The First Year

Hating Hospitals

Ginny stood outside the door of Harry's room, gazing at him through the narrow window. She glanced over her shoulder at George. He had stopped halfway down the corridor, and now leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. 'Aren't you coming?' she asked, biting her lip over the plaintive tone of her voice.

George shook his head. 'No. I'm good here.'

Ginny turned her head back to the window. Harry lay motionless in the bed, his face pale against the dark green sheets, half-healed cuts and scrapes scattered over his cheeks. Save for the slight rise and fall of his chest, he reminded her of Fred and she was reasonably sure George felt the same way. She pushed the door open and dropped her schoolbag next to it. 'Ginny... Hermione... How did the two of you get here?' Molly asked in surprise.

'George came to Hogwarts and asked Professor McGonagall if he could bring us here,' Hermione said. Ginny nodded, staring at Harry open-mouthed. She went to the bed and reached for his hand, but it was covered in pale blue paste. Both of his hands were coated in the paste, resting on squares of gauze.

'What happened?' Ginny asked, surprised at how steady her voice sounded, when she was certain everyone could see how badly she was shaking.

'He was in the right place at the wrong time,' a middle-aged wizard Ginny had never seen said.

'Who are you?' she asked.

'Ginny!' Molly hissed, shocked at her daughter's rude tone.

Ginny rubbed her fingers over her eyes. 'Sorry,' she mumbled.

'Peter Wilson. I'm Harry's supervisor,' Peter told her, impressed at Ginny's reactions. He'd been around family members who were twice her age who didn't handle run-of-the-mill curse damage nearly as well as she was coping with injuries from a bomb detonation. 'He was going to a pub to investigate its patrons when a bomb exploded inside it. He was far enough away from the pub that he avoided being seriously wounded,' he explained woodenly. 'We tried to notify him that he needed to leave, but we weren't able to warn him in time.'

Ginny inhaled slowly, her nose wrinkling at the odor of the potions coating Harry's hands and the worst of the cuts on his face. 'I see,' she said levelly. 'What's wrong with him?'

'The worst is a concussion, but he ought to recover from that in a few weeks. He's had a few broken ribs, the cuts on his face and hands, and a few deeper wounds from flying debris,' Peter recited. 'He's been given a rather strong potion for the pain, and that's why he sleeping.'

Ginny nodded silently, her fingers brushing over Harry's arm. She turned and walked to the door. 'Need the loo...' she muttered, quickly slipping out of the room. She strode across the waiting area, her hands clenched into fists, shoving open the door marked, "Ladies' Toilets". Ginny darted into the nearest stall and locked the door, leaning against it. She felt tears bubble to the surface and let them fall, relieved that it wasn't worse, then a wave of irrational anger. It's not dangerous, my arse! she thought, slamming a fist against one of the stall's divider walls.

'Ginny?' Hermione's voice echoed off the tiled walls and floor. 'I've gotten a good look at the state of this floor, and I'm not about to crawl on it, looking under the doors for your feet.'

Ginny unlocked the door and peered through the gap. 'I'm all right,' she said, wiping her hands over her face.

'Your dad just sent a message to Professor McGonagall saying we'd come back on Sunday.'

'Okay.'

'And the Healer just came by and said we had to go for the night. But we'll be back in the morning, and Harry ought to be awake by then.'