Unfortunately, I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters in this fanfic

Unfortunately, I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters in this fanfic. This is kind of a songfic, and has femmeslash between Luna and Ginny, so if you don't like it, please don't read it. This is set in Ginny's fifth year.

I can take the rain on the roof of this empty house

That don't bother me

I can take a few tears now and then and just let them out

I'm not afraid to cry every once in a while

Even going on with you gone still upsets me

There are days every now and again I pretend I'm ok

But that's not what gets me

What hurts the most

Was being so close

And having so much to say

And watching you walk away

And never knowing

What could've been

And not seeing that loving you

Is what I've been trying to do.

I paced around the common room, waiting for Hermione to return, because I needed to borrow her Herbology book. After waiting half an hour, I decided to get it from her trunk myself.

I entered her dormitory and opened her overstuffed trunk. I rummaged through it, searching. I came upon a book without a title and decided to check if this was the book I was looking for. As I opened the cover, a piece of parchment fell out. I brought both the book and the parchment to the common room, curious.

I decided to read the parchment first. As I read through it, I became furious. It was a letter to Professor McGonagall. Hermione was about to betray all of the secrets I had ever confided in her- the fact that I was cutting myself, that I was bisexual, that I questioned whether or not my mother loved me anymore because I always felt like I was living in the shadow of my brothers' success.

As I opened the mysterious book I saw, inscribed on the inside cover, "My Diary." This made me even angrier. Hermione and I had made a pact in my first year to always tell each other everything. I had let her know my deepest secrets, ones that I would never dream of telling anyone else! And she had me convinced that she was just as trusting. She had told me that she didn't keep a diary.

Just then I heard a shriek coming from the portrait hole. "What are you doing?! That's my diary!" Hermione shouted.

"But you don't have a diary," I replied icily, "remember?"

Hermione went pale. "G-Ginny, I… you were never supposed to… that's my…"

"Never supposed to find it?" I said, my anger growing, "never supposed to know what you were thinking, never supposed to be trusted?"

"I… Ginny, I…"

"You don't have an explanation, do you? You don't trust me. I can't believe I fell for that 'friendship' bullshit."

"Ginny, it's not that, I just…"

"Never confided in me? I told you everything! Nice to know it was all a lie!" I said, my throat closing up and hot tears burning my eyes like acid.

"How far did you get in my diary?" Hermione asked, looking as though she were dying a painful death.

"Just to the letter to Professor McGonagall on that parchment wedged between the cover and the first entry. You told her that I was cutting myself! And not just that, you told her everything I had ever confided to you! You promised never to tell!"

"…Well… I never sent it?" Hermione tried hopefully, as if that would make it all better, "Just… read the diary. I want to write one more entry."

I held out the diary and she took it from my hands. She took another minute to quickly scribble something down and then gave it back to me.

As I read it, I felt the anger welling up inside of me, but more prominent now was the hurt because she had never bothered to tell me any of this. After finishing to the last entry, which was a good-bye because Hermione thought I wouldn't still want to be her friend, I put the diary down and started to walk up to my dormitory, afraid to let Hermione see me cry.

"Wait," she called after me, "Does this mean you forgive me?"

I turned back to her, managing to hide my tears, and flashed her a bright smile.

"Of course I do. We're best friends, right?" Hermione's face shone with relief.

I hurried up to my dormitory. As soon as I was safely in, I let the tears come. I was able to make it to the bed before completely collapsing. I sobbed into my pillow, not caring if I woke the other girls.

The sorrow crashed over me, I was completely submerged. I felt utterly and totally unloved. I reached into my trunk for my one comfort. Fumbling, I pulled out my knife.

I had thought that that depression, the feelings of unworthiness were gone but I was obviously wrong.

I stared at my wrist as I brought the knife down, hard, unleashing the feelings of anger and hurt that were tearing me up, piece by miniscule piece. I felt a certain, sick satisfaction as I saw the blood gushing up and streaking down my arm. Again and again I slashed until I felt satisfied. I drew my wand from my robes and cleaned up the blood. I cried myself to sleep, fully clothed.