A/N: I'm glad to see my red herrings are working.
A reader left a comment requesting the cut scenes of the school reacting to Ginny's death. While I deleted the original forms of this moment, I wrote ONE up for you all to enjoy!
(P.S: When Ron walks into the Great Hall, I see the scene going alongside "The Mockingjay" by James Newton Howard from The Hunger Games: Mockingjay, Pt: 1 at precisely the 1:00 minute mark. Listen and I think you'll see what I mean.)
WHAT YOU ARE ABOUT TO READ TAKES PLACE BETWEEN CHAPTERS 39 AND 40. THIS IS BONUS MATERIAL THAT MAY NOT BE CRUCIAL TO LATER AFFAIRS BUT AIDS IN CONTEXTUALIZING KEY EVENTS, AS WELL AS MINOR CHARACTERIZATION.
It was Monday morning. The first day of school after the funeral. Ron hadn't slept since Grindelwald had come to the Weasley boys with tidings of the past, present, and future. His mind was abuzz with doubt, fear, and regret. Prevailing through all of that, however, was hope. A hope that burned like a fire within him.
Yes, Grindelwald could have been lying to them, but there was nothing to be found while drowning in despair.
His mother had allowed the news to reach the press for this morning. He'd arrived back at the castle late last night.
As he lay there in his four-poster, his eyes trained on the ceiling, he realized he'd have to go to the Great Hall for breakfast. He'd have to endure the pity and the people seeking attention by comforting him.
He honestly just didn't want to get stared at. He didn't want to become a celebrity because his sister was dead.
He rolled over, pushing his face into his pillow.
She isn't dead. He told himself. She's alive, and she needs you. You can hear her voice. You can see her face. She's alive.
He sat up and started the day. He brushed his teeth and showered. All of it took so much time. So much effort.
His hair was longer on the top than it was on the sides thanks to his mum's less-than-expert hand at hair styling, but it worked out alright for him. He threaded product through the front, making it stand up off his face. It looked good. In fact, he looked good in general.
He checked around himself to make sure no one was in the bathroom before turning back to the mirror and flexing his right arm into his hand. He smiled as he admired himself.
"Watch it!" the mirror shouted. Ron yelped and jumped back. "Don't let yourself get too arrogant. You've still got those limp pectorals. Get on with your day, you lanky-" Ron muttered a silencing charm at the mirror, put his shirt on, slung his undone tie around his neck, and made his way back into the dormitory.
The other boys had left the room, leaving Ron as the last member to meander down the stairs, and through the portrait hole.
Being late for breakfast was always strange. The castle was completely empty. The only other times the castle ever resembled this was in the dead of night. Even in between classes, there was the odd student in their spare period, or just skipping lessons altogether.
He stepped into the Entrance Hall and slowed at the doors to the Great Hall. He could feel his heart beating ever faster as his stomach churned uncomfortably.
Maybe no one had read it. Maybe The Prophet in their ever-increasing loss of self-control hadn't bothered to publish the death of his sister. After all, it wouldn't look good on the new Ministry. A girl who'd been missing for months was found recently dead while no investigation had been active within the Auror department.
Ron swallowed and pushed the doors open. Their ancient hinges creaked and groaned with effort. The entire hall was silent. Each student seemed to be holding, or be in close proximity to a copy of The Prophet. All Ron saw was Ginny's face, taken for the Triwizard Tournament, smiling at him a hundred times through the Hall.
He blinked once, twice, and then started walking. His legs moved in a mechanical motion as heads swiveled toward him. He heard a collective rustle of pages as everyone put the paper down. The Head Table wore a variety of expressions. Many were shocked and looked at him with pity. Others wore the same morose expressions he'd seen all day at the funeral. They'd already known, or perhaps they had suspected. It didn't matter. He hated it. He hated the way it made him feel so alone. The way it made everything feel so real.
It felt like Ginny was dead. It felt like the girl he'd grown up with, his best friend, was gone. Like every memory was solidly locked to the past. Clouded over by a sense of longing and remorse that he couldn't blow away. Dust would collect on those memories. Her face, her voice, her smile. They'd all fade with time.
She isn't dead. He told himself again. She's alive, and she needs you.
Then, suddenly, people started to stand. Ron stopped, he was halfway down the tables. Students from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff stood. Old and young. Their eyes trained on Ron's. The paper clutched in their angry fists. Its crumpled form fell to the stone floor.
The Gryffindor table all rose to their feet. Some had tears in their eyes, others had a blazing look. Like Ginny herself. A determination shone through there, a promise.
Ron turned on the spot, watching as hundreds of his peers got to their feet. Finally, his eyes fell on the grey ones of Daphne Greengrass. Her blonde hair was tied back in a plait, her beautiful visage was damaged by the frown she wore. Like she too wanted to stand.
But she didn't. She remained seated like the rest of Slytherin house.
Ron turned back to the rest of them. Three houses united in grief. He swallowed past the lump that had formed in his throat and continued to his spot beside Neville.
Slowly, everyone returned to their seats, their meals, and their school bags.
The Hall remained silent. Even the Slytherins.
Ron looked over his shoulder, up at the staff table, and saw Umbridge reading the paper with pursed lips and a twitch in her eye.
Neville, noticing Ron's attention, handed him a copy.
He wouldn't read it, but there along the top of the front page, in enormous bold letters:
Ginny Weasley Found Dead. Ministry to Blame?
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