Ginny,

I'm done thinking that I am not romantic enough, that I'm not honest enough. Romance isn't in me, and my feelings have always been entirely honest. I've never lied about how much I care, never done anything but wait. Hoping that you would see, that you would ask. I'm done, done with waiting, done with trying, done looking in your eyes are seeing that I am not good enough. I may not be perfection in your eyes, but you'll be hard pressed to find someone willing to sacrifice so much of themselves for you. You will never find another that gave up themselves, all for you. And you never cared. You are over me, and I am completely under your thrall. I have to get out. I'll never be happy, but I wont see dismissal in your eyes again. Ever.

I love you now, and forever, Harry Potter August 4, 1998

Ginny read the note for the thousandth time, give or take, and it hurt her as much now as it ever did. Four years it had been, since she had spotted the nondescript envelope bearing her name lying on her pillow. Three years since she had last seen Harry Potter. The letter had made her see, as if through new eyes, that he was entirely right. Well, not entirely. She never had gotten over him, but she had been so caught up in denying her own feeling that she had been oblivious to his own. Since her third year she'd run herself ragged playing it cool, no crush. She had even gotten so good at it that she'd dated. Michael Corner, Dean Thomas. a few others. And now that she looked back she saw, really saw that while she had acted the friend, and only friend, he had watched. He would camp out in a corner and stare at her for as long as he could, then she remembered that he started disappearing whenever she showed up. She would walk through the door, and his eyes would cloud in pain, then he'd make an excuse and slump out the door. Finally she sopped seeing him at all. He would be in the library or out flying or off doing something or other.

Then he'd graduated full honors and bought a flat in Hogsmeade, barely leaving, accepting Ron, Hermione, Hagrid or Remus Lupin as guest. Anyone else and the door wouldn't open, no amount of coaxing changing that fact. Shortly after Ginny's own graduation Harry had finally left his flat (as far as she knew) and visited the Burrow for a two-day going away party. It was to celebrate his leaving for Auror training.

The first night had been spent with much food, music, and laughter, and through it all Harry hadn't once conceded that Ginny even existed. The next morning she awoke to the letter on he pillow, and he was already gone, having left early and without telling anyone. Ginny tried her best over the following months to owl him a response, proclaiming her apologies, and desire to see him, to resolve things. And though she never actually wrote the words, to love him. Her owls all came back, unopened. Her desperate last ditch effort to reach him through her fathers Ministry connections brought the reason for his infuriating lack of contact. Security measures are in place that allow no communication to, or from, Auror Training Center, so as to prevent location and methods of said school. All trainees are unreachable until such time as they graduate, or are dismissed for whatever reason. In which case their memories shall be altered.

Bastards! Couldn't they see how important this was? She was miserable, hadn't eaten a satisfying meal in months, nor slept. And so the years passed, three full years, and then the day came when her father said Aurors graduated, June 6, and still no Harry. The ministry would finally admit that he had graduated and requested an immediate assignment, foregoing the three month furlough granted to recent graduates. The would not divulge his whereabouts, nor would letter be received by him. It seemed he'd put a block on all non-official correspondence. So another year slid by, and it was now October 30, 2002, and Harry Potter, now 22 years old was still no part of Ginny Weasley's life. Or anybody's for that matter, he may of well have dropped completely from the face of the planet. Or never have existed. Like a half- remembered dream.