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It was the sixth day of summer break, and Harry was lying across his bed, just staring at the ceiling and brooding, trying not to think about Sirius and failing horribly.

Just when he was contemplating how that stain to the left of the second largest crack in the ceiling looked a bit like Australia if he squinted, he was effectively distracted by Pidwigeon flying in his open window.

Hedwig gave a hoot of disapproval, but Pig just twittered at her and dropped on Harry's stomach. Harry stared at the owl for a moment before he registered that yes, this was indeed Pig. Yes, Pig did indeed have a letter tied to his leg. Yes, this letter was probably for Harry.

He half-heartedly untied the letter from the tiny owl's leg. It would be from either Ron or Hermione, saying that they were really busy and couldn't tell him anything. Even though he understood, it got a bit old after reading it half a dozen times.

To his surprise, he found the handwriting on the back unfamiliar. It was just a folded piece of parchment with his name scribbled across the back in a loopy, smooth script.

Ron's handwriting was large and spiky, and Hermione's was small and neat. This handwriting was a bit irregular, but easily read. He had no idea who it was from.

He was staring at his name scrawled across the back when Pig nipped at his finger. He was apparently waiting for a reply. Harry tore open the letter, feeling that, after all, he had nothing better to do.

He checked the signature at the bottom and was surprised at the identity of the sender.

Harry,

I decided to write and let you know what's going on. I don't want you to go mad, after all. Of course, I have a feeling that you're already quite bonkers, so I'm not sure a letter will help. But I'll try my best.

We're all at you-know-where. Dumbledore says we'll come for you soon, but I can't tell you how soon in case this letter is intercepted.

Ron seems to have bad luck where robes are concerned. Another set tried to strangle him, but Dung wasn't around, so I had to save him. I'm a regular hero in training. Can I be your apprentice?

Hermione is always off "writing someone," and Ron's in a dither because he thinks it's Krum. It's not, but Hermione would kill me if I told him. She's started keeping a diary, actually, and spends hours sorting her thoughts out. Very logical, that girl. I don't particularly care for diaries myself, if you get my drift. Nasty little things.

Mum's calling me, she probably wants me to help her with dinner or something. Keep your nose clean, mate. I'm always here to lend an ear.

Not literally, of course, because they're attached to my head. But I'll listen to you, or read your letters if you want to write back, or whatever.

Ginny

It was the bit about keeping his nose clean that caught him. It was something Sirius would say, something Sirius had said, and it oddly didn't hurt Harry to see it in Ginny's loopy handwriting.

He was glad she'd written. Although her letter was mainly a whole load of nothing, she'd made him laugh. Laughter was hard to come by, and he was grateful that she was doing her best to keep him informed.

Ron and Hermione wrote about the big stuff, and how busy they were, but Ginny's letter was like an idle conversation between old friends. He was glad she wanted to be his friend, as she seemed to be the only one who got it. How it irritated him to be out of the loop, to not know what was going on in his friends' lives, and the regular everyday stuff that you miss when you're somewhere far away.

He desperately wanted her to write again, so he went to his desk, pulled out a piece of parchment, an ink bottle and a quill, and began to scribble.

Ginny,

Thanks for the letter.

It was a relief to find out that everything is business as usual. Ron being angry, Hermione off for hours studying, and your mum yelling. By Godric, I can almost hear her now.

It's not all it's cracked up to be, being a hero's apprentice. You have to clean the hero's shoes, make the hero's dinner, and dust the hero's bookshelves. Are you really prepared for that? I didn't think so.

What kind of thoughts would Hermione have that she needs to spend hours writing them down? Is she in danger of forgetting them?

Good for you for rescuing Ron from the robes. He does seem to have a spot of bad luck where robes are concerned. Especially those nasty lacy ones from fourth year. Maroon. What was your mum thinking?

I am indeed staying out of trouble. It's hard to get into trouble when you're cooped in a house with people who don't like you.

Thanks for the offer of an ear, although I have two fine ones myself. If I need to talk, I'll let you know. I'm still just trying to sort everything out myself.

I don't have anyone calling me, but I've run out of things to say. So I'll stop writing before this letter gets irreversibly boring. Write back soon, I'll be waiting by the window.

And you think I'm joking.

Harry

He read his letter over again. He wanted to make her laugh, to return the favor. That was the best he could do at the moment, so he shrugged and decided it would have to do. He folded it into thirds and wrote Ginny across it, then walked to Hedwig's cage, where Pig was eating out of her bowl and eyeing her as if daring her to do something about it.

"Take this one to Ginny, Pig," Harry ordered, fastening the letter to Pig's leg and carrying him to the window.

*

Ginny sighed and looked at Hermione, who was writing industriously at the desk in the room they shared at the Order of the Phoenix.

"Still writing in that thing?" she asked.

Hermione made an indistinct noise in her throat.

"I'll take that as a yes," Ginny said. "Honestly, between your diary and Ron's sullenness, my tongue will wither from disuse."

"Ginny!" Mrs. Weasley called up the stairs.

There was no need to be quiet anymore. Upon hearing of Sirius's death, Mrs. Black's portrait had fallen off the wall in shock. They'd put her in the basement to get away from her gleeful cackling.

"Yes, Mum?" Ginny yelled.

"You've got a letter," Mrs. Weasley shouted.

Hermione looked up. "From who? Dean?"

Ginny shrugged, leapt off the bed, rushed out of the room and clattered down the stairs. She refused to hope that Harry had written back so soon, or even written at all. She would not think about it.

When she reached the ground floor hallway, Mrs. Weasley handed her a piece of parchment with her name scribbled across the back.

"Thanks, Mum," Ginny said, flashing her mother a smile and heading back up the stairs.

"Who is it from, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

"Dunno," Ginny said vaguely. When she reached the landing her room was on, she found Ron standing outside her door.

"Who's the letter from?" he asked.

"None of your business," Ginny replied airily, intending to rile him up.

"Dean?" Ron snapped. Ginny opened it and looked at the signature. She then laughed aloud.

"Nope, not Dean," she said mysteriously, and walked into her room before Ron could say another word. She knew he wouldn't follow her, because Hermione was in there.

She ran across the room and jumped into her bed, making the bedsprings creak and Hermione look up from her diary.

"Who's it from?" Hermione asked.

"No one," Ginny said, holding back a grin. Hermione rolled her eyes and went back to her diary.

It was from Harry. Harry didn't reply to anyone's letters, he hadn't all week. But he answered her little bit of idiocy. The sheer pride of causing a reaction in the boy they all wanted to comfort and cheer up made her giggle uncontrollably and fall back onto her comforter.

That was why she did it. It had to be. She was completely past the stage where she giggled and fell dramatically across her bed on account of Harry Potter. Yet here she was, doing it again.

Ginny pushed that thought to the back of her mind and opened the letter. She perused it quickly, chuckling a bit and totally aware of the huge, goofy smile she was currently sporting.

She jumped up and went over to her school trunk, rummaging around until she found what she was looking for. An intricately carved box that her Uncle Algernon had given her for Christmas three years ago.

It was carved with impossibly tiny animals, flowers, and random objects like stools, rings, streetlights, and picture frames. They fit together effortlessly, as if great big elephants belonged in the same area as candlesticks, which to Ginny said that someone had spent a lot of effort on it. Some of the finer details were gold leafed, and the honey-colored wood shone like brass.

She'd been waiting three years for something worthy to store in that beautiful box, and as such it was completely empty. It was just the right size for school regulation-sized parchment, which was the kind Harry wrote on.

She put Harry's letter inside the box with no small amount of chagrin, realizing that she'd never throw it away.

She then took a fresh piece of parchment and writing materials, and began to compose a reply.

*

Harry spent the next morning staring at his ceiling, trying to decide whether the spot looked more like Australia or a polar bear. When Pig flew back through the window at around ten, Harry practically smothered the poor creature in his hurry to get the letter.

Harry,

I've decided I don't want to be a hero's apprentice That's too much work. I will be the damsel in distress, and you can come rescue me. All I have to do is look helpless and beautiful, and maybe scream a bit. Don't try any funny business, though, or Ron will have your head.

I really don't know what Hermione writes about. As soon as I send this letter, I'll nick her diary and find out. Probably something along the lines of, "I don't fancy Ron. Ginny is crazy for saying I fancy Ron. Ron's not even that good looking, even if he is tall and muscular and has beautiful blue eyes and...I'm getting off subject. The point is that I don't fancy Ron."

Probably not that interesting.

Yes, I did suggest that she might possibly fancy Ron. She does, am I right? You know I am. I'm always right. This is me we're talking about, after all.

We cleaned the parlor yesterday. A set of wizard encyclopedias beat me over the head. It hurt very much, and Ron laughed at me. I can't believe that prat.

Keep your nose clean. We'll get you out of there as soon as we can. Our favorite werewolf is trying to convince Tonks to let him borrow her Muggle car, but she insists on driving. Trust me, Harry, you don't want Tonks to drive you anywhere.

Ginny

Harry laughed. He couldn't believe she'd suggested Hermione fancying Ron. That was ridiculous.

He put her letter in an old shoebox with the first one. He'd probably never throw them away. She was very funny.

He was grinning like mad. Why couldn't he control his facial expressions anymore?

Ginny,

Did you really tell Hermione that you thought she fancied Ron? That's insane. Ron and Hermione can't stand each other. They fight all the time. He's always on her about studying, and she hates it when he talks about Quidditch, and she thinks he's vain, and he thinks she's a know-it-all...

They sound exactly like my parents when they were in school. Oh, bugger. Thanks a lot, Ginny, now I think my best friends fancy each other. That brings to mind bad, bad mental images, I assure you. You're supposed to keep me from going mad, not drive me to insanity.

I trust you about the whole Tonks thing. Somehow I don't think she'd make the best driver. Remus is fighting a losing battle, however, as she's stubborn as anything. Reminds me of you, actually, but with crazier hair.

Has Hermione made you start studying for your O.W.L.s, yet? I am so glad mine are over, let me tell you. I'm going to be laughing at you all year long. Then the next year you can laugh at me because I'll be doing N.E.W.T.s. That will be terrible.

Harry

*

Ginny recognized his handwriting now, as they'd exchanged quite a few letters by mid-August. Some were serious, some were downright tear-jerking, but most were lighthearted and funny.

In a strange twist of fate, she was dreading the day he would come to Grimmauld Place. She wouldn't be able to write him anymore, and she doubted he'd be as open with her once they were face to face and he remembered that she was just the little Weasley girl.

Ginny,

I miss Quidditch. My Firebolt is glaring at me across the room, I can feel it.

Are you going to be on the team this year? I'm a bit cut off, so I don't know what's going on. Are you trying out for Chaser, or are you staying at Seeker? In which case, where does that leave me?

This season is going to be great. Ron's coming into his own, and you're excellent, and between the three of us we can make up for Sloper and Kirke, right? I wonder who the other Chaser will be. Katie's still here, but that leaves one position open.

My bet is definitely not on Lavender Brown.

I wish I could be there with you and Ron. I want to talk Quidditch, and you two are the only ones who care about it. If I tried to teach Dudley about Quidditch, he'd probably pitch a spaz.

Harry

She read his letter, glowing inside with the warmth and comfortableness of it. He was comfortable with her, he saw her as a friend. It was more than she'd ever dared hope for, to be Harry's friend.

He kept writing sentences including terms like "the four of us" in reference to things he would do with her, Ron and Hermione once they were back at Hogwarts. Phrases like "you and Ron" left her with a stupid grin on her face for hours. She was really one of the group. One of Harry's friends.

She felt her last shred of normalcy leave her. She knew that being Harry's friend wouldn't be easy, that she'd never have a normal life. Writing these letters was like signing her childhood and her innocence away. As long as He Who Must Not Be Named was around, Harry and those who dared associate him would be forced to grow up in a hurry.

But she didn't care. The hopeful, honest, funny, wonderful boy that shined through in Harry's letters deserved all the friends he could get. She was proud to count herself among them.

She added Harry's newest letter to her growing collection, and put the box back in her school trunk. There would be time for one last reply before the Order brought Harry to headquarters. One last letter before their easy, fun conversations by quill ended.

She'd have to actually talk to him. Once she said it, she wouldn't be able to cross it out and start over.

It was a scary thought.

She composed her reply, and took the biggest risk she'd ever taken before. It started out normally enough, but ended on a strangely serious note she wasn't sure translated into only friendship.

But she didn't want to be dishonest.

Harry,

Fred and George stopped by yesterday. They're doing well out of the joke shop, and have bought me a practically scandalous set of dress robes. They're cut all the way down to there, and all the way up to here, I swear to Salazar. What on earth were they thinking? I can't wear them anywhere. If I did, Ron would go mad.

Suddenly, the scandalous dress robes aren't sounding so bad. Ron could do with a bit of craziness. Maybe I'll just loan them to Hermione and save the time.

Speaking of which, you'll never guess what happened last night. I went down to the kitchen to get a late snack, and what should my innocent little eyes see but Remus and Tonks, snogging in the stairwell.

Needless to say, I turned right around and went back to bed. I don't need to deal with things like that. Really, adults should keep the snogging private. That's just wrong.

I hope you'll still talk to me when you get here. You don't know how much I love it when you write. I think I'd go crazy without your letters. I feel like we're much better friends now, and I wish it could just stay this simple forever. I was very surprised to discover that reports of your utter coolness were unexaggerated, and you really are that ace. The person I see in your letters is someone I'd like to keep on knowing indefinitely. Shall we cry friends?

Ginny

The reply came not more than a few hours later, at around eight at night.

Ginny,

They've come to take me you-know-where, but I decided this would be a lot easier by quill than face to face, not only because Ron would blow a gasket if I showed up and started spouting all of this. I assume you haven't told him that you're writing me, do I assume correctly?

On to the point.

Me, too. You're one of the most excellent people I've ever met. Your letters kept me going when I wanted to die of boredom. They kept me distracted from the pain of losing Sirius. Look, I can even write his name now.

I miss him, but I can deal with it. Your letters helped me with that. Thank you for throwing me that lifeline, as I'd have probably done something drastic otherwise.

This is all a round about way of saying that yes, indeed, let us cry friends. I will owe you one until the end of time.

Harry

Ginny fell giggling again, that same stupid smile plastered across her face. What was it about Harry that let him somehow manage to reduce her to a puddle of joy?

"What's with you?" Hermione asked, looking up from the diary she was writing in yet again.

"I just made a new friend," Ginny said.

Hermione chuckled. She was used to Ginny's oddities, and nothing about the girl fazed her.

Footsteps clattered up the stairs. "He's here," Ron shouted. "Harry's here!"

The door burst open, and Ron ran through with Harry at his heels. Hermione jumped up and threw her arms around Harry, who returned her embrace. He looked over her head of bushy hair to Ginny, and grinned when he caught sight of the letter he'd written mere hours before.

They exchanged a glance that said more than words ever could, and then Ginny got up to greet him properly.

"Hello, Harry," she said a little nervously.

"Hey, Ginny," Harry said.

"Is that another letter from Dean?" Ron demanded, squinting at the letter in Ginny's hand.

She grinned. "It could be."

"Is it?" Ron asked.

"Possibly," Ginny evaded.

"Who is it from, Ginny?" Ron said sternly.

"None of your business," Ginny said cheekily.

Ron turned to Harry with an exasperated look. "She's been writing someone all summer long, and won't tell anyone who it is."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Is that so?"

"I admit it!" Ginny shouted dramatically. "It's from Draco Malfoy!"

Ron had to go lie down, as the shock of it turned out to be too much for him.