Winter was setting in; it had been a long time since Ginny had been at Pivot Drive. He was sitting outside on the playground wondering where she was. He still missed her, her red hair, her bright eyes. He missed her games; he missed the idea of having a friend. And Dudley knew it, which was why he terrorized Harry with the idea of her being gone. He constantly picked on Harry about it. Harry blocked that out like he blocked out everything Dudley did and said, but the one thing he couldn't block out was the dull pain in his chest that came whenever he thought of that summer.

"Come in everyone." Harry turned. The teacher was calling them in. He got up and was pushed down by Dudley.

"Dudley Dursley!" Harry turned. "I will not have that sort of behavior, straight to the office!" Harry got up and couldn't help a small smile as Dudley stalked off grumpily to the office and he got up.

"Come along Mr. Potter." He got up and went back inside the school. Perhaps things were looking up after all.

Ginny sighed, she was feeling better, but she still missed Harry, and her father had indeed discussed the possibility of learning Muggle mail so that she could write to Harry. She looked at the drawing; Harry had given it to her. They had spent a rainy summer day inside and made drawings, and Ginny had liked that one. It was of herself, Harry drew her at a thing called an amusement park, and she was standing outside of a ride called a roller coaster. Harry had explained it was a train of cars that went up and down hills, and some went upside down. Harry had made it sound amazing. She had wanted to go. So she asked for the picture. It now hung on the wall. She breathed and stopped the tears, she missed him. She wondered if he was thinking of her.

Harry was locked in his cupboard for getting Dudley in trouble. He couldn't do anything so he stared up at the picture on the wall. On a rainy day when Ginny was at Mrs. Figg's, maybe the happiest day of his life, they had spent the day inside drawing. She had drawn the strangest and most amazing picture of him. He was wearing red and flying on a broomstick. She had drawn his scar, and behind him was a golden ball with wings. Harry asked what it was. She said that it was a sport called Quidditch. The ball was a golden snitch. Harry asked her if she had made it up. She looked confused for a moment and then seemed to go red as if in embarrassment. Harry asked what else there was to it, and she seemed to get excited about it for some reason. He told her it was a brilliant sport and she said thank you shyly. She'd do that every now and again, get shy about something, it was strange considering she was normally so loud. He looked at the golden snitch. She had put a lot of effort into it, she said it was special, he wondered why.

He shook his head as the stairs shook. Someone was coming downstairs.

"Duddums, there you are, I was about to call you for the pot roast." The emphasis on the words was for no doubt his benefit. As he listened to the loud appreciations of the meal, he turned and stared some more at the picture. He wondered where Ginny lived; she had taken a train here, so she must live far away. He sighed, he hoped she was happy.

It was a Saturday when Harry brought in the post. He looked at a strange letter. It had a lot of stamps, almost covered with stamps, and yet there was the address, it was in careful letters, he recognized the writing at once.

Harry Potter

4 Pivot Drive

Little Whinging Surrey

He looked up at the return address, it was not legible. He was about to open it when it was snatched away.

"Dudley give that back!"

"Why Potter?"

"Duddums dear, what have you got there?"

"It's a letter, Harry's stolen a letter."

"I have not, it's to me."

"Liar." Aunt Petunia said pointedly.

"No, he's right Petunia, it is for him." They glared from the letter to him. They read it.

"Well Vernon?"

"Nothing to worry about, we shall simply explain we don't want the boy writing to him."

"What?" Harry asked outraged. "But she's my friend!" they laughed.

"Silly boy, she's being polite." Vernon said.

"Her parents probably made her write it." Petunia said.

"Right, well, problem solved." Uncle Vernon said.

Ginny screamed and yelled furiously.

"Ginny, there's nothing we can do, they don't want you two writing."

"Why can't you do something, don't you see, they're horrible!"

"No, now Ginny, don't start this up again."

"NO! NO! I'll scream all I want! I won't ever get to see him again and he's the only one who cares! It's not fair, not fair at all!"

"Ginny dear. . . ." She had stalked away from her mother angry. It wasn't fair, no one cared. She wasn't going to put up with this. Not one bit.

And yet no matter how much she screamed and yelled and pleaded over the next few days she couldn't convince them otherwise. She spent more nights than she could count crying, she couldn't stand it.

Harry felt it was unfair and he purposely did some things wrong. He didn't care how many times he got yelled at. It wasn't fair, not at all. It was just before Christmas vacation when he went into his room and looked at the wall. His picture was gone.

"Mhmm." He turned Uncle Vernon stood there. "I thought that would change your mind."

"Where is it?" Harry asked.

"It's outside, in the trash, I had Dudley tear it up." Harry looked at him. "How dare you bring such filth into this house?"

"It was just a picture."

"Mhmm." He started to get red. "How many times have I told you, magic and all that nonsense isn't real. It isn't!"

"It was just a picture, Ginny drew it." He became even redder and raised his arm. The next thing he knew Harry was on the floor seeing stars. He shook his head.

"I DON'T EVER WANT TO SEE ANYTHING LIKE THAT RUBBISH IN MY HOUSE AGAIN!" Uncle Vernon roared. "DO YOU HEAR ME?" Harry nodded. Uncle Vernon breathed.

"Now, you just go and enjoy it outside, because after this, you'll be locked up for the whole break, starting tomorrow." Harry walked outside and rubbed his cheek. He cried silently and shook his head. He sniffled and wiped his nose and eyes. He saw a tabby cat walking down the sidewalk rather proud of itself. He'd never seen the cat before; it had something in its mouth, something with wings. Harry crept up carefully.

"Spit it out." The cat tried to get away from him. Finally the cat managed to get away from him, but it dropped the item which dropped with a clank onto the ground. Harry looked at it, it whizzed up and Harry caught it quickly. Harry opened up his palm and stared. It was a golden ball with dragonfly wings. The wind blew and he looked at something that caught his eye, it was white and gold. He picked it up. His heart soared; it was the golden snitch from the picture Ginny had drawn. Harry looked at the empty trash can, the garbage had gone, but this piece must have fallen out. Harry looked at the golden snitch and the ball in his hand. He was in shock, it was the golden snitch. Harry shook his head. It was the same ball, with the same wings. He shook his head; it was really a snitch, but how? It was impossible. His cheek burned, this was no dream, and neither was Ginny. Harry turned over the ball, what he saw there was all he needed.

Charlie Weasley

Weasley!

"Potter!" he turned, his uncle Vernon was standing there. "Aunt Petunia wants you in the kitchen." Harry looked at the house, he looked at Mrs. Figg's house and he looked at the picture and the snitch. Suddenly he remembered something.

"They thought I was one of the class on a field trip." His school had had a field trip. He remembered it, and they'd gone to a field to collect specimens. He knew where she'd been! He turned back to his uncle who was yelling something. He looked at the snitch. Ginny had said she was trying to find her brother's ball. If the ball had led Ginny to him, would it lead him to her? He closed his fist around the ball and squeezed, he had only one chance, and he hoped it worked. He started running.

"Potter!" Harry ran he could hear his uncle shouting, even hear footsteps; he burned and ran with the ball in his hand. Its wings beating furiously, it had to work, it was his only shot. He moved with the wing beats, he felt the wind whipping at him. He ran hard and fast. He turned around. There was no one there. He needed to breathe, he grabbed his knees and breathed, his lungs burned and his feet and his legs ached. He raised his head up and knew where he had to go. He headed for the train station.