𝙻𝙾𝙲𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽 : st mungo’s hospital for magical maladies and injuries !
𝙵𝙴𝙰𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙸𝙽𝙶 : @dolors / @hoggleswart / @evitantiisms / @roonils !
she had given up on trying to fall asleep somewhere in the first few hours of waiting, but they’d be forgiven for thinking she’d finally managed it. realising that she couldn’t stand even the thought of small talk at a time like this, ginny had curled herself up into a tight ball on the plastic hospital chairs claimed her own, facing the wall so the light didn’t catch on her open eyes and betray her. even if she’d wanted to, she’d never have gotten a peaceful rest when the very worst of the thoughts that were running around her mind conjured up even worse images, when she closed her eyes.
as she lay there, she tried to focus on everything but her worries - the soft beeping from machines a corridor away, the gentle hum of voices from the opposite direction, even the ache beginning to set into her bones that she actively refused to remedy because at least it offset the sickly feeling in her stomach that only grew the longer that she waited - but it was no good. thoughts strayed back to molly no matter how hard she willed them elsewhere and the idea of her mother being a survivor didn’t bring the kind of comfort that ginny desperately wanted when that could now only be found in her arms. she didn’t realise that she’d started crying until one silent tear made a path over her nose, dripping to the plastic below her head.
a long time later, the sound of the waiting room door opening and closing again drew her back into the room with a start. eyes now dry but bleary, ginny unfolded her limbs and forced herself into an upright seated position, every muscle in her body protesting the sudden change. “what is it? is there any news?” voice hoarse from hours of disuse and sheer exhaustion, ginny was too over eager to hear whatever they might know to care how absolutely disheveled she looked and sounded, “is mum okay?”
He feels like shit. They all do, of course, for any number of fucking reasons that are all valid and all stem back to the shit-show of the derby and he’s got to get his shit together. Self-pity isn’t helping anything, least of all his siblings. And as he’s the oldest child on deck at the moment, there’s a distinct feeling of shouldering the responsibility here. It falls to him to be the barer of bad news. To shoulder their pain on top of his own. Not to Percy, who took up the helm when both he and Bill left. Not to Ron and Ginny, who have seen their fair share of carnage. Not to George, left without a twin. To Charlie.
So when he steps into the waiting room and watches his sister jerk to consciousness, he puts on a brave face. He drops into the seat beside her, careful to keep his expression optimistic, hopeful in the face of the absolute fuck-all he has to offer. Hands fold in his lap and he leans forward to brace his elbows on his knees. “Nothing much to report, really, Gin.” It sounds strained even to him, and his throat closes up at the end, choking on the sound. “I wish I had something helpful, I just... needed a minute.”
The truth. Not pretty, but what he has to offer. Charlie looks at her for a moment, runs his fingers through his hair, tries to come up with something better to say. “Have you gotten any sleep?”