Crumpled Letters
He had a trunk full of letters. Pieces of parchment never sent by owl or postman, or even a large, colorful tropical bird. He couldn't send these, for if he did, she might die as the result. Instead, he'd only smile, a small fleeting contracting of muscles before throwing the parchment into his trunk, where he'd push aside all of his belongings and lay the letter carefully underneath.
He had a million of these. Oh how he wished he could send them…
Her face was cold where it lay against the window pane, as she watched the dark world flood with rain. The gnomes in the garden ran in panic toward the shelter of the boots strewn across the yard, no smiles on their lips, no laughter heard. Crookshanks had left long ago.
Ginny heard the sweet pattering of rain, the broken sounds of her mother sobbing downstairs, her father late again from work, and sighed restlessly. Picking herself up from the window seat, she moved back to her desk, where she'd been sitting moments before the rain started a half an hour ago. She picked up her quill, bit her lip, and reread what she'd written.
Dear Harry,
Two words.
She crumpled up the letter and tossed it away.
Heh. Sorry folks. Just random suckage. Post HBP. Be warned.