It's not long before Harry and Ron are leaving for the Ministry of Magic together each morning. They'll joke with each other as they get in the fireplace, Ron frequently reminding Harry of his first time using Floo Powder—when he accidentally ended up in Knockturn Alley.

After they've left one morning, an owl arrives from Hogwarts carrying letters for Hermione and me. Hermione takes hers anxiously, wondering what books we'll need this year and who will be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts. "And I wonder," she muses, "Will they manage to keep the job for more than a year? With Voldemort dead, I mean. Do you think the curse is broken?"

She's still babbling on about classes when she opens her letter and a badge falls out into her lap. "I still have my Prefect's badge," she says unhappily. "Did Professor McGonagall think I would lose it or something?" She picks it up, though, and stops talking. She stares at the badge in her hand, then looks through her letter again.

"Hermione?" I ask. "Is everything okay?"

"Better than okay," she says with the beginnings of a smile on her face. "It's brilliant! Ginny, I'm Head Girl this year. McGonagall wrote that it's unusual for someone who's missed a year of school to be selected, but that she thinks I'm the best possible candidate for the job after last year."

"Congratulations!" I say happily as I tear open my own letter, only to have a badge tumble onto my own lap. It's not a Prefect's badge, I know instantly, having seen so many of them in my family over the years. It's different—more cleanly shaped, I think—and has more detail within the pattern, the roaring lion of Gryffindor. My eyes are drawn to a line of text across the top, reading "Quidditch".

I frantically sort through the paper that was included in my envelope. There's the usual letter, the list of supplies, the Hogsmeade permission form, and a letter from someone whose name I don't recognize. Eloisa Norwood, apparently the new Head of Gryffindor.

Miss Ginevra Weasley,

I am pleased to inform you that you have been chosen as this year's Quidditch captain for Gryffindor House. You will be permitted to hold tryouts any time before your first game, which will be played against Hufflepuff House in October. Your position, as I am told, may be either Chaser or Seeker, depending on the team.

Eloisa Norwood
Head of Gryffindor House

"Hermione, I'm Quidditch captain!" I say excitedly.

She does her best to be excited with me, and it's honestly admirable considering how little she understands Quidditch. "Ginny, that's great. Everyone knew you could get it, you know—Harry even said he'd write McGonagall himself if you didn't."

I smile, knowing the news that will actually get her excited. "You know a Quidditch captain letter is signed by the Head of House, right? And it's not McGonagall."

"No," Hermione says, shocked. "I mean, I assumed it came from someone, but it's not McGonagall since she's the Headmistress now…Ginny! You know who our new Head of House is—and presumably the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, since it's likely the only vacancy that would warrant a new Head of House."

"Eloisa Norwood," I tell Hermione, proud to know something before she does.

Excited, she goes off to her books to look up everything she can about our new professor, while I take out my mirror to talk to Harry.

"Look!" I tell him, the moment I see his face. I put the Quidditch captain badge in front of the mirror, very close.

He, unlike Hermione, immediately understands how important this is. "Ginny, congratulations! I'll have to take you out this weekend to celebrate, what do you think?"

I can't hide my smile. "I think that's a brilliant idea."

"Good," he says, smiling too. "Tomorrow night, then. Can you be ready to go out and celebrate the moment I get home?"

"Of course," I say. I'm always ready to go somewhere with Harry. "Er, Harry…what should I wear?"

"Don't worry about it," he recommends. "You always look beautiful, so that won't be a problem."

I laugh. "I love you, Harry. Now get back to work, before Reeve gets mad at you for being distracted again."

"I love you too. And I'll deal with Reeve if it means I get to talk to you."

"Harry," I scold. "I'll talk to you later, but right now you have work to do. I wouldn't want you getting fired on account of me."

He finally agrees and puts the mirror down, but not before saying, "I love you, Ginny. And they won't fire me, I promise."

After that, I'm buzzing with excitement. I tell Mum, who seems to think being Quidditch captain is on the same level as becoming a Prefect. "Well, Ginny dear, we'll have to buy you a present for that. What would you like? A new wand? New robes? A broomstick?"

Those all sound great, but I like my current wand, my robes fit well despite being second-hand, and I would honestly rather save for a Nimbus than ask her to buy one for me. My old Cleansweep Seven works just fine for now. "What about…" I ask hesitantly.

"Yes, dear?" Mum asks.

"What about an owl?" I say quietly. "So that I could write you this year without having to use a school owl."

Mum nods carefully. "An owl is a good investment. You'll have it for years, and be able to write us even once you're out of school. We'll go to Diagon Alley on Saturday so that Harry and Ron can join us if there's anything they need, and you can pick one at Eeylops."

"Thanks, Mum," I say happily. In two days, I'll have an owl of my own and be able to send letters to whomever I choose. I have the mirror to talk to Harry, but I'd like to keep in contact with some other members of Dumbledore's Army who graduated this year. After all, I do consider Neville a good friend, along with a few others.

Harry and Ron come home a little while before dinner, and Harry is carrying a bedraggled broomstick. I can't believe that the thing can even fly; he stashes it upstairs before joining the rest of us at the table. Dad and Percy arrive just as we're sitting down, and the whole evening becomes a celebration. It's the first time since the Battle that everyone has laughed together, and I realize how much I missed it these past months. It's time that some of the wounds of that night begin to heal, however slowly. Laughter is a good way to start.

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