"The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming."
Ginny did not know who screamed first, but the woman's high voice pierced the balmy night air, bringing a panicked realization among the happy wedding goers. The scene quickly dissolved into utter chaos. People were shouting, grabbing, running, tripping, flinging themselves into the arms of loved ones so they could leave. The golden glow of lights in the garden no longer reflected the mood. It should have been pitch black, Ginny thought. In a matter of a few seconds, a hundred people may have Disapparated, leaving only a small group of terrified, but determined Weasleys and members of the Order left to defend the Burrow. Tears sprung to Ginny's eyes. Only minutes before she had been happily dancing a waltz and stealing glances at Harry Potter, who did not seem to be trying to conceal the fact that he was glancing at her too. A smile had played across her face and lit her chocolate brown eyes up. She knew he still loved her, especially after the kiss they had shared only days before. It was only a matter of time before they were together again, Voldemort or no Voldemort, Ginny knew that she and Harry belonged together.
But then he was gone.
She saw it happen: Hermione grabbed Ron and Harry and they disappeared into the night along with the other loud pops around them. She had been running for them. She wanted to join them. She had to join them. It didn't matter that they had not planned for her. It didn't matter that she had no clue where they were going or how they were planning to kill Voldemort. Leaving with them was the only way she knew she wouldn't lose Harry. But she hadn't made it. Her stomach turned over when they disappeared. Her throat might have closed. And she found herself sprinting for a destination that no longer existed.
But her mind kicked into overdrive when the first jets of light began to fly around the tent. Before realizing that she was doing it, she turned and ran for the house, jumping clumsily over hedges and tangled tree roots. She had to get to the ghoul. Ron had at least told her that much. Slowing, she neared the lifeless and dark house. The battle-like scene she had left was reflected in the darkness of the kitchen's glass door when she reached it. Her fingers fumbled with the latch, the nighttime humidity and nervous sweat making them slippery. Exasperated she took a step back, held her breath, and magicked the door open. Glass exploded all over the floor with a loud bang, but she crunched over it, making for the stairs. She raced up seven flights, taking three steps at a time, throwing open the door to Ron's room with a bang and pointing her wand at the attic door.
"Descendo!" she cried and the door opened, sending down a rickety old ladder.
Here she stopped. Ron's room was dark and eerily quiet compared to the scene she had left only seconds before. Had her heart not been pounding in her ears, she would have been able to clearly hear herself breathe. The silence was nearly deafening. The bangs and booms from the garden were only shadows of sound now. They might have been miles away. Her thoughts were erratic as she let her eyes travel slowly into the darkness of the attic. To turn on a light might have drawn unwanted attention to the Burrow's 7th floor, and she still needed time to move the ghoul.
She gave a half grunt, half whimper in frustration. Ron had only told her to get the ghoul into his bed. He hadn't told her how! It occurred to her with a jolt of fear that perhaps Ron hadn't even known himself. Was it even possible?! Holding her breath for a second time she slowly climbed into the darkness, still vaguely able to hear the explosions below her in the garden. Possible or not possible, she had to at least try. And she knew she didn't have much time. The ghoul sat lounging in front of her, comically dressed in Ron's old blue pajamas. Any other time she might have laughed at such a sight, but now the situation was dire. The moon light steaming in from the round attic window cast an eerie glow as she approached him. He seemed awake (did ghouls sleep?), moaning softly and steadily as always.
"Hello?" she whispered, her voice unnaturally strained.
The ghoul became suddenly alert and looked vaguely into Ginny's eyes.
She swallowed hard, feeling her heart beat wildly in her chest. "Will you follow me down?" she asked slowly. "Ron told you that you could live in his room and now you can."
The ghoul moaned in what might have been agreement and slowly drifted out of the attic behind Ginny.
Not hardly daring to breathe a sigh of relief just yet, she climbed back down the rickety stairs as lightly as possible.
"You can stay here," she said, pulling back the covers on Ron's bed. The ghoul moaned in agreement again and Ginny pulled the covered up to his ears once he had lain down.
After closing the attic door, she finally allowed herself to breathe again. As the cool air filled her lungs, she found herself looking around the room to make sure that no evidence of Harry Potter remained for a ministry official or Death Eater to find.
But they (probably Hermione) had done a great job cleaning up before the wedding had started. Only a t-shirt of Harry's remained, thrown absent mindedly over the back of a desk chair. Ginny turned to face it from a distance. The mental struggle that ensued was ferocious, pulling at every emotional fiber in her chest. Giving in (she'd have to move the shirt anyway) she swiftly pulled the shirt from the chair and pressed it to her face. The fabric was soft against her skin. It smelled like him. The familiar smells of slightly musky aftershave, clean-but-not-too-clean laundry, and day-old perspiration hit her like a bullet, bringing back with alarming vividness the memories of only a few months ago.
She had replayed the spring in her mind a million times: studying with Harry in the common room, the two of them laughing by the lake in the sunlight, sneaking off under the invisibility cloak to make out in the evenings… But smelling his shirt was somehow so much more than just replaying a memory in her mind's eye. Suddenly she was not standing in Ron's room any longer. She was at Hogwarts and the spring sun was sparking on the lake. And Harry was there with her, the two of them skipping lunch like usual to sun themselves out on the grounds. They talked and they kissed and they laughed like nothing would ever be any different, like that afternoon would span the rest of their lives. There would never be uncertainty or unhappiness or a lingering shadow of death. They would always be together just like then…
A loud bang from downstairs threw her back into reality. They were coming. And if Ron was truly sick with spattergroit then Ginny wouldn't be standing so close. She raised the full skirts of her dress robes and quickly tied Harry's shirt around her legs, thankful it was relatively thin. She couldn't leave it in Ron's room for chance they might search it and find an article of clothing that belonged to Harry Potter. Stepping out of the room, she held her chin high, and closed the door swiftly behind her.
The scene played out in front of her like a movie. She spoke, she acted, and they all played their parts well, sending the official away believing that Ron Weasley truly was sick with spattergroit, but she wasn't there. Her mind was still at the lake, laughing in the afternoon sunlight with Harry. And afterward, when the officials left, the house and garden were cleaned, and the morning sky was turning grey, Ginny finally went to bed, only allowing herself to return to reality when her head hit the pillow and she was very much alone. Now the tears flowed freely. Her best friend, her brother, and the love of her life were gone, maybe forever. And all she had to cling onto was a smelly old t-shirt.