"I suppose I'm just going to have to accept that he really is going to marry her," Ginny sighed, leaning back against Harry as she, Ron, and Hermione sat gazing out an open window in the Gryffindor common room over the twilit Hogwarts grounds.

"She's not that bad," Harry said, at which Ginny looked up at him, arching her eyebrows playfully. "Ugly, though," he hastened to add.

She let out a satisfied chuckle and allowed herself a small smile as she nestled back into Harry's arms. "Well," she reluctantly admitted, "I suppose if Mum can stand it, I can." Truth was, Fleur was actually turning out to be not quite as bad as she and Hermione and her mother had believed in the beginning, caring fiercely for Bill as she was, standing by his side and singing the praises of his bravery to anyone who would listen. No, it seemed as though they may be able to put up with Fleur Delacour after all.

The real truth of it was, they all had bigger things to worry about now.

"Anyone else we know died?" Ron asked Hermione, who was reading the Evening Prophet. She shuddered at the common question; Ginny and Harry shifted uncomfortably as well.

"No," Hermione said as she folded up the paper, and they all exhaled a little in relief. "They're still looking for Snape, but no sign..."

"Of course there isn't," Harry said, and Ginny could feel the anger welling up in him without looking at him. This had become perhaps his least favorite thing to talk about... or perhaps his favorite, judging by how often he brought it up. "They won't find Snape till they find Voldemort, and seeing as how they've never managed to do that in all this time..."

Ginny gently laid her hand on his, and he stopped as suddenly as he had started. He could lose his temper so quickly sometimes without even realizing it. As fast as his anger had risen she felt it ebb away, replaced with the weariness and anxiousness they all felt, although in his case it was increased by tenfold. "I'm going to bed," Ginny said quietly, stifling back a yawn. "I haven't been sleeping that well since..." But she didn't say it. She couldn't. They all knew since when. "Well... I could do with some sleep." Gently, she leaned in and kissed Harry, lingering perhaps a moment or two longer than was absolutely necessary, and with a wave to Hermione and Ron she headed through the door towards the girl's dormitories went off to bed.

Once there, sleep did not come any easier than it had in any of the days since Dumbledore's death. Nothing came easy anymore, it seemed. Since the Headmaster's murder at the hands of a professor, the school had grown as solemn and quiet as she had ever seen it, even as it had grown as crowded as she had ever seen it, with wizards and witches coming from around the world to pay their respects to the memory of the greatest wizard of an age. It was ironic, really: the past few days had seen some of the most magnificent weather imaginable, exams had been canceled so there was nothing to be done but loll around in the sun and wander the grounds, but the usual lazy carelessness of approaching summer was overshadowed by both the sense of mourning for their shared loss and the foreboding dread of what more was yet to come.

Ginny, for her part, spent all of her time with Harry. And Ron and Hermione, yes, but with Harry. He was holding up far better than she had expected, she had to admit, and though there were moments where he seemed to tune them all out and stare off into a future that was fast coming for him, he would just as quickly return to them, return to her, and he was able to be Harry again, as muted in that existence as all of them were in their own.

But he would not speak to her of what was to come next. He would not speak to her, and she would not ask. This did not surprise her, of course; this is how it had always been. What did surprise her was when, earlier in the day, Hermione had approached her and asked her: "Has he been talking to you? About what he's to do next? About what Dumbledore told him to do?"

Ginny had shaken her head. "No, not a word. I assumed that he'd be telling you lot all that."

Hermione had looked away nervously at nothing in particular. "He's said nothing specific, I'm afraid," she said. "A few things here and there, but he hasn't mentioned specifically..."

That was as far as the conversation had gone. But if Harry wasn't going to be letting Ron and Hermione in on whatever Dumbledore's master plan for him was did it mean he was intending to try and carry it out alone? And what could they do to stop him?

For it was clear Dumbledore had a master plan for him. Even if nobody had said as much, all eyes had turned both literally and figuratively to Harry... and he hadn't said a word in complaint of it. He knew. He knew, and the world knew, and Ginny knew. She also knew that it was only a matter of time, only a matter of days, before... until...

It angered her to think of it. She had come so far, had learned so much, had grown up so much (which she had only just realized)... but it was that very growth, really, that kept her upright, and allowed her to accept the inevitability that she did not want to accept, but that she knew would arrive.

The morning of the funeral was a glorious one, so far as mornings go. Hundreds of chairs had been set out in rows next to the lake, and the warm early summer sun glowed down on them, not oppressive in the least. The Minister of Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour, was there, accompanied by anyone of any import from the Ministry. The Order of the Phoenix was there, and Ginny smirked to herself at the sight of Professor Lupin and Tonks holding hands. Figured. Madame Maxime and her students from Beauxbatons had come to pay their respects, Fleur's sister Gabrielle among them. Most of the population of Hogsmeade was in attendance, one of the musicians from the Weird Sisters, Celestina Warbeck, half the Quidditch teams in the International League, prominent wizards and witches from Australia to America, even the merpeople under the lake had arisen to offer their condolences in the form of a haunting, incomprehensible song... it was a virtual "Who's Who" of the wizarding world, and yet nobody seemed to take notice of the star-power in attendance. The spirit of the day was far damper than all that (although, Ginny noted, that did not stop Rita Skeeter's pen from flying across her notepad).

The current students of Hogwarts sat with their houses in the rows furthest back from the front of the congregation; she, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had taken seats at the end of one of the rows nearest to the lake. Offhandedly Ginny wondered if anyone had suggested to Harry a seat of more prominence; if they had, it was no surprise that he would not have taken it. Or perhaps Professor McGonagall had not allowed such an offer to be made. Ginny was starting to realize just how much protection they had had from the various guardians in their lives.

It was clear that this protection was now crumbling all around them.

Finally, Hagrid appeared at the top of the aisle that bisected the seats, carrying the shrouded form of Dumbledore, wrapped as it was in a great swath of purple velvet spangled with stars. Ginny had tried all day, tried to be strong (for Harry, she had told herself), but at this, this physical, visible reminder that Dumbledore was no longer here to guide them, she could not keep the tears from falling. She was not alone.

Hagrid processed slowly down the aisle, his beard thick with his own tears, and laid Dumbledore's form gently upon a raised marble table at the front of the congregation, retreating then to sit next to his half-brother, the giant Grawp.

And then the speech began, the eulogy, and a little man Ginny had never seen before dressed all in black droned on and on, but the words did not quite make it back to the assembled Hogwarts students. Still, nobody shifted in their seats, nobody began to murmur or mumble to their neighbors. Ginny's mind wandered off, and she could not help but think of the last time she had spoken to the Headmaster, up in his office, after she had broken in over problems that seemed so distant now, so petty.

Motivation.

She had managed to keep that word at bay over the past few months, but since Dumbledore's death it had been sneaking up on her. It was the role the Headmaster claimed she would play in whatever events were set to unfold, dark events by anyone's guess. She still couldn't imagine what it meant, entirely, and she couldn't imagine what it meant she would have to do, if anything. She did not like the idea of "playing" a part, frankly, and she didn't like the implication. Her whole family would be in grave danger very shortly, she expected, and she didn't like the idea of simply sitting around and prodding someone else on to action when there was so much she was sure she could do herself. It was an argument she had been privately rolling over in her mind for days now, and which had been keeping her up at nights.

And just when she had convinced herself, again, that the Headmaster hadn't known what he was talking about and that she would go storming into battle on her own, if things came to it... she turned and looked to Harry, sitting stoically beside her, not listening to the endless speech but staring out over the lake, the weight of the wizarding world clearly resting on his shoulders...

And her resolve melted. She knew she would do whatever she had to do, play whatever part was required of her, so long as it would help Harry come safely through this ordeal that awaited him.

Without warning, flames erupted around Dumbledore's body, bright, white flames that leaped high into the air, obscuring the Headmaster's form from view. People screamed, a few people rose from their seats... and like that, it was over. The flames were gone, and in their place stood a magnificent marble tomb, encasing Dumbledore's body and the marble table on which he had rested. A flight of arrows soared out from the Forbidden Forest, high into the air, falling far short of the crowd. Their tribute complete, the centaurs retreated back into the shadows of the trees.

The funeral was over; so lost in thought had she been, Ginny hardly remembered it beginning. Around them people were beginning to stir, beginning to quietly rise to their feet, leaning on each other for support, wiping their eyes. Ginny looked to her right; Hermione was lying on Ron, sobbing hysterically. She looked to her left and her gaze met Harry's.

And she could see that it was time.

She returned his gaze as fiercely as she could, trying to will him the strength to do what she knew he had to do, what she did not want him to do but what she knew had to be done. He leaned in to her. "Ginny, listen..." he began quietly. "I can't be involved with you anymore. We've got to stop seeing each other. We can't be together."

She smiled, strangely. It was beginning almost exactly as she had expected it would. "It's for some stupid, noble reason, isn't it?" she asked.

"It's been like... like something out of someone else's life, these last few weeks with you," Harry said. "But I can't... we can't..." He took a deep breath. "I've got things to do alone now," he finally said as way of explanation. She said nothing, but waited for him to explain further. Alone? But surely Ron and Hermione... ? "Voldemort uses people his enemies are close to," Harry went on. "He's already used you as bait once, and that was just because you're my best friend's sister. Think how much danger you'll be in if we keep this up. He'll know, he'll find out. He'll try and get to me through you."

Ginny shook her head. If he was trying to explain why he was breaking up with her, something she understood had to be done, saying it was out of fear of what might happen to her was not the tactic he should be using. She was the last person she was worried about. "What if I don't care?" she asked him stubbornly.

"I care," came his firm reply. "How do you think I'd feel if this was your funeral... and it was my fault..."

She looked away from him. That would work better. She couldn't bear the thought of that, the image that had jumped into her mind of Harry weeping, alone, wracked with guilt... and the idea that the loss of her would bring him that much pain... which she understood, she did. Because she knew that's exactly how she would react if she lost him.

It suddenly occurred to her, at this, the most maddening of moments for her to realize it... it occurred to her that she loved him so much that it hurt.

She almost said it. She couldn't. "I never really gave up on you," she said instead, quietly. "Not really. I always hoped... Hermione told me to get on with my life, maybe go out with some other people, relax a bit around you, because I never used to be able to talk if you were in the room, remember?" As she said it, she realized she was telling him a secret she had embarrassingly kept locked away for years, and now that she had said it... it wasn't anything. So funny how that worked. "And she thought you might take a bit more notice if I was a bit more – myself."

"Smart girl, that Hermione," Harry said; Ginny looked back to see him allow himself a small smile. "I just wish I'd asked you sooner. We could've had ages... months... years maybe..."

"But you've been too busy saving the wizarding world," Ginny said, forcing herself to laugh awkwardly at her awful joke. It was either laugh or... "Well... I can't say I'm surprised. I knew this would happen in the end. I knew you wouldn't be happy unless you were hunting Voldemort." She shrugged; she didn't know what else to do. She suddenly felt it was all she could say to keep from disintegrating into an inconsolable heap. "Maybe that's why I like you so much," she admitted quietly.

They sat in silence for a moment more, and so many other things rolled around in Ginny's mind that she wanted to say... but then he was gone, up and off, walking to who-knows-where.

Ginny sat silently and alone for a few moments, a few small tears rolling down her cheek. It was what had to be done, she knew. It was what had to be done. He had things that he had to do, world-changing things, world-SAVING things, and she would not have been able to live with herself if she had tried to hold him back.

It didn't make it any easier.

"Ginny? Are you all right?"

She looked to her right, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. Ron and Hermione were staring at her with concern. They knew what had just happened. She began to nod her head, to assure them that she was fine... but why fight it?

"No, I'm not," she said thickly, tears threatening to fall anew. She shook her head once, twice, angry with herself, forcing herself to stop being so emotional. The tears retreated and her voice found itself again. "I'm not," she said more confidently. "But who is, these days?" She got to her feet and turned to watch after Harry. The Minister of Magic had approached him and they seemed to be arguing, again. She looked back to Ron and Hermione. "Go after him," she told them. "He needs you. And please... keep him safe."

Without another word, she turned and headed back towards the school. Behind her she could hear Ron and Hermione jump to their feet and hurry off in the direction Harry had gone. Ginny Weasley did not allow herself to look back until she had reached the main steps of Hogwarts. Then she turned and found, off in the distance, the familiar figures of her brother Ron and her friend Hermione, wandering off on their own alongside Harry Potter, detached from the rest of the school and the rest of the world.

Just as it should be.

For now.

Author's note: I haven't responded much to your reviews, but I've read and appreciated each of them, both the praise and the criticism. Thanks, everyone, for reading along, and I hope you've enjoyed it!

So far.

There's four more chapters to go.