Cado Cadere Cecidi

One lone girl hurried down the virtually empty streets of Diagon Alley after an exhausting day of buying necessities that her family would need to survive the next month or so. The sun was quite near setting, and it wouldn't be safe to stay out after dark in such a treacherous place. She shivered from a sudden chill in the air, drawing her tattered black cloak tightly around her, her wavy black hair spilling over the back like an ebony waterfall. Grimly, the sixteen year old wondered how much her mum was worrying about her; her mum had one of the most vivid imaginations she knew of and would have no problem thinking up twenty possible deaths in a moment's notice. The girl shivered again, but not from the cold as she did before, but at the realization that all her mother's imaginings were all too possible now.

As if reading her disturbing thoughts, a crumpled paper fluttered across her path. The girl bent down and picked it up, smoothing the page out the best she could with her hands. Upon straightening it out, she realized it was the front page of the formerly popular, wizarding newspaper, The Daily Prophet. She glanced around suspiciously, shielding the paper carefully from anyone who could have been watching. Production and even possession of any Daily Prophets was outlawed almost a year ago.

When she looked back down at the newspaper in her hands, immediately catching her attention were the words blaring in bold horizontally across the top of the page, the headline of the day. It drove an imaginary knife through her heart as she read each word of the headline, the words seeming to scream out mournfully at her, "The Last Tower of Hogwarts Torn Down!"

The witch sighed; she'd known the school would come down eventually, but now with it being a reality instead of an impeding occurrence, it seemed so much more depressing. She tried to convince herself that it was no use grieving over Hogwarts. It had been destroyed, just like everything else had been. There was no use crying over spilled milk, especially when it was spilled too many times to count.

Reaching the exit to Diagon Alley, the girl saw the two familiar Death Eaters guarding it, in her mind their names being Slick and Creep. Slick was a man, tall and slim, with a horrid, greasy face filled with acne. His eyes were constantly roaming around, seeing everything but only absorbing half of it. His eyes darted over her body as always, only taking in her ample bosom and full, blood red lips. She didn't dare cower or shy away from his gaze; she couldn't let him know how much she feared him. She had to appear indifferent and uninterested in his actions.

Creep was much worse than Slick; it was much harder for the teenage witch to hide her repulsion from him. He was a fleshy man, his stomach hanging far out over the waist of his faded jeans. The white shirt he wore was filled with grease and food stains, much like his robes, which were currently discarded, a crumpled heap lying on the ground. He was constantly sweating, his face glistening even worse than Slick's. He, however, did not bother with darting around his eyes. He focused his eyes on what he wanted and only that. From his disturbing gaze directed at her, it was apparent that the girl was what he wanted.

Pretending not to notice or care about their revolting gazes, the girl passed by quickly, almost giving off the feeling of briskness. She tried to ignore their eyes, which she could nearly feel tracking every sway of her small hips. Having gotten passed the guards successfully, the girl then faced a tall, dark building, The Dark Potion, which had replaced the ratty yet cheerful Leaky Cauldron approximately a year ago. She reflected briefly on all the things that had been renovated or torn down, a burst of memories coming in short flashes. Ollivander's...Madame Malkins...Flourish and Botts...there were too many to count. Virtually everything in Diagon Alley had been shut down, along with quite a few shops in Hogsmeade as well. Ollivander's had been the first to go because Voldemort had reason to believe that Ollivander himself had been in league with Dumbledore. Although this fact was true, everybody knew the chief reason was for the Dark Lord to be able to control the wands and who they were sold to.

Scurrying to the side of the pub, if one could call the headquarters of the Death Eaters that, the girl glanced around furtively before taking her wand out of her pocket. "Apparatus Underground Home 34," she mumbled quietly, pointing the wand in her own direction. Disappearing with a small pop, the girl left no clue to having ever been near the pub.

"Hello, Mum," the girl greeted her mother calmly after apparating into a small kitchen. Of course apparating was strictly forbidden unless having exclusive permission from the Dark Lord or one from his inner circle, but one being in a secret resistance group against the Dark Lord was an enormous breach of the rules as well, which the girl was.

"Oh, thank goodness you're safe, Ginny!" Molly Weasley exclaimed after spinning around to face her daughter, throwing her arms around the dark-haired girl and starting to tremble, revealing her former fears.

"It's all right, Mum; I'm fine," Ginny said soothingly, rubbing one hand up and down her mother's back while she placed the bag of items she had bought that day on the table with the other hand. "Everybody's fine; Charlie, Percy, Fred, Ron...they're all safe as well."

"I know," Molly sighed, releasing her tight grasp on her daughter. "I just worry about you all so much now. Nothing is reliable anymore."

Ginny nodded in agreement, her mind traveling back to that day, the day she learned just how undependable even the most stable things could be. She mentally scolded herself as she felt tears welling up in her eyes; she futilely tried to block out the thoughts; they were too horrible to remember.

"Are you okay?" the adult witch asked her daughter, noting the far-off look in Ginny's eyes with concern.

"Yeah, Mum, I'm all right," Ginny snapped out of her near trance instantly, keeping the thoughts at bay for a few minutes more. "But I'm just itching to get rid of this disguise."

Mrs. Weasley laughed, but it was a bitter, hollow laugh accompanied with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Go on then," she instructed. "You can remove it."

Gratefully, Ginny raced out of the kitchen and headed down the dark hallway towards her bedroom in the small, one story house. Strangers stared back at her from the pictures, frowns creasing across their faces as they followed her with their eyes. Not too long ago, she had lived in a house a few stories tall, held up by magic. The pictures in that house had been familiar and friendly, constantly showing off their smiles.

"The Burrow," she mouthed the name of the house fondly, recalling all the blissful times she had experienced in it. Those times were nonexistent now, nothing more than a slowly fading memory. About a year into Voldemort's tyranny, the Burrow had been destroyed, burnt up in flames, taking the life of her brother, Bill, along with it. Ginny's eyes stung, filling up with tears once more as she remembered how brave her older brother had been. She would always remember how he saved her life while forsaking his own; she would eternally be grateful for his ultimate sacrifice. There hadn't been a night where Ginny's slumber hadn't been plagued with nightmares as a result of that day--the day her last hopes were reduced to nothing but the ashes of the magical house on the secluded hill.

Bitter tears now streaming down her face, Ginny stepped into her pitifully small room. Walking the few short steps across the bedroom, which could actually be better described as a walk in closet, and stopping to stand in front of a grimy, cracked mirror, she examined her reflection. Staring back at her was a stranger with long black hair and icy blue eyes. Ginny shook her head with disapproval; it had been up to her to choose the disguise, and she had used all the traits she wished she had, but in time she had grown to despise the new exterior. She longed for the day that she could walk out in public with her Weasley red hair and chocolate brown eyes.

"Don't be stupid," she berated herself, snorting with contempt. The day she would be able to stride out in broad daylight with her natural appearance would never come, or if it did, it would be the day she died.

With a longing sigh, Ginny pointed her wand at herself muttering a few quiet words and bringing back her normal outward appearance. She stared at herself in the mirror almost hungrily as the black hair brightened to red and shortened itself from waist length to about mid-back, developing small curls at the end. Her ice blue eyes darkened and contorted until they became her usual deer-like brown eyes. The eager look quickly was replaced with resentment as she eyed her reflection, unsatisfied. She was completely back to normal, so why did it still seem like a stranger was staring back at her? All her Weasley qualities had been restored; she knew this for a fact, so what was wrong? What was missing? However, even as she asked herself these questions, she knew the answers. The smile that had constantly played upon her lips only a year earlier was gone. Her former creamy skin and her rosy cheeks had turned milky white, even managing to bleach out the small sprinkle of freckles that had been scattered across her nose. All that was left of Ginny was an empty shell of her former self. The giddiness, the carefree attitude she had before was gone; all that was left was a pale face staring back from a grubby mirror, tears streaking their way down her face, leaving trails of brackish water behind in their path.

She cried a lot now, almost daily. Unlike Ron, the thought flitted briefly across her mind, no particular emotion behind it. The second youngest of the Weasley clan had not shed a tear since Voldemort rose in power. Not even after all of them had been through. Not when George had been murdered in the Weasley Wizards' Wheezes joke shop because he failed to shut the store down by the deadline. Defiance against the Dark Lord's rule had been the reason for the killing. Not when Mr. Weasley had been executed while trying to protect a group of muggles who had strayed too close to Diagon Alley. The muggles ended up dying anyway; his death was in vain. Not when Hermione had been the victim of Avada Kedavra along with fifty other muggleborns and squibs on the streets of Knockturn Alley simply because of the fact that they didn't have pure blood. Right before the curse came, Hermione had gazed straight at Ron, who was currently struggling against a Death Eater's grasp to get to her, and the last words that came out of her mouth had been, "I love you." And he had certainly not cried when the Burrow burned down, and the Weasleys were forced to go into hiding because mudblood lovers were at the top of Voldemort's hit list.

Ginny let out a small sob; so many horrid things had happened in so short of a time. No longer were muggleborns or mudbloods as they were often referred to now, allowed into the wizarding world, and many prominent wizarding families who had been pro Dumbledore had either been killed or swayed to the dark side. The Weasleys were one of the only pureblood families left that resisted against Voldemort. It didn't do much good, however, as most presumed them to be dead ever since that fiery day when the Burrow was set on fire by a group of Death Eaters, burning up so much more than just a house with it. It wasn't just the material items, Ginny often reflected; they didn't have anything of much value to begin with. So much more had been destroyed that day; things that couldn't be seen but felt. The day that the fire had been started was the day that what was left of Ginny Weasley's sense of security and love had been burnt to a crisp. It was the day she was jerked into reality and saw that there were some people who truly were evil. Since then, so much more had also been lost, but that was the day she had suffered the most. She would never forget that day.

The sixteen year old flopped down on her bed, now that she had started to dwell on past events she found it too difficult to stop. There was so much to remember, but she had all the time in the world. The Weasleys rarely ventured out of their hidden, underground house that Dumbledore had arranged for them to move into in case anything might happen, which of course something did, right before he--Ginny couldn't help but shed a few tears at the next thought--before he had died. Ginny shuddered with grief as the memory of that fateful day overtook her.

~Flashback~

It had been a wonderfully sunny day in most parts of wizarding Europe. Anyone who might have been on the outside of their world looking in would have been greatly deceived. They wouldn't have been able to guess the terrors the many witches and wizards were going through right at that moment. They wouldn't have known that for weeks the Ministry of Magic had been desperately seeking help from the aloof American Ministry who steadfastly refused to fight. They wouldn't have known that just that last week, over two hundred magical people had been eradicated when the northern part of a local Quidditch stadium had been blown away by a group of particularly malicious Death Eaters. They wouldn't have known that many people were grieving, coming home to empty chairs at empty tables and wishing they had been the ones taken instead. They certainly wouldn't have known that right at that very second, a great wizard by the name of Albus Dumbledore was leading a rebellion group against Voldemort while at the same time, struggling to keep Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry safe from harm.

At that particular moment, Ginny Weasley was eating lunch in the Great Hall together with her brothers Ron, Fred, and George. Also with the group of Weasleys were two of Ron's closest friends, Hermione Granger and Harry Potter.

The group had been carefully avoiding the recent events, for Harry's sake, that had happened since Voldemort had risen in power. Harry still carried some of the weight of Cedric's death, and the four Weasleys and Hermione didn't want to burden him with further guilt by mentioning heavy topics such as the recent destruction of Flourish and Botts over the summer, which had taken the lives of fifteen Hogwarts students and ten adults as a result of it. Bumbling Neville Longbottom from Gryffindor had been one of the number, who had been in the store buying his textbooks while his Grandmother was a few stores over buying a surprise gift for him, the owl that Neville had longed to have for so long. Not even two weeks later, the elderly lady had been admitted into St. Mungo's; she had gone hysterical, even suicidal, from grief.

Given the lack of many cheerful events to speak of, the six adolescents had only been making simple small talk. Yet, even after knowing each other and having been friends for so long, the conversation was strained and uncomfortable. Somehow nothing put forward had seemed important or interesting enough to mention, let alone follow up on with a discussion. Then, just as Ginny had been about to comment on Snape, who had virtually disappeared, the teachers saying that it was a mission for Dumbledore, a loud explosion was heard, reverberating throughout the Great Hall. Smoke, thick and black, accompanied it, pouring through the cracks of the Entrance doors. Ginny whipped her head around to see the window, and what she saw made her breath catch. Hagrid's little wooden hut was gone, just gone as if it had never been there to begin with. The only proof that something had happened were the burning embers of wood from the hut, falling from the sky. Glancing quickly at the teachers, the group was deeply relieved to see that Hagrid had been eating in the Great Hall with the rest of the teachers at the time. One look at the stricken gaze on Hagrid's face, however, gave them reason to worry.

As if answering their unspoken question, a horrified Hermione gasped, "Fang!"

With a sinking feeling, the group was thrust into seeing the bitter, cold reality that Hagrid must have been experiencing that moment. The mutt must have been in the cabin, and the chances were very slim that he might have gotten out alive. One look at the charred pieces of wood still dropping down from the air could have led anybody to that conclusion. Still Ginny spun around to face the window again, hoping that by some off chance that Fang might have survived, and she could catch a glimpse of him running around. Instead of Fang or even the burning hut, however, a group of about fifteen dark clocked figures caught her eye. Feeling lightheaded, the world suddenly seemed to travel in slow motion for Ginny.

They were close.

Horribly close.

And they kept moving closer.

One pulled a wand out from his cloak.

Ginny felt a feeling of dread overcome her. "Get away from the window!" a voice yelled desperately. All eyes turned towards her. Had she yelled that? She must have. "Now!" she screamed. Frightened by her tone, half of the students ran while the other half, more stubborn students, remained.

"Gin, what's wrong with you?" Ron hissed, one of the people who had remained.

"There's no time to explain--" Ginny began breathlessly.

Just then, the wall exploded, throwing Ginny and the other Gryffindors about fifty feet away from their previous positions by sheer force.

Once on the ground, having very little time to react, and relying on pure instinct, Ginny threw her hands protectively over her head as heavy portions of wood and stone from the tables, chairs, and walls flew overhead, precariously close to her lowered body. Smoke billowed threateningly above, obscuring everything, hinting the fire nearby.

"Ginny!" Ron yelled desperately, unable to see his sister through the heavy, black smoke.

"I'm right here, Ron," Ginny coughed, feeling safer knowing that her brother was indeed alive and only a few feet away.

"Here, Ginny, take my hand," Ron said, thrusting his arm out. "I can't see you at all."

Luckily, Ginny was able to make out the shadowy figure of what she was fairly certain was her brother's hand. "Ron, is that you?" she whispered while grabbing the hand to stand up.

Unfortunately, the hand was not her brother's as she expected it to be, but the hand of another's. "What the hell!" an angry voice exclaimed upon feeling the touch of Ginny's hand. On closer inspection, the voice and hand turned out to be none other than the person Ginny least wanted to see at the time, Draco Malfoy.

Draco peered through the smoke, a sneer prominent on his pale, pointed face as he realized it was none other than a Weasley on her knees and clutching on to his hand. "Begging, Weasley? I'm sure it's worked many times in the past, most people feel sorry for those who can't afford their own meals, but I'm afraid you've chosen the wrong person this time. I have no pity for dirty mudblood lovers like you."

Ginny gasped, dropping his hand instantly, her brown eyes alit with loathing and anger. "I wouldn't ever ask for help from a ferret like you, Malfoy. I thought you were Ron; if I knew who you really were, I would have just watched you pass by and hoped to God that you burned in the flames."

Draco appeared to be ill, rather repulsed really, at these words. "You thought I was your brother? Bloody hell, Weasley, I'll commit suicide the day I even slightly resemble that Weasel...that hair...and those horrible, horrible freckles... I would rather be forced to watch a house elf parade around the manor starkers."

Ginny was struck into an angry, shocked silence, racking her brain for a comeback, yet still unable to find a suitable remark to defend her brother and herself for that matter. "Oh...you...I should..."

"You should what?" Draco drawled lazily, a patronizing expression on his face that he was sure would vex the girl in front of him even more.

She tried desperately to form her furious, disconnected thoughts into some type of comment, determined not to let Draco get the best of her. She opened her mouth, wanting to think of the most scathing retort possible at that precise moment, and then closed it again when words failed her.

"If I weren't above such immaturity, I would have mentioned how very much you resembled a fish just then," the Slytherin mocked, knowing that he had the upper-hand and not afraid to shove the fact in her face.

Fortunately, Ginny was spared from having to think up a response by the arrival of her brother. "Ginny!" Ron called out while stumbling through the thick black smoke, ashes sweeping across his face.

Draco smirked. "Well, isn't this sweet? Your big brother's coming to rescue, Weasley, since you obviously can't handle anything by yourself."

"Shut it, Malfoy," Ginny hissed just as Ron came within hearing distance of the heated whispering.

Ron narrowed a glare in Draco's direction. "What have you been doing now, you albino ferret?"

"Would you believe me if I told you I was helping the little Weasel find a way out?" Draco asked lazily.

The red-haired boy simply glared impatiently at Draco, not bothering with a retort.

Draco sighed, trying to keep a sneer off his face, "If you must know, your sister was trying to seduce me. We were just about to head off to the Forbidden Forest for some wild, passionate sex."

Ginny felt a horrified expression spread across her face, and a quick glance at her brother told her that he was just as disgusted.

"Bastard!" He yelled, lunging at Malfoy.

"Ron!" Ginny screamed at the same time, reaching forward and grabbing on to the back of her brother's robes. "As much as I would like to see you pound his pasty face in, now is not the time for it. We need to find a way out of here."

Grudgingly, Ron stopped pulling against Ginny's grasp. "Fine," he muttered, realizing his sister was right.

"Scared, Weasley?" Draco taunted, not making it clear who he was directing the comment to, intentionally.

Ron snarled, immediately trying to break away from Ginny's grasp again. "I'd never be afraid of a twitchy little ferret like you!"

"Honestly," Draco rolled his eyes, looking bored. "Can't you ever think of any other insults besides ferret? Most normal people have realized that by now that insult is dead, gone, and buried six feet under."

Before Ron could reply, Ginny cut in, whispering soothingly into her brother's ear. "Come on, Ron. Don't mind him; he's not worth it. We need to get out of here, remember? Don't waste what little time we have on that."

Looking affronted, Draco spoke up without thinking. "Don't waste what little time we have on that? That? Weasley, I'm a person, not a thing."

"Then act like a person instead of an arrogant bastard, Malfoy. Until you manage that, you don't deserve to be referred to as much more than 'that,'" Ginny retorted crossly.

"Arrogant bastard?" Draco asked, raising an eyebrow and looking as if he were truly pondering the title. "Well, I'd prefer 'Casanova', but your way works too, I suppose. It sums everything up nicely."

Ginny glared at Draco coolly for a few seconds, clearly debating internally if she wanted to stay to argue with him or not, but soon spun around and grabbed Ron's arm. "Come on, let's get out of here," she said, her voice dripping with distaste.

Ron nodded silently, knowing from experience that it was best to just follow his sister's lead when she was driven to such a foul temper.

Draco, however, had had no such encounters before and snorted indignantly, reaching out and clutching onto the girl's shoulder, and twirled her back around. "Nobody ever walks away from Draco Malfoy," he hissed angrily, his voice deadly.

"I believe I just did, and, if you'll excuse me, I'm about to do it for the second time," Ginny countered in an equally low, infuriated voice. Eyes flashing, Ginny pried Draco's fingers, which had been painfully gripping on to her shoulder, off her and marched off, dragging Ron behind her.

Ron, by this point, was more than a bit irritated. "Bloody arse," he mumbled under his breath while passing by Malfoy. He knew better than to speak up to his sister as she pulled him along, but sometimes even the harshest memories didn't have much of an effect whenever one had witnessed an argument between his kid sister and worst enemy, seen a close friend's house and dog burst into flame, been caught in an explosion, and was being dragged as if he were a rag doll. Therefore, Ron saw every reason to confront his sister. "What the bloody hell was that about?" he asked irritably.

Ginny glanced back at her brother, annoyance prominent on her pale face. "Malfoy was just being a prat again," she muttered, not in the mood to elaborate.

"No shit, Sherlock," Ron mumbled under his breath, his words just barely caught by Ginny's sharp ears. "Malfoy is always a bloody prat."

"Ronald Arthur Weasley, don't even dare to think you can speak to me like you just did. I told you that I didn't want to talk about it, and that should have been the end of things. Now, be quiet and help me find a way out of here," Ginny, positively livid at this point, snapped, using a tone of voice she had picked up from hearing Mrs. Weasley scold the twins with so many times before.

"Yes, mother," Ron seethed but quickly fell silent after one venomous glare from Ginny afterwards. He knew he had pushed his luck too far already at that point; he didn't want to risk having to deal with the infamous Weasley temper that normally sweet, little Ginny had yet to master.

At that moment, a flame jumped out at Ginny, causing her to shriek in surprise and pain as it burnt her arm. Quickly putting the blaze out and standing there, suddenly, Ginny seemed to lose her own spark of fire. Her shoulders sagged and her eyes darted around nervously, searching for a way out through the smoke. "Which way do we go?" she asked softly, her previous rage having virtually dissipated as she realized how hopeless the situation was.

"I thought you told me to be quiet," Ron said, mock sulking. One pleading glance from his sister, however, and he sighed, resigning himself to the fact that it would be of no use to argue in this situation, no matter how tempting it was to add in a few more retorts. "I suppose this way is as good as any other," he said, pointing in an utterly random direction.

"Are you sure?" Ginny asked, peering from her brother's blank expression to the direction he gestured to suspiciously.

"No, but we have to start going somewhere, don't we?" Ron asked charily, clearly hoping he had not made a mistake in his choosing.

Grudgingly, Ginny admitted that Ron was right. "But if you get us landed in the middle of any disaster, I'll hex you to Poland," she warned.

With a grimace, Ron nodded, trying to erase his nervous expression and appear brave and unruffled by his sister's threat, which was most likely true, and act like a true Gryffindor. "Right then," he cleared his throat. "Onwards."

At that the pair walked off courageously into the impenetrable black smoke, bracing themselves for whatever might come.

Ten seconds later, the brother and sister were racing away in the opposite direction, having barely escaped from a wall of fiery flames.

"I thought you said that was the right way, Ron!" Ginny yelled in between huffs while she was running.

"I made a mistake, okay?" Ron returned crossly, not believing he could have put his sister and himself in so much danger. For all he knew, the flames could have spread to block all the exits while he was leading his sister the wrong way.

"All right," Ginny said, quickly dismissing the subject as she just managed to catch the berating expression on her brother's face through the smoke. "I think I see light ahead."

"Are you sure?" Ron asked, just before he and his sister tumbled down the few steps leading to the outside of the school, the sun glaring hazily up above through the smog pouring out of Hogwarts' windows and doors.

"Yes, I'm sure," Ginny replied haughtily, standing up and brushing the ashes off her robe.

Prompted by his sister's superior tone, Ron muttered something dark and unintelligible under his breath that even Ginny couldn't catch. "What did you say?" She asked circumspectly, her brown eyes narrowing.

"Nothing," Ron squeaked, his ears gaining a pink tinge around the edges. "Come on, we've got to get further away from the school," he added quickly, gesturing to the cluster of students gathered near the lake.

"Nice change of subject," Ginny grumbled but ended up following her brother without anymore protest anyway, just as anxious to separate herself an even broader distance from the leaping flames.

Just as the two arrived at the banks of the lake, two fiendish creatures know as Fred and George, or on some days, Gred and Forge, seized their brother and sister in two literally breath-taking bear hugs.

"I can't breathe!" Ron gasped out, who was purposefully ignored by all the rest causing him to scowl darkly.

Ginny, who hade miraculously managed to stay up after George had thrown himself on to her sighed, knowing the better way to handle the twins was to act unconcerned. "What do you want? I hope it isn't another galleon because I'm just as broke as you two are right now."

George laughed, his face lighting up with amusement. "Only our Ginny can be so straightforward in a time like this."

Fred grinned mischievously in return. "Yeah, it looks like our Ronniekins isn't too loveable right now either," he remarked as Ron tried to pry his older brother's death-lock grip off his own stomach.

"Gerroff!" Ron yelled, failing miserably at extracting himself from Fred's tight grasp.

"As you wish," Fred chuckled, finally releasing his brother after one last ruffle of Ron's hair.

Ginny craned her head around to glance expectantly at George. "Well?" she asked wearily, hoping George would take Fred's lead and unleash her.

"All right," George chortled, following his twin's previous actions right down to the last hair ruffle.

Before Ginny had the chance to scowl and straighten her hair out much like Ron had done, George spoke up. "Hey, Ron," he asked curiously, a touch of concern in his voice that Ginny had heard very rarely from him in her life. "What's that you've got on your head?"

Ginny glanced up at Ron's forehead immediately and for the first time noticed a deep gash running across her brother's head. "Oh, Ron!" she exclaimed. "That looks pretty bad. You should see Madame Pomfrey," she added, cutting off her brother just as he was about to give an answer, a sarcastic one most likely, to George.

"I'm fine. It doesn't hurt that much," Ron glowered down at his younger sister, his tone one of finality and sternness.

A voice suddenly spoke up from behind the four siblings, causing the teenagers to jump in surprise. "Sometimes the most terrible injuries are the ones that seem meager at first glance, Mr. Weasley," the voice reprimanded gently.

Ginny spun around, knowing who she would find even before she did so, "Headmaster Dumbledore!" she exclaimed in greeting, feeling much more relieved and safe with the presence of the wise wizard so near.

"Hello, Ms. Weasley," the powerful, old man replied politely. "I trust that you and your brother are not injured too badly?"

"I'm fine," Ginny said quickly. "But Ron, as you can see, is hurt."

"I told you I'm fine!" Ron snapped irritably, trying to direct everybody's concerned stares elsewhere. "Besides, Ginny is the one with the burn," he pointed out, turning the attention away from him and onto his sister.

For the first time since the flames had caught the sleeve of her robe on fire, Ginny felt the stinging sensation of the burn on her arm, having forgotten it in light of everything that had happened. With a blush, she quickly hid her blistered arm behind the charred remains of her sleeve. "I'm fine, really. It doesn't hurt at all."

"It might not hurt much," the Headmaster said soothingly. "But I do suggest that both of you let Madam Pompfrey check over your wounds."

"All right," Ron and Ginny mumbled quietly in perfect unison, both abashed.

"On a lighter tone," Dumbledore began, changing the direction of the conversation to erase the discomfort of the two younger Weasleys. "I know of a couple students who have been very worried about both of you and shall be positively ecstatic to find you safe."

As if on cue, Hermione's voice rang out above the throngs of loud chatter from the rest of the students. "Ron! Ginny!" Within seconds, all of them could actually see Hermione, accompanied by Harry, fighting through the crowds to reach them. As she finally broke through, Hermione enveloped the two in a tight embrace. "I'm so glad you two are safe!" she cried, causing Ron to blush to the roots of his bright red hair, which was currently littered with black soot just as Ginny's was, before letting go of them.

"Hermione, we're hurt!" Fred and George, who had been uncharacteristically quiet for the past few minutes, exclaimed at once. "No hugs for us?"

Hermione rolled her eyes at the twins' antics, "I already saw you two," she pointed out. "Besides, both of you were one of the first ones out. Ron and Ginny were probably the last."

"We still think we deserve a hug," Fred stated mock seriously. "We've been through a very traumatic experience; we need reassurance."

"Oh, really?" Hermione queried skeptically. "And what traumatic experience would this be?"

"Just simply knowing that a year's worth of hard work on Weasley Wizard Wheezes have been burned up in flames within seconds," George replied without missing a beat.

"A year that should have been spent studying no doubt," Hermione reproved in a grumble, but gave the two a hug anyway.

"Aww, Hermione," Fred began, sniffling.

"We didn't know you cared," George finished tearfully.

"But you better be careful," Fred warned mockingly.

"Because Ronniekins might get jealous," George ended his brother's sentence again, grinning gleefully.

Ron blushed and managed to glare at his brothers malevolently, but he didn't say a word, silently fuming where he stood. Hermione simply blushed, looking quickly down at the ground.

Trying to ease the sudden tension, Harry spoke up finally, uncomfortably, "You all right, mate?" he asked Ron, motioning to the gash across his best friend's forehead.

With a quick, furtive glance over at Dumbledore who had fallen silent, his intense blue eyes darting around, Ron nodded. "I'll be fine," he added.

Ginny, suddenly realizing that the headmaster must have had other business down by the lake besides simply conversing with them, asked nervously, "Professor Dumbledore? What's going on?"

Dumbledore, seeming almost reluctant, turned his gaze over to her. "It seems that Death Eaters have found their way onto Hogwarts' grounds," he replied. "Do not alarm yourself too much for the time being, they seem to have ran off into the Dark Forest, but I advise you all to remain cautious. They will return soon."

Hermione gasped at the sudden information but quickly composed herself, asking inquisitively, "How do you know?"

The headmaster fixed his piercing stare directly at her, answering simply, "Voldemort isn't the only one with spies."

The four Weasleys flinched a bit at the mention of the Dark Lord's name but remained silent. After years of knowing Harry and their own personal experiences they were growing accustomed to hearing it. Dumbledore noticed their actions and beamed approvingly, knowing that they were taking the first step to rid themselves of the fear of a simple name.

However, this small silent moment did not last long, just as was expected. True to Dumbledore's word, the Death Eaters returned only a few moments later, and the inevitable battle ensued, beginning with Lavender, a pretty if not somewhat naïve Gryffindor, crying out and pointing wildly at a large group of at least a hundred cloaked figures that had just emerged from the forest. "Look! They're coming!" It was her first true encounter with Death Eaters, even though she was a pureblood, and it would be her last. Lavender was killed at the hands of a Death Eater that Parvati, who had been only a few feet away at the time, would later swear was Professor Snape.

It was a grisly and bitter fight indeed, resulting in twenty-three student deaths and an uncountable amount of injuries. Perhaps the most grievous fatality, however, occurred at the close of the struggle, the death of none other than Albus Dumbledore. After what must have been an hour or more the battle finally seemed to turn in favor of the students and teachers, but just before they were able to completely overtake the Death Eaters, Lord Voldemort appeared. "Greater and more terrible than ever he was," Professor Trelawney had predicted only a couple years previous. It was her first truly correct prediction as well as her last. After the battle, Trelawney ran off in pure terror, never to beseen or heard of again.

Just as Dumbledore was in the process of stunning one of the few remaining Death Eaters, the turning point of the battle came. Voldemort unexpectedly materialized from behind the old wizard, apparently having gained the animagus form of a forest green cobra.

"You can't win," Voldemort whispered harshly in the other man's ear.

Dumbledore quickly spun around, finding the other wizard was only a few inches away and immediately abandoning the idea of bothering to stun the Death Eater--a mistake that would cost him his life. "You are wrong," Dumbledore stated firmly, his blue eyes ablaze and a terrible power radiating from him. "The side of the light shall forever prevail over the dark."

"Not this time," Voldemort said, a nasty grin prominent on his face. With a snap of his fingers, the Death Eater behind Dumbledore yelled, "Conligo!" It was a binding spell, one that would render Dumbledore helpless against Voldemort as hundreds of thick black cords shot out of the Death Eater's wand and wrapped themselves around the wizened man. Normally, Dumbledore would have been able to easily deflect this curse with a simple twitch of his wand, but, taken off guard, the spell succeeded in its mission. Professor Dumbledore, bound tight and securely, was at the mercy of the Dark Lord.

"Must you stoop down to this level, Voldemort?" Dumbledore asked, no sign of the benign twinkle that usually inhabited his sharp blue eyes. Instead, it was replaced by a terrible fury, an expression that seemed almost foreign on the headmaster's normally smiling face. "Is it truly necessary that you must bind your enemies to be triumphant? Are you honestly so cowardly?"

Voldemort hissed in rage, his eyes darkening from a bright, fiery red to a deep velvet shade. "No," he answered in a deadly whisper. "I simply find--I suppose it could be described as a sadistic--pleasure in having my adversaries know that I hold absolute control over them before I kill them."

Ginny gasped, beginning to tremble as Voldemort cast a simple floating charm on the headmaster, who then rose steadily above the reach of anyone, unable to be helped. George, who had heard his younger sister's intake of breath, wrapped his arm around her, trying his best to be comforting even though he himself was breathing raggedly from pure fear. Ginny buried her face into George's broad chest, not wanting to witness what would inevitably occur. Even as George wrapped both his arms around her in a protective, brotherly hug however, Ginny spied a glimmer of a spell out of the corner of her eyes. Breaking away from her older brother's grasp just as quickly and abruptly as she had burrowed against him, Ginny snapped her head around to see Harry, brave Harry who always found a solution for everything, mouthing a spell silently, his face screwed into an expression of intense concentration. Swiftly and inaudibly, his faithful Firebolt soared from the rapidly burning structure of what once was a proud, impressive castle and directly into his waiting hands, unnoticed by the Dark Lord, who was preoccupied with his morbid glee at having the ability to finally eradicate one of his most hated opponents, Albus Dumbledore.

Harry mounted his broom and, without another glance at those around him, kicked off and flew up behind the Dark Lord, undoubtedly heading straight for the headmaster. He had the element of surprise, speed, and skill on his hands; nothing could go wrong, or so he thought. Just as he was preparing to shoot forward with a sudden burst of speed to grab the headmaster and bring him to safety before Voldemort could react, the Death Eater, the troublesome, pesky Death Eater that Dumbledore had failed to stun, having believed it to be unnecessary at the time, locked eyes with Harry. Harry instantly froze, staring down intently at the cold, grey eyes, which he had seen countless times before, shining out from beneath the black hood. Those eyes, so familiar, so emotionless, could only belong to one person, Harry's rival since first year, Draco Malfoy.

A look of loathing crossed Harry's face as his emerald green eyes as he kept them trained on Draco's silver ones; nothing compared to the contempt shown clearly on Harry's face at that moment--all the hate, the bitter remarks, the adrenaline rush of passionate anger that each of them had experienced before when in the other's presence--nothing even came close. Draco, however, refused to even flinch, his silver gaze, the only part of him that gave his identity away, holding an air of indifference.

Without any warning, Draco tore his stare away from Harry and tugged lightly on Voldemort's black sleeve; the sight of it would have been almost comical had situation not been so severe. "What is it?" Voldemort hissed, obviously displeased at being distracted from his task. Wordlessly, Draco flicked up a graceful white hand, pointing directly at the hovering Harry.

Voldemort followed the direction of the long, poised finger, his eyes landing instantly on the scar on Harry's forehead, the scar that had brought about his downfall over a decade ago. Voldemort repressed an expression of pure hatred and instead settled on a sneer, almost mocking the boy. "I suppose you're going to try to come to the rescue again, Potter, aren't you? You never could keep from meddling into everything, being the alleged hero." Voldemort then paused, raising the tension and purposefully placing a special emphasis on his next words.

"You're not a hero; you're a foolish boy with an enormous amount of luck. I assure you, now that I'm back at my full strength, that your wretched luck is gone."

Harry, who had been mentally weighing his chances while the Dark Lord spoke, snapped his head up at these words. They were spoken with an unimaginable amount of sincerity, of conviction. He realized at that moment that Voldemort was not lying; the words were uttered with too much passion for the thought of a possible bluff to even register. Harry never even considered for a second that perhaps the malevolent wizard was a victim of surplus arrogance.

Tears slid down Ginny's cheeks as she silently urged Harry on. Harry was her hero, her savior; she had placed so much faith in him, perhaps too much. "Come on, Harry," she murmured desperately, not realizing she had said anything aloud until George glanced down at her.

"Be quiet, Ginny," he whispered harshly in a tone very unlike his usual carefree one. "Don't bring any attention to yourself."

Wounded by his tone, Ginny stared at the ground heatedly, a few tears springing up to her eyes. A gentle reassuring squeeze from her brother, however, caused her to glance back up. Unlike what she had expected, George's expression was not angry or annoyed but instead apologetic. Ginny realized, with a slight twinge of embarrassment, that George had not snapped at her to be spiteful; he had simply been warning her because he didn't want her to get hurt.

"I believe your silence to be an admission for me to kill your foolish headmaster without hindrance."

Ginny snapped her head up while narrowing her eyes, wondering who had spoken and internally cursing herself for not paying attention to the immediate situation. Voldemort, of course, had been the one speaking, and Harry had been the one he was speaking to. Indeed, Harry had not even allowed himself to budge a millimeter towards the headmaster ever since the dark wizard's wand had trained itself upon him. Even then, after Voldemort's horrid statement, Harry remained silent and nearly motionless, only bringing his hand up to press against his scar, which had been burning ever since that morning.

Voldemort laugh, a high, cold laugh, which in fact, might have been better described as a cackle. "I see you've decided to save yourself," he stated, a gleam of such intense satisfaction rising up in his eyes that it sent shivers crawling up Ginny's spine. "The way a true Slytherin would handle the situation, I suppose there might be some sense in you after all."

Harry still refused to move even though he was beginning to look more and more like a kicked puppy. It was too much for a very distressed Ginny to handle; she couldn't stand the sight of her knight in shining armor transforming into a cowardly snake. "Come on," she whispered again, her voice rising with every word. "Your broom, it's so fast; it can outrun any curse. Go. Save the headmaster, come on. Please, you prat, go. Don--"

At this point, George had clamped his hand tightly around Ginny's mouth, his face pale as he tried to quiet his nearly hysterical sister. "Stop it, will you? Don't be an ass," he hissed. "You're going to get yourself killed."

Ginny, who had just about lost all her wits by that time, struggled to pry her older brother's fingers off her, wanting to do something, to scream perhaps. It took a few moments and a painful pinch from Hermione, who had been watching Ginny quietly from George's other side and recognized the panic Ginny was going into, for Ginny to compose herself. Slowly, she lowered her arms to her sides and took a deep breath, managing to calm herself down considerably. She glanced at her brother reassuringly, motioning to him that it was safe to let her go. George cautiously dropped his arm down from her mouth, relieved when she didn't make another noise.

Luckily, Voldemort, who had briefly flicked his gaze over to the small exchange, had instantly deemed the red-haired girl as unimportant and returned his gaze back to Harry. "I see you've made your decision then," he chuckled silkily, sweeping his wand over to Dumbledore's direction and roared the two fateful words that would have instantly sentenced him to the infamous Dementor's Kiss without so much as a trial had he not been able to overpower the ministry, or if he had had a soul to take away to begin with.

"Avada Kedavra."

A horrendous green light shot out of the Dark Lord's wand, engulfing one of the last guardians of the wizarding world. A lifeless body fell down to the ground with the sound of a sickening crunch as he landed headfirst; Albus Dumbledore was no more.

Harry, who had finally decided to move, dove down into the crowds before he became the next target. Ginny, leaning heavily on George, unsure if she could support herself at that moment, felt a sickened feeling washing over her, a mixture of dread, sadness, and disgust towards the person who had been her idol ever since the tender age of three when she had first heard of him and his story. Voldemort, the victor of the battle, strode triumphantly past all the fearful students, cackling as he walked. His few remaining Death Eaters followed faithfully behind, the one who had alerted Voldemort of Harry's plan to rescue the headmaster just before it had happened, brushed past Ginny, his sleeve coming into contact with her bare arm. Ginny, who had pushed herself away from George only a few moments earlier, believing herself to be over the initial shock of Albus Dumbledore's death, recoiled instantly and gasped in surprise and loathing.

The Death Eater shot his gaze up immediately at the sound, taken by surprise. His grey eyes met her brown ones just as they had met Harry's not long before and a flash of recognition dawned on both of them.

"You," Ginny whispered hatefully, every single image of him taunting her, him playing spiteful tricks on her, and his actions only a few minutes previous reverberating through her mind.

Draco said nothing; he simply stared at her silently, an unreadable gaze in his cold silver eyes. With a swish of his heavy black cloak, Draco turned away after a few tense seconds, following Voldemort's path once more as he was expected to, but not before he heard Ginny hiss after his retreating back.

"I didn't believe even you could go this low."

Draco paused for a fraction of a second; Ginny wasn't even sure if he had or not, the stop was so brief. He quickly regained composure, however, and continued the rest of the way to the Dark Lord, his master, who was waiting at the exit gates of Hogwarts. Grinning maliciously, Voldemort waited until all his Death Eaters were surrounding him before raising his wand. Before leaving, Voldemort halted momentarily to absorb the terrified faces staring back at him with a sinister amusement.

"I've won," he proclaimed simply, placing an unbelievable amount of emphasis and delight in those two small words. Afterwards, he cast a complex disapparating spell on him and his group of Death Eaters, all of them instantaneously disappearing with a small pop, leaving somber and fear-filled children in his wake.

"Bugger," Ginny mumbled dejectedly, feeling lightheaded as the world suddenly seemed to spin around her.

"Ginny, are you all right?" Ron spoke up from behind her, worried as his little sister began to sway back and forth.

"I'm fine," Ginny said irritably, or rather, would have said irritably if she had not just collapsed in a faint against her older brother, giving him only seconds to catch her just before she would have hit the ground.

The Battle of Hogwarts, as it would be called later, was over; the side of the light had lost and to further their grievances, Dumbledore had died. This was indeed a severe blow to the wizarding world, and also to some extent, the muggle world.

And, to top things off, it was the first time that Harry had failed them. The first seeds of doubt in her hero were planted in Ginny's mind, and they wouldn't be the last.

~End Flashback~

Ginny leaned back on her bed, clutching her scarred hand, the one physical reminder she had of that day. She closed her eyes tightly, trying to hold back the rest of her memories and silence the heaving sobs that had come from the memory she had just relived. Soon, the girl dozed off to sleep, not a peaceful, refreshing sleep that she so longed for, but a fitful, tormented sleep.