Author's Note: I do not and never will own Harry Potter.
Written for the Occasion-a-Day Competition/Challenge. September 22 Prompt: Your fic must be entirely composed of diary entries.
Warning for suicide mention
Dear Diary,
It feels scary to write in a diary again. But my Healer at St. Mungo's wanted me to try. This is a Muggle journal. I've done every type of revealing spell I know on it, my parents have done more, and even my Healer threw a couple spells at it. It's a perfectly ordinary notebook I'm writing in. It has a blue cover and flowers printed on the front. There's a ribbon for a bookmark. It doesn't have a lock, but that's what privacy charms are for. Only my Healer and I can read it. She said it would be okay if it was just me, but I don't feel comfortable keeping secrets.
It's been a year since the Chamber. I don't really remember my first year at Hogwarts to be honest. They almost held me back for that. But Mum told them off, because someone should have noticed sooner that something was wrong. She knew something was off, but she and Dad thought it was just homesickness and getting used to school. All my brothers feel awful still. It's so awkward. Percy made me an apology card last summer. It had a paper heart that wept glitter. I have it on my dresser, though, because it's the thought that counts, isn't it?
I never think about Him. Or talk about Him. My Healer (her name is Myria, by the way, I love it) says that I need to try soon. It's important to face up to it, she says. I know that she's right. But avoidance has been working so well so far, hasn't it? (That is sarcasm, Diary.)
Mum says it's time for dinner, so I think I'll wrap up this entry.
-Ginny
Dear Diary,
It's been two weeks since I wrote in you last. I'm glad that there aren't any replies somehow. I worried about that. I worried I'd black out again. Sometimes I feel like my clothes are dripping with paint, or that I'm so cold, I can't move. Sometimes I dream about a giant snake. You can't look in its eyes or you'll die.
Myria says that if I want her to, she can reply in her own notebook. She won't ever write in this one, though. She promised. I almost wanted to ask her to make an Unbreakable Vow, but that's not fair. Besides, I trust her.
School starts in a couple of months. It will be my third year. I'm kind of scared to go. I thought this past year would be the worst, but it wasn't. I just felt really empty all the time. That's why I ended up going to see Myria to begin with. Fred found me on the North Tower. I don't know how I even got up there. I was going to jump apparently. Myria says it was probably dissociation. That's scary, isn't it? To think that you could kill yourself and not even know what you were doing.
There's a lot of stuff I don't remember doing. At least that was because of me. Nobody else understands that. I think Harry might, but he doesn't like talking about You Know Who. He gets this really haunted look in his eyes. I don't think he even realises that it's there. I don't think anybody does. Except me. I know what it's like.
I don't want to talk about this anymore. I'll write later.
-Ginny
Dear Diary,
I think I've been avoiding you. Fred and George started writing notes in green ink and leaving them on my desk. They were really silly, of course, but I had a panic attack and ripped them up and burst into tears and I almost had to be taken to St. Mungo's over it. Mum made them apologise loads (they would have anyway, the twins can be cruel, but they're my brothers, you know, they aren't bad), but it was so humiliating. I cried myself to sleep for a week.
Myria says that I have a lot of unresolved emotions about everything. Of course I do. The Dark Lord used my body like a puppet for a year. Even that! Calling him that! Everyone else calls him You Know Who, only his followers ever seem to call him the Dark Lord. Everyone reassures me that I'm not Dark, but I feel like it. I feel dirty. He knows all of my thoughts. My emotions. My dreams. My memories.
The Headmaster said that You Know Who as he is now doesn't. Because his school-year self was destroyed with the basilisk fang. But that doesn't matter and nobody else seems to get that. I feel like a monster stirred around my brain, and now I don't know right from wrong. It's terrifying, Diary.
Mum asked if you had a name. I won't give you one. Diary is safe. If you had a name, then maybe you have a brain somewhere. And I can't take that chance.
-Ginny
Dear Diary,
I was going to write something nice in here because we went to the Quidditch World Cup. And the match was brilliant, don't get me wrong. I can't believe Ireland won. Viktor Krum caught the Snitch, Ron adores him, though he won't admit it.
But after the match, His followers marched. And His mark was shot into the sky. It's a skull with a snake in it. I feel so sick, I can't speak. I'm sorry. I'll try to write more later, but I just can't right now.
-Ginny
Dear Diary,
School starts next week. I don't know what I'm going to do. I can see Myria once a week, but it's going to be really nerve-wracking, taking the Floo. Professor McGonagall said that she'll escort me every time at least. I don't know if I can write in you once school starts. My year-mates are a bit nervy about me writing in notebooks now. And I don't want to talk about therapy. It sounds so Muggle. And like I'm broken.
I'll try to though. I think it's been helping. It's nice knowing that you aren't going to talk back. Myria talks out loud about some of it, and writes in her own notebook and lets me see it, but that's not the same. I've been having fewer nightmares, too, even after the World Cup.
Last night's was pretty awful, though. I was looking in the mirror and suddenly my eyes were like the basilisk's eyes and I looked evil. I looked like he must have looked, and I shrieked so loud I woke up, and everyone else came running. That was embarrassing. I nearly wet the bed, too, and Diary, it has been years since I did that. I don't know why I admitted that, but I'm writing in ink, so I guess it's there to stay, unless I want to blot it out. And then Myria will ask why. Oh well.
Luna Lovegood is coming over tomorrow. It's funny, Diary, because everyone else calls her Loony and acts like she's mental, you know, and she acts like it doesn't bother her at all, but I can tell it does. I already started hexing people last year, but they were secret hexes? This year, I won't hide it. I tried telling Professor Flitwick last year, too, but he said unless she tells him, he can't do anything. How ridiculous is that? No wonder nobody noticed I was being controlled by Voldemort.
...That's the first time I've ever written or said his name since it happened, Diary. Make a note of that. Not that you can. But that's not the point.
-Ginny
Dear Diary,
Sorry, this is going to be so rushed. I'm writing this while sat in the girls' toilet. It's very awkward balancing this and trying to write quietly, but I don't want anybody else to hear.
Hogwarts is going to be host to the Triwizard Tournament this year. It's really dangerous, that's why it's been banned for ages. Nobody under seventeen can enter, but I know Fred and George will try anyway.
I'm afraid it's going to be wrecked by Voldemort, but I already know what Myria is going to say. I can't worry about that. I can only handle myself and the present. It's funny because it's like I can hear her voice in my head, but I'm not scared by it. Maybe because it's not really there. Or because she's never hurt me. Or both?
I've got to see her in a few minutes, Professor McGonagall didn't forget. It's before dinner, so hopefully no one will miss me.
I think I'm getting better, Diary. I really do.
-Ginny