August 29,1997 – 2:10am – My Bedroom.

Can't sleep, so I decided I would start writing in this journal. Haven't used a journal since first year, and well, that resulted in quite the fiasco. I still have a bit of a phobia; I'm half-expecting to see these words dribble through the page and some mystery person's response to appear. But my dear brother Charlie sent this as a birthday gift, so I imagine it's safe.

I have been sixteen since August 11th. I woke up that morning at around ten and wandered downstairs for a bite to eat, and much to my surprise, I was greeted with a thundering "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, GINNY!"

It was so completely unexpected that I was literally blown backwards. Just my luck that I slipped on the cat, careened backwards into a bookcase and fell abruptly on my rear in front of my whole family and many of my friends. And Harry. Merlin, in front of Harry Potter. I've always fancied him just a bit. He had been staying with us in the Burrow for the last month of the summer holiday, and I'd gotten to know him better. I like to think that we're mates now. But that certainly wasn't enough to keep me from utter embarrassment over my blundering entrance. I'm positive my face was a few shades darker than a ripe tomato.

It was Harry and Luna that helped me to my feet. I laughed nervously and thanked them.

The rest of the day was pleasant enough. No more minor catastrophies, to my relief. A bunch of us played Quidditch for most of the afternoon. Me, my brothers, Harry, and Angelina Johnson, Fred's girlfriend.

We were all sweaty and starving by suppertime. The lot of us ate outside since it was so warm. Received several nice gifts: new clothes, loads of sweets, new books, and of course, this journal.

As it got darker, we played several rounds of Exploding Snap by lantern-light. The sun was sinking and the stars emerged, set like diamonds in the navy velvet of the night sky.

I was beginning to feel drowsy when George announced that he and Fred had one last surprise.

Within minutes, the still air was pierced by the whistles and bangs of a spectacular fireworks display. My brothers' Wildfire Whiz-Bangs, no doubt. I was lying on the grass beside Harry, watching yellow and blue dragons slither across the sky between crackling sparks of all colors and excited, red butterflies doing loop-de-loops.

I heard Harry whispering things like "Brilliant" and "Wicked" every so often. I glanced at him; he was staring intently at the attraction above us, wide-eyed and beaming, his thin lips slightly parted. It was adorable how entranced he was. The colors of the great light show were reflected in the round panes of his glasses. Even in the near-darkness, I could see the intense green of his eyes shining with excitement like that of an eager child.

But he is not a child.

He's a young man of seventeen. I am only just sixteen, and will forever be his "best mate's little sister".

I don't really mind. We've gotten to know each other a little better this summer, and for that I am grateful. My crush has never been more than admiration from afar. Admiration of his courage; admiration of the way he handles his hardships, which are by no means few and far between.

I'm younger than he is. I'm the Little Sister. That's how it is, and I can't change it. So therefore, I have no intention of pursuing Harry, no intention of chasing after a tiny crush that will probably fizzle out in due time.

It's just... I've known him for so long. He's accomplished astounding things, feats I truly look up to him for. And I'm glad we've become friends. Even if we're not close friends, there's something about the little that we have that intrigues me. I want more. I'd like to discover who he really is.

But what are we now? We're friends. Mates. That's all we are, nothing more.

Getting sleepy now. Cannot wait to return to Hogwarts in a few days.

Until next time,
Ginny

/

September 7th – 9:25pm – Gryffindor Common Room.

I've safety arrived at Hogwarts and have survived my first week of classes.

The train ride was eventful. That is, as far as train rides go.

Harry, Luna, Neville and I found a compartment together. Ron and Hermione had to sit with the other Prefects. Luna and I shared one side of the compartment and Harry and Neville were across from us. Neville was tending to a potted plant with little green hands protruding from the wriggling stalk. Neville's good with plants; I hear Herbology is his best subject.

Harry and I had a short conversation. It went something like this.

"Think we can nab the Quidditch Cup again this year, Ginny?" he asked.

I looked up from The Daily Prophet. Harry was looking me square in the face, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. I returned his gaze for a moment, but could not keep it. He has the kind of stare that penetrates deeply; I can never meet him eye to eye for a prolonged amount of time. Sounds ridiculous, but I feel like he's reading my mind. I think, 'If I look back at him for too long, I'll be left with a flaming hole in my forehead.'

"Absolutely, as long as you're our Seeker," I replied, pretending to survey something enthralling outside the window.

I snuck a peek at his face. Again, with the stare. It wasn't even really a stare, because it was perfectly polite. It wasn't like he was trying to harass me with his eyes. He can't help it that he has the brightest, most striking, positively fascinating but somewhat scary gaze in all of Britain.

"Ah, the House Team would be nothing without your Chasing skills."

I blushed profusely at this compliment.

"Erm, I-I, ah... Thanks, Harry."

At that moment, the compartment door slid open. It was none other than Draco Malfoy. Except he looked different. Crabbe and Goyle, his two troll-like lapdogs, were nowhere in sight.

"What do you want?" Harry and Luna barked simultaneously.

"Don't get all huffy now. Potter, Luna."

Draco nodded to each of them as he said their names.

"No need to cause trouble. I'm only looking for The Daily Prophet."

I cleared my throat rather passively and pulled out my copy of the Wizarding newspaper.

"Here," I said meekly, offering Draco the paper without really looking at him.

I've never quite known what to make of Draco. Ron and Harry despise him, and I'm sure they have their reasons, but the two don't often talk about it. Not in front of me, at least. I've had a few encounters with him, none entirely pleasant, but my feelings toward him are far from hatred.

He walks around with that half-sneer, half-smile and gives off this vibe of complete confidence. Cockiness. At the same time, when I look at him, I wonder, "What's he hiding?"

There was a brief silence followed by a moment of extreme discomfort when I realized all four of them were regarding me with interest.

I glimpsed at Harry, who wore a curious expression I could not decipher, and then peered up at Draco.

The corners of his mouth curved up slightly as he reached for the newspaper. He had grown taller since last year, standing at perhaps six feet. He rested casually against the open compartment door, leaning on it with his forearm.

My eyes flicked to his hand as he took the paper from me and placed it smoothly into the breast pocket of his dark green robe. It was large and lined with thick veins just beneath the skin that traveled over his knuckles, across the back of his hand and disappeared into his sleeve like a cluster of rivers flowing toward a sea that existed farther up his arm. Long fingers. Strong hands.

I studied his face once more and noticed his sharp, prominent jawline and defined cheekbones. These angular lines severely contrasted Harry's round face and soft features.

Draco had grown out his hair over the summer. It was shoulder-length and still a remarkable white-blonde that had always been noticeable in a crowd.

And then, his eyes.

I must have an eye fetish or something.

They reminded me of a storm. Grey, like a thundercloud. I could almost feel the electricity that seemed to pulse through them. The grey was streaked with tiny spikes of light blue like a clear sky fighting to remain seen.

His irises were stunning like Harry's, but in a different way. I was not afraid to look fixedly back at him. We bore into each other, a silent contest of who avert their stare first. It lasted perhaps three or four seconds, but time was slowed, and it felt like an eternity.

I lost our secret competition.

His tiny smile grew at this.

"Thanks, Ginny."

And then he was gone.

Until next time,
Ginny