Disclaimer: Anything that sounds remotely familiar belongs to the Wonderful Wizard of U.K., Ms. J.K. Rowling.

Definitions of slang, etc. can be found at the end of each chapter.

"Mum? I've…I've been doing some thinking, and-"

"Did it hurt?"

"Shut up, Ron. So-"

"Ginny, is that how we talk to each other?"

"Sorry, RONALD. Anyway, Mum-"

"Do you want more gravy on your chicken?"

"No thank you, but can I just tell you about this idea I had about going to-"

"What about you, George? More gravy?"

"Mum, could you just listen for one sec-"

"Yeah, I'd like some gravy. Oooh, that's right. Pour it on nice and thick, don't be a blob."

"Are you calling your mother a blob?"

"What do you take me for? I was talking to the chicken."

"Mum, could you just-"

"Yes, dear, I'm listening."

"Thank you. So I was thinking about my summer plans, and I thought, since I saved up all that money from babysitting the Stibbler twins, and you always said I could travel when I was old enough-"

"She meant when you're ninety."

"No one asked you, Fred. SO, what I thought would be a great idea was if I spent the summer in-"

"Ickle Ginny thinking AND getting a great idea? Oh, it's too much!"

"Ron, SHUT UP!"

"Ron, that's enough. Ginny, don't use such expressions at the table. Do you want some more salad?"

Ginny felt like her whole body was on fire. She shot up so quickly that she knocked her chair over, ran out of the kitchen and slammed her bedroom door, before her family could even begin wondering whether it was the salad or everything else that had caused such a violent reaction.

----

Ginny paced the floor of her room, fists clenched, looking for something to throw. I hate them. I hate them all. They are so…SELFISH! They still treat me like I'm five years old. Ickle Ginny- Fred's right; to them I'll be " ickle" till I'm ninety. How could I be stupid enough to think she'd let me go?

She paused in front of the mirror and finished her well-rehearsed little speech.

"I thought it would be a great idea if I spent the summer visiting Bill, in Australia."

Ginny couldn't see her reflection anymore. She threw herself on her bed, letting her pillow catch her tears. I can't stay here all summer. I'll die if I do. Why did I have to get stuck with such a rotten family? Bill's the only sane one and now I'll never get to go see him.

Her situation was a miserable one from every possible angle. At The Burrow, there was no Bill. There was no freedom. There was no fun. There wasn't even Harry.

Almost reflexively, Ginny got up to inspect herself in the mirror. I wish Harry could see me like this, she thought morbidly (though between us, if he'd walked in right then she'd have started screaming like a banshee). Strands of matted, ginger hair were stuck to her cheeks, her hazel eyes were puffy and bloodshot; she looked affright, like the hags up in the north country. Regardless of whether she did want him there or not, he wasn't going to come. Cho had invited him to spend the summer with her family at their summer home in Bordeaux, France, and at that very moment they were probably eating terrific French cuisine, or swimming together in the Atlantic, or even…no, she wouldn't entertain that thought.

If only I could fly to France and be with Harry. Well, Harry minus Cho…another vacant hope…

Her eyes suddenly shot wide open.

"Fly," she murmured at her reflection. Her brain quickly worked out a plan, risky, but not impossible. She dashed over to her desk, grabbed some parchment and a quill; the room soon became saturated with the scratching sound of her writing. When she was finished she checked it to make sure it looked alright. Satisfied, she waited until the ink was dry and then rolled up the parchment into a scroll. Erroll wouldn't do; she would need to go into town first thing in the morning, "Harry," she murmured, carefully tying a ribbon around the note, "I'm sorry. But I'm going to use you. I'm going to use you to get to Bill."

----

Ginny stared at her near-bursting backpack. Perhaps she was being too hasty? Besides, Operation Fly could only be executed if Harry came through for her; and how could she be certain that he would readily lend her what he loved the most?

Well, second to most. Cho comes first, Ginny remembered miserably. As much as she hated the idea of it, her hope was, in fact, riding on the assumption that Harry would be too preoccupied with Cho to make a fuss about lending Ginny his Firebolt (Incidentally, the key to her freedom). He wouldn't investigate whether or not she was lying, when she wrote to him about needing his world-class broom "to practice, so I can make the Gryffindor team next year". He wouldn't write to check up on whether or not she was really only "taking it into the backyard and not an inch further" (Well, that was kind of true, she thought defensively. She wasn't taking it an inch further; She was taking it miles away). He probably wouldn't even mention it in his owls to Ron, because it was becoming increasingly insignificant to him. Yes; the comfort Ginny felt about the successful execution of her plan was based on the most uncomfortable truth of all: Harry was madly in love with another girl.

She delicately slipped her Findureway in the pocket of her summer cloak and went to sit by the window. If it stopped working in middle of her trip how would she…no, worrying would only make her give up the notion of leaving, and any wishes of freedom would disapparate. But she couldn't help having second thoughts about sending Erroll on the job. The price of an owl to southern France was more than her budget could spare, and the family bird she was forced to send was not the spry chick he once was. Probably was. (Erroll was old before she could talk, but the poor thing must have seen better days…right?)

She scanned the sky for him. It was already four days since she'd seen him last. Her family was starting to get suspicious...suppose the stupid bird had gotten lost? Suppose he'd collapsed on the way? Morbidity was quickly spreading itself over her mind like a black sheet. He'll never let me have it. What couldn't I have possibly been thinking? He doesn't trust me. He thinks I'm just a little kid like everyone else. I'll never get to see Bill.

Lost in these torturous thoughts, she was too preoccupied to see a ragged gray owl and an elegant, snowy one cut through the ink-black sky, the latter carrying a long, lumpy parcel. It was only when the former slammed into the glass of her bedroom window that Ginny broke away from her thoughts with a jump, and seeing what it was, started laughing for the first time in weeks.

"Errol! Hedwig!" she whispered excitedly, opening the window to let them in. After relieving Hedwig of her parcel, she bent under her bed to pick up a small package wrapped in brown paper.

"Here, she offered the two owls. "I caught a mouse yesterday. Didn't expect a visitor," Ginny apologized as she unwrapped the mouse. "But it's all that I've got." She placed the meal in front of them. Hedwig sniffed it, not seeming very pleased, but began to peck at it anyway. Errol just lay on the floor beside her, too bushed to eat.

Ginny turned to her own present and tore off the packaging. The sleek, handsome Firebolt stared back at her. She did a little dance with it around the room, not minding Hedwig watching with a queer look in her eyes. He trusts me, she thought over and over, ecstatic. He lent me his Firebolt. He trusts me. As she pranced past her bed a small bit of parchment fell off and landed on the floor. Ginny stopped at once and, after placing the broom carefully back on her bed, bent down to pick up the parchment. It was a note from Harry.


Dear Ginny,

Guard it with your life. Kidding. Have fun practicing!

-Harry

Ginny felt some of her excitement ebb away at the brevity of Harry's note. Her mind scolded her. What did you expect, a sonnet? A ten-foot scroll of parchment? She really hadn't expected anything at all, but now that she had gotten something, she found it scanty, wanting. Wake up, Ginny. Harry is in love with Cho. You're just part of his adoptive family, his little sister. Ickle Ginny. She looked down at the Firebolt and watched her warm tears trickle down the handle.

Then something strange happened. As she took hold of the handle, the effect it had on her was more powerful than she had expected. It felt alive, was as though someone has just informed her that the world was literally at her fingertips. Using her sleeve as a tissue, she wiped the Firebolt and her cheeks with a vow never to cry over Harry again. If he wanted a sister he could go fishing somewhere else. She had enough brothers and was neither in need or want of another one. The only one she cared for was Bill.

Hedwig had finished her share of supper and was now flapping around trying to get Ginny to send a note of reply to Harry. Ginny wrote a brief thank you note that matched his and attached it to Hedwig's leg. She eased her out the window and watched her fly out into the night.

"Bill," she murmured aloud, a slight waver in her voice. "I'm coming."

Findureway- It has the shape of a handheld mirror, but instead of a mirror is a framed piece of clear glass, and the handle is a long, diamond-shaped compass. One tells the Findureway where one is headed, and an arrow appears in the direction one needs to go. Otherwise known as a GPS system. :o)