Ginny knew Harry would come through. How or when he would do so, she didn't know and that worried her. Every morning found her anxiously awaiting the morning owl deliveries, praying that Harry's capture or death would not be in the news or coded in a letter from her mother. Ginny worried every day that Neville, Luna, and Seamus would die fighting the Death Eaters at school, or that her family would be killed before Harry could fulfill the prophecy.

Such worries haunted her dreams every night. Visions of her brothers bathed in blood or images of Neville, Luna, Seamus and the others lying still, so still, at the feet of Death Eaters and surrounded by shattered glass. Ginny would toss and turn and the dreams would shift like sand in the wind, becoming stills of her mother's decapitated head resting in the grass or glimpses of Harry's charred body lying on some unknown battlefield, ashes drifting off his corpse in the breeze like flower petals from a tree in spring.

But at the end of every dream, no matter how bad, how bloody, Harry had triumphed. Light had pierced the veil of the dark and the sun would rise above the hills to see a world without Voldemort.