'Ginny, we'll be back in a moment, just keep out of the way, keep safe –'

The last words she'd heard her ex-boyfriend say to her echoed through her weary head as Ginny Weasley walked through the Great Hall. She still cared for him, even though he'd forced them to split up a year ago, against both of their wills. That rudely interrupted forbidden kiss at The Burrow hadn't been for nothing.

But where was Harry? Ginny glanced left and right feverishly, her eyes searching the dead and wounded masses for signs of him. As she passed the body of her brother Fred, tears rose to her eyes and she forced herself to turn away. The tears did not fall, but were soon replaced by a newfound, guilty anxiety. What had Harry said to her when they crossed paths after she left the Room of Requirement? 'You've got to come back in!' But when she'd returned, half-unwillingly, to the Room of Requirement, it had gone. Disappeared. Around where the magical door used to appear were ashes, soot and a broken tiara, too badly mangled and burned to repair. The room had probably been destroyed with cursed fire. Her own brother, her ex-boyfriend and her best girl friend had all been inside after her, she knew. What if … Gryffindor though she was, Ginny could not bear to entertain the notion.

She turned her head wearily, her wand out and in her hand as she looked around the starry-ceilinged room, and her heart gave a half-hearted leap (the other half was aching with tiredness) as two familiar figures came towards her. With a pang, she realised that Harry was not with them. Suppose –

'Ginny!' Ron cried, panting slightly as he gave her a tired, brotherly hug. For a moment his freckled face was grinning, then it grew serious as he released her and said, 'Listen, Ginny, have you seen Harry?'

Hermione was pale as she watched Ginny's mouth drop open in shock and horror. 'We've been looking,' she added, looking pained at Ginny's expression, 'but we haven't seen him since just after we got those memories from Snape when he died –'

'Snape's dead?' The shock of what Hermione said was almost – but not quite! – sufficient enough to smother her worries about Harry. 'Wha – how –?'

'You-Know-Who murdered him,' Ron said offhandedly, and in a voice so nonchalant that it was shocking. 'But there's no time for that now. Have you seen Harry?'

Ginny's face fell. 'No,' she whispered, a lump rising in her throat. 'Not since he spoke to me when I was fighting with Tonks.' She saw Hermione's face whiten.

'Well,' said Ron, trying to be cheerful, 'well … we'd best get going. Take care, Ginny – and keep a lookout.' He clapped her on the shoulder and left the Hall, along with Hermione.

'Yeah … you too.' The words came out barely above a murmur, having to force their way past the lump in her throat.

More to have something to do than anything else, Ginny left the Hall and entered the grounds, edging over to a crying girl nearby and sitting next to her, trying to steady and comfort her own shaken nerves as well as the girl's.

'I want my mum,' the girl moaned, rocking back and forth in Ginny's arms. 'I don't want to have to fight them all alone!'

'It's all right,' Ginny heard a voice say, and it was several seconds before she realised it was her own; it sounded so detached, so distant. 'We're going to get you inside.'

'But I want to go home,' whispered the girl brokenly, tears running down her cut and bruised face. 'I don't want to fight any more!'

'I know,' said Ginny, and she felt as if she'd never said anything truer in her life. It was then that she felt a presence behind her, as if somebody invisible was spying on her, looking over her shoulder, or perhaps at her … she couldn't shake it off. Her voice broke as she said, 'It's going to be all right,' trying to block the nightmarish thoughts from entering her mind …

She rose quickly, patting the girl awkwardly in the shoulder, and walked quickly away … her feet took her away from the castle, faster and faster, with such a will of their own to be away, to leave … She thought of Dementors, and knew with an almost frightening certainty that if she happened to stumble upon that enchanted Mirror Ron had told her about years ago, that a Dementor kissing her, sucking out her soul, would be the ghostly scene reflected before her. Because that was what she wanted – longed for. To have no feeling, no anxiety, no pain …

She started when she heard voices close to her, so nearby that she shrank into the dark shadows of the Forbidden Forest in which she had stumbled, so that she would not be heard. The first voice was hard, guttural, and she realised with a chill that it belonged to a Death Eater.

'Time's nearly up. Potter's had his hour. He's not coming.'

A second Death Eater spoke. 'And he was sure he'd come! He won't be happy.'

'Better go back,' said the first one. 'Find out what the plan is now.'

And they left, striding away through the Forest. Ginny did not follow them, but stayed, rooted to the spot, hardly daring to breathe. So Harry had not handed himself over – yet. There was still that nagging suspicion: What if? What if?

Only when they had almost gone out of sight into the dense foliage of the Forest did she dare to follow them, not without caution, for who knew? And there it was again: the prickling, uncomfortable sensation that she was in the presence of somebody invisible. She halted for a moment, frozen, but no wand flashed in the darkness, no jet of green light whipped through the trees. If whoever it was had noticed her, they were on her side, and this heartened her.

Now the Death Eaters had stopped, a distance away from the her, in a small clearing with a large fire like a funeral pyre in the middle of it, the flames flickering in the darkness. She edged closer, being careful to stay in the shadows, as one of them spoke.

'No sign of him, my Lord.'

My Lord? Ginny felt icy, as if she'd stepped through a ghost. Did that mean –?

As if in answer to her question, a high, clear voice rise from a figure who was standing near the fire, looking at the pair that had just arrived and cradling the stolen wand in his hands. Behind him were the rest of the Death Eaters, in dark robes, all of them, with their wands out, ready to do their master's bidding or die in the attempt.

'I thought he would come,' said the voice of Lord Voldemort, and Ginny not so much shuddered as recoiled when she glimpsed the cold, white body from whom the words issued. 'I expected him to come.'

Of course, thought Ginny wildly, why wouldn't he? She knew Harry so well that she knew the amount of pain and guilt he had caused, that he would do anything to make disappear.

That he might even give himself up, so as to stop the suffering he had caused at the expense of his friends and enemies alike.

That he might even sacrifice his own life.

As if Ginny's thoughts had acted as a trigger, a shadowy shape stepped out of the edge of the clearing into it, pulling off an all-too-familiar Invisibility Cloak, and stowing it away in his robes as he spoke.

'You weren't.'

With a gasp of shock, stifled quickly lest she be heard, Ginny recognised the skinny profile of Harry. His wand was not in his hand, and it was clear that he did not intend to fight.

There were cries, yells and even derisive laughter from the Death Eaters congregated behind Voldemort, but he seemed impervious to them all. Ginny watched the distorted, inhuman face, paralysed, until another, louder yell drowned out the rest, from somebody that she had not noticed until that moment.

'HARRY! NO!'

Harry made an involuntary movement; for a moment he had turned, looking at Hagrid, who was tied to a nearby tree, sending showers of leaves descending on the Death Eaters as he struggled to break free.

'NO! NO! HARRY, WHAT'RE YEH –?'

'QUIET!' shouted a large, blond Death Eater close to Hagrid; he whipped his wand around and Hagrid was forced to cease.

'No, Harry, no,' Ginny whispered, echoing Hagrid, and then hastily checked herself; however, nobody appeared to have heard her: the Death Eaters and Lord Voldemort had eyes only for Harry.

She saw the red, slit-pupilled eyes widen; she saw the lipless mouth form an 'O' of wonder that was quickly replaced by the spoken words, 'Harry Potter.'

Harry did not move, and it was in that moment that Ginny knew, with a kind of horrible certainty, that Harry would not back out, not reach into his robes, pull out his wand, and yell, 'Expelliarmus!' at Voldemort. Because he was not the type to back out. He would go on, until the very end.

'… the boy who lived,' finished Voldemort, and there was an air of finality in his emotionless, expressionless voice. Let us finish this, once and for all. He raised his wand, pointed it straight at Harry, and screamed, 'Avada Kedavra!'

Ginny opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. She could only watch, in a kind of horrible trance, as a jet of green light burst out of the end of Voldemort's wand and hit the standing Harry straight in the chest. Nor could she scream when the impact of the curse blasted Harry back several metres, then forced him to hit the ground with a heart-wrenching crash, where he lay in a crumpled, lifeless heap.

If Ginny had not been made of stronger stuff, and had simply been any girl, she might have fainted from shock. As it was, she swayed on the spot, her brown eyes watching the scene with some kind of horrible fascination. It was all like a play, Ginny thought grimly, only the murdered protagonist would not return to life backstage. This was the real thing; there was no backstage, no second try.

And she knew Harry was dead.

He still lay there, in that crumpled heap, unmoving, even as Voldemort, who had been forced to the ground as well, denied coldly Bellatrix's offer to help him up, rose to standing position, and asked in a voice devoid of feeling, 'The boy – is he dead?'

Ginny shivered as Voldemort said, 'You,' pointing his wand at a tall, blonde woman; there was a loud bang, and she shrieked with the sudden pain.

'Examine him,' said Voldemort to Narcissa Malfoy. 'Tell me whether he is dead.'

And Narcissa Malfoy strode over to the black-haired boy lying sprawled on the ground, and bent down – from where she stood, Ginny could not see what she was doing – but when Narcissa stood up, she turned to the Death Eaters and Lord Voldemort and cried, 'He is dead!'

When she heard that last, conclusive sign, Ginny stopped daring to hope and edged away from the side of the clearing, her heart hammering in her chest. He was gone – Harry was gone, for why would Narcissa lie? There was too much at stake, now that Voldemort had won the final battle at last.

Then the Death Eaters rejoiced and whooped, sending sparks into the air with their wands and stomping the ground; Ginny, watching the sickening scene, suddenly could not bear to watch any more. She turned on her heel and dashed away through the Forest, back to the grounds in front of the castle.

'Ginny! Is that you?' In her frenzied run, Ginny had crashed headlong into Neville, who was standing just outside the great doors to the castle.

'Ginny! You all right? You look so … white,' Neville added, as Ginny extracted herself from his tangle of robes and looked up at him.

'Hi, Neville … wha –? No, no, I'm fine,' Ginny answered mechanically, now staring at the front of his robes, which were at eye level to her. He'd find out soon enough.

'OK. Just …' Neville glanced at his watch '– that it's fifteen minutes past time, and we still haven't continued fighting. By the way, I haven't seen Harry around. You don't reckon –?' For the first time, Ginny heard a tone of anxiety in his voice.

'Erm … I gotta go,' Ginny said lamely, and then took off. Ron and Hermione were nearby; she walked dejectedly towards them, her frenzied brain playing over and over again Narcissa's words, 'He is dead!'

'There you are, Ginny,' Ron said. 'Did you see the time? It doesn't make sense … And we still haven't seen Harry …'

'Yeah … Neville –' But Ginny's wooden reply was cut short by a magically magnified voice sweeping over the grounds and through the Great Hall behind them, a voice that struck chills and fear into those who heard it.

'Harry Potter is dead. He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself while you lay down your lives for him. We bring you his body as proof that your hero is gone.

'The battle is won. You have lost half your fighters. My Death Eaters outnumber you and the Boy Who Lived is finished. There must be no more war. Anyone who continues to resist, man, woman or child, will be slaughtered, as will every member of their family. Come out of the castle, now, kneel before me, and you shall be spared. Your parents and children, your brothers and sisters will live, and be forgiven, and you will join me in the new world we shall build together.' There was silence as Voldemort's voice ceased, then a babble of voices broke out, apparently asking whether Harry Potter really was dead.

'No,' croaked Ron.

'It can't be!' Hermione moaned, stricken. 'He's lying – he's trying to get us to surrender –'

Only Ginny remained frozen, her eyes unseeing. 'That's not true,' she whispered, her voice growing stronger with every word. 'It's not! He wasn't trying to save himself! He did it for us!' She didn't care that Ron and Hermione were staring at her, open-mouthed, or that more and more heads were swivelling towards her as her voice rose. She only cared about the truth.

Ginny did not know how long she stood there, motionless, until, out of the corner of her eye, she heard Hermione gasp. 'Hermione, what –?'

She spun around, scanning ruins of the castle, peering out over the grounds for the cause of the gasp, and her eyes widened at the procession coming from the direction of the Forbidden Forest.

Voldemort himself was striding imperiously, closer and closer, flanked by Bellatrix, who was looking insolently through heavy-lidded eyes at the grounds in front of the castle, and Hagrid, who seemed to be cradling something in his enormous arms. Behind him were all the Death Eaters, all with their wands out as they surveyed the huddled masses of people, who had fallen suddenly and uncannily silent as he approached.

Hermione's hand flew to her mouth. 'Oh no, oh no, oh no,' she whispered, pointing bizarrely at Hagrid. 'If that's who I think it is …'

Ron and Ginny followed her shaking finger to rest their eyes on what Hagrid was cradling in his arms. It wasn't a what … it was a who.

Somebody was lying limply, with mouth lolling open and head dangling off the side of Hagrid's arm to reveal several inches of pale white neck. Somebody with round glasses that were sliding up the bridge of his nose, and whose messy jet-black hair had fallen back to reveal a thin, lightning-shaped scar on his forehead.

The limp body of Harry Potter was lying in Hagrid's arms.

'No,' Hermione whispered. Ron, paler than a ghost, put one arm around her shoulders, all the while still staring at the body of his best friend, as if by looking long and hard enough, he could make it come back to life.

All over the Great Hall, people were whispering, pointing, gasping with shock or moaning in despair as they identified what was in Hagrid's arms. Professor McGonagall, standing in a cluster of teachers, her grey hair escaping its usually flawlessly-tight bun, screamed, 'NO!', a sound that Ginny had never heard before and would never hear again.

Bellatrix Lestrange, the dark-haired Death Eater Ginny had glimpsed earlier in the Forbidden Forest laughed, a cold, cruel laugh that made Ginny want to curse her into a thousand pieces.

'No!' Ron yelled, from next to her, and his voice cracked, and Ginny could sense the despair he felt, now that their last hope was gone.

'No!' Hermione screamed; her eyes were wild as she let loose her pain and sorrow in a single defiant word.

And Ginny could contain herself no longer; fixing her eyes on the body in Hagrid's arms, she shrieked, 'Harry! HARRY!' All the shock and pain she had gone through since she witnessed Harry crumpling into a heap in the Forest after being hit with the world's most dangerous curse now broke free, and she could sense tears forming in her eyes, and what would be the use of brushing them away? She let them fall, collecting in her cheeks and the front of her robes, and did not push Ron away when he edged closer to her, avoiding her eyes. Instead, she laid her head on his shoulder, the tears sliding slowly down.

A/N: The sequel to this story is The Battle's End.