Ginny Weasley sat on her bed in the seventh year girl's dorm, curtains drawn, biting the tip of her quill. As she read over what she had written, she couldn't help but think of how things would have been different if she had been raised by her birthfather.

Dear Fath... she quickly crossed the line out before starting again.

Dear Sperm Donor,

I'm not really sure how to write this. Apparently I have been "depressed" lately and Professor McGonagall decided I needed to go to a therapist. HA! Like I'm really going to want to talk to some old bint who analyzes people's brains for a living and probably hasn't been laid once in her entire life. But the old hag decided I should write a letter to someone who has had a great influence in my life, so…I decided, why shouldn't I write to the one who fucked up my life from the start?

Part of me wants so badly for you to approve of and love me, wants so badly to know that you know I'm your daughter, that you are proud of me and of all that I have accomplished. Did you know that the Holyhead Harpies wanted to draft me before seventh year? That's the first time a student has been drafted in England in three hundred years. Did you know I got twelve OWLs in fifth year? Mum cried when she saw the paper, said I was just like you. Perhaps it is pride, or maybe a little part of me is still a little girl, watching my brothers play with Arthur and wondering where you were and why Arthur didn't smile at me the same way he did at Ron or the Twins.

But you want to know something? There is a big part of me that doesn't give a damn what you think of me. When I saw you in second year, there was a part of me that was tempted to just say fuck it and have nothing to do with you. You never wrote, never acknowledged me in any way, left me to fend for myself in a household that resented me, because I was proof that my mother did not love her husband completely and totally.

Is that why I turned to other things, drugs, alcohol and men? Because I was ignored because my mother had no time for me while taking care of six boys and a husband who constantly reminded her that she had not been faithful to him? Did I do it for attention, was it a cry for help, or a way to catch the attention of my half-brothers and the only father I had ever known, however poor he was? It could have been any or all of those things. If you have to come up with an "explanation", then pick one. But do you want to know the truth? Why I did all of it?

Because I could.

When I am high, so fucking high the world is full of fucking love and peace and I'm stumbling around like a fool,, I'm not doing it to be chemically happy, though it is a bonus. I'm doing it because no one is going to notice. In the midst of everyone else's problems, and "issues", of Harry and Ron and Hermione cause yet another fuss and being stupid enough to almost get themselves killed, I am left in the shadows. I'm forgotten, because for years I've been the good child, I've done my homework, passed my classes and stayed out of the way. Will they ever notice when I come in at two a.m., my eyes red and falling over, too smoked out to do anything to hide it? No. On the off chance that they register I am home, they will accept the feeble excuse that I was up all night watching movies or studying. It will never have crossed their minds that I was out doing drugs.

The same with alcohol. I get shit-faced, not to drink my cares away and lose myself, but because I can. No one will see me coming in in the wee hours of the night, wasted and stinking of beer, too drunk to walk in a straight line, because they expect that when I am tired. They are to focused on other family members, how someone is depressed or violent or retarded, to pay attention to me, who is quiet and does her work then retreats to her room.

And the men. Do I sell myself like a common whore, give my body to the man(or woman) who will pay me the most? No, I don't have the balls to go that far. I enjoy them, yes, and I don't see the need to tarnish the experiences with monetary transactions.

Why am I still writing this? You don't care, do you? In the seventeen years I've been on this earth, you've never done more than smile politely at me. Hell, I bet you don't even remember the night you had sex with my mother, the drunken coupling at an Order party. And why would you? You, a big fierce werewolf, a Marauder. Who would think you would be attracted to a fat, redheaded matron? God, I'm laughing right now at the thought. Perhaps it's the werewolf in me, the angry animal that constantly claws to be free in my soul. What do you think?

Ginny Weasley

When Remus Lupin received a letter on the morning of his daughter's seventeenth birthday, he was stunned. Ever since Molly had guiltily informed him of her pregnancy, the result of a quick, drunken tumble, his heart had nearly stopped. He had never thought he would have children, given his curse he had long ago resigned himself to that fact. He loved children and when he had found out he was to be a father, he had been ecstatic. Until he remembered that the mother of his child was already married, with six boys of her own. Arthur Weasley had threatened his life for what he had done, had threatened to reveal his curse to the ministry. Only by swearing he would have nothing to do with his daughter until her seventeenth birthday, did Remus escape with his life. He watched from afar as Ginny grew, hidden in the edges of the forest that surrounded the Weasleys' home, watching, keeping a careful eye on her as she grew from a pretty child with her mother's bright red hair and his golden eyes to a beautiful young woman with deep auburn hair and a jaded outlook.

When he received the letter, Remus Lupin knew it was time to talk to his daughter and try to reach her.

When he first tried, Ginny slammed the door of her small, shared flat in his face. He had never been so broken.

When he tried again over Christmas break, after sending her a letter a week while she was at school, she warily let him in and agreed to listen to his tale. The feeling of budding hope nearly overwhelmed him.

When she graduated from Hogwarts, he was there in the front row, applauding her place at the top of her class and cheering louder than anyone when she announced her decision to join the Holyhead Harpies as a full-time Chaser. His pride in her skills was fully-justified.

When she was injured in a match against the Arrows, he was the one who sat by her bedside all through the night, praying to which ever deities would listen to bring her back. When she opened her eyes just as dawn broke, a feeling of relief so strong it nearly suffocated him made him grab her and hug her tightly.

When she slipped her arm through his and he walked her down the aisle when she was twenty-four, he had to fight back the tears when he placed her hand in the bigger hand of Nevillle Longbottom. When he saw the joy and love in the boy's(for he would always be a boy to Remus) eyes, he knew Ginny had chosen well.

And when two years later, an overjoyed Neville carefully placed a bundle of blue blankets in his arms, Remus knew he had been given a second chance, a chance to make things right. When he looked into the tired but happy eyes of his daughter, he knew all had been forgiven. And that thought brought him more peace than he had known since his first transformation.

When Remus Lupin died just shy of his fortieth birthday, no one cried harder at his funeral than Ginny Longbottom.

Fin