The Boy Who Lived was dead. Mercifully, mercifully dead. The Chosen One had vanished in the bright light of Voldemort's last curse. The Boy Who Lived, that myth of a child and of a hero, had been replaced by a man not much taller than Ginny in old trainers and torn jeans. His hair was almost grey with dust and stone, and he looked, for a moment, decades older than he was. But there was a rush of movement and suddenly the boy in worn trainers was engulfed in screams and cheers, and for a moment, she was worried that they might suffocate him.

Ginny blinked, and felt as though the dawn sunlight was unnaturally bright. She pushed in upon the people with bloodied clothes or tear-stained faces. There was a tuft of ginger ahead of her, and she surged forward against the crowd. She clutched madly at Ron when she reached the center of the crowd. Ron's arm, covered with angry burns, came around her shoulders and he pressed her to his side tightly. Ron's other arm was bent oddly as he gripped Harry. Hermione was squeezed in between Ron and Harry and she was half-hugging Luna and Neville. They were a mess of arms and legs. She could feel Hermione's body as it shuttered with tears and Neville's bloodied mess of a jacket felt rough against her arm.

People pressed up against her as they made to touch some part of the eighteen-year-old boy who had made them safe again. Voldemort was gone, they were safe, they were safe. The words rushed through Ginny and the tears begin to well and truly fall.

Harry extracted his arm from where it was pinned against his side and pulled Ginny to him. She sank into the small part of his t-shirt she could reach, and though it was ashy and sweat-soaked, she smelt broomstick polish and fresh grass and the smell was so Harry that the tears came faster. She did not know how long they stayed like that, pressed up against each other, knots of arms and legs.

Then Fred was dead and Ginny's stomach dropped into her torn trainers. Her mother seemed beyond tears, she clutched madly at her daughter, kissing Ginny's hair again and again. Charlie was there, though a large burn curled up his arm like a snake. Bill, his scared face twisted somewhere in between sadness and relief. Percy's arms were around George, and the expression on George's face was so empty that for a horrible moment Ginny's mind flashed to Fred again, lying with Remus and Tonks in a chamber off the hall. She did not taste the food in her mouth, she only pressed her body against her mother's and let the tears come until she thought she might have no more.

After a long time, Hermione and Ron were at their sides, and there was much embracing and Ginny's tears came again at the sight of her brother and her friend, whole and intact.

"Harry?" she asked quietly of them, after they had settled into seats.

Ron's fork moved from his plate to his mouth with mechanical rapidity, but Hermione muttered, "sleeping."

Ginny nodded quickly and turned to speak to Charlie, to examine his recently bandaged arm. She didn't remember finishing her food or rising from the table, but sometime later she was being pulled up the stairs towards the girl's dormitories with Hermione, while Ron and Charlie trailed behind.

Ginny had not felt tired until she had entered the dormitory, but suddenly she was not sure how much longer she might be able to stand. Hermione slipped wordlessly into the bed beside Ginny's. She was too tired even to bother pulling the hangings shut and turned her face from the bright midday sun that shone impossibly bright through the dormitory window.

When Ginny woke, the sky had faded into shades of orange and purple. The days were long this time of year. Hermione was still sleeping, her trainers, soles peeling away and shoelaces singed, extending over the edge of the bed. Ginny sidestepped them as she crossed to the dormitory stairs. The stone steps seemed to echo more than usual, but there was a few knots of people in the common room. Demelza raised her head at the sight of Ginny and looked at her questioningly, but Ginny didn't stop. Demelza nodded and returned to her conversation with Dean. She climbed out of the portrait hole and into the half-destroyed corridor. There was something odd about the way the light poured through the newly created gaps in the stone and touched upon the rubble on the floor. The gleaming suits of armor that had always guided her to classes were missing and the frames of portraits were splintered. Broken glass from one of the windows crunched under her shoes as she walked.

She did not know where she had meant to go, but she suddenly felt her legs weaken under her. She steadied herself against the wall and sunk down to the floor in front of the north stairs. She stared at the broken railing on the stairs for a moment, and jumped when the staircase suddenly shifted. But the landing had been blasted away, so the staircase only hung in the air, feet away from the next floor. She felt oddly like laughing at the sight. How funny that the stairs didn't know that the landing had been reduced to rubble. Such information was unimportant anyway. The stairs would probably always move in such a way, no matter how many giants ripped holes in the walls. She thought suddenly of the little swamp on the third floor, wondering if it had survived the day. Her head rested against the wall as she imagined Fred's face, and this time it was not the ghost of a smile but the full-blown grin as he had climbed onto his broom, the iron peg from the dungeons scrapping against the floor as he and George took off.

"Ginny?"

Harry stood in front of her, his hair in an even worse state than before he had gone to sleep. His eyes still had dark circles around them, but he looked a bit better somehow. Certainly not as horrid as he had looked in the Room of Requirement hours ago. "Are you okay?"

Ginny nodded, but didn't rise to her feet. Harry sank down beside her instead. "I'm sorry about Fred," he said to the stone floor.

"Me too," said Ginny.

Harry shuffled awkwardly closer, and Ginny could not resist the urge to put her head on his shoulder. Harry extricated his arm and placed it around Ginny's shoulders. He buried his face in her hair as she settled into Harry, and it was as if his body had been molded to fit against hers.

I wrote this in one go, so I hope it wasn't too horrid. Please review! I actually love criticism.