"Le café, ma chérie?" asked a grinning Crawford.

            Ginny laughed. "How many times do I have to tell you that I don't date?" she reminded him, filing her notes on the recent opening of the new Vie En Vie restaurant. One night of boisterous laughs and amazing wine and the place was an utter hit. Socialites all over the world called to make appointments and Ginny couldn't keep track of all the press.

            "How about a night of unadulterated passion?" he drawled, licking his lips.

            She was revolted, but she held it in. "I'm sorry, Crawford, but I must decline," she said swiftly, gathering her things and leaving his office.

            "How about we review our article over dinner?"

            "My article," she corrected, smirking at the door. "And no - there will be no dinner."

            He pouted like a child, hoping to obtain her pity. "Not even a kiss, mon amour?"

            "No," she chirped, opening the glass door. "And I'm not your love!" Ginny called out as she left, causing a few sniggers in the other cubicles.

            "Tease!" he declared, picking up his telephone. "Jeanine, my darling, would you like to do lunch?"

            Passing her editor's office undetected, Ginny smiled in joy and bolted for the elevator. Dartanian had been hounding her all week for her article on fashion designer Violet Vixen, but Ginny had yet to conclude her difficult article. Violet was enthralling and inviting and Ginny found that she simply could not stop interviewing her. Countless lunches, nights at the best clubs, and dining with Greek businessmen were a few of the many exciting luxuries that Violet loved to do and Ginny discovered that she began to love it as well. The rich life grew on Ginny and although she was still the same Weasley inside, she had transformed from the younger sister to the top writer at Amour magazine.

            She graduated Hogwarts with honors in all her courses, but she knew that merely being a witch was not enough for her. It took several outside classes in London and innumerable stories for her to realize that writing was her passion - and her forte. She was praised constantly for her amazing skill in weaving a tale. Her classmates begged her to continue writing, craving for an ending to her novels. Ginny obliged them, happy to write and proud to see that they enjoyed it.

            It all went extremely well until a certain Slytherin demanded her to stop her incessant fiction. She had huffed and turned up her nose, sure she would never give up her talent for someone as arrogant as him.

            And it had all started shortly after that. Argument after argument, Ginny had peeled away the exterior of that cold, conceited boy and revealed something she could not resist.

            Adjusting her wool jacket, Ginny shook away all thoughts of him and stuffed her hands in her pockets. When everything in her life went truly well, her mind would stray to the passionate nights of entangled limbs and moments of affectionate kisses in hidden alcoves. She was still in love with him and she knew it needed to stop.

            She dated many men - some wealthy, some living off their lyrics. Some of the men were sweet, others were daring. Although most of them were well suited to marry her, she found herself comparing them to him. No one tested her like he did. None of the men wrapped their arms around her waist with the same aggression that he harbored. No man would ever compare to the man she once held with all her strength.

            She thought she was going to marry Draco Malfoy, but she was wrong, and that alone spurred her to leave her home and family and start anew in Paris.

            Her family objected to the idea at first, but nothing could stop Ginny. She was determined and their protests were feeble. After a few months in Paris, Ginny lost contact with them altogether, but she assumed they would understand. She needed to live her life alone and find a name for herself. She sent them occasional letters and called every once in a while, but her life at the magazine and socials were demanding and her attention had to be focused solely on that. It had been a long two years, but it didn't feel so stretched to her.

            Lost in her thoughts once again, Ginny jumped when her cell phone rang deafeningly in her pocket. She immediately picked it up. "Hello?"

            "Ginny!" yelled the panicked voice of her close friend Marjorie.

            Ginny stopped suddenly. "Marjorie? Qu'est-ce que c'est? What's the matter?"

            "Un hibou! Il vole partout!" she shrieked. "There is an owl in your room! I came to drop off ton courier and I found it sitting by your window!"

            Ginny's eyes widened. "Juste attends! Stay there and do not move. Don't hurt it. I'm right around the corner," she said in a hurry, shutting the phone and running to a nearby alley. Ginny rarely ever used her wand, but an owl meant that someone back in England was trying to reach her. And that someone was a witch or wizard. Whipping out her wand, Ginny Apparated immediately to the front door of her flat.

            It was open. Ginny walked through and found her letters scattered all over the ground. She stepped into the living room and screeched when she spotted Marjorie holding up a broom to protect herself from the harmless owl. "Marjorie!" she laughed.

            Her friend did not find anything humorous in the situation. "Ginny, arrête de me rire!" she ordered, red in the face. "It will not go away and I do not know how it got into the house! The window was closed!"

            Ginny kept giggling, sliding off her coat and putting down her briefcase. "I'll take care of it. Can you just make me a pot of tea?" she asked sweetly.

            "How are you calm in a situation like this?" Marjorie looked horrified.

            "It's an owl. There are many in England," Ginny replied, gently taking the broom from her friend. "Pot of tea?"

            Marjorie nodded, still a bit shaken. She woodenly walked to the kitchen. Ginny made sure she was gone and rushed to the bedroom, shut the door, and motioned for the owl to come close. When it did, she snatched the parchment from its claws and tore it open.

            It was from her mother.

            Ginny scanned each line. Losing all breath, her face drained of color.

            Ginny, dear,

            I know you are working very hard right now and I am so sorry to deliver the news this way. We stopped using the pheletone and Ron told me that you've changed your address. I had no other way to reach you, darling.

            Percy died this afternoon. I know this is sudden and we expected such a speedy recovery after his head injury, but it became worse. He did say his goodbyes and went peacefully. He was so very proud of your writing accomplishments.

The funeral will be this Friday at the Winston Church.

            Oh, sweetheart, I do hope you make it for your brother.

            I will love you always,

            Mum

            Quivering now, Ginny let the parchment slip from her fingers to the carpeted floor. She knew Percy had been hospitalized, but they assured her that he would be fine. She was busy writing a feature on the Love Parade, so she had no time to check back with them. Her deadlines were swarming at the time and there was no getting in touch with them in such chaos. Ginny looked down at the parchment and shut her eyes. She could make excuses all she wanted, but in the end, she ignored the obvious signs of his condition and now her brother was dead.

            Letting out a shaky breath, she grabbed a pen and paper and scribbled some drivel about attending. She attached it to Pig's leg and sent him off. Pig glared from the open window before he left, as if silently telling Ginny that she was a selfish hag.

            Ginny didn't disagree.

            She took another deep, ragged breath and slowly began packing. She only owned one little black dress and she never imagined wearing it at a funeral - her brother's funeral. Her mind was empty and her heart felt hollow.

            In the midst of packing her night gown, the door opened and Marjorie waltzed in with two cups of steaming tea. "Mango for you and green tea for me!" she declared, chuckling. She froze when she saw the state Ginny was in. "Ginevra? Quel est le problème? What is wrong?" she asked, worried.

            Ginny swallowed, unable to form the next sentence. "My brother ..." she started, beginning to sob uncontrollably.

            Marjorie dropped the cups on the ground, disregarding the mess, and enveloped her friend in a bruising hug. "Oh, Ginny," she sighed, caressing her back.

            "I need to get to England as soon as possible," she murmured, sniffling and stepping back. She regained her composure. "I'll take a red eye flight," she lied, knowing she would Apparate at a time like this. "I'll ring you when I get you home."

            Marjorie nodded and kept her questions to herself. She knew Ginny would confide in her when she was ready. "Bien sûr, ma chérie," she whispered, helping her pack her belongings. "If you need me to come ..." she offered compassionately.

            "Merci beaucoup, Marjorie. I will definitely take you up on that if needed," Ginny smiled slightly.

            "Come," she left to gather some shoes from Ginny's wardrobe. "You'll need comfortable clothing. Leave all these scandaleux shoes behind," she called from inside the walk-in closet.

            It was hard to grin, but Ginny managed a semblance of a smirk. She and Marjorie packed in silence together and Ginny quickly got ready before her speedy trip back to Ottery St. Catchpole. Marjorie walked her out of the flat and onto the street, suggesting they share a taxi to the airport.

            Ginny shook her head. "I think I want to be alone for a little," she said softly.

            "Of course, darling. Call me as soon as you get back to England?"

            "Yes," Ginny began crying again, "I will."

            Marjorie hugged her friend one last time and waved a goodbye as she walked the two blocks to her apartment down the cobblestone street. She spun around every once in a while, concerned.

            Ginny stared until Marjorie made her left turn. She ran back into the lobby of her building, snooped around to ensure no one was present, gripped her wand and wished herself home.

            She landed on the grounds of The Burrow in a matter of seconds. Swallowing, Ginny looked up at her lopsided house and for the first time in her life, she felt intimidated. What would they think? What would they say? She wasn't sure if they would welcome her back after all of these years. She gripped her suitcase and awkwardly walked towards the back door in her expensive stilettos. The thin heels dug into the wet mud and she cringed, terrified of ruining them.

            She reached the back door and she took in the smell of the kitchen. It was still the same. The plates were cracked, the table was old and chipping, and the same ragged blankets were strewn across the room. It looked exactly the way she left it, but it seemed so different now up close. She quietly opened the door and stepped through, wondering where everyone was.

            She dropped her belongings on a nearby chair and meandered into the living room. She glanced up at the large family clock. She smiled when her arrow pointed "home". She searched the rest of the family and found that they were at the Ministry. Fighting another urge to cry, she wrapped her arms around herself when she noticed Percy's arrow pointed to "lost". Ginny stepped back and looked away instantaneously, unable to let the truth seep in.

            Deciding on getting settled in her old room, Ginny grabbed her things again and walked slowly up the stairs. Their childhood pictures were still scattered randomly over the walls: Ron playing Quidditch at Hogwarts, Fred and George playing a nasty prank on Dad, Charlie making hilarious faces at the camera, and her mother planting in the garden. There were so many pictures and so many memories and Ginny felt ashamed reliving them. She nearly forgot those beautiful moments that used to be etched in her mind.

            She gasped aloud when she entered her room. It was almost as if she walked into the past. The pink bedding was still fresh, the drapery was pulled back, her belongings were free of dust, and her posters were still as vivid as ever. Her shocked face softened. They knew she would come back someday and they waited for her.

            She changed into her night clothes leisurely. She reveled in the feeling of home again. Paris was beautiful and lively, but nothing felt like the Burrow. Donned in her best designer night wear, a short one piece satin gown, Ginny slid into the slippers that Violet Vixen designed for her and walked back down the stairs. She needed a drink and she remembered where Mum hid away the liquor.

            She stopped short when her family began to pop all throughout the living room. She stayed within the shadows and held her breath when she saw each one of them. They looked so different, she thought, holding a hand to her mouth. It could've been the exhaustion or the sheer sadness in their eyes, but the Weasleys had changed and Ginny wasn't there to experience it.

            Her eyes became as wide as saucers when more and more people Apparated into the living room. Luna Lovegood. Neville Longbottom. Penelope Clearwater. People from her past were appearing left and right and Ginny began to walk backwards up the stairs. How could she face them? How could she run into their arms after being absent for two whole years?

            She was almost up the stairs when her mother screamed deafeningly. She had seen the clock. Ginny froze.

            "Ginny?!" she screeched frantically.