Chapter Six

Finding Time To Write

'Dear Harry,

Today was funny. Dad brought home a computer, don't know if you've heard of them... a strange Muggle invention. It's like a box with a screen attached which shows pictures, much like a Muggle television. Dad was incredibly excited about it. I have to confess that I was a bit excited too! It was fun to assemble. Dad and I had absolutely no idea, of course. I messed around with all the cords and plugs until I figured out which holes they all went into. After a great fiasco, we managed to turn it on. It made plenty of whirring noises and flashed a few green lights for awhile before grinding to a halt. Eventually realised that the screen needed to be plugged in. After I did that, lots of picture and words began appearing on the screen. Cut a long story short, turns out a computer is used for improving hand-eye coordination. There's a small box with a long cord attached that you can move around, and a corresponding triangular shaped arrow on the screen moves with it. Dad happily spent hours moving the arrow around the screen. He says that he's probably got the best hand-eye coordination in the Wizarding World now. I wouldn't be surprised! It's funny though, I wouldn't have thought that Muggles would need such a big box for that sort of thing. I don't know what all the accompanying smaller boxes are for. No doubt they're some sort of extensions to the hand-eye coordination learning program. Don't suppose you know, do you, Harry?

It's funny to think that in only three weeks, we'll be back at Hogwarts. I guess you must miss Hogwarts a whole lot during the summer and I don't blame you a bit. I would too. I do, kind of. I miss my friends (and you, of course) but it's always nice to come home to the Burrow. 'It's not much, but it's home,' as Ron always says. It's good to spend time with my parents... a lot of kids don't have that, I know, and you're one of them, I'm sorry, Harry, you must think I'm rubbing it in something chronic. I'm not trying to... just trying to seem deep and meaningful and failing miserably as usual!

You mentioned the relationship between Ron and Hermione in your letter. I didn't realise you felt like that about them, Harry. I don't think anyone suspects that! I know that the Daily Prophet is mad keen on the idea of there being an incredible love triangle between you, Ron and Hermione. The truth isn't quite as exotic! I have to agree with you, I think that Ron is incredibly hot for Hermione too but I won't say anything to him... he'd get all defensive and deny it and go red in the face and storm off to his room... predictable as anything. If I as much as mention Hermione he goes beet red, snaps and asks just how I'd know what's going on with Hermione better than he would. The boy has issues.

Oh that reminds me. Ron is quite bitter that apparently you haven't written to him for awhile. He's snapped at me a couple of times about it now... I don't know what to say to him, I hadn't realised that you weren't writing to him. Slipped your mind? Never mind, he'll forgive you. Just write a quick note to assure him that you aren't being abused! He's got some crazy notion of rescuing you from the Dursleys' place, just in case you were being maltreated, et cetera... funny.

I'd love to write more, Harry, but unfortunately dinner is ready and Mum needs me to set the table. I want you to get this soon so I'd best send Pigwidgeon off with it now. Take care, Harry, I'll see you soon.

Love,

Ginny.

Harry took off his glasses with a sigh, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. He'd reread Ginny's letter nine times now and the hour was late. He needed to get to sleep but he didn't fancy dreams just yet.

He reached under his pillow and took out the little stack of letters that was accumulating under there. He untied the string binding them and added Ginny's most recent effort to it, tying it back up gently and replacing it under his pillow. He contemplated the dirty white linen of the pillow for a moment before getting up and moving over to the window.

He gazed out at the night sky, wondering just when life had become so confusing. Nothing made sense anymore. At the beginning of the holidays, he was Harry Potter, sent home from school to live with his detested family for the summer break, was studying magic in his room and looking forward to returning to Hogwarts immensely come September.

Now he was Harry Potter, sent home from school to live with his abhorred family for the entire summer break, had discarded his magic texts in favour of letter writing, spent most of his time daydreaming and didn't give Hogwarts or Ron much thought at all.

He couldn't understand why he didn't write to Ron. He missed Ron, he wanted to see Ron, he always enjoyed reading Ron's letters but somehow he just didn't have the patience or energy to write to Ron. It was just one of those indefinable, puzzling things. Like running hot and cold. Hormones, he supposed. Just plain old hormones.

Funny though, isn't it, how you always have the energy to write to Ginny?

Harry's conscience prickled. He needed to write to Ron. He reached for a piece of parchment and his quill. Any note would do.

'Dear Ron,

Hey! How's it all going at the Burrow? It's alright here, I guess, everyone's leaving me alone so I've got plenty of time to myself... I'm even getting fed...'