A/N: Ginny is the hardest character for me to write and identify with (go figure, we only hear from her in two books), but I wanted to expose a weakness (in a supposed strong character) that didn't know she even had...enjoy.

Ginny jumped at the sound of ice cracking in her glass. Her mother gave her another worried look from a few seats down the table, but she made to stare at the yellow linens instead. Mrs. Weasley had noticed that within the past few hours of Harry arriving at the Burrow, that her daughter had been nervously skirting him throughout the entire reception.

Bill and Fleur had married in a flurry of flowers and sunlight that afternoon, and love was definitely in the air. Ginny shook her head clear of the events earlier that day, and blinked back tears of frustration as her hopes to dance with someone who cared about her were dashed.

The wedding party had now converged at the tables and nervous tittering conversation was taking over. She hated it. It was nothing like what she grew up with; raucous laughter at the Gryffindor house table or trying to outdo insults from her brothers.

That stupid, insufferable…git, she thought sourly. Yesterday she was walking down the garden path, nudging Ron with her basket full of leeks in effort to get him to look anywhere but the sky. He was staring at it a lot lately. Ginny knew what he was looking for; some indication from Harry that he was ready to leave. Hedwig, most likely.

They hadn't heard if Hogwarts would be open for the next year, but the sad, loopy writing that she received from Hermione told her of other things. She may not be a Ravenclaw, but Ginny could put the pieces together. Even if Hogwarts did open, Ron wouldn't be looking at the sky, Hermione wouldn't be so heartbroken about her summer homework, and (she would like to think) Harry wouldn't have broken up with her.

She also knew from her own intuition that Harry had refused Ron and Hermione's company outside of Hogwarts, and it angered her to no end that her brother wouldn't address the subject. Ginny knew that she had the curiosity of a cat…and that one day it would get the best of her, as it did when she finally cornered Ron to get him to fess up to what was going on. In particular, why was Harry pushing everyone away? Especially her? She couldn't conceive of a reasonable explanation.

She hadn't meant to cry in front of Ron, but the sad and understanding look that he gave her confirmed her worst fears. Ginny now looked over her shoulders at the table the trio was sitting at. Harry and Ron sat on either side of Hermione, in deep conversation. Hermione's frizzy curls had come loose and were currently whipping around her face as she shook her head vigorously. Ron's brow furrowed in concentration, then immediately leaned in close to whisper something across to Harry. The two had apprehensive looks on their faces while Harry considered for a moment, then nodded curtly…turning back to his butterbeer.

Ginny would have liked to believe that Harry gave her the briefest of glances, and that somehow…she had an affect on his decisions. But that was a fool's wish, she knew. And what was more, she knew it was probably the last time she would view her friends all together again.

Before she could let her emotions overcome her, Ginny excused herself from the table, gathered up her bridesmaids dress and made her way to the Burrow. She needed to get away, to find something familiar- something that made sense in all of this subtle chaos. The youngest Weasley retraced her steps up to the room that she shared with Hermione the last few days, and closed the door behind her with a soft click.

The room was dark but the sunset outside blazed brightly as she stood for a moment, thinking alone. Her silhouette was stark against the setting sun that was coming through her open window and she could still hear everyone outside and the garbled words that floated upwards. Ginny slowly turned to her nightstand and gingerly touched her jewelry box. It was of carved bloodwood that her father had bought from a Muggle thriftstore which had been enchanted to only open to:

"Ginevra Molly Weasley."

She withdrew an old handkerchief. Nestled inside of it was an ornate silver locket…the same that they had found at Grimmuald place.

She hadn't looked at it for quite some time, fearing the same affects as Riddle's diary in her first year. And she simply knew it was wrong to possess such a thing…but it spoke to her. A delicate and soft thought that promised adventure to her future.

What it was saying…she didn't know yet.