A/N: Not mine, No money, still Walmart Brand Macaroni and Cheese broke. No offenses intended to J.K Rowling, Mary Gaitskill, or Erin Cressida Wilson.

So this is an ode to one of my favorite movies, "Secretary". If consensual kink is not your bag, for the love of Merlin don't read it. The last time I watched "Secretary" a few months ago, I just kinda squinted and went, "… Huh" and started writing accordingly. This is EWE, and maybe a little AU just to cover myself (Ginny's eyes are brown in the book and blue here, for one), and M audience only. Seriously, don't read this if you are underage. Please and thank you.

One would argue, correctly, that Ginny is quite OOC. She is. She reminded me of this constantly while I was writing. But there's a reason why. Emotional pain can change a person greatly, and I'm a walking, talking, writing testament to that. But as much as pain can change you, self-discovery can help you find out who you are now. You may not be who you were, and that's okay – and sometimes that's even great. What this life is all about is what you become and in the becoming, not about who you were.

Apprentice

"And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom."

- Anaïs Nin -

I looked out of my window at St. Mungo's and watched my mother walk up the front steps. Molly Weasley's stride continued be as determined as it had been from my first memories of watching her move about the Burrow.

However, I could not remember seeing Mum's face so grim underneath the pretence of happiness. Something had been wrung out of her during the Battle of Hogwarts three years ago, and maybe it was really never going to return. The Battle had changed her; she had the stamp of someone who was going to age far quicker than she would have done in happier days.

What people don't realize about war is that the aftermath is almost as devastating as the war itself, no matter what side you are on.

I shut the drapes tightly and turned away from the window, trying to keep out the thoughts that were trying to invade my mind. Instead of gazing at my mother, I looked in the mirror at my own face, trying to figure out if the same stamp was on me.

Even with the months of extensive therapy following my "little accident", as Dad called it, I still couldn't remember the last time I was even remotely happy. My blue eyes - eyes that Harry had once said were bluer than the deepest parts of the ocean - were nothing but flat voids, with no sparkle or lustre. Neither did my hair shine, nor did my skin glow. My appearance was now as flat as my life had become.

The only things that seemed to have any life within them were the jagged scars that zigzagged over the landscape of my body like a road map of pain. They were raised against the flat plains of my arms, legs, and stomach. The Healers had not been able to fix them, given too much time passing from the natural healing of the wounds and my instrument of choice – a slim silver knife.

My therapist, a Healer named Peri, told me that it started when Dad was almost killed in the Hall of Mysteries, and that my pain came to a head last year when Harry told me that he had fallen in love with Hermione.

Ron had handled it well – it even seemed Ron had always suspected that it would happen this way and was not even all that upset. He'd even be the best man at their wedding next year. Harry was a better match for Hermione, after all. That's what everyone had said, Ron included. My sweet, yet ill-tempered and cluelessly thick brother would have always lagged behind Hermione's thoughtful genius.

But why did it have to have been Harry? My Harry, the boy I'd had a crush on from the age of ten until I realized that it was love at the age of seventeen. Why did he have to be Hermione's match?

I felt my fingers twitch with need.

No. Not now, not where someone could catch you. Must be careful. Must be patient enough to get out of here first.

I heard Mum's voice down the hallway.

"Ginny!" Molly cried in that sweet, sing song voice she had always spoken to me with. "Ginny Weasley! Time to go home."

I looked at my bag, already packed and ready for the Apparation back to the Burrow, and sighed. Even amidst the distant screams and moans of the other wards, I had almost felt at peace here for the first time since the end of the war.

Since I left Hogwarts, really.

I remembered the summer we spent helping with the rebuild. Then that wonderful last year at the school that I got to spend with Ron, Harry, and Hermione as we were all 7th years together. Except that now, with full hindsight, the signs of change in Harry's affections was already starting to show, even if it took him another full year after graduation to finally face the truth and part ways with me.

Not yet. Wait until you are alone. Must be patient. Must be careful. Then you can finally feel.

"Ginevra Weasley!" Mum burst into my room. No knock, no privacy, even though I was now twenty and had recently recovered from a nervous breakdown.

I felt as though someone had placed me in a Full Body-Bind when she hugged me. Physical contact was forbidden between patients and especially between patients and staff. My arms felt stiff around her, in fact everything about me seemed clunky within her forced warmth.

I pulled back from her embrace to look at my mother's face. Yes, she was forcing something. Her smile, even with the constant grimness beneath it, wasn't real.

"Are you ready dear?" Mum asked as she stroked my hair. She was tense, too, and there was something in her eyes that was now even more wrong than it has been six month ago.

Then I saw the wrongness for what it was and could give it a name.

Fear.

My own mother was afraid of me now.

I put on the best smile I could. "I think so."

She pushed me from her slightly, getting a better look of my attire. Her eyes immediately went to my arms.

"Do you have a robe with sleeves, Ginny?" she asked. "Something with a little more … cover?"

I nodded and pulled on a long sleeved robe over my clothes.

"We'll get you some new clothes at Madam Malkin's. That way you won't have to fuss with the Concealment Charms as you were doing before. Make things a little easier, won't it?" she asked, that mock cheerfulness ringing like a padded church bell.

I nodded again and followed her to the front desk to officially sign my release papers. Mum signed with me, as I had been both voluntarily and involuntarily kept here.

The man at the desk flicked his wand over the papers, and they were filed away in whatever filing system they use for people like me. He carefully looked me over and went into a side room, coming back with my wand. He held it out to me, and when I touched it I felt recognition hum within it as it warmed back up to me. This time my tiny smile was real.

"Oh, Ginny!" Mum said as she started to cry. Her arms were around me again. I stiffened even more against her tears. "It will be better now, you'll see. We'll find you a job and a place to live, and you'll be my sweet happy girl. You just wait."

I nodded and felt the smile fade from my face as I tucked my wand into my sleeve. We walked out, my petrified hand in her strong one, and Apparated back to the Burrow.

It looked the same. But how could our horribly misshapen house ever change? We loved it too much, and there were memories of Fred here, as well as memories of Tonks and Remus. When we walked into the front door I could almost see them sitting at the dining room table. Freddie would be kicked back in his chair like a lazy mess, and Remus and Tonks would be sitting together, hand in hand.

Except they weren't. They never would be again.

Just a little longer now. Wait it out.

"Your room is just as you left it," Mum said. She busied herself in the kitchen. It would be supper soon, and surely she'd drag all my brothers and my sister-in-law home to celebrate my return to sanity.

I nodded yet again.

Where were my words? Maybe I left them at St. Mungo's along with all the thoughts they attempted to make me give a voice to.

I walked to my little room on the landing at the foot of the stairs, dumping my bag to the floor unceremoniously, and sat on my bed. I flicked my wand and the door shut and locked. Another flick and my Little Bag flew into my hands – my real bag, the bag I needed and had been forced to leave here.

The Little Bag they didn't know I still had.

I opened it and removed the silver knife from my old potions kit. Charmed "to always remain sharp and to never rust". I pulled up the sleeve of my robe, then decided to remove the robe altogether.

Now you can do it. Now you can feel it again.

I just made a little cut, this time, inside my upper arm that no one could see but me. The blood was very red against my skin. A few drops ran down my arm, gathering in the crook of my elbow, covering the biggest scar like war paint.

And I felt it.

I felt it for the first time since I'd had my little slip and cut too deep and too fast, after we'd gotten the wedding announcement.

I felt it, and it was better than my first taste of Butterbeer in Hogsmeade and the first time Harry kissed me in the Room of Requirement put together.

I felt free. And open. And alive.