A Grief that Can't be Spoken
She didn't want to think of what that smell was. It lingered. It crept into every crevice, every hall - everywhere you went it, followed you. Do not think about what it is. She had to repeat to herself, because thinking about it would mean remembering, and remembering would mean... Her chest felt suddenly tight, and her vision blurred. Not again! Ginny Weasley collapsed to the floor, her breaths coming out in wheezes and her hand grasping at the tiles for something to hold. But no one helped her. There was nothing they could do anyway. They were all trying to get through the day, and helping someone with... that... it meant admitting to yourself that it was true - and if it was true.
The tears were flowing from the girls eyes as she looked to the place where she last saw her brother. She didn't even knew where they put his body. Was he okay? Was he at peace? Was he contributing to that smell? Soft hands suddenly grasped her arms and someone lifted Ginny off the tiles. Without thinking, the youngest Weasley found her arms around her helper - it didn't matter who it was.
Hermione whispered into the girls ears that it was going to be okay.
How could she know, though? HOW COULD SHE KNOW!?
A/N: Words - 219
Sept Event - 23. (location) The Great Hall