DAY TWO
Ginny pushed her breakfast around her plate. She sat at what had once been the Hufflepuff table, but now had been taken over by the Weasleys and a couple other members of the Order of the Phoenix. The house elves had returned to the kitchens, to everyone's shock aside from Professor McGonagall, the new Headmistress, and the breakfast in front of her included eggs, rashers of bacon, beans, fresh tomatoes, and a tall glass of pumpkin juice. It smelled delicious, this breakfast, the scent of it permeating the air. But Ginny couldn't eat. The food changed in her mouth, turning to ashes. So instead, she pushed her food around her plate.
Harry settled next to each other just as she was pretending to eat some bacon. His plate did not hold a variety of breakfast foods, no. A large slice of treacle tart was the only thing on it.
"That's what you're having for breakfast?" Ron asked from across the table, mouth full of food. "Treacle tart?"
"It's my favorite," said Harry.
"Gross, Ron," said Ginny at the exact same time. "And let him eat what he wants."
Ron rolled his eyes. On another day, he would have engaged with her. Today, he was pale and listless as she felt. But Ron was Hermione's concern, now, and Ginny looked away. They'd all stayed at Hogwarts. None of them had felt up to leave the safety of the castle last night and had sat together in the Gryffindor common room — the school was closed, the surviving students sent home to their families, and the only ones left were the professors and the Order of the Phoenix. Probably today Molly would open her mouth and speak and tell them to go home, but it had not happened yet.
Ginny sighed, and looked down at her plate. It was suddenly too much effort to even pretend her bacon was appetizing. She usually loved bacon.
Harry rustled beside her. Ginny turned and found him watching her. There had been something magical about the previous night, the hour they'd had alone together that ended with them holding hands. That same magic was there today, but muted.
"You're not eating," he murmured.
Ginny gave her head a shake. "I just... can't. I can't. It just tastes..."
"I know," said Harry. And of course he did; he'd lost so much.
Ginny swallowed.
"Here," he said, firm and sure. "Try a bite of the tart—"
"Oh, no, it's yours—"
"Ginny," he said, "just try it."
When he broke off some of the tart with his fork, speared it, and brought it to her lips, Ginny stopped shaking her head. It did smell good, and it looked light and sweet. Her stomach twinged. Her tongue flicked out. No ashes there. She opened her mouth, and he tucked the fork with the bit of tart into it. The sweetness rippled onto her tongue, making it buzz a little. Her eyes half-closed.
"Good?" he asked.
"Mmm, yes," she said, after she swallowed the tart. He flicked a glance at her full plate of food. Ginny pursed her lips. "Are you going to make me eat the rest of my breakfast now?"
He looked at her in disbelief. "No," he snorted, gesturing toward his plate. "Look what I'm having for breakfast. We can share, if you want."
Ginny was quiet; there was no silence here in the Great Hall, where she had so many memories, good and bad, but there was a tiny pocket of it around her and Harry. Something within her she could not put a name to unclenched. Her shoulders relaxed. "I would like that," she said. "Thank you, Harry."
And she took up her own fork and got to eating.