Disclaimer: They're all Rowling's.
Author's Note: There simply wasn't enough Ginny in Deathly Hallows.
Remembrance of Ourselves
by S. Risen
The first night was the hardest.
Ginny lay in her own four-poster in Gryffindor Tower, flinching at every noise and holding in stillborn sobs and laughter. Hermione was asleep in the next bed, too exhausted for nightmares, and Ginny didn't want to wake her.
The sleeping arrangements were haphazard that night. Of those defenders who would not be spending the night under Poppy Pomfrey's care, very few could think of going home.
"Mr. Brown, your daughter will make a full recovery. If you want some rest—"
"Yes, of course, I'll go home and sleep in my own bed while my daughter oozes blood in your infirmary."
"Nothing doing, Madam Pomfrey."
Others spent the night keeping guard over bodies, waiting for Professor McGonagall to open the fireplaces to outgoing Floo travel.
Ginny's mum would have, had Dad and Percy not shepherded her up to Gryffindor Tower. They would take Fred home in the morning. Tonight he rested easy, though George did not.
No one could say how exactly anyone ended up in which bed. Most found room in their old House dormitories, sometimes stepping over shards of broken castle to get to the four-posters, which they then cleared of rubble with a quick snap of the coverlet. Hogwarts was spacious and Byzantine and homey. There were beds to be had.
Bill and Fleur ended up in the boys' dorm, sharing a room with Charlie and Percy. Ginny just went where she always went when she felt like a nap. And somehow Hermione, Katie Bell, and Alicia Spinnet found their way to the beds usually occupied by Ginny's yearmates. All of them looked at Ginny for permission first. She gave it willingly, having no desire to sleep alone.
But sometime after midnight, Katie and Alicia's mothers appeared to take them home. "Come on, darling," Mrs. Spinnet said, limping as she led by the light of her wand. "Your father's been going spare over us both."
"Gave me the fright of my life, Katie…" Mrs. Bell was saying, not without pride, as she pushed and prodded Katie to the door.
Both girls stopped in the doorway, backlit by wandlight.
"Ginny?" Alicia said softly. Ginny sat up.
"We're so sorry… about Fred," Katie said.
"That's from Angelina, too. We saw her in the infirmary and she's—she's really sorry."
It was Ginny's first time. First time with condolences. "I—" Was she meant to thank them? "I—yeah."
And then it was just her, alone with Hermione, who slept on.
Ginny lay back on her pillows, and, not for the first time, wished for rescue.
Mum could come. She could barrel down on Ginny's demons with a merciless wand and a "Not my daughter, you bitch!" Another laugh bubbled up in Ginny's throat—though why it should be funny that her mother had killed a woman, Ginny did not know.
At any rate, it wasn't her mum she wanted.
Sometime during the last year, Ginny had come to believe Neville when he said that Harry, Ron, and Hermione would come back, and Hogwarts would be theirs again. And he was right, wasn't he? The Carrows were locked away, and Harry had turned the world right-side up.
She wanted him now, so that she could feel him reassuringly warm under her palms, maybe relearn the curve of his jaw and the slant of his shoulders. So she could forget the moments of selfishness in which she had hated him for being gone.
"Hermione?" she whispered into the dark.
"Mmm?" was the half-lucid reply.
I'm so jealous right now I could smack you, Ginny thought. "Ron's okay, yeah?"
"You saw him," Hermione said, clearly wishing to be left alone.
"Unhurt, just a few scrapes. But he's all right, isn't he?"
Clever girl that she was, Hermione cottoned on. She opened her eyes and said, "He'll be just fine. Me and Harry, too." And then, her good nature spent, she rolled over and closed the hangings.
Ginny went back to staring at the ceiling.
It was wrong, all wrong, to think of Harry blank and limp on the ground at Voldemort's feet. Every time it flashed through her brain, she felt like a door had slammed in her face. Ludicrous, that it should end like this. No way in hell is this all we get.
Another wild giggle rose up in her at the look on Voldemort's face when Harry threw the Cloak off. Priceless. The twins would be doing impressions for months…
Now wasn't the time. Tonight was for quiet, a warm bed, and a world made safe. Never mind who died or didn't, or who did both. The second night would be the hardest. So would the third.
But her head was heavy, and her bones ached. She could cry later. There would be whole hours and afternoons devoted to it. Right now she needed sleep.