"Should we try again to attack?" Ginny asked the room. "We don't have magic, but we have numbers. Instead of five against two, we could be fifty against a handful."

There was a thick silence, and someone said, "After what happened... with Parvati and Lydia... I just—"

"I'd be more afraid of living than dying, if I were you," Pansy said, staring at her nails.

"Are you volunteering with me, Parkinson?" Ginny asked.

Pansy smirked. "I don't volunteer."

Ginny looked over at her. "Hermione? What do you think? They haven't upped the number of guards. It's still just Dolohov and at least one more. The next time they come into the room, we could... I don't know." Ginny let her arms drop to her side.

Ginny stared at her, hopeful, excited. Hermione stared back.

Ginny had private showers for five days now. She hadn't watched Lydia Baxter bleed to death in front of her. She hadn't listened to Luna's screaming. She hadn't felt the heat of Dolohov's hand between her legs, hadn't felt his foul breath as he talked in slow whispers about what he wanted to do to her body.

Ginny had a voice.

And it was brilliant that she still wanted to use it. Truly. But Hermione was already having trouble making eye contact with people. And she knew enough about shock, and submission, and torture to know that she was not in the right state of mind to discuss this right now. That people would die, and it would live on Hermione's soul like a fungus.

Ginny was waiting for an answer. The entire room was.

Hermione still had no voice. Instead, she shrugged.

Then, watched Ginny blink at her. Watched several of the younger girls look away, eyes wet. Watched Pansy's eyes narrow and Penelope Clearwater's gaze drop.

Luna took her hand, laced their fingers together and hummed a small song.

"Nothing?" Ginny scowled. "Just"—she shrugged, an imitation of her—"Just nothing?" She laughed, a hollow sound. "Merlin, Hermione! Think! Give an opinion! Isn't that what you're good at?"

Ginny's eyes were wide and on fire. Several girls shifted and stared with rapt attention.

"Ginny—" Cho started.

"No! She's always thinking. Always with the plan and always two steps ahead of everyone else, planning adventures no one else is invited on, and saving the world whenever Harry asks, but now Harry's dead and she can't be bothered to care?" Ginny sucked in air, voice quivering. Hermione felt her cheeks flush and tears spring to her eyes. "She's not fighting!"

"She did fight! She lost!" Mortensen yelled.

"Then she fights again!" Ginny snapped back. "If she doesn't—" Ginny turned to face her, addressing her again. "If you don't fight then what the fuck are the rest of us supposed to do?!" She gestured to the room of them. Hermione felt a buzzing in her ears. "Kingsley and McGonagall are gone. So, there's just you, Hermione! If Harry were here, he'd—"

Her voice cracked, like it had been cut in half. She moved her lips wordlessly, squeaking.