"Shh, you git, you'll get us caught!" Fred Weasley hissed to his twin as they tip-toed their way into Ginny's room. Their youngest and only sister was currently outside, playing Quidditch with Ron, Harry, Hermione, Charlie, and Bill. And since their father was at the Ministry and their mother was busy making dinner, they would safe. They didn't even need to worry about Percy, he was huddled up in his room, probably working on another cauldron bottom report.
So their plan to sneak into Ginny's room and read her diary was flawless.
"I'm being quiet, you're the one that keeps whispering!" George whispered back, annoyed. Fred chose to roll his eyes and creep up to the bedside table beside the bed instead of answering. George followed closely behind them and closed the door with his foot. Fred hesitantly reached over and pulled the wooden drawer out, revealing hair ribbons, Quidditch magazines, and her wand. He bent his head low and strained his eyes to see in the darkness of the back.
Fred frowned. "It's not in here!"
George pushed past him and reached his own hand inside. He rummaged around the contents for a moment, slight frowning himself, then his hand emerged holding a small, red leather bound book. "It's a Muggle diary," he said skeptically.
"Of course it is. Remember what happened with the last enchanted one she owned?" Fred shuddered, remembering the awful day that he thought his sister was dead. "But look--we just have to pick the lock." George grinned and held out a small paper clip, which Fred took and gleefully set into the lock. In a matter of seconds, they heard a tiny click and the cover fell open. They read in bold print: Ginny Weasley's Diary
"Here we go," George whispered triumphantly. They turned the white pages to the first one, and then started to read:
Dear Diary,
Reflections. They're so simple. Just look into a mirror and you'll
see your own. There's no denying it. But when I look at mine, it seems
wrong. Yes, I'm a Weasley, the red hair and freckles prove it. Yes, I'm
a girl, the makeup which I wear doesn't lie. Yes, I'm lonely. Only the
mirror doesn't show it. The mirror doesn't show the lonely, misunderstood
girl that looks back. The girl who just wishes to be accepted by her family
and her friends. The one that everyone thinks is a mere child, with her
head full of silly ideas and beliefs. Therefore, the mirror doesn't show
me.
Awestruck, Fred and George stared at each other. "Maybe we shouldn't--" Fred started, but suddenly stopped. Further down the page, several dark marks were pasted. Looking closely, he identified them as tear stains. Intrigued, he read on, not aware of George doing the same.
Wishes. Now there's something I make every day. I wish Harry would start to love me, the way I love him; I wish my brothers would accept me as Ginny Weasley and not just their little sister; I wish Mum and Dad would treat me like the age I truly am. I just wish that wishes really did come true. Oh, I've read those Muggle fairy tales where the princesses wish upon a star for their prince to come, and then they arrive to whisk them away and live happily ever after. Too bad it's not real life. When I look in the mirror, it doesn't show my lost soul that bases her existence on dreams and hope.
The tear stains lessened at this point, and George glanced at Fred. "I never knew Ginny felt like this," he said grimly after a moment of silence.
"None of us knew," Fred said dejectedly.
Harry. I could fill up all the pages of this diary writing about his good qualities. Fortunately, I'm not going to go there. I admit it, though, when I first saw him I just liked him because he was famous. Well, not just because of that, but he was the ideal hero in my eyes. Now...now I see a different Harry than years ago. The Harry I know now is even more brave and generous than I knew. Who else would go and try to rescue me in the Chamber? Who else would risk his life just for his friends? No one, no one but Harry. Thinking about him makes me depressed, he's another one that views me as another face in the crowd. The mirror doesn't show the pain I feel inside.
"Fred. I really think we should stop now. These are Ginny's most--private--thoughts."
"I know. But--it just seems like--"
"Like we can help her if we know exactly how she feels. Okay, there's only a bit more."
Hogwarts. It's the only place I've ever found solace. Sure, home is great. The Burrow is where I can first remember all my memories of the past. It's where I was born, grew up, felt loved. But Hogwarts has something more. When I'm in Hogwarts, it eases the torment I feel inside. There's so many students there, when no one notices me, it doesn't feel as bad. There are so many more faces and people, it's not that hard to disappear in the background. There's also a few people that care, Madam Pomfrey has supplied me with some sleeping potions when I "accidentally" hurt myself and need to rest. In your subconscious, you don't feel anything. The mirror doesn't show the emptiness I feel daily.
Fred and George looked at each other in a split second before saying in unison, "That's enough." Besides, it was the end of the page. They already felt like they'd invaded her privacy enough for one day--in fact, for a whole lifetime. So Fred re-opened the drawer and George moved to put it back. Before he could, however, the wind from the open window suddenly blew, and it turned the page they'd been reading over to the next one. On the back, there was one sentence written, and they both leaned over to read it.
The mirror shows my reflection. Nothing more.