Chapter 1

Ginny lay on her back in the open field just behind the Burrow. Her muscles ached and throbbed from the effort of the now, finished Quiddich practice. A loose strand of hair lay, clinging to the perspiration that remained on her cheek. She brushed it aside and folded her arms above her head, staring up at the now fading light. The clouds drifted by lazily and spread across the horizon, revealing the first stars of the evening.

It had been five years. Five years since she lost classmates, friends, family… Peace had reigned. No sign of any of Voldemort's supporters had arisen. There were always a few that lay dormant but most were hiding from the Aurors who were tirelessly hunting them. There was always bound to be some kind of evil in the world, but nothing was directly hitting home. Everyone felt a sense of uneasy peace.

Ginny sat up slowly, grimacing from the ache in her shoulders. She felt ten years older than she was. Her characteristic Weasley red hair now stood up at odd angles, loose strands of grass clinging to the windswept locks. She shook it out half-heartedly, missing a few blades of grass that clung with stubbornness worthy of her own. She gathered up her gloves and broom, which she had a few minutes ago, tossed aside in frustration after her practice.

Quiddich had been the only thing so far that had been keeping Ginny moving. The aftermath of the battle for Hogwarts had left some emotional scars that seemed to linger; fine wine that seemed to become more floral with age. The ministry had offered her a post after her seventh year at Hogwarts, which had taken place after the destruction of the castle, had been cleared up. An Auror; when did Ginny Weasley lose her cool, calm and badass demeanour? The thought of hunting down the people that had massacred so many people… Ginny just didn't have the stomach for it.

She started making her way up the small ridge, heading back to the family home. It was only Ginny left now. Of course, Mr and Mrs Weasley still remained at the Burrow. They had rebuilt the ruin that had lay waiting after the Order had disbanded. Her siblings had moved on and started their own families, had their own lives. But Ginny remained, still trying to get an appointment for try-outs for numerous Quiddich teams around Europe. Ginny could not hide the frustration of the matter anymore. She tossed her broom aside and entered the house.

Mrs Weasley sat by the kitchen fireplace with a cup of tea in hand, her bewitched knitting needles working tirelessly to produce what Ginny assumed was a new jumper for Rose, Hermione and Ron's daughter. She had to be turning two years old soon? Ginny hadn't seen her brother in quite a few months. They had a small place out in the countryside. Hermione was working on a new book. Ron was still helping George out at the joke shop. Fred had left a large portion of his shares to his youngest brother.

"How was the practice?" Mrs Weasley chimed into Ginny's train of thought. "Hmm?" replied Ginny, taking a mug from the shelf off the far wall of the kitchen. The kitchen seemed too large when it was not filled with the numerous Weasley clan. "Your practice dear." , repeated Mrs Weasley, glancing up from her cup at Ginny. Ginny poured some of the tea standing on the wood burning stove into her mug. "Unfruitful." Ginny mumbled into her cup. "I can't get the type of practice I need when it's just me." Ginny hoisted herself up onto the kitchen counter, wincing as her muscles twinged under her tall frame's weight.

Mrs Weasley placed her mug onto the kitchen table silently. Her aging eyes met with her only daughter's. "Give it time, dear." Ginny took another gulp of her tea and headed upstairs to her bedroom. Posters of the Hollyhead Harpies covered most of her childhood bedroom's walls. It had always been a dream of Ginny's to play for the Harpies. She fell unceremoniously onto her bed and stared at the moving posters; tiny chasers handing off a Quaffle to one another.

Ginny rolled over onto her side. A small blade of grass fell from her hair and landed on the pillow next to her head. She plucked it from the fabric and rolled it between her slim fingers. Her fingertips were calloused from the rough handle of her slightly outdated broom. Her face was sticky from the now dried perspiration left from the earlier solo practice session. She sighed and propped herself up on her elbow, swinging her legs over the side of her bed. She kicked off her boots and stood up, with great discontent, to rid herself of the day's frustration.

The warm water of the shower washed away the dirt and sweat from her body, relaxing her muscles in the process. Her body had become thin, but muscular. Ginny had no interest in doing anything apart from Quiddich. There was no doubt that she was a brilliant chaser, but getting other people to notice that is harder than in seems. She had played so many try outs but kept falling short. She needed a new broom. That would give her an edge, but getting together enough money to buy an above average broom was just as difficult.

Ginny fell into bed, her eyes watering from the effort of staying awake. Her body was exhausted, her mind was not much better off. Her hair, still damp, fell across her face like a drape. She signed deeply and within a few seconds, drifted into a restless sleep.