Ginny expected her mum to prattle on about her absence, pick at her life choices and blame her for leaving, but none of that happened. It was partly because the day after Harry dropped her home at the Burrow, Ginny caught an awful bug and was bedridden for weeks. It was a secret blessing and as soon as Ginny crawled under her fortress of a duvet blanket, sheets, pillows and a Weasley knitted quilt, she wished she could stay there forever.

The illness stretched on, blurring days into weeks. Ginny wasn't sure if her eyes were sore from the cold or all the crying she'd been doing. Her muscles ached either from having been overused at the Crone or from their current lack of exertion.

Ginny spent her days watching the feathers on her pillow blur and bloom with every passing breath. The sun danced on the curtains and raindrops tapped their fingers on the window panes.

She'd toss from left to right, rolling onto the cool part of the bed. Every budge felt like a whole journey. Ginny lived between the toilet and her bed. She must have showered at some point because when she turned her head on the pillow, the fabric and the tresses of red hair that smeared along the white cotton were damp and smelled like suds and flowers.

She lost much of her appetite, blaming it on the lack of exercise and indulgence in endless naps. When she'd wake up with nightmares, mum would slip her some Dreamless Sleep into a mug of chamomile tea and Ginny would slip into a dark and deep unconsciousness.

Sometimes the door would crack open and she'd see George or Ron poke their head inside, asking her if she needed anything in whispered tones, always followed by mum shooing them away.

Ginny must have looked as shite as she felt. She wondered if one could lay in bed forever and die in their sleep at a ripe old age of twenty-something. Logically, she couldn't lie here without sustenance until she was old—her mum and dad were not going to be her caretakers forever. They were older than her and would have to die first.

But if she died first, where would she go? Was there a life beyond this one and would it be more painful than the one she was in? What if she was re-born a slave or worse, was subject to immense pain and torture on a daily basis? What if this was her only chance at life—once buried in the soil, she'd never see grass or sunlight or her pillow again.

Ginny shuddered, guilt washing over her. She should be thankful to be alive with a loving family and friends, but here she was, drowning in self-pity like a pathetic, miserable idiot. She sobbed, her body becoming stiff and cold. She reminded herself that what she was feeling would soon pass, that everyone felt existential dread sometimes, but it was as though her life began to flash before her eyes at an alarming rate—one she could not control. She wondered if she'd spent her twenty-some years with nothing to show for.

When the feeling got unbearable and the sun set, Ginny hobbled over to mum and dad's room, gently pushing open the door.

"Mum?" she whispered.

"Huh?" Her father gasped for breath, jerking up from the pillows.

"Can I-" she whispered.

Her dad grunted as he rose from the bed and took his robe from the hanger. "-Percy's room." The door gently locked behind him as he walked down the hall.

Mum shifted and Ginny crawled until the sheets, burying her feet between her mum's. The bed smelled like home. Mum cupped Ginny's hands, pulling her in for a deep cuddle.

"Oh lovey."

"Mummy," Ginny took a deep breath; she missed being so little and so loved, so unconditionally loved. She didn't want her mum to ever leave her. She wished to grow smaller and stay curled in mum's embrace forever. "I'm scared."

"Why?"

My whole life was a mistake. I'm so…lost, Ginny wanted to say, but her throat clenched up and the only thing that came out was a whimper. I just can't do it right. You and dad knew what to do. You have each other and I don't have anyone that loves me. I don't know who to trust or where to find love and I don't want to waste my life trusting the wrong people and ending up absolutely alone.

"I-I dunno," Ginny whispered as her mum ran her fingers through her hair. She could hear her lips curl into a smile. Mum ran her finger along her forehead, tracing a dip in the skin.

"You fell…right there." Mum tapped her head. "Dad was putting you in the crib one night and bumped your head on the wooden rail. I was so cross with him. I said 'Arthur, if our girl grows up a cripple I don't know what I'll–'"

Mum laughed. "We went to St Mungo's for your checkup. I cried. I asked the Healer if it will stay forever, that mark. She said it will fade with time."

Ginny smiled. It was the story her mum told her every time she saw her forehead. "Still there?"

"Still there." Mum kissed her. "You were so small and so beautiful, my baby girl. I looked at you in your crib every night as you fell asleep—lying there in your knitted pink blanket. I thought, how in the world was I so blessed to have such a perfect baby. And now look, you're so big."

Ginny didn't feel big. She felt like a smelly, shrivelled up leek. She wished she could become a baby again and stay curled up in her crib with her pink blanket—not a single care in the world beside milk and sleep. No matter how many nights she spent in her room, laying under the covers like a vegetable, she'd never become that baby again.

Ginny didn't know what she was.

Ginny was no grown up. Grown ups could make mature decisions and feel confident in their choices. Living in Cagailshire showed Ginny how utterly shite she was at deciding anything in her life. No wonder Severus treated her like a child. She was a child. In his mind, she was that same silly firstie who'd been possessed by a dark spirit, who needed rescuing. She would always be a victim to him, a little bird who'd fallen out of its nest ; one whose wing he mended and returned back to its mother —one he'd always feel responsible for on some level.

Talia was right—she was running away from her responsibilities by coming to the Crone. She could have finished her final year at Hogwarts and made amends with Harry and Luna and Neville and Hermione. She chose to run. But Ginny couldn't run from her problems for long—it seemed they caught up with her now.

She'd run once before. Maybe it was time to start facing life.

-xxx-

1, 2, 3, 4, 5….

Ginny stood up. That was step 1. She made her bed. That was step two. She dressed. Three. She washed her face. Four. She walked down the stairs. Five.

Her mum cooked breakfast, happy she had one more mouth to feed. Ginny's clothes were magically whisked into a laundry basket and cleaned twice a week, then hung up in her wardrobe. Ginny offered to help around the house, but mum refused, brushing it off with a 'go and relax' statement. So Ginny did. In the afternoons, when Ginny was reading, practicing spells on the old dummy in the attic or flying her broom across the fields well past the setting of the sun, all her mum had to say upon her return was ask if she 'had a nice day', give her a kiss and remind her that she put a clean towel and washcloth for her in the lavatory. It was a suspicious sort of quietness, or a silent understanding that passed between the two, Ginny couldn't tell. Her mum felt sorry for her, perhaps, but never really made it obvious. Sometimes, she'd catch her staring and letting out a longing sigh, but nothing more.

Ginny suspected her dad had something to do with mum's unusual silence. It was not in Molly Weasley's nature to be so un-opinionated about her children's decisions—least of all about her only daughter's ones. After all the years of Molly Weasley being the feared and revered matriarch of the family, capable of putting even the twins into their place, pulling Remus Lupin out of bouts of self-loathing, Minerva Mcgonagall out of a temperamental blast of emotion and even setting Sirius Black straight—it was unusual she would have nothing to say of Ginny's long trip away from home.

Arthur Weasley was as he'd been with all his children: silent and approachable. Never once did he bring up any unhappy or distressing topic to Ginny. It was comforting to hear him talk about work and his latest Muggle discovery. Ever since the end of the war, the Ministry took a greater interest in her father's line of work, acknowledging that the rejection of all things Muggle could lead to mass misinformation and extremist beliefs (such as siding with Voldemort). That led to a slight raise in paycheck, which her father was happy about, but more so funding in discovering all things Muggle that could be of interest to the Minister: telephones, the internet and rubber ducks (which Minister Shacklebolt found wildly amusing).

-xxx-

Something's on your mind Ginny, something's a whispering to ya, keeping you up at night, stirring your heart… whispered a low and familiar voice inside Ginny's head.

"Did you say something mum?"

"Hm?" Molly cast another set of shirts into the drawer as Ginny continued pairing socks together from the laundry basket. "Something on your mind?" she said matter of factly.

No use lying to her mum. "It's nothing."

Well it was no use. Ginny hugged her knees to her chest. "Maybe I'm not meant for love."

"What kettle whistled you that idea?" mum asked.

"Some people are just meant to…love." Ginny said. "Georgie and Angelina, Bill and Fleur…you and dad…"

Molly Weasley was unmovable, but it took some prodding for her to make a bizzare statement.

"Your father was not the perfect wizard, I can tell you that for certain." Mum harrumphed.

"Dad?" Ginny inched closer. As far as she could tell, her old folks were made for each other: two parts of a whole. "Can't be."

"It most definitely can." Mum flicked her wand over the sleeves of a wool knit and tucked them into each other. "Back in Hogwarts. Oh those days…perhaps I should't tell you..."

"Here's a story-"

"I didn't care much for any of the boys." Mum laughed. "I had my fair share of attention, so I didn't bother to remember names or anything.

"Then one night, I see him with his two pals. The Three Musketeers, we called them. Your father comes up to me and says 'I'd like to take you out for a midnight ride tomorrow night-' I said "Who are you?" He says, 'I'm Arthur, Arthur Weasley.' 'You go to Hogwarts?' 'Sure do.' 'Why not,' I replied, thinking nothing of it."

"Oh!"

"Well I must have been gaping like a fish because that night he showed up on a Nimbus 1000, of all brooms, looking as spiff as I've ever seen a wizard. Brand new robes, hair combed back and he hands me, of all things, a shiny looking…flower. Well later I find out it's what the Muggles call a 'handheld whisk'. Your father thought it was a rather fascinating find. Needless to say, your mother was very impressed."

"You didn't marry dad 'cause he was rich."

"Thought he was. He was handsome, well-off, but unfortunately rather cocky for his own good. Well later, I found out he'd borrowed the broom and the clothes and his pals had done up his hair with a special charm as he was already balding. Really all he had to his name was that stupid whisk."

"A whisk?"

"One night, old Pringle caught us out of bed in the middle of the night and started asking Arthur where a poor chit like him got all of his things? That's when I found out he'd borrowed 'em off his friends."

Ginny frowned. "That's pretty Slytherin of him."

"You father was the most deceptive man I'd ever met, mark my words. After I found out he'd led me around his finger, I gave him a good yelling. He said to me, "Margaret Prewett, you wouldn't have looked twice at me if I showed up in my hand-me-downs and an old mop at midnight." I daresay, after I was through being cross with him, he was right. But your father was kind and very clever, and after that, I found out he was very honest about most other things-"

"But he lied to you."

"To get my attention."

"You can't have married someone who lied to you," Ginny snapped.

"And why not?"

"It's not true! Dad couldn't have been like this. You never told me this story." Ginny cried. "You said you and dad went to Muggle Studies together and you had to ask him out first because he was so shy."

"Well Ginny, parents don't have to share everything with their kids. Though now that you're older-"

"Dad was not a liar! You said he was a liar."

"You father was a naive, young wizard who was in love with someone he thought wouldn't have given a second look unless he dandied himself up….and he was right. I wouldn't be married if your father hadn't pulled a few strings. He was no perfect wizard, but I was certainly no perfect witch myself. I was self absorbed and thought any young wizard would be lucky to have me. That they'd have to fight for my affection. Well affection is not fought for, and that's the end of the story."

"You were not stuck up."

"Those poor young wizards whose hearts I broke would tell you otherwise. I was quite a pretty young thing, and very vain. It took dating your father for me to realize that being pretty did not make me above all other witches, even if it made me popular."

Ginny found herself feeling so irrationally angry. She'd always believed her father was the way he was, and finding out he was not certainly put a stopper on things and made her reevaluate him.

"Maybe you shouldn't marry someone who lies to you," Ginny said bitterly.

"You silly girl, you better watch your tongue. That's your father you're speaking of," Mum said. "I thought you'd gained a little wisdom living alone."

"Lying is wrong."

"Do you want to know the truth, or do you want to be happy?"

Ginny considered for a moment. "What if I want both?"

"You can't always have both. Take Harry-"

Harry. Harry? Harry did lie to her in the past, but he wouldn't anymore. Besides hiding the obvious facts about his mission with Dumbledore, which could be forgiven because it was a wartime operation, he'd been honest with her. Moreso, he'd made certain Ginny knew exactly where she stood with him.

But Severus had lied to her too, or rather, he had withheld the truth until the last possible moment. Which is also lying, she reminded herself. But in the end, what he had done had saved her life and all of Cagailshire as well, so maybe the means justified the end. Ginny shook her head, it wasn't reasonable to overthink Severus' actions over and over again. She'd nearly driven herself mad, analysing their ineractions while laying in bed and dreaming up every possible scenario between her and that wizard had she made a different decision.

"Harry's been back?" Ginny asked.

"Oh yes, Floo'd every other day since you've been ill."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Ginny asked, annoyed.

Well it had been made clear by her dad later that Molly Weasley was not about to let go of an old grudge. Apparently she was still not over Harry leaving Ginny behind after all those years, not mending their rough patch after the mission with Dumbledore for the Horcruxes and for breaking her heart. Ginny was flattered that her mum still stood by her side despite the wizard in question being those Chosen One himself.

Maybe her father would have his own take on her dilemma.

"Say there was someone who'd been lying to me. Do you think they could ever get back into my good graces?" Ginny watched her father's confused expression. "Mum told me about the Nimbus 1000…"

"So she did," Dad chuckled, rubbing his neck. "I pulled quite the stint, but I got lucky in the end."

"I mean, you think there's a chance for…a second chance?"

"I was lucky to have one with your mum."

"But you think he could be forgiven," Ginny said.

"Harry. Hmm. There'd have to be actions, not simply words."

"What if it wasn't Harry?" Ginny asked slowly.

Dad thought for a moment. "I'm sure Harry isn't the only wizard that caught your attention-"

"-but you'd be upset if I wasn't asking about him."

Dad slowly nodded his head. "So this young wizard…. he's a Quidditch player with a terrible reputation."

"No."

"He's half-troll-"

"Not even close–"

"A Malfoy–"

"Dad-"

"It's Draco."

"What? No!" Ginny laughed. "He's…no…of all wizards. But I don't think you'd approve of him if you knew who he was."

"The plot thickens."

"That's what you and mum want: me and Harry together-"

"All your mother and I want is to see you happy. And right now, we see our little girl at home, brokenhearted. So whoever this wizard is, it's clear he has much explaining to do."

"You wanted me back home."

Dad looked up. "You were going to leave the nest eventually. No parent wants their child at home forever, if it's at the expense of them building a life of their own."