Love, and Other Things That Hurt

Chapter Twelve

Ginny's first few steps into The Burrow invoked such a rush of emotion into her heart that, as she emerged into the familiar kitchen with all the recognizable sights and well-known smells, she stopped in her tracks, momentarily frozen.

"Welcome home," Arthur said brightly to Ginny as he followed her inside, carrying her trunk and smiling, heading straight up the stairs adjacent to the kitchen to carry the trunk up to her bedroom. Ginny looked at her mother, who succeeded Arthur into the room. It had been less than six months since last she was home, and somehow it felt like a lifetime.

"You're very emotional, Ginny dear," Molly said gently, laying a hand on Ginny's shoulder. "Is everything alright?"

Ginny smiled ruefully, folding her arms tightly across her chest and contentedly taking in the room where she had once spent hours every day, watching her mother cook delicious meals that the entire family would sit down at the table to eat together, at least before the boys, one by one, began disappearing to Hogwarts during the school year. Only in the summer was everything as it should be. Only in the summer could they reunite and be a family again. Hurriedly, Ginny focused her attention elsewhere.

"Everything's good, Mum," Ginny said, glancing back over her shoulder to look at Molly. At this moment, so far away from all the drama and turmoil that had been plaguing her for weeks now, everything truly did seem, at least temporarily, OK.

"Are you hungry?" Molly asked gaily, crossing to the pantry and beginning to rummage through it. "I'll make you some lovely homemade soup."

"Thanks," Ginny said, stifling a yawn as she kicked off her shoes and hung up her coat on the hat stand near the door. "I'm pretty burnt out from the journey, though. I think I'll just head upstairs to bed."

"Of course." Molly straightened up, recovering her disappointment quickly. "Go on up to bed, love. I've already given you fresh sheets."

"That's great, Mum, thanks," Ginny said, moving over to give her mom a quick hug. "I'll see you in the morning."

She passed her father on the stairs and kissed him on the cheek.

"It's good to have you home, Ginny," Arthur said before bidding her goodnight, and she watched his progress down the stairs before slipping in through the door on the landing and into her bedroom.

She was, inexplicably, surprised to find everything exactly as she had left it - posters in their place on the wall, secondhand Quidditch books stuffed on the bookshelf, and the framed photograph of she, Linnea and Harlow on the nightstand at the Yule Ball in their dress robes (neither of the later had had dates, but Harlow had no intention of missing the party of the year and had somehow managed to gatecrash for the better part of it before getting caught and escorted out by Professor McGonagall). With a sigh, Ginny collapsed on her faded flowered bedspread and stared, upside-down, out of her darkening window, through which she could see the familiar rolling hills, down which the steeple of the church of the small village of Ottery St. Catchpole could just barely be seen.

It was only now, when she had reached her destination for the next unspecified amount of time and no longer had responsibilities such as schoolwork, socializing, and remembering to eat three square meals a day to concern herself with that Ginny was forced to think - for the first time in weeks, she was free from everything and condemned to be trapped inside her own head. The question was, would this time away from the world be what she needed, or would it only make things work?

She closed her eyes. It was becoming, not only painful, but also wearisome to see Draco's face, burned into her eyelids like it had been branded there to pierce her with those eyes the color of fog rolling over the Atlantic. Then again, after the hours and hours of lonely silence on the train, it had almost gotten to the point where the appearance of that face as soon as she let her guard down, instead of causing her that raw, excruciating pain she had been fighting for the past twenty four hours, merely summoned to mind the memories she still had of earlier that year, back when it was all sex and no drama. The memories of the seemingly endless euphoria that accompanied the night she spent wrapped in the arms of the brooding blonde Slytherin she barely knew beyond the word of reputation. The memories of the way he filled her, dissipating her emptiness, invading her shivering heart with the smouldering heat that crackled like an untameable wildfire inside her that positively resurrected Ginny from the person she had been before. She couldn't even remember that girl now.

These memories were only one-dimensional, but they were enough - at least for tonight. Ginny undressed and wrapped herself in the worn comforter on her bed, closing her eyes and slipping resolutely into painless dreams of a life that already seemed too far away to ever retrieve. In these dreams, it didn't matter that her life had become a melodramatic train wreck, and it didn't matter that she was reaping the consequences of the actions that she had always assumed to be worth it, but that had instead torn everything to pieces. All that mattered was each and every isolated moment.

All that mattered was closure, or some semblance of it.

-

After hours of dreaming, Ginny woke up to the initial realization that there was no more anguish. She could no longer feel the storm of resentment churning inside her every time she moved, and when she lifted the corners of her mouth in a smile, she could almost see real light illuminating her hazel eyes from within. Inspired by this breakthrough, Ginny bathed and dressed promptly and went downstairs to help her mother with breakfast.

"Good morning, dear!" Molly said in some surprise, glancing over as her daughter entered the kitchen. "My, you're up early. It must be that you're still used to getting up for your classes. Here we are, you can shred the cheese for the omelettes."

As they worked, in silence except for the wireless radio broadcasting the WWN on low volume on the windowsill, Ginny stared around the spacious kitchen. Without all five of her brothers, it seemed far too big, just as it had for those endless months when Ron had finally entered his first year and Ginny had been bored to tears when faced with the prospect of having to play by herself for the first time in her life.

"It must be weird for it just to be you and Dad here all year long," Ginny commented musingly as she finished with the cheese and started sautéing the mushrooms in the saucepan on the stove. Molly smiled.

"Oh, it was so difficult to send Bill off to his first year at Hogwarts," she said reminiscently, pausing in the acting of whisking the egg whites. "It was as though I was sending him off to war. I did love having the full house, particularly right after you were born and our family was finally complete, and I suppose it was never the same once I started sending the boys off to school." She glanced over at Ginny. "I'm sure you miss your brothers terribly."

Ginny shrugged, even though the statement was truer than Molly could imagine. Although Ginny was too young to clearly remember Bill leaving for Hogwarts, the memory of bidding Fred and George farewell on the day they left for Hogwarts for the first time was clear. Ginny had burst into tears as they hugged her goodbye and had been inconsolable for several days after. As though Molly could read her mind, she scrutinized Ginny's expression and said, "Fred and George visit quite often, love. It is hard that Bill, Charlie and Percy work so far away, but the twins try to make it back every week or so. I'm sure they'll be so pleased to see you."

Ginny gave a compulsory a smile, but before she had to say anything else, she was forced to excuse herself to be sick in the downstairs toilet. Resting her forehead against the cool porcelain of the side of the toilet, she forced herself to inhale deep gulps of air before climbing to her feet again. Although she couldn't deny that she missed her brothers and wished she could see them, she felt a slight sense of trepidation. Few people credited them for it, but both Fred and George had a significant amount of intuition, and not just towards each other. The idea of any of her brothers discovering, with any degree of certainty, anything of the situation at large made Ginny feel like she was going to heave again.

When she finally returned to the kitchen after washing her face and brushing her teeth once more, she was surprised to find her father sitting at the kitchen table just tucking into a sizzling omelette on toast Molly had just set in front of him with his usual cup of tea.

"Morning, Dad," Ginny said, somewhat nonplussed. "What are you doing here? Why aren't you at work?"

"Not too much to do today," Arthur said brightly, gesturing towards another chair at which Molly had already set down a plate of food obviously intended for Ginny. "Perkins reckons he can handle it, so I'm taking the morning off. I may have to go in later, though, if things get really nasty."

"They're working your father much too hard," Molly tsked, waving her wand at the saucepan lying in the suds in the sink, which immediately began to writhe in the soapy water, cleaning itself. "He's been in and out of the office non-stop for several weeks now.

"Muggle pranksters," Arthur said fondly. "Completely unintentionally, of course, they unknowingly provoked a group of young wizards, who were not pleased and in turn, er - jinxed their pants off."

Despite herself, Ginny felt a rush of affection for her father and the ridiculousness of his career. "And what happened after that?" she asked.

"Their pants adhered to their feet and they were unable to pull them back up," Arthur said gravely. "Of course, the culprits were sternly apprehended, particularly as the spectacle was witnessed by half the town's population, and all was well in the end, although we have a few awkward questions to answer."

"You did perfectly well," Molly said, lovingly bringing him more toast and kissing him on the cheek so that he smiled up at her. Ginny watched them, their subtle, natural interactions that they had been having since they were her age and fell in love, and felt herself growing wistful once more.

"Mum," she said abruptly, poking her fork on her untouched omelette. "Dad. How did you two . . . get together?"

Arthur beamed up at his wife, who looked, for some reason, embarrassed. "Unfortunately, I still remember," Molly said wryly, her mouth moving into a sheepish smile. "Do you, Arthur?"

"Of course," Arthur said fondly. "It was in our fourth year at Hogwarts, right in the first week of school. We were both late to Potions class -"

"Which, in my case, was for reasons far out of my control," Molly was quick to qualify.

"Anyway," Arthur continued. "It just so happened that we met while hurrying in the same direction. You see, I had been in my dormitory, tinkering with the most delightful Muggle invention - do you know it, Ginny? It's called a rubber duck."

"I've heard of them, yes," Ginny said, smiling.

"Well, quite unfortunately, one of the spells got a little...tricky -"

"If you can believe this, dear," Molly cut in. "Your father somehow managed to transfigure that poor rubber duck onto his - well, his sensitive area."

There was a brief moment of incredulous silence.

"You're kidding," Ginny said blankly. "Dad, how on earth does one do that?"

"I wish I knew," Arthur said grimly. "In any case, it was quite awkward, trying to hide the....situation under my robes. It was quite prominent, you see. I had specifically tracked down the jumbo-sized rubber duck in order to perform the experiments with greater ease."

"Oh my God," Ginny said, trying very hard not to visualize her father running down the Hogwarts corridors with a noticeable bulge in his pants. "Can we move on with the story?"

"Well, naturally, I noticed something," Molly said, the tips of her cheeks tinged pink. "It was just so -"

"But even so," Arthur continued. "She didn't mention it. Just sort of stared at me and continued down the hallway with me following her. I was so ashamed, I kept trying to engage her in random conversation, but she seemed quite distracted."

"Well, how was I to have known what it was?" Molly put in defensively. "I was mortified as well, naturally."

"And then what?" Ginny asked, wondering where on earth this story could be going.

"We entered the classroom, and our Professor - who was it, dear? Slughorn's predecessor . . . oh dear. Cogsward, wasn't it, Arthur? In any case, he was not pleased," Molly said matter-of-factly. "He made several disparaging comments about it to the class at large, and I remember, poor Arthur was so embarrassed -"

"Horrified," Arthur said fervently. "I was a timid thing at that age. And all this in front of Molly Prewett, the prettiest girl in the year."'

"Oh, Arthur," Molly admonished, though she looked pleased. "Now, keep in mind, Ginny, I wasn't the type of girl to get involved in things that were not my business. I came from an old wizarding family, same as Arthur, but mine was certainly a - proud lot. But I took one look at Arthur's face, and it was as red as your hair, dear, and I couldn't help myself. I told off that old professor in front of everyone, even going so far as to insinuate that I -" Molly broke off, blushing furiously.

"What?" Ginny inquired in some trepidation.

"I - er, may have insinuated something along the lines of...er, being at fault for Arthur's - situation."

Ginny stared at her mother. "Mum!"

"What?" Molly said defensively. "I may have been brought up to be respectful of my elders, but I had no trouble speaking up when I was displeased. And Arthur caught my eye and we were both trying not to smile, even though I was turning pink now as well, and the whole class had heard."

"It was later that day that I approached her in the common room," Arthur said with a reminiscent sigh. "I thanked her profusely and explained the situation. And we both laughed, and . . . things just fell into place. Nothing ever needed to be said about it, really. It was just understood. And we were inseparable."

Ginny's parents smiled vaguely at each other, Molly's hand resting on Arthur's shoulder, his on her other hand. And nobody spoke for a good few moments, during which Ginny stared from her mother to her father and back again, although she didn't speak.

As Molly bustled back to the sink to start the washing up and Arthur tucked into his omelette with the Daily Prophet open before him, Ginny reluctantly let her mind drift to a different story about a relationship's beginning. As Ginny perused the memories of months before, she was dimly surprised to find that if she tried hard enough, the all-too-vibrant memories of the past few days which, despite her attempted suppression, still managed to sting her through the layers of mental blocks she had built around her heart, paled in comparison to the less palpable pain of the earlier days of the relationship. She still remembered the night when, out with Harlow and a reluctant Linnea, attempting to find the way into the Hufflepuff common room, they were discovered and pursued by Filch. After several minutes of panicked sprinting in random directions, Ginny had glanced wildly around and found that Linnea was no longer with her. With the sound of Filch's wheezing breathing fast approaching, Ginny had randomly grabbed the handle of the nearest door, found it mercifully open, and flung herself inside. As it took her a moment to register that the room she had entered was in the same location as the headquarters for Dumbledore's Army, Ginny had almost had a coronary on turning abruptly around, and finding herself in a spacious room with a four poster bed in the middle and bookshelves lining the walls, and, even more disconcertingly, face-to-face with Draco Malfoy.

Ginny sighed wearily to herself as she absentmindedly continued playing with her breakfast. The exact details of the exchange were blurry, but every night for the remainder of that week, despite Draco's clearly apparent irritation, Ginny returned to the Room of Requirement under the pretence of needing a new, quiet place to do some late night studying, a fresh environment with no distractions. For those four nights, they bantered in equally disdainful and irritable tones, and little though Ginny wanted to acknowledge it, sexual tension like she had never known before intensified with each passing moment they remained in each other's presence. Ginny couldn't explain to herself the reason she kept returning to the Room of Requirement to spend the night hours sniping back and forth with Malfoy, let alone to him, but she felt an invisible force driving her out of bed to dress and grab a few random textbooks, up staircases and down corridors until she entered the room that materialized there. While Ginny studied, to some degree, Draco merely sprawled across the four poster bed, reading or just watching the blank ceiling for hours on end, and when Ginny asked him why he came all the way up here from the Slytherin dungeons night after night just to lay in bed, he ignored her.

Of course, it had been he who had provoked her. Despite the fact that he displayed his displeasure at her constant presence with no hold barred, Ginny noticed that Draco never missed a chance to acknowledge her presence through his attempts to try and get under her skin. Even when both of them fell silent, Draco tended to break the silence with cutting remarks or scathing observations, usually on Ginny's family or just Gryffindor house in general.

"So what's the real reason you're here?" Draco drawled on this occasion, raising his eyebrows over the gold-bound tome he was consumed in entitled 'Yes, You Are the Master: Why They Can't Handle That'. "Potter invite some new dime-a-dozen Gryffindor into his bed?"

"Harry and I are not together," Ginny said through gritted teeth, turning a page of her Astronomy book so fiercely the page nearly tore. "And you are clearly an idiot for thinking otherwise."

"Except in your dreams, is that right?" Draco said lazily. "You people are so predictable."

Ginny had irritably slammed her book shut and scowled at him. "You don't know anything about me, Malfoy, so why don't you just shut the hell up?"

Draco closed his book too, sitting up with interest. "Is that denial I hear in your astringent tones, Weasley? Why so defensive?"

"You are just like everyone else," Ginny spat at him, a dark flush rising to her cheeks. "Talking at me, like what I say and how I feel doesn't matter."

"It doesn't," Draco said, deadpan.

Ginny had gotten to her feet, angrily tossing her hair over her shoulder. "I'm not just an open book, OK?" she said furiously, gesturing at the closed Astronomy book on the chair beside her. "I'm not as simple as everyone thinks I am. I'm different. I -" She caught Draco's expression and faltered. "I -"

"What makes you different?" Draco had asked her coolly, moving to the edge of the bed and watching her, leaning back on one hand.

"I just am," Ginny said after a lengthy pause, glaring at him. "Who are you to judge?"

Draco stood, taking a step towards her. "I know you," he said, eyeing her with distaste. "Because I have been in close quarters with a lot of girls at this place, and something I've come to realize, Weasley, is that none of you are different."

"You would know," Ginny shot back. "You are the perfect example of the cliché stereotype you probably embrace, not caring about anything but yourself, just like every single other boy who has ever walked this earth."

"Ginny," Molly said, abruptly interrupted Ginny's musings and appearing at the table, looking concerned. "What's wrong? You haven't touched your breakfast."

Ginny closed her eyes and felt the healed-over wounds immediately tear through the fragile scar tissue, consuming her in misery all over again. She felt suddenly exhausted, too overwhelmed by all these visitations to the past, especially when it was future she should be concerned about.

"Mum," Ginny said suddenly, looking up at her. "Why is love worth it?"

Arthur glanced quickly at Molly, who looked to Ginny in concern. "What do you mean, dear?" Molly said looking taken aback.

"I mean...what makes two people believe that being in love and being together is worth everything they go to in order to protect it?" Ginny said, staring imploringly from one parent to the other, as though searching their eyes for the answer to the question that had suddenly occurred to her and she had voiced involuntarily.

"I don't know what you mean, Ginny," Molly said, frowning and placing her hand on Ginny's arm. "With your father and I, there weren't any obstacles. We just...fit together." She looked to Arthur, who nodded in agreement. "It was meant to be, and things just worked out for us. That's why we got married straight out of Hogwarts and started our family right away. We had nothing to lose."

Ginny's hand automatically slid to her abdomen and closed into a fist, pressing against her clothed skin. "What if you do have something to lose?" she asked in a small voice, but this time it was her father who answered.

"Ginny," he said sternly, taking her hand and squeezing it tight in both of his, making her look at him. "Don't worry about all that right now. You're young."

"You don't understand," Ginny murmured, and Molly nudged Arthur significantly.

"She's just curious," she murmured pointedly, and, ignoring the face that Ginny was rolling her eyes, Arthur looked at her solemnly.

"Love," he began, Molly smiling at him encouragingly, "is a magical thing."

"Yeah, I've heard," Ginny said flatly. "I just wish people would stop giving me fairy tales and start giving me reality."

"Ginny!" Molly admonished, startled, but Arthur merely smiled forlornly.

"It's alright, Molly," he said, placing a hand on his wife's arm. "She's just at that age..."

Ginny felt a stab of irritation that she immediately felt ashamed of when she saw Molly's worried face. "I just meant," she said, more calmly now, "that I want to know the answer for real, Dad. I know all about love being a magical thing."

"Now, I'm not so sure you do," Arthur said thoughtfully, perusing her face with his gaze. "It's something I noticed ever since Bill and Charlie started at Hogwarts, all those years ago. They would come home on the holidays with stories of the pretty girls in their classes, sending letters back and forth non-stop throughout the summer, going on little dates to Hogsmeade, and then - just like that - it would be over."

"Over?" Ginny asked.

"Yes," Arthur said, nodding wistfully as he sipped his tea. "Oh, to be young. Love that is so passionate one day, and forgotten the next. From what I understand, you've been seeing a few different fellows socially in the past few years, just like most girls your age. But they are impermanent, are they not? You see, Ginny, that's how it is in your school years. You change your mind. You evolve." He glanced at Molly with a small smile. "Although, there are exceptions to that rule."

"That wasn't what I was asking," Ginny said, feeling disappointed and agitated. "Just forget it, Dad. I don't really know what answers I'm looking for, after all."

There was a long silence again. Molly turned back to the sink and Ginny stared down at her full plate, and then, finally, Arthur spoke again.

"When you were a baby, Ginny," he began setting down his teacup and looking at her matter-of-factly, "you were completely infatuated with the gnomes."

Ginny blinked. "I....what?"

"The garden gnomes," Molly added, looking stern as she wrung out a dishcloth over the sink. "Oh, I'd forgotten about that."

"It started from the time you took your first steps," Arthur said, reaching for another piece of toast from the communal plate in the middle of the table. "Oh, you loved those little chaps. There you were, less than a year old, and your mother would turn around for one second and you could be found fleeing from the house and pattering down the front drive to the garden and somebody would have to chase you. You brothers would take you outside with them while they played Quidditch to keep you out of your mother's way while she made dinner and you would be found in the gnome patch some time later, fast asleep in a pile of dirt amongst all the gnome holes." Arthur chortled as Molly tsked, shaking her head. "Oh, Molly was always so angry. But no matter who reprimanded you, or how many times, you wouldn't surrender to the idea that, as a child, gnomes could be extremely dangerous, despite the fact that they had little interest in a curious young girl and rarely emerged to be ogled. No matter how we punished your or tried to restrain you or even tried to frighten you away from them by letting you watch the older boys do the degnoming, you kept coming back." The laugh lines in Arthur's face framed his wide smile as he spoke to his daughter. "None of us understood the allure, not even Fred and George, with whom you saw eye to eye on most things of amusement, but it did not matter. Somewhere along the way, you decided that those funny little creatures who gambolled around the yard were your friends, and if you had to fight tooth and nail, you were going to keep making your wild escape and returning to them, even if they didn't share a similar fascination with you in return."

"OK, fine," Ginny said in bemusement, her impatience showing through. "What does this all even mean, Dad? All kids have weird fascinations."

"All people have unique fascinations," Arthur corrected mildly. "Do you want to know about love, Ginny? It's the exact same thing. It's a decision. Conscious or not, it is a choice. And depending on when it occurs, it can become a definition of us. You outgrew your affection for the gnomes, of course you did, but what if you hadn't? Either way, it is a part of you - perhaps a less prominent part than it would have been had it continued throughout your adolescence, but present all the same."

Ginny shook her head, closing her eyes. "I don't understand," she said.

"Love takes strength," Arthur said. "Love takes defiance. It takes faith. It takes sacrifice."

"I know that!" Ginny said, throwing up her arms in impatience. "Love is a great thing. It's an all-encompassing thing. But love is messy and love is hurt, so how do you know it's worth it?"

"You'll know," Arthur said, nodding slowly, his eyes twinkling. "There is love all around you, Ginny, and there always has been. You can recognize it. And when you see it, and you know..." He lifted and lowered one shoulder, smiling at her. "Don't let it go for anything, least of all pride."

Ginny met his gaze once more, and this time, she didn't feel the immediate reflex to turn away.

You'll know.

Ginny finished her breakfast in silence, and she helped her mother with the dishes, her gaze focused unblinkingly out the kitchen window that overlooked the orchard, she felt a pang as she remembered the Quidditch Cup Championship that would be happening anytime now. She thought of Harlow and Linnea and Hermione, her friends whom she hadn't even told she was leaving, and wondered what they were doing right now. Ginny had been gone for less than a day, and already she felt a universe away from her old life and the people in it. When Molly delicately asked Ginny if she was feeling better and whether or not she thought she would be in proper shape to return to school the following week, Ginny didn't respond.

You don't have to be so quick to deny the truth and push people away.

You don't care about anybody but yourself. You use people. You're just like your father.

I wanted to fuck and you wanted some kind of closure, and it never had anything to do with love.

You'll know. You'll know.

Ginny dried the dishes, mechanically placing them back into the cupboard, one by one by one.

I love you.

I love you.

The hours passed by in a daze, Ginny passing them by outside in the fading spring sunshine, silently helping Molly with whatever she needed, dutifully eating all her meals and promptly rushing to the toilet as they came back up again. Now free to get as much sleep as she needed, Ginny found herself caught in a state of relentless insomnia, and although all her time in the sun drew the color back to her pale face, she felt as miserable as ever. The only difference now was that she was experiencing it on her own.

Whenever she dreamed, it was always the same. Despite her best efforts, he returned with a vengeance, and she spent the hours of the night consumed in that face, enveloped in those arms, and although he never spoke, the dreams felt so real to Ginny that every time she awoke, she underwent the same flood of disappointment and denial, turning over in her trundle bed and finding that she was alone.

I hate you ran through her head day and night, every time her conscious mind summoned an image of him. Every time she flung herself into the bathroom and expelled the contents of her stomach in the mornings, the first coherent thought that came to mind was I hate you. Arthur and Molly tried engaging her in the evenings, but Ginny was a million miles away. She loved her parents and in many ways, she felt that home held more for her than any other place she could be did, but however hard she tried to convince herself, she wasn't finding any semblance of closure here. All she was finding was more bitterness, more anger, and more hurt.

She had been at the Burrow for seven long, quiet days before she went to her mother, who was making steak potatoes for dinner, and spoke with certainty. "I think I need to go back to Hogwarts now," she said levelly.

Molly turned around, holding a dripping spatula in her hand and looking taken aback. "Oh - are you sure, Ginny dear?"

"I might as well, Mum," Ginny said, lifting her shoulder in a vague shrug. "I really need to start getting in the mindset of, you know....exam time."

"Oh, well," Molly said, turning back to the stove, although she still looked concerned. "If you're sure, dear. I'll send a letter to Dumbledore tonight, then, shall I, and we can -"

"Oh, it's OK, Mum," Ginny said quickly, already starting for the doorway. "You're busy, I'll take care of it."

Before she could protest, Ginny slipped up the stairs and disappeared into her bedroom, closing her door behind her and gathering a piece of parchment, a quill, and a bottle of ink. She sat on the edge of her bed with the writing materials in her lap, staring, motionless, at the parchment for a long time before finally unscrewing the ink bottle and putting the pen to paper.

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

Thank you, Professor - for not telling my parents, and for letting me go home. I needed to regain some perspective; I think I have some clarity now.

I am ready to come back to Hogwarts. I have decisions to make that I cannot make without taking care of a few things that have been getting in my life's way.

For your compassion and your support....thank you. It is time to walk away from yesterday and get ready for tomorrow, and today, for the first time in a very long time, I think that I am truly awake. Finally.

Thank you. For everything.

Sincerely,

Ginevra Weasley

p.s. I will never stop looking for that silver lining.