The whole family was coming to pick her up. Her mother was blowing her nose in a handkerchief; her oldest brother arm in arm with her youngest brother and his girlfriend. Her favorite brother giving a small, seventeen year old boy a talk about what woman like. Her mother reprimand him, told him not to mess with his head.
Her father wasn't thinking of these things things, though. He was thinking about the first time she rode a broom. She was three and had already had to adjust her lifestyle to fit six older brothers. It had been Fred who had first taken her out on his Cleansweep. He hadn't even asked her mother or father - no, he had taken it upon himself, like some older brother lesson he had to teach his little sister. "You hold here, Ginny," he had told her, moving her tiny hands to the front of the broom. "I'll sit behind you the whole time." Then they had taken off. They had flown around the house three times before she wanted to ride it herself. "Oh no, silly," Fred at teased, tapping her nose sweetly, "Mom would kill me if something happened to you." It wasn't until later when Ginny had snuck out of the house and rode the broom herself that her father knew she was just as independent as her mother.
Her father was remembering when she was six and flooed for the first time. She was with her oldest brother Bill when she had decided to try this new trick out. "Now, Ginny," Bill had started when she had tried to get a hand full of floo powder and throw it in the fire, "you can't floo by yourself until you are older." Ginny had pouted and whined all day. When Bill had left that day to go off to Hogwarts, they had let Ginny sleep in. It was to her father's surprise that when they returned home, their little girl wasn't in her bed; she had tried her hand at flooing to the only other place she knew - Diagon Alley. Only she never made it there; she had fallen out of a fireplace in Knockturn Alley. Her parents had been frantic. When they found her they had been hysterical. But the first thing she said to them after being fiercely embraced by her mother was, "When do I get to try again." That was when her father knew she would be the most determined Weasley.
Her father was remembering when she was nine and went to work with him one day. It had been a particularly hectic day, definitely not one that a nine year old should be a part of. But Ginny had insisted on coming anyways; nothing her mother could say or do would change her mind. She had preformed some very strong accidental magic that day - every time her father had made a move to leave for work without her, Ginny would magically appear at his said with a smirk and the words, "Don't think you're leaving with out me." That was when her father know that she was the most stubborn girl he'd ever met.
Her father was remembering when she was eleven. It was her first year at Hogwarts; it was suppose to be her most exciting year ever, turned into her most horrifying. He remembered that it was 11:11 specifically when he'd gotten a distraught owl from one Percy Weasley saying that his only daughter had been taken into the Chamber of Secrets, and no one know if she was alive or not. It had been exactly 11:14 when he and his wife flooed to Hogwarts, and it had been exactly 11:16 when he had been told that his youngest son Ron and his best friend had gone in to save her. He remembered never feeling so lost, so hopeless. He might lose two of his children tonight. But then, only five minutes later, at 11:21, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Ginny Weasley had stumbled into the Teacher's Lounge, covered in blood, sweat, and grim. That was when her father knew she was the bravest girl he'd ever laid eyes on.
Her father was remembering when she was fourteen. He had just come home from Saint Mungo's. His wife was hysteric, his boys were frantic. But she was calm. Only three silent tears fell from her cheek; she was sporting a small smile. He was sitting on the lumpy, brown couch in the living room of Number Twelve when she had told him the story. Harry Potter had saved yet another Weasley. Even in his state he laughed at his daughters antics. Waving her hands when she spoke, getting really enthusiastic when a good part was coming up. It wasn't until later that night when he had asked her why she wasn't more worried about him, like her brother or mother. She had just grinned and said, "I knew you'd be okay." He had asked her why. "Because," she had started, looking away, "you're my dad. Nothing can happen to you." That was when her father knew that she was the strongest girl he'd ever know.
Her father was remembering when she was sixteen. She had just come home from Hogwarts, on Christmas break. Her eyes were black and her face covered in bloody scratches. But she did not cry. When her family had asked her what Hogwart's was like, she told them, holding back nothing. She told them about the Carrow's, and about their punishment. She told them about the DA, and how it had been started during her fourth year. She told them about Severus Snape as her headmaster, and how Neville Longbottom and her had started a resistance against him. She told them about the detentions, and how much it hurt. She told them that her best friend Luna Lovegood had been taken. She told them that Neville hadn't given up on Harry Potter; she told them that no one had. She told them that she was going to go back, that she was going to go back and protect the first and second years from the wrath of the Carrow's and Headmaster Snape. That was when her father knew that she was toughest girl he knew.
He remembered watching her fight when the war plagued Hogwarts. He remembered watching her sneak out of the Room of Requirements, not being able to stop her because he knew that anything he said wouldn't work. He remembered watching the vengeance in her eyes when she saw her brother fall to the ground, dead. He remembered the look on her face when Hagrid carried in a deceased Harry Potter; he had seen the look of utter misery when Voldemort had talked of Harry running away; he had seen the look of the upmost hate when she realized he was lying. He remembered that one Harry Potter defeating Voldemort. He remembered watching him look for his little girl - the little girl that had flown a broom by herself at age three, the little girl that had been stubborn enough to get her father to bring her to work - but to Harry, she wasn't his little girl, she was his life. That was when her father knew that she wasn't a little girl anymore.
And now, he remembered a red haired girl jumping off the Hogwarts Express with a smile plastered to her face - a smile that her father hadn't seen in a while now. He remembered her hugging her friends goodbye before running towards her family. But it wasn't her family who she would been anxious to see. It would be the young man before him with the look of total happiness on his face - with a look on his face that one Arthur Weasley had once had on his face before. She would not run into her family's waiting arms; she would cry, "Harry!" before wrapping her arms around his neck. She wouldn't know but her father would her hear whisper, "I missed you." Harry was mutter something back. Then she would jump into her father's unexpecting arms. "I love you," she would say. I know, her father would answer. Then she would leave her father's arms once more to hold on to her real love. That was when her father knew that she wasn't his anymore. That was when her father realized that he had to let her go.