that she had to take care of that same night.
Never in a thousand years had she thought she would come home to what she had come home to.
No, she had thought she'd come home to find Harry asleep in her bed, perhaps in his own, and Ron would be stuffing his face full of leftovers from that night's dinner. Hermione would be reading in the parlor or asleep in the room they still yet shared. But when she had stumbled inside after thirteen hours on the run she was well aware of something odd happening, but unsure as to what it could be. She'd been chasing after some low level Death Eaters who were rumored to be under the Imperius Curse, and not really on the side of Voldemort. She was attempting to ascertain if that was true, and if so, remove the curse from the men. But before she'd had a chance to get close and do as she was bid, the men had been called away, as the Dark Mark on their arms burned and was then cast high into the sky. The men had vanished from her sight a moment later and feeling annoyed that her mission had fallen through, Ginny decided to return home and regroup with the others.
And now everything was falling apart.
She lay back against her pillows, staring up at the ceiling for hours; the darkness swallowed up her room and she continued to stare at the ceiling above her until dawn crept up and the morning sunlight began to spill through her curtains. How long had she been up now? She couldn't remember. Reaching up, she ran a hand over her face, a shudder racing the length of her spine. All night long she had heard footsteps and voices belonging to various people who still yet remained in the home, had heard her mother softly knocking on her door which she had ignored. Everything would be different now. Everything was going to change.