AN: Sorry for taking so long on this one. Things should be quicker after school ends! Enjoy, and review!
Ginny was the last person to enter the kitchen. She took her seat between Hermione and Ron, careful to avoid anyone's gaze.
"Is Dad working late again?" Ginny asked casually, scooping mashed potatoes on to her plate.
Mrs. Weasley glanced over at the clock on the wall. Although all nine hands (each one representing a member of the Weasley family) had been pointing at the "Mortal Peril" label for many months, old habits were difficult to break.
"I imagine so," she replied, unnecessarily. Mr. Weasley had been late to every meal for over a week. In fact, he often arrived home long after everyone was in bed, at which time he had difficulty deciding whether he needed sleep or food the most.
Silence fell across the table. Even Fred and George were too busy eating to talk or joke. Ginny ate slowly, remembering how dinner used to be more enjoyable. Members of the Order of the Phoenix used to drop by every night for Mrs. Weasley's delicious cooking, and they always had stories to tell and news to pass on. There had been no guests to dinner for weeks – everyone was too busy chasing down Death Eaters.
Ginny had to admit that she even missed Fleur, her new sister-in-law. During her engagement to Ginny's oldest brother, Bill, Fleur had managed to get on the wrong side of every member of the Weasley family. However, when Bill had been bitten by a werewolf, Fleur was still determined to go through with the wedding. Her decision to marry Bill despite his newly acquired wolfish characteristics completely erased any previous negative thoughts about her.
True, Fleur was still quite vain (but rightly so, considering, she was part Veela) and she still could be trying at times. But at least she always had something to say at the dinner table.
Mrs. Weasley seemed to think that the silence had gone on long enough. "Has anybody heard from Harry lately?" she asked briskly.
Ginny, who had been in the process of swallowing her forkful of turnip, choked and coughed into her napkin. A sharp intake of breath was heard from Hermione, and Ron muttered, "Not again!"
"Well, it has been quite a while since his last letter," Mrs. Weasley said, "How long has it been exactly? Ginny?"
"Two weeks," she whispered, unable to keep her voice completely steady.
"And what was in his last letter again?" Mrs. Weasley asked delicately, looking at Ron.
"Mom, you know that it was only for Ginny!" Ron glared at her from across the table.
"Yes, but she still hasn't told us his news, have you, dear?" Mrs. Weasley looked at Ginny.
"There probably wasn't a lot of actual news in it, to tell you the truth, Mom," Fred interjected, snickering slightly. Ginny grabbed at this chance to lighten the subject.
"Yeah, exactly," she said, forcing a laugh, "But, you know, he said he was going to be busy and, um… that was about it! Anyway, I'm full!" She pushed her chair out and stood.
"Alright, put your plate on the counter," Mrs. Weasley said gently, realizing that she had indeed struck a nerve in her daughter.
"Actually, I'm full too," Hermione said, "Ginny, why don't we go practice some of your new spells in my room?"
"Sure," Ginny replied, sensing that practicing wasn't the only thing on Hermione's mind.
"Hey Gin, what about Quidditch later?" asked Ron as Ginny and Hermione put their plates on the counter next to the sink.
"Maybe I'll let her play if her spell work is good enough!" Hermione chirped back at him as they headed out of the kitchen.
Neither of the girls said a word as they climbed the stairs and entered Hermione's room.
"Oops, my wand is downstairs," Hermione said airily, "I'll be right back." With that, she left the room.
Given this blissful moment of peace, Ginny sat on Hermione's bed and looked at her surroundings. Bill's room had certainly changed since Hermione had moved in. Gone were the posters of goblins and Quidditch; gone were all of Bill's medals and certificates for various accomplishments. Gone was the amount of clutter that can only be achieved by a teenaged male.
The bookcase that used to hold Bill's trophies and magazines now held many leather-bound spell books, dusted daily. A cushioned basket sat in the corner for Hermione's ginger cat, Crookshanks. On the night table was a framed photograph of Harry, Ron and Hermione, taken in the summer after their fourth year.
"He looks so young!" Ginny thought, edging along the bed to pick up the photo. The three figures in the photograph waved merrily at her from one of the stone benches in the Weasley's garden. Ginny sat, mesmerized by Harry's green eyes, clearly visible in the bright sunlight spilling over his face.
"I'm back!" Hermione burst into the room, wand in hand, to see Ginny bent over the photo.
"Before we start, though," she continued, "Take that thing out of your pocket."
"What's that?" Ginny asked dazedly. She was unaware of anything being in her pocket.
"The letter!" Hermione said, her voice sounding exasperated, "You can show me, can't you?"
Ginny slowly put her hand into her pocket and immediately felt the folded parchment. She had forgotten that she had shoved the letter there after reading it. She handed it to Hermione.
"Some parts are really stupid," she mumbled as Hermione unfolded it.
"Dear Ginny," Hermione began reading aloud, "I know things have probably been really hard for you but I'm afraid that it's probably going to only get worse. You know how I feel about you and I hope you will never forget that I only want to protect you, and the others. I can't say much but things are going to get a lot more dangerous from now on and I won't be able to write very much, if at all-"
Ginny appeared to suddenly become fascinated by the texture of Hermione's quilt.
"- so this might be my last letter, at least for a while." Hermione's voice became quieter as she read, "I think about you every day, how beautiful you are, how funny, how sweet. Please remember, even when you feel really upset, that you are the only one I feel this way about-"
Hermione trailed off, her eyes reading ahead as her face reddened. Ginny cleared her throat twice and blushed furiously.
After a few seconds of awkward silence, Hermione continued with another section of the letter, "Letters that you might get from me after this will probably seem really business-like and unfeeling but that's the way it has to be. If they fall into the wrong hands, or get intercepted, bad things could happen to you and the others. Goodbye for now and let the others know that I won't be writing as much. I love-"
The last line was cut off by an abrupt sob. Hermione looked up from the letter to see Ginny bent over with her face in her hands. She quickly folded up the letter and put it into her own pocket.
"I'm sorry, Ginny," Hermione whispered tearfully, putting her arms around her friend, "I didn't mean to upset you with this." Ginny looked up at her with tear-filled eyes. Unexpectedly, she laughed. Hermione stared at her.
"It's really alright," said Ginny, sniffing loudly, but smiling, "You're the only person who I can cry in front of in this house without feeling like an idiot."
Hermione gave her a watery smile back, "Well, I wouldn't be too keen on bawling either in front of your brothers… or even your mom." Ginny gave another sob-like chuckle.
"I just think about him all of the time," she said to Hermione, "I wish that I could stop worrying!"
"We all worry," Hermione whispered assuredly, "I think about him a lot too. I know Mom really misses him. And Ron, I know that he does too. Even Fred and George-"
"I know," Ginny said, "But I can't help feeling that I miss him the most out of everyone."
Realizing what she had just said, she tried to recover, "I mean, we all miss him, but-"
"No," Hermione quieted her, "I know it would affect you the most. And I can't believe how brave you've been."
Ginny nodded, not knowing what to say any more.
"All we can do is hope that he isn't getting himself into too much trouble," Hermione continued, "I'm not sure how well he can function without his friends- and girlfriend- to help him out."
"Girlfriend on hold," thought Ginny, but she decided not to say anything more.