Ginny/Neville
Neville was not having a good morning, although compared to some others that he'd had that week, it was practically a holiday. Rosier had escorted him to the Great Hall, walked him to his place and told him in no uncertain terms that he was to stay there until he came to pick him up again. Standing was still an effort, though not impossible, and the prospect of doing it for hours while people poked and prodded at him was almost more than he could bear. Not that anyone would be very interested, he thought. He was pale, he still had dark circles under his eyes and he wore bandages around his wrists to hide the bruised and damaged skin. At least he was clean, which he had to admit was an intense relief.
He was concentrating on keeping his footing when he felt something poke him in the back and he flinched. He glanced over his shoulder at the sound of his name, and his heart leapt at the sight of Ginny. "Hi," he said a little hoarsley.