A/N This story was written in 2003 in between books 4 and 5 coming out. It's a series of 7 short stories told from Ginny and Harry's point of view.

Chapter 1: A Strangers Gift

'Come on Ginny,' muttered Ron impatiently at my side.

"Ron give me a chance I've got loads of books to buy this year,' I told him, frowning slightly as I wondered how I was supposed to buy 8 new books with only 12 Galleons.

'We've been here for ages, come on I want to check out Quality Quidditch Supplies before we meet mum,' said Ron, rolling his eyes at me as I checked her book list again.

'Well you go to the Quidditch store, you can go off on your own you know. Leave me here,' I snapped getting impatient with Ron.

He'd been in a bad mood ever since the owl from Dumbledore had come back, telling us Harry couldn't stay with us at all during the summer holiday. Owls were arriving from Harry every few days and I could tell they were highly suspicious to Ron. Harry completely skirted the subject of Hogwarts, the rejection by Dumbledore and even refrained from badmouthing the Dursley's in any way.

I was taking three times longer than usual this shopping trip, because my mind is so preoccupied. I had managed a sneaky look at some of Harry's letters, and not one of them gave any mention to what happened at the end of last year. My stomach always gives an unpleasant lurch when I remembered what happened on June the 24th.

I was sitting in the stands with my mum, Bill, Ron, Fred and George when the task began. I had forgot all pretence of trying to hide my crush of Harry, and was screaming and shouting with the rest of the crowd as he made his way for the glittering cup in the centre of the maze. I shrieked with the rest of the crowd as I saw him face the boggart dementor, gasped when he came face to face with one of Hagrid's Blast Ended Skrewts, and screamed when the giant spider came out of the hedge when he was so close to the end.

I watched as Cedric and Harry defeated the spider, and watched with swelling pride when I saw him offer to share to prize with Cedric. I knew Harry wouldn't have taken it, after Cedric had saved him like that, Harry has always been fair. I remember the uproar as Harry and Cedric suddenly disappeared after clutching the cup, and the faces of the judges staring round in as much bewilderment as the rest of the crowd.

I can remember the petrifying fear when I realised that it wasn't what was supposed to happen, and the agonising wait for him to return, with every second passing my hope of ever seeing him again fading slightly. I remember Ron comforting me as I sobbed into his shoulder, and the look of utter shock and hopelessness on his own face, as we stared at the last place we'd ever seen him.

I feel embarrassed as well as sick when I remember that night. The most I have ever to spoken to Harry has probably been two sentences, and I was more distraught than his best friend. The whole school knows that I like him I think, but they all think it's just a little schoolgirl crush, and I think it started off like that. But the moment I saw his body return to Hogwarts that night, it's all changed.

The entire population of Hogwarts was crowding around them when they returned, and all I could hear were the shrieks of the people around me 'He's dead, He's dead!' I had no idea they were talking about Cedric and not Harry, and I felt my world crumble around me. It didn't matter to me that much then that Harry never liked me that way, or that I'd probably never talk to him for more than two minutes, but just his presence in the world made everything ok. But the thought that he was gone forever, and that I would never see him again, even if it was from across the common room or great hall, nearly killed me.

The worst thing about that night was not knowing. My mum, Bill and Ron all ran away, left me in the middle of the crowd of screaming students. Fred and George couldn't find me for nearly half an hour as I was swept along in a current of distressed and clueless people. The last I'd seen was Harry staggering to his feet and swaying dangerously, being half dragged away by Professor Moody as Dumbledore was confronted by Amos Diggory and his wife.

The night still haunts me and my nightmares are filled with the vision of Harry arriving suddenly back in the centre of the maze, lying pale and unmoving on the floor. The feeling of complete uselessness and the crowd swarmed around me and I was lost in a sea of hysterically sobbing students.

'Ginny, there's not that much to look at! One book covers the same as all of them,' came a voice, breaking me from my reverie.

I tore my eyes from the book cover I had been unconsciously staring at, and looked to my brother, who was getting really impatient by this time. He wasn't used to shopping with girls, and I think he was wishing Harry were here instead of me.

'I'm sorry Ron,' I said sincerely, which took him by surprise I think.

'Hey Ginny, don't worry! I was just saying you've been staring at the same book for 10 minutes, and mom will be here soon,' said Ron hastily.

'It's ok. You go to the Quidditch shop, and I'll finish up in here, I'll meet you in there in 15 minutes ok?' I told him, cursing my eyes that had decided to start water, against all commands.

'Sure,' Ron told me, walking into the sun and shooting the occasional worried glance at me.

I wiped my eyes hastily when he disappeared from view and continued to search the reduced section of books, in the hope that the books I need where in there. I did actually manage to find my transfiguration, potions and history of magic books, which were still perfectly usable after a bit of TLC. I was feeling pleased that my 10 galleons stretched to buy nearly all of the books, and as I had 5 minutes until I was supposed to meet Ron I decided to search the rest of the bookshop for something to read.

'Good afternoon dear,' came a misty voice from the shadows that startled me so much, I dropped my entire stack of books onto the dusty floor.

'Here, let me help you,' offered the owner of the voice, stooping down to stack the books into my arms.

I looked up to the helpful stranger and smiled offering my thanks. My first impression was that of Professor Trelawney from Hogwarts. She had the same misty personality and floaty voice that caused you to always lower your voice and whisper to her. The lady had long blonde hair that reached down to the woman waist in waves. Her head was wrapped in a bandanna made of navy gauze that complemented her large, sincere blue eyes.

'You look troubled my dear,' said the woman once she had helped me gather all my books.

I laughed quietly, meaning to tell the woman that I was perfectly fine, when my own voice surprised me by answering.

'I'm just worried about a friend,' I blurted out.

'I see. Have you talked to anyone about it? It's always good to talk things through with somebody, it always puts things in perspective,' the woman told me kindly, delicately rearranging her bandanna.

The woman gazed at me with her huge, trustful eyes, and I couldn't help but answer truthfully to her. She was the kind of person you could never lie to, and I was forcefully reminded of Dumbledore.

'There's no-one I can really talk to about it,' I told her truthfully.

'Oh I see, that's a shame for you. Have you tried speaking to your friend about your worries,' asked the woman as she began to tidy the books in the shelves opposite to me.

'Oh,' I laughed going slightly red, 'I can't really talk to him.'

'Really? Curious, I would think your friend would welcome the worry, maybe it would make him feel better to know that someone cared,' the lady told me, and I suddenly got the impression the lady was either very perceptive or reading my mind.

'Probably not, he doesn't really like people to worry about him,' I said.

'Have you ever thought about keeping a diary then? If there's no one around to talk to, it's sometimes helps to get your thoughts onto paper,' said the lady airily, the voice of experience and reason.

I gave a small gasp, and the stack of books that were precariously balanced in my arms fell to the floor in a shower of broken spines and torn pages. I gave a start and threw myself to the floor, picking up the books again, thoughts reeling. The very word 'diary' sends chills of terror through my heart, and brought back painful memories of my first year at Hogwarts.

'Oh I'm sorry my dear. I did not want to upset you,' cried the woman, helping me up.

'You didn't,' I whispered, shuddering slightly.

'Oh I think I did, I'm very sorry. I did not think the idea of keeping a diary would evoke such a violent reaction,' the lady told me, peering anxiously at me.

'It's just...I had a diary once, and something bad happened. I don't like the thought of pouring my soul into something like that,' I told the lady, remembering the feeling of loosing part of yourself slowly to the person you once trusted so much, beyond all people.

'I see. You must not let that one experience mar your judgment though. Millions of people keep diaries every year, with no ill effects. It would help you sort out your thoughts and worries, help assess their importance and see what's really important in your life. I've kept a diary for 30 years now,' said the woman, pulling out a leather bound pocket book from her pocket.

I nodded slowly, thinking about the woman's words. Would it help me? Would I be able to sort out the millions of thoughts in my head if I wrote them down? Half of me was screaming no, bringing more recollections of the pain and terror I was put through by Tom Riddle and his diary, but the other half of me was recalling the beginning, when Tom was good and kind to me. It always helped things by writing them down, and Tom would always assure me, help me and talk to me. Sometimes I actually missed his friendship, someone I could always talk to, who understood everything - or so it seemed. I've got friends at school, but no one I could really talk to about the things that are really important to me - like Harry.

'I bought this diary from a muggle shop in London. Some people don't like the magical diaries that talk back to you. The muggle way was always the best way to me. Who needs the voices in your diary giving you constant commentation on your life? Between you a me,' said the lady bending down to whisper in my ear, 'The magic diaries scare me a little bit!'

I giggled nervously, wondering for a second time if the woman could really read my mind, she seemed so sincere and she was so much like me I couldn't help but trust her.

'Yeah, I know what you mean. You know, I never thought of getting another diary again,' I confessed quietly.

'You should you know, I tell you what, I've got an idea,' she said pulling her wand out from her robes and pointing it at her diary, 'Copia et erasio' I watched quietly as an exact copy of the woman's diary appeared in my hand, and a sudden gust of wind from nowhere blew the pages. The tiny, neat rounded script suddenly disappeared and the pages were left blank and empty. I looked up in wonder at the woman, who smiled kindly down at me.

'There you go, now you've got a brand new diary, which you know is perfectly ok!' said the woman happily, turning to leave.

'Thank you!' I whispered at the retreating back, holding the diary like a precious jewel.

The lady had been so thoughtful and kind, I couldn't remember the last time I spoke to someone for so long, about such serious things. I felt contented and serene until I looked down at my watch. I was 10 minutes late to meet Ron at the Quidditch store! I hurriedly paid for my new books, and ran across the road to meet Ron, swiftly tucking the diary into the back pocket of my baggy jeans. I didn't think Ron would like to see with another diary. In fact I don't think anyone would like to see me with another diary. I began to panic, wondering whether I was doing to right thing, but as I stared down at the innocent muggle book I had to laugh at myself.

I pushed the door open to the Quidditch shop, and was met by a wave of excited chatter and heated arguments in corners of the shop. I soon located Ron who had his face pressed up against a glass cabinet with a full set of Chudley Cannons Quidditch robes. He didn't seem to be aware that I had turned up or that I was actually 10 minutes late. I left him to drool over the robes, as I walked around the cramped store, dodging the crowds.

I felt slightly out of place, I enjoyed watching Quidditch and sometimes even joined in the games with my brothers back at home, but the people in this shop were serious fans and players. Small scuffles broke out periodically as people discussed the latest league table scores and compared teams and their players. I hid in the corner of the shop, leaning my face against the cool glass of another glass cabinet. I opened my eyes and was greeted by the smooth, sleek wooden handle of a broomstick. I felt my throat constrict when I saw the word Firebolt etched into it, which bought another wave of feelings and thoughts about Harry.

I would be happy when I was out of this shop, and away from all the reminders of the subject of thought the brief interlude in the bookstore had relieved me from. I was turning to go when I saw something on the bookshelf that caught my eye. I smiled to myself and picked up the small book.

I ran my fingers across the embossed title, and checked my money pouch quickly to see if I could afford it. I gave a silent prayer of thanks when I realised I had the exact amount of money to buy the book, and rushed to the counter. I paid for the book quickly and placed it into my shopping bag from Flourish and Blotts and headed over to Ron.

'Mum will be waiting for us, were 5 minutes late already,' I whispered in the ear of my drooling brother.

'Oh great!' shouted Ron, grabbing my wrist and running out of the shop. We ran all the way to Gringotts, and laughed with relief when we realised that she hadn't arrived yet.

'Bought anything else?' asked Ron, peering into the large bag.

'No,' I snapped, pulling the bag away abruptly from him. Ron shot me a strange look, but I ignored him and sat on the marble steps, aiming to get a bit of sun before mum turned up. I lay on the step, soaking up the sun hungrily when a shadow crossed my path. I squinted up and realised it was only mum.

'Ready to go you two?' she asked, already leading the way to the Leaky Cauldron's fireplace.

I followed Ron and mum, acutely aware of the diary sticking out my back pocket, and I kept my back to them until we got back home.

I ran up the stairs and after checking my room was completely empty, I pulled the brick from the wall my bed leant against and reached into the cavity. I pulled out an old leather bag. Inside it were my memories. Everything that makes me, pictures I've drawn, photos, cards, letters, trinkets and other things. Every time something new goes into my memory bag, I have to look through everything that was in there already. I like to remind myself of happier memories. I pulled out the family photo of everyone a day before I started Hogwarts. I was smiling radiantly, safe in the knowledge that I was offered a place in the school, and impossibly excited.

I rifled through more photos of birthdays, Christmases, holidays and whenever Fred and George had been able to get a hold of their camera. Beneath the pile of photos was something that makes me blush every time I saw it. It was a book I had been given on my fifth birthday by my parents. It was small, and had a brightly decorated front cover.

'The Boy Who Lived,' I said out loud, smiling at the front cover that depicted a baby with black hair and green eyes.

Everyone had known how You-Know-Who had been defeated, and I had first heard the story when I was only 3 years old. I had grown up knowing the whole legend, and it was core to my belief of the world I lived in when I was little.

Good always overcomes Evil, the good guy always wins, no one ever dies. I laughed hollowly to myself as I took in the well-worn pages, complete with doodles made by younger self. The book never said anything about the pain the little orphaned boy would suffer, how he would grow up unaware of his life, how the good guys don't always win. The bad guys don't even look like the bad guys in the book. Tom Riddle didn't have arching eyebrows or a thin moustache, he didn't always wear black and he never laughed maniacally to himself. That's what made it worse for me. If Tom had acted evil, if he had taunted me and hated me it wouldn't have been so bad. But I trusted Tom with my deepest darkest secrets and fears, and I never knew. Never guessed - till it was too late. How can you trust anyone in this world, if you can't trust someone like that?

I flicked aimlessly through the pages, most of which were taken up by brightly coloured pictures with large bold letters underneath. I really can't believe how I used love this story above all others, how I wished I could be a part of the story.

'...and the whole wizarding world rejoiced, and everyone lived happily ever after,' I read from the last page, accompanied by a picture of a smiling baby held in the arms of his caring adoptive family.

I threw down the book in disgust. But it's not like the books is it? Has Harry lived happily ever after? Will any of us live happily ever after? Will the good guys win?