I was five years old today...My Mummy threw me a party with some of my friends down the lane....But it didn't matter to me, because Daddy wasn't there...Mummy said he had to work, and I was okay with that...for the most part. I understood he had to work, but more so, I understood the hurt I felt...And after the party I couldn't help but run out to the orchird in the way back of our little Burrow, that was so close to me and my Daddy's hearts....So, that's where our story begins...in the orchird.

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My feet hit the lush ground, squishing berries and mud. It had just rained and the orchired looked absolutely ravishing. I remember the day as though it had been yesterday...It had been my fifth birthday, and as I said, after my party I had run to the orchird my father and I loved.. for support. I had hoped and prayed he would have gotten off work early, like he promised he'd try..But it had been to no avail. So, I found myself now humming as I twirled around in the orchird, in the pale blue sundress Daddy had given me for my birthday earlier this morning. Small rain drops hit my face as I stared upward into the glowing yellow sun, hazed by rain clouds. I sighed in happiness, the orchird always gave me so much contentment. Whenever I was angry, or sad, or worried, I would go to the orchird...The only difference was usually it was with my Dad.

I shook the sadness quickly away..it was 5 O'clock, and he would be home tonight..Besides, Mother also made sure us children were in the house, cleaned up, pajamas on, nightlights off, and eyes shut by 7 O'clock...Even on birthdays! And, yes, even when Daddy was at work...On your birthday! I hummed some more, walking along the rocks and mud and praying my Dad would be home soon. I was hoping against all hope he would at least be home to read me a goodnight story on my birthday! Usually, recently, he was home at decent times...The Potters had been killed for awhile back when I had been five, and Voldemort was just gone. Dad was usually home at 6:30, 7ish, or 8...Not normally later, but sometimes.

I had a feeling tonight was a late night for him.

"Ginny!" I heard my mother yell not soon after I had come out of my thoughts. I turned to the house to see her waving me over and I ran back through the flowers, mud, sticks and berries, squashing them with my feet that were so small usually, but compared to the berries were huge! Like the size of my father's hand when he grasped my favorite bedtime book to read me a story out of it. Usually it was Bibbity Rabbit, Cinderella, or another muggle fairy tale he had introduced me to... Though, I had no time to think on bedtime stories right now, I had to go get a shower, get some pajamas on, and rest in bed, eyes wide open until light's out, hoping my father would be home for my fifth birthday....even if it was only the end of it, he was worth the wait, and I realized, after Mum had told me countless times, that work was more important sometimes. I never really understood why it was more important, just that, well, Mum said it was and Mum never lied to me so, I didn;t second guess it...Even though I chose to believe Dad loved us more than his muggle toys. Besides, he wouldn't leave me on my fifth birthday! That had been a milestone for me and, he'd said he'd be there...He would not have lied, must've just gotten held up. Even if he wasn't home tonight though, he'd be home tomorrow, when I woke up, sitting at the breakfast table, nibbling at bacon and kippers, an apology ready to roll off of his lips and a smile already on them, asking me if I was ready to go tonight...meaning tomorrow night...for the father daughter dance at our muggle school...Daddy wouldn't miss that especially, even if he did miss my party!

I walked up to my mother, panting and she smiled sadly, brushing my sweaty, or, wet hair from my face.

"Ginny, I'm afraid I have some bad news.."

"What is it, Mum?" I had asked. Though it sounds odd, at the time I'd thought nothing of this 'bad news' as being related to my father, but when my mother had uttered her next words my heart had sunk considerably.

"Your father won't be home until next weekend...he just owled me, and said they sent him out to guard at Azkaban for a few days....I'm sorry honey...But he wrote a whole different letter to you and I'm sure he'd want you to read it when your all settled in bed and only thinking about him so, come on, let's get you cleaned up and ready for bed, then you can read your note and if it's not too late you can send one back, hmm?" She was trying to be nice, and I realize now with my own children that it was a cover-up to stop tears and such, because she knew I was upset..But what she didn't know was I didn't do tears, or tantrums much often...or depression, even as a kid...and young adult...But still, I understood, she had been trying to help me understand kindly that I wouldn't see my father until next weekend, meaning he'd missed my party, would miss our dance, and whatever else happened in my life that week. I had friends back then and their parents weren't together or were angry at each other, and I realized then, that how I felt for one day, was how they felt everyday...And it was hard for a once five year old like me to grasp.