December 31, 1997

Dear Ron,

Happy New Years. The twins and I didn't feel like going through with our Firewhisky (nicked from the liquor cabinet dad thinks is hidden) and playing Exploding Snap tradition without you, so now I've got time to write. Muriel probably would've had a fit anyway, with a 'lady' drinking. Well, more of a fit than she has usually. Everything sets someone off these days. Fred and George can barely keep morale up, despite their best efforts. We all just miss you three. Mom thinks she hides it well, but we all saw her fussing around with your Christmas sweaters, unraveling them and knitting them again, deciding whether or not to make them. We've been so cooped up in this house that she even made Hermione one. Guess she's an official Weasley to her now too, which makes you the only person who doesn't see it. You wouldn't fucking believe how many plots the twins and I had put together to make you admit your feelings once we got you hammered. Guess we'll still get to use them at some point, assuming you come home. No, you will come home. All three of you. It's not an option, Ronald, it's a requirement. I love you three. We all do. You're going to come home and I know it. Harry will defeat Voldemort, and then it'll all be over. And the four of us can try being fucking normal for a while?

See you then.

Love,

Ginny