It disgusted her that they were all shocked. Dumbledore had sunk into a chair, tears in his blue eyes, unable to fully comprehend the news. Hermione, the book that was in her hands now laying forgotten on the ground, was gripping onto a white-faced Ron, sobbing into his shoulder. Her own mum and dad were standing by the infamous Weasley clock, arms around each other as they wept silently together.
Then there was Lupin. A small twang of pity hit Ginny as she watched him sitting at the table, across from Dumbledore, with his head in his hands. He rocked back and forth ever so slightly, a quiet whimpering noise escaping his mouth every few minutes. He had just lost Sirius, his best friend (and as Lupin would argue at another time, his only friend who had been left), and now the son of his other best friend; his other deceased best friend.
Hagrid stood next to the lifeless body, and he constantly brought the bed sheet that served as his handkerchief to his face to blow his nose. A white owl sat on top of the Boy-Who-Lived, wings spread out across his chest as if she was protecting it. She flapped those snowy wings of hers angrily if anyone besides the half-giant tried to come near it.
Ginny knew that the next day reporters would be banging on the door of the Burrow. They would all be shouting questions and demands for seeing the body. The Boy-Who-Lived hung himself, didn't you hear? would be the murmuring around her wherever she went.
He had just lost his godfather, you know, she had whispered to herself as Hagrid had carried in the body solemnly, giant tears running down his face; you can't be too surprised that being back with those awful muggles would have been the last straw.
And as Ginny leaned against the door, her face the sole one that remained unblemished by tears, she couldn't help but be disgusted at how they were all so shocked.
fin.
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word count: 338 words
