Angels fall without you there. I think that's what she said to me. She was reading – she's always reading, even now, though it's more to take her mind off things now than anything else – this romance novel that Ginny had given her and prone to speaking like that, halfway between dramatic and religious. She prays, you know, every day. I never knew she prayed before, did you? She never mentioned it to me and she didn't seem like the type, at any rate, too cynical to believe in something that couldn't be proven. But she prays now, ever since Ginny – yeah. You weren't around for that. She left us after you did.
Left. Honestly. We're surrounded by bloody death here, up to our knees in blood – not literally, I think Hermione must be rubbing off on me – and it still feels like saying the words will make it real, as if it isn't real enough already. Fine. She's dead, Harry, just like you are. She died. My baby sister – she was sixteen. It seems so young. I'll be eighteen next month – do you remember that, wherever you are? – and I always thought that meant that you were old – a grown-up, anyway – but I didn't think it meant this. I didn't think it meant fighting in a battle that I don't think we can win.
Hermione used to tell me to be optimistic and to stop thinking so negatively. She hasn't said that in a while. She just reads her book in the spare moments that she has, while we wait for the inevitable, and traces the letters in the title with her finger so tenderly, almost like she thinks that by doing that, Ginny will feel it, Ginny will know.
We all thought we had the rest of our lives to say our I-love-yous, that's the problem. Even when the war started, we never thought we'd lose. Not when we had you on our side, not when we had such determination and courage, not when even the kids like Ginny and Colin were prepared to do whatever it took to help win.
I don't think I really knew what we were getting into, not then. All I could see was the bravery, these magnificent warriors preparing for battle, and I never thought that there was really going to be so much pain and horror and blood.
I never thought we'd lose you. I don't think anyone else did, either, and ever since then all we've been doing is falling back, falling back, and being slaughtered, and suddenly the proud fighters are weeping and sobbing and screaming and dying, and if you were here, it wouldn't be like this, it couldn't be.
I miss you in a selfish way, too. I hate that you're not here with us, where you belong. I hate that everything is so hopeless. I know they're coming for us, for the last few survivors, and there's nothing we can do. Not anymore.