Ginny sat anxiously at the kitchen table in her mother's house, twisting her hands while her mother paced back and forth. She'd tried multiple times to get up and leave the house, once her sanctuary, but she was imprisoned inside. "For your own good," they preached. How could they know what was best for her? She didn't even know what was best for her.

Molly spun the dial on the wireless to a station where Celestina Warbeck sang woefully about love lost, then looked horribly guilty about it and immediately changed the station to a Wizarding Wireless Network talk show. The words were reduced to senseless gibberish as Ginny and her mother waited for news.

Then the sign she'd been waiting for was there. Her father's face, normally cheery and bright, looked grim and ominous in the fireplace. It's just a trick of the light, she tried to convince herself. "They've been taken to St. Mungo's," he informed them.

She sprang up immediately and dashed off to her bedroom to retrieve her coat, failing to hear the whispered words she'd dreaded:

"You may want to hurry."

The two Weasley women were ushered immediately into a private chamber where Harry, Hermione, and Ron were roomed. They rushed to Ron's bed, where he lay waiting for one of the higher mediwitches or mediwizards to care for him.

Ron had been her best friend, pre-Hogwarts. They were closer than close, and seeing her stronger older brother (her favorite, even though she didn't like to admit it) in such a state was shocking. His left leg was broken, and a couple fingers on his right hand looked crushed. His right arm was in a sling, too, but it was just because it was "weak."

"Not to worry, Mum," he said with a small smile. Mrs. Weasley fished out a handkerchief and began wetting it silently. Ginny thought she could hear her whispering about her "little baby boy."

She desperately wanted to hug him, to tell him everything was going to be okay, but didn't. Who knew what kind of spells had hit him, and what the long-lasting effects would be? Ginny settled for touching his shoulder gently and giving him a little smile.

Ginny then wandered over to see Hermione. She was out cold, breathing heavily and ragged. "But don't worry, she'll be fine," a mediwitch had said earlier. "Looks worse than it is."

I certainly hope so. Hermione was covered in scratches and freely bleeding wounds, making Ginny wonder how and why she'd neglected throwing up shielding charms and wards, or if they'd been broken down during the battle.

Meanwhile, Ron and their mother were conversing in hushed tones. "You may want her to see him," he muttered, gesturing over to a curtained-off bed. "He's – he's in a bad way."

"Ginny," her mother said in a strangled voice. "Come here."

"But Mum -"

Words of protest fell away from her lips as she saw her mother's face and remembered that there was one more they hadn't yet seen. Swallowing hard, Ginny followed Mrs. Weasley obediently towards the curtain, feeling as if she was walking to her own execution.

Mrs. Weasley drew the curtain back slowly, shaking the whole time. "You may – you may want to say your goodbyes," she choked. Even more tears spilled over, thoroughly rendering her handkerchief into a useless bit of drenched cloth. As her only daughter stepped inside, she pulled the curtain shut again, leaving Ginny to deal with this ordeal on her own.

Harry's breathing was ragged and uneven, but he was awake. His glasses were still intact – his glasses, of all things! – but Ginny felt as if there were no places left on him where there would not be a scar.

If he lived.

"Gin," he croaked.

She reached out and took his hand gently, pressing it to her cheek. The tears that had been building up all day began falling, dripping off her nose. "Harry," she whispered. "How – how was it?"

He gave a long, shuddering breath that racked his whole body. "We did it," he said, with a pale imitation of a smile.

"Oh, Harry," she breathed. Ginny sniffled. "You did it."

"Yeah. We did it."

"Always out to save the world, aren't you?"

"It's a hard job, but somebody's got to do it."

Ginny struggled to keep her emotions in check. "Why, Harry?" she cried out. "Leave saving the world to other people – we're just kids, really, why should you be burdened with it? It's not fair." Her whole body shook. "It's not fair!"

Harry had nothing to say to that. His head was throbbing – pounding, really – and it was all he could do to stay conscious. It felt as if he didn't even have the strength to lift his hand and hold hers comfortingly, and he hated himself for it. "So what if it's not fair?" he asked her wearily. "I'd rather save the world then watch it be destroyed."

She swallowed at the gentle rebuke. "Sorry, but I – oh, you know…" Ginny's voice trailed off and she looked past him.

Her eyes widened and she cried out, and then everything went black.