The moment she had seen him, Ginny had started crying. He was lying there, so lifeless and cold, his eyes closed as if to shield him from the harsh realities of the world around him. His skin was so white, it looked like porcelain, and countless tiny pinkish wounds marred his handsome face. He lay, weak and helpless in the hospital bed, the white of the sheets and his skin contrasting sharply with his messy black hair that flopped untidily onto his pillow. His eyes were closed, and his lashes fluttered slightly. She could see every vein in his eyelids.
Ginny wanted his eyes to open. She wanted more than anything to look into his bright green eyes again, so intelligent and full of life. But he didn’t open his eyes, he didn’t look around at her, and she was reduced to sitting by his bedside, trying to control herself.
She reached out one trembling hand and touched Harry’s, the cold of his hand exaggerated against the warmness of hers. She wrapped her fingers around his, trying to give him some of her warmth. His eyes twitched slightly in his sleep, but otherwise, he gave no notice that he felt anything. She scooted her chair closer to the bed.
How long would he lie there? Ginny had left Hogwarts the moment Professor McGonagall had agreed to it, and she had gone straight to St. Mungo’s. Harry had been asleep that entire afternoon, as well as today. She hadn’t moved from his bedside. She had slept curled on the bottom of his bed.
In desperation, she flopped over to rest her head on his covers, taking great, shuddering breaths as tears squeezed out from behind her eyelids. She still was holding onto his hand, and she slowly brought it to her lips, kissing his palm gently, and willing him to respond.
He remained still, and she buried her face in his sheets again, her emotions whirling around her.
“Harry…” she pleaded with his silent face. “Wake up, Harry, please… What happened to you?” She was staring at his face now, tears running unchecked down her cheeks.
“Harry… please, let me help you…” Ginny begged, as if by her desperate tone, he would be jerked back to alertness. When he remained impassive, she climbed gingerly off of her chair, her legs tingling from sitting so long. She began to pace the room, wondering what on earth she could do to help Harry.
Back and forth she went, wiping tears from her cheeks and staring wildly around at the room. No inspiration came to her for some time, until she spotted something on a corner table. Staring at it, her heart beating suddenly faster, the answer came to Ginny in a glorious light bulb of revelation. The only thing she had to check was whether he still had it…
In a few short strides, she had crossed the room to the small table that held Harry’s knapsack. Unzipping it with some difficulty due to the ripped fabric, she pulled the bag open and began rummaging frantically inside. Pushing aside several pairs of underwear, a dirty t-shirt and a peanut butter granola bar, Ginny’s hand closed at last upon a white envelope.
It was the letter she had written to Harry all those months ago, praying he would never have to open it. She pulled it out, staring at his name on the front in her own handwriting and navy blue ink. Her eyes filled with tears for the umpteenth time that day, and one fell on the letter, smudging the ink ever so slightly, but she brushed it away, angry with herself for being so emotional.
Going back over to Harry’s bed, she set the letter on his nightstand, as close as she could get it to the bed, hoping he would notice and remember it. Then, making a sudden decision, she lay down as quietly as she could beside him, her head next to his shoulder, a few strands of her hair resting absently on his chest.
She must have dozed off for a while, because the next thing she knew, a familiar hand was gently shaking her shoulder.
“Ginny?”
She opened her eyes and turned her head, wincing ever so slightly as her muscles unstiffened. It was Bill, his scarred face staring down at her and looking concerned. She wasn’t surprised he was here. Ron and Hermione were staying at the hospital with her, but they had gone to grab some dinner. The rest of the Weasleys just popped in and out whenever they got the chance.
“Hi,” she said, yawning.
“Hi,” Bill said. “You’re coming to get coffee with me.”
“Am I?” she asked dazedly. “I don’t want to go anywhere.”
“That’s exactly why we’re going. You’ve been wallowing in this room to long,” he said sternly.
“What if I like wallowing?” Ginny said, although she knew she was going for coffee, even if Bill had to drag her to the hospital tearoom.
“Wallowing does not like you,” her brother said decisively. “Get up, or I’ll have to carry you.”
“Fine,” she said, swinging her legs over the side of the bed, and slipping them into her flats, which had been tossed unceremoniously beside Harry’s bed.
She and Bill set off down the hall, greeting the few Healers that they saw who were helping Harry. It took them less than ten minutes to walk to the tea room. Bill went to get coffees, while Ginny sat down at a table by the window and stared numbly around the room. He came back a few minutes later, holding two steaming mugs.
“Here you go,” Bill announced, placing one before her. “St. Mungo’s gourmet coffee,” he finished, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
Ginny sipped her drink, more to give her something to do than because she really wanted to, but she had to admit that she felt a bit warmer and happier as soon as the liquid hit her throat. Bill was watching her closely.
“He’s going to be fine, Ginny. I promise,” he said, looking reassuringly at her.
Ginny didn’t answer for a moment. Abruptly, she slammed her mug on the table.
“How can you be sure?” she said, almost angrily. “That’s what everyone keeps saying. Hermione, Ron, Lupin and now you! How are you all so sure?”
“We’re not,” said Bill, unpeturbed. “We’re optimists. But Harry’s tough, he’ll be okay.”
She didn’t answer. She wasn’t really sure that positive thinking was really going to get anyone anywhere.
“Trust me, Ginny,” he said earnestly. They sipped in silence for a while.
“Come on, let’s go back,” Bill said finally, draining the last drops from his mug.
Ginny stood up automatically, and she and Bill made their way back to Harry’s ward without speaking. When they got there, however, the door to the ward was closed. Bill peered through the window.
“Dad’s in there… with one of the Healers”Dr. Kosenski,” he told her.
She tried to open the doorknob, not caring if she disturbed anyone, but it was locked. She swore and flopped dejectedly into a waiting chair outside the ward, hoping they would be quick.
This waiting was killing her. She had no idea what was happening to Harry or what was going on. No one did. Ginny thought that somehow this uncertainty was worse than knowing something horrible. She rubbed her eyes, exhausted. Her head ached with worry and fatigue.
She waited in her chair, growing more uncomfortable and impatient by the minute. Bill left to find Ron and Hermione, and several Healers came and went from the room, but not one would tell her anything that was going on. She vowed to accost Dr. Kosenski and her dad as soon as they came out into the hall.
When Ginny finally felt as if she couldn’t wait a minute longer, the doorknob jiggled again. She looked up sharply at Dr. Kosenski and her father as they left the room.
“Well?” she asked, trying to keep her voice even and respectful.
“He’s awake,” Mr. Weasley began, but Ginny did not pause to let him finish. Leaping off of her chair as though it had caught on fire, she ran to the door of Harry’s ward, intending to run in and greet him. However, Dr. Kosenski grabbed her shoulder and held her back.
“”But he’s requested no visitors,” Mr. Weasley finished. Ginny gaped at him, and turned back to see Harry seated in his bed, clearly alert. Why wouldn’t he talk to her?
“Even”“ Ginny began, but her father cut her off.
“Even you, Ginny. He’s in a bad state. It’s not a good time for him.”
Ginny stared back into Harry’s room, watching him closely. Even though she wasn’t close to him, she could still see the hard, hopeless and deadened look in his eyes. He turned his head slightly and looked at her directly. Hope surged suddenly in her chest, but the feeling was dashed as quickly as it had come. Harry just frowned and looked away. He couldn’t remember her at all…
Ginny felt fresh tears in her eyes. “Harry…” she whispered desperately against the glass.
She stood there, staring into his room, shaking with grief. Her father came up behind her and rested one strong hand on her shoulder. Ginny felt as though she were falling, reaching for Harry, who was waiting for her at the bottom of a well. She wanted to help him, but his need was so great, she could hardly hear him.
The Hardest Thing by smiley10792
Chapter Notes: Not much to say- just playing in JKR's world, remember!
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