Ginny sat in front of the blazing fire in the Gryffindor Common Room, her packed trunk by her side, her robes stretched across her growing abdomen. It was seven months, now. Dumbledore had allowed her to stay up in her room after hearing about what had happened. But Ginny was getting sick of her confinement. She wanted to go home, even though her father didn't acknowledge her presence and her mother never said a word to her. She wanted to be back in her room, among her stuffed animals, her posters and books and drawings... and away fom Draco Malfoy's cold, accusing eyes. Every time she saw him in the halls, in the Great Hall, anywhere, he never met her eyes, but she could see into his. Out of shame, she'd often feel like throwing up and sometimes did.

She took a deep yawn as Professor McGonagall clambered through the portrait hole. Her tartan robe was tied neatly in the front, her nightcap tilted on top of her head, over her tight black bun. She held a dripping candlestick is her left hand, which she set on the table beside the couch. Sitting beside Ginny, she put her hand on her knee. Ginny looked up, startled, gave a small smile, said "Hello, Professor." and looked back into the fire.

"Your parents just sent word. They'll be here soon." Professor McGonagall said, her voice strained. Ginny nodded, still staring into the fire, trying to sort out her confusing feelings. Professor McGonagall took a deep gulp, and said nervously,

"I know how you feel."

Ginny gave a her a sad, lost look. How could she know? The immense stress of handling it alone, with her family even angry at her, not supporting her decision to keep her baby, was so much. Only someone who had been through the same thing could know. Professor McGonagall reached into her pocket and pulled out a crumpled picture, and held it towards Ginny. Curious, Ginny reached out a hand to take it.

"That's my daughter."

Ginny saw Professor McGonagall, a young woman, with a girl hanging off of her back, around fifteen or sixteen, both with raven hair, long and flowing. They were both smiling, apparently happy with not a care in the world. There were tiny water stains on the picture, clouding the girl's face, so Ginny couldn't see her features. Genuinely shocked, Ginny stared, openmouthed, at Professor McGonagall, who began to tell her story.

"When I was sixteen, I fell in love with a man I'll call Thomas. We were both young, and stupid. We thought that it would last forever. We thought we were responsible enough to handle the intimacy. But we weren't. When I found out that I was pregnant, I told Thomas right away. He didn't believe me. It took a while, but after I convinced him, he left me. He told me that he couldn't have something as unimportant as a family destroy his plans. I was heartbroken. I convinced my father and mother to let me finish school by mail, while I waited out the birth of my baby. At home, my parents never acknowledged my presence or anything that I said or did. They were disappointed. In those days, things like that didn't happen. I kept up my studies, doing well in school."

"Jennifer Lynne was born at 3:04 in the morning on April 27th. She was perfect, beautiful, and my parents actually spoke to me, telling me that no child had ever been so beautiful, or any woman so lucky to have such an adorable baby. I still didn't understand, though. Why did Thomas leave? What was it that I did? Was it even I who drove him away? Was it fear of commitment? Of love? Thomas had never had a family. He'd grown up in an orphanage. Maybe he was scared that he wouldn't do it right. But the first time I held my baby girl, I swore to myself that she'd have a better life."

"When Jenny was four, Armondo Dippet died, and Albus Dumbledore became Headmaster of Hogwarts. He was a good man, very compassionate, and his promotion meant an open space as Transfiguration teacher. Thinking of me, and remembering my skill in the subject, he wrote to me, asking me to take the job. I immediately accepted. Jenny and I had our own little space to live. It was perfect; everything I'd ever dreamed of. Eleven years passed exactly, and Jenny was in her fifth year at Hogwarts. We were on a little vacation in London, buying some little muggle trinkits. That was something I now wish I'd never taken her to do."

"As you know, around that time, a wizard named Grindalwald was rising. That day, we were in a little shop full of trinkits and toys, trying to find something for one of her friends, a first year whose little baby brother had just died. As we selected something and paid for it, there was an explosion from the back of the shop. My first instinct was to duck. When I stood up, I saw Grindelwald, looking much like a regular man, standing in the middle of the street, a gaggle of followers by his side, laughing maniacally. They disapparated. There were shards of glass in my hair, falling down my back. I was unharmed, though. But I couldn't find Jenny."

"I ran through the broken window, screaming for her. There were people bleeding everywhere, dying and injured. Screaming muggles were drawing the attention of cars passing on the bridge overhead. I was so worried about Jenny. I searched for half an hour, turning dead bodies over and looking under rubble, all the while screaming her name. Underneath a woman holding her baby, both dead, I found Jenny. There was a piece of large glass protruding from her chest, right in the middle. Jenny gave me a small smile and winced. She must have been in so much pain. I held her in my lap, and she handed me the gift we had selected for her friend. She told me to give it to her, and to tell her that she loved her. Jenny then told me that she loved me, and she died in my arms."

"I thought I'd never get over it. I never have. It's been so many years. But I know how hard it is to be betrayed and untrusted. It hurts. Looking at you, I remember what it was like. My hope for you is that your baby will live, they way mine couldn't." Professor McGonagall finished slowly, and let out a large sob, her thick, pearly tears falling onto the photo in her hands. Ginny reached over, so sympethetic that it hurt, and held her crying teacher close. It had never occured to Ginny before. She'd always seen Minerva McGonagall as a rigid woman, with no feeling whatsoever. But after hearing what she'd just heard, she realized that everyone had their own story. And as she rocked Minerva McGonagall back and forth, she began to wonder about Draco's life. Why was he the way he was? What could have caused his coldness? All Ginny could do without answers was to be grateful that she hadn't turned bitter.