The locker room was dim, save for the low, flickering light of a single enchanted lantern swaying in the corner. The rest of the team had long since left—already off to the mess hall or their flats in town. The post-practice quiet settled heavily around Ginny like a blanket, smothering the buzz of adrenaline that had kept her going on the pitch.
She sat alone on the wooden bench, her broom resting across her knees, her muscles still sore from the endless drills. Every part of her ached, but it wasn't just the physical exhaustion that weighed her down. It was the nagging sense that no matter how fast she flew or how hard she pushed herself, something was always just out of reach.
Her body told her it was time to go home, but her mind wasn't ready to settle. There was a tension in her chest, a restlessness she couldn't shake. Her hands were still trembling, not from exertion, but from something deeper, something she didn't want to admit had followed her off the pitch.
She stood up, her joints protesting, and moved to the nearest locker. As she opened it, the smell of broom polish and sweat hit her—familiar, grounding. Ginny let her fingers run over the inside of the locker door, feeling the ridges of carved initials and etched symbols from past players who had stood in this same spot, gearing up for battle. The Harpies' history was a long one, and now she was part of it. But there were days, like today, when that felt like an impossible burden.
With a flick of her wand, she summoned her gear into her duffel bag. Her gloves were still damp with sweat, her uniform sticking uncomfortably to her skin. She could hear the echo of the other players' laughter in her mind, the way they'd tossed jibes at each other in the showers after practice. It had all felt so easy for them, the camaraderie, the banter. For Ginny, it felt like something she had to force, something that slipped through her fingers whenever she tried to hold onto it.
The door creaked open behind her, and Ginny froze, her fingers still on the buckle of her duffel. She didn't need to turn around to know who it was. The soft footsteps, the barely-there rustle of robes—it was Katie.
"Thought I'd find you here," Katie said, her voice low, cautious. The sound of it seemed to slip into the quiet like it belonged there, like Katie had always known how to move through the spaces that others filled too loudly.
Ginny forced a smile, though her back was still turned. "Can't stay away from the smell of victory and sweat, can you?"
Katie chuckled softly, but there was an edge to it. "Something like that."
Ginny heard the light thud of a broom handle resting against the wall, followed by the soft rustle of Katie lowering herself onto the bench next to her. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The air between them hummed with unspoken tension, the kind that always seemed to linger after a hard practice, when the adrenaline was still fading and the reality of the day started to settle in.
"You flew well today," Katie said finally, her tone casual but carrying a weight of its own.
Ginny shrugged, still focused on her bag. "Not well enough."
Katie leaned back, resting her elbows on her knees, her eyes scanning the empty locker room. "You're too hard on yourself, you know that?"
Ginny's jaw tightened. She'd heard that line before, from her brothers, her friends, even Harry once upon a time. It had never felt true. Not then, not now.
"I just want to be better," Ginny said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I have to be."
Katie's gaze sharpened, and for the first time, Ginny felt her looking, really looking. It wasn't the playful banter of teammates, or the easy camaraderie of friends. It was something deeper, something searching. And it made Ginny want to bolt.
"You're already one of the best players we've got," Katie said, her tone firm, leaving no room for argument. "But I'm not talking about Quidditch, am I?"
Ginny's stomach knotted, and she forced herself to meet Katie's eyes. There it was again, that flicker of understanding, the kind of understanding that made Ginny feel exposed. Katie had always been perceptive. Too perceptive, maybe.
"I'm fine," Ginny said, her words clipped, final. She wasn't ready to have this conversation, not now, not ever. Not with Katie.
Katie sighed, leaning forward to rest her chin on her hands. "Look, I get it. We all went through some rough stuff. But it's not about pretending like it didn't happen."
Ginny's fingers clenched around the strap of her duffel. "I said I'm fine."
"Yeah, well, I'm not convinced," Katie shot back, but there was no edge to her words, just concern. And that made it worse somehow.
Ginny hated it. Hated being seen like this, like she was still that girl from Hogwarts who had been too young to fight but too stubborn to stay behind. She didn't want to be pitied or coddled. Not by Katie. Not by anyone.
She swung her bag over her shoulder and stood, forcing a grin that didn't reach her eyes. "Thanks for the pep talk, Bell. But I've got it handled."
Katie didn't move, just watched her with those steady eyes, eyes that said she saw more than Ginny wanted her to see. "You don't have to handle everything alone, you know."
Ginny paused at the door, her hand on the frame, her knuckles white. She didn't turn around when she spoke. "I've been doing it for this long. Why stop now?"
The door clicked shut behind her, and Ginny stepped out into the cold evening air, the wind biting at her skin. The sky above the training grounds was streaked with the deep purples and blues of twilight, the last rays of sunlight disappearing behind the cliffs. It should've felt freeing, standing out here under the open sky, away from the suffocating stillness of the locker room.
But it didn't. It felt heavy.
The village where she lived was just a short broom ride from the stadium, nestled on the edge of the cliffs with a view of the sea. Ginny mounted her Firebolt, her body moving on instinct, and kicked off the ground. The familiar rush of wind through her hair and the thrum of magic under her fingertips usually helped settle her mind, but tonight, even that wasn't enough to quiet the noise in her head.
The flight home was short, but the journey in her mind felt longer. The ghosts of the past always seemed louder when she was alone, their whispers twisting with the wind, reminding her of everything she had seen, everything she had lost.
When she finally touched down outside her flat, the weight of the day pressed down on her shoulders like lead. The tiny flat was quiet, almost too quiet, with only the sound of the waves crashing against the cliffs in the distance to keep her company.
Ginny stood at the threshold, her hand on the door, and for a brief moment, she considered turning around, going back to the pitch, back to the noise and the movement and the chaos. But she didn't. She couldn't.
Instead, she pushed open the door and stepped inside, the familiar scent of old wood and sea air greeting her like an old friend. It was a small place, barely big enough for one person, but it was hers.
She dropped her bag by the door, her broom leaning against the wall. The fatigue in her body finally caught up to her, a bone-deep weariness that made her limbs heavy, her movements slow.
Ginny collapsed onto the worn sofa, her head falling back against the cushions, and stared up at the ceiling. The dim light from the single lamp in the corner cast long shadows across the room, shadows that flickered and shifted like the memories she couldn't quite shake.
Her fingers tapped absently on the arm of the sofa, the silence pressing in around her. She knew she should eat something, shower, maybe even get some sleep. But the thought of standing up, of moving, felt like too much right now.
Sleep crept up on Ginny like an ambush, the kind that strikes when you're least prepared. One moment she was staring at the flickering shadows on her ceiling, trying to quiet the chaos in her mind, and the next, the heaviness in her limbs pulled her under. She didn't remember closing her eyes.
It wasn't a peaceful descent into sleep, though. It was the kind that clung to her, sharp around the edges, dragging her down into a space that was too familiar, too real. A place she thought she'd left behind.
The first sound was the scream. A scream that started as a distant echo and quickly became deafening, piercing through the thick fog of her dream. It was the kind of scream that crawled into your bones and made you feel like it would never stop, like it was tearing apart the air itself. Ginny knew that scream. She had heard it before.
Her feet hit solid ground, and suddenly, she was back at Hogwarts. The stone walls loomed around her, jagged and broken, lit by the eerie green glow of the Dark Mark hanging in the sky. The air was thick with the acrid smell of smoke and burning wood, the coppery scent of blood clinging to everything.
She knew this place. She had been here before. She had fought here. But something was different.
The corridor stretched before her, impossibly long, the shadows pressing in from every side. She could feel the weight of the castle bearing down on her, the ancient stones groaning under the pressure of the battle that had taken place just beyond these walls. Her heart pounded in her chest, her breaths coming in shallow, panicked gasps.
She reached for her wand, but her fingers closed around nothing. Panic flared in her chest. Where was it? Where was her wand?
A flash of light—a jet of green, sickly and vibrant—exploded in front of her, and suddenly she wasn't alone. Figures moved through the corridor, dark shapes flickering in and out of her vision, too fast to catch. She tried to move, to run, but her legs felt heavy, as if the air itself had thickened around her, trapping her in place.
"Ginny!" The voice was distant, distorted, but she recognized it. She spun around, searching for the source, her heart leaping into her throat.
It was Fred. Or was it George? She couldn't tell. His face blurred, his features twisting, fading in and out like a memory slipping through her grasp. He was running toward her, his mouth moving, shouting something, but the words were lost in the cacophony of screams and explosions.
Her feet finally obeyed her, and she stumbled forward, reaching out for him, her fingers stretching toward his. She could feel the warmth of his hand, just a few inches away, so close she could almost grab it—
But then, in an instant, he was gone. The corridor swallowed him whole, the darkness consuming him like a wave crashing over a cliff. The world around her tilted, the walls warping and bending in ways that defied logic, and suddenly she was falling.
Falling into the Great Hall.
The ground shook as her body hit the stone floor, the impact jarring her back to her feet. The hall was filled with bodies. Some moved, fighting, struggling. Others were still, lying in pools of blood, faces she recognized.
She could see them, all of them. Colin Creevey, his lifeless eyes staring up at the enchanted ceiling. Lavender Brown, collapsed in a heap, her blood mixing with the shattered remains of the House tables. Remus and Tonks, their hands inches apart, as if they had been reaching for each other in their final moments.
And then there was Fred.
He lay there, motionless, his face pale and still. His eyes were closed, peaceful in a way that made her want to scream, to shake him awake, to tell him this wasn't how it was supposed to be.
Her knees buckled, and she fell beside him, her hands shaking as she reached for him. "Fred," she whispered, her voice cracking, barely audible over the roar of the battle that still raged around her. "Please, Fred, wake up."
But he didn't move. He never moved.
Something cold brushed the back of her neck, a chill that spread through her body like ice. She looked up, her breath hitching in her throat, and there it was—the thing she had feared since the moment she stepped into this nightmare.
Voldemort.
He stood at the far end of the hall, his red eyes glowing like embers, his lips curled into a smile that made Ginny's skin crawl. His wand was raised, pointed directly at her, and she couldn't move. She was frozen, her body locked in place by fear so overwhelming it stole the breath from her lungs.
"Ginny Weasley," Voldemort hissed, his voice slithering through the air like a serpent. "Did you think you could escape me?"
Her heart pounded in her chest, the blood rushing in her ears. She wanted to scream, to fight, but her body wouldn't respond. She was trapped, helpless, the cold tendrils of fear tightening around her like a vice.
Voldemort stepped closer, his wand still trained on her, the darkness swirling around him like a living thing. "There is no escape," he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. "Not for you. Not for your family."
Ginny's hands clenched into fists, her nails digging into her palms. She wasn't helpless. Not anymore.
She forced herself to stand, her legs shaking beneath her, her gaze locked on Voldemort. "You're wrong," she spat, her voice trembling but defiant. "I'm not afraid of you."
The dark figure laughed, the sound echoing through the shattered hall like the tolling of a death bell. "Oh, but you are," he said, his red eyes gleaming. "You will always be afraid."
He raised his wand, and Ginny's heart stopped. The words were already forming on his lips, the spell that would end her life, the flash of green that would—
"Avada Kedavra!"
The world exploded in a blinding flash of green light.
----------------
Ginny jolted awake, her body drenched in sweat, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her heart pounded so hard in her chest it felt like it might burst through her ribs. She was still on the sofa, the dim light from the corner lamp casting long shadows across the room, but everything felt wrong, off.
Her hands were trembling, her body still caught in the grip of the nightmare. She could hear her pulse in her ears, the rush of blood in her veins, but she was here. She was safe. The battle was over. It had been over for years.
But the shadows still lingered.
Preview of next chapter:
Ginny felt a flicker of unease as she slung her broom over her shoulder and headed toward the board at the edge of the pitch. A few of the other players were already clustered around it, talking in low voices as they scanned the list. Ginny joined them, her heart thudding in her chest as her eyes quickly scanned the names.
Bell/Weasley.
Her stomach flipped. Katie.
Ginny swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around the handle of her broom. She wasn't sure how she felt about it—relieved, maybe, that she wouldn't have to deal with someone like Demelza or Julia. But the knot of tension in her chest didn't ease. Sharing a room with Katie would mean there was no escaping the conversations she'd been trying to avoid. The questions. The concern.