"Well, she's not gonna talk to me about it," Ron said, "even if I ask. So really, you're the best bet."
He turned onto his side, shoving one arm under the pillow to support his head. He'd been pushing away thoughts of Ginny and broken glass and pools of blood almost constantly the last couple of weeks, especially when he was tired. And the dreams were worse than the thoughts, because they had somehow become mingled with rubble and collapsed walls and Fred staring up at him. He hated it, but he knew where it was coming from. It didn't worry him.
But he and Harry didn't really deal with stress the same way.
"You saw her, yeah? A couple of days ago? How--" Ron stopped, almost not wanting to ask the question. His sister had been released, but the last he'd seen, she'd seemed weak at best. "How was she?"