Disclaimer: All the characters you recognise belong to JK Rowling and I’m just borrowing them. The others and the plot are mine for my sins.
“HARRY! HARRY!” a panicked voice screamed into the air, hoping that someone, anyone could hear her and help her, help them. Cold tears flooded down her hot face, just like they had done so many times before. Her breath was ragged as she let out another call into the air, “Harry!”
It had all been so real, just like the night he had disappeared and she had chased to the back of beyond looking for him. She had run and Apparated around the whole country looking for him. Finally she had ended up in Little Hangleton before a big manor house before she had been hit.
A good few minutes later, after a lot of deep, controlled breaths, her heart slowly managed to calm down and return to its normal pace. Staring around the room, she gradually began to come back to her senses. She was no longer frantically searching for him after he had disappeared from her sight, but alone and at home in the small box bedroom. There were no curses being hurled all over the place as she barely escaped with her life, unlike Harry, but in her bed in the unnaturally quiet Weasley family house.
The small bedroom at The Burrow had all the hallmarks of belonging to a teenage girl. A small single bed filled the majority of the room. Since her family would never dream that she would need anything else, and having been single since the final battle, she hadn’t needed a double. There was a small wardrobe and a chest of drawers stuffed full of dark clothes that would help the wearer fade into the background. A mismatched desk and chair were covered in photographs of herself and Harry from their last couple of years of bliss before the battle had taken place last year... Despite the backdrop of war, their relationship had made her the happiestshe had ever been.
She pulled herself into a sitting position and reached over to the desk to pick up the nearest photograph. Soft tears fell down her face as she watched Harry in the photograph grabbing her sixteen year old self around the waist and hugging her as he pulled her in for a kiss. Those kisses that had always sent her heart trembling in a state of excitement and filled her from head to toe with a sense of peace and belonging. They had never looked as happy as in those few hours that they had spent in the sunlit Hogwarts grounds as just a pair of teenagers in love.
“Why did you have to leave?” she muttered aimlessly into the air as her eyes stared, fixed on the moments of unabridged happiness. Moments pulled away from her by the harsh reality of the aftermath of battle. “Why did you leave me alone, Harry? You were meant to marry me. Damn it, Harry; you even proposed. You promised me that you would be around to see that through, ‘cause I was going to say “yes.”
Slowly she placed the photograph back down in its place on the desk. She wiped her eyes on a mixture of her bare skin and the end of the old t-shirt in which she slept in an attempt to dry her tears as she heard footsteps on the stairs. He was gone; sixteen months worth of nightmares and dreams marred with disappointment as reality hit when she woke up that the battle was not going to change that. Dreams would not bring him back to her, no matter how much she wanted it to.
“Ginny,” her mother’s soft voice came through the door as it creaked open and the aged face of Mrs Weasley appeared. She let out a small, exasperated sigh as she made her way over to her youngest child. “Oh, Ginny.”
“Hey, Mum,” she said weakly as she dropped her eyes to avoid her mum’s penetrating gaze. “I’m okay, I swear.”
Molly Weasley sat down on the end of her bed and leaned over towards her little girl. Softly she tipped her daughter’s face up and moved her damp hair out of her eyes. “I know you’re not okay. I know you’ve not been okay for a while, dear, and after everything you’ve been through, there’s no shame in that,” she explained gently. “You were dreaming about Harry.”
It was not a question, but a fact. Her mum, as well as anyone else who knew her was aware that her nights were filled with images of Harry. Her dreams of Harry were becoming less frequent as each day passed. Dreams that had started off as nightly occurrences had begun to disappear as slowly the days had turned into weeks, months and now it had been over a whole year. A year since Harry had gone missing along with Voldemort on that fatal night, and now it was four hundred and ten days since she had last seen him.
Gradually she was losing the only form of contact that she had left with Harry. No matter how bad her nightmares were, she didn’t want to lose them. Her night time visions were the only chance she had left to see him and to hear his voice. If that disappeared, what did she have left? She may be wallowing in his memory and unwilling to let go of those memories, but she couldn’t bear her life not to include Harry.
She still loved him and no amount of time that passed would change that.
While the Wizarding world had been celebrating the demise of an evil dictator and the return to normality, she had entered a period of depression, mourning and guilt. Although she put on a strong front and a good act, her family and close friends had learnt over time that inside she was in pain, and misery filled her every bone. She had never told anyone about the final conversation that she had had with Harry. That was her own shameful secret and the root of the guilt she felt. That her last ever words to Harry had been a rejected marriage proposal haunted her every breath.
As if to add to her misery and guilt, in the weeks that followed the battle, she had been lying in St Mungo’s recovering from Lucius Malfoy’s Abrumpereas Curse. Those were the weeks that she should have been looking for him. Yet she had spent two days unconscious and a further five days after she had woken before her shattered bones had recovered enough to raise her right wand hand.
“Harry?” she groaned. “Harry?”
Her eyes fluttered open as she groggily started to wake. As consciousness returned to her, her eyes started to focus and she slowly looked around at her surroundings. She had been propped up by several pillows in a steel bed with spotless white covers covering her from her breast downwards. The room was crowded and she was surrounded by a mass of people with red hair and worried looks etched across their faces.
She tried to pull herself up further in the bed, but her body rejected the call. It felt like a useless dead weight that had been immobilised by some kind of curse. Her breath quickened as she tried to stop a sense of panic from taking over her frozen body. Instead she tried to focus on facts and calm down, establish where she was. Her eyes darted around the room, trying to work out exactly who was there as well as reading their faces to work out what had happened.
Mrs Weasley had quickly stood up from her chair next to the hospital bed. The older woman wore large bags around her eyes and an increased number of wrinkles across her uncommonly pale face. Standing next to her mum was her dad, who looked equally as exhausted as he leaned on a chair. It was as if the pair of them had not slept for days, which they probably hadn’t. All six of her older brothers’ faces shared her parents’ look of a mixture of relief and exhaustion. Hermione, along with Fleur, whose arms where cradling her infant son, where mixed in amongst the red heads. Despite her dazed state, she could tell instantly that someone was missing.
“Ginny,” her mum said in a strained voice as her dad squeezed her mum’s hand, “how are you feeling?”
“I’m fine,” she lied through gritted teeth. She didn’t want to be fussed over and hardly cared that her whole body ached. In fact there was only one thing she cared about. “Where’s Harry?”
Silence met her words but no one met her gaze. Hermione actually turned away and was comforted by Ron. Something just was not right.
Her eyes welled with tears as the pain of comprehension hit her. There could only be one reason why Harry would not be beside her. And that had to be that he couldn’t be here. Harry had never failed to be there when she needed him, like she had never left his side.
Her voice could not hide her sense of panic as she spoke: Harry had to be okay. “Where’s Harry? What’s happened? Where’s Harry?”
“You were hit with a curse,” Molly Weasley explained softly as she bent down over her. Placing her hand behind her daughter’s back, she helped her into a sitting position. “You’re in St Mungo’s and it’s been two days since the battle, dear. There have been a couple of scary moments but you’re going to be okay now,” she said confidently as a faint smile returned to her face. “Can you move?”
Irately she tried to push herself further up in the bed into a sitting position. She was trying hopelessly to get herself into a position to shout at them, but it was to no avail. Her arms might as well have been glued to the bed for as much movement as she was getting out of them. She screwed up her face as she let out a couple of deep breaths in sheer concentration. Firmly, she focused on just her hands and her eyes welled with frustrated and pained tears in her unsuccessful attempts to lift herself upwards.
“It’s okay, dear,” her mother’s voice shook as she moved the strands of bright red hair out of her only daughter’s eyes. “The Healers said it might take a few days before you start to regain strength in your limbs.”
“No, it’s not,” she muttered stubbornly as she met her father’s brown eyes through the mist that had filled her own. “Where’s Harry?”
The tips of Arthur Weasley’s ears had gone red as he took her limp hand. “He’s missing.”
Her brain was spinning as she tried to ignore the thuds of pain her mind was inflicting on her weak body and focus on her father’s words. “What do you mean he’s missing?”
“No one has seen him since he left Hogwarts two days ago,” Arthur explained to her slowly, his voice soft and controlled. “Just after the curse hit you there was a blinding green light from the old Riddle house in Little Hangleton. The next thing anyone knew was that the Death Eaters were fleeing and both Harry and You-Know-Who were missing. Neither of them has been seen since.”
It took a couple of minutes to grasp what her dad was trying to tell her.
Harry couldn’t be missing. He had just proposed to her; promised her that he would come back; said that they would be starting a new life together. They should be celebrating. He had to be around somewhere, he just couldn’t be missing. She intended to hold him to each of those promises and she couldn’t do that if he was missing.
“He can’t be missing,” she whispered.
Tear-stained brown eyes met her own and she looked up at one of her oldest friends. “There’s a Ministry task force on it, Gin,” Hermione explained, her whispered words carrying. “They can’t find anything, there are no bodies or anything to work from. Not a wand, a wallet, a photo, anything. And with that blast, people have not only lost their houses but their minds. We’re talking about thousands of people who can’t remember a thing about themselves.”
“But that doesn’t mean anything. Harry hates the Ministry; he’s not going to talk to them.” She glared at two thirds of the infamous trio. “But he will for the pair of you. What the hell are you two doing here? You’re his best friends, why aren’t you out there looking for him, right now?”
Ron looked down at his feet and she could see the tips of his ears glow red, just as her father’s had done. Her brother avoided her gaze as he spoke. “We needed to know how you were. Make sure that you were okay.”
“I’m fine,” she growled through gritted teeth, trying to keep her temper in check.
“Ginny,” her mother offered in warning tones. “You should be resting.”
“What! I’m lying here, I’m not moving, I’m resting.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “I’m fine, but Harry’s not. You should be finding him instead of sitting here doing nothing.”
“I know this has come as a shock, but there is no need to take it out on the people who love you.” Her mother’s voice had the harsh qualities in it that she had heard so many times before. “We are not giving up on finding Harry but don’t you think for one minute, young lady, that you are the only one who loves him and cares what happens.”
She lowered her eyes, slightly taken aback and a little ashamed by her mother’s words. “I need Harry, he can’t be missing. I can’t survive without him.”
“Don’t you dare talk like that, young lady. We will all do our best to find Harry, but I will not have you giving up without him. Mark my words, no daughter of mine will spend any of her life moping around, especially when she should be feeling lucky to be alive.”
“I don’t want to be here without him,” Ginny muttered.
“I’ll pretend that I didn’t hear that,” Molly Weasley said sternly as she offered a small nod to her husband. “I think we need to leave you to get some rest and perspective.”
And that’s how things had ended, Harry was missing and she was in St Mungo’s. No one across the Wizarding world had been willing to declare the great Harry Potter and their saviour dead. To this day, instead of giving some level of clarity to the situation, Harry had retained the status of missing-in-action.
Slowly, as time passed, many people had given up any hope that their hero could still be alive out there somewhere. Six months after the battle and just before Christmas, the Ministry hunt for Harry had ended officially. A year on and many in the Wizarding world had moved on and had forgotten their hero, returning to their normal lives; forgotten that if it hadn’t been for Harry Potter, they would not have been living the life that they were.
Ginny herself had spent five weeks in St Mungo’s recovering from her shattered bones and the infections that they had caused. Her stay was prolonged by her state of depression and reluctance to listen to her family, friends and the St Mungo‘s Healers.
Without Harry in the world, everything seemed so pointless. She could have learnt to deal with everything if he had walked away from her. She had had six years of training for that. And she guessed she could have learnt to deal with everything, if there was some level of proof or evidence that Harry had died. But the state of unknowing she was lying in was cutting her up.
Ten months had followed as she finished her education at Hogwarts under the watchful eye at all times of former Order of the Phoenix members. As her NEWT results last month had shown, dropping at least a grade in each subject, she had struggled to muster any enthusiasm for anything. Instead her mind kept focusing in what could have been and on those final few moments with Harry. She wished that she had changed her words; done something that would have made sure he came back to her.
“Ginny,” her mum said again, breaking through her thoughts and bringing her back to the present day. “You were dreaming about Harry.”
She looked up and met her mum’s blue eyes for the first time. “He’s still out there, Mum.”
“Maybe, dear,” she replied in an appeasing tone of voice, unwilling to fight her daughter on this issue, “but if he has been gone this long, we can’t just expect him to walk through the door.”
“But there are still millions of people scattered all over the country without homes and even more people who have lost their memories due to that night.” She paused for the briefest of moments as she allowed herself a couple of seconds of hope. “I just know that Harry is one of them.”
“I know, but if you just focus on that, you’ll drive yourself crazy,” She said gently as she pulled her daughter into a hug and held firmly onto her, whispering in her ear. “We’ll never forget Harry, but I’m just so glad that we didn’t lose you as well. I thank Merlin for that every single day. If Neville hadn’t found you, I dread to think what would have happened.” Slowly she released her. “Now come downstairs, get some breakfast. Harry would not want you wasting away.”
Ginny nodded. “I’ll be down in a minute.”
Her mum tipped her face and placed a kiss on her forehead. “I love you, Ginny.”
“Me too, Mum.”
She watched her mum rise to her feet and offer her a small, slightly forced smile as Mrs Weasley pushed the door wide open. “I’m putting the kettle on now, so don’t be too long.”
Within the next five minutes, she forced herself out of bed and got changed. She quickly and without much thought pulled on an old pair of faded, ripped blue jeans and a Chudley Cannons t-shirt four sizes too big as it had used to belong to Fred. As with any clothes that had been handed down from any of her brothers, it was very unflattering on a female figure as well as making her look like a twelve year old. However, there was no one left to make any sort of an effort for.
As she scraped her hair back into a ponytail, she studied her face. There were red marks on the top of her cheeks and large bags now encased her eyes. These marks had added years to her young face and she was beginning not to remember a time when they had not been there.
The next couple of hours passed in the garden of The Burrow with the day’s Daily Prophet. Over a year after the battle the Daily Prophet still featured articles of the aftermath only this time they were crammed into corners instead of being front page news. Rereading the articles of the refugee camps and the adverts, it did not take her long to make up her mind.
WE NEED YOUR HELP!
APPEAL BY THE BRITISH WIZARDING RED CROSS.
In a time of recovery, we turn to a belief in what is right. The atrocities of the last five years have left the country in crisis. Half a million Witches and Wizards are still homeless and living in our camps. In this time, every volunteer counts, when we are desperate for your help.
We have a huge range of opportunities available. Whether you want to learn new skills, meet new people or simply use your time to do something worthwhile, there is something to suit everyone.
The British Wizarding Red Cross relies on the support of over 35,000 dedicated Witches and Wizards, who are willing to give their time to run our camps, services and raise funds for our work.
Our volunteers work in every community in the United Kingdom, responding to emergencies, helping vulnerable people, helping the country recover from the war with You-Know-Who, running our shops and giving first aid training. They are what makes us a truly local – as well as global – organisation.
By becoming a volunteer, you will be joining the largest humanitarian movement in the Wizarding world.
They were crying out for volunteers to help across the country and as if fate had demanded it, the camp in the north of England had been placed in an old Muggle mining village in the County Durham. The fact that the pit had closed in the 1980s and hardly any Muggles lived there now as well as it being less than fifty miles from Little Hangleton made it the ideal location. It was so near to the last place that Harry had ever been seen.
She waited until she heard the hustle and bustle inside the house before she even thought about moving from the shade of the tree in which she spent most of her days. Her mum would think that she had made a rash decision based on a year‘s depression instead of rational thinking and she was well aware there was more than a slight element of truth to that statement. Her seventh year at Hogwarts had provided some kind of focus that had kept her going despite her misery but since doing nothing while being at home, her sense of despair had increased.
She just needed to do this.
As the noise rose in her family home, so did she. Ginny walked past the old trees that lined the walls of The Burrow garden, and the large pond into which Harry had thrown her while she was still wearing her bridesmaid dress, just two summers ago after she had spent the afternoon teasing him, much to her mother’s and Fleur’s despair and to everyone else’s amusement. The last afternoon they had had together before the Horcrux hunt had really begun.
The closer she got to the house, the louder her parents’ voices became. She paused and listened to what they were saying. She needed some idea of what kind of mood they were in, in order to gauge how to approach this.
“She’s getting worse again, Arthur,” her mother explained in an anxious voice. “I don’t know what she’s dreaming of, but she woke up in a sweat, screaming again. Just like when St Mungo’s wanted to take her in for monitoring.”
“I thought Minerva had said that all that had stopped.”
“But she’s back home now, Arthur, with nothing to think about other than Harry.” The noise of the kettle hooting gave the conversation a slight pause and made Ginny’s heart flutter. “She’s sending herself crazy with guilt by being determined that he’s still alive.”
“He can’t possibly be, even if we don’t want to think about it.” Her dad’s voice shook unnaturally as he spoke. “Even Remus agrees with that, if not with other things.”
“I know, but how do we explain that to Ginny? They loved each other; we can’t devalue how they felt for each other. It’s only natural for her not to give up on him. Yet while she’s pinning her hopes solely on Harry being alive somewhere, she’s not moving on. It’s not healthy.”
“We‘ll we need to give her something to do then. Despite everything, her NEWT results were still good, better than we expected, if still not what they should have been compared to her OWLs. While she was doing them they gave her somewhere to channel her energy, the dreams stopped and owls from St Mungo’s asking to bring her in for observation stopped. Maybe I could talk to someone at the Ministry; pull a few strings to get her something.”
“She hates the Ministry.”
“Well then we’ll just have to think of something else. What about Gringotts?”
“What do you think you’re doing?” Fred’s voice from behind her said, making her jump.
She silently cursed herself. She had grown up with Fred and George and should have known better than to be caught by them sneaking up on her, especially when she had been applying their methods to listen to her parents. The last thing she was going to do was to let her older brothers see where they had just got her.
“Nothing,” she muttered as she placed her hand on the door to push it open.
Just as she was about to enter the kitchen, George held her back by holding her shoulder. “Why is it, dear little sister, that we don’t believe you?”
“Do you want to tell your favourite brothers what you were really doing and who you were ear wigging?” Fred continued his brother’s trail of thought.
She glared at the pair of them as she struggled to keep her temper in check. “Get off me before I hex you.”
The last thing that she wanted was interference from these prats. Although she had been relieved that they had not treated her differently since that night, she did not want them to get in her way. She shrugged George’s arm off her shoulder and sent him a glare as she walked straight past the pair of them.
The kitchen fell unnaturally quiet as soon as she entered the room. Her parents’ hushed discussion came to an instant halt. The silence gave The Burrow an unnatural air. The Weasley family home was made for noise and something felt terribly wrong when it was quiet.
“Ginny,” her mother said with such false enthusiasm, that she would have known they were talking about her even if they hadn’t been listening at the door.
She made a feeble attempt to return her mum’s smile as she muttered, “Hi.”
“How has your day been?” her mum continued in a forced cheerful voice.
Ginny shrugged her shoulders. “Okay.”
“And did you find anything in the Prophet? A job? Anything to interest you, dear?”
“No,” she lied convincingly.
“Do you want me to ask around at work?”
“No, it’s okay, Dad,” she said as she looked up at him and caught a glint of desperation in his brown eyes. Guilt flooded through her body, causing her to look towards the floor again. “I’ll sort something out soon, I promise but right now, I’m going to head upstairs and let the rest of you get back to talking about me.”
She was not ready to reveal everything to them yet. If they were this worried about her while she was still under their roof, they would go into a state of panic when she told them she was leaving for a refugee camp. She had a feeling that her mum would want her under her roof for a long time to come, especially after what had happened in the last couple of years. Everything needed to be in place for her to approach this the right way and gain their support.
The following week passed relatively quickly as she found lots of little things to occupy her mind for the first time in three months. She was amazed how easily things fell into place as she found the organisation very willing to take her. She had borrowed Errol on her way up to her room that night, sending a letter that expressed her interest. Before she had fallen asleep, she had received a hastily scribbled note, inviting her for an informal chat at eight o’clock the following morning. The organisation had claimed the speedy reply was because they always needed volunteers. While she knew that this was true, she thought that there was another reason her application was being rushed through the red tape.
Harry Potter’s girlfriend working for them was bound to create the attention that they were crying for. This would lead to more newspaper columns, donations and volunteers, maybe even pushing the issue back onto the front pages.
She was going to be a publishing tool, but she hardly cared. She knew that she would be doing what Harry had died doing and in some strange, weird way, she’d be honouring his life and easing her guilt. Only after Harry’s new world had been fully achieved and people where back in their homes, then maybe, just maybe she would be able to rest.
Before Ginny knew it, it was Sunday and the day prior to when she was due to leave The Burrow. The swift nature of the week had meant that she had hardly had a chance to talk to her parents about her plans, not that she had been that disappointed about that. The week instead had been filled with meetings, most of them with the eccentric and enthusiastic leader of the northern camp, Liam Coughlan, who had fast tracked her application. Coughlan had shown her the paperwork and the hidden statistics of the problems that the country was still facing, saying that ‘one person is a tragedy, a thousand people are a statistic’. He explained that the camp had been set up in order to act as a stop gap while they slowly relocated people. While the camps were far from perfect, they offered food, shelter and support to those who needed it.
As well as the meetings, she had been averaging twelve hours of training sessions a day, leaving the house at half past seven and not returning until half past seven in the evening. The days where not only long but intensive as they ran her through a month’s training in a week, giving her just enough knowledge so that she would know the basics on arrival. Coughlan had told her that she would have to learn the rest on the job, as if they wanted to keep this away from the media at the moment. They could not count on more than a week, before the world’s press found out their plans.
The plans had not gone as unnoticed at home as she had wanted. There had been increased mutterings about her Disapparating from The Burrow and not returning until late at night. Exhausted, she would disappear upstairs without a word to anyone. Her mum seemed torn between the fact that her daughter was finally leaving the house instead of moping around all day and the fact she knew nothing of what she was doing. Ron had been the least subtle in his approaches to her. He had tried to collar her on Wednesday to get her to explain her actions but had found himself as successful as he had been at trying to stop her from chasing Horcruxes.
Unlike the rest of the week, Sunday seemed to drag as she kept putting off the inevitable of talking to her parents. She knew if this was not done well, it would end up just turning into yet another row between herself and her mother. Sometimes her mum, through wishing to love and protect her, proceeded to treat her like a twelve year old who didn’t know what she was doing. Ginny would hear the tone of voice, resent it and an argument would begin. The last thing she wanted to do was to leave on an argument.
At around four o’clock she pushed open the door to the kitchen. Her mum was at the sink using her wand to peel a variety of vegetables for the compulsory family dinner in a couple of hours, a meal you would not miss if you valued your life.
“Mum,” she said softly in a would-be-confident voice.
“There’s something I need to tell you.”
“Is this the reason why you have been avoiding me all week?” Mrs Weasley said automatically as she put her wand down. She turned to look at Ginny eagerly as if it was a cure for which she had been waiting months. “Come and sit down, Ginny.”
It felt like something was automatically pulling her closer to her mum. It was almost as if her mum had raised her wand and shot a string out of it that captured Ginny’s body and pulled it over to her mum. “Okay,” she said nervously as she avoided her mum’s gaze, taking the seat opposite Mrs Weasley at the kitchen table. “Well, the reason why, I’ve hardly been around this week is because I’ve got a job.”
“That’s wonderful news.” A smile instantly appeared on the aged face of Mrs Weasley, which reflected into her voice. “Why didn’t you tell us sooner?”
“Well, it‘s not really a paying job, it‘s volunteer work.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that; having all the money in the world won’t necessarily make you happy.” She reached across and took Ginny’s hand. “I hope if there’s one thing I’ve taught my children, it’s that.”
“I know,” Ginny replied softly as she offered a small smile.
Molly gave her daughter’s hand a gentle squeeze. “So where is it? When are you starting?”
“Tomorrow,” Ginny explained taking her hand away, “It’s at the refugee camp near Little Hangleton.”
Her mother studied her face. “Are you sure about this?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” she spat back quickly. “There’s nothing wrong with it. It’s honest work, it’s helping the after-effects of the mess that this war created. They’re desperate for help, Mum.” She paused briefly as she added an element of reason to her argument. “It just feels like the right thing to do, especially when you compare it to moping around here.”
“That’s not what I meant, dear,” she said softly tipping her daughter’s head upwards so she could look her directly in the eyes. “I know it’s the right thing to do for some people and if you are doing this for the right reason, I’ll support you all the way, but you’re not sure are you? Is this about Harry?”
She cast her eyes downwards. “No.”
“Don’t lie to me. I have always known when one of my children isn’t telling me the truth over something important.” She paused and her voice softened. “I know that you’re still dreaming about him.”
Instantly she stood up as her temper started to flare inside her. “So what if I am? What’s wrong with having a few dreams? They’re all I have left!”
“Nothing at all,” her mum said getting to her feet and taking Ginny by the arm to stop her leaving,. “but you can’t waste your life away. If doing this is a way to wallow in Harry’s memory then it’s not going to help you nor the people in that camp.” She paused, to add weight to her words. “You’re not ready.”
“Mum, no one knows what went on between us. That time is mine,” Ginny replied as she pulled away. “I think it‘s right to do this and I’m not your little girl anymore, Mum. I’m an adult and I’ve seen more than most would wish to. The contract’s signed, I’m leaving, and I need to pack tonight.”