A/N: Another day, another quote, another set of song lyrics that led me to an interesting place. As always, I make no claim to the Potterverse; simply to my own story ideas.
Virginia Weasley loved the beach. Though her family wasn't quite as rich as many of the others who lived in Orange County, they were well off enough that Virginia (or Ginny, as she preferred to be called) could drive her electric blue Mustang down to Malibu from Mission Viejo whenever she liked. It was, in her humble opinion, the only beach in SoCal worth visiting. More than a few times, she'd bring along her boyfriend Harry Potter with her, mostly to show off how fantastic they looked together while playing in the surf. Ginny discovered that she craved the attention she earned from flirting with all the other boys, but always managed to find her way back to Harry by the end of the night, a circumstance he didn't always agree with but couldn't truly complain about either.
It was on one of these trips to Malibu (sans Harry, as he was preparing for a basketball tournament that weekend) that Ginny's world changed completely. As she laid on the beach, sunning herself to a perfect golden brown, she watched a glass bottle float ashore, conveniently stopping right next to her. In fact, the scroll inside the bottle was addressed to "Ginny Weasley, The Beach, Malibu, CA, USA". Muttering something about eerie coincidences, Ginny broke the bottle so she could read the message inside.
"Hello? Can you hear me?" began the message, as odd an opening to an obviously written note as Ginny had ever heard of. "Oh, I do hope this Dictaquill is working. I've been having odd dreams about California, dreaming about myself, and yet not myself. If I just talk these things out, maybe a solution will come to me.
It doesn't happen every day. Most days, if I remember my dreams, they're normal things, little fleeting bits of life that I either enjoyed or want to experience. But then there are the other times. The times I dream about being younger, about being a teenager living in America, spending her free time soaking up the sun. And I know I've never had these experiences, but they feel so real to me, as if I have lived them, which scares me.
Who am I? More importantly, who is she? Are she and I one and the same, or just two very similar women tied together by some unknown force? Why am I having these dreams? Does she have dreams of my life? I just don't know what to do.
There's one other thing that bothers me: this other me is quite obviously a Muggle." Ginny frowned upon reading that word; it was unfamiliar to her, but didn't sound like a positive description. She continued reading, but it mostly provided more worries from the other woman. Something inside Ginny wanted desperately to respond to this letter, whatever it was, and she spent her trip back to Mission Viejo mentally composing the letter. As she sat down to write it, the thought that Ginny had no idea where to send her letter crossed her mind. However, when she had prepared it to mail, an address made itself known in her brain. She'd certainly never known of the place before, nor did she particularly want to visit any "grim old place" in London, but her instincts told her it was the right place.
A couple of weeks later, there was a knock on the door of 12 Grimmauld Place, London, which a messy haired man answered with some surprise. The postman handed over the letter without a word, took a few steps away from the door, mentally shook himself, and looked back, trying to remember why he had come this way before giving it up as a bad job and continuing back on his normal route.
Harry Potter carefully closed the door, and brought the envelope he'd been handed in to the kitchen. His wife sat at the kitchen island, nursing a cup of tea. Looking over the envelope one last time, Harry laid it in front of her. "Ginny dear, who do you know in California that would send you Muggle post?" asked Harry.
Ginny's eyes went wide and wild, snatching the envelope and quickly scanning the address. "Ginerva Weasley, 12 Grimmauld Place, London, United Kingdom", it read. A badly shaking hand slit the top of the envelope, and pulled out a couple folded pieces of paper.
"Hello from the other side," began the letter. "I believe we have much to discuss."