The Summer After

potterfreak16

Disclaimer: As much as I wish I could say Harry Potter sprung up from my own imagination, I can't. JK Rowling is the mastermind behind this phenomenal series, so all of the credit is bestowed upon her. Thank you, Jo, for creating these characters, especially Ginny Weasley, since everyone knows she is my alter-ago. ;)

A/N: So, I've been growing tired of writing non-HP stuff lately, which is partly why I decided to write this. This will be a short series written in the viewpoints of Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny. Each chapter will offer new journal entries from one of the four characters. The inspiration for this story comes from my favorite gossip buddy hopewashere04 and her brilliant story A Daring Granger. I'm officially in love with that story, and I bet after reading it you'll be too. Hopefully you'll like this story, though, even if it doesn't even compare to Laurie's. :)

Chapter One: Harry – Pathetic, Aren't I?

16th June, 7:12 PM

I could be – should be, actually – at the Burrow right now with Ron and the rest of the Weasleys, but instead I'm still at the Dursleys', waiting for the git known as my best mate to get here. Another minute in this place and I may just go mad.

I've already been driven by my depleting sanity to write in this...well, I don't know exactly what to call it, really. Diary sounds too feminine, and Ginny would have my head if she caught wind of me referring to this...thing...as such. Damn. There I go again, thinking about her. Even if it was only to imagine her reaction to me keeping a diary that isn't really a diary at all. More like a book of yellowed parchment, really.

Right, Potter. From this moment on, all thoughts of Ginny Weasley and her soft hair and warm eyes will stop. I'm putting my bloody foot down. Besides, I've got more important things to worry about. Like destroying pieces of Voldemort's soul.

At this point, though, I think it'll be easier to find and destroy the Horcruxes than it will be to stop thinking of Ginny, and that smile she wore at Dumbledore's funeral as I started to break things off with her.

STOP IT, POTTER.

I'm pathetic, aren't I? If you weren't a tattered notebook, I'd imagine you'd say yes.

I think a subject change is in order. I really must be going mad if I'm having made up conversations with a notebook.

Let's see...what do I have to complain about? Loads, if you want the truth. And I guess that's what your purpose is, for my words of anger and resentment and cynicism to be written onto your pages. Unfortunately, I don't complain. Not usually, anyway. And especially not in a notebook or journal or whatever you are.

That's because Harry Potter, the ruddy Boy-Who-Lived, doesn't have time to grieve or think or even feel most of the time. He's too preoccupied with saving the world, because as most everyone knows, that's all he's good for. Because it won't really matter if he dies trying, will it? As long as Voldemort's gone, that's all that'll matter. That's all they'll care about. And they wonder why he's bitter.

Ron had better get his arse here soon, or else I may keep talking about myself in the third person in incoherent tones.

I just reread that sentence. Incoherent? Since when have I said that? I'm telling you, I'm going mad sitting in this house. That and the fact that I haven't gotten a proper night's sleep in what feels like ages. I'm beginning to sound like Hermione, using all of these big words.

And speaking of Hermione, I haven't heard from her since...well, the funeral. I expect she's been busy, but it's still strange for her not to write. I've gone entire summers with only one letter from Ron, but never once have I failed to receive less than a dozen from Hermione. Maybe it's better this way, though. All she'd do is ask me how I was feeling, anyway, and I'd really rather not talk about that, even if she is my best friend.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm not ready to talk about everything that's happened. I'm not ready to talk to Ron and Hermione about the cave and what happened while Dumbledore and I were inside of it. I'm not ready to discuss the details of the events that transpired on the Astronomy Tower, or the way I watched in silent horror as everything played out before me, as if I were watching a Muggle movie. I'm not ready to talk about Ginny or the look on her face when I told her what I had to do, or the understanding that shone in her eyes that I wish hadn't been there, because maybe then it would be easier to let her go.

I'm not ready to leave Hogwarts behind me and embark on the journey to find the missing Horcruxes. I'm not ready to face the imminent danger that lies ahead of me. I'm not ready to fulfill my destiny as The Boy-Who-Lived, to destroy Voldemort once and for all. I'm not ready for any of it.

But it doesn't matter if I'm ready or not. The world doesn't have time for an unprepared hero.

Still 16th June, 11:07 PM

I am officially the biggest prat the world has ever known.

I just bumped into Ginny on the staircase, and instead of apologizing or even speaking to her, I did this weird nervous thing with my hands and sort of dashed up the stairs. I cringe to think of what her opinion of me is now. Bad enough the git breaks up with me, but then he doesn't even have the decency to apologize after nearly knocking me down the stairs?

I wish I wasn't so bloody nervous around her. No, I suppose nervous isn't the word. More like terrified. I don't trust myself around her. I know that if I'm in her presence for too long, I'll end up snogging her senseless, which will defeat the entire purpose of why I ended things with her to begin with.

Although, I must admit, a good snog with her sounds excellent right about now.

Wait a second. Why am I even writing in this thing?

I make a prat of myself and the first thing I do is scribble the experience down in a bloody journal. At this rate, I'll have this entire thing filled by summer's end.

Let's just hope it doesn't come to that.