Author's Note: Thank you for your lovely reviews of the last chapter. It was so nice to see all of those familiar names (and new ones!) popping up in my inbox! Now, without further ado…

Chapter 38: Reality

The world came to her as if through a thick cloth. There had been pain – pain so intense, so all-consuming, so all-encompassing that she was dimly surprised that she remained now that it had gone. But now her senses felt smothered, and there was only a dull awareness of faces and frantic movement and sounds.

Everything was bathed in green – floor, walls, and ceiling steeped in a sickly glow. Far away, someone was yelling. She blinked. Blaise's face came into focus, looming above her. His lips were moving, and she realized that the distant yelling wasn't distant at all. Blaise was saying something, but all she could make out was an incoherent rise and fall of tones.

His hands were on her shoulders. He was shaking her, his face twisted with panic.

"Ginny…." She heard her name. A different voice this time, just higher enough to thread its way into her consciouness. Not Blaise, then. Draco. She tried to look up, but her vision began to swim once more, the corridor receding into a blur of shapes and colors.

The next thing she was aware of was a sudden shout, and this time, the sound cut through her like a knife. It was still Draco, but now he was crying out, his voice a strange, strangled mix of desperation and terror. There was a beat of incomprehension – why did he sound so afraid? – before she remembered where she was and – oh Merlin – what he'd done.

She felt a rush of horror, and her vision cleared just as Bellatrix Lestrange stepped into view.

The face hovered above her, black eyes sparkling. The mouth was split in a wide, crooked grin, and as she watched, a little pink tongue darted out to moisten the cracked lips. The woman was hungry, nearly panting with anticipation.

"Well, isn't this a lovely surprise?"

The voice was a high trill, almost shrill in its eagerness, worlds away from the soothing tones that had once tried to lull her into blackness like a silken anesthetic. Still, something about it reminded her forcibly of the Chamber, and another shot of adrenaline stabbed through her. Maybe it was the chemical mix of pain and fear and helplessness – a mix she'd only ever felt with Tom.

Blaise stepped in front of her, half obscuring her view. She saw Bellatrix's smile twitch. With a twinge of panic, she recognized the expression: amusement. Blaise had to leave. Now.

She opened her mouth, but the words ran up against a blockage in her throat. She coughed, and liquid filled her mouth. She tasted metal. Blood. Her vision swam again, but this time she struggled against it. She thought again of the Chamber. She had struggled then, and she had lived. But then…. Then Draco had come, and Harry.

And now…. If she focused, she could still hear Draco shouting. But the sound was fading away, and anyway, he couldn't – wouldn't? – save her anymore. Not after what he'd done. And Harry was nowhere to be seen.

Bellatrix was speaking again. "…traitor…rare treat…Merlin knows…." She concentrated on the sound, latching onto the words like they were a lifeline. When her sight cleared once more, she saw that Blaise had drawn his wand.

"She's worth nothing to you," he said darkly.

Another twitch. She tried to yell again, tasted more metal. Leave, Blaise…leave now. "On the contrary," Bellatrix replied. "I will admit that I am tired, but the traitorous little slut is at least worth the energy it will take to make her scream." She paused. Her wand tapped a strangely precise rhythm against her leg. She cocked her head thoughtfully. "But the real question is: what is she worth to you?"

Blaise didn't speak. But he didn't move.

He had to leave – dammit, Blaise, leave! She tried again, nearly choked with the strain of it. Her eyes began to well with frustration just as Bellatrix began to laugh. "It seems that we have done the impossible," she said. "Found something that a Zabini cares about more than himself. Your mother will be so disappointed." A pause, the longest of Ginny's life, and then, "No matter. The slut can make another son easily enough."

Everything seemed to slow. Bellatrix's wand rose, her eyes gleamed, and Ginny watched the six syllables leave her tongue before she heard them. "AVADA KEDAVRA!"

And then the worst part – the absolute worst part: the way Blaise flinched. The way watching the involuntary jerk of his shoulders was like watching him realize he was about to die.

The green light collided with his body, and a moment later, she felt his weight as he crumpled to the ground.

The pressure forced another cough from her lungs, and the heavy cloth finally tore an instant before her body recognized the curse. In that instant, all of the sounds of the corridor rushed in – bellowed spells and screams, hexes colliding with stone, Bellatrix's laughter – and she looked up, met Draco's eyes.

And then the dark magic reached her, and pain drove straight through her chest. She saw white, and the sounds and sights of the corridor withdrew once more, leaving only burning and searing and the heaviness of Blaise's body on her own.

Blackness flooded in from the edges of her vision.

And she realized, with a sudden clarity that she knew she would lose with her consciouness: they had done this, she and Draco. Together, they had done this.

Blaise had been their friend.

And they had killed him.

She woke. She felt too warm, and her throat were burning. Her chest throbbed with a dull ache. There was a soft drip drip drip sound coming from somewhere to her left. At the thought of liquid, she ran the tip of her tongue over her lips. They were cracked with dryness, and there was a clot of blood where they'd split open. The metallic taste sent a jolt of panic through her – oh Merlin – Blaise – and her eyes flew open.

She recognized the arched ceiling of the Hospital Wing.

"Ginny, sweetheart?" Her mum's voice, from her right. She started to turn on instinct, but a sudden, sharp pain twisted through her breastbone. She stopped short, breathing hard. After a moment, the sensation dulled back down.

"Ginny," her mum repeated. "Here – water."

Ginny licked her lips again. But when her mum moved to support her head so that she could drink, she found herself murmuring a question instead. "Blaise?" she asked.

A beat of silence. She swallowed thickly. "He didn't…," her mum began. She trailed off clumsily, but Ginny didn't need to hear the rest. Her stomach clenched. Her mum recovered. "Minerva had his body sent to his mum in France."

She shut her eyes, trying to keep her breathing steady. "And Draco?" Her voice cracked on the name, half from thirst and half from the sob that was working its way up her throat.

Molly sighed. "Gone," she said, "with Severus and the other Death Ea–" – she stopped short, as if she was worried the term would upset her daughter. "And the others," she finished, her lips setting in a tight, anxious line.

Ginny tried to breathe, but the air seemed thick and heavy. It caught in her throat.

Blaise was dead. And so was Professor Dumbledore. Because Draco had killed him.

The thoughts began to pound through her head in a cycle, an unbearable string of realizations.

Draco was a Death Eater. He was on Tom's side. And so was Professor Snape. Blaise was dead.

Her mum was speaking again, but she could hardly hear the words. She turned her face away, and this time, she welcomed the sharp stab of pain. She felt dampness on her cheeks where tears had leaked out from beneath her lids.

Her mum persisted. "Honey…have some water…honey…please."

She didn't respond. Draco was a Death Eater. Professor Dumbledore was dead. Draco had killed him. Blaise was dead. He'd been trying to save her. She clenched her fists and tightened her chest. She held herself rigid, letting the pain intensify until her vision began to spot and finally blacken.

"Ginny!" Her mum sounded panicked.

Blaise was dead. His lifeless body a channel away.

She was finally losing consciousness now, slipping into comforting darkness. She would rather be dreaming. For once, reality was worse than her nightmares.

When she woke again, there was still a strange, repetitive sound. But now it was from her right, and not a dripping. It was more of a scraping, low and soft. She grit her teeth and shifted, expecting a sharp stab of pain. It didn't come. She let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding and cracked open her eyes.

The sound stopped.

"Hey there."

Neville was sitting where her mum had been, a small, slim book in his lap. His fingers were resting at the top edges of the pages, propping it open. She realized that the sound had been the pads of his thumbs running a steady rhythm over the heavily dog-eared page corners.

He saw her looking and gave her a small, crooked smile. "Pocket Gowshawk," he said, shutting the book and tilting it toward her so she could read the faded cover: Goshawk's Guide to Herbology, 12th Pocket Edition. "Can't help myself when I'm stressed," he said.

She knew that. She tried to move her lips to say so, but they felt heavy, weighed down. She felt strangely numb. It was the way she'd felt after Cedric…as if she didn't have the energy to sob or scream or rage. All she could muster was a nod.

He set the book on the table next to her bed. He kept talking, his tone forcibly light, as he filled a glass with water. "Do you remember the St. John's-wort Professor Sprout let me plant before Christmas?"

He glanced at her. She nodded again.

"Well, it's finally budding, which means I finally got the nutrient levels right in the soil." He scooted up to the edge of his chair to reach behind her. She knew what he wanted, so she lifted herself a little so that he could slide his arm beneath her pillow, then let him help her brace herself on her elbows. "Got it?" he asked. The movement caused a dull ache to creep up her chest, but she steeled herself and nodded a third time. "Professor Sprout says she'll plant more this summer," he continued, pushing the pillow up against the head of the bed so she could sit back against it.

He handed her the glass, and she lifted it carefully to her lips, took a sip. It felt wonderfully cool as it slid down her parched throat. She let out a relieved breath.

"And the plants will probably be robust enough by next term…."

Neville's words were measured and bright, but she could tell he was trying hard to keep them flowing. He didn't know what to say about what had happened, or he wanted to keep her mind off it, or both. A rush of affection for him threaded through the numbness. Neville had always been so sweet – too sweet – to her.

But, she realized with another twinge of feeling, she didn't want to be coddled. Not now.

"…so we can start picking the flowers to dry them out…."

"Neville."

He trailed off, then finally met her gaze. His eyes were filled with anxiety, and for some reason, the realization that he was worried for her, made her throat start to burn again. Not with thirst this time, but with the stinging blockage of a trapped sob. She swallowed with difficulty. "Just tell me what happened, all right?" she said levelly.

"As long as you don't try to knock yourself out again," he said. His tone was still light, but the nervous look he gave her told her he was only half-joking. Her mum must have told him. "Your mum'll hex me," he added, confirming.

She tried for a smile this time, a reassuring one, but she couldn't quite manage it. She settled on another tight lipped nod.

A beat of silence, then he exhaled heavily. "Do you remember anything?"

"No," she replied. "Not after…." Blaise was killed. Her voice caught, and she took another sip of water to cover the sound. She kept the cool glass pressed against her lips. "Not after," she finished lamely.

Neville nodded. "Well," he started, "Harry was up in the tower, hidden. Dumbledore had put him in a body-bind, so he couldn't do anything until after Dumbledore had…died." Until after Draco had murdered him. "He came down after the Death Eaters and found you and…Zabini…at the bottom of the staircase. You were bleeding…a lot…and he wanted to take you to the Hospital Wing himself, but the Death Eaters were fleeing, so he handed you off to Ron. And that's how you ended up here."

"Harry went after the Death Eaters?" she asked. "Alone?"

"He's fine," he said quickly. "He hasn't taken Dumbledore's death well, obviously. And they got away. But he's fine." There was a long pause. "But Ginny –" Neville added finally, his face twisting into a pained expression. "Malfoy was with them."

She remembered what her mum had said earlier. Gone, with Severus and the other Death Ea – and the others. "I know," she managed.

"And Harry said that in the tower, he –"

"I know." She cut him off sharply, then instantly regretted her tone. "I'm sorry," she said.

"No, I'm sorry," Neville said, rubbing his palms over the tops of his trouser legs anxiously. "I just wanted to be sure you knew, before someone brought it up, and…."

She put a hand on his arm. "It's okay, Nev," she said.

He smiled, reaching up to cover her hand with his own and giving it a quick squeeze. He held her gaze. "It's going to be all right, Ginny," he said seriously.

She didn't think so – how could it ever be all right again? – but she didn't contradict him, and after a moment he continued. "The only other person hurt was Bill," he said. Bill? Oh Merlin, what had – "He's all right now," Neville added quickly. "It was Greyback. He – he wounded him, and he'll have scars. But he's all right. Your mum and dad are with him now at St. Mungo's. They've been coming and going between. Madam Pomfrey wanted to transfer you there too…said she thinks they might be able to do something about your…."

His gaze shifted to where her pink scar was visible above her t-shirt. It wasn't nearly as red and raw as it had been at the base of the staircase, but it was angrier-looking than it had been yesterday, when she'd woken to Dumbledore and Snape talking at the foot of her bed, just before Blaise had barreled in and sworn at her. Had that really been just yesterday? It seemed like a year ago. Everything was so different now….

"…sensitivity to curses," Neville said, "and that she should've transferred you sooner. She was pretty frantic actually, but she didn't want to move you until you woke up."

Ginny was still trying to take all of that in when the door to the Hospital Wing opened. She expected it to be her parents, but a head of mussed, jet black hair appeared around the doorframe. Harry.

In the second before he saw them and realized she was awake, she got a look at him. His brow was furrowed with exhaustion, and as he shut the door behind him, taking care that it didn't bang against its hinges, he ran his left hand through his hair in his usual gesture of anxiety. But more than that, his face was drawn with grief, his cheeks colorless and his mouth set in a grim line. He'd really cared for the Headmaster, hadn't he?

He didn't look up until he was a few steps from the door, but when he finally caught sight of her, conscious and upright, he exhaled heavily. She watched the line of his shoulders relax ever so slightly. "Merlin, Ginny," he said. He crossed the remaining space to her bedside, and with a movement that seemed almost instinctual, leaned over and pressed a relieved kiss to her hairline.

His lips were cool and dry, and she remembered the last time he'd done that, the night she'd chosen his side in all of this. A sudden, horrible shiver of regret raced up her spine. Maybe she shouldn't have. Maybe if she hadn't, if she'd just gone through with Tom's task, Blaise would still be alive. The blockage in her throat burned.

Neville had risen to get a chair from the next bed over, and Harry murmured a thanks and sank down. He ran his palms agitatedly over his face, then reached back with his left hand to grip the still-tense curve where his shoulder met his neck. "We were so worried."

Ginny finally managed to push down the sob. No, she thought fiercely, feeling a savage stab of anger. None of this would have happened if Draco hadn't let his sadistic aunt into the castle. If he had been honest with them. If he had been honest with her. Blaise would still be alive. The image of shoulders flinching away from green light flashed across her mind. She shut her eyes.

"Ginny." When she looked up, Harry was looking at her, brow furrowed, and Neville's eyes were trained on her fingers, which had fisted in her blanket. She loosened them.

Harry reached into his back pocket and pulled out a crumpled sheet of parchment, haphazardly folded. He seemed to hesitate, then with a determined movement, set it in her lap. "This came for you."

She smoothed it out.

Tell me you're alive.

Her jaw set, and she had to resist the sudden urge to rip the page in half. It was twelve hours too late for him to be caring about her safety, she thought cruelly. If he had been honest with her…

There was a beat of silence. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see them both studying her, waiting for a reaction. They'd read it then, and it was obvious who'd written it. She exhaled slowly and then refolded it. "When?" she asked. Her voice came out cold and even. It was an unnecessary question. Did it really matter?

"A few hours ago," Harry replied. "I'm sorry, but we had to open it. McGonagall's been screening everything coming into the castle since last night. For security reasons."

She proffered the uneven square. He looked at her uncertainly, but she just held his gaze. After a moment, he took it back. Neville leaned forward, as if he might protest that she should write back, but then he swallowed and held his silence.

Just then, the door to the Hospital Wing swung open once more. Cho Chang slipped inside. She was carrying a small vase of flowers in the crook of her left arm.

"Oh," she said, catching sight of them. "I didn't realize you'd have visitors…or that you'd be awake, really," she added, giving an awkward half-shrug. She shifted from foot to foot, then crossed the room to set the flowers on the bedside table.

"But I heard about Blaise Zabini," she said. She surveyed the vase. "Useless, I know. Two years ago, after the Triwizard, I couldn't care less about flowers. They didn't help at all. But…." She paused and met Ginny's eyes, her expression serious. "…they didn't hurt either."

She held Ginny's gaze for a moment, then exhaled and looked away, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Ginny had to appreciate that Cho had brought the flowers because Blaise was dead, not as some cheesy get-well cliché. "Thanks," she said. Cho nodded.

"Are you two going?" Cho asked after a pause. "It's starting soon."

Ginny's brow furrowed. Neville glanced at his watch, started, then shot her a nervous glance. "Yeah. I didn't realize the time, but I wasn't sure if I should say –"

Harry sighed in a way that suggested that he hadn't been sure if he should say either. "It's the funeral," he explained.

It wasn't until he said it that Ginny realized they were all wearing black. For one crazy moment, she thought they were talking about Blaise's funeral. But then she remembered that they'd sent his body to France. She swallowed. Dumbledore's then.

She found herself struggling up, trying to move her legs over the edge of the bed.

"What are you doing?" Neville asked.

"Going," she said. The movement was making her chest tight, and her breaths were coming hard.

"I don't think that's a good –"

She cut him off. "I'm going. I have to." She wouldn't be able to go to Blaise's funeral. Hell, he probably wouldn't get one. And somehow, the thought of missing this one too….

Harry was looking at her strangely, but then he just nodded, as if he understood. "Cho, can you get the door?" he said. "Neville, can you help her on that side?" Ginny gave him a grateful look. Together, he and Neville helped her out of bed, and then Harry shifted so that most of her weight was against his side.

They moved slowly out of the wing and then into the corridor, Cho and Neville walking slightly ahead. They finally reached the entrance hall. Light and a warm breeze were filtering in from outside, and scores of black-robed mourners were milling about the lawn, forming little groups and then breaking away, speaking in low, somber voices.

"You okay?" Harry murmured near her ear.

She nodded and gripped his arm harder, leaning into him. Together, they followed their friends out into the incongruous sunlight to watch as the greatest wizard of his time was lowered into the ground.

Author's Note: Four things. First, in case this causes confusion: at this point, Ginny thinks that Draco killed Dumbledore. If you read Chapter 36 closely, you'll see that she lost consciousness after he cast the Killing Curse, so she is unaware that Draco didn't manage to kill Dumbledore and that Snape had to step in.

Second, thank you again to Mr. Norrell for the many long conversations. Your ideas and enthusiasm really helped me to refine my plot outline.

Third, I know this is kind of old news now, but what did you guys think of that JKR interview about Ron and Hermione? As a Ron (and RHr) lover, I had a hard time digesting it, but I'd love to hear how you guys reacted!

And last but not least, I think it's safe to say that these past two chapters have and will be the high water mark of angst in this story. I hope it wasn't too grim – or rather, I hope it was the appropriate amount of grim for the plot. Thoughts?

The action picks up again in the next chapter, so stay tuned!