Update alert – for teasers about what's coming next, and info on when to expect updates, check out my profile page under the 'my stories' section.

Legal schpeagal: I don't own the things you recognize, and the things you don't recognize probably aren't worth owning.

.

.

4. Perfection is just a town in North Carolina

When Ginny woke up she was surprised to find Hedwig perched on the foot of her bed, a letter attached to her leg. Then Hedwig noticed she was awake and moved to the table next to the bed so Ginny could reach her leg. Taking the letter, Ginny moved to sit up, and started reading:

Ginny, as I write this letter to you it's about 3:00 in the morning. I've just had another vision, nothing too important, but bad enough that I know I won't be sleeping again tonight. A part of me doesn't want to write this letter, but the smart part of my brain knows that I should do this. I'm going to write quickly, and send it right away before I can change my mind.

I'm giving you the truth because I think that's what you've been asking me to do. So if I've read something into your letters that wasn't there, I'm sorry. But I need to tell someone, and I have no one here that would care, even if I did tell them.

This isn't the first night I haven't slept. It's only the second or third time I've had a vision, but other nights I have horrible dreams about Sirius, or the graveyard. Or sometimes that you, Ron, or someone else was killed at the Ministry. Somehow I don't think chocolate is going to help with those. I wish it could.

Or maybe I don't. Just thinking about eating chocolate is making my stomach sick up. It seems like I get that a lot these days, too. It's gotten so bad that I hardly eat anymore. I know that if I have too much, it will just come back up. I'm pretty sure I've lost a bit of weight. No one here has noticed. I don't know if that's because of the oversized clothes I'm always forced to wear, or because they just don't care enough to look.

I'm not really sure what I expect you to do about all this. I don't believe there is anything that you can do. It just is what it is. But your letters seemed like you wanted to know. And I guess I hoped you would maybe understand a little of what I'm feeling. And, I don't know, maybe find some miracle cure for me. Maybe get the twins to invent a 'Happy Harry' candy. I know, it could be butterbeer flavored. Think they could do that?

I don't really know what else to say. Maybe writing this is a mistake after all. Now that it's all out on paper, I feel a bit stupid. I mean, I'm complaining about having a few stupid dreams, and not being very hungry. What, am I turning into Malfoy? I should be able to handle this. Everyone expects me to. They send me back here, year after year, even thought I hate it. And I'm just supposed to deal with it. I mean, last year, I had just seen Cedric killed, like right in front of me. And then being forced to help bring him back, and having to fight him for my very life. And when I get back to the school, some crazy guy grabs me and tries to off me. And what do I get? I hug from your Mum, and bag full of gold, and sent BACK HERE! I almost lost it last summer, and I don't think anyone even noticed. Why didn't anyone notice?

That's what I really want, Ginny. Someone to notice. And maybe that's why I'm writing this letter to you. I think you noticed. Or at least, I hope you did, cause if you didn't, I've just royally messed up. I'm starting to think this was a bad idea. Maybe I shouldn't make major decisions, like spilling my guts, on 3 hours sleep. I'm going to end this now, and send Hedwig with it right away, before I can talk myself out of it. I'm going to be so embarrassed the next time I see you. Promise me we can pretend I never wrote this.

Harry

By the time Ginny was finished, she had tears falling down her face. 'Oh Harry, please let this be everything,' she silently prayed. 'Please don't be hiding anything from me. This is bad enough.'

Upon seeing her tears, Hedwig moved closer, and Ginny absently moved her hand out to stroke the bird. "You've seen how he is, haven't you girl? You know he needs my help, don't you? Well don't you worry Hedwig, we'll get him help somehow." Having made this vow, Ginny finally got out of bed. She put the letter in the drawer of the nightstand and got ready for the day. As she left her room, she told Hedwig she could stay and rest for a bit before returning to Harry. "He shouldn't be alone for too long right now, should he? You don't have to wait for my reply. I'll send something later with Pig or Errol. Godspeed, Hedwig."

After Ginny left the room, Hedwig hopped to the floor in front of the drawer. With her beak, she plucked and pulled and twisted until she'd managed to pull the drawer open. Then she picked up a dirty shirt from the basket, and dropped it half in - half out of the drawer. Her task complete, she moved to the window and started the journey home, where she knew she was needed.

Downstairs, Ginny had found Molly Weasley alone in the family room. "Mum, can we talk?"

Molly stopped her knitting and perked up. "Oh, a mother-daughter bonding moment! I've been looking forward to having one of these with you. What is it Ginny? Boy trouble? Is that boy - Darin is it - giving you trouble?"

Ginny looked at her mother, clearly annoyed. "Mum, please, this is serious?"

Molly apologized, "Sorry dear, your brothers slipped their Giddy Goo into my morning tea. They assured me it would wear off soon. Tell me what's on your mind; I'll do my best to control myself."

Ginny moved so she could rest her back against the wall, and started. "Well ... I've been writing to Harry this summer. You knew that, right? I got a letter from him this morning. Mum, I don't think he's doing very well. He told me some things, and I'm worried about him. He said he's having trouble sleeping and eating. ... Isn't anyone checking on him? When was the last time anyone talked to him?"

Molly motioned for her daughter to have a seat next to her on the couch. "I'm sorry sweetheart, I don't think anyone has been to talk to him. I know that he has been sending his letter every three days, but that they are always short. Mrs. Figg says he hasn't been out much either. Is he really having trouble eating? Do you think it would help if I sent some of his favorite treats?"

Ginny brightened a bit at the suggestion. "Oh Mum, I think he would love that. His letter just seemed so sad. Is there any way we can go see him? I think he would love it if we visited. We could even take Ron and Hermione. Maybe go out for the day. You know, some fun outing to get his mind off his troubles for awhile."

Molly clasped her daughter's hands in her own. "Ginny dear, slow down. You're getting ahead of yourself." She hated to disappoint her daughter but wanted to be realistic. "I'm sorry, but no one can go see Harry. It wouldn't be safe. You know we can't draw attention to where he is. And the protections around his relatives' house will only protect him, not anyone else." She thought for a moment. "I'll tell you what. I'll share your concerns at the next Order meeting. Perhaps I can finally convince Albus that it's time for Harry to come home."

Ginny turned to look her mother in the eye. "I don't think that will be enough. I'm going to keep writing to him - I know some of what he's going through. I have to help him, Mum. I'll let you know when I'm ready to send my next letter, we can include your treats."

Molly smiled. "That's a lovely idea. Now, before you rush off, is there anything else you wanted to talk about? Any other boys you've been writing this summer?"

Ginny turned a bit red, wondering how her Mum knew about the supposed romance with Dean Thomas. "No one else worth talking about. I'm going to go for a walk in the woods and gather some Fiddlecorn nuts. You can add them to some biscuits for Harry. Thanks, Mum" And with that said, Ginny gave her Mum a quick peck on the cheek, grabbed a basket and headed out the door. Molly watched after her for a moment, then got up and headed up the stairs to gather laundry.

When she entered Ginny's room, she noticed some clothes hanging out of the nightstand drawer. Picking up the clothes, she noticed the letter underneath. Molly glanced out the window toward the woods. She knew Ginny wouldn't be back for at least an hour. She should honor Harry's privacy. After all, he hadn't written the letter to her. But Ginny's concern had her concerned. Her daughter was level-headed. If she said Harry needed help, then he did. And as the closest thing to a parent the poor boy had, Molly had to act. She pulled the letter out of the drawer and started reading. By the time she was done, she, like her daughter, had tears in her eyes. She found a blank piece of parchment on Ginny's desk and muttered a quick charm to copy the letter onto the parchment. Putting the letter back and closing the drawer, she folded her copy, intent to share it with Albus the first chance she got.

Ginny waited until late that night to write her letter back to Harry. She knew she had to answer carefully, as Harry no-doubt regretted sending his letter. If she responded too quickly, he might think that she thought he couldn't handle anything. If she waited too long, he might think she didn't really care. And if she said the wrong thing, he might stop writing to her. With this in mind, she retreated to her room after dinner, her mother surprisingly excusing her from clean-up duty. First she wrote a quick letter to Hermione. She didn't share any of Harry's secrets, but she did tell her that she had finally gotten through to him and that he was opening up. She included a few stories of what Ron had been up to this summer just to see what kind of response that got. She also wrote a quick note to Dean, realizing as she did so that her letters to Harry were always much longer, and much more personal. Those letters out of the way, she grabbed some fresh parchment and began writing.

This was, without a doubt, the most personal letter she had ever written. She poured her heart into it. She talked about her own experiences the summer after her first year, described some of her own nightmares from that time, and confessed that, very rarely, she still had them. She admitted to the times when she had felt she couldn't live with her guilt. It was just talking with her family that had helped her the most, and that's what he needed to do - find someone to talk to, face-to-face. She ended asking him to promise her that he would talk to someone the first chance he got, before his guilt and sadness made him do anything he would regret.

She waited until the following morning to send the letter - she and her Mum had biscuits to bake first. When the package was ready, Molly charmed her letter so that only the person it was addressed to could read it. Molly took the package, and letters (Ron had also written one), and apparated to Mrs. Figg's house. Figgy, as she was called, promised to personally deliver the package when she was done tending her cats.

-000-

When Harry was told the door was for him, he was a bit concerned. No one was supposed to be coming here. Not caring what his Aunt might think, he clutched his wand tightly in his hand as he made his way to the door.

Aunt Petunia was standing next to Mrs. Figg, a sour look – 'does she have any other?' – on her face. "Put that thing away when the door is open, boy. And make it quick, I don't like her kind on our doorstep in broad daylight." Apparently Aunt Petunia remembered that Mrs. Figg was involved in the dementor incident last summer.

The other women frowned. "This won't take but a minute of your time, Petunia. I have a package for Harry from some friends of his. They told me to tell you 'Ron doesn't have any brains anymore', whatever that means." She looked him over critically. "You take care of yourself Harry. I wouldn't mind seeing you around the neighborhood this summer." Mrs. Figg handed Harry his package, turned and with a quick glance toward the street sign, left.

Harry made a hasty retreat to his room, package in hand, before his Aunt had a chance to say anything more. The message that was cryptic to Mrs. Figg assured him that this package was from Ginny. Only she would make that joke to him. He opened the box to find two letters and a plate full of biscuits. There was a note on top of the plate from Mrs. Weasley hoping he was doing well and letting him know that Ginny had collected the Fiddlecorn nuts and helped bake the biscuits. He reached in and took one. They were still warm, and delicious.

Harry quickly read the letter from Ron before setting it aside to answer later. He grabbed another biscuit and contemplated the harmless looking letter from Ginny. This was her response to his last letter. Did she think he was a total idiot? That he was a nutter? Or had she understood, like she had hinted before? Would the letter make him feel better, or would he feel even worse for bothering her with his problems? There was only one way to find out, he supposed.

Settling more comfortably on his bed he bravely began reading. And for the first time, he truly understood what Ginny had felt after the Chamber. He had never really thought about what she had gone through. But then again, he was only 12 at the time, and what 12-year-old boy has thoughts that deep? Now he knew. She didn't have any magical cure for his problems - no 'Happy Harry' candies were on their way, not that he had really expected any. What she had given him instead was hope. Hope that things would get better. He just had to hang on. And then she asked him to promise to talk to someone 'before he said or did something he would regret'. 'does she know what I've been thinking about?' Could he make her this promise? He knew that making the promise meant he would have to keep it. But would that be such a bad thing? And didn't he owe her that much? Yes, that and probably more. He would make the promise; and he would talk to someone when he had the chance, no matter how hard it would be.

The next few days passed quickly for Harry. He had written back to Ginny, putting into writing his promise "to have an honest talk with an adult who will care and can help me." He figured that automatically freed him from any type of discussion with his Aunt and Uncle, and gave him a loophole to avoid people like Mundungus, or even worse, Snape. From there, their near-daily letters had gone back to the gentle teasing of the earlier ones. Ginny continued to joke about Ron, give updates on the rest of the Weasleys, and of course, drop hint after hint about the twins. She had now decided that they must have found what she called a "mystical money bag" on the Hogwarts Express. She was making plans to find one for herself, each plan getting more outrageous than the last. Hedwig, Pig, and Errol seemed to be passing each other in the sky with their frequent letters.

Oddly, Harry's emotions had become somewhat erratic during this time. Since sharing such personal thoughts with Ginny, Harry noticed he had more times in the day that he felt almost normal. Almost, because he wasn't sure he remembered what normal felt like. He felt his best when he was receiving or sending his letters, whether to Ginny or any of his other friends. But these high points were offset with the lows. Any time he was forced to spend with his Uncle, who had taken to commenting on Harry as if he wasn't in the room, was such a low. This had a two-fold affect: it reminded Harry just how little his Uncle thought of him, and reminded him of the way Kreacher would do the same thing. This, in turn, reminded him that his Godfather was dead, because of Kreacher, but also because of his own mistake. It would be while sulking in his room after these family dinners that Harry would find himself thinking about going to his trunk to get the broken mirror, but he always pushed those thoughts aside.

Harry was still having trouble sleeping and his eating habits, while slightly improved, were still not up to par. Probably the only thing that had really improved during this time was Harry's relationship with his cousin. Dudley made it a point to speak to Harry as if he was a person, and not a punching bag. They had even talked about girls one evening. It was a strange conversation, but also the closest thing to a normal teenage conversation Harry had had so far this summer.

By far, Harry's lowest point came on the morning of July 18th, when a strange owl came to his room. Harry had just returned from delivering a pie to the widow down the street (another bribe attempt by Aunt Petunia) when he noticed it. He looked the envelope over carefully before he reached out to remove it from the owl. It was from the Daily Prophet. Not knowing what they could possibly want with him, Harry threw himself into the chair at his desk and ripped opened the letter:

Mister Potter,

The Daily Prophet, your paper for all the important wizarding news, respectfully requests an interview with you. The wizarding community has a right to know your reaction to the posthumous exoneration of Sirius Black, who as you know was declared deceased by the Ministry of Magic Department of Life and Death on July 15th. Please reply with the time and place that would be most convenient for you to meet with our reporter. Photos will be optional.

Awaiting your reply,

Richard Woolsey, Chief Correspondent

Harry dropped the letter in surprise. Sirius had been declared dead? He'd been exonerated? And Harry himself had to hear about it from the Daily Prophet? It seemed to Harry that time stopped. It could have been five minutes or five hours later, when Harry realized that Hedwig, Pig, and another unknown owl were sitting on his desk, letters attached to their legs. Harry removed the letters and read them without even realizing what he was doing. Mrs. Weasley, Ron, Hermione, and even Professor Lupin had all written him letters to give him the news. But it was too late. Harry had heard it from, in his mind, the worst source possible. He didn't bother to respond to any of the letters, sending all the visiting birds on their way without even a treat. Hedwig hooted softly and settled on the footboard to watch her boy.

Harry didn't leave his room the rest of the day, except to answer a quick call of nature. He didn't bother eating and even blew off Dudley's nightly visit. The next day, he finally returned to the land of the living for a small bite of lunch, though he didn't talk to anyone, before going go out to weed the garden as his Aunt requested. That evening, Harry did the dinner dishes in a haze, snapping out when he heard the phone ring only to realize he was just standing there, holding the knife he was supposed to be drying. He hastily put the knife away and escaped to his room, his mind finally clear enough that he was starting to worry about what was happening to him.

Deciding he needed to do something to occupy his mind, he decided to reread his last letter from Ginny. Pulling it from his drawer, he gently smoothed the parchment out. He took the time to notice the letter itself, and not just what it said. The handwriting was quite nice - smooth and easy to read. The parchment had a faint scent to it that he couldn't identify, but that brought the fresh outdoors to mind. There appeared to be grass stains in one corner, as if she had lain on the ground while writing.

Harry's mind drifted to the girl herself as he imagined her, lying under her favorite tree in the back yard of the Burrow. Probably chewing on the end of the quill as she debated what to write next. She had certainly grown up over the years. And filled out, if he was being honest. Ginny, he realized, was the perfect combination of good looks and tom-boy ability. She was smart, without being pompous like Percy or (he mentally winced) overwhelming like Hermione. She had real backbone; a definite must to be around him. Yes, Ginny Weasley wasn't a little girl anymore, no matter what Ron said. It was, he thought, unfortunate that she always seemed to have a boyfriend these days. Or did she? Her earlier letter made it sound like there wasn't really all that much between her and Dean. Maybe when he wrote back, he should ask her about that.

** end chapter **

Notes: Fiddlecorn nuts only grow in magical woods of less than 50 acres. They are blue, shaped like lifesavers, and taste like chicken (kidding, they taste like almonds). My kids love them. Richard Woolsey is a character on Stargate SG1 whose personality matched how I imaged the Prophet idiot to be, plus I thought the name sounded British. The chapter title was originally my title for the story. I thought it fit here, where there is no doubt that Harry's summer isn't going as perfect as Jo had it. By the way, Perfection really is a town in North Carolina, USA. I've never been there, but I hear it's perfect.