It was midnight, the house was very quiet. The only sounds that broke the silence were the constant snores and occasional rustle of sheets when someone shifted in their bed. Everyone seemed to be asleep, lost inside the only place where they owned everything - their dreams. All the Weasleys slept in peace, except the youngest of them all.

Ginny sat by her desk beside the window, staring into the night. Her face was lit by candlelight; her red hair lay carelessly on her shoulders. There were shadows under her eyes, giving away the fact that she hadn’t slept for days. Her eyes were tired - burned out from holding back tears, or just sleepy? She did not know.

She was holding a quill in her hand, trying to do what she unsuccessfully attempted every night: write. She wanted to let it all out, her fears, her thoughts, her feelings, everything, on an untrustworthy piece of parchment. Tonight it seemed she wasn’t getting anywhere. She couldn’t sleep, even if she did, she’d dream of the face she couldn’t forgive nor forget. Harry Potter was all she could think about. If it wasn’t for him she had been laying dead somewhere deep inside Hogwarts before her 12th birthday. She owed him her life, he owed her his heart.

Ginny sighed, she was about to give in once again, but when she looked down at the blank parchment, everything appeared to fit perfectly. She placed her quill on the topmost part of the parchment. Then she realized that she only had one problem: she didn’t know how to start. What should she write? All that came into her mind were the words ‘Dear Tom’, even if she didn’t want them to. Tom was the last person she had written to - of course she had written letters to her friends and stuff, but Tom was on a more personal level - and it turned out to be none other than Lord Voldemort. He used her to reopen the Chamber of Secrets. Ginny shivered, she definitely didn’t want to write to ‘Tom,’ neither could she use the words ‘Dear Journal’ or ‘Dear Diary.’ She was writing to a piece of parchment for God’s sake! Then it hit her, she glanced back into her new friend and wrote:

To Whom It May Concern,

We broke up, during the funeral. He said it was to protect me; his enemies might use me to get to him, to torture him, just because he cared. I told him that I didn’t expect anything else from him. I understood his reasons, but still I didn’t care, I wanted to be by his side. God! I technically told him that I loved him, and he turned his back on me. I promised myself that I wasn’t going to cry over it, over him. We weren’t done, just… just on hold; I knew he wouldn’t rest until he’d finished Voldemort.

He has lost so much for us: his parents, his godfather, and now, his mentor. I just wish that he could allow himself to count on us. Allow us to be involved; it is the only thing we can do to save this world. But no, he shuts himself into this invisible fort thinking it’s the best thing to do, not realizing that it makes him weaker…

Ginny shook her head.

Look at me now, sitting here at who-knows-what-time, haven’t slept properly for days, my eyes sting and I won’t cry, I don’t want to. It will mean that I have given up, that him and I are through, and I can’t allow that. Still it hurts, knowing that he won’t be with by me making fun of Ron. I miss him. Guess I started missing him the moment he turned his back on me and walked away. Oh, how I wished he’d turned and looked at me with a mischievous smile saying it was all a joke, but he just kept on walking. I could almost hear our hearts cracking and falling into little pieces.

I just wish he’d fly through my window telling me it was all a mistake and that he wanted me back. But I’m just being selfish here. I’m thinking for myself while there are hundreds who die each day. There are thousands that are trapped in the middle of this war even if they didn’t want to. There are millions whose happiness and freedom relies on the Boy Who Lived, The Chosen One, My Harry. I’m just being selfish; I shouldn’t be wishing that he’ll quit what he was born to do. It’s not fair anyway, we can’t be happy, it’ll cost too many lives, he has to do it, and I’ll wait, we’ll wait.

I think we both wished we had more time together. If I hadn’t dated Dean, if I had turned down Neville’s invitation to the Yule Ball and waited for Harry, if he had noticed me sooner. We would have lasted longer. He would have been happier. I wonder whether he’d smile again. Would he? So many losses, so many tragedies, so many doubts, so many heartbreaks, so many spilled tears, so many… things.

I don’t know how are we going to make it through, everyone is in “mortal peril.” Who knows if some Death Eaters will apparate tomorrow at our home and turn it into ashes. Would life be as it was when we were young? Would we be able to play again on the backyard without any worries? Could we go back to Diagon Alley and spend the day there? Can’t we go back and live as if nothing had happened? Is this how the world was before everyone thought Lord Voldemort had died? Is it ever going to end? Everyone is suffering the consequences of this damned war. Why does it have to be this way? Why? Why? WHY??? I just can’t take it any more…

Ginny pulled out her wand muttered an incantation and the parchment burst into flames. She wiped her eyes with her sleeves, although she knew there were no tears to hide. She got up, threw herself onto her bed, laid her head on the pillow, and stared up at the ceiling for what possibly could be hours. Later, she looked out the window, as if she could see beyond the sunrise, and whispered, “Why? ... Why Harry?” before she fell asleep.

Miles away from that little redhead, a boy with black hair was sitting by his window, watching how fast the night was leaving. He had shadows underneath his red eyes, “Because…” he started, “because I love you, Ginny.”

THE END