The Eighth letter. There is no seventh one, because that's the one Ginny was feeling angriest. She destroyed it, because she was guilty for getting angry and blaming him, even if she knew he would never know about it.
Dear Harry,
Do you believe in God? I've never wondered before, I guess it's just one of the things I'll have to ask if you get back.
I didn't, not really, but now I'm certain. How can things like this be happening, how can people be dying in hundreds, and there be a God?
But if I'm wrong and He's there, would he drop us and leave us, or tend us like a farmer to his crops?
Or are we just His puppets, controlled by strings that bind us to our fate, the fate we have no part in?
I hate having nothing but questions, I really do. It makes me feel like an insignificant doll, controlled by other people.
It makes me feel like a kid again, a kid without a childhood.
Eight letters and still missing you,
Ginny