"Scribblings"
A/N: Here's a one-shot that I came up with late one night. The word "scribblings" was invented by Louisa May Alcott to describe what she wrote. I read it once and liked it so much that it became a part of my everyday vocabulary. In a way, the word inspired this fic. Please read and review.
Anyway, on with the fic…
Creeping down the stairs wearily, Harry wanted nothing more than for the night to be over. To Harry, sleep and the terrible dreams that came with it made each and every night a strenuous ordeal. Head throbbing, he stumbled down the last few steps and collapsed onto the nearest sofa. Head in hands and thoughts clouded, it took him a few moments to realize that he was not the only Gryffindor awake at such an ungodly hour.
There, across the room, curled up in a large, overstuffed armchair, he could just make out a small silhouette. The flash of red apparent over the edge of the chair allowed Harry to make no mistake about the identity of the room's other occupant. The reason for the youngest Weasley's insomnia, however, was not as easy to discern. Looking closer, Harry discovered that her head was bent low over a book. In her hand was a quill that moved in a rapid pace across the page. Eyebrows knit determinedly, Ginny's quill stopped only intermittently during which she bit her bottom lip thoughtfully.
Seeing the serious expression upon her face, Harry found himself increasingly curious about what exactly she could be writing within the pages of her book that would keep her so completely engrossed. Dare she keep another journal? Thoughts returning to the events of a few years prior, Harry remembered something the redhead had once reminded him. "You don't know anyone but me who's been possessed by You-Know-Who, and I can tell you how it feels." Harry winced even now as the words came back to haunt him. Watching Ginny now, he hoped her current scribblings had nothing to do with such troubling thoughts. He was still intrigued. It wouldn't be like Ginny to put off homework and he seriously doubted that she was likely to wake up in the middle of the night just to study. Hermione, maybe, but not Ginny. Harry allowed his thoughts to wander as he continued to watch Ginny.
After awhile, Harry began to vaguely wonder if the young witch might be exuding some form of hypnotic spell, as he seemed to lose track of all time as he watched. Realizing how long he had been in the same position, being afraid to move and give himself away, Harry carefully stretched his arms and legs out before him. A small yawn escaped his lips causing him to glance around frantically. However, the small redhead had not even twitched a muscle beside the constant movement as her hand with the quill crossed the page. Wishing desperately for his father's old cloak, Harry wanted nothing more than to escape unnoticed. With one last glance at the young authoress in the corner, he rose and carefully plodded his way back across the room and back up to his dormitory.
It wasn't until later as he climbed back into bed that he realized his head had long since stopped its throbbing. Pulling the covers over himself and allowing his heavy eyelids to close, the young wizard's last conscious thought consisted of only one word- Ginny.