owl post
(a harry potter story)
Ginny took a deep breath.
Dear Harry,
I'm so pleased to have "met" you. You're one of the most famous people in the entire wizarding world! And no matter how "delinquent" you are, I believe you're one of the greatest wizards ever.
I must say, I'm a bit surprised that you've written to me. You're Harry Potter! Surely you could consult a therapist or a trusted official? Nevertheless, I'm ready to help you.
My name is Ginerva, but please call me Ginny. I don't mind Gin either.
Perhaps you should state what sort of help you need? Is it emotional trauma or actual physical troubles? I am not sure I can help in the physical situation, but I'm quite good with emotions (as all girls seem to be).
Please write back quickly, Harry. I'm here to help you.
Sincerely,
Ginerva (Ginny)
Ginny read and reread her words, sucking her quill. Were they kind enough? Harry certainly seemed troubled, and she was worried her fear and anxiety showed too boldly through her words. She also didn't want to pry, as this was a virtual stranger/criminal that she knew next-to-nothing about personally.
"I'm pleased to have 'met' you"? "I believe you're one of the greatest wizards ever"? Would these phrases help, or simply rub salt in a wound?
It was much too worrisome to dwell on for very much longer. She rolled the letter up and fastened it to her owl, Quinn. "Get it to him quickly, Quinn," she whispered to her owl. "I can't afford to wait."
Quinn, a lovely barn owl, hooted kindly and took off into the shining sunlight.
Ginny watched her go with an-already gnawing hole inside of her stomach.
"Ginerva," Professor Sprout said sternly, which was most unlike her. "Where were you?"
Ginny had dashed into Greenhouse Five breathlessly, twenty minutes late.
"Apologies—miss," Ginny gasped, clutching her side. "I—was—sending—a letter."
Sprout sniffed disapprovingly. "Join up with Jameson, Weasley. He'll explain the directions. And see me after class, please."
Ginny nodded and joined Corey at their table: the one furthest back, in the center.
"Where we you? You said you'd be right down to Herbology," Corey said, grinding a strange sort of purple plant into a powder.
"I know," Ginny said, still breathing heavily. "The letter took longer than I expected. I had to write a response."
"What did the letter say?"
"Shut up and tell me the directions," Ginny said, slightly peevishly. "I'm late and I have to stay after class, Corey," she explained more gently to his questioning look. "What are we doing?"
"These are Taints," he started. "They're slightly venomous, but the gases they 'exhale' are really bad for the environment. If you grind them up they're useful in the Sharp Mindedness Draft." Corey smiled. "They're preeeeeetty."
Ginny laughed and grabbed a mortar. "What're the side effects of the venom?"
"Hives and runny nose. Nothing too serious. Some people are more allergic to them than others. Might wanna put on these." He tossed her a pair of yellow rubber gloves. Ginny pulled them on carefully and began to grind up purple tentacle-leaves.
They oozed out a tinged red liquid that smelled strongly of green pepper. "Oh, don't touch that," Corey said suddenly. "That stuff is bad. It causes really awful itching and watery eyes. Maybe even vomiting." He shuddered. "Plus it tastes terrible once you get it in your system, like rotten tomatoes."
"How would you know?" Ginny said, smiling.
"My brothers once switched my cranberry juice for Taint juice. Blech."
Ginny laughed.
The letter was momentarily pushed out of her mind.
"Ginerva Weasley!" Professor McGonagall called out, a faint smile crossing her lips. "Come hither, madam!"
Ginny grinned at Angie. McGonagall absolutely loved Ginny, after being through five of her brothers.
"I do believe you have a Quidditch match to win next weekend…?"
Ginny smiled broadly. "I'm ready, Professor."
"I firmly hope you do, Captain. We play Slytherin next Saturday, and I couldn't bear to see Malfoy upset our perfect record." McGonagall bent down and said in a low voice, "I've decided to let you off homework for this weekend, seeing as you've gotten straight O's and you've got to train."
Ginny gaped at her professor. McGonagall never let students off homework. "Are you certain, Professor?"
"As long as you win," McGonagall said with a wink, and Ginny laughed, giving her professor a "thank you" over her shoulder as she walked confidently back over to Angie, who beamed.
"I'll be cheering quite loudly for you," Angie said, pointing her wand at the stick in front of her. It went very golden, shimmering. Ginny did the same, and hers glowed pure white.
"Ah, good, girls," McGonagall said, holding hers up. "Angie did the transformation about half right, while Ginny overshot hers just a tad. Still, excellent." Ginny and Angie beamed at each other. "You two have been doing quite well. Keep up the fantastic work." McGonagall moved onto Jenna Hoppers, who had accidentally impaled her stick in the classroom wall. Angie was beaming, as her work was rarely regarded as good. She almost never got her Transformations right.
"I meant to ask you, why did you leave so suddenly at breakfast?"
"Oh, I had a letter to attend to." Ginny was getting slightly annoyed. Couldn't they just accept that it was private? "Nothing major."
"Yeah, but…Romulus Malfoy said that your family had, um…gone bankrupt."
Ginny felt her face redden. "And you believed it?" she asked hotly.
"No! No, no, no! I just—you've seemed a bit jumpy since then. I wondered if there was something wrong."
Ginny rolled her eyes. "Romulus Malfoy has a head full of dragon dung. Don't believe a single word he says." She jabbed her stick with her wand and it went up in a plume of smoke. Angrily, she hissed, "Aguamenti." A small river of water erupted from her wand and doused her wand and herself thoroughly.
"Great," she muttered as the bell rang.
"Hey, Hothead!" Romulus Malfoy called from across the room. "How's the family?"
"Hey there, Ratulus!" Ginny shot back. "They're fine, dude. At least they know how to keep their overlarge noses out of people's business, huh?"
Romulus smiled wickedly. "You're such a little princess, except before the transformation with the beautiful dress. I expect you wear your brother's old knickers?"
"Precisely, Ratulus. I suppose you get nice, new knitted sweaters from You-Know-Who all the time. I'll bet they read 'Future Death Eater' right across the back."
Romulus's face turned a very ugly purplish color. "You watch your mouth, Weasley. Someday it might just get you into trouble."
Ginny only laughed.
Professor Snape walked into the dungeon about two minutes later, and Ginny was thankful he had heard none of it. Romulus didn't tattle; tattling was for the weak. But he pounced on an opportunity about a quarter of the way through class.
"Sir? Ginerva's helping Jameson with his potion."
Ginny jumped slightly, but—defiantly—kept adding lionfish spine to Corey's potion.
"Miss Weasley, keep your filthy hands off of Jameson's draught and move next to Romulus." Ginny huffed loudly.
"Can I at least bring some air freshener?"
Corey and Ginny's other friends—Clarissa, Jack, Bridget, and Thompson—snickered along with Corey and Angie. Snape, however, was not amused.
"Detention, Weasley." He smiled. "I should've expected this from one who shares blood with Ronald."
"You shut up about my brother!" Ginny snapped.
"Would you like to double your winnings?" Snape snarled. "Adjacent to Romulus. Now, or I will be forced to give you a zero on the upcoming quiz."
Ginny clanked over to Romulus noisily and very, very disruptively. She slammed her cauldron on her table, sending orangey liquid everywhere. It singed a hole in her robes and erupted angry red bumps on Romulus's arm.
"PROFESSOR!" Malfoy screeched. "MY ARM!"
Snape loomed over Ginny like a large, greasy bat.
"Double detention, Miss Weasley."
"I really, really hate that Malfoy kid," Ginny growled as she and Corey left the dungeon. "He needs a good—"
"Language, Ginerva," Romulus drawled, grinning.
"SHUT UP!" Corey yelled, and Romulus snickered.
"Pathetic," he purred, waltzing away.
Corey shook his head in disgust. "So, anyways. I wanted to see if you'd like to take a walk down by the lake."
Ginny smiled. "I would, but I've got a Herbology essay to finish."
Corey looked slightly crestfallen. "Okay. Have fun."
"I'll meet you in the common room in an hour. Up for some Gobstones?"
He perked up immediately. "Yes, ma'am." He pretended to kiss her hand. "Until we meet again, you weirdo sixth-year girl."
"Ahem, we're both weirdo sixth-years. Don't pretend to be a nerdy first-year, idiot." She playfully pushed him in the direction of the lake. "Look. Scarlett Prespon is down there. Go flirt with her." Corey smiled mechanically.
"No thanks. She's pretty, but not exactly…" Corey shook his head, smiling. "Just go do your stupid essay."
Ginny squeezed his shoulder and hurried off to the Owlrey.
She checked around, but there was no Quinn anywhere.
"Please, please hurry," she urged her nonexistent owl. "Please let him write back soon."
She half-wanted him to say, Oh, I've got it all sorted out. But another half of her, a selfish part of her, wanted Harry Potter to herself. She wanted to be the only one who understood him, the only one he wanted to talk to.
Sure, it'd only been about half a day. But Quinn was the fastest owl Ginny had ever seen, and plus Harry couldn't be that far away, could he? The Prophet had said that he was last seen in Hogsmeade, which was barely even twenty minutes away.
She expected a letter by next morning's post.
And yet, nothing arrived. Quinn did not show a single feather, and Ginny's mood was darkened severely. She wanted another letter. She wanted one desperately, and yet she was unsure if she actually did. She was fearful of his answer, but she craved more. It is like a good book with a cliffhanger chapter.
For the next several days, there was no mail, and Ginny got increasingly infuriated.
On Saturday morning, Ginny woke up frustrated. She'd dreamed that Quinn had flown to her with thousands and thousands of letters from Harry, and each one was blank.
At breakfast, Ginny slammed her glass down too hard and shattered it. Belligerently, she tried to repair it and broke her plate as well.
"Gin, you need to calm down," Corey said, and Ginny threw him a look so fiery and furious that he quieted. The Great Corey quieted.
"The owls are here!" a girl exclaimed excitedly. "Maybe Mum'll have sent me a new Magical Mistress magazine!"
Ginny looked up so fast that she got a crick in her neck. She spotted her beautiful barn owl speeding around the Great Hall.
"Quinn!" she said delightedly. A letter fluttered down and landed in Ginny's outstretched hands.
Miss Ginerva Weasley
The Great Hall, Hogwarts
Ginny got up. "Bathroom," she said quickly, smiling as she left and even giving a sly wave to Romulus.
She ran up to her dormitory. There were no classes today, so there was no hurry. There was no Herbology to be late to.
Dear Ginerva,
I'm so happy I've finally found someone who will listen without judging. I'm begging you to understand.
You've heard all about me—Harry Potter, the hero-turned-bad-boy. I know you have, Ginerva. I'm sorry if this letter is shaky, by the way—I'm trembling.
My nightmares are full of my past.
But I hit rock-bottom about six months ago.
It was all the media.
The Prophet, Rita Skeeter—everything was twisted. Heading into a pub became "early alcoholism". Being seen with a girl meant "getting engaged". Everything meant something else—something more severe. And slowly, I sunk into the life the media wanted me to live. I drank. I partied. I did things I shouldn't have. All at fifteen and sixteen years old.
I wasn't happy with myself.
Ginerva, I want you to write back straightaway. I need to hear your response to this. Send your owl quickly. I should be able to send Hedwig with your lovely owl right back. Expect my letter tomorrow if you write back today.
Thank you so much for listening.
I appreciate it.
-Harry, the Media Monster
Ginny took in the words.
Then she got out her quill, some ink, and a piece of parchment.
And she wrote.
Dear Harry,
Don't worry about me judging you. I grew up being judged: for my family's poorness, for my robes, for my hair. I got judged about everything. So I understand.
The media really does suck sometimes, doesn't it? That Skeeter woman is a she-devil if I've ever seen one. She's twisted too many stories and ruined too many lives. I'm sorry to hear that you were a victim of her.
The Prophet quite likes to tell lies, to over-emphasize things. And, Harry? You shouldn't blame yourself.
"I sunk into the life the media wanted me to live". That's awful, Harry. But when a celebrity bursts onto the scene, people expect drama. That's what the media gave them—it just wasn't true. You kind of "confirmed" it when you changed, and became easier for them to publish strange tales about you: except they were true tales.
I remember hearing something about you once: "HARRY POTTER—THE NEW DARK LORD?"
That's what told me that everything was a lie. Ron had told me so much about you! I'd sneaked glances of you when you came over. I saw how you acted. I knew you weren't like that! So I always kind of knew that you were a good person.
I'd like it if you called me Ginny, by the way. Ginerva's such an odd name. It sounds too mature for me. I'm not mature. Today I was issued double detention by Severus Snape, the greasy old mole rat. All for spilling potion (accidentally on purpose) on Romulus Malfoy's great dirty head.
Maybe you want to hear about Hogwarts? I don't know if this will be bittersweet or not.
The common room is always a mess, thanks to Seamus Finnigan and my twin brothers. They like to play this game—"Exploding Chess"—where if your piece is captured, it gets all flustered and rockets around the room, setting off little blasts as it goes. There are still the best squishy armchairs there, and mine is the great black leather one that you sink into when you sit down.
I'm sorry to say that Ron is terribly lonely sometimes. Hermione is great company—if you like to read. He misses you, Harry. That first three years you two had together was great for him, Harry. He loved being your friend.
I do hope that the people at Durmstrang treat you alright. I remember when you first got into the school. The media had a holiday. They went to town: "WHY DID HARRY LEAVE HOGWARTS?" "A NEW DARK ARTS MASTER" "POTTER: A SECRET VILLAIN?"
It was terrible, Harry, because I knew the truth.
I guess I have a few questions, if that's alright.
How is Durmstrang?
How old are you?
And—most importantly—
Do you trust me?
Many, many thanks
Ginny, not Ginerva
"Hurry it, Quinn," Ginny said, smiling serenely.
Her insides were at rest once again.