Disclaimer: Of course, I own nothing.
I was sixteen the summer that I fully realized I was in love with my best friend. It's a good age to be in love, sixteen. We were young and vibrant and full of potential, and the world in which we lived on the brink of war matched the conflicting emotions that raged inside of us. Somehow, being in love helped us to forget that we were living in a difficult time. Somehow it made everything easier, just knowing we'd wake up in the morning to sit down to breakfast with the one person who could make our days a little brighter.
It was simple, the way it happened. So cliché, so standard. It probably wouldn't have occurred if it hadn't been for the war—if Mr. and Mrs. Weasley hadn't shipped Harry, Ginny, Ron, and me away to America for the summer. They did it so we'd be safe. After all, we were likely the most sought-after teenagers on Voldemort's hit list. What they didn't realize was that they were doing the four of us a far greater service that simply protecting us from evil. They gave us a chance to get away from what we'd known, an opportunity to finally come to understand ourselves and each other in an unhurried, tranquil sort of setting. And I could not have been more grateful.
But I can't pretend that we weren't angry the day we boarded the plane. We departed practically kicking and screaming.
"Why can't we just use the flue network?" whined Ginny.
"Or even a portkey?" added Ron.
"I've told you already," said Mrs. Weasley. "From the moment you left the Headquarters, you were to behave as Muggles. You failed to adhere to that rule on the ride here…" Mrs. Weasley glowered at Ron, who had twice opened up a box of enchanted Bertie Bott's, "but as of now you are all officially nonmagical."
To us, her words sounded like a death sentence. We didn't know how we'd survive a summer without being exposed to the magical life we were accustomed to. Nor did we know how we would manage to live with an American family consisting of one Squib who was a friend of Mr. Weasley's, and four muggles who knew nothing of the existence of the wizarding world.
"Mum! How could you possibly send us to live with muggles? How do you expect us to be safe with them?" Ron was scarlet and absolutely livid.
"Hush, dear, we're in the middle of a skypost!" Mrs. Weasley scolded.
"Er," Harry muttered to her, "airport, Mrs. Weasley."
"Right, of course, Harry, dear. Ginny, Ronald, we're in the middle of an airport, don't make a scene."
"Ugh," Ginny groaned, "How can you expect us not to make a scene when we're about to be placed on a giant hunk of metal that supposedly can fly, which if it does, will take us to a place where none of us have ever been to be with people that none of us have ever met?"
"You'll thank me someday." I doubted that we would. Harry and I were just as furious as the two youngest Weasley children, though we tried to conceal our outrage out of respect for Mrs. Weasley.
"This is it!" I said. "Our flight leaves any minute now." I had been the one to make sure we boarded the correct plane at the correct time, seeing as how I had been the only one to ever fly in the muggle manner.
We all hugged Mrs. Weasley goodbye, and she kissed our cheeks, looking melancholy. "Make sure you write us!" she called behind us as we walked to our gate. Then we were all alone.