12 February 2002
The moment Ron heard Harry's halting, painful explanation, everything clicked. For years, he'd thought that Ginny's abduction was due to casual cruelty or punishment to the Weasleys for being in the Order of the Phoenix. I should have known. It made sense in a way that twisted at Ron's insides.
Voldemort had known Harry as well as Harry had known Voldemort, and had chosen to incapacitate Harry as best he could. Having his followers brutalize Ginny, and then throw it in Harry's face and his head was just about the best way to do it. Except, Ron thought with pride, Voldemort hadn't broken Harry. Harry and Ginny were alive, and that snake's ashes had blown in the wind long ago.
Ron slapped Harry's back again, and pulled out of the hug.
"He didn't break you, Harry," Hermione said softly.
A strange look passed over Harry's face, like he disagreed completely with what Hermione had just said. And his mouth opened as though he was about to say something, but it closed again with a grimace. Ron glanced over at Hermione; she gave her head a small shake, telling him silently not to pursue it. Ron couldn't help but agree. It would take Harry a little while to believe them.
Another wave of nausea hit, as well as impotent rage. "How could he?" Ron asked without thinking. "Just… who could do something like that? How?" Harry's words echoed in his head.It delighted him--
"He had no clue what love was," said Harry, in a voice that was almost toneless. "He wanted to squash it completely; he was afraid of it—"
"As he should have been," Hermione said strongly. Ron had to admit that was pretty obvious, too. Regardless of what Voldemort had done and why, he was dead. Dead. Love hadn't failed. But Ron hadn't lied, either. Harry had a right to be completely mental. Frankly, Ron was surprised that Harry hadn't just let Voldemort kill him after that, though maybe Harry had gone into some sort of berserker rage.
"How'd it finally happen?" Ron asked. "How did he die?"
"I disarmed him at the same time he cast the Killing Curse," Harry said immediately. Visions of a fantastic duel imploded in Ron's mental eye. "I was the master of the Elder Wand – Draco Malfoy was the master of it, he got to Dumbledore before Snape did, and then since I disarmed Draco… the wand wouldn't work properly on me."
Despite the minimal drama – Ron would've liked to think of Voldemort going down in flames due to an avenging Harry – Ron had to admit that it fit better. It had probably been Harry's way of giving up, and quite suddenly, Ron simply didn't want to hear anymore. He groped around for a topic, trying to ignore how much it hurt that one person had inflicted so much damage on Harry and Ginny, two of the people Ron loved the most besides Hermione.
"So," he said somewhat desperately. "You and my sister? How did that happen?"
Hermione gave him a sharp look, but it faded into one of understanding. "I'm really cold," she said before Harry could speak. She reached into her robes and pulled out Ron's wand, tossing it to him. "Can we – let's go to our place." For a brief moment, Harry looked torn, but he didn't pull away when Hermione gripped his hand and turned on the spot.
One second passed, and Ron was just preparing to turn and join them when it hit him. It wasn't anything he hadn't already realized. But Harry's presence and Hermione's steadfast place at his side had been like a buffer. Now, however, he was alone in dark, cold woods, and knowledge was like a poisonous cloud hovering over him.
Ginny, young and vulnerable, had been brutalized in both body and mind. Ron had been there when the Healer had catalogued her wounds. And Harry… he had just as many faults as a normal bloke, but his biggest one was feeling guilty over every little thing. He had such a huge freaking blind spot when it came to blaming himself for situations so far out of his control that what Voldemort had done to him… Ron couldn't think of a way that could possibly torture him more.
"Confringo!" Ron shouted as loud as he could. A jet of light arced out of his wand and several trees exploded. It helped, and when he finally Disapparated, he felt less shaky.
Hermione was giving him a tour of their home, babbling nervously all the way. Ron decided not to join them, but grabbed a few butterbeers and waited in the living room. As soon as Harry rounded the corner ("And that's all the rooms," Hermione babbled.), Ron tossed him the cold bottle.
"Thanks," said Harry. "It's a nice home."
"You aren't even… surprised that we're living together?" Hermione asked tentatively.
"You're kidding, right?" Harry asked in disbelief. "Neither one of you did a bang up job trying to hide your feelings. After Ron's jealous tantrum at the Yule Ball—"
"What about you and Ginny?" Ron asked loudly. That took the smirk right off Harry's face.I've still got it, Ron thought smugly. It was nice to know there was still plenty of common ground.
"Well…" said Harry. And then he launched into a fumbling explanation that was almost difficult for Ron to follow. Remus had kicked his arse, and his words had inspired Harry to take the position at Hogwarts – not knowing, of course, that Ginny was there. And then, because of a mixture of Hagrid and Arnold, they stopped being uncomfortable and avoiding each other. "And then we started flying together," he continued. "And I realized how lovely she is." For some reason, this made Harry turn bright red.
"Er – that's great," said Ron, because he felt like he had to say something. He stretched out his legs, and cracked open his second butterbeer. Harry looked relieved, as though he'd thought Ron was about to hit him.
"And then I realized I'd fallen for her on Christmas," said Harry. He ruffled his hair and took a long pull from his drink. "Hit me like the Hogwarts Express."
"Christmas?" Hermione asked, a note of surprise in her voice.
"Yeah," he said. "After I heard George tell Remus what happened—"
"That's right!" Ron sat upright. "Dora said you disappeared – you went to Ginny, didn't you?" More and more pieces were flying together. Harry hadn't fled because he hadn't been able to handle hearing or seeing one of them; he'd gone to Ginny. He sort of wanted to tell Harry that he was mental again – he was helping her, not hurting her – but felt that would be out of place. "Mum and Dad are going to—"
Harry's feet banged down on the floor. "Listen, you can't tell them," he said earnestly.
What?
"What?" Ron asked blankly.
"Not until you talk to Ginny," Harry said firmly.
"But—"
"It's her decision to make," Harry interrupted Hermione. Ron wanted to argue, he really did. And maybe he would have if he weren't still reeling quite so badly. The feeling that it wasn't fair to keep his mum and dad in the dark was strong… but so was the instinct to listen to Harry. Harry who must've caused the change in her, who had helped her heal enough to laugh. And frankly, Ron had never thought that Ginny would have a relationship, and yet here Harry was.
Still.
"I'm not waiting forever," Ron said warningly.
"I know," Harry said quietly, fiddling with his bottle.
Ron stared at it for a while before he realized that the same question he'd had all night was still bothering him. But it was entirely different; he wasn't angry that Harry was with Ginny. Tilting his head back, he tried to figure out what it meant. Harry had said that he hadn't meant to fall in love with Ginny, but how had it happened? After Malfoy Manor, how had either one of them gotten close enough to let it happen?
"How did it happen?" Ron asked bluntly. "Not saying it isn't a good thing," he hastened to add. "But after what happened, I would've thought you'd avoid her for the rest of your life. Admit it, you like to brood."
"I dunno, she's like a patronus or something," Harry said, shrugging, looking very uncomfortable. "When I'm with her, I just don't think about it." Not meeting Ron's eyes, he glanced at his watch and stood up. "I need to go…"
They said their goodbyes, and Harry left and, later, Ron couldn't sleep. His mind was still reeling from everything that had happened, and everything that he'd found out. I never would have guessed. He stroked Hermione's hair, knowing that she was still awake, too. "I never would have guessed," he said out loud.
She didn't reply with words, but reached under her pillow and set a cup on his chest.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
13 February 2002
A combination of exhaustion and anxiety led to Ginny falling asleep in Harry's bed, waiting for him to return. It hadn't taken too long for her to regret forcing Harry to go by himself. Once she'd had a chance to sit quietly and think things over, she'd been able to overcome the embarrassment and memories, and realize that the situations had been completely different.
It threw her, however, that Harry was gone for so long. She'd run to the library, got the books she needed for her essay, and practically sprinted back, expecting him to be there. But the hours passed, and she jotted down her essay blindly – one eye had been on the door, the other had been on his hearth, in case he used the floo.
Eventually, she simply couldn't keep her eyes open any longer, and she stumbled into his bedroom, digging around in his wardrobe for a shirt. He won't mind, she assured herself, climbing into his bed. Arnold rolled over to nestle in her hair. "G'night, Arnold. G'night Calliope," she murmured, and closed her eyes.
It seemed like only moments later that someone flopped onto the bed, hand colliding with her shoulder. "Ow!" she squeaked, eyes popping open to find it did no good: it was still pitch dark.
"Ginny?!" Harry said. "Sorry – but—"
"Harry, finally!" she said. "What happened?"
"I'm still not exactly sure how it happened," he answered immediately, his voice laden with surprise. "Ron was really angry at first…"
Ginny reached out and stroked his back – realizing, with slight surprise, that he wasn't wearing a shirt – while he told her how they'd already left Hogwarts by the time he left the room. And that he'd Apparated to the Burrow and landed on top of them (she couldn't help but laugh); and he'd taken them to where they'd seen the Quidditch World Cup (Ginny refrained from asking him why he'd chosen there, of all places). And how he'd explained, and—
"I'm a little…" his voice trailed away. "Overwhelmed. I'm a little overwhelmed that they were so… forgiving."
Ginny suspected that he'd been more transparent about what had happened at Malfoy Manor than he was letting on. It was probably for the best that I wasn't there, thought Ginny, though it made her a little sad. She continued to stroke his back with long, circular strokes. "They missed you quite a lot," she said. "We all did." She scooted closer to him, wishing she could see him.
To her surprise, he pulled back a little. "You're – are you still embarrassed? Because he didn't see anything. He was just mad that I was with you but didn't see him, too. That's all it was."
"No – I wasn't being very rational," Ginny admitted. She moved closer to him again. Again, he moved away. He's going to fall off the bed. "I really am all right," she told him. "Really. I just had to… remind myself." She trailed her fingers down his side, feeling his skin quiver. "And I—"
"I'm naked!" Harry blurted out. "I didn't know you were here, and…"
Ginny had the feeling that he was very embarrassed, though she didn't know why, exactly. It was completely dark and she couldn't see him. Not that she hadn't before. "I've seen you naked before," she confessed. It hadn't occurred to her that he might be shy about it. "I'm sorry. I couldn't help—"
He interrupted her with an open-mouthed kiss that immediately sent heat flaring through her body. Almost as abruptly, he pulled away and fumbled on his nightstand for something, and mumbled under his breath. "There," he said. "No one can get in now," he told her. And despite the fact that she'd gotten over Ron barging in on them, she couldn't help but feel a bit relieved.
"Thank you," she said, and reached out in his direction, pulling his mouth toward hers again. His tongue tangled with hers, and suddenly his right hand was everywhere: her back, her bum, her breasts. They were both panting by the time he pulled her flush against him; his erect penis pressed into her belly.
Her leg stroked his restlessly as she cupped his bum and pulled him closer to her. "You have the most amazing hands," he groaned against her mouth. The haze of desire settled further, and her leg moved higher until it was crooked over his hip.
His shirt is in the way, Ginny thought dazedly.
As though he read her mind, he ran his hand up her calf and thigh, bunching up his shirt as he went until it twisted around her waist. "Your skin is so smooth," he told her huskily, moving and pressing hot kisses on her neck. She arched up and moaned when she rubbed against his penis. He slid his hand inside her knickers and kneaded her bum, pulling her closer.
Ginny wasn't quite sure who moved first, but quite suddenly, he lay fully on top of her, and the feeling of his penis as he rocked against her was a hundred times better than her hand or her pillow. He murmured a stream of words in her ear, but she couldn't pay attention. But just the sound of his voice kept her grounded, and she was soon lifting her hips to meet his. The fabric of her knickers was a tad abrasive, but she just didn't care.
It took several moments before she realized that Harry wasn't just talking to her, but was asking a question. "Please," he said. "Please let me. Ginny? Ginny. Please?"
"What?" she asked, frustrated when he stopped moving. "Let you what?"
"Well…" he panted. "Touch you."
Wasn't he already touching her? His penis was pressed right up against her clitoris. He couldn't really touch her more intimately unless he—
His hand went between their bodies and inside the front of her knickers, stopping only when they brushed against her hair. She gasped and rolled her hips, hoping he would take that as a yes and she wouldn't have to say it out loud. A moment passed, and then he groaned.
She flinched at his first truly intimate touch; she didn't want to, but for just a second she expected pain. "Don't," she said, when he froze, stroking his arm. He moved his fingers again, tentatively, and she opened her legs a bit wider. This is good, she told herself. Just a few hours earlier, she'd wondered when she would feel comfortable enough, but maybe all it took was darkness, and Harry asking her if he could.
His weight lifted off her, and she could tell that he'd moved to kneel between her thighs. Her face heated up, and she was glad it was completely dark. He stroked her gently, conducting a private exploration. Anxiety mixed with her desire, even as he probed at her opening and slipped a finger inside.
"You're wet," he said quietly, wonder in his voice, dipping in and out of her.
She ignored her slight unease, and lifted herself up on one elbow and reached out for him. He drew in a deep, shuddering breath the moment she wrapped her hand around him. His penis twitched beneath her hand, and he thrust into it, mumbling incoherently. It didn't matter that she couldn't understand him… she just liked the sound of his voice.
Her hand ran over the now familiar contours of his erection, and she stroked him as he stroked her. His shuddering and murmurs and thrusts were more arousing than the way he moved his fingers.
He grunted, and his penis pulsated as he climaxed. "You're so…" he said. "Wonderful. Just wonderful."
Ginny closed her eyes, focusing on the sensations his fingers were causing. Instead of sending her further into arousal, however, anxious little thoughts kept holding her back. I should've finished too, she thought. How come I haven't? He did!
Harry seemed oblivious, but kept stroking and exploring. Patient as always. And the more the minutes passed, the more hopeless it seemed. I'm broken, she thought dismally.
Finally, he stopped, sighing. "I'm sorry, I—"
"Don't be, it's me," she interrupted him, grateful once again that the darkness was complete. Tears had sprung up in her eyes, and she could tell by the sound of his voice that he felt bad. "I'm just… it's stupid. I want to, but I'm—"
He pressed a finger over her lips. "It isn't anything to do with you. I'll get better," he said bracingly. "I promise. I want to make you feel the same way you make me feel… I'm not going to give up." He lay down next to her and pulled her close, pressing a kiss to her temple. "I won't," he said, yawning.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHP
13 February 2002 – 25 February 2002
The first thought Harry had upon waking (naked, and with Ginny snoring lightly beside him) was that he really, really needed to spend a lot of quality time with his sex book. But even though he hadn't pleasured her the way he'd wanted to, he couldn't help but feel extraordinarily happy. Seeing Ron and Hermione… revealing part of what happened, and them not hating him… touching Ginny's vagina…
Yesterday had been a good day.
Unfortunately for Harry, his good mood did not last very long. Ginny had to leave, for one – never a good thing, but he was getting a bit resentful at the fact that he had to hide his feelings for her. And then, conversely, he realized as she left and he was frantically trying to get everything done before class, that he had precious little time to make a good study of the book. Maybe I'm a little paranoid, but I don't want to be reading it when she could walk in at any moment, he thought as he soaped his hair.
He supposed he could take it to the bathroom with him, but wouldn't that get a little suspicious? And it would be embarrassing, for sure, if he suddenly started doubling his time in the loo. Right now, the book was hidden under his bed, right next to the broom polishing kit he'd gotten her for Valentine's Day—
Broom polishing kit!
Harry stared, wide-eyed, at his bed, pausing in the act of pulling on his robes, as if he could see through the bedclothes and mattress to where he'd hidden her gift. What was I thinking?! He'd ordered it right after she'd unknowingly tortured him by polishing her Nimbus 2121 right in front of him, but now… there was no chance that she would miss the connotation. Just a few days ago, he'd mentioned a broom (in the context of flying, initially), but the moment he'd said it, her face had turned red.
I might as well have gotten her a trick wand that shoots off sparks after she's handled it a while, he thought darkly.
Most of the rest of the day was taken up by either fretting over his horrific Valentine's Day gift (and it was their first; he'd always thought the day was pretty stupid, but it was important to witches, right?), and Harry dimly realized that it was almost better this way. He could worry about getting a stupid gift for his girlfriend, ignoring how everything had changed in the last few days.
His words to Ginny hadn't been a lie: he was overwhelmed. And it wasn't until early the next morning, (Valentine's Day) that he finally came up with a suitable gift that did not have heavy sexual connotations. And it didn't even bother him much that he had to rouse the Minister of Magic out of bed to get it for her.
The result of his day of anxiety was actually rather anticlimactic, Harry thought. Though of course he began it by babbling like a moron.
He slammed the door shut behind her in his eagerness to get it over with. Her eyes widened. "Listen, I know it's just rubbish, but I – I couldn't even – I didn't have time." In order to stop himself from talking, he thrust the piece of paper at her. "I know it isn't that great – I had something else but I"--realized you might take it the wrong way—"thought this would be better," he finished lamely.
"I don't even know what you're—" she began, but then her eyes widened. "Today is Valentine's Day!" she said, shocked. Absurdly, Harry felt a little bubble of relief. "Harry, I forgot, I'm so—"
But Harry interrupted her with a kiss. "Don't be," he said, grinning. "It takes all the pressure right off, trust me."
"You're sure? I don't have anything for you…"
"It really isn't necessary," he murmured. In the space of a second, Harry mentally catalogued all the things she did for him. Made him laugh, made him feel more alive than he had in years, gave him a reason to be eager to get out of bed in the morning (unless she stayed over, of course), and brightened his waking hours. And then, suddenly, it was on the tip of his tongue. I love you, he thought.
"—is it? Harry?" Ginny prodded him, the exasperation in her tone making it clear that she'd been trying to get his attention. "What is it?"
"It's where I live," he said. "I had it under the Fidelius Charm," he explained. "Open it up. As soon as you read it, you'll remember spending a summer there… and the Christmas when your dad was hurt." He nervously flattened his hair, then remembered that today was absolutely no big deal to her -- thank Merlin -- and it didn't really matter.
He watched as the secret sank in, and her furrowed brow smoothed over. "That was an awful Christmas," she said, but a little half-smile hovered on her lips. Harry winced, remembering it. Arthur's attack at the Ministry of Magic, and then Harry's attempt to leave and return to the Dursleys (and having to be dragged back by a furious Mad-Eye Moody).
"It's just – if you ever want privacy, you can go there," he told her. "I don't have to be there." He wanted to make that clear to her.
Ginny still didn't look up, but traced the words Kingsley Shacklebolt – Harry's Secret-Keeper – had scribbled hurriedly down. "Thank you," she said finally, her voice very quiet. She stepped toward him and hugged him, nuzzling his chest. "I guess Valentine's Day isn't quite so stupid after all."
Chuckling, Harry put his arms around her. "Next time, I won't get you anything," he promised.
She leaned back, peering up at him. "What was the other one? The gift?" she asked. "Not that I'm being greedy," she said in a rush. "I'm just curious."
A broom polishing kit. Because you used to torment me.
"It wasn't really anything," he said evasively.
"Tell me," she said, squeezing his arm. Her eyes were narrowed, and he had the sinking suspicion that she was on to him.
"No," he replied. And then her cheeks flushed bright red – generally a sure sign that Harry was really going to like what she was about to do, especially in a situation like this – and slid her hand under the waistband of his trousers and stroked his bum with her fingernails.
Damn, Harry thought glumly.
"Please?" she said.
"A broom polishing kit," he admitted.
For a brief moment she looked confused, then the meaning hit her, and her mouth turned up in a smile that was a mixture of sly and shy. He stroked her back.
"Think I need it?" she asked. Her tone was light, but held a hint of vulnerability in it.
"Absolutely not," he assured her. "You're a lot better at it than I am."
Over the next week, those words were proven again and again. Harry knew that he aroused her, but every time he touched her intimately, she tensed up, and he couldn't get her to climax. Sometimes he thought this was due to his minimal range of motion (her knickers got in the way, but he wasn't sure she wanted him to take them off of her); other times he blamed the lack of time he had to study his sex book the way he wanted to.
Mostly, though, he was determined. Every time she initiated their intimacy, he would tell himself that this time it would work. And even when his hand got a little sore, he kept at it until it became obvious that it just wasn't going to work.
It doesn't help that I keep reading ahead, Harry thought., flipping through the pages in the book. It was late in February, and the second Quidditch match of the year was right around the corner. Ginny practiced for hours every day; most days, he watched at least some of it. But today he'd brought his book outside to an isolated spot by the lake that afforded both privacy and a good view of the team practicing.
He lingered over the page that described, in detail, oral sex. Harry couldn't help but be very grateful that the book was clinical, rather than pornographic, as he might not be able to handle moving illustrations of what he wanted to do. Ever since he'd gone past the instructions on what one did with their hands, the idea of kissing Ginny there had gripped him. He knew her scent… now he wanted to know her taste, but he hadn't even managed to get her to take her knickers off.
It's just for later, he assured himself. But his eyes glazed over as he stared down at the page, and the image of himself doing everything the book said just wouldn't let him alone. His head between her thighs—
"Professor Potter?"
A young voice rudely interrupted his thoughts, and it was like being doused with icy water. Harry dropped his book and stared around in confusion, finding Stuart Method, Aisling Powell, and Elizabeth Barnett. Are they everywhere?! Harry found them around every damned corner and—
The book!
Harry hurriedly picked up his book and shoved it inside his robes. "What is it?" he asked harshly. All three took a step back, and regarded him with suspicion. It took a huge effort to replace the scowl on his face with the semblance of a welcoming smile. "Is there something I can do for you?" he asked, remembering just in time not to grit his teeth.
"Er – no," Method said, eyes wide. He was staring at the place where Harry had hidden his book as he backed away. "We'll just – leave you alone. See you in class tomorrow."
Of course I'd get caught reading a sex book by one of my students, Harry thought bitter, feeling betrayed. This spot by the lake was supposed to be secluded and hard to find. Of course.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
28 February 2002
Ginny was so flustered that morning that she was halfway down to breakfast before she realized she'd left Arnold in her room. Stomping back up the stairs, she tried to figure out why. And then she laughed. Everything seemed stressful. Quidditch. Her upcoming NEWTs (which she didn't care about as much as she ought to). The fact that Ron had given her an ultimatum: tell the family about Harry by Easter, or he would do it for her (not to mention that she and Harry were going to spend the next Saturday with Ron and Hermione). Her physical problems – she could orgasm just fine on her own, but not with Harry.
It was no wonder that she'd forgotten about Arnold, even though it made her feel guilty. "I'm sorry, Arnold," she said, bursting into the room. Her pygmy puff was just where she left him, and she thought she could see hurt and accusation in his big eyes. I've been neglecting him. They'd both just been so busy with Harry and Calliope…
For long moments, she stroked him as he rolled around happily. It had been just the two of them for so long, and now she and Harry practically had joint custody over both the pygmy puffs. And it was great, and Ginny was happier than she could remember being, but the adjustment caused a bit of a pang.
"All right," she said finally. "Let's go."
After a bit of a jerky start, the day passed with ease, until she was cornered after her last class by Pollux Sennet. It happened so quickly that Ginny couldn't even prepare herself for his hands capturing hers, and his breath hot in her ear. And he was so close so suddenly, that her mind went blank and the only thing she could do was cringe away.
"Haven't seen you in a while," he crooned. "Not so brave when you can't get to your wand, are you?"
"S—s—" she stammered, and hated herself for it.
"You'll be happy to know—"
But thankfully she didn't find out what she'd be happy to know. Swift, clacking steps sounded from around the corner, coming closer. Sennet's ugly face twisted into a grimace, and he shoved her away from him. Ginny caught herself against the wall, ducked her head, and walked as quickly as she could, barely even grunting when Professor McGonagall offered her greetings.
The bathroom was blessedly empty.
Ginny splashed cold water on her face and pressed her hands over her eyes. Part of her was furious with herself for freezing – last time she'd turned it right around on him. But the other part of her had seen Draco Malfoy's face rather than Pollux Sennet's, and her stomach heaved and rolled and barely held on to its contents.
The encounter put her into a foul mood that not even Quidditch practice could distract her from. And when she walked into Harry's rooms, she almost regretted it.
"Bad practice?" he asked. The sympathy in his voice rankled.
"It was fine," she said.
"Do you want to go flying?"
Ginny actually had to bite her lip to keep from shouting at him. I'm not made of glass! And even though she'd completely frozen up, she wasn't. She was better, damn it. "No," she said shortly, pulling out her homework and sitting on the sofa. A part of her knew that she was being unfair to him, but suddenly he seemed too solicitous.
He allowed her to leave an hour later without even kissing her, and all the way back to her dorm, Ginny fumed over that. Suddenly, all the events of the past weeks were in sharp relief. She always touched him first. She almost always initiated the kissing. And while that used to be comforting, she hated that he obviously thought that she would fly off the handle if – Merlin forbid – he actually took the initiative.
I'm not made of glass.
She repeated that to herself like a mantra. It followed her up to her dorm, it inspired her to pull out a piece of parchment, grit her teeth, and force herself to, letter by letter, write a short note to her dad. And it felt like she was writing it with a blood quill, but she did it anyway. And then she went to the owlery and sent it before she could stop herself. I'm not afraid anymore, she reminded herself. I'm not made of glass.