Disclaimer - Alas, Harry Potter is not mine.
A/N - Yay! My first fic. does happy dance around computer...moving on. Anyway, this is kind of sad, but oh well. The first line popped into my head one day, and I just went with it.
Alone, She Waited
Alone, she waited.
Waited for a brother, who she might never tease again.
Waited for a friend, who she might never confide in again.
Waited for a hero, who she might never hold again.
She watched from her spot, curled up on an armchair in the Gryffindor Common Room as the embers of the fire slowly burned out and died. Died. Like her friends might. She couldn't bear to think about them, what they were doing now, what they felt like looking death in the face.
So, Ginny Weasley directed her thoughts to a safer place. She gazed around the common room, finding mundane details fascinating. She idly contemplated the colors, the fabrics of the mismatched couches. Slowly, Ginny realized she was sitting in Harry's favorite armchair.
She moved.
They would not let her come. Ron argued that it was too dangerous, that she was too young, that Mum would kill him if she found out he let her go. Harry could not bear the thought of possibly losing her.
"I can't fight Voldemort if I'm concerned for your safety", he had told her.
How could he bravely stand up and face the darkest wizard who ever lived, yet not be able to deal with her standing up next to him? Even Hermione had told her to stay in the castle and wait.
So now, Ginny sat, while all the other seventh years and teachers met the Death Eaters in Hogsmeade, dreading the eventual arrival of the Dark Lord himself. Even the Slytherins had gone, although most of them were fighting on the same side as their parents.
Deep down in her rational mind which did not often surface in times like these, Ginny realized that this was the way it should be. After all, The Golden Trio sounded a lot better than The Golden Quartet.
Ginny continued to survey the empty room she sat in. Stacks of books were perched precariously on the tables; half-completed essays lay long forgotten. When McGonagall had raced through the portrait hole, out of breath and announcing the onslaught of Death Eaters outside the gates of Hogwarts, all the sixth years and below had hastily retreated to their dormitories, while the seventh years had courageously stepped forward. Ginny had too, only to be sent immediately back.
Because of her trance-like state, Ginny did not hear them come in until they were right in front of her. Ron and Hermione, sporting numerous cuts and bruises and looking utterly spent, stood before her.
"He's gone", stated Hermione simply.
Voldemort was dead! Ginny's heart soared, until she realized she did not see Harry standing with Ron and Hermione. Where was he? It was not like him to keep her waiting like this.
"Harry?" she inquired hopefully, even as tears began to leak out of her eyes.
The look on Ron's face was the only answer she needed.
Yes, Ginny Weasley no longer waited.
But she was sill alone.