Finding Direction

Finding Direction

Ginny hesitated before reaching out for the griffin-shaped knocker on the scarred oak door. The pause was long enough for the door to swing open, apparently of its own accord.

"Come in, Miss Weasley."

Ginny pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear and entered. The head's office looked almost exactly as it had during Professor Dumbledore's tenure, but Professor McGonagall had exchanged the chair behind the desk for a much less throne-like model. Ginny hid a smile as she noticed the tartan upholstery; now was not the time for levity.

"Please have a seat." McGonagall's face was unreadable. "You do know why you're here, don't you?"

The idea of playing dumb briefly flashed through Ginny's mind, but she knew that it would only make the inevitable punishment much more painful. She forced herself to nod silently and hide the flare of anger building up inside.

McGonagall gave her a stern look over the top of her glasses before picking up a piece of parchment from her desk. "I have here a letter demanding your immediate expulsion from Hogwarts. However, before I take any action, I would like to hear your side of the story."

With great effort, Ginny kept her voice even. "Yes, I did send Rita Skeeter a package as a response to her latest article in the Daily Prophet, but it's not my fault that she lost the hair on her arms. Everyone knows that the Faultless Flypaper is completely harmless to humans." However, an unregistered Animagus in her beetle form would have a devil of a time unsticking herself.

Even a week after the fact, Ginny still became furious every time she remembered the article. That utter cow had had the nerve to suggest that "Jenny Weesley" had been made captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team merely because she was Harry Potter's "paramour." Using "girlfriend" would have been bad enough, but the other word made everything sound so -- sleazy. Of course the headmistress had granted Ginny the position based on her own merits. Hadn't she?

Meanwhile on the other side of the desk, McGonagall's expression had remained unchanged. "I am glad to hear you acknowledge your role in this affair despite the fact that the original message was sent anonymously. The use of products from your brother's shop strongly pointed to your involvement."

Ginny had trouble keeping a straight face. Was Professor McGonagall suggesting that Ginny's sin had been getting caught?

The headmistress continued. "You will serve detention in the greenhouses helping Professor Sprout for five two-hour sessions. She will be contacting you to determine the exact times." McGonagall started to shift around the parchment on her desk. "I will write a letter to Miss Skeeter outlining our arrangements and reminding her that the punishment should fit the crime."

Ginny was sure that she caught a bit of a twinkle in McGonagall's eye during that last statement. The professor had obviously not liked the reference to herself as a "third-rate pedagogue" in that same article.

Ginny crossed her arms across her chest and grumbled. "Why can't she at least report on something important? Like Umbridge's trial?"

"Indeed, the Daily Prophet's standards of journalism leave much to be desired."

"Yeah, even I could write better than her."

Professor McGonagall looked at her thoughtfully for a second before replying. "Yes, I daresay you could." During Ginny's stunned silence, the headmistress waved her wand and produced a tea set. "Milk or sugar, Miss Weasley?"

Ginny pulled herself out of her reverie long enough to observe the necessary proprieties. "Two sugars, please." She quickly seized her cup and took a sip before continuing. "Do you really think I could write, Professor?"

"I meant every word," said McGonagall briskly. "After reading student essays for over forty years, I can recognize ability when I see it. You have the rare knack to cover a topic thoroughly and clearly but without adding excess padding. It would be an invaluable skill in reporting." She took a sip from her own teacup. "It's been nearly two years since we last discussed your career options. Are you still interested in Auror training? Your course load suggests that you are."

"No," answered Ginny emphatically. "I've battled enough Dark Magic to last a lifetime. I do have a standing offer to join my brother George in the shop, but I tend to see that as a last resort. I also know that a desk job at the Ministry would kill me with boredom. And in all those options I'd just be following in the footsteps of my brothers or my boyfriend. I want to do something, anything, different so I don't have to spend the rest of my life stuck in their shadows." Her voice grew plaintive. "But what else is there?"

"I certainly cannot presume to decide for you, but I applaud your general sentiment." McGonagall's eyes grew distant. "I do know what it's like to spend your career in the shadow of another." Professor Dumbledore's portrait looked troubled at this pronouncement but didn't say anything.

Ginny finished her tea and stood up. The professor gestured at the open biscuit tin on her desk, so Ginny took a ginger newt before heading for the door. "Thank you, Professor."

"Don't forget your detention, Miss Weasley!"

***

The week before the last Quidditch match of the season, Ginny kept circling the pitch on her broom long after the rest of the team had gone inside to dinner. The rare solitude gave her a chance to think. The common room was always too noisy and, although the library was quiet, she somehow felt obliged to do nothing there but study. Her dorm room was impossible, too, crammed as it was with seven beds. Hermione and Parvati had joined the five remaining girls from her own year, but everyone felt the absence of Anna Cooper who was still in St. Mungo's nearly a year after the battle. The thought of her -- and of Colin and Jack who could never come back -- nagged at Ginny and made her feel that she needed to do something important with the rest of her life, since she actually had one.

Still, she had no better ideas for her career after the end of school in June. She envied her friends who seemed to have their futures clearly mapped out. Hermione was already busy creating multiple cross-referenced outlines of the reforms she wanted to introduce to the house-elf department at the Ministry, while Luna was in constant communication with her father as they planned an extended trip to Asia in search of who-knows-what. It seemed like she was the only one who was simply drifting along. It just wasn't fair.

***

It was ten days after leaving Hogwarts for the last time that Ginny found herself at the Burrow alone with her mother. As expected, her mum found a task for her to do.

"Come help me in the sitting room." Ginny dutifully followed her. "You've had a long enough holiday. It's time for you to stop brooding and do something useful."

Ginny glared at her mother's back. "I was not brooding."

Her mum glanced back over her shoulder. "If you say so." She took a seat on the sofa, and Summoned her knitting basket with her wand. "I need help winding these hanks of wool. It's never too early to start on all of the Christmas jumpers." Like Hermione's beaded bag, the battered basket seemed to have no capacity limit. Ginny sighed and obediently held out her hands to hold the yarn as she had done throughout her childhood. Her mother looked at her. "You're nearly eighteen now. Don't you want to handle the other end?"

Ginny blinked. Her mum was acknowledging her change in status? Readily? She silently took her wand from her pocket and tried the Winding Spell for the first time in her life.

"Adglomerus." The first ball was rather untidy, but her mum smiled in encouragement while keeping the yarn from tangling. The second attempt was much neater, so they worked together companionably for a while.

Ginny allowed herself to be lulled by the rhythm and was therefore brought up short by her mother's question.

"So what were those letters that came for you yesterday? I didn't recognize the owls."

Ginny frowned but refrained from snapping that it was nobody's business but her own. She had hoped to have more time to think before the rest of the family became aware of her dilemma. Then again, she thought, it might help to talk about it, even if she wouldn't have chosen her mother as her first confidante. She took a deep breath to prepare for her mum's reaction.

"I got two job offers."

As Ginny had predicted, her mum was excessively enthusiastic. It was only after several incoherent expressions of joy that the pertinent questions were finally asked.

"Now, who are they with?"

"Remember that letter I wrote to the Daily Prophet about the D.A. and the anniversary of the battle?" Her mum nodded, suddenly blinking back tears. "They liked it and want more things like that."

Her mother was thoughtful as she wiped her eyes with the yarn in her hands. "I never thought you'd go back to writing after your experience with the -- well, you know."

Ginny grimaced at the mention of that wretched diary. "I didn't either. But Professor McGonagall suggested it, and I realized that it was a story that needed to be told by someone. Plus, Hermione and Neville gave me so many ideas and plenty of other help. I couldn't have done it without them.

"Of course, I have still have doubts about my ability, but I can't deny that I'd love to beat Rita Skeeter at her own game." She barely restrained herself from adding 'that bitch' before shifting into what Ron called her No-Mum-not-me face. "The fact that this might force her to shape up her act if she wants to remain employed isn't a consideration at all."

Her poor mum looked torn between scolding Ginny and breaking into a smile at the thought of muzzling the loathsome reporter. However, she said nothing except, "And the other offer? I'm guessing that it's the one you really want."

Ginny hesitated. She had worried that her mum would want her to go into something more conventional or find other numerous reasons to disapprove of her choice. She finally blurted it out. "The Holyhead Harpies want me to be on their reserve squad."

Her mum was silent, so Ginny covered up the awkward pause by plowing into her explanation. "They saw me at the last two Gryffindor matches and apparently liked what they saw. It's the chance of a lifetime."

Still her mum said nothing.

"I know I'll have to do a lot of traveling, and the reserve squad doesn't make much money. But in the letter, Gwenog Jones said she thought I might be ready to move up to the first team in a year or two." When her mum still made no response, Ginny couldn't keep from glumly confessing her fears. "I know it seems so -- unimportant. Everyone else seems so busy trying to get the Ministry and Hogwarts back to normal, and I feel so..."

"Don't you dare feel guilty!" Her mum had finally found her voice.

"What?"

"Of course I'd love for you to play Quidditch! People always need some entertainment. After all, who made sure to keep your brothers busy so you could sneak off to the broom shed all those years ago?"

Ginny was in shock. "You knew?"

"Of course I did. You were such a stubborn little thing that I knew you wouldn't let your brothers' teasing stop you. I just gave you some breathing room."

"But you always acted like Quidditch was too tomboyish and that I should be a good girl and knit!" Ginny looked at the lopsided ball of yarn that was unwinding in her lap and blushed. "Sorry, no offence."

Surprisingly, her mum broke into a conspiratorial grin. "It's a well known fact that forbidding something will automatically make it more attractive Didn't I ever tell you that I was Beater for Gryffindor my sixth and seventh years?" Ginny could only shake her head. "So this invitation from the Harpies means you could fulfill one of my childhood dreams."

Ginny was thoughtful. "Why didn't you pursue it?"

"First of all, I just didn't have enough talent. Then I got married and had a baby right away, so all my energy got directed towards home and family. I don't regret a minute of it, but I've had plenty of reasons during the last few years to learn that my way of doing things is not the only way." Her voice trailed off as it often did when something brought the permanently absent Fred to mind.

Still trying to process this new view of her mother, Ginny made a suggestion. "Now that we're all grown and megalomaniacs aren't trying to take over the country, you have a chance to do something else. Something fun."

Her mum answered slowly. "I suppose so. I did enjoy teaching all of you... Wait a minute, weren't we discussing your plans?"

"Yes, but now that I know you'll support me, I've made up my mind to go with the Harpies. Plus, I have something to fall back on if it doesn't work out."

"Have you discussed any of this with Harry?"

"Not that it's any of his business, but I haven't talked to him since the day before yesterday. Anyway, I just know that he'd tell me I needed to choose for myself." Ginny shook her head. "No help at all."

Her mum smiled. "I don't want to influence you either."

"Too late." Ginny spoke quickly to head off her mother's protest. "You just helped me sort out my own reasons." She reached over to give her mum a hug. "Thank you!"

***

Eighteen months later, as Ginny made her debut with the Harpies' first squad, the fan cheering loudest in the stands was her mother. However, this first required hexing Ron into silence for supporting the opposing Cannons. Mum always knows best.

The End

Thanks to PigWithHair for beta-reading.

This story was originally started for the 2008 Femgenficathon on LiveJournal, but I missed the deadline completely. I didn't really use it except to help decide which character to write about, but my prompt was "There are hurts so deep that one cannot reach them or heal them with words." -- Kate Seredy.