Castles

by pebblysand

"To him, the spring of '98 is about sex and funerals." A canon-compliant, post-war tale.

8. out of clay (brittle lines)

CW: This chapter depicts a war. As such, I am majorly trigger-warning this for literally everything you can think of. Sexual assault, torture, loneliness, isolation, mental abuse. Nothing is particularly graphic but it is there and, chances are, you name it has it. Please make sure you are in a mental headspace where you feel comfortable reading this. Take care of yourself 3.

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viii. out of clay (brittle lines)

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And, look: things happen, in the early days of '99. A mix of good things and bad things, and sort of average things. He's told that's what life is. The endless flow of the ocean tide.

Over the next few months, the Death Eater trials come and go, Narcissa Malfoy in and out of jail, and Harry and Ginny exchange letters about the weather, about Quidditch, about the tiny details of their days that almost convince them that they really are friends. Harry pines over her, of course (and, later, she swears she was pining over him, too), but gradually, she becomes more of a distraction than a concern. With every letter that makes it out to Scotland, the thought that he might accidentally fuck everything up with a single word like he did when he called her his girlfriend last August slowly fades away. It's more like – wet clay. Like when the pieces fall off, you can still merge them back on. Or simply mould something else.

Mia's still there for a few months. She likes The Cranberries, so they go to a gig together. Harry buys tickets for her birthday. There is Linger and there is Zombie, and a couple days later, pints at the pub after Auror training. 'What?' Seamus laughs, rolling his eyes a little. 'You thought ours was the only war there ever was?'

After that, Harry makes a point to learn about Muggle wars. Starts with the last ten years, Iraq, the Troubles and the Balkans, and goes from there.

He works, too (they all do). Gets reassigned to the Auror patrol – Ron with his former partner, Pat – and Harry – 'Sorry, I just don't have enough people to find you someone else,' Robards says, looking mildly harassed, the first morning when they're back. The boy who lived just shrugs in response, can't really imagine anyone other than Giulia, anyway. 'You'll just have to move around for a couple months, cover people's sick leaves and holidays, and that.'

'Yeah,' Harry nods. Ron stands in the corner of the office with his arms folded over his chest. 'That's fine.'

I miss her, he writes to Ginny, once. The large sunglasses that used to hide half her face and the little lines at the corner of her eyes.

Room by room, Grimmauld becomes a home. Not his home – Harry keeps his flat – but a home for the others. It is satisfying to watch, not only as a tribute to Sirius, but also for the way life feels like they're finally moving forward. The house becomes the official C.A.S.H.C.O.W. headquarters through an amendment to their Ministry filings, which Hannah argues is 'better than a pub.' By spring, the ground and first floors are done and when Hogwarts lets out, they open a few bottles of prosecco to celebrate. With a cheap, plastic flute in his hand, it occurs to Harry that it's been over a year, now, since the war ended.

For a few more weeks, Ginny continues to see Matthew. When the press gets wind of it and both their faces end up on the cover of every tabloid in the country (Forgot about Harry, Ginny? is the Witch Weekly headline). Matthew dumps her over a rather (objectively) shitty argument that she tells Harry about. That's the kind of relationship they have, now, where they tell each other things. She goes out with a few more people before the end of May and while Harry's very far from ecstatic about it, at least she's a) being honest with him, and b) for the first time since last May, he kind of gets it.

He's read her letters, you see.

It's not an overstatement to say that that changes everything, in January. She delivers them to him on a Sunday night and he finishes them the next Saturday afternoon. Six days and six nights buried in her words – he goes to work that week, watches Teddy, but does nothing else. Somewhere at the back of his mind, there must be a case to be made, someone who could have told him to pace himself, to read a couple letters a day like she didn't completely overtake his life with 200,000 words scribbled on pieces of parchment, but that's never been how he functions. He's been so starved for information his whole life that when it is given to him, he consumes it like a drug addict searching for the high of finding out the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, and sometimes, so help him God.

It starts like this: that night, he drags the two cardboard boxes she left on his doorstep into his flat, not wanting to levitate them for fear of disturbing her fragile filing system. He sits on the floor, back resting against the side of the couch, opens the lid and takes a quick peek inside. The next time he looks up, it's four o'clock in the morning. It just happens. He doesn't know how, or why, has never been much of a reader but this is Ginny, and this is their war. Her war.

He's not much of an expert but the first thing he notes is that she writes well. Not like, the half-blood prince's awkward phrases at the corner of textbooks; like: an entire world created out of thin air. That whole week's a blur. Somehow, it is hazy like May '98, but crisp like January '99 and jittery like the autumn of '97. When they were kids, he remembers that Dudley used to watch American films on the telly, tribe upon tribe of Lycra-wearing actors transported into different time dimensions. They would shout and shoot at aliens in the background while Harry cleaned the house or did the dishes; he'd never thought he would relate. In Ginny's letters, there is the present and the past, and sometimes, Harry wakes up with his wand in his hand that week, heart hammering against his chest, calling out Hermione's name like he did in the tent. The lines are brittle and thin between Ginny's wars and his.

Harry, she writes. Always starts with his name, just that. There are never any preambles, or dear-s or hello-s, or I hope this reaches you well. He supposes that she's never been one to apologise for herself.

Her war is present tense, that week, dark ink on parchment. She writes fast, he can tell, like if she only paused to draw breath, she'd run out of time. Sometimes, she says in one of her letters, it's like if I stop writing, I'll never write again. There is an urgency to her words, from the way they loop around each other, slightly slanted to the right; she writes in straight lines, instinctively, and leaves an inch of space on each side of the paper she uses. In his head, it's her voice that reads out her sentences, the pattern of her breaths and her open, west country vowels – sometimes, that almost makes it worse. Sometimes, as he listens to her, he's not sure where he is, or how it all happened – her letters read like fiction until he remembers that they are not, that this is their world and their lives that she's describing. That all of it is real.

Harry, she writes. It is her first word. I'm hoping mum, or dad, or Lupin – whoever makes it to grimmauld first, I reckon - will be able to give you this. Kingsley said you were followed into muggle London last night, after the wedding. That's mad. We're still trying to figure out how they found you. You don't think you still have the trace on you, do you?

Early on, he's struck by how ordinary her sentences sound. A wartime version of normalcy, a testament to how humans can adapt to anything. She's fifteen (almost sixteen) and she still dots her i-s with small circles. The habit is so uniquely hers but also not, like it belongs with the girl he used to know, the one who wrote silly poems at the age of eleven. Now, her words have the power to not let anyone look up from the page.

He cruises through the first couple of months rather easily. Ginny starts writing on the 2nd of August 1997, the day that follows the fall of the Ministry. In retrospect, he can tell that her letters are shorter, then, more utilitarian. She still thinks they'll get to him.

I just wanted to say, we're all fine, she says. They searched the house, broke all of Mum's stuff, tore up the couch – as though you'd be hiding under the cushions or something. Considering the Slughorn, armchair incident of 1996, it doesn't seem that far fetched, actually. I think they just wanted to scare us.

I'll try to write more soon. It's the 4th or the 5th, by then. Whenever I find a way to get these to you. They're watching us. Please, Harry, just lie low. Trust me, they're not fucking about.

Don't go giving yourself up either. You'd just be dead. Wouldn't help us.

She signs: love, Gin, always. Sometimes, he wonders what she means by it. Or if there's even anything to be meant by it.

The Weasleys don't go out of the house much, that August. There is something rather oppressive about it. Tonks is heartbroken over Lupin's departure (though Ginny herself doesn't have the full picture, yet). Mum took her into the garden and shut the door on them, she tells him, once. Do you know what's happening? Have you heard anything? The boys said mum used to cry like that all the time for no reason when she was pregnant but I think there's more to it than that. I know what it looks like when someone leaves.

The rebels set up camp at Shell Cottage and quickly, an inevitable brand of in-fighting emerges amongst the different Order members in the face of a war, of fear and violence that grow and never seem to stop. In her letters, Ginny calls her parents' house 'depressingly empty.' People disappear, never to be seen again. Kingsley and Lupin engage in an endless stream of arguments about what to do regarding the kids-in-Grimmauld-Place. The Weasleys debate whether it is safe to keep the shop open (the Death Eaters trashing the place a few days later answers that question rather quickly), Bill working at the bank, their father at the Ministry. Soon, Molly advocates for them all to go into hiding. She doesn't think the Ministry will buy into the ghoul covering for Ron, doesn't think Ginny will be safe in Hogwarts. Every day, that month, she busies herself with errands and food, and anxiously waits for her husband to come home. 'Arthur, it's only a matter of time before you get caught,' Ginny quotes her saying in her letters, the conversations between her parents that she overhears, late into the night. Mr Weasley never relents.

Most of the aurors on our side got arrested after the coup, or can't go back, like Kingsley. Dad's the only source of information we have left inside the DMLE, so he wants to stay put. Plus, he says we're safer hiding in plain sight.

The Tonks break into groups: Ted goes into hiding, works for the rebellion full-time. Andromeda stays, does her best to keep her job at St Mungo's, tending to the injured and to their pregnant daughter. Tonks only travels to and from different safehouses, doesn't see an inch of the outside world. 'I don't know how long Mum will last,' she tells Ginny, once. 'No one likes a traitor.'

Ginny's a bit lost, then. Snape's been appointed Headmaster; Hogwarts attendance has become mandatory. On the one hand, she wants to fight. On the other, not going to school means going on the run, which means her whole family will also have to go on the run. It endangers everybody. She has endless rows with her mum about it the same way her dad does, an individual risk versus that of the whole clan. In her family, no one but Ron knew about her relationship with Harry. She obviously never volunteers that information, so it is not an element that is factored in.

'What do you think I should do?' Ginny asks Tonks. She says in her letters that of the adults, Tonks is the only one making sense, right now.

She just kind of pouted and told me I should go back to hogwarts, ride it out for another year. Said that probably nothing much would happen. In a war about blood purity, they wouldn't hurt any of their precious, pureblood kids. I'm not convinced but I obviously kept that to myself. 'Then, next august, you see,' she told me. I'll be seventeen, then, and hopefully things will have changed. See where the order's at, where my parents are at. She said both mum and dad were right, in a way. That we wouldn't be able to pass as law-abiding, muggle-haters forever, but why not keep at it while it lasts? Dad's really valuable to the order in the ministry, and we've a house and food on the table.

I told her I wanted to be useful, to go out and fight. She just kind of laughed. 'You think I don't want that?' she asked. 'But I'm pregnant, Ginny. So, I stay inside the house and fucking knit instead.' I do feel a bit sorry for her, I have to admit. She said that if I didn't go back to hogwarts, it would be a lot less safe for everyone. 'We all need to make sacrifices for the ones we love. It's a different kind of fighting.'

She's right, Harry. I'll go back, whether mum likes it or not. Plus, I hate that word: hiding. I'm not hiding – not from this, not from Tom. Mum says that Snape's a murderer. That hogwarts won't be safe. Well, nowhere is fucking safe, is it?

In the end, Kingsley, forever a brilliant politician, finds an appropriate compromise between Molly and her teenage daughter. I got called into the kitchen this morning, Ginny describes. Mum was watching so I couldn't really ask him if he could get these letters to you. Anyway, they've given me all this stupid shit to memorise. Say that if I go back to hogwarts, I'll probably get asked about the order. When I am, I'm to tell them all of this. He said it like I was a child or something. 'You're sixteen, you don't need to be a hero.' Ha. Apparently, this stuff is accurate enough that it should get them off my back, but it's all stuff that the order can afford to lose. Old safehouses, things like that. Can you imagine the irony? I have to learn all this fake info, but I don't even know the real thing 'cause mum still won't let me into the room whenever they have a meeting. We're in the middle of a war and I'm still operating on fucking extendable ears.

Later, they order her school stuff through the post to avoid showing their faces in Diagon Alley. Harry himself hasn't been there since the end of the war, so that's something he can relate to. Anyway, enough of my complaining, she writes, a few nights later and he almost shakes his head at her. He gets her frustration, sort of wishes he'd had had someone to complain to. How are you? I'm not sure if you have access to the papers but they're setting up a commission to round up muggleborns. I've used the coins to warn everyone in the DA – Dean's gone into hiding. Colin's taken his brother and his parents to America. He says he'll come back here, though. You and Ron look after Hermione, will you?

Then, a few weeks later (a few hours later, as far as Harry is concerned), there is the 29th of August. The moment he picks up the parchment for that day, he knows something's happened. There are three pages of script, rather than her usual couple. He tries to piece the events of last year together, tries to remember what happened then, in his world at least, that could have elicited this. They hadn't broken into the Ministry yet, had they? And, she's not in school so it can't be anything to do with that. For a moment, he hesitates before curiosity gets the best of him. It's already almost two in the morning.

Harry, she says.

I feel a bit shit tonight. It's already dark, the days are getting shorter, and there's this chill in the rain. Mum says it's the dementors but it almost feels like it's inside me. I miss you. I miss last year, I miss the hogwarts grounds, and I miss a time when me and the boys could look up at mum, whatever happened, and she'd know exactly what to do. Now, most nights, she cries and I don't really know what to say to her.

I miss Lupin. I know it's stupid but he's always been nice to me. At least, for a few days after the wedding, he'd come in and bring news. Now, it's been weeks since we last saw him. I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to worry. That's why Tonks' been so upset. Did you two talk about it when he went to Grimmauld? Do you know where he is? Kingsley was furious when he found out he'd visited. They had this loud row - wands were drawn and all, then Lupin took off. I think he was drunk. Kingsley said he'd put you in danger by going there, put everyone in danger, come to think of it.

I wonder why he went over in the first place. He wouldn't say. I hear he's still working for the order, just that he won't visit the house anymore because of what happened. Mum sided with Kingsley, said some things. It was like a very dramatic scene taken out of these books I read. 'I didn't picture you being as reckless as -' she said and then, she stopped, but I reckon the damage was already done. There was that look on Lupin's face. I'd never seen him this angry. 'As reckless as who, Molly?' he was shouting, kind of slurring. 'Go on, say it!' It all just got very silent, I think by that point, we were all hoping he'd go. He said that all mum had ever done for the order was sit on her hands and bake pie, while everyone else went out to fight. That she was a coward for wanting to hide and that she'd been lying to herself, telling everyone she was protecting you. He said Sirius was right. 'You never told him anything! It's your fault Harry didn't trust us.' He just kind of kept shouting, it was horrible. Telling her you weren't her son.

Eventually, Kingsley threatened him and told him to get out. I keep thinking, Harry. Is that true? I know he had no right to say that and mum's been blaming herself ever since. I hate him for it, but part of me can't help but think he wasn't completely wrong, either.

In her letter, Ginny apologises for not telling Harry about the incident before. I tried, but then I kept thinking: he doesn't need to deal with that on top of everything else, does he? Now, I'm telling you and I keep wondering what that means, Harry. What it means for these letters, what it means for us. I'll be in hogwarts in two days. I'm never going to get these to you, am I? Will I ever see you again? Perhaps, that's why I'm telling you. It's funny, isn't it? Telling someone something they'll never actually know?

Once I'm in Scotland, how far will we be from each other, do you think? How long on a broom? One day? Maybe two? Sometimes, I sort of entertain the thought, see where it takes me. Sometimes, I can almost touch you, in my head. I close my eyes and I trace the shape of your lips with my thumb - you sigh and I know you're alive. Do you dream about me, too? I try to remember the sound of your laugh. When was June, do you think? Three months ago? Why does it feel so distant, like it's just out of reach?

I have nightmares about finding mum and dad lying dead in the house. Fred and George are coming up with weapons in the attic. Sometimes, I also have this odd dream where you just walk up to King's Cross and board the train. We stand there, watching each other and you're all smiles and jokes – you know, you always have that smile on you whenever school's about to start? I don't remember much from before the war, but that I remember.

I said that to mum, once. I think it was a few months ago. I told her in passing – she was talking about going into Diagon Alley, picking up the twins' first school books with me and I said: 'I don't know, mum, I don't remember much from before the war.' She looked at me like I'd drunk the wrong kind of potion. 'Dumbledore's only just died,' she said. 'Don't say things like that.'

Mum's scared. So's dad. Fred and George are, too, though they're not showing it the same. Even Bill and Charlie. Sometimes, it feels like I'm on a different planet. To them, the war is new. For over ten years, they thought they were safe and now, this. I never thought we were safe, Harry. Not since I was eleven, at least. When I say 'before the war,' that's what I mean. 'Before I was eleven.' They all tell me the stories and in theory, I know I was there, I listen and I nod and I store them in my brain, and 'remember when,' I say, sometimes, but I don't remember. Not like they do. It's just things I was told. I've never admitted that to anyone. You'll likely never read this, so I'm not even really admitting it to you, am I? I don't know why I'm writing these anymore, Harry. Sometimes, it's like my blood freezes inside me because I think: if not you, who am I writing to?

Sometimes, I want to stop. Maybe it's just not worth the risk of these letters being found. But, if I stop, Harry, if I stop it'll be like the forgotten memories from before the war. No one will know what happened to us. We'll all die and Tom will win, and there won't be any record of our side. We'll have been silenced, like animals you put down. We'll all fall into oblivion. You know, Bill's helping the order with their cash flow, collecting funds from overseas without going through gringotts. Charlie's learning what he can from Andromeda, says that caring for dragons and caring for humans isn't that different. Fred and George are wreaking havoc, Ron is helping you. I play quidditch, Harry. I play quidditch and I'm too young to fight, but I can write. Do you think maybe that's what I'm here for, Harry?

I know there's very little chance that these will reach you, but I might reach someone. If you are that someone, decades later, reading this, welcome. I hope you're safe. I hope you're still fighting. If you've found these, I'm probably dead, but know that these are the letters I'm writing to the boy I love. I never told him. I was a bit of an idiot. I thought there would be more time. I hope that someday, someone loves you as much as I love him.

And Tom, if these letters ever fall into the wrong hands - the first diary I ever kept was for you. I was so happy, you know, going to hogwarts for the first time, I wanted to remember it. It took months for me to write again, until Lupin made a comment on the structure of one of my essays. 'Well, you're a good writer. Don't ever let anyone take anything away from you.' You see, six years on and it's still about us, Tom. You, me, Harry. And, I will only stop when one of us is dead. I do hope, from the bottom of my heart, that it will be you.

Love,

Gin.

That night, Harry spends a lot of time staring at the walls.

That's not when he stops reading, though. To the contrary, by that point, his eyes are glued to the page. He reads on, through the end of August and into September, notices the way her tone changes, becomes more intimate and less restrained, and her letters get longer, more detailed. She's creating a record now. Of her feelings, of her memories, as well as of everything that is going on around her. She describes her war like a hand is gripping at the inside of her stomach, the fear, the patrols, the silence on the train up to Scotland. They came looking for you, she explains. Nev stood up, said you weren't there. He's angry. Like all the abuse he ever took in his life is coming right back at them in a wave, hundred times worse. I asked if he was worried for his gran. He said he was, but that she wouldn't want him to stay quiet. We're opposite sides of the same coin, you see, because all mum wants is for me to stay quiet. Sometimes, I want to be that person, the one Tonks described, the one who makes compromises and sacrifices for the good of everyone else. Sometimes, keeping the anger in almost physically hurts, Harry. I dig my fingernails into the inside of my palms and it feels like the blood that comes out is already boiling.

September '97, in her world, is still early stages. A fascinating in-between. The Hogwarts she describes isn't exactly the place he once knew, but it also isn't the one that people told him about in May. There is tension in the air, between the walls - everyone seems to notice it, but no one Ginny knows dares talk about it. Later, when she reflects, she says: it's like we were all trying to figure out which way the wind would blow, you know?

The moment she is back in Scotland, she talks about the whispers. The curious questions that girls who go to the bathroom in packs ask themselves; in the middle of war, a bit of gossip takes your mind off things. 'It's odd she even came back,' Ginny overhears a fourth-year Ravenclaw tell a friend as the water runs down the sink. She hides her feet from view to listen in, sitting on the toilet seat with her knees pulled up close to her chest. 'With her family's reputation, Potter on the run. I mean, she's his girlfriend, can you imagine? And, do you really think her brother's ill?'

Do you know what's funny, Harry? she asks, that night. No one ever asks me. When I got here I really thought I'd do what you wanted me to do. Tell everyone we'd broken up so that Tom wouldn't use me to get to you. But they just fucking talk amongst themselves, make assumptions without ever trying to correct them. What am I supposed to do? Go around the place and volunteer our dirty laundry for everyone to hear? That doesn't sound like me. I wouldn't even believe myself if I did that.

Even my friends, you know? The other day, I could tell D. (Demelza, he figures) was wondering about us. They don't say anything, though, cause they don't want me to get upset. It's a bit like you in a way, the way you cooked up that little plan in your head without asking for my opinion. If you'd asked me, I would have said this: I know Tom, Harry. I know him better than anyone. He was in my head for eight months. If he finds out I exist (and he will because everyone in this bloody school knows about us, Harry), girlfriend or not, he won't care. He'll take the chance if it means the possibility of getting to you. Worst case scenario, you really don't come to save me and I'm dead. Big fucking deal to him. Everyone keeps saying he doesn't want to lose any purebloods. Didn't ask for my blood status before he tried to kill me, did he? It's just fucking propaganda.

I promise you, Harry, I'll do whatever I have to do so that he can't get to you. Through me, or through anyone else. But I also know you didn't break up with me because you wanted to. That kiss last summer, I know you wanted it as much as I did. You only broke up with me because of him and frankly, I won't let Tom have us, on top of everything else. I can't let him take control of my life like that. Not again.

So, no. I didn't tell those ravenclaws we'd broken up. They can all go fuck themselves.

Right, he thinks. Well, there it is. Fuck. He couldn't just fall in love with someone who'd follow his instructions, could he?

That September, in Hogwarts, the devil isn't in the big things yet, it's in the details. In the slow creep of the new regime that later gives way to the matter-of-fact tone Neville had in his voice when they met him in May. In the early weeks of autumn, there are no scenes of torture, no curses and no chains, just the slow, uneasy feeling of being watched, growing like smoke over their heads. Umbridge's old brigades are sporting brand new recruits, 'to guarantee the students' safety in these difficult times.' Daily headcounts of pupils are now required, meal attendance is made mandatory, and a daily pledge of loyalty to the Ministry is introduced. Seamus already got in trouble for refusing to say it, she writes. Brought up something about eight hundred years of oppression? Said that the only thing Finnegans have ever been known to pledge allegiance to is the Irish Free State. Had to stifle a giggle or two, I must say.

There are a few new players. They replace Hagrid and Firenze, both booted out of the teaching staff, with people more agreeable to the Ministry's new line. Hogwarts also receives a couple dozen new students, a mix of pureblood eleven-year-olds and older kids who were home-schooled until the war. Not enough to fill the empty seats, though. You know, it never occurred to me how many muggleborns we had. Or, even people who can't prove their parentage. There are only four new gryffindors this year, including the older ones. We kept looking around over dinner, wondering what had happened to all the others. McGonagall and Kingsley were working all summer to try to get them to safehouses. I really hope they got everyone.

Then, of course, there are the Carrows. Harry's blood runs cold at the first mention of their name; he has to remind himself that Amycus is dead, now, and that Alecto is locked in a cell. Quickly, Ginny explains: They're definitely death eaters. Not even shy about it. That woman's walking around the place with her sleeves rolled up for everyone to see the mark on her arm. It scares people, makes them behave. Sometimes, I wonder where Tom recruits them. Not the sharpest tools in the shed, if you ask me.

They're mostly doing surveillance. Watching us, the teachers. They've blocked all the secret passages in and out of the castle, it makes it harder for people like Sprout and McGonagall to get intel from the outside. They haven't hurt anyone but we're all watching our backs.

Muggle Studies (well, whatever the hell that is) is now mandatory. D.A.D.A.'s the same useless shit as it was under Umbridge. You'd be going bonkers, Harry. I imagine you having a go at them like you did with her, it makes me laugh. Snape's been staying in his office a lot, barely attends meals. Probably has more important things to do. That cunt.

I'll tell you this because it'll make you laugh: Neville's rounded up all the 'Potter stinks' badges from people who still had them. Had Luna enchant them, changed your name for Snape's. He says that man barely ever finds the shower once a year as it is, so it's simply stating a fact. He's playing with fire, obviously, but aren't we all?

Their worlds never collide, that year, never overlap, but sometimes, they graze each other. When Harry makes the news, she mentions it. On the 3rd of September, she writes: You broke into the Ministry, followed by a number of exclamation marks. The ink is thicker against the parchment in his hand, lit by the cheap, electric, floor lamp that sits next to his couch in his London apartment. Harry shifts slightly, uncomfortable against the wooden floors. You blithering idiot! Or, at least, that's what McGonagall called you. I would probably have used different words but I must say I support her impressive command of the full range of insults offered by the English language. I would advise the three of you against trying to crash here, if you're looking for a place to stay, or else you'll all be in detention until June. Of course, you'd also be dead. Considering how furious McGonagall was, though, I'm honestly not sure which is worse.

What were you after? That's what I keep wondering. Not the sword, it's still in Snape's office. I was thinking of trying to go get it, might speak to Nev and Luna about that. Merlin, Harry, where are you? I'm told they searched Grimmauld but you were gone already. What on earth is going on?

Why am I even asking? It's not like I'm going to wake up and you'll have answered by breakfast, is it?

On the page, her words read like sighs and silences and he is reminded with every paragraph he reads that '97 has a right and a wrong side - a June and a December, so to speak. It's been ten days, Harry, Ginny writes. No one's heard of you. Nev says that's a good sign. I'm worried about my parents. I'm worried about Bill and Charlie, and Fred, and George. Ron. Wherever we went, he was always the one mum forgot behind. Sometimes, I even worry about Percy. He never meant it, I don't think. Just got in way over his head. You look after Ron, will you? Please.

Ron almost bled to death, that week.

Just like they did for the three of them in the forest, her days slowly turn into a never-ending blur, for the next few weeks. Harry remembers the tent, the way Hermione's habits got on his nerves, and Ron's temper. In a castle full of people, it's kind of strange to feel so alone, Ginny writes. He shuts his eyes for a second before reading on, thinks he never felt more alone than during those months in an overcrowded tent. All the social stuff has been cancelled, even quidditch. At least for gryff. They've found reasons to kick all of us off the team. Even Slughorn's had to let go of his dinners. They don't want people roaming around at night. I suppose it is easier to keep everyone in one place, at any given time.

They've come up with a couple new classes, too. Said our education was lacking. You should have seen the look on McGonagall's face. The girls have three hours a week of Witch Studies. They have a wizards' version too, don't be jealous. Nev says all they do in theirs is review lists of "successful wizards," the purer the bloodline, the more ruthless the achievements, the better. They tell them to be strong and assertive, to never take no for an answer. We, on the other hand, are told to follow our future husbands' wishes, make them proud. All romantic interactions with muggles are against nature. Mum said they're preventing witches from withdrawing money from gringotts without a permission slip, these days. Today, Alecto Carrow said that all muggles are rapists and murderers. We girls should 'respect ourselves.' Stay pure for our husbands, perpetuate our bloodlines. Marriage is an elevation, you know?

Padma went to Flitwick to complain, said the information they were giving us was "incorrect." I mean, you've got to love the ravenclaws, don't you?

With the Carrows watching their every move, they're always either in class, at meals, or in their common rooms. Hogwarts isn't as fun as it used to be, we can't really do much, she writes. For her letters, Ginny explains that she waits until everyone else has gone to bed to write them. I can't sleep anyway.

I usually sit at that table you, Ron and Hermione used to squat, in the corner by the fire. It was funny actually, when we got back, no one dared sitting there. Not even the first years. I think one of them tried and Demelza told them to piss off. 'Out of respect,' she said. I mean, I love her, D., but she's not someone you'd want to cross. They got the message. When I sat there one night, some first year came and told me to piss off. Brave boy, if you think about it. D. said: 'No, not her. Ginny sits there. No one else.'

When the kid asked why, there was this silence in the room, third and fourth years just staring at me… But again, no one says anything, you see? D. explained that I'm clearly on edge these days, I kind of scare people. 'I mean that in the nicest possible way,' she said. 'But you just sit there silently in the corner with your wand on the table, observing everyone. It's like you're about to explode.'

I don't know, Harry, maybe I am. Is that all I get for being whatever I am to you? A seat at the fucking table?

Merlin, Harry, this place is so bloody empty without you.

It's another couple of days until she sneaks into the changing rooms, by the Quidditch pitch. I found a jumper you'd left there and nicked it. It's got your name on it, so I only wear it in the tower, I'm not suicidal. When I close my eyes, it still smells like you.

Merlin, Harry, where are you?

Eventually, she has to tell Neville about the letters. He kept seeing me writing. Seems like he can't sleep either. He sits on the sofa and stares at the portrait hole all night until morning, like he's keeping watch or something. Maybe, he is. Sometimes, it feels like we're sleepwalking, to tell you the truth.

It was either fessing up to him or staying upstairs in the dorms to write and I prefer writing on an actual table. Nev got all excited, so I had to crush his dreams. 'Wait, you know where Harry is?' I had to explain. I thought he was going to tell me I was completely off my rocker. Instead, he just suggested I hide the letters in the room of requirement, where no one can find them. He's pretty good with that room, goes there often. So, that's what I've done. These days, when he sees me writing, he tells me 'say hi to Harry.'

It's stupid, but I suppose, there it is. Harry, Nev says 'hi.'

Then, there's the 25th of September. He doesn't notice it, at first. Finishes an unassuming letter from the 24th, one in which she complains about the ridiculous claims made by the Carrows during Muggle Studies and moves on to the next letter. She writes:

Harry,

Sorry I didn't write yesterday.

His gaze flicks up to the date at the top of the page. It's true. Her script is slightly unsteady, wobbly, like she's writing on a surface that isn't entirely flat.

They gave me sleeping draught, was out most of the night. Today too. I only have a couple minutes, McGonagall just won't leave me alone. She's gone to the loo now, thank Merlin. Said she was going to tell mum and dad, try to send me home. That I'd be safer there. As if. And for what? So that my whole family can be hunted down? The order needs dad at the ministry. I told her I was gonna restart the DA. She didn't like that very much.

They're talking about moving me back into the tower tonight. Carrows have gone to Malfoy manor, so now it's just Snape. I'll have more time to explain tomorrow. Or maybe I won't explain at all. On the off chance that you might actually read these one day, you'd probably storm in and kill someone, and that wouldn't be wise. I promised I'd keep it under control, and I will. I'll just kill them myself.

Love,

Gin.

The next latter is dated from the 27th. It is long, too long to be good news. Her lines are crisp and stable again, dark ink on parchment. He's not sure what is worse: the stuff that's been feeding all of his nightmares since the war ended, or knowing what really happened.

Harry,

Everyone's gone to bed, finally. Well, not everyone - Nev's here, but I can hear him snoring. I think he and Seamus sort of blame themselves. I'm not sure what else they could have done. They ended up in the hospital wing, just like I did. Stunners, they got them with. For the weekend, McGonagall's set wards on the common room so that no one can get in or out. We're safe, but trapped like rats. Whatever's going to happen on Monday, who knows?

I woke up in my bed this morning, must have been out of it when they moved me. Didn't leave my room all day. Just didn't want to face the stares, you know? D. brought me food that Dobby snuck in for us, so I ate in bed. Not much. I'm still sore all over and my stomach keeps clenching, it's kind of an odd sensation. Is that what it felt like when Tom did it to you? I realise I never asked.

(Fuck, he thinks. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck -)

Nev said that Thursday night and Friday were just havoc. Kids running, crying everywhere, wanting to get home. It's funny what people do in a panic. McGonagall finally called an all-house meeting tonight at six, so I had to come down a bit before that. Nev walked me to the table in the corner, helped me sit down, told the others to mind their own bloody business.

When she walked in, I swear she was looking for you. I saw her glancing towards the table and she said: 'Weasley, Po-' like a force of habit. My name with yours (well, Ron's name with yours). Where are you? For Merlin's sake Harry, where are you?

Disappointingly, as he reads on, Ginny still doesn't explain what happened. Instead, she describes McGonagall escorting her and Neville to the boy's dormitories. There is a long, laborious climb up the seven flights of stairs and she casts a silencing charm on the door the moment they get in. Ginny sits on Harry's bed ('Miss Weasley, you seem to know your way around,' McGonagall observes) and Neville stands, the three of them in an awkward, pained triangle.

She said they'd had a meeting. She, Slughorn, Sprout and Flitwick. Agreed the priority was to keep us safe. That means: no uprisings, no fighting back, just low profiles – we keep calm and we carry on. Slughorn said he'd speak to the slytherins, though is there really a need? Flitwick will appeal to the ravenclaws' inner logic. We're told a rebellion wouldn't be clever, you see? Ravenclaws can apparently calculate odds, they know when they're not good. Not sure that'll work on Luna, to tell the truth.

Sprout's going to show the hufflepuffs that others might get hurt. It should slow her people down, but not forever. She reckons McGonagall will have the toughest job, because "a lion's hard to tame." Apparently, it needs to be given room to breathe.

I could tell that she was raging when she spoke to us. It shows, like when Umbridge was here, but worse. Everything is fucking worse. She knows we're not gonna just sit around and wait. I don't think she even would want us to.

So, this is it, Harry. We've talked it out and we've negotiated, and compromised, and we've got ourselves a licence to restart the D.A. Holy fuck, Harry. McGonagall said we need to teach the kids to defend themselves, because the Carrows clearly can't be trusted. Same as what you did in fourth year. Her own classes are being watched so she can't do it herself. She said she'd give us all the resources we need, that she'd even pay for things herself if we needed them. I think Nev's got it covered with the room of requirement, though. She's going to try and get in contact with Lupin as well, see if he can give us some pointers.

She asked that we involve at least one other older student from ravenclaw and hufflepuff, said that we shouldn't trust ourselves to make all the decisions. We gave Luna and Hannah's names, I think she liked that. Insisted this was all: 'For the sole purpose of defence.' Ha. Nev said she couldn't control what people over the age of seventeen got up to. I don't think she ever really answered.

Then, he promised we wouldn't tell a soul that she was involved. That we'd protect her. Merlin, Harry, you should have seen the look on her face – worse than a basilisk, surprised he didn't die on the spot. 'First, Mr Longbottom, you should know by now that when a gryffindor acts, they hold their head up high and face the full consequences of their actions.' I'll spare you comments about her tone, I'm sure you already have a pretty good idea. 'Second, if you do get caught, I expect all and any of you to throw me under the bus with the dedication and zeal of the most cunning of slytherins.' She said we should save ourselves at all costs. Say that she forced us into it, that we were scared for our lives, imperioused if we had to. 'Are we clear, Mr Longbottom?'

Obviously, it'll never happen. We're not bloody rats, are we? But it was nice to hear.

She signs, quick, at the end of the page, but then forgets something and adds it as a post scriptum. Sorry, I forgot to add: she's not going to tell mum and dad what happened. It was a bit like pulling teeth but I think on the whole, she reckons I'm better here than outside. They're going to try and contact Cho as well, just in case. I suppose that's fair enough.

Anyway, I'll write more tomorrow.

Love (again),

Gin.

Right. So: Ginny and Cho have three things in common, as far as he can tell. Quidditch, nice hair and –

A Sleekeazy advert gone wrong is what he wants this to be. A mundane, fucking issue about -

Harry, she writes again, the next day.

I've been feeling better today. Whatever Pomfrey's doing, it's working. Nev and I spent all day chatting, trying to figure out what to do with the D.A. It's good, keeps our minds busy. I think maybe I didn't give McGonagall enough credit. She's given us a bone to chew so that we wouldn't go completely mental.

I've been wondering all day what I was going to write tonight. I need to tell you what happened, put words on it, because all I feel is anger, right now, and even when I close my eyes, I can't think straight. It's easier to write. It's like the entire world's been turned upside down, lately, and these letters to you are the only thing I can control. And, it's all I want, really, to have some sort of control.

Thursday was a good day, actually. Seamus had managed to hear from someone who'd heard from Dean. Not the most reliable of sources but with the ever-growing list of deaths these days, you take the good news wherever they come from, you know? We were called in for dinner, same as usual. Dreading it a bit because on Tuesdays and Thursdays, it's only us and the Carrows. Snape's instituted these stupid 'staff meetings', to 'show our most tenured staff the new ways of the world' or something. I think he's mostly trying to keep McGonagall and Sprout in check.

For the last couple of weeks, they've been doing this new thing where they call roll, house by house (start with slytherin and finish with gryffindor, obviously). You stand up when they call your name, say 'here!', stand back down. I'm always last in the entire school, no one in Gryffindor has a name that comes after Weasley and by then everyone's just starving, it's ridiculous.

Anyway, recently, they started calling people up to the front of the hall, too. Asking them questions. They've even put up a little stage for it, a whole fucking performance. They'll call someone - let's take Romilda Vane, for instance – 'Miss Vane, would you come up to the stage? Miss Vane, would you tell us what you learnt today?' And, you're supposed to stand up there and say something like, I don't know, 'Today I learnt that muggles can't tie their shoelaces,' or whatever. It's just to fuck with people, the ones who are terrified of speaking in front of a crowd. Last week they spent fifteen minutes taunting some poor third-year in Ravenclaw, stuttering so bad he couldn't speak.

Thing is, you can probably already tell what happened, can't you? They called me. Last name in the entire bloody student list. I went up. What else was I gonna do? Run? Where to? They had me standing up on their fucking stage, facing everyone. It was the sister who spoke first – she's vicious that one, I'll give you that. Said something like: 'So, will you tell us what you learnt today, Miss Weasley?'

We had Witch Studies, that day. Waste of my precious time. And, look, Harry, I know what you're going to say. That I shouldn't have pissed them off. For the record, a) I think all of this would have happened regardless of what I'd said, and b) I would like to point out that in my position you would have done the exact, same thing. Everyone heard about last year, you know, Mr There's-No-Need-To-Call-Me-Sir-Professor (good one, by the way). So yeah, I kind of took the piss and said: 'I learnt that if I ever shag a muggle, all my hair will fall out, my magic will stop working and I'll die.'

There were quite a few sniggers, I have to say. I mean, it was funny, wasn't it? Bet that made you smile. Everyone needs a laugh, that's what Fred and George always say. Didn't amuse Alecto Carrow, though. 'You think you're funny?' she said. I mean, I could have pushed it, said yes, but she didn't give me enough time. 'Suppose there's not much danger of that happening, is there? You shagging a Muggle? You prefer half-bloods, I'm told.'

It all happened so quickly, Harry. One minute, people were laughing and the next, there was this collective sharp intake of breath. Nev got up to his feet, I think he was trying to get to me, but the other one, Amycus, he sent a stunner across the room, straight into his chest. Next thing I know, Seamus's on the floor, too. 'Anyone else?'

It was like he was roaring, like they'd won a prize or something. Of course, people were scared. She got my wand before I could even blink. There was this kid, in first year, hufflepuff, he was right in front of me, first at their table. He was shaking, Harry, I'd never seen anything like it before. Like he knew something was going to happen. I remember that Amycus kept shouting: 'You all thought it was a joke? You thought we was a joke? Well, watch now, watch what happens when you keep something from us, eh?'

She just had her wand in my face. Everything got so quiet, it was like a funeral. Mine, I suppose. 'I'm going to ask once, nicely,' she said. 'Where is he?'

I said: 'Where's who?' (I know, I know. Again, you'd have done the same thing.)

And, it's odd, isn't it? You think, because you know it's coming, maybe it'll hurt less. Like, they've taken the surprise element out of it, so you can brace yourself. You can't. I think I screamed, when it hit. It was unbearable, Harry. I remember thinking, yeah, I could see how that would have driven Nev's parents insane. You know, it gets to a point where you kind of hope that your heart will give out, because at least then the pain would stop.

And then, it does stop. I think I must have been crying or choking, lying on the floor cause she said: 'Well, there goes Potter's moany little girl, eh? He's not here to save you, is he? Fucked you and left you here to die?' Her brother just couldn't stop laughing, believe it or not, it was like his voice was amplified with how funny he thought this was. She said that she wouldn't kill me. That she wanted me to cry like that, when they found you dead. 'I'm going to ask again, now. Where is he?'

I told her to go fuck herself.

It went on for a while. I could hear people screaming, crying in the background but I think they put up a shield between us and them. They wanted people to watch, make an example. I think a few more people tried to intervene but they got knocked out as well. By the end of it, I couldn't really see, Harry. She asked again. I spat on her shoes. I said I'd never tell them. That we could be here all night and I wouldn't tell them. It wasn't true, of course, I don't know why I said that. I don't even know where you are, Harry. And, we couldn't have been here all night, I think I would have died beforehand. I was worried they'd find the letters. I was worried they'd take me to Tom. I thought of your mum, you know? I don't have kids, but I kind of get it. When you love someone, it's like – it's almost easy. I said I just hoped you'd kill them all.

I think she was about to curse me again but then someone told her to stop. I thought it was a teacher, like they'd finally barged in, but it came from the other side. Malfoy, that git. I swear to Merlin, Harry, if I could have crucioed him, I would have. When I think he almost killed Ron last year. But so, he said: 'Stop, she's clearly wasting your time. Potter's dumped her, or else she wouldn't be here. She doesn't know where he is.'

That sneaky, little snake. I swear Harry, the fuck does he know? Bloody loathe him. It did seem to slow them down for a bit though. As I said, they're not the brightest bunch. Amycus just laughed again and kicked me in the stomach like I was a piece of rubbish, some animal dead on the ground. 'That true? Ditched you, did he?' He called me a blood-traitor whore. See how your little plan worked out, Harry? I'm not sure whether this is better or worse.

Anyway, I heard Malfoy say something again, but then the doors to the hall opened up and suddenly everyone was there. McGonagall, Snape, Flitwick, the whole crew. I wasn't really conscious, vaguely remember McGonagall tearing through their enchantments, shouting at the top of her lungs, calling Snape a coward and a traitor, saying that she was going to kill him. Honestly, I do think it'll come to that, eventually. I don't see how long she will keep herself in check. Anyone who says she ought to have been a ravenclaw hasn't seen that woman angry. I think Hagrid must have carried me to the hospital wing. I don't remember, honestly. You know the rest, I suppose, so that's the end of my story.

You know, something McGonagall said to me's been stuck in my head since yesterday. It was after Nev said she couldn't control what people over the age of seventeen did. She sort of pulled me aside and pointed out that I wasn't seventeen. Said that as far as she was concerned, I was to help Nev and Hannah teach the kids, nothing more. Then, she said: 'If what the Malfoy boy said is true, I can only assume Mr Potter did it to protect you. He wouldn't want to see you risk your life for him.'

Well, fuck you, Harry. I keep looking around, and I can't see you anywhere close enough to stop me.

Gin.

It is four in the morning, by the time he finishes reading. He puts her letters down and runs ten miles.

Later that day, after he gets back from work, '97 unfolds with mountains of her words on the floor of his flat. In October, there are weeks and weeks of scared kids, clandestine trips to Hogsmeade, hours spent trying to find new routes. In the chaos that follows that first night, the Carrows almost press their marks on Ginny a couple of times. Amycus taunts her while she's lying half-dead on the floor and Harry feels it, physically almost, inside his stomach for every curse they cast. They seem rather undecisive about what to with her, in the early days. They kept asking if we'd really broken up, if you'd come and get me if you knew they had me. I obviously didn't say anything. I swear, Harry, I won't let them have us, I fucking won't.

Eventually, Snape stops them from alerting Voldemort. He pulls his own seniority as the Dark Lord's right hand man on the Carrows, claims that regardless of Ginny's relationship status, she probably knows a lot of about the Order. They should first interrogate her, he says, bring their precious leader the whole package. Harry supposes that if they had taken her to Tom, he and Ron probably would have died trying to save her. That wouldn't have been the 'right time' for him to die, according to Dumbledore's neat little plan.

That autumn, Ginny has detentions with Alecto multiple times a week. More than once, Harry almost stops reading but it feels like now that he's asked for her letters, he owes it to her not to. Gryffindors, we get slammed against the wall so many times but we always come back, Harry. When I think of giving in, I think I'd rather die.

She gets banned from Hogsmeade, amongst other things. She and Luna are caught trying to sneak out, and little by little, their days seem to get shorter and shorter. The Carrows recruit a second batch of Slytherins and some Ravenclaws to 'restore order,' giving them a licence to curse, steal, and bully anyone who dares step out of line. They are fed ideals of blood purity, a stronger wizarding race, encouraged to marry their cousins if they have to, exactly like Sirius had said.

In Gryffindor, the little titbits of information that McGonagall manages to gather from the Order trickle into the castle and spread like petrol on a trail of wildfires. She tries to control it, look after her students, but often fails. The closer the winter season gets, the more people seem to find refuge in the room of requirement after class, for a few hours' rest. No one is truly living there - not yet - but they listen to the radio, sometimes play games. Ginny teaches the kids useful hexes, and Neville cultivates poisonous plants.

Around mid-October, Luna and the both of them try and fail to steal the sword. There is Snape and there is Hagrid and there are detentions in the forbidden forest, which turn out to be a bloody relief. Sometimes, I see McGonagall looking at me and I can tell she's just an inch away from pulling me out of school and telling mum and dad. I think she's counting the weeks 'till christmas, hoping they won't send me back.

Harry knows that they did, and sort of wishes they hadn't.

Everyone's watching their backs, she writes, one night. I've heard that Parkinson and Goyle attacked a couple of first years a few nights ago. No reason, just for something to do. No one goes out on their own anymore. We try to get back at them for everything that they do, but there's so many of them, and so few of us.

I miss you. We all do.

Sometimes, she says. I'm lying in bed and I can almost feel you watching me. Is that odd? Am I going crazy? I close my eyes, and in my head I can almost see you, feel you lying next to me. There's your messy black hair again, against the side of my pillow. You touch my cheek and you just say: 'Hey.' I feel my breath catch. It's the sound of your voice, hoarse like you've just woken up from a dream. 'I snuck in,' you say. I smile. I whisper: 'Yeah, I can see that.'

We kiss. There's something rough at the edges about the way you do that, now, in my head, and your palms rest around my hips, and you keep me there. Your lips are wet, warm, we make quiet vows that we'll never keep. You say you'll never leave again. I say I forgive you. You breathe hot air against my neck, suck at my pulse point – it's summer, you see, and our skins are damp - I feel like droplets at the back of your neck when my fingers trail there. You say you love me. Your mouth moves down to behind my ear, my collarbone, the space between my breasts. You remember the first time you took my shirt off last year, Harry? Sometimes, I wondered if we were going too fast. Now, I can't help but feel like we weren't fast enough.

The next part's not that hard, in terms of make-believe. I'm crossing my legs now, under the table in the corner of the common room as I write this, because I can almost feel it again, every time I think of you. Do you remember? That day in spring when I showed you? You fumbled a bit, but you caught on quick. You've always performed best under pressure, haven't you? I touch myself, now, sometimes, and it's easy, oh so easy to pretend that it's you.

I keep wondering: what do you think it would have felt like? Sex? You inside me. People say it's painful for girls, but that's never scared me. It's kind of intriguing, actually. And, with everything we did, during those two months, I keep wondering why we never actually did it, you know?

I guess, I kept thinking there would be time. More time, I mean. What an idiot, right? It's like: now I have to stay alive, we both have to stay alive to find out what sex for us would be like. It's the things I remember: the feeling of your lips against me – you'd always kiss the inside of my thigh, you remember that? I let my thumb trail there, sometimes, and it's funny how the mind works, the things you can recreate. I bite the inside of my cheek in the end, so that D. doesn't hear.

Harry, where are you?

Love,

Gin.

Well. Now, he's got a bloody hard-on, on top of everything else.

Sometime at the end of October, Ron leaves. Ginny - '97-Ginny - doesn't know about that, so she doesn't talk about it. Her world's not a tent, it's a castle, and a different kind of claustrophobic. She describes the spies and the kids turned into soldiers, and the relentless rain that beats the windows, the mud it creates against the grounds and the warming charms that she casts on her trainers when her feet get wet. They make us stand outside for hours, she says. It's like they think we're stupid enough to let ourselves freeze to death.

Over a cold and rainy weekend, the clocks go back an hour. She describes: long nights keeping watch, new recruits, the informants she begins to run, both inside and outside the castle, the DA classes, the stunts they pull and the way the Carrows inevitably retaliate, and the darkness in the middle of the afternoon. She teaches the younger ones the ins and outs of the perfect bat-bogey hex. They desperately look for someone who can competently teach potions. Once: the Carrows were in a particularly foul mood over dinner, tonight, Ginny says. Hallowe'en celebrations were cancelled. Apparently, someone transfigured a piece of dry wood into a lily, left it in front of your dad's photo in the trophy room. Made both Slughorn and McGonagall cry.

Can you imagine, Harry? I made Minerva McGonagall cry.

Merlin, I miss you.

It is not until mid-November that she starts giving the Carrows Kingsley's information about the Order. Harry can't blame her for caving in, but she sure blames herself. I lasted six weeks, but I just – she writes more but the words are crossed out so hard he can't read. I felt like they were losing patience, and I keep thinking that if I don't tell them anything, Snape's going to turn around one day and decide that it's time to send me to Tom, let him decide what I'm worth. I promised you I wouldn't let that happen so I had to do something.

Been trickling the info in since monday. I've got to make them work for it a bit, think they've earned it, or else they won't think it's true. Alecto asks the questions, Amycus just watches. He's got this sick smile about him, it's frankly disturbing. I've heard a lot of rumours about the way he looks at girls, I don't know if they're true but he kind of gives me the creeps.

They leave me alone on the nights when I give them something.

Almost like a foreign chant, there are happy days, still. They rest on a different kind of blessing, the kind that feeds on hope or on a sense of distant familiarity, like the one Harry felt when he visited his parents' grave for the first time. There are subtle tones of the girl Ginny used to be. Once, they dye Luna's hair blue. Merlin, you should have seen it, Ginny says and he can almost hear her laugh. It trickled EVERYWHERE on the floor. I think my fingernails will never be the same colour again.

Sometimes, they're sixteen-year-old kids.

Sometimes, they're not.

With every cold-blooded attack that the Carrows or their Slytherin recruits carry out, that autumn, the level of mutiny within the DA's ranks grows crescendo. For every graffiti, every attack against Snape's regime, the other side retaliates in kind. Harry stops counting the number of detentions from which someone in Ginny's camp emerges more injured than the last. The Carrows seem to be actively pitting the students against one another, giving rewards to anyone who comes with information about the DA. In late November, Ginny gets caught in a duelling match with Malfoy after he attempts to threaten her.

That fucking arsehole, she writes. Said I should be more careful, considering the 'company' I used to keep. Said I should 'distance' myself from you while I still can. Who the fuck does he think he is?

I told him to go fuck himself, like I did the Carrows. He laughed. Said he's not the one I should be worried about. So, then, we got into some sort of duel until Goyle came back running with Alecto. It didn't end very well. Now, I'll be dealing with those fucking cramps all night.

Do you think it's bad, that we're all getting used to the pain of it? Crucio never hurts any less, but it's not a surprise anymore. Sometimes, I wonder if I'd be able to cast it back, if I was given the chance. Seamus said it'd be more satisfying to blow up Alecto Carrow's office and we all laughed.

Around the same time, Harry can tell, the noose starts tightening around Mr Lovegood's neck. I heard Michael say that it's like Luna doesn't realise what's going on, Ginny explains, one night, and Harry can almost hear her roll her eyes. Got into an argument with him about it. Of course, she knows what's going on. It's just hard for her. She's not like the rest of us, she looks at the world differently. It doesn't mean she doesn't see it.

The Order blows up a train full of the Ministry's war supplies a couple days later and The Quibbler is the only newspaper in the country to report it. 'Daddy's had a few visits from some Ministry people,' Luna says, once. She's carving jewellery out of pebbles on the ground. 'People are scared to share what is going on. Daddy is brave.'

I couldn't stop thinking about the way she put it, you know? Saying people are scared to share what's going on. She's right. Everyone's gone underground, operating their own little brand of rebellion from the specific corners of their lives - we're not talking to each other. We won't be able to bring them down if we're not talking to each other.

And, so, in just a few days, in a handful letters that slip between his fingers, Ginny does something that puts her on top of the Carrows hitlist and that has absolutely nothing to do with him. Harry understands, then, what happened in December, what pushed the Ministry over the edge when it came to the Lovegoods. It is the worst thing he's experienced so far, reading her words and seeing something before she does, knowing that her actions will have the kind of repercussions that he thinks still haunt her nights. She is brave, Ginny. Headstrong. And, she is trapped inside a castle like a cage surrounded by barbwires. There is one thing she can do. She's proved it, now. She can write.

It comes loudly, like a clink and a dent in a piece of china about to explode. Luna's dad's agreed! An exclamation mark; she is happy, hasn't been for a long time. We're publishing six pieces on what's going on in hogwarts. I've got to write them all this week, he wants to see them, agree on a schedule before we go to press.

Fuck, Harry. (Yes, fuck, indeed.) It's real. I'm a reporter, now. Who would have thought? (Me?) I mean, I know it's only the quibbler, but everyone bloody reads the quibbler, these days. I've talked to the rest of the DA. I'm going to focus the pieces on the fighting, the actions we've taken since september, the things they're doing to the kids. We won't talk about us, make it anonymous enough that no one gets into more trouble than they already are. That and a lot of people don't want their parents to know about what the Carrows are doing to us personally, which honestly, I kind of agree. It's a bit of a tight rope to walk on, but I think it's doable. Showing what's going on, without being too specific. I know that Lupin always told me to use examples, that it makes things more compelling but look, I'll work with what I've got.

She works around the clock up to the Christmas holidays. Between her detentions with Alecto (I've started just giving them the information now. It's all bollocks anyway, and I don't have time to end up in the hospital wing every other day. I'll ask Kingsley for more over Christmas. I can last with what I have until then), classes, the DA's general brand of rebellion, her letters to him, and her articles for The Quibbler, Harry wonders when she sleeps. The answer seems to be that she doesn't.

Soon enough, Luna's father writes in with edits on the first couple of pieces. She agrees, sends them back through an extended succession of owls and hand deliveries to avoid the censors. I had to pick a pen name, she adds. He can tell she's happy, ecstatic, even. I chose Penny Gitrot. Thought it sounded foreign enough, though I'm sure you can figure it out, can't you? Bit reckless, I know.

Around mid-December, Mr Lovegood publishes her first article. Then, the second one. They talked about it on Potterwatch! she writes; Harry takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. Can you believe it? A whole piece about the propaganda we're being taught, the impact on future generations! Merlin, Harry, it's like I'm finally doing something important. The Carrows are furious but they don't know where it's coming from. Pity I can't sign them, actually. I'm proud of these.

Then, obviously, on the 20th of December, she boards the train back home. On the 20th of December, Luna never makes it home.

Harry – 1999-Harry - knows that Luna's fine. Right this minute, she's probably drawing portraits in the Ravenclaw Common Room and this weekend, he might even see her at Grimmauld. She'll be talking to Dean, trying to convince him that painting the entire upstairs corridor the colours of the rainbow is not 'a bit much.' In a month's time, she'll take questionable notes at C.A.S.H.C.O.W.'s next board meeting and will get on Kreacher's nerves for calling him 'Sir.'

Luna's not dead, of course. 1999-Ginny knows that. 1997-Ginny, the one who wrote the letters, does not.

She rages, she threatens, and she screams. Accidentally even breaks a glass at The Burrow with her magic, which she says hadn't happened in years. The guilt that she feels over her friend's kidnapping seems to overtake her, eat at her from within, because there is no one she can talk to about it. No one knows she wrote the articles. When the Order asks, she obviously just shakes her head. Molly is threatening to pull her out of school again, considering the contents of the pieces themselves, which is another thorn in Ginny's thigh. It's my fault, it's my fault, it's my fault, she writes and that feeling – that feeling, Harry fucking knows. No one can truly hate you as much as you hate yourself. They took her, Harry. They took her, and they're going to kill her because of me.

That Christmas, as far as the Order is concerned, Luna's probably dead. It should have been me, not her, Harry. I should just give myself up, I deserve it. I just - the next few words smudged with a mess of water and ink. They want to scare us. All I want, now, is to watch the lot of them burn.

She's worried. She's angry. She shouts and she breaks dishes when Tonks says: 'We know she is your friend, but –'

Mum cries all the time, she writes. It is the 23rd. I don't know where she finds the energy. Even that seems exhausting.

Sometimes, over that one week in January '99, her fears and her words (she's dead, Harry, isn't she? No one survives Tom), hit hard enough that he has to drop the letters and go out for a run in the dark until his legs almost give out. Kingsley visits the Burrow a couple days before Christmas and asks Ginny point blank about the risks she's taking. 'You've been feeding them the information we gave you, that's good,' he observes. She writes: he followed me to feed the bloody chickens so that mum wouldn't hear. Asked again if I was the one who wrote the articles in the quibbler. 'If you are, you've got to tell us, Ginny.' I didn't say, I just asked why. He said that the last fake safehouse on the list was a trap. That the Order is planning to wait until the Death Eaters come in to blow it up. 'But if there's a chance, Ginny, if there's any chance at all that they might suspect you've deliberately been feeding them fake information…'

I don't know, Harry, I just kind of stared at him. He's been growing a beard, it doesn't really suit him. I kept thinking: actually, what would they do? Cancel the whole thing? Pull me out of hogwarts? I can't let that happen, I can't leave Nev alone up there. Not without Luna. That'll be too much on him. And what about mum and dad? And, the boys? How long will we survive if we've got to hide. They keep catching people, the reports on potterwatch get longer every day. And what about the kids at school? Someone has got to be teaching them how to protect themselves. Someone's got to stand up to these people, Harry.

I told Kingsley I'd be fine, that I'd handle it. I saw the relief on his face, how it was exactly what he wanted.

On the bright side (because yes, there is a bright side), Lupin reappears. Tonks' hand is locked in his more often than not, from what Ginny observes, and her belly's grown rather large with Teddy inside. He's apologised to mum, she explains. Though, it's still tense, obviously. Tonks's good at smoothing things out, I suppose that's her hufflepuff side. She's back to being a good laugh, too, at least a better laugh than everyone else. And, yeah, they're probably crazy, having a baby right now, but at the same time, you can tell she's happy. We're all a bit crazy.

Ginny tells Harry about the conversation she and Lupin have on Christmas Eve, the one about treacle-tart-and-kissing-me. In hindsight, considering everything, Harry sort of wishes Lupin had told her parents, actually. I don't know if people can really change, she writes, that night. But I feel like he's doing better? Even laughed at one of Fred's jokes. The baby's a boy but they haven't picked a name yet. Tonks said they're thinking about James as a middle one.

On Boxing Day, their lives graze each other again. Merlin, Harry, they spotted you in Godric's Hollow, she writes. Exclamation marks again. What in Merlin's name? Fuck's sake, Harry. I just. It's like I can't pinpoint what I'm feeling, you know? Relief? You're alive, at least. Fear? He was close, by all accounts, and truth be told, how many close calls can someone get? By Godric fucking Gryffindor, Harry, where are you? I'm like mum, now, I keep having these nightmares, finding you, Ron and Hermione dead. I thought that maybe Ron would try and come home for Christmas, but he couldn't have, could he, if the three of you were planning to go to Godric's Hollow? I'm bloody furious with Bill, by the way. Newlyweds? Spending Christmas together? We're in the middle of a fucking war, does he not know the pain he's caused mum? They came over today with presents but it just wasn't the same.

I do like Fleur, though. Is that odd? I feel like she's kind of growing on me.

Don't tell her I said that, obviously.

When the three of them are seen at the Lovegoods', Ginny doesn't write for days. She doesn't wish him a happy new year. When she finally gets back to it, she says: I'm so bloody mad. At you, for being so close and not coming to see us. At Luna's dad for giving you up. At Tom for taking her. At the fucking world, Harry. But, I can't stop this. If I stop writing for too long, it's like I can't organise my thoughts anymore, then even the tiny things around me don't make sense. Everything's gone, but at least I have this. Us.

Love (I suppose – though, I'm furious, Harry, I really am),

Gin.

On the 2nd of January, the Order bombs Kingsley's fake safehouse. Two nameless Death Eaters are killed.

In the blast, Alecto Carrow is critically injured.

There is a before and an after what comes next.

That day, when he reads on, he doesn't shout, or cry. He stares. At the walls. It's the middle of the afternoon on Thursday, the 14th of January 1999, and when Harry is finished, he walks. Finds it rather extraordinary, actually that his legs seem to carry him. He walks until his feet are frozen, until his hair is soaking wet.

Later, he takes the train to Brighton. Doesn't trust himself to Apparate. Watches the night as it falls out the window, the fields and the houses, and the people going about their lives. He sets his feet at the edge of the opposite seat and an old woman grumbles at the fact that youth doesn't seem to respect anything, these days. He's this far from cursing her. This far from bursting into tears, too.

In front of Andromeda's door: 'Harry?' she frowns. He's not quite sure what he's doing there. There isn't much he can explain.

'Can I see Teddy?'

Andromeda doesn't ask. She just nods. Opens the door and lets him stand over his godson's crib as the little one finishes his afternoon kip. Later, they play games until dinner. Teddy puts his hands on his head and makes an odd sort of noise which Harry knows to be a request for his Patronus. Ever since he's found about them, his godson's been fascinated with the glow of wild animals in the dark. Andromeda is looking at them from the threshold of Tonks's old bedroom.

'I'm sorry, Teddy. I can't. Not today.'

Harry,

I was dragged off the train the moment we got there. Amycus knew everything. That I'd been feeding them false information. That I'd written the articles in the quibbler. Luna's dad told them. I don't even blame him. He said that he would kill me. It was after the fourth cruciatus, so I said he might as well. He doesn't seem to know if his sister will make it. I hope she dies.

Then, he said I was right. That death would be too kind on me. He said he'd call Tom. That they'd get to you. That they'd kill you and make me watch. Then, that they'd get to my entire family, kill them and make me watch. I can't let anyone else get hurt because of me, Harry. Plus, I promised you it would never come to that. That I would never let them use me to get to you. That I could handle it.

I did handle it. I think at this stage, I could handle anything.

It's okay, though. It's okay if you hate me.

Gin

For the next few days, there isn't any "love," ahead of her name. Years later, she tells him: 'It wasn't that I didn't feel it, I couldn't say it. Not with the things I was doing. Which is ironic, isn't it?' she smiles, shakes her head to herself. 'The things I did in the name of love, and I couldn't even say it.' Harry gave his own life to protect those he loved so when Ginny tries to explain, he tries to understand.

When it happened, she says, I acted teary and vulnerable, I thought he'd like that. Control. I said: 'Please don't, I'll do anything.' I'd heard the rumours. The way he looked at me. It wasn't much of a leap. I handed it to him on a silver platter. I could see a smirk on his face, like the idea had just occurred to him. Contemplating possibilities. He laughed. 'Really? Anything?'

He pulled at my hair the entire time. I didn't try to stop him. It was like a switch flicked in my head. Like I was there, but also not. I kept thinking it was what I needed to do to keep everyone safe. He shoved himself into my mouth. I thought I was going to choke. I gave him a bit more tears, a bit more weeping. He seemed to enjoy that. Then, everything good I learnt with you, I gave him. I kept thinking: please don't kill them, please don't kill them. A bit later, he slammed me into the wall. Took my pants off. I let him. I fucking let him, Harry. He kept saying, 'Potter didn't do that to you, did he? You dirty fucking whore.' I let him.

There's nothing. No sound. No air in his lungs. Just blood, his knuckles bruised against the wall of his apartment and bile in his fucking sink. Her cover letter still on his coffee table: I think there are things on there that I wasn't sure I wanted you to read.

She doesn't tell anyone else in Hogwarts. Of course, she doesn't. Emerges from her detentions without any visible wounds. When she says: 'It's just the Cruciatus. I'm fine, honestly,' the rest of the DA believe her. She tells Harry the truth, though. Tells him the truth about all of the lies she tells the rest of them.

I went to Madam Pomfrey for a potion, she explains, one day. He won't do the spell, I think he wants me to get pregnant. I said I was dating Nev, just in case she would want to tell McGonagall. She was kind. Said it was none of her business.

The thing is: against all odds, Alecto Carrow survives. In February, she even comes back to Hogwarts to continue her reign of terror as though nothing happened. It doesn't stop her brother from carrying on like nothing happened, either.

At least, he's stopped threatening me with taking me to Tom, now, Ginny writes, once. I don't know what he's told his sister or Snape, but it seems to have worked. I think he's genuinely enjoying the power ride. He gets to humiliate me, and you, all at once. A stroke of fucking luck, isn't it?

To her makeshift diary, she tells everything. Every sordid detail of what Amycus Carrow does to her. Later (much, much later), when they talk about it, sitting on the couch in their apartment, the flames of their fireplace flicker in her eyes. 'I needed to tell someone,' she says. 'Even a hypothetical person. I didn't want to die and for no one else to know.'

I miss you, Harry, she writes, one night. In the voice that reads her words to him, it's almost a whisper. The thought of you and me is what keeps me alive. That and so much rage.

When the time's right, I'll kill him. Until then, here we are. Sometimes, I close my eyes and I can almost make myself believe it's you.

(What the fuck could he say? There's nothing to say to that, is there?)

On a strategic level, he's not sure what Amycus was hoping for. His actions don't break Ginny. To the contrary, she only becomes more ruthless, less willing to make compromises. With the others in the DA, she picks arguments, pushes them to go further than they've ever been before in their own brand of rebellion. The operations they put together are rarely entirely her ideas, but she is the one who bears their weight on her shoulders.

That winter, she, Neville and Seamus set fire to the Carrows' records. Thousands and thousands of pages, lists of students and their parentages reduced to ash in a matter of minutes. As payback, they find Seamus lying half-dead in a pool of his own blood, left in the corridor in front of the room of requirement. No one's even pretending that's not where the everything happens, anymore. We took him in, Ginny explains. There is a matter-of-fact tone to her words, by then, one he recognises from Neville's words last May. This is finally where they've landed themselves.

Hannah tended to him, got Pomfrey to sneak in. I was shaking so much, Harry, I couldn't even hold his hand when they patched him up. It's like, all I feel is anger now, I can't even tell where it's coming from. I try not to but sometimes, I just want to let it win.

A couple days later, she writes: It wasn't the Carrows. It was one Malfoy's boys. I ambushed him in an empty corridor this morning, set a cruciatus on him. Just like that. Fucking hell, who am I, Harry?

The more she does, the more detentions she gets. It is like a sickening circle of a war that happens behind closed doors. Today, I talked back in class and he didn't like that, she tells him, once. When he fucked me tonight, he sliced his knife at my side. It cut and it burnt and I tried to hide how much it hurt. He had that smile on his face again. He said that he'd marked me so that I could never forget him. As if. In my head, I saw myself grabbing that knife and slashing his throat.

Sometime mid-February, Michael Corner suggests they break into the dungeons and free a number of students that the Carrows have chained up. For this too, Ginny coordinates the DA. They decide that they will strike when the Carrows are on patrol, far from the former Potions lab. 'We'll need to find out their schedule,' Michael says and looks at her when he speaks. She describes her own nod, her own shrug. 'Yeah, that's alright. I'll get that for you.'

And: it's not hard, she adds in her letters, to Harry alone. Amycus doesn't realise it, he thinks I'm stupid and worthless, but he talks. He talks big like he's important, it's easy to get information out of him after he's come. Hannah just gave me this look today, though. Arms crossed, reminded me of mum. 'Okay, but what about the slytherin kids they have watching the place?' she said. 'The two third years, the one with the curly hair and the other short one, I can't remember their names -'

I just asked: 'Yeah, what about them?'

They free the kids. A couple days later, Michael's lying unconscious in a hospital bed. Her detentions are almost daily, now.

One night, a few pages down the line, Ginny's words are unsteady again. He thinks Alecto might have gotten to her but no. Hannah knows, she just writes. There's a sigh that comes out of his lips, like he's not yet sure whether this is yet another bit of bad news or a flicker of hope in the distance. I didn't even tell her. She just came to see me tonight with a bottle of firewhiskey. We snuck out and drank, just the two of us, by the greenhouses. I said: 'You know we can't go out at night.' She just sort of laughed and asked: 'What's the worst that can happen?'

She's not wrong, I mean.

She was nice actually. Didn't even really ask. Said I shouldn't feel like I have to do things I don't want to do. Said: 'Ginny, there must be another way.'

I told her I spend my nights trying to find another way. For now, I keep coming up empty. I have nightmares in which I watch everyone I love die. We still don't know what they've done to Luna, and I can't let that happen. The only out would be to cut my veins open but I don't want to die, not like that, not for him. I want to do everything I have to. To fight this war and win it. The only way I will accept death is if I die trying.

So, for now, when Amycus wants me to suck him off, wants me to take my clothes off and come all over me because it's gross and degrading, I do what I have to do. And, when he wants more, when he wants to fuck me, and touch me, call me a whore, I give him a run for his money because right now, that's the only thing I can do.

She said you wouldn't want me to. That you'd rather give yourself up. And, of course, you would. That's the issue. Trust me, I won't let you. For us girls, it's just the way wars are fought.

March rolls around. It is only relevant because Easter is close. Harry's own war will take a turn for the worst but she'll be free. In the meantime, the world strangely keeps on turning. McGonagall and I had a bit of laugh, today, she writes. The ministry's asked the heads of house to fill out paperwork about us. What we want to do, what department we want to join. If you say something they don't like, they'll track you down, make you change your mind. I was in her office and she asked what to write on mine and I just, I don't know, laughed, I guess? I mean, really, by this point, who cares? I genuinely had the giggles for a good five minutes. I swear, she even smiled. Can you imagine? I made Minerva McGonagall smile and cry this year. Isn't that a fucking feat?

So, I told her I wanted to marry rich.

I mean that's still true. I doubt you'll have me, but I still want to marry you.

For Hannah's birthday at the end of the month, they throw a party in the room of requirement. Honestly, because we're young and because we can, she writes, which is as good a reason as any. She describes: loud music, drinks, laughter, chatter, dancing. Seamus had a bit too much firewhiskey, hopped on a broom and tried to get Nev on it as well, they crashed into the wall. I laughed so hard I couldn't breathe. Nev was screaming like he was going to die, Seamus kept calling him a 'fecking eejit!' Ah, what a show they put on, I swear, we should do this more often. We played the Weird Sisters and I danced with a fourth year from Ravenclaw (bit young, I know.) He held my hand, made me twirl, and I smiled and I giggled. Bright and girly, wild hair and whiffs of flowery shampoo, and I kissed him because I wanted to.

It was great, Harry. It made me feel warm and it made me feel wanted, and pretty, and happy. And, I mean, I'll probably never see him again, let alone do anything else, but it felt good to just kiss someone, do something because I wanted to. Be in control with boys again. Because, I like boys, you know? And I like people, and I don't want Tom, Amycus or anyone else to take that away from me. I like jokes, laughter and a good party.

In early April, she goes home for Easter. Promises Seamus and Neville that she'll be back. She won't be. They are three and half weeks away from winning the war. Three and a half weeks away from Fred's death.

(Finally.)

Whatever happens over the holidays doesn't matter much anymore. Harry knows how the story ends. Mum says I've gotten quiet, Ginny observes. Asked if I was alright. Sometimes, I look at her and I look at dad and I wish I could just tell them. Everything. I don't think I ever will.

A couple of days later, Malfoy Manor happens. She writes in all caps. His heart is heavy, by then, knowing that it's not really the happy end she thinks it is. HARRY. YOU'RE ALIVE. RON'S ALIVE. HERMIONE'S ALIVE. LUNA AND DEAN ARE ALIVE! YOU'RE ALL AT BILL'S. WHAT THE FUCK?

In a few, quick paragraphs, she describes their flight to Muriel's, the home they had to leave in under five minutes. I just grabbed my backpack and ran. Your letters are in there, thank Merlin, I'd shrunk them before heading home. It really was touch and go, wasn't it? Kingsley told us the house was raided minutes after we left. Honestly, doesn't matter, they could torch it, I don't care. I'm so relieved I could cry. You're alive, I'm alive, everyone's alive. We've still got hearts and they're still beating.

Mum did cry. Fred, George and I had a little bit of dance at Muriel's, broke an ancient-heirloom-you-don't-know-the-value-of-things-you-bloody-little-prats vase. The drama. It's funny, the things she worries about. I'm worried about us surviving here in the long term, and not only because of the death eaters.

Anyway, I've been thinking I might write to you, if I can. Like, a real letter in which I'll lie and say I'm alright, but a letter nonetheless. Mum says it's too risky for us to visit, but maybe I could do that? Maybe we could actually talk? Can you imagine? I'm just so glad the three of you are safe. Everyone is safe. It was all worth it. Merlin, I might actually sleep tonight.

She writes quickly, the next day: It's morning, now. I've calmed down. I took my tea upstairs to write to you. I hope you all managed to get some sleep, too.

I heard you lost Dobby. I'm so, so sorry. He helped us loads, such a kind person. It's not your fault. Don't think that for a second. And, look after Hermione, will you? I heard Bellatrix got to her. That bloody bitch. I know this is going to sound strange but ask Fleur if she's got any potion against period cramps. We've found that it actually kind of helps for all cramps, and it's easier to source than potions that are specifically against the cruciatus. Oh, fuck, I forgot I can't send this. If I tell Bill, he'll ask how I know. Okay, maybe I'll tell Fleur when she comes over, she's better at keeping things to herself, I've noticed.

Harry, I'm sorry, I know you're mourning. But, Merlin, I'm so glad. I didn't think I'd ever feel happy again.

Okay, I've got to go, Mum's calling me.

Love (love, love, love, love, love – always),

Gin.

She has multiple rows with her mum, later on. The gist of it, from what he reads, is that she wants to find a way to get into Hogsmeade. Neville's got the word to her that he, Seamus and a few others are now living in the room of requirement following the attack on his gran, continuing to help the younger students out. Ginny wants to join them. Her mother refuses. For obvious reasons, Harry agrees.

For a short while, she is sixteen again. A teenager who complains about arbitrary rules. A teenager who asks her boyfriend to reassure her about her looks. Muriel said I had a fat bum this morning, she writes. I pretended I didn't care but now it's gotten to my head. I'm just so mad. How fucking stupid is it, after everything, that this still sticks? I keep wondering if you'd think I have a fat bum, too. I mean, I haven't played quidditch in almost a year and I've been stress-eating a bit, I think, like maybe that would have stopped Amycus, but. Oh, Harry, swear to Merlin, if I hex her someday, I cannot possibly be blamed.

Good God, he thinks. There is absolutely nothing wrong with her bum and everything wrong with the entire, fucking world.

She warns him, a few days later: Bill's worried, she writes. It's not really a surprise. He knows you're planning something. You should be more discreet. I heard him tell dad about it this morning. Merlin, I'd give anything to come with you. Whatever you are planning, I'm in.

Lupin drops by. Like he did at Shell Cottage. Tonks had the baby (lots of exclamation marks, again). Did you hear? Oh, my, of course you heard, stupid question, sorry, I heard you're godfather! Congrats, eh? Proper adult? How does that feel? Guess you and Lupin are better now, that's good. One day, you'll have to tell me what happened, won't you?

Her last letter, that year, is dated the 30th of April. In it, she talks about the twins accidentally letting dung bombs off inside Muriel's wardrobe. Tonks visits them with Teddy in her arms and Ginny writes: I mean, he's ugly-cute, you know? Like, a bit wrinkly, but for something that was inside a person for nine months, he's magnificent, actually. When I saw him, I wondered – fuck, you'd probably think I was stupid.

Actually, you know what, whatever. You're never going to read these, anyway. I wondered what ours would look like, okay? That's what I thought when I saw Teddy. Make of that what you will. Now, I'm going to bed.

And, these are her last words, in 1998.

It is not her last letter, though. There's one more. He picks it up rather automatically, like he's done time and time again this past week, fishing further down to the bottom of her cardboard boxes. The parchment's a different brand, the ink fresher. That is her last letter. It's dated 9th of January, 1999.

Harry,

It's two in the morning. I've read that last one over and over. I just can't leave it at that.

Merlin, how do I end this, Harry? How in the world do I end this? I've been trying to think of what I would say to you, ever since you asked to read these, but I just can't figure it out. I might be a bit of a coward, leaving them on your doorstep and running off to Hogwarts. I've told you we could talk about it when you finished but it's not like we really can, is it? I'll admit, I didn't really want to see the look on your face when you read these. So, yeah, maybe I am a coward.

You've reached the end. I'm not entirely surprised, but I also wasn't sure you would. I keep wondering if you'll even read this. I keep wondering where you'll stop. I'm kind of hoping that you will. I mean, at the end of the day, I've never read the whole thing, I'm not sure how it reads. I just lived it.

Does this make me make sense, now? I know I was a bit all over the place, last summer, and I think there were times when you were wondering why. Why I both wanted so much, and so little at the same time. Why I never wanted to talk. Does it all click into place, now?

I'll tell you the truth if it's the last thing I do, because no matter how shit things got last year, I never lied to you. The moment we won the war, I just decided to forget everything. Shove it all in the past like it never existed. I didn't want you to know. I still don't. You think you blame yourself? Try me.

I keep wondering what would have happened, if I'd been more careful. More quiet, less me. If I had followed your plan and kept my head down. Without being unkind, I think the main issue with that was the assumption that I'd be a good girl. That I wouldn't fight them. Whether I was or wasn't your girlfriend, in the end, I'm not sure it really changed much.

I want you to know that having sex with you after the battle was something I wanted to do. I'm not going to lie, I think there was an element of control in that, too. I wanted you. You and I, the idea of it, is the one thing that kept me going all these months. I don't think I would have survived if I didn't have that to defend and protect from the world. I wanted you (including sex) since before Amycus, and I still wanted you after him. You were my real first time, the one I wanted, and the only boy I've ever loved. That's the truth. I understand if you don't believe me, I suppose you rightfully feel betrayed, but I swear on Fred's grave.

I'm sorry about what happened in August. I still think it was the right decision (for me and for you) but I regret the way it happened. I think to me, what we had was never a relationship, it was a lifeline, like the continuation of what I'd held onto all these months, the one thing I thought could keep me afloat. And yet, every time I saw you, I kept seeing you dead. I kept thinking it was my fault. And, the moment Narcissa came back, it's like all of it, all of the press, all of the things that I wasn't telling you were just staring at me right in the face. Every time I looked at you, I couldn't stop thinking about the war. It's like my war was ruining us, Harry. The one thing I'd always thought would be a good thing, and now I'd fucked it all up for myself. I just needed out, Harry. I'm so sorry. I regret not being able to explain all of this to you, the way I am now. Writing comes easy to me, but sometimes talking is hard.

A good thing happened today. We sat on my bed. You told me about Mia, and I told you about Matt. You asked if I loved him and I said I didn't know. I don't know anything right now, Harry. I don't even know why I date. After everything that happened last year, you'd think I wouldn't, but it's not as simple. Matt makes me feel better about myself. He doesn't know any of this, and he doesn't need to. It's not the massive rift that stood between us like a chasm of unsaid things last summer. I could tell that you wanted to be honest with me, even back then, and I couldn't bear lying to you. I don't really care about keeping things from him. It doesn't even feel like I'm lying.

Tonight, we talked about quidditch and about things that don't really matter. You promised to write. Earlier, you told me that the only way you'd ever walk out of my life was if I wanted you to, or if I was dead. I didn't want to give you these, because I know what you'll think. I appreciate that there's probably a caveat in that, for the girl who fucked Amycus Carrow.

Because, that's what happened, Harry, isn't it? I know I hardly ever fought him. I wanted to survive. Sometimes, I think I even managed to make him believe I enjoyed it. That was always nice, because then he'd leave me alone a bit longer. I think he got a kick out of thinking I was 'cheating' on you. And since last year, it's like I can't take what Hannah said out of my head, you know? Like, there must have been another way, another solution that I didn't think of? Maybe following your plan would have done that. Maybe I'm a fucking idiot for not listening to you.

Anyway, I just wanted to say: if you hate me, if you don't want me in your life anymore, that's fine. I mean, no, it's not fine, I have nightmares about it, about my first letter from school going unanswered, but that's just something I'll have to live with. I do hope you're okay.

Love (always),

Ginny.

There is rain, tip-tapping against his window, when he finishes reading, that Saturday. There is rain and there is the couple who live in the flat underneath his; he can hear them trudge down the stairs, her with the baby in her arms and him carrying the pushchair. They're still looking for a flat. Their mortgage offer isn't great, they said, and everything's so expensive these days.

The rain stops. The drops stay. They don't slide down, just stick to the glass until they dry, almost shining in the dying sun. Mia's complained about how humid the building is to their landlord last December, about the mould at the windows (her flat's worse, being on the ground floor and all that), and the only thing he offered was to paint over it, or buy a dehumidifier. 'They don't fucking work,' Harry remembers her raging to him a few weeks back, the bloody thing kept humming in the corner of her living room. 'Then he said if I wasn't happy, I should just move out. Plenty of people wanting to take my lease.'

When she went to the loo, Harry cast warming charms against her windows. Least he could do.

On his kitchen table, that afternoon, there is a letter from Hogwarts. It arrived on Wednesday and he figured it probably wasn't urgent, figured he'd answer whenever he had a moment. Now, that seems like the dumbest, stupidest thing he's ever done.

On Saturday, the 16th of January 1999, for the first time since the war ended, he's in Diagon Alley before he can even think.

Objectively, it's a disaster. Hermione's repeatedly pointed out that the rarer his appearances in the wizarding world, the wilder the crowds would get whenever he did appear. 'Look at me and Ron. They tailed us the first few times but it's fine now. They got bored of following our boring lives.'

Well, Harry's still news. In his world, a lot has happened since then, but to the rest of the witches and wizards of Britain, he's Harry-Potter-the-war-hero. They'd thought he'd gone a bit cray-cray, recently, but then less than a month ago, he gave a ground-breaking interview to an American magazine, one that got everyone talking again.

That afternoon, in the streets, he just walks, keeps his head down and his hood up. The moment he walks into the post office, it's harder to remain incognito. Fuck, he should have thought this through. Should have disguised himself. Should have gotten another bloody owl months ago. Now, he's here on a Saturday and the place is packed with people and screeching owls, and he has to push his way up to the till to talk to someone. The moment (the very moment) he finally gets there, he hears a witch behind him say: 'wait is that -?' 'nah, he's shorter, isn't -?'

'I need to send a letter,' he quickly tells the woman behind the till. She looks to be about fifty years old, her hair up in some kind of perm that must have gone out of style before she was even born.

'Alright. What's the weight?'

He frowns. 'What? I just need -'

A heavy sigh escapes her lips. She rolls her eyes and ticks a box on a piece of parchment with the quill in her hand. Behind him, the hubbub is getting louder. 'What's the weight, for the owl? How am I meant to charge you without it, young man-'

'Oh,' he stammers. ('Oi, come in here, come and look!' a shout echoes behind him.) 'I, er, I don't have it on me, I just -'

With a somewhat exasperated look, Maureen - as her nametag suggests - finally deigns to look up at him. Her glaze travels from his chest to his face and for a second, she just stares. Harry sees her mouth open into a small 'oh;' he makes the mistake of sneaking a quick peek at the crowd behind him and shit, he thinks. Aren't there even more of them than when he came in? Suddenly, someone announces: 'Merlin, it is him!'

There is panic in his eyes, he supposes, when he catches Maureen's gaze. He's got about five seconds left before they all swarm in like flies. She seems to be considering her options. 'Please,' he just says, anxiously looking behind his shoulder. She sighs again.

'Alright. Let's go into the office.'

He writes out his letter to Ginny at the edge of a desk that looks about to collapse under the weight of all the packages the wizarding world needs to send on any given day. The shelves all around them are full to the brim with heavy files and a good dozen cages, three of which are occupied. Through the small window at the back, a foul smell of fish curry seeps in. In a rush, Harry asks for a piece of parchment and ink, which Maureen provides while staring him down and shaking her head the entire time, arms crossed over her chest as she stands with her back to the door. The hubbub behind her grows louder with every minute that passes.

'Merlin, what were you thinking?' she asks.

He rolls his eyes. She's not exactly helping, is she? 'I just need to send this. I won't be long.'

Okay, he thinks. Looks down at the piece of parchment in front of him. Fuck, okay. What does he actually want to say? That's the part he doesn't really know. He wants to answer her, write to her, right now, but with what? Bloody typical. Okay. Right.

Gin, he writes. Sorry, I don't have much time. I just finished your letters and then I crashed into Diagon Alley to write to you so that you wouldn't think I wasn't answering on purpose but now I'm in this office with this post woman who's glaring at me and there's a whole crowd outside, chances are you'll read about this in the prophet tmr.

Anyway, I haven't read the letter you sent on wed, sorry. I hope hogwarts's going well. Shit, Gin, okay, clearly I'm shit at this. Compared to you anyway, but what I wanted to say is: I meant what I said the other day. No caveats. I really mean that, alright? I'm not saying more cause I don't want the bloody prophet to know what I'm talking about in case they get hold of the owl but please just... don't think that, okay? Shit, I wish I was better at this, but I don't fucking know what else to say.

Anyway, please don't worry. I'm here. Okay, I've got to go now cause the press' gonna show up any moment but yeah, I'll answer your other letter soon, okay? I just need to get myself an owl first.

(He hesitates for a moment, not very long) Love,

H.

He folds it, hands it over to Maureen. She sighs (again) before attaching it to the leg of one of the birds in the corner. She opens the window wider and a heavy rush of curry smell files into the room again.

'Alright. Let's try to get you to Apparate out the back. It's a fucking riot out there.'

Harry glances out the window. At least, the bird's flown away.