"No," Ginny shot back, hot and steely, a hammer striking metal, "No, I don’t, actually, because I’m tired of you and Harry and everyone else thinking that they’re some kind of martyr or hero or saviour or whatever. Thinking that you can do it all yourself and dirty your hands and keep the rest of us in the dark, just waiting for you to do whatever it is you’re doing. You’re off fighting and torturing and getting hurt and we’re what? Sitting on our hands, getting beaten, translating books, waiting for you to save us?" Derision dripped. 