Truly, Madly, Deeply

The faint beeping sound woke up Ginerva Molly Weasley Potter, who till then, unaware to herself had slipped into a blissful nap on the chair. Alright,so not as blissful as she would have wanted it to be, for she was woken periodically by the Healers coming in periodically to check upon her husband's status, which, from a conversation she had managed to overhear, was not improving at all. Ginny hadn't really minded the fact that Harry's condition was deteriorating every second (although she was scared about facing the world all alone), but the fact that all the Healers, her friends, no, her whole family were lying to her, sugar coating things and making them seem like what they weren't was the main thing that annoyed her the most.

She supposed she should be a little more understanding seeing to the fact that they were doing it for her own good, but Ginny was not the one to have things mellowed down. All her life, she had been considered incapable of knowing the truth simply because of many reasons. I'm sorry Ginny, you're too young to understand, or Ginny, I'm breaking up with you because I need to kill Voldemort and save the world so you'll be in danger if you're close to me, or sorry love, we're not showing you Mum and Dad's bodies because you're a girl and can't bear to stand sights like that.

The last one was from Ron, the complete dickhead yet extremely loving brother of hers, when in a distraught state, she had begged him to see them, one last time to say goodbye. Why, Hermione herself had been allowed to have a private viewing but not her. When Ginny protested against it, Ron's answer sprang up simply from his lips "She fought beside us in a war Ginny, she's used to seeing such gory stuff."

Ginny had kept her mouth shut, but had silently rebelled against the idea. I fought too, she had thought. I've seen the horrors of the war from Hogwarts, in the real wizarding world while they were off in some secluded woods finding the damned Horcruxes.

The only thing that she dreaded to hear was from the Healers. If they were going to pull a My apologies Mrs Potter, but nothing can be commented upon his state and also, your children have warned me not to tell you anything as yet, they were sorely mistaken. Ginny was in half a mind to probably go growl at the Healers if something like that happened. She would take lessons from Bill if her growl wasn't perfect.

Sighing, Ginny went into the room for the thousandth time and wearily collapsed onto the bed adjoining Harry's. Everybody had told her not to go into the room because they were scared of some psychological nonsense affecting her, but frankly, she wasn't the type of person to break down frequently. She had always prided herself on being the strongest in her family, stronger than George, who had lost a twin, stronger than Charlie, the handler of so many dragons and beasts, stronger than Ron even, who according to Hermione, 'had the emotional range of a teaspoon'. She was tough, and she loved herself that way. Harry at one point had commented in an ammused fashion that her indomitable spirit could rival even that of her Auntie Muriel's, which earned him a glare and an afternoon doing the laundry, but she was pleased that he thought of her so.

Jerked by the memory, Ginny turned her sight towards the man who lay beside her, now helpless and frail , with tubes and masks covering his entire body. His glasses, the same ones he had worn since time immemorial, were beside him on the bedside table. The thin patch of balding hair showed his lightning shaped scar, his identity, the symbol many had grown to recognize him by. And before she knew it, tears sprang up in her eyes, and were soon flowing down her cheeks, breaking away all the barriers of strength and control she had left within her. She was careful not to sob in fear of attracting attention, but continued to let the tears cascade down her face, pressing her hand to her lips. The monitor beeped some more, and something told Ginny that she was not going to have much time to say goodbye to Harry.

Instead of concentrating on the present and the future, she let her memory wander to the glorious past, to seek refuge from the tidings.

Her childhood. Glorious, unaffected by any mishaps, when the only problems would be being the subject of her mother's attention or playing a prank on Fred and George before they could do anything to her. Where everything seemed innocent (except for the twins) and carefree.