I don't know how to do this.
[It's Ginny voice, but she isn't in the frame. What you see is the living room of Building 12 #915, so thoroughly lived-in, so homey, photographs and cushions and slippers kicked off on the rug. A cat streaks across the floor and out of sight. There's a heavy exhale, shaky on the edges, then the feed cuts out.
When the image comes back, it's her bedroom with an empty suitcase on the bed. To be honest, it may very well remain empty. It's more ceremonial than anything, maybe. But Ginny's now walking in front of the camera, sitting on the edge of the bed, looking down at the floor with her hands curled into the blanket. When she speaks, it's low and steady but the real struggle is in her expression, which is why she'd hiding it for the most part.]
I've tried to go home for years. I've tried and failed for so long that I'm not even sure I can believe that this time'll be different, but it... It feels different, like everyone's—gearing up, packing up. Like the end of the school year. Only it isn't a holiday; we wouldn't be coming back, right? We can't.
I shouldn't want to. I've always said this place was the holiday. But it's... I mean, I couldn't help it after a while, could I, feeling attached? It became home. I hated that it did. Maybe it isn't home, maybe I meant that—that you lot made it home. It's been five years and I don't know how I can go back to a world where our times don't line up or where I've got magic and you haven't or...
[Or you're dead. Or haven't been born yet. Or you just don't exist.]
Bloody hell. [She inhales sharply, tipping her head back, composing herself. She isn't crying. She doesn't cry. But you can see the tightness in her jaw and shoulders, the flush across her cheeks, how determined she is to not look at the camera.] Gone home twice, never left time for goodbyes. Always gave a hard time to my friends who did the same to me. And now here we are and I'm mucking it up completely.
[Ginny falls silent after that, sitting for a long time. Then Sir Weatherby hoots softly off-camera and it shakes her from it, a fleeting smile passing over her lips as she glances over her shoulder at the owl.]
You're coming with me, of course. And the cats and the puffs.
[Finally, finally, Ginny looks at the camera, eyes bright and blazing, voice softer.]
And I know you lot can't. Home's a mess, even coming over to The Burrow for dinner wouldn't make all the rebuilding worth it. But please let me see you before we all head off, because... Well, if this is really it, I want to make sure— [Breathe, Ginny. She smiles.] If we're friends, we're family, too. I never let family off easily.
[ooc; please come say your goodbyes. thank you so, so much poly. it's been an honour and a joy. i love you.]