Correspondence

September 1992

"Ginevra Weasley, you might as well have been born with scars," her mother said with a stern huff as she emptied out another bottle of Dittany, tossing it into the bin. "Fred, take out the rubbish, would you, dear?"

"I'm George," Fred replied, causing Molly to stutter out an oft repeated apology, and Ginny to giggle at her devious older brother.

Ginny had plenty of scars, most thanks to having six older brothers. Bill had taught her to walk but rarely paid much attention to where she was going. "Mum! Where's the dittany!" he'd screamed when Ginny fell and cracked her head on the side of the table.

Charlie taught her how to fly when no one else was looking—"Dad, where's the dittany?"—and she'd crashed into a tree that first time.

Percy once accidentally dropped a book on her toe when neither were paying attention to where they were going. She got one drop of dittany and a twenty minute lecture on keeping inside one's personal space.

Fred and George hovered over a small cauldron in their bedroom and, while wearing protective gear themselves, they spoonfed Ginny something they'd invented that somehow gave her blisters that covered her arms and face. The twins didn't need to ask their parents where the dittany was; they kept it stocked under their bed.

Ron started giving her scars when he started treating her like a girl instead of like his sibling. The first time he told her that their mother said it was impolite to hit a girl, Ginny had punched him in the arm until he finally struck back. Ron needed the dittany that time, though.

Ginny went to Hogwarts with a plethora of scars and a bottle of dittany in her trunk and never thought twice to count any new marks that appeared on her skin. Even if she knew to look for them, she was far too busy staring at Harry from down the Gryffindor table, and writing in her diary about the way her heart beat fast at the sight of him.

"Do you think Harry Potter could be my soulmate, Mum?" she'd once asked her mother.

Molly had turned bright red and then ran a hand over her daughter's forehead, pretending to push away a lock of hair. She smiled softly. "Even if he's not, you can always love and marry who you want. Remember that."

Ginny smiled back. "Isn't that why you married Daddy though? 'Cause he's your soulmate?"

Sighing, Molly kissed the top of Ginny's head. "I married your father because I loved him. Being my soulmate just made it better, perhaps."

Ginny stared at Harry Potter's lightning-shaped scar and decided that maybe she'd marry him anyway.

She told her diary as much.

Any time she had to go near the girl's bathroom that had been flooded, something awful turned in her stomach. Something deep and dark that buried itself inside of her and began to itch. Missing time. She was missing time and losing her memories, at least . . . she thought she was.

I think I'm sick, Tom, she wrote in her diary.

I'll take care of you, he wrote back. Tell me about your day.

Ginny sighed.

Luna has a soulmate. He's asked her to stop drawing on herself. Do you think you could be my soulmate, Tom? That would be nice. You're a good listener.

I already have a soulmate, he told her. I hope I see her again one day.

Lucky witch, Ginny wrote.

Tom took a long time, but eventually wrote back, Tell me more about Harry Potter.

June 1993

She stayed in the hospital wing as long as Madam Pomfrey would allow. Not only could she not bring herself to face Colin or Hermione, but looking at Harry—her literal hero—reminded her of the stench of blood, and the dank, damp smell of the Chamber of Secrets; like stale water and rotting rodent carcasses. She couldn't remember much of what she'd done down there on her own—or much of the year—but she remembered the smell and the feeling of something crawling inside of her.

Few understood.

Few had sympathy.

She'd woken once to find Professor McGonagall running her fingers through her hair. She'd looked like she had been crying, and when Ginny made eye contact with the older witch, she thought she briefly saw guilt flash in her eyes.

Her mother had cried hysterically as though something horrible had happened to her instead of Ginny. Once the tears were all dried up, Ginny was given an hour long lecture on how thoughtless she was and how she should have known better and why hadn't she told anyone? Her father stood awkwardly and tried to make sad little jokes to cheer her up, which only made her feel worse.

Her brothers fell into two groups: awkward and guilty.

Fred and George tried acting as though nothing at all strange had happened, likely in the hopes of speeding her recovery and making her feel less pathetic. All it did was force a smile that felt too fake, and made her feel horrible when they didn't seem to notice the difference.

Ron and Percy took turns blaming everyone else and then themselves.

"I should have protected you," Ron had said.

"I should have noticed something," Percy lamented.

It was all about them.

The two brothers she knew would have been at her side in a flash—letting her cry in their laps while they stroked her hair as though she were still very small—never even showed up. Not a word, not an owl, not a single mention of Bill or Charlie until she finally had to ask.

"Surprised Bill and Charlie haven't come running in to help," she said sarcastically, using it as a defensive wall between herself and her mother, who refused to leave unless it suited her.

"Oh," Molly said, caught off guard by the remark, "we decided not to tell them." Ginny's eyes widened and she felt something heavy sink in her gut. "Charlie's work is just so dangerous, he can't be distracted. Same goes for Bill. And so far away," she said with a heavy sigh, "I don't see why those boys have to go out of the country to find a good job. So expensive to travel. You understand, dear."

She didn't.

Strangely enough, Luna Lovegood had become a dear friend who had her own way of understanding without pitying. She'd described Ginny's ordeal with Tom Riddle in the simplest of terms that made Ginny want to cry with relief.

"It's a bit like a pillywog infestation," the blonde said as she drew pretty patterns on Ginny's arm with brightly coloured ink. Ginny'd asked her not to use red or black. "Pillywogs are very pretty and make lovely sounds to draw their prey in," she'd told Ginny, "but once they catch someone, it's quite hard to get rid of them. They stick on like leeches, sucking your good thoughts away."

Sucking my soul, Ginny thought. "Thank you, Luna."

"Oh!" Luna exclaimed excitedly. "Look, you've got one too!"

Blinking, Ginny turned to her friend, throwing her a confused expression. She followed Luna's line of sight to her own arm where, hidden among the unicorns and flowers that Luna had drawn on her, was a bold, black word:

Hello.

Horrified, Ginny screamed.

Are you there?

Hello?

Anyone?

What's your name?

Do you exist?

Can you make the pretty flowers again?

Hello?

Who are you?

Ginny tensed anytime she saw the words over the summer, feeling her gut twisting with memories of Tom's fanciful script, dancing across the pages of the black diary in heavy ink that looked expensive and pretty and just so very . . . meant for her. He had been meant for her, she'd thought. Only not really. He'd had a soulmate and she'd known that. But . . . she'd wanted him for her very own. Except, she'd gotten him, given him a piece of her just like she'd wanted, and now she was sick with the thought of it.

She had her own soulmate now. One who wouldn't stop writing. One who might've not known that words appearing out of nowhere had a way of making Ginny throw up in the morning or cry herself to sleep at night only to dream about dead Muggle-borns, slaughtered roosters, and a new and awful fear of snakes.

Eventually, she'd broken down and grabbed the nearest quill, scratching out the words FUCK OFF! on her own arm. The messages stopped coming after that.

December 1994

"Do you have a soulmate, Neville?"

The boy turned and stared at her with wide eyes. "What?" he asked, practically squeaking in shock.

She smirked, forgetting that some pureblood families treated soulmates like they were a pretty secret that no one was allowed to talk about. Hell, even her own family got jumpy sometimes if it was brought up. "Didn't mean to fluster you," she teased.

"I'm not," he said, only slightly defensively. "I just . . . it's weird. Mine's not . . . it's complicated," he finally said, looking down.

Ginny smiled. "Same here."

He looked up then, lips parted and the crinkle in his forehead gone. He looked relieved. "Really? Why?"

"You first."

He grimaced. "I can't go into details. Just . . . no romance for me," he said with a shrug of his shoulders and a self-deprecating laugh.

Ginny smirked. "That's rotten luck. If it makes you feel any better, I think mine's a girl."

"How do you know?"

She remembered all the messages on her skin. "She dots her i's with hearts."

Neville laughed. "Hey umm . . . do you want to go to the Yule Ball with me?"

She watched Harry and Ron in the corner playing Exploding Snap and sighed. "Yeah," she said, "that'd be great."

November 1996

Snogging Dean wasn't nearly as bad as snogging Michael Corner. Michael had slobbered too much and used tongue right away, which had actually made her gag the first time he'd done it. He'd looked hurt by her reaction, and she'd rolled her eyes. Honestly, boys could be so delicate sometimes. But Dean was hardly delicate. He had almost too eagerly agreed to hide behind tapestries with her, palming her breasts and pressing his groin against her like he had something to prove. Ginny wondered if he had a grudge against Michael and was trying to stake out his territory in some embarrassing act of male ego.

The snogging and rutting was good. It wasn't great, but it was good. It didn't feel like flying or scoring a goal in Quidditch, and she certainly wasn't thinking of snogging her boyfriend the first time she cast her Patronus in a Dumbledore's Army meeting . . . but it was good.

It got slightly better when she'd accidentally pictured Gwenog Jones.

It got significantly better when she accidentally pictured Harry.

She couldn't bring herself to delve too deeply into either thought.

June 1997

"Do you . . . do you think it's cheating?" Harry had asked her when they sat down by the lake during those last few weeks of the year when everything was sombre and tense thanks to Malfoy, Death Eaters, and Snape.

She had her back pressed to his chest as he ran his fingers through her hair. Her childhood dream come true. Almost perfect. She loved him, she knew that much. From how he reacted to her, she might've thought he could love her too. But Harry Potter had a soulmate somewhere.

And so did she.

Whatever it meant.

"It doesn't have to be romantic," she told him. "My parents are soulmates, and they obviously got married but . . . it doesn't have to be that way."

The way he sighed against her shoulder told her all she needed to know.

This was temporary.

It was hard to blame him.

February 1998

Neville was going to die and no one seemed to care. Or at least, care enough to stop Amycus Carrow from using the Cruciatus Curse on him. Gryffindors had mostly been held back by magic, but the majority were too terrified to do anything. With Harry, Ron, and Hermione gone, Neville had become their leader, their beckon of hope and their rallying point. Fight back, he'd taught them, and they'd followed with glee.

And now he was vomiting on the floor because he'd said "Muggle-born" instead of "Mudblood", and Professor Carrow had apparently taken that as a personal slight. Then again, the deranged twin Death Eaters took walking down the hallway on the left side instead of the right as personal affronts to their nature.

"Let him go, you fucking twat!" Ginny screamed, drawing the Death Eater's full attention on her.

She swallowed hard, knowing exactly what was about to happen, but she felt mildly vindicated when she saw Lavender Brown and Hannah Abbott rush to Neville's aid, dragging him by the arms from the centre of the room and—hopefully—out of the harm's way. Madam Pomfrey could help patch him up for now, but there was no doubt any longer: they would need to go into hiding tonight.

"You foul-mouthed little blood-traitor," Carrow said as he trained his wand on her.

Ginny held her own up as though they were prepared to duel honourably. They weren't. She knew that, and she wasn't stupid enough to do something like bow to the man. He hit her with the Cruciatus Curse, and it was hard enough to knock her to her knees with an audible crack against the hard floor. Just when she began to lose consciousness, she let out a quiet laugh as a bat-shaped bogey flew from the Death Eater's nose and began viciously biting his face.

She woke up in the hospital wing, someone with long blond hair doting on her. She groaned. "Luna?"

"Not exactly," whispered the soft, sweet voice. "That was very brave, what you did for your friend. Madam Pomfrey fixed you up, but the Carrows are waiting outside the infirmary. Longbottom vanished, and they think you'll disappear, too. So . . . so I'm going to distract them. My friends and I have put something together and hopefully, your little band of lions can trust the word of . . . well . . . hopefully they'll be here soon to get you somewhere safe."

Ginny could taste blood in her mouth followed by a variety of potions, but the smell in her nose was lilacs, something she never thought she'd enjoy so much. "Pretty . . ." she mumbled. "Who're you?"

The voice never came back, but soft fingers trailed over Ginny's arms, lightly drawing words that she was too dazed to make out. The message was clear enough. Ginny's soulmate was at Hogwarts; and judging by the flash of green she saw before she closed her eyes once more, the girl was a Slytherin.

Fuck.

2003

She'd skipped out on the hen's night and instead, went out with the boys the night before Ron's wedding. Everyone was in a celebratory mood, considering Ron was stupidly in love with his bride-to-be, and not only had Malfoy and Harry become strange friends—with the ferret marrying 'Mione—but her ex-boyfriend was currently buying rounds for everyone to celebrate the birth of his son. James Sirius had been born three months ago, and not even sleepless nights and dirty nappies could sway Harry from his happiness.

Either that, or he was wanting more reasons to drink.

And buy drinks.

And from the look of it, sip spilt drinks from the counter.

"Lightweight," she snorted and threw back the free shot of firewhisky, stacking the empty glasses seven high next to her and smirking at the number. "Seven shots fer the seventh child," she muttered, leaning forward and resting her elbow on the table in front of her and putting her chin on her palm.

"I'm gettin' merried!" Ron said as he fell into the seat across from her, grinning stupidly with his hair mussed and some sort of liquor spilt all down the front of his shirt. "So beaut'ful, dontcha think?"

"Mmm," Ginny mumbled an agreement. "Got a pair of tits on her, thasfer sure."

Ron's eyes widened slightly and he let out a booming laugh. "Yeah, she does! Didna think girls saw that 'bout each other."

Blinking, Ginny thought, fuck it, and blurted out, "I think I'd like to fuck a girl. Any tips on goin' abou'that?"

Ron stared at her dazedly for a long time, waiting for her to start laughing. When she didn't, his mouth fell open, and he pointed questioningly at Harry in the corner, who had his arm thrown around Dean's shoulder, both doing some version of the can-can, while George laughed at them. "Wha'bout them?"

Ginny shrugged looking at two of her ex-boyfriends. "Maybe I can like both."

"Huh. You can do that?"

She laughed then. "Maybe I can. You should stick to yer big-titted wife."

"Future wife!" Ron said and then grinned. "I'm gettin' merried tomorrow! To my soulmate!"

Ginny smiled at him. "So, about those tips on shaggin' girls?"

He stopped smiling. "Oh . . . umm . . . lemme go get George," he said and stood up. "He'll be better at this."

Smirking, Ginny waved to the bartender, requesting another shot. "Don't tell yer future wife that."

George had not, actually, been better at it. Funnier, certainly, and it was always good to see him smile again. He sat her down, drink in hand, and began going over the many ways to woo a female, none of which would ultimately work for her, and likely had never worked for him. But he was smiling and not painfully tugging on his one good ear, which had become an anxious compulsion after the war.

He told her about lady bits as though she were a boy and didn't have them herself.

"You'll want to get to the clitoris, y'know," he said, "it's located at the bottom of—"

"Oh, you dummy," Ginny said with a laugh. "I hope you're taking the piss, because otherwise Imma cry for all yer ex-girlfriends."

They'd broken out into raucous laughter at that, and she rested her head down on the table, just looking at the shot glass full of firewhisky in front of her. "My soulmate's a girl," she said softly, longingly. "She smells like lilacs. I'm kind of . . . I'm a bit afraid to meet her," she admitted. "Not very Gryffindor of me. 'Fraid to meet a girl."

George briefly sobered and then cleared his throat. "Soulmate huh? Umm . . . lemme go get Percy. He'll be better at this."

"And he . . . he thought that I would be able to give you tips on courting a woman?" Percy had asked her with a raised brow when they'd met for lunch two days after Ron's wedding. He was wearing a pressed shirt and a blue and gold tie that didn't match his Ministry robes, which were a hideous shade of green.

Ginny had shrugged. "To be fair," she said with a grin, already seeing the blush rising to her brother's cheeks, "I'd originally asked for tips on fucking them."

Percy had stared at her, eyes wide, scandalised by her language. "Well, I . . . perhaps, perhaps you should speak to Charlie. He had quite the reputation back in Hogwarts, from what I understand. And who knows what he gets up to on that dragon reserve. It's likely a veritable hotbed of debauchery. I, however, can offer you no help in this area, Ginevra."

He was closing up, the way he normally did when the family spoke about the war, as though he needed to hide something about himself. It wasn't like it was a secret, that Percy didn't exactly favour witches, and the whole family had been trying to make him comfortable in talking about it.

Ginny's method was a bit more . . . blunt. "If you'd like, we could trade tips on sucking cock? It's been a while for me, but I'm sure it's just like riding a broom," she said with a laugh as he glared at her, the wall coming down as his irritation rose. She waggled her eyebrows. "You never forget how to ride a broom."

Charlie had taken one good look at her after the words left her mouth, before standing up and saying, "I'm going to go get Bill," sending Ginny to the ground, clutching at her side from laughing so hard. It seemed that her brothers were either embarrassed, awkward, gay, or had zero interest in sex at all, and Ginny would be left to her own devices.

Except, of course, Bill had married a veela, and was well versed in how to please women.

Something that came in quite handy when Ginny eventually ran into her soulmate at Grimmauld Place a few months later. She was dropping off some old clothes that her mother had saved from when the boys were little. She looked a right mess, exhausted from training with the Harpies that morning, but she'd made a promise and, ex-boyfriend or not, Harry was still a friend and she was glad to help him out. Not that he needed it.

"More clothes?" he asked and then chuckled. "Come on up. Daphne's just getting him out of the bath."

She followed Harry up the stairs toward the rooms and was suddenly assaulted by the scent of lilacs. She sucked in a sharp breath as she saw the girl, grinning from ear to ear, standing next to Harry's wife. Long blond hair and sparkling eyes.

"Gin's here," Harry said to Daphne, but the strange blonde had spun her head at his words and stared across the room like a deer that had been startled frozen.

"You?" Ginny asked.

The girl swallowed and nodded her head slowly, a blush tinting her cheeks.

Daphne looked between them. "Have you not met my sister, Astoria? You were both at the wedding."

Harry laughed. "Ginny was pissed the whole night," he said with a chuckle.

Ginny touched her arm lightly, unable to break her gaze away from Daphne's sister, not even to punch Harry in the arm. She smiled. "We've . . . corresponded before."

Astoria bit her lower lip, stifling a smile of her own.