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Sunday afternoon, my room still (because I’m never ever leaving, now more than ever), 4:30 p.m. Bloody. Sodding. Hell. If I thought that I was embarrassed before…well. That was nothing. You hear me? Nothing. Not compared to what happened just a few minutes ago. Bloody hell…I am going to kill Hermione Granger. KILL HER. “Ginny?” It was Hermione’s voice. I, being the good friend that I am, yelled back, “What do you want, Hermione?” There was a pause, where I can only assume Hermione did her darndest not to make some sarcastic comment, and then she replied, “Ginny, can you come out here and talk to me for a sec?” “Um. That would be a no. In case you haven’t realized, I am barricading myself in my room until I’m either taken by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named or die. Which ever happens first; I’m not too partial.” Which was rather witty, if I do say so myself. But anyway. “Ginny, you’re being ridiculous. Just come out and talk to me. Why the big fuss?” I heaved a huge sigh of impatience. “Because, Hermione, I happen to be going through a very traumatic point in my life right now. So if you’ll please just leave me alone, I’d much appreciate it.” Another silence. “Why does it matter so much if you don’t like Harry?” Oooo, that little wench. I can’t believe she’d say that, especially since…well, you’ll see. I let out a snarl. “Well – because – I mean – of course it – it’s not like I –” I let out an angry sigh. “Because, Hermione, I may not be totally and completely over Harry. Okay? I mean, no, I am not in love with him – ” Yes I am. That part was just to save some dignity. “- But I may have a little itty crush on him still. All right? Fine? Are you happy now?” Another pause. A really, really long pause. “…But I thought you’ve been saying that you were over him,” Hermione’s choked voice said from the hallway. I snorted. “Yes, because you’d want to admit that sort of thing to your brother about his best friend. I mean, not only would Ron eat me alive, he is also completely untrustworthy. And not to mention he’d spontaneously combust, like he almost did with Michael.” Someone started to splutter, but then there was silence. This was a bid odd. “Furthermore, it was for the general health of Mr. Potter himself. You heard what Fred and George threatened to do to Michael and Dean. Oh, which brings me to another point: I have a boyfriend! And he’s not Harry! And therefore, I really don’t think I should be openly admitting having a crush on anyone but said boyfriend.” A really, really, really long, uncomfortable pause. “What?” I snapped. “You asked.” And then it happened. Something so horrible I could die. I got sick of the long, uncomfortable pause and flung open the door to berate Hermione some more. Except that she wasn’t alone. My entire family, plus Harry, was standing there, staring at me like I was just in from the zoo. I stood there for a moment, faintly managed an, “Oh, hullo Harry,” and then promptly fainted. Note To Self: Never, ever speak to anyone through a door. You never know who might be lurking. I hate Hermione Granger. I am so going to tell Ron that she likes him. Sunday night, haven’t left room, 6:15 p.m. Oooo, I’m hungry. And I can smell the food from downstairs. Wafting up here…oh, that family is evil. Evil. I’m disowning all of them and am simply going to remain locked in this room until I die. That’ll show ’em. Hmph. What is this? A plate of food has just appeared. Under my door. I didn’t know my door was that high from the ground. …Oh, sweet saint, whoever you are, thank you! (I suspect George or Fred. They wouldn’t let me starve; they need me to keep Hermione from seeing their antics at school.) I am going to go get that plate. Lovely chicken tonight…mmm. Oh, hell, I just got a stain on this page. Ah, well. I’ll simply have to write around it. Anyway. There seems to be a note on the bottom of this. Perhaps an apology from Hermione? Oh. No apology. Ginny- Eat and then please, please open the door so we can talk. -Harry Sodding Hell. I shall reply. Harry- Sod off. -Ginny. There. Nice, polite…hem, hem… A small laugh of amusement. Ginny- Not until you open the door. I swear I’ll sit here until I learn to apparate and can just go in that way. -Harry Oh, that sod! I am going to kill him… Harry- Have fun waiting, then. -Ginny Hah. Take that, Potter. How dare you try and get me to come out of my hideout! Hmmm? Ginny- Shut up and get out here. You can’t avoid me forever. -Harry Harry- Watch me. -Ginny P.S. Sod off, you prick. I’m trying to eat, here. Ginny- Hey, I brought you the food in the first place. And I can always get your Mum or Dad – or Fred and George—to apparate in there and let me in. Might as well do it yourself. -Harry Harry- Go get them then, you git. I am not opening this door and I WILL not open this door until I am either Avada Kedavra’d by an angry Voldemortian or wilt away. I have no preference. -Ginny Ginny- Don’t joke around about that sort of thing, Gin. I’m going to go get Fred and George. -Harry “Harry, wait!” He can’t go get F and G. They’ll make this a living hell. They really, really will. “Yes?” His voice all sweet and boyish…I hate him. I hate him I hate him I hate him. “Wait a second and I’ll open the ruddy door.” Sunday night (later still), the living room (yes! Freedom is mine!), 12:30 midnight You want to know what happened, don’t you? Well, I won’t tell you. No way. If this ends up in the hands of someone unworthy… Okay, fine. If you insist. So I opened the door, and he was leaning on the doorframe with eyebrows raised. “Still terrified of Forge and Gred, are we?” He asked, smirking. I glared at him. “No, but they would make the situation that much worse. And I would really rather leave the worse-bit out.” He nodded in agreement. “Um.” He began. “So.” I waited. I had no intention of making this any easier on him. He wanted me to open the door, I opened the door. “I…you have a boyfriend.” “Well, no kidding. Brilliant observation.” He cleared his throat. “I thought you didn’t like me anymore.” “Again, I am amazed at your ability to state the obvious.” He sighed. “Ginny, would you mind not being quite so hostile?” I just glared and folded my arms across my chest. He sighed again, running his amazing, Quidditch hands through his hair… NO! BAD, BAD GINNY! “Look, Gin. You barely know me.” I stared. And stared some more. And then I laughed. Harshly. Not amused. “Are you kidding?” I asked, and he shook his head, bewildered. I laughed again. “Oh, sod off, Potter,” I said then. “You, Ron, and Hermione are attached at the hip. You stay at my house every summer. You’re the Boy-Who-Lived. Hermione is one of my best friends. It is physically impossible for me barely know you.” He raised an eyebrow. “Fine, then. What’s my favorite color?” “Green, because it was the color of your mum’s eyes.” He looked a little shaken. “Favorite food?” “Chicken. Like Mum made tonight. With mashed potatoes.” Desperate now. “Favorite possession?” “Don’t be stupid, Harry, your Firebolt.” He stared at me for a minute, and then managed to croak out, “That’s a little frightening.” I smirked at him, countering, “Like I said. Sod off.” “Gin…I don’t know what to say.” I glared at him, no longer amused at all. “No? Well, you’d better figure it out because I’m shutting the door again in about fifteen seconds.” He stared helplessly at me, at a loss for words. Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen twelve… Still silence. Eleven, ten, nine, eight, seven… More silence. Six, five, four, three, two… “One. Time’s up. Goodnight, Harry.” I slammed the door in his face. Serves him right. Monday morning, my room (once more…am I destined to wilt away in here? Why won’t Mum come in and drag me out? What do they expect—for me to be mature and come out on my own? I mean, really. Don’t they know when to treat me like a whiny little kid? Obviously, at all other times I want them to treat me as the responsible adult that I obviously am. However, certain circumstances call for certain measures. So. Ron, Mum, Dad…I’m waiting. And don’t you even THINK about trying to drag me out of here. This is my life, okay? Mine! I’m not some whiny little kid anymore!), 9:30 a.m. My stomach is positively empty. I snuck downstairs last night to grab a bite to eat—after the whole Harry-Me affair (oooh, Merlin, don’t make me think about it) but I’m still famished. I don’t believe I’ve eaten since I woke up this morning, at about nine. A half hour, and no food. Argh. No one’s even come up to ask if I want something! What sort of a family are they? I mean, really. Don’t they care if I starve? I’ll lose weight this way, though. I mean, not that I really need to, but a few pounds can’t hurt… OH MY SWEET MERLIN! I’VE BECOME ANOREXIC! OH GODS OH GODS OH GODS! I HAVE TO GO EAT! I HAVE TO BREAK MYSELF OF THIS HORRIBLE DISEASE! Monday morning (still), linen closet, 9:40 a.m. That was horrific. Why is my life like this? Why can’t I just be normal? Why does all this horrendous stuff happen to me? So, when I last left you, I was in the beginning of breaking myself of being an anorexic. I’ve done so marvelously. However… I tore down the steps and into the kitchen, forgetting that I was never leaving my room in to be in my family’s presence again, reached into the nearest cupboard and brought out some muggle snack foods that Hermione had bought. A pope-tark, I think she called it. I reached in, grabbed it, tore it open and put a piece in my mouth. Satisfied that I was not no longer an anorexic, as I really, really wanted to eat it, I heaved a sigh of relief and brought my eyes from the food. My entire family, including Bill, Charlie (When did they get here? How dare they not come see me!), Harry, and Hermione, were sitting at the table, staring at me as though I was some sort of animal. “I was hungry,” I snapped. “I haven’t eaten in days.” I inconspicuously grabbed one of the pope-tarks out of the package and pocketed it for later. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going back to my room.” Hermione stood up and came after me as I flounced out. “Ginny—wait!” I didn’t. So now I am upstairs while she’s knocking. And won’t stop. “What do you want, Hermione?” I am asking. “I’m not going to speak to you through this door. In case you haven’t forgotten, people tend to be lurking outside that I am unaware of.” She is sighing. Why is she sighing? What right does she have to be sighing? “Gin, I’m sorry,” she replies. “I really, really am. Will you come out and talk to me?” “No.” “Ginny. Stop acting like a child and come out here.” “Bite me.” A shocked pause. “Ginny!” Well, deal with it. If you can’t handle the big words, bummer for you. I have better things to do than sit here and listen to you speak. Hmph. “Yes, Hermione?” I am replying sweetly. “Is there something you’d like to say?” She is sighing and I hear her walk away. Good. But maybe I’ll just go take a peek to make sure. Oh, bugger. I hate her. I hate her I hate her I hate her I hate her. She did it again! Ron, Fred, George, Bill, and Charlie—the ENTIRETY OF MY SIBLINGS—was out there with her! The whole time! I am going to KILL HER. Next time I see Ron, her secret is so out. They were laughing! I poked my head out and they were leaning against the walls, laughing! As though it was funny that I told her off! Well! They are barbarians, the lot of them. “’Atta girl, Gin,” Charlie said appreciatively. “A Weasley never lets their enemies go without a fight.” “Way to go, Red!” George congratulated. “Hermione went all—” “Red on you!” Fred continued. They burst into hysterical laughter. Like it was funny. “You’re amazing, little sis.” Well they, at least, are forgiven. “You’re my favorite sibling,” Bill confided, much to everyone else’s annoyance. “Love you, Gin.” And finally, Ron spluttered, “That was amazing, Gin-Gin—she looks really pretty when she’s angry, don’t you think?” Gods, he is so tactless. Why on Earth does Hermione fancy him? I mean, sure, I can see why he fancies her, but not the other way around. Ewww, I just realized—they’d snog! Oh, gross! Ron and Hermione? Snogging? Oh merciful Merlin what would be horrific. Ew, ew, ew, thanks for the visual, Ginny. Gross. Of course, I wouldn’t mind snogging with Harry… NO. YES, I WOULD MIND. I. AM. OVER. HARRY. POTTER. Especially after his botched up little ‘talk’ last night, which accomplished nothing. “No, Ron,” I snapped. “I think Hermione is the root of all evil, if you really want my opinion, and I don’t know why you fancy her.” He stared at me, all red, and sort of mumbled something that sounded like, ‘Well, we all make mistakes’, which I chose to overlook, because I’m an incredibly nice person. Most of the time. Because I did see Hermione all red-eyed a just now, on her way to the bathroom. Which is sad. It makes me feel badly. I suppose I’ll go apologize. Monday afternoon, living room (Hah! Finally!), 1:00 p.m. Well, I sorted things out with Hermione. She was in the bathroom crying, and I knocked on the door to be sure she was okay. She sort of sniffled a bit and said that yes, she was, and I told her she sucked at lying. She burst into tears. “I’m sorry, Ginny,” she sobbed through the bathroom door. “I r-really thought that you w-were over H-Harry and that it w-w-would just p-prove to everyone th-that you were b-because I know they didn’t b-b-b-believe you!” She started crying even harder, which I simply couldn’t have. I hate it when women cry. Damned nuisance. “It’s alright, Hermione,” I soothed through the locked door. “It was just embarrassing.” “S-So you’re not m-mad?” She asked, her voice all hopeful. Well, I couldn’t say no to that, now could I? “Of course not!” I told her, as though it were silly to think so. Which it most certainly was not, but nonetheless. “Really, I’m not.” She flung open the door and threw herself onto me. “Oh, G-G-Ginny!” She sobbed, squeezing me so hard I couldn’t breathe. “You’re the b-best!” And she didn’t stop hugging me for several minutes when she pulled back, wiping her eyes and smiling broadly. She looks much prettier when she smiles. Not as good as— No, no, I won’t write it. Good job, Ginny. “If you ever want…help…with anything…I’m here, okay?” She asked. I nodded with a big, fake smile. She grinned and gave me another bone-crushing hug and dashed off to fix her face. I made a face after her. “You’re the best!” She repeated as she stepped into ‘her’ room. “Yeah, yeah, and don’t you forget it,” I muttered. There was chuckling behind me and I turned around slowly, dreading the face that would meet me in only a few moments. “Ah.” I scowled. “Harry.” He was still chuckling, despite my coldness. He pulled a very, very good sad face and burst into fake tears. I didn’t know he could do that. “I’m sorry, Ginny!” He cried, doing as surprisingly accurate impression of Hermione. I stared at him, the corners of my mouth twitching. “Mmmm,” I told him, not trusting myself not to laugh. “S-So you’re not m-mad?” He asked, looking up at me with big, puppy eyes. I glared at him for a moment and then threw my hands in the air. “Oh, what the hell,” I said with a grin. “No.” “Oh, Ginny!” He wailed, flinging himself onto me. And can I just say: woah. I mean, that was a major, major freeze-up moment. Harry Potter was hugging me. Me! In a bone-crushing, non-brotherly hug! Needless to say, my attempt at holding back a smile failed utterly. “You’re the best!” He repeated. I tentatively returned his hug, and he didn’t break it. I began to wonder what would happen if Forge or Gred entered the room. Oh, dear. “And don’t you forget it, bucko,” I said as I pulled back. (I didn’t want to, but otherwise he might feel awkward. So did it for him, really. I really am too damn nice.) He chuckled again, shoving his hands in his pockets. “That was nice of you,” he said seriously. “To help Hermione like that.” Sigh. It always comes back to her with them, doesn’t it? Ah, well. That’s life, I suppose. “She’d have been devastated if you didn’t forgive her.” I smirked at him. “Well, we’re forgetting that I am the best, are we not?” He laughed. “Never for an instant,” he replied, his smirk matching my own. I realized very suddenly that we were still really close. Inches away, actually. And he was smiling. At me. You know, as in a small smile playing on his lips. If I had an ounce of less self control than I currently possess I would have snogged it off of him. Instead, I stepped away. He cocked his head, confused. “I…um…” A good excuse was not currently presenting itself, so I just smiled impudently. “See you later, Harry.” I turned and flounced into the living room, where I proceeded to write down the incident. Hmm. Perhaps I ought to change the title from, “The Un-Possessive Diary Of Ginny Weasley” to “Incidents With The Coveted Harry Potter”. No…something tells me that this would not bode well with the brothers. It would be funny, actually. If they threatened to castrate him. I can just imagine his face…no, no. That would mean we would have to kiss. And I am not thinking about that. I don’t want it at all, no sir… Gods, Harry, can’t you see I’m your soulmate? For the love of Merlin, man, you’re dense!

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