Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise.

Les Misérables


"No!" Ginny screamed, the anguish in her voice filling every corner of the Great Hall, touching everyone who had the misfortune of hearing such a wrenching sound. "No!"

"Aw? Are you sad?" Bellatrix pouted, a maniacal gleam in her eyes as she stepped carelessly over the lifeless body of Molly Weasley. "Are you sad now that your mummy's gone?"

Ginny swallowed back a sob and looked at Bellatrix Lestrange with a mixture of grief and rage, tears already making their way down her dirty, bloody cheeks. Surely this wasn't real. Surely this was just another nightmare. Because her mother couldn't have just died. There was no way that her mum was dead. There was no way that her mum was dead.

"How dare you," she whispered, her voice shaking uncontrollably. "How dare you."

Behind her, she heard George telling her to stop whatever it was that she was doing, but Ginny, for once in her life, didn't care what her brother had to say and she found herself gripping her wand even tighter than she ever had done before as she stepped audaciously forward. She knew that she wasn't acting rashly, but she didn't care anymore. She didn't care.

"You should listen to your brother, blood-traitor," Bellatrix hissed and she flung a curse towards Ginny, a curse that she easily and instinctively blocked. "You wouldn't want to end up like mummy, now would you? But then and again," she drawled, "you would look much better dead than alive, I have to say."

"Ginny?" George warned her from behind. "Whatever it is you're thinking of doing, don't do it."

Ginny snarled at her brother, telling him to leave her alone, her veins now filled with adrenaline and earth shattering pain. He knew her too well. A second later, she turned to face Bellatrix, her wand raised threateningly.

The duel was fierce, with an array of colours viciously surging towards each other and both witches twirling and slashing their wands ruthlessly through the air. The Great Hall was alive with heat, electricity and pure, undulated magic as the two women duelled; there was no question that only one would emerge alive from this. Around them, a crowd began to build and the hall fell eerily silent, with only the whistling of the crackling curses filling the dead air. Even Bellatrix, who was infamous for her constant cackling and jeering, was darkly silent as she began to realise that the girl that she was duelling was no amateur.

Sweat trailed down Ginny's body, making her ragged clothing stick uncomfortably to her skin. Her eyes were bright with her open desire for revenge and her hair hung ethereally around her face, but her grip on her wand never failed. In fact, the elegant, crafted piece of wood seemed to rejoice under the newfound power and accuracy in which it was being wielded.

Ginny had never felt so alive, so full of raw power that it almost scared her as she flicked a particularly nasty curse towards Bellatrix. It was almost bordering on being uncontrollable, but Ginny gritted her teeth. She had to control it. She had to control it for her mother and Fred and everyone else who was fighting in this sickening, pointless war.

And that was when one of her spells smashed through Bellatrix's shield charm.

For the briefest second, the insane witch paused, a look of incredulousness passing over her face as she stood, completely vulnerable, for the first time all evening. Ginny didn't waste the opportunity.

With renewed vigour pulsing through her body, she started shooting hex after hex, putting Bellatrix on the defensive as she attempted to fend off Ginny's array of curses and jinxes with panicked shield charms. Ginny's wand arm blurred as her spells circled in arcs, racing towards Bellatrix's scowling face.

"You'll regret that, bitch!" Bellatrix screamed and Ginny cried out in pain as a curse shot directly past her face, cutting into her skin and singing several of her hairs. Another spell shot into her leg and Ginny gasped again, a burning ache travelling through her thigh; she could feel the blood seeping through the ratty fabric of her jeans. "Did that hurt, blood traitor?" Bellatrix continued cruelly. "Do you want your mummy? Are you so wea-"

And Bellatrix exploded in a shower of ash, Ginny's control finally giving out in a pulse of swirling shadows and lights.


In the middle of the courtyard, everything ended. In the middle of the courtyard, Voldemort fell. In the middle of the courtyard, a hero, a brother, a friend, a lover died, collapsing limply to the ground. Around her, the air burst into screams of relief and triumph.

But this was no triumph. It was a tragedy and Ginny found herself falling to her knees as those close to her rejoiced.


In her hands, Ginny was twisting the stem of the three roses harshly until her dad quietly told her to stop what she was doing. Reluctantly, Ginny stopped winding the thorny stalks into knots and let the flowers hang by her side. She didn't want to be here. She didn't want to be in a place that surrounded by such death and she shivered subconsciously as the group passed grave after grave until they reached the ones belonging to their own family.

Molly Weasley, one of the headstones read in neat script. 30th October 1949 – 2nd May 1998. Beloved wife, friend, and mother. May her never-ending love and selflessness live on forever in our hearts. Ginny silently moved her gaze over to the other gravestone. Fred Weasley. The plain carving of the letters didn't seem to do his lively personality justice at all. 1st April 1978 – 2nd May 1998. A beloved twin, son, and brother. May we never forget his sacrifice.

Ginny choked back a sob as her eyes flicked over the two unceremonious graves. She couldn't believe that there were two of her dearest family members lying under those two, awful headstones. Surely it wasn't real.

But it was. It was devastatingly, horrifyingly real.


"Ginny, I really don't think that that's a good idea," her father said quietly. "I mean, we've only just begun to accept their," he choked over their names, "deaths. We need you here. Where we can keep you safe."

"But I am safe, dad!" Ginny said in frustration, harshly wrenching herself out of her father's gentle grip. "For the last few weeks, all we've been doing is sitting pathetically around the house! Do you think that mum would have wanted that? What about Fred? He would be horrified to see that we're just sitting here, drowning in our grief!"

Her father's face tightened. "And that, Ginny, is why I'm saying no. You're distraught. You're not thinking clearly. You don't know what you want."

"But Dad!"

"No buts," he told her grimly. "You're staying here until I say otherwise. Besides, Death Eaters are still being rounded up and I don't want you..." he shuddered, "I don't want you to leave. Not yet."

"So what? You're just conveniently forgetting about the fact that I killed Bellatrix Lestrange? I am capable of protecting myself, Dad! I know what I'm doing!"

"You're staying here, Ginny. That's final."

Her father left the room.

"You know," Ron said hesitantly, "dad's right. You shouldn't leave just yet. You're, we're, all still healing. I know that you want to be an auror, but that position will wait for you."

"That's right, Gin," Charlie said quietly. "We need to stick together. Otherwise we're just all going to fall apart at the seams."

"But all of you are out working and studying and moving on! Why won't you let me do the same? Don't I deserve at least that much?"

Charlie sighed and stood up from his spot on the sofa. "We're not the enemy here, Ginny."

Ginny glared at her brothers and laughed bitterly. "You talk about sticking together, but you and your uncompromising ways are just ripping deeper rifts."


"I'm not a fragile doll!" Ginny grumbled to Hermione. "I suffered just as much as they did! Why won't they let me do anything? You know, they're actually keeping me under house arrest lest I try something."

"And will you? Try something, I mean?"

Ginny shrugged violently. "Yes. No. Maybe. Ugh. I don't know! But what I do know is that they're shutting me in a box and I don't know how much longer I can take it!"

Hermione sighed and shut her book, placing it on her lap. "I'll talk to Ron. Maybe he can say something."

"Ron?" Ginny spat. "He's the worst out of all of them. Merlin, every single time something happens, like I wake up screaming or crying or I drop a bloody bowl, he gives me this disappointed, worried look, like I'm proving to him just how broken I really am. Well, of course I'm bloody broken! We all are! But people heal in different ways and they don't seem to understand that! They need peace, but I need distractions!"

"Have you tried talking to them?"

"Yes. Numerous times," Ginny muttered, finally curling up in one the one of the chairs. "But they don't seem to get it. For me to heal, I need to be busy. I need to work. But they don't seem to recognise that." Ginny paused. "They're stifling me, Hermione," she said quietly. "They're stifling me and I don't know what to do anymore."


Ginny haphazardly packed her things in a ragged suitcase with a carefully placed undetectable extension charm cast on it. In went her potions kit, several books on muggles, a couple of clothes, and her wand. A couple of useful potions were thrown in on second thought as well. Just in case, she told herself.

She crept downstairs, avoiding the creaky steps, her heart pumping wildly in her chest. She couldn't believe that she was doing this. Merlin, if someone had asked her a year ago as to whether or not she would have ever run away from home, Ginny would have said a very firm, 'no.' Yet here she was, escaping her own house like a thief in the night. She reached the bottom step and breathed a sigh of relief, glad that one of the hardest parts had finished.

Now all she had to do was reach the International Floo Station without being detected.


The air was heavy and warm as she stepped out of the fireplace, the odd, burning scent of floo powder still lingering in her nose. Her suitcase slipped slightly in her clammy grip and she felt, for the first time that day, the inklings of nervousness. She looked reluctantly back at the blackened hearth, conjuring the images of her brothers in her head. It wasn't too late to go back. She could make her family understand. She was sure of it. But then and again… her expression hardened. They wouldn't understand, she thought to herself bitterly. They would never be able to understand. They were too stuck in their ways. They wouldn't be able to get past of their views of her being the 'damaged, broken little sister.'

No. She had to stay for her own sanity, even if she had to rip herself apart at the very seams. She raised her gaze grimly and forced herself to stand up just that little bit straighter as she strode purposefully away from the lure of the fireplace. But nevertheless, the aghast expressions of her brothers and her father still haunted her thoughts with every step she took. Her father would never forgive her. Not after what happened to mum. She felt her blank expression slip at the fresh memory of her mother, lying listlessly, lifelessly on the cold stone floor and bit back a sob before biting her lip fiercely, forcing the tears to stay within the confines of her eyes. She was in America now and there were no friends here, no possible relatives that she could contact. It suddenly dawned on Ginny just how utterly alone she was. Of course, she knew that other witches and wizards had done the same after the war; she was hardly the first to leave the country after the abundant celebrations, but it didn't change the fact that she truly was alone for the first time in her life. She was going to have to be strong. Weakness was not going to be allowed.

She took a deep breath and pressed forward, pushing the other witches and wizards that were hurrying around the station out of her peripheral vision, and focused instead on finding the witch who had said would meet her here. Ms Kenna Optum. According to various and somewhat shady sources, Kenna Optum was the witch to go to if one needed to create a new, reliable identity. In other words, she was someone that Ginny needed desperately, hence why she had contacted the infamous witch as soon as she had realized that she needed to leave. After all, when her brothers realized that she had left, they would do anything and everything in their power to get her back and the last thing she wanted, was to be dragged back to a place that was filled with the memories of the dead.

She knew she was being a coward, that she was essentially defying her proud, Gryffindor nature, but she couldn't help it anymore. Throughout the war, she had been so strong, never being allowed to show her fear and her doubt. She had been a part of the DA, she had fought for those who needed to be fought for, she had forced herself not to give up, she had given hope to those who wanted it, and she had done what needed to be done. But now? Now, it was her time to be the weak one. It was her time to be selfish.

"Miss Weasley?"

The sultry tone of the distinctly feminine voice made Ginny stop slowly in her tracks, her heart started beating slightly faster at the sound. She cursed inwardly to herself, forcing herself to calm down.

"Who wants to know?" she asked carefully, her eyes flicking warily over a dark-clothed figure.

The witch slunk out of the shadows and into the harsh lighting that graced the hall of the New York International Floo Station, a smirk sitting on her pretty face. Ginny hadn't expected her to be so young, but then and again, cosmetic spells were improving everyday.

"Is that a confirmation of who you truly are then?" she drawled slowly, her eyes raking over Ginny's still form.

Ginny nodded once, her lips pressed in a tight line as she too made her own assessment of the elegant witch standing in front of her. Tall, stunningly beautiful, slim, eerily perfect... A woman, even though she was her only ticket to staying anonymous, who was in no way, shape, or form to be trusted.

"I have to say, you don't look very well, my dear," the witch continued, as she stepped forward. "That dreadful war obviously took its toll on you. I mean, look at that sallow skin of yours!" She paused. "You wouldn't catch me doing something like that, risking my health and my beauty. But you know. People these days."

Ginny's grip on her suitcase tightened, but she didn't deign to respond to her veiled insult. "And I assume that you must be Kenna Optum." She spat the last two words, and Optum smirked at her vehemence.

The witch laughed, a high pitched, girly cackle that had Ginny's hairs standing on end as the sound slithered its way through her body. "You guess correctly, my dear. Now, seeing as you're new here and that you don't really understand much about anything, I am, as we agreed, going to let your payment slide just this once. Because, despite the fact that I completely disagree with the war, we witches have to stick together. It's a hard world out there, after all."

Ginny inclined her head. "Very kind of you," she said stiffly.

Optum smirked at her. "So, onto business, and don't worry," she said, waving a manicured hand casually, "no one here can hear us and it won't take long." She stared at Ginny critically. "My sources also tell me that you want the complete wash. No more association with the wizarding world?"

"None."

Optum raised a perfect eyebrow. "Are you sure about that? It seems like an awfully big decision for a girl who's only just come of age."

Ginny glared at Optum. "I am."

Optum grinned, the smile contorting her face as she dug out her wand, several sheets of parchment, and a muggle contraption that Ginny believed was called a laptop. "Let's get started then," she said, conjuring two chairs and a table in the middle of the hall and Ginny vaguely wondered what kind of spell Optum had cast to make them appear so invisible to the rest of the people in the hall. "Now, I've already created most of your knew profile. Your birthday, however, I kept the same in accordance to your wishes. The only thing I need, actually, is your new name. I presume you already have one in mind?"

Ginny barely hesitated in her reply. "Ginny Prewett."

Optum shot her a look of disgust. "I thought that Bellatrix's killer would have been more imaginative than that."

"And I thought that you were supposed to be more professional than what you seem to be," Ginny replied coldly, burying the impact of Optum's ugly words deep inside her. She would think about them later.

Optum simply sighed and wrote the name on a piece of paper. "Fine. But don't blame me if you get discovered, because taking your mother's maiden name and keeping your own name really isn't all that discrete, my dear."

Ginny didn't say anything as the witch typed something into the laptop.

"Awfully useful things, these laptops," Optum said cheerfully, her fingers moving across the keys fluidly. "They work brilliantly with magic as well, by the way. There. Now all of your new records are officially in the system. So, as far as the muggle government is concerned, if you want to get a job, which I assume you want to do, then you should pass all of their requirements without any noticeable problems."

"And the parchment?" Ginny asked, gesturing to the large lump of tied papers.

Optum picked up the stack of parchment and dumped them into Ginny's arms. "These are all of your written records, including your new social security number, and I suggest that you learn it all off by heart as soon as you can manage. Also, I would learn about muggle technology as soon as you are able and… oh, get yourself some health insurance as well. You'll both want and need that." The witch stood up from the table, her chair vanishing into thin air. "I don't need to remind you, Miss Prewett, that it is up to you as to what you choose to do with your new identity."

Ginny stood up as well. "What about a house?" she requested sharply. "You promised me that you would find me somewhere to live."

Optum simply simpered condescendingly. "Did I? I don't recall such a promise. However, if you do wish for me to organise that too, then you'll have to pay, and to be honest," she leaned forward threateningly, "I don't really think that you can afford my services." She sneered. "It's lucky that I did the hard part for free, but you're on your own now," she spat. She vanished the table and Ginny's chair. "Anything and everything else comes at a price, so if I were you, I would just be pretty damned grateful that you don't have to worry about your identity anymore."

Ginny's entire body stiffened and Optum smiled in scornful triumph.

"Good luck, Miss Prewett. You're going to need it." And a second later, a loud popping sound rang through the air and Kenna Optum disappeared, leaving the seventeen year old witch standing alone in the otherwise busy hall.


"You look a little bit young to be doing this job. Are you sure that you really want this?"

Ginny sat up even straighter in her chair, determination and steel in her eyes. "I'm seventeen. But yes, I want this."

"Well, all right then," Pepper said reluctantly. "You definitely performed the best out of all of the candidates, but if you have any problems or if you find it all too much, then let me know, okay?"

"Absolutely," Ginny said, allowing a small smile to grace her lips for the first time during the private meeting. "So when do I start?"

Pepper looked slightly startled. "Well, I suppose that you could start now if you really want to, but I don't expect that."

Ginny shook her head though and said, "No, starting now would be absolutely perfect if that's okay with you."

Pepper nodded slowly. "In that case then," she said, handing a stack of folders into Ginny's arms, "I need you to take these down to the third floor to a Mr Fraddly. He's located in room 3046."


"Is she…?" Pietro asked hesitantly, still unsure as to whether he was allowed to enter the redhead's hospital room yet.

The nurse sighed despondently. "You're the one who brought her in, aren't you?"

Pietro nodded.

"Well, she's still unconscious, I'm afraid. But I'm confident that she'll wake up in no time. Her fever did break last night and we've been noticing improvements in her condition ever since."

"Do you know what caused it?"

The nurse shook his head. "Not yet, but they're still examining her blood. It could have been a variety of things all at once. Who knows? It's just lucky that you got her here when you did, otherwise the consequences could have been a lot worse."

People had been saying that a lot to Pietro ever since he had arrived at the medical area of the facility two nights ago and frankly, he was getting slightly sick of it. Technically, he hadn't really done anything. In fact, all he had done was sit in a car with her while she got steadily worse until he had decided to run her the rest of the way. And then, he had burst into the medical bay like a maniac with Ginny bundled limply in his arms, yelling at the top of his lungs for a doctor. And then he had just stood there and watched wordlessly as a team of nurses ran up to him, took her from his arms and placed her on a gurney, already talking rapidly to each other as they pushed her towards one of the treatment rooms.

Since then, no one had been allowed to see her for two days and his hands clenched subconsciously into fists by his sides. If he had been quicker, if he had run her here sooner, then maybe she wouldn't be lying in a coma right now. He cleared his throat.

"Can I see her?" he asked quietly. Maybe now that her fever had broken, he would be allowed to see her and apologise to her, even though she wouldn't hear it.

But the nurse looked at him doubtfully. "She's still in a critical condition," he mused, "however, her vitals are stable and her fever did break… Tell you what, I'll get the doctor and we'll see what she says, all right?"

Pietro nodded mutely and watched as he walked away to one of the doctor's offices. He started tapping his foot impatiently against the floor.

Fuck, he hated hospitals. The white walls, the bright lights, the yelling, the beeping, the crying. There was always something happening. Someone being born, someone dying, someone saying hello and another saying goodbye. This place, though, this medical wing in the Avengers facility was the worst out of all of them, because here, not a single innocent life ever entered. No, instead the only people who walked through those doors were tattered, shattered, and broken, walking in with gun shot wounds, gashes from knives, broken bones, and fragile minds tainted by all that they had endured. People just like him. People like Wanda, Steve and Stark. People like Banner, Thor, Clint and Natasha.

Pietro liked to pretend that everything was okay. He liked to imagine that his bullet wounds gave him no pain even though he woke up almost every night still, gasping as agony penetrated his torso. He liked to believe that he was still whole, just as invincible as he had been at ten years old. But he was no longer that free.

"Mr Maximoff?" The voice of the nurse broke Pietro out of his thoughts and he looked up slowly at him who was walking back towards him, an unreadable expression on his face. "You can see her. Her room number is 376. Just be mindful of all of the leads. And if anything happens, let me know. There's also a call button on the wall just behind the bed if it's urgent."

Pietro nodded in thanks, only just managing to suppress the relief that came with finally being allowed to see Ginny and he had to literally force himself to walk instead of run as he approached her room. He stopped in front of the closed glass doors and sighed to himself, his hand hovering on the handle. There was something oddly intimate about visiting someone's sick room and he vaguely hoped that he wasn't breaking any boundaries by being there. Besides, despite his best efforts to get close to her, she hadn't yet given in, although he did have to admit, a small smirk sitting on his lips, that she was at least becoming slightly more open in general.

His mind made up, Pietro opened the door and grimaced slightly at the room's décor. He didn't want to focus on her. Not yet. Not while he could still preserve the image of her under the lighting at his party in that stunning red dress, a champagne glass in her arm, and a cautious smile on her face. So he concentrated on the walls instead as he padded uncharacteristically slowly into the room. The walls were that stereotypical hospital colour – a light cream – and the floors were spotless and clean. Along one whole side, a large window extended, filling the room with the late afternoon sunlight. As far as hospital rooms go, he thought to himself, sitting down on the chair that was situated in the corner, this one wasn't actually too bad. It least it didn't make you feel claustrophobic, like his had made him feel. God, he had hated that room. It had been so stuffy and ugly and because of his condition at the time, even his sister couldn't persuade the staff to bring in something that would brighten up the place. It had been a relief when he had made it out of there…

Finally, he allowed his eyes to stray to Ginny's motionless body and he blanched at the sight. Her hair that had been so alive with colour and life just the other night, was now limp and dull and her skin was wretchedly pale, her freckles starkly standing out in the natural light of the room. True to the nurse's words, there were leads disappearing under the nightgown that she had been shoved in, measuring her vitals. An I.V. had been stuck gracelessly in one of her arms and Pietro almost reached up to it to soothe the discomfort that she was no doubt feeling because of it. But he stopped himself.

Not for the first time, he wondered what had caused her to become so ill so quickly. It could have been the food, the drink, an infection waiting to pounce as soon as she relaxed for the slightest moment. Or maybe it had been something darker. Maybe someone had targeted her, injecting her with a drug or given her a poison. He knew that it was unlikely, but as far as he knew, the doctors hadn't ruled it out and neither had his fellow Avengers when they had heard of what had happened.

Surprisingly, or maybe unsurprisingly, the team had actually been rather worried about their secretary and had actually groaned and griped about having to deal with a replacement.

"I can't believe that I'm saying this, but I don't like this new one," Tony had declared earlier that day. "She's too chatty. And I don't know if you've noticed, but nothing's getting done. Red may have been as secretive as Natasha, but at least she did stuff. Plus, and don't ever tell her I said this, but I miss her quietness."

Pietro had silently agreed, especially after the replacement had tried to seduce him at her earliest possible chance. Ginny had never done that.

He stared once again at the young woman in front of him and wondered whether or not he should say anything. Talking to people in a coma was supposed to help them, right?

"I don't like the replacement secretary," Pietro voiced to her, feeling only slightly awkward as he talked to the unconscious girl lying before him. "She's annoying. And superficial," he added as an afterthought. "Even the others miss you. Maybe even Natasha. Wanda does though, which reminds me. I still have to talk to her about what you told me. About giving her… independence. I'll do that later, though," he contemplated and cleared his throat. "I'm sorry," he whispered, "for not getting you here sooner. If I had been quicker, if I had come here first, then maybe you wouldn't be lying here. People, the doctors and the others, say that I saved your life, but I'm the reason you're here."

Tentatively, Pietro reached for her hand, and this time, he didn't hesitate as his warm fingers closed firmly around her slightly cool ones.


I have to go back. I have to go back. I have to go back.

Those were the Ginny's first reliable thoughts three days later and they circled around and around her head as her dreams from the past faded away. Vaguely, she wondered what the date was and she felt herself panic slightly. What if she had missed it? What if she had missed the mourning ceremony? She knew that she had missed it for the past two years, but this year was different. This year she was going to go. She had to go.

"Miss Prewett?" a voice said suddenly and Ginny winced at the disturbingly loud sound. "Can you hear me?" She felt pressure on one of her hands. "If you can hear me, I want you to squeeze my hand."

She didn't know how, but somehow she found the energy to respond to the request and slowly squeezed back. In the background, she could hear beeping and she fluttered her eyelids uncertainly.

"That's great." The voice sounded pleased. "I'm going to go and get Dr Santos. I'll be back very soon."

Dr Santos? Who was Dr Santos?

And then it was all coming back to her.

The party, talking to Pietro and actually having a decent conversation with him, that witch – she couldn't remember her name – her first use of magic in three years, feeling incredibly ill afterwards and then most embarrassingly collapsing into someone's arms not too much later. Absently, Ginny supposed that that was where she must be. The hospital. Merlin, she hated muggle hospitals.

"Miss Prewett?"

Ginny jumped and snapped to attention, eyeing the dark skinned woman standing in the doorway hesitantly. She was wearing light grey scrubs, a symbol sitting lightly on the sleeve and had large bags under her eyes, no doubt from the stress of her job. Her hair hung loosely around her face.

"I'm Dr Sara Santos, but you can call me Sara," she said with a tired smile and she stepped into the room. Her voice was pleasantly accented. "I treated you when you were brought in. How are you feeling? You gave us quite a scare."

Ginny was confused. "A scare?"

Sara nodded grimly. "I don't know how much you remember, but I'm going to walk you through what happened, if that's okay with you?"

Ginny nodded. "I guess," she said hoarsely, her voice ragged from lack of use. "Do you mind if you could get me a glass of water?"

"Absolutely," Sara smiled. "Is there anything you else you want to know or need before I go on?"

"The date," Ginny said bluntly. "And how long I've been out."

"Well, the date is the May the first and you've been out three days."

It took a moment for what Sara had said to register. The first of May? But the ceremony was… tomorrow. She had to leave. She had to leave right now and head for the New York Floo if she had any hope in hell of getting to England.

"I need to leave," Ginny said abruptly, already beginning to weakly push the covers off of her body. "I have somewhere I need to be."

"And that's in here," Sara said sharply. "I don't think you quite understand what happened to you, Miss Prewett, but the matter really was very, very serious."

Ginny sighed irritably. "There's somewhere I need to be."

"And I need you to understand that you came very close to death, Miss Prewett."

Ginny supposed that had she been a 'normal' person, she would have been rather horrified at 'almost dying'. But it wasn't the first time that that had happened to her and she seriously doubted that it would be the last. She pushed more firmly against the covers.

"Miss Prewett, your body entered an extreme and unexplained period of hyperthermia that resulted in shock. I cannot reiterate how serious this is, Miss Prewett, especially seeing as the cause is still unknown."

"And I really need to go! Look, there's a…" Ginny's face tightened and she swallowed hard, "ceremony that I need to go to. One of my brothers was killed in a war several years ago and I absolutely have to go. I've already booked… flights."

Sara's expression softened ever so slightly. "I'm terribly sorry about that. Truly, but you need to worry about yourself right now."

"Look," Ginny said stubbornly, "if you're not going to let me go, then could you please get me the patient discharge papers? I'm not an agent, I'm a secretary, so the rules are different in terms of discharge." For once, she was glad that she had read all of those stupid files that Maria had given her at the beginning of her time here. She had never really thought much of all of the protocols, but at least in this sense, they were giving her a favour.

Sara pursed her lips. "I really must advise you against doing that, Miss Prewett."

"Yes, I suppose that you can advise me against it, but I'm afraid that it won't do anything, because I will be on that flight."

Sara scowled openly and turned to leave. "Fine."

"And also?" Ginny said, this time completely serious, "I wanted to thank you for saving my life."


"Granted."

For a moment, Ginny was stunned at Maria's answer. "Really?"

"Yes, really. I must say that I don't agree with your decision to refuse treatment, however, I understand your need to go to England. As long as you're back within the week, Prewett."

Ginny nodded once and stood up slowly from the chair. "Absolutely. And thanks."

Maria snorted derisively. "I may be a hard ass, Miss Prewett, but I'm not so harsh that I'll stop you going to a memorial ceremony. Now leave before I change behind."

Amused, Ginny walked quickly out of the agent's office pulling her muggle suitcase behind her as she headed towards the entrance. She was relieved that that was now over and done with; Maria was always fickle when it came to work hours and time off. Now, the only thing that she had to worry about was running into any of the Avengers. Especially, she blanched, Pietro. And Wanda. If they saw her running around right after she had been hospitalised, then she got the feeling that they wouldn't exactly agree with her decision to discharge herself. But then and again, it wouldn't really be very friendly of her to just steal away for a week like a thief in the night…

"Ginny? I thought that you were still in the hospital?"

Ginny jumped slightly as the unexpected yet familiarly accented voice broke through her thoughts and she turned to face Wanda, a carefully bright smile already arranged on her face. "Wanda!" she said cheerfully. "How are you?"

Wanda's eyes narrowed and Ginny vaguely wondered where Pietro was; where Wanda was, Pietro was never too far behind and she grimaced at the though. Pietro, if she were so unfortunate to run into him, would be even worse than Wanda was going to be. "You're avoiding the question. Why aren't you in the hospital?"

Ginny sighed and shifted edgily on her feet. "I discharged myself," she said bluntly. "I have somewhere else to be."

Wanda frowned. "Somewhere so important that you would risk your own health?"

"Yes."

"Then where is it? This place that is so important? Everyone was so worried about you! I was worried about you! Does this place really mean so much to you?"

Ginny closed her eyes briefly, feeling oddly guilty at Wanda's unexpected concern and vehemence. "Yes," she repeated, wearily opening her eyes to meet Wanda's. "This place really does mean that much to me and it is that important."

Wanda laughed incredulously. "I know that you may not believe me, Ginny, but you are wanted here. And yet, you're gong to leave us? Without so much as a goodbye?" She scoffed quietly, her expression hardening and her hands tightening into fists. Ginny saw a red glint pass over her eyes and she eyed Wanda warily as the girl took a step forward towards her. "You are just like the rest. Arrogant and selfish. Just as I originally thought."

Ginny stared at her blankly; a harsh wave of resentment towards herself filling her entire being, because what Wanda had just said was the truth. In more ways than one. To her surprise, she felt tears prickling at the corners of her eyes and she forced herself to take a deep, calming breath. She wasn't going to break down in the middle of the corridor. "You're right," she said eventually, her voice soft in the otherwise quiet hall. "I am selfish and arrogant and rude and cruel and heartless. Which is why I'm going back. Do you really want to know why I have to go back, Wanda? Do you? Well, it's because I have to go to a memorial for my brother. He died in a…" Ginny's face tightened, "war and for the last few years, I've been hiding here in America like a selfish coward. I destroyed my contact with them and my friends and I have to go back."

This time, it was Wanda's eyes that flashed with guilt. "I… I'm sorry. I-"

"Didn't know?" Ginny laughed bitterly. "A lot of people don't know anything about me, so don't feel guilty." She looked down at her watch deliberately, wanting to escape the conversation. "Unfortunately, I have to go now but I'll be back in a couple of days. Hopefully. Please tell the others that I'll be back and," she hesitated, "tell Pietro that I owe him my life."

And Ginny turned away, leaving Wanda standing alone in the corridor.


The Avengers were sitting in one of the many conference rooms, strangely serious expressions on all of their faces.

"So she just left?"

Wanda nodded curtly at Steve. "She did."

"To go to her brother's memorial because after he died she ran away?"

"That's what she implied, yes," Wanda sighed irritably to the archer.

Silence fell in the room.

"She's hiding something," Natasha said finally, her voice cutting the stillness like a knife. "You don't run away after the death of a brother. Maybe her brother was a part of it, but there's something else. Some other reason to account for her coming over here." She turned her sharp gaze on Wanda. "Have you looked inside her head?"

Wanda shook her head. "I did try, once," she admitted, flushing slightly, "but it is like her thoughts protect themselves somehow. They are there and I can feel them, but they are twisted and messy. I can't unravel them."

"Could you try?"

Wanda shrugged uncomfortably. "Yes. No. Maybe. But it would probably take a lot of effort and time. It would probably be painful for both of us. But I don't want to do that, because despite everything, I can understand her. She is in pain and she is hurting, but from what I do not know. And I will not betray her trust like that, not when it is obviously so hard to earn."

Sam nodded thoughtfully. "I agree with you. Poking into her thoughts like that would be the wrong way to do it. In my opinion, if we want to know more about her, then we have to let her come to us." He turned back to face Natasha. "Do you really believe that she's a security risk still?"

Natasha glared at him stonily. "Yes and I don't understand how the rest of you are taking this so lightly. We know absolutely nothing about her and despite the fact that she's had the 'perfect childhood' according to her file, she quite obviously hasn't! She quiet, she's guarded, she's controlled, and she's aware. I don't know whether the rest of you have noticed, but she has a fast reaction time. Faster than most," she said darkly. "If something makes a sound, she's turned around before the others even register what's happened. If someone screams, she already knows why. It's instinct for her. She's seen combat and she's been in combat and that's what makes her dangerous."

"So, what," Clint broke in, "you think that she's a spy?"

"I think that that's a very real possibility."

"So what do you propose we do then?" Steve interrupted. "We can't exactly confront her about this."

Natasha shrugged. "We get close to her. We get to know her and when she gets comfortable, then we start probing and asking questions."

"And if that does not work?" Pietro asked sullenly from the other end of the table.

"Then we force it out of her," Natasha said grimly. "And we find out what she's hiding."


Wow. Another super long chapter. I hope that you all don't mind.

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HauntedCinders