Chapter 1

"Happy Birthday, Harry."

Harry Potter wheeled around from his chair next to the window. His best friend Ron Weasley's little sister, Ginny, was standing in the doorway, her hands clasped behind her back. Her lightly freckled face looked calm and serene; her smile was demure.

"You do realize that you're missing your own party," she said cheerfully, when he didn't answer. Ginny came into the room, stepping gingerly over the various presents that Harry had left on the floor. He noticed that she was holding something behind her back.

"Sorry," he mumbled, turning away from her and staring at the window half-heartedly. "Just...tired, I guess."

Ginny came over and leaned against the windowsill, facing Harry. She sighed sympathetically. "I understand," she said softly, gently, almost in a maternal tone. "I won't bother you for long. I just wanted..."

"What? Wanted to tell me how much of a stupid, selfish git I am for missing my own party and pushing everybody away?" Harry burst out scathingly, knowing that Ginny was just about to lecture him, just like last year.

Ginny didn't look fazed by his outburst. She tucked a piece of stray red hair behind her ear nonchalantly. "No," she said earnestly, with such gentleness that Harry felt horribly guilty for blowing up at her. "I just wanted to give you your present."

Harry glanced up at her in surprise and chagrin. "I'm sorry, Ginny...you didn't have to...I've already got loads of presents..."

"Well, I already bought it for you, so shut up, Harry," Ginny rolled her eyes and held out a thin, rectangular thing wrapped beautifully in shiny paper with Snitches and broomsticks printed on it. Harry stared at it in disbelief. "Go on," she urged, "open it. It's not much, don't worry..."

Harry took the gift and ripped off the paper. A thin, leather-bound book fell out and onto his lap. Perplexed, he picked it up and turned it over. It had his initials embossed beautifully in gold lettering. Harry looked back up at Ginny, puzzled.

"It's a diary," she explained, smiling. "Or a journal, whatever you want to call it." Ginny leaned over and opened the book, showing him the blank, lined pages. Her red-gold hair fell over her face as she bent down, and Harry realized how pretty the color was up close.

"They sold them at this shop in Diagon Alley. I even got it personalized for you," Ginny added, beaming.

"Thanks," Harry said uncertainly.

"Well, I think it'll help you sort out your thoughts," Ginny continued brightly. "You can write anything, at any time, whenever you feel like it. It doesn't matter. You can even draw in it...no one's going to ever read it. At least, that's what I do with mine. It really helps me clear up my mind. Probably better than...oh, say, Occulmency?"

Ginny's brown eyes were sparkling with good-humor. Even Harry had to smile weakly. "Thanks," he repeated, this time meaning it with his whole heart. "I like it. Er...I'll be downstairs in a minute, okay?"

"Okay," Ginny said, patting his shoulder easily and bending down to pick up the discarded wrapping paper. "Happy birthday," she said again, smiling shyly before she left the room.

Harry looked back down at the diary in his lap. Thoughtfully, he opened his trunk and fished out his quill and inkwell. Flipping open the book to the first page, Harry paused, his quill loaded with ink. His heart beat fast and his stomach twisted strangely as he began writing.