He sat stiffly on the worn, yet still comfortable, padded wooden bench, his back straight as though being pulled up by a fine string, eyes darting from left to right with amazing celerity, steadily making their way down the page. His arms were held out in front of him, bent, with his elbows up and poised and his wrists suspended in the air as his fingers moved swiftly over the black and white keys. His right foot pressed occasionally onto either of the two pedals next to it, but otherwise he was completely still, playing a somewhat somber classical piece on the black piano. I wanted to kill him. Day in and day out, he sat and played. I was surprised his eyes didn't overwork themselves from reading all of that music, or that his hands didn't cramp up, or his fingers break, or his brain simply melt. He would wake up every day at seven, practice for an hour, have private lessons until two, take a half-hour lunch break, practice until six, take another half-hour to eat dinner, then have more private lessons until eight, practice again until ten, then finally go to sleep with nothing to look forward to other than repeating that same day again. At first it was nice, the music. Not to mention he wasn't around much to cover everything in his overbearing attitude and officiousness. He would play everything; from modern to Mozart, from quick and upbeat songs to soporific funeral-appropriate tunes. However, as the weeks went on, I couldn't help but want to scratch his eyes out, or bite his fingers off, anything to make the horrible music stop. It's enough to drive one crazy. Eventually, I just started going out every day for as long as possible, but mum still wanted to keep a tight hold on me and didn't let me out for long periods of time.

I was sitting in my room on that particular day, cursing the rain for not allowing me the freedom I so desperately needed from that blasted piano. There was a book in my lap, though I found that the sad music didn't go with the mood of the plot, so I lost focus and started staring out the window, a somewhat forlorn look on my face.

And that was when Fleur rushed into my room.

"Oh! I 'ave not seen you in forever!" She said in that sultry, French accent, her gorgeous blond hair flowing behind her as she rushed to gather me into those perfect little arms of hers into a hug. I held her back halfheartedly.

"Hi." I said weakly over her shoulder after inhaling the smell of her expensive French perfume. I was really not in the mood for her perky attitude, overwhelming beauty, and overall perfection. I was in the mood to sit and brood the loss of what could have been a good day.

"Bill and I just wanted to stop by before our 'oliday in Pari'." She said in a slightly superior tone. I managed to smile weakly.

"It's great to see you." I mumbled, casting my eyes back onto by book. The truth is that I never had a strong, sisterly love for Fleur, but I didn't dread her presence either, not at that point anyway. What really cast my spirits down even lower was that I knew that Fleur wouldn't come to the Burrow without Bill, and seeing him in those days just tore me apart.

And, sure enough, Bill showed up in the entrance to my room not ten seconds later, looking worse than ever before. His skin was starkly white, like a sheet, the blank stretches of flesh broken only by the light pink scars that crisscrossed his face like imprints of ice skates against fresh ice, the frail pink color of his lips, and the deep purple bags under his eyes. His hair was thinning slightly and its bright red hue made his complexion look even sicklier. The thought that my big, strong brother was reduced to this struck me all over again when I saw how much worse he was getting. He was quite literally fading away before my eyes.

"Ginny." He said in a small voice. His chapped, pale lips curved upward into a smile at first, but his eyes were still hollow and void of any feeling. I could feel a small part of myself get sucked into that pathetic excuse for a smile and die. He was probably worst of all, even worse than the piano music that I could still hear softly through the walls.

"Hey Bill." I replied, trying to keep my hands and voice steady while getting up to hug him. When my arms were around him, the sad embrace just made me feel worse; I could identify every rib my hand touched.

I sat back down on my bed and an awkward silence filled the room. Yes, our close-knit, happy family was reduced to awkward silence. I looked around in an attempt to find something to look at, anything to divert my attention, and my heart filled with hope momentarily when Charlie walked in.

In comparison to Bill, Charlie was the very picture of health. I was overjoyed at seeing his still-muscular body and rosy cheeks. I was a little disappointed, however, by his plain black robes and new haircut. The ponytail he previously held dear seemed to have been brutally murdered, replaced by a short, utterly normal style. His piecing, I quickly noticed, was also nowhere to be seen. He didn't even have the piercing in his ear anymore.

"Ginny!" He said loudly, seeming to spook Bill considerably.

I rushed into his arms, thankful for the first hug that day that I actually enjoyed. He still held me tightly enough to knock my breath out and pick me up.

"I thought I'd surprise you guys and show up for dinner. I know mum made enough food."

I loved seeing somebody who didn't seem to have changed very much emotionally.

"Oh my God, I missed you!" I said as I hugged him again. It was only after the words were out of my mouth that I realized that I must be making Bill jealous. "All of you." I added in an attempt to spare his feelings as I turned out to face the rest of my room.

"So…where is everybody?" Charlie asked as though it was taking his a lot of courage to say.

This is where it got uneasy for me. "Well, I'm sure you noticed where Percy is," I started, rolling my eyes slightly in the direction of the downstairs sitting room, from which there was now an upbeat jazz beat playing. "Mum is out shopping, dad's at work, Ron's in his room, and George…" my voice trailed of. Everybody knew where George was and nobody would dare try to disturb him.

Charlie nodded, half sadly, half understandingly.

"I hope you don't mind. I've brought a…companion of sorts." Charley said.

I smiled slyly. "Oh, I see. I companion of sorts. Will this companion require that I set up the guestroom, or will she just be staying in your room?"

Charlie's whole body stiffened and he looked at me as though I just spurted horns. "Ginny." He started, his voice suddenly serious. "Those sorts of jokes aren't appropriate. Miss Hennings is a friend of mine and nothing else." He said sternly.

I was thoroughly taken aback. This was Charlie, the brother with whom I could make 'those sorts of jokes' and not feel like I had to censor myself. I had to admit I was hurt.

"In fact," He continued, "I'd like to have a little talk with you…privately."

Charlie had never taken that tone of voice with me. I didn't whether I should be annoyed, angry, or nervous.

"All right." I said hesitantly. As though on cue, Fleur tugged on Bill's elbow lightly and he quickly followed her out of the room.

Bill took my hand gently and led me back to my own bed, sitting me down like a guest. For some reason, I really wanted to take my hand away from him.

"Ginny," This time his voice was soft, but still serious, "it has come to my attention that you and Harry are seeing each other regularly again." I couldn't tell where he was going with this, but already I could see I wouldn't like it. The urge to pull my hand away strengthened, but I still nodded weakly.

"Well," he continued. "I realize that many young people these days are forgetting the values their parents worked so hard to teach them at a young age just because they feel certain…urges."

I gave out a forced laugh. "Charlie. Are you joking? You sound like one of those 'Ethesistical Community' speakers. What, are you going to try to warn me of the dangers of sin next?"

Charlie just gave me a weak little smile.