Catch Up with an Old Friend.
March 15th, 2004
Dear Luna,
I realized as I was scribbling down the date at the top of this letter that today is the Ides of March. Or at least it was – it’s past midnight now so I suppose I should’ve written March 16th at the top instead. But isn’t it funny how the day of doom and peril passed by without any noticeable, well, doom and peril? All the Roman senators I know are still alive and kicking – perhaps you know of someone who was assassinated today. Oh dear, wouldn’t it be horrible if you actually did? I would feel awful. I should go back and blot out this entire first paragraph, but I’m really too lazy, so I’ll just cross my fingers and hope that none of your acquaintances have died recently.
Well, I seem to have digressed greatly from my original topic, and I’m barely into the second paragraph. I was just penning a quick letter to ask how you are, seeing as we haven’t spoken in a long while. Luna, hon, I know you’re off traveling the world with Rolf and experiencing all of this excitement and adventure, but can’t you manage to find some time for your precious old friend Ginny? Because really, all of this whining is due to the simple fact that I miss you so much. I feel as if I am adrift without your constant wisdom and, well, oddness. But a good kind of oddness.
All is normal back home. The girls and I are training hard for the playoffs – Joan has entered her self-proclaimed “Tyrant Mode” and we are all one suicide drill away from calling the loony ward at St. Mungo’s. Honestly, even she knows she’s off her rocker and she keeps going at it – I have no idea why. But no, in all seriousness, I’m up and on the field every morning before daybreak, and I’m sore all over, and I can barely walk when I get off my broom after practice – but I couldn’t be happier. There’s just something about playoff season, when you’re exhausted and splattered with mud and your captain is screaming at you and you can barely even see straight – it’s just all so, I don’t know, invigorating. This does make me consider the stableness of my mental state, however, if I’m the most content when I’m sweaty and aching and sleep-deprived and zooming about on a broomstick. (THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID!! …Sorry, it was just too easy. Moving on now.)
Rumor has it that Ron and Hermione might be expecting, and all I have to say is that it’s about time. I’m kind of worried about Hermione though – a couple weeks back, she was fiddling around with some potions for the Ministry and she somehow came up with a powerful new potion that treats some sort of incurable malady. I don’t really know the specifics – it’s all scientific jargon and you know how I tend to tune her out when she starts talking academics – but now those idiots at the Ministry has got her working nearly nonstop day and night, refining the ingredients and process of concoction and all of this nonsense, and Hermione, well, you know how she gets. She’s stressed out her mind. I don’t think any of that pressure or anxiety is good for the baby, if there even is a baby.
And for some reason she’s nervous about telling Ron that she might be expecting, and no matter how much I bug her about it she’s still putting off telling him. I keep saying that it’s fine, that he’ll be excited, that it’s something that the two of them should go through together and she’ll be sorry if she doesn’t do it, but she keeps on blabbering about how she wants to be absolutely sure before she says anything. I, personally, would love to drop the news, if only to see how many different shades of color Ron’s face can turn in ten seconds. It would be a scientific experiment, if you will.
Well, I don’t think that there’s much else going on back home. Nothing’s really changed… oh, I almost forgot to tell you – Harry’s engaged. To Cho Chang.
Now I can totally see you rolling your eyes. Alright, fine, maybe I didn’t exactly forget to tell you – was kind of putting it off, in fact – but I know that you would want to know about it. Who knows; maybe he’s written you himself and told you already. I suppose you’re thinking that I’m all weepy and flipping out about this, but I’m not. I mean, yes, it did surprise me a little but it’s nothing I couldn’t handle. After all, it has been two years, right? I’m fine. Perfectly fine.
Well, I’m mostly fine. It’s just that, well – remember all those times back at Hogwarts when you and I would meet in the library to study and then end up talking all night about absolutely everything in the world but schoolwork? And remember how we’d dream about the future and how our lives were going to turn out, and you’d talk about traveling the world and becoming this famous naturalist and I’d talk about playing for one of the national Quidditch teams and raising a family with Harry? Well, it’s like, ever since the age of eleven, Harry had been this permanent thing – this fixture – that I had set in my future. Like, no matter what else changed – whether I was imagining that I was living in Ottery St. Catchpole or in London or in, I don’t know, China or something; and whether I had five children or eleven or twins or none at all; and whether I was a professional Quidditch player or a chimera tamer (which, by the way, I had my heart set on from ages five to eight) – Harry was always this one constant thing that I had assumed would always be in my life. And I’ve pictured him there for so long that now, I’m having some trouble removing him. He’s like that mysterious stain that Hermione and I found in the corner of the bathroom of our flat, remember? The one that no amount of Scourgifying or cleaning potion could get rid of? And Luna, him getting engaged to Cho – it’s like snuffing out that last, tiny flickering bit of hope that I had. I mean, I know its over – I’ve known it for a while – but it’s like I still can’t believe that he’s not a part of my future anymore, you know?
I tried to tell Draco all of this and can you guess his reaction? He dragged me to a bar and brought me enough Firewhiskey to fill the English Channel. It was such a typical guy response – if you can’t deal with a problem, then at least you have an excuse to drink excessive amounts of alcohol until you pass out. Though in all honesty, Draco has been a sweetheart lately. It’s bizarre, really – I’m not sure what to do with this new, not-obnoxious and somewhat considerate Draco Malfoy. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s nice but, it’s also somewhat unsettling. There are times when I half expect him to pull out that old twisted sneer and taunt me like he did back in school. Not that he can’t still get on my nerves – Merlin, I want to strangle that man sometimes, he is just so infuriatingly arrogant and a bit of a prat – but he lacks all of the malice and cruelty that he had back then.
Oh, and I watched Teddy last week for the first time in a while. Andromeda had to run some long overdue errand, so I got him for the entire day. I can’t believe how old he’s getting – in a couple years we’ll be shipping him off to Hogwarts, can you believe that? And he’s not just growing old on the outside –it's happening on the inside too. When I tucked him in, I offered to read him Babbitty Rabbitty, which was his favorite bedtime story, and do you know what he did? He scoffed at me! He told me – all haughtily too – that only babies have bedtime stories read to them and that I should stop treating him like one. I apologized to him – I mean, he is still pretty little, but being the youngest and the only girl in my family, well, I can relate to how it feels to be babied. Even so, I can’t believe that I’ll never be able to read bedtime stories to Teddy anymore. There are still all the Weasley nieces and nephews to tuck into bed though – I suppose I’ll just have to console myself with them. But still, Teddy being too old for bedtime stories…time really does fly, doesn’t it?
This is getting to be quite the long letter – I better stop here. Ava strained her wing a couple days ago and I don’t want her to get injured again. If she seems tired or hurt when she delivers this, send back a reply with one of your Crumple-Horned Snorkacks (they do have wings, don’t they?) and keep her with you a couple days before you let her return. And do write back soon, Luna – I have absolutely no idea what is going on with you. It’s been much too long since I’ve received details about your creatures and about the amazing places you’re visiting and especially about your current status with Rolf. And no, that was not meant to be a subtle hint.
Love always,
Ginny
March 15th, 2004
Dear Luna,
I realized as I was scribbling down the date at the top of this letter that today is the Ides of March. Or at least it was – it’s past midnight now so I suppose I should’ve written March 16th at the top instead. But isn’t it funny how the day of doom and peril passed by without any noticeable, well, doom and peril? All the Roman senators I know are still alive and kicking – perhaps you know of someone who was assassinated today. Oh dear, wouldn’t it be horrible if you actually did? I would feel awful. I should go back and blot out this entire first paragraph, but I’m really too lazy, so I’ll just cross my fingers and hope that none of your acquaintances have died recently.
Well, I seem to have digressed greatly from my original topic, and I’m barely into the second paragraph. I was just penning a quick letter to ask how you are, seeing as we haven’t spoken in a long while. Luna, hon, I know you’re off traveling the world with Rolf and experiencing all of this excitement and adventure, but can’t you manage to find some time for your precious old friend Ginny? Because really, all of this whining is due to the simple fact that I miss you so much. I feel as if I am adrift without your constant wisdom and, well, oddness. But a good kind of oddness.
All is normal back home. The girls and I are training hard for the playoffs – Joan has entered her self-proclaimed “Tyrant Mode” and we are all one suicide drill away from calling the loony ward at St. Mungo’s. Honestly, even she knows she’s off her rocker and she keeps going at it – I have no idea why. But no, in all seriousness, I’m up and on the field every morning before daybreak, and I’m sore all over, and I can barely walk when I get off my broom after practice – but I couldn’t be happier. There’s just something about playoff season, when you’re exhausted and splattered with mud and your captain is screaming at you and you can barely even see straight – it’s just all so, I don’t know, invigorating. This does make me consider the stableness of my mental state, however, if I’m the most content when I’m sweaty and aching and sleep-deprived and zooming about on a broomstick. (THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID!! …Sorry, it was just too easy. Moving on now.)
Rumor has it that Ron and Hermione might be expecting, and all I have to say is that it’s about time. I’m kind of worried about Hermione though – a couple weeks back, she was fiddling around with some potions for the Ministry and she somehow came up with a powerful new potion that treats some sort of incurable malady. I don’t really know the specifics – it’s all scientific jargon and you know how I tend to tune her out when she starts talking academics – but now those idiots at the Ministry has got her working nearly nonstop day and night, refining the ingredients and process of concoction and all of this nonsense, and Hermione, well, you know how she gets. She’s stressed out her mind. I don’t think any of that pressure or anxiety is good for the baby, if there even is a baby.
And for some reason she’s nervous about telling Ron that she might be expecting, and no matter how much I bug her about it she’s still putting off telling him. I keep saying that it’s fine, that he’ll be excited, that it’s something that the two of them should go through together and she’ll be sorry if she doesn’t do it, but she keeps on blabbering about how she wants to be absolutely sure before she says anything. I, personally, would love to drop the news, if only to see how many different shades of color Ron’s face can turn in ten seconds. It would be a scientific experiment, if you will.
Well, I don’t think that there’s much else going on back home. Nothing’s really changed… oh, I almost forgot to tell you – Harry’s engaged. To Cho Chang.
Now I can totally see you rolling your eyes. Alright, fine, maybe I didn’t exactly forget to tell you – was kind of putting it off, in fact – but I know that you would want to know about it. Who knows; maybe he’s written you himself and told you already. I suppose you’re thinking that I’m all weepy and flipping out about this, but I’m not. I mean, yes, it did surprise me a little but it’s nothing I couldn’t handle. After all, it has been two years, right? I’m fine. Perfectly fine.
Well, I’m mostly fine. It’s just that, well – remember all those times back at Hogwarts when you and I would meet in the library to study and then end up talking all night about absolutely everything in the world but schoolwork? And remember how we’d dream about the future and how our lives were going to turn out, and you’d talk about traveling the world and becoming this famous naturalist and I’d talk about playing for one of the national Quidditch teams and raising a family with Harry? Well, it’s like, ever since the age of eleven, Harry had been this permanent thing – this fixture – that I had set in my future. Like, no matter what else changed – whether I was imagining that I was living in Ottery St. Catchpole or in London or in, I don’t know, China or something; and whether I had five children or eleven or twins or none at all; and whether I was a professional Quidditch player or a chimera tamer (which, by the way, I had my heart set on from ages five to eight) – Harry was always this one constant thing that I had assumed would always be in my life. And I’ve pictured him there for so long that now, I’m having some trouble removing him. He’s like that mysterious stain that Hermione and I found in the corner of the bathroom of our flat, remember? The one that no amount of Scourgifying or cleaning potion could get rid of? And Luna, him getting engaged to Cho – it’s like snuffing out that last, tiny flickering bit of hope that I had. I mean, I know its over – I’ve known it for a while – but it’s like I still can’t believe that he’s not a part of my future anymore, you know?
I tried to tell Draco all of this and can you guess his reaction? He dragged me to a bar and brought me enough Firewhiskey to fill the English Channel. It was such a typical guy response – if you can’t deal with a problem, then at least you have an excuse to drink excessive amounts of alcohol until you pass out. Though in all honesty, Draco has been a sweetheart lately. It’s bizarre, really – I’m not sure what to do with this new, not-obnoxious and somewhat considerate Draco Malfoy. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s nice but, it’s also somewhat unsettling. There are times when I half expect him to pull out that old twisted sneer and taunt me like he did back in school. Not that he can’t still get on my nerves – Merlin, I want to strangle that man sometimes, he is just so infuriatingly arrogant and a bit of a prat – but he lacks all of the malice and cruelty that he had back then.
Oh, and I watched Teddy last week for the first time in a while. Andromeda had to run some long overdue errand, so I got him for the entire day. I can’t believe how old he’s getting – in a couple years we’ll be shipping him off to Hogwarts, can you believe that? And he’s not just growing old on the outside –it's happening on the inside too. When I tucked him in, I offered to read him Babbitty Rabbitty, which was his favorite bedtime story, and do you know what he did? He scoffed at me! He told me – all haughtily too – that only babies have bedtime stories read to them and that I should stop treating him like one. I apologized to him – I mean, he is still pretty little, but being the youngest and the only girl in my family, well, I can relate to how it feels to be babied. Even so, I can’t believe that I’ll never be able to read bedtime stories to Teddy anymore. There are still all the Weasley nieces and nephews to tuck into bed though – I suppose I’ll just have to console myself with them. But still, Teddy being too old for bedtime stories…time really does fly, doesn’t it?
This is getting to be quite the long letter – I better stop here. Ava strained her wing a couple days ago and I don’t want her to get injured again. If she seems tired or hurt when she delivers this, send back a reply with one of your Crumple-Horned Snorkacks (they do have wings, don’t they?) and keep her with you a couple days before you let her return. And do write back soon, Luna – I have absolutely no idea what is going on with you. It’s been much too long since I’ve received details about your creatures and about the amazing places you’re visiting and especially about your current status with Rolf. And no, that was not meant to be a subtle hint.
Love always,
Ginny
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