A/N: This will be a collection of oneshots about the aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts, focusing on characters who are mourning people they really shouldn't be mourning – or at least that's what they tell themselves. Meaning: Major angst ahead!

This is something I'm doing on a whim as I'm working on a much longer story, the first chapter of which should be up soon! (Hopefully within a week, but definitely by the end of the month).

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Bob Dylan (I named this story after his song "Dirge," which I think fits the theme pretty well. If you like Bob Dylan I'd recommend giving it a listen).

Oh, and please review. I'm open to suggestions about who I should write about. So far, besides Ginny, I've written Luna and Narcissa, and have ideas for Andromeda and Neville, but if you have someone you'd like me to write about, tell me in a review. Be sure to say who they'd be grieving for.

Dirge

"I hate myself for loving you and the weakness that it showed."

-Dirge, Bob Dylan

Chapter One: Ginny

She tells her mum she's going to look for Harry and Ron and Hermione in Gryffindor Tower, and she means to go there, really she does, but her feet lead her somewhere else entirely and before she knows it she is standing on the damp stone floor of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. The bathroom is empty – Myrtle must be celebrating in the Great Hall with the rest of the ghosts, hard as it is to imagine Myrtle celebrating.

The broken mirrors, the molding walls, the damp floor – compared with the rest of the castle, Myrtle's bathroom is in pristine shape. She hasn't been here since her first year, so she doesn't know where that new crack in the mirror came from or how the far stall lost its hinges, but this small, battered bathroom still looks more familiar than the Great Hall. Standing on these ancient stones, staring at her reflection in the broken mirror, she feels like she's eleven again. It's not a pleasant feeling.

She hates Voldemort and she's glad he's dead, she tells herself fiercely and knows in the telling that it's true. She knew it had to end like this, wouldn't have had it any other way. She never thought once, in the years since he's come back, that she didn't want Voldemort dead.

If only Harry hadn't called him Tom.

That word, that name, on Harry's lips of all people – that name, Tom, made her think. For it isn't just Voldemort that's dead, it's Tom Riddle too, Tom the lonely orphan who felt out of place at Hogwarts, Tom who was embarrassed by his patched secondhand clothes, Tom who didn't have anyone who understood him.

Tom who was her only friend her first year. Tom who she'd told everything to, who'd confided in her in turn. And though she knows that he manipulated her, crept his way into her heart so he could get to Harry, she also knows that the things he said were true – Hermione told her what Harry saw in Dumbledore's pensieve, and it all fits, all matches up.

And she still can't help but feel sorry for, feel a strange kinship to that friendless teenager in threadbare robes.

She stares angrily at her reflection as the tears spill over and her face grows blotchy.

If only Harry hadn't called him Tom.

Please review!!