**Author's Note: The song lyrics that appear throughout the story is called "Unsigned Letter" and is property of Garth Brooks and its writers, Gordon Kennedy, Wayne Kirkpatrick, and Tommy Simms. Obviously, the characters aren't so much mine as they are someone else's.**
CHAPTER ONE
"For heaven's sake, Ginny, you're wasting your potential!" Her flatmate stood in the doorway, one sensibly-shod toe tapping out her impatience. "It's a travesty!"
"Don't be overdramatic, 'Mione," Ginny said, peering at one line of columns and transferring a few numbers. "It doesn't suit you." That wasn't entirely the truth-the curly-haired brunette had an extra spark when she had something to be indignant about-and it seemed she had, most of the time.
With a huff, the nineteen-year-old Auror-in-Training sat across from Ginny and looked at the ledgers in front of her. "Why don't you let a Squib do the twins' finances, Gin? Or even one of those self-calculating ledgers?"
Her anger peaking to a slow simmer, Ginny sat down her quill with a click and raised a sleek eyebrow at Hermione. Her long, fiery hair was bound into a braid that had slipped down over her shoulder, and she slung it back before addressing the closest thing she had to a sister. "First of all, a self-calculating ledger stands no chance in Fred and George's shop-there are so many tricky things going on in there that the ledger would be hexed in no time, and they'd have screwy finances to match everything else in their store. Secondly, I like doing their finances."
There were so many other reasons for doing the twins' books that she wasn't ready to express in words, the simplest of them being the famous Weasley lack of money. It felt good to help, to see that her brothers were so successful, and making more money than the Weasleys had seen for generations. Ron wasn't doing so bad himself, she reckoned, but it didn't seem he needed much in the way of a bookkeeper when he was off officiating professional Quidditch games.
The most complicated of her reasons was the magic.
It had been two years since Harry had defeated Voldemort, two years since the Death Eaters had died or gone into hiding, taking their families with them. Two years since the rampant abuse of magic had stopped, and Ginny was quite fine with not making a living by hers.
And so as she totted the numbers in one column and sent a reassuring smile to Hermione, she tried not to think of the two years that had passed, and all the things-and people-that had passed with them.
She got an unsigned letter from her secret someone
And she fell into the mystery
"Owl call!" Fred threw open the door to the small office in the back of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, letting a large black owl through the door. It dropped its message on Ginny's desk, exiting after a small hoot of satisfaction.
Ginny glanced at the message, and seeing that it didn't have the name of its sender on the outside, decided it could keep for a few minutes, at the very least. At the moment, she was busy trying to decipher her brother's handwriting. "Oh, no you don't," she said as she saw him start to leave. "You get over here and tell me what this says." She waved the order slip in the air, snatching it back as he tried to grab it. "Well, don't touch, you great oaf. You've got some sort of something or other all over your hands, and then I really won't be able to read it."
Glancing down at the mixture of Stinksap and Dungbomb he had on his hands, Fred grinned sheepishly and peered at the order form. "Oh," he said, laughing. "That's nothing, Gin. It's an order I made to take the mickey out of Perce. Look here, it says it's from him for a box of fake-"
"That's quite enough," she said, sounding a great deal like their mother as she wadded it up and vanished it loftily.
"If you're going to be like Mum, Gin, you really ought to do it elsewhere," Fred said, pulling a face. "It gives me the willies."
"I thought you liked willies!" George called from the store, sending a few scattered customers into laughter.
When Fred left the office in a hurry to defend himself, Ginny had to admit it was a bit of a relief. Left in silence with the order forms tallied, she picked up the letter.
Words were few and specifically vague
Intrinsic, intrigue
But it said everything
When it just read 'Come to me.'
She opened the packet, her eyes unfocused from staring at numbers all day, and she stifled a wide yawn as she looked down at the page.
At first, in the middle of a yawn, eyes squinted, she thought there was nothing on the page.
Who would owl a blank page? she wondered. But that was common enough, with magical inks and concealing spells, not to mention practical jokers like the twins. But when she blinked her eyes a few times, she saw the small black print in the middle of the page.
Come to me.
The handwriting was neat, neither masculine nor feminine, but with a precision that said a great deal about the person wielding the pen.
"Ostendo," she said, pointing her wand at the paper. But nothing more revealed itself on the page.
Ginny shuddered, laying the letter aside. Who would send such a strange message? A command, even? If either of her brothers had done it, for any reason, they would have already been at the door, unable to contain their mirth. But they were both minding their own business, neither of them concerned with what the owl had delivered.
A thought flashed through her mind, unbidden and unwelcome, a vision of Tom Riddle, stroking her face with a cold hand drawn out from the past.
It was just like something he would say, something he would do. But Tom Riddle was dead, and so was the evil thing that had replaced him.
Something else lurked just behind Tom Riddle in her brain… Same clothes, she thought nonsensically. Same clothes?
As George came through the door of the office, Ginny jumped and blushed guiltily. Against her instincts, Ginny folded up the parchment and tucked it into the pocket of her robes.
It was something to look at in private.
She's always been that responsible someone
Safe within her simplicity
She mentioned the letter to neither of the twins, but wrapped up her work quickly, citing housework as her reason for leaving early. Giving each of her prankster brothers a peck on the cheek, she all but ran out of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes.
When she was gone, the twins immediately sobered. "What d'y'think's wrong with Gin, then?" Fred asked George, his face creased in a rare frown.
Fred shook his head. "I don't know. She's always been a bit more level than the rest of us-"
"But these days she seems-"
"Positively boring," they said in unison.
Fred shook his head again. "It's like she's scared to do anything."
"Maybe she is," George replied, and the two ruminated in silence until the next customer came in, busying their hands and their minds.
~~~
She trotted quickly up the steps to the front door of the flat, her key already out. When she grasped the knob in her hand, however, it turned easily, and a cold shot of fear raced through her.
Come to me.
It was like a whisper in her ear, low and hissing, threateningly sexual. But it was only in her mind, and though her hand trembled violently on the doorknob, she stepped inside. When she saw the low-heeled black boots sitting by the door, she frowned.
What was Hermione doing home already?
Ginny stepped through the flat, her fingers sliding over the parchment in her pocket, the corners of it pressing insistently into her fingers.
Voices slid through her wonderings, Hermione's and another so familiar it made Ginny gasp.
Ron was home for the weekend!
Excited, momentarily forgetting about her note, she quickened her pace, then drew short. Would it really do to interrupt the pair when they obviously thought they were alone? Time alone was a precious commodity for Ron and Hermione. It had been the trio all through school, and now that they were out, working hours seemed to butcher what little time they had left. Feeling guilty for the near-intrusion, Ginny started to slink away.
The sound of her name stopped her, and she wondered if they'd heard her entrance.
"Ginny?" Ron snorted and continued to talk, making it clear he wasn't addressing her, but referring to her. "What's there to be worried about, 'Mione? It's just Gin."
There was a rustling sound followed with Hermione's patented huff, and in her mind's eye, Ginny could see her brother's girlfriend pushing away from him, a pout on her face. "How can you say that? If she keeps wasting herself, she'll end up more or less a Muggle, doing arithmetic all day and keeping to herself."
"She has been acting like a bit of a lump. Maybe it's because Harry's not around," Ron said hopefully. Having Harry for a brother-in-law would be wicked convenient.
"I don't think she fancies Harry anymore," Hermione said, trying to break it gently. In truth, Ginny hadn't fancied Harry for years, but Ron was just too thick to see it. Poor chap, Hermione thought, playing her fingers over a lock of Ron's hair.
"Well, you know, she's just being sensible, helpin' the twins out and all. Gin's good at that, y'know. Right smart. I don't think there's cause for concern, 'Mione, it's not bloody likely she'll do anything."
"That's what I'm afraid of," Hermione said sadly.
Ginny backed away from Hermione's door, cheeks burning. She'd heard more than she should have, and more than she wanted to. A bit of a lump? Not likely she'd do anything?
Angrily, she stalked to her room, eased the door shut, and threw herself onto her bed, withdrawing her letter as she did so.