This is a secret santa present for Lyrrie over at The Golden Snitch Forum! Merry Christmas lovely, hope this is to your liking!


Ginny Weasley sat in the Gryffindor common room, pink feathered quill resting in her hand as she scribbled away at yet another Journal Entry. Ever since her first year she'd kept a little diary, because - despite having had a bad encounter with Tom Riddle and his diary - she still couldn't help but want to confide in something. And so she'd gotten one for Christmas, a little red diary - it was a present from Hermione. A present she still used and cherished to this day - despite her brother's almost hesitance towards the thing. But now there was no thinking of that, now there were more important things to focus on.

The Yule Ball was coming up, that much she knew. Yet they'd not done any dancing lessons - the only sign something was coming was the little dress her mother had sent in the post one morning. She was glad, at least she didn't have the horrid robes Ron was stuck with. With all the excitement with the champions and the Ball she'd rarely had time to write - thus leading to having a long bit of confiding for her to do. Confiding being used loosely - because she obviously wasn't talking to an actual person, she'd had far enough of that back in her first year.

She was sat on a love seat right in front of the fireplace, the quill moving quickly as her eyes barely kept up with the words that kept getting placed onto the white page. The writing was in messy black scrawls upon the pristine paper. The rest of the world fell out from around her as she wrote, the chatter of the common room not even reaching her ears as she wrote. The diary was good for her, everyone could agree about that, especially Hermione - who after getting a telling to from Ron had to defend her gift. Still, she let herself delve into the writing, relax and just let all her thoughts pour out.


November 5th, 1994

Dear Diary,

There are certain things you learn as life progresses, as you grow out of being a child and into a teenager. Especially as a redheaded child who's freckles are more prominent than anything else. Some things give you a wake up call, like believing in a person who manifested himself inside a diary - and then subsequently being kidnapped and almost killed in a chamber that was filled with a giant snake. Though that's a more dangerous wake up call than the one I just recently found out. I just realized that not every single 'like' is a crush - and thus not every crush will be anything more than mere puppy love. Sadly, not many of my roommates seem to understand this. They've begun teasing me about 'liking' Harry Potter.

Yes, of course I like him - who wouldn't? There's no reason out there for me not to like him for Merlin's sake. After all, he's very kind and caring, so very charismatic - loyal beyond belief. I can talk to him about anything without worrying that he'll go and spread a rumor around, or spread the information. I can just relax around him, be myself - I don't have to put up an act or be fake around him. All I have to do is sit down and have a conversation with him, and our friendship will still be the same. With all of these things, why would I not like him?

But there's a big difference between a like and a crush, something I've found out the hard way. And it's not like it just hit me without a warning, it came with the season. Yule. Apparently mixing the Yule season and a Triwizard Tournament leads to a Yule Ball - I should have known. But that leads to if I'll go, and who in the world I would go with. Definitely not anyone in my year - no, none of us can go without being with a fourth year or above. But that didn't bother me, I didn't want to go with any of them anyway. It happened to be Draco that I wanted to go with - not Harry - despite popular belief.

The other girls in my dorm brushed it off as a joke when I told them, because surely I wouldn't have a reason to not go with Harry right? Didn't I like him? And the answer was yes, I do like him. But I don't fancy him, no that's saved for Draco. Something I hadn't realized until quite recently. But despite the disbelief I just find something so magnetic about the blonde boy who's father is the enemy of my own. Harry's like my brothers, just another member of the family - Draco is something more.

We've been talking, had a few small chats here and there. I've found out so much about him through those, been drawn closer to him. I notice when he enters a room and my heart will race, his eyes will lock with mine and my heart will stop for a moment, miss a couple beats and then keep beating. Our conversations are something I can look forward to, something that - at the end of the day - is almost always on my mind. And yes, I know the great error with all of this.

He's the son of my father's enemy - he's a Malfoy for Merlin's sake. But I can't let that stop me, my heart won't let me. He's electric, magentic, and everybody knows it - not even I am immune to it. Yet the fact that he's a Malfoy won't stop me, it's just another obstacle that I'll have to find a way over. But that got me thinking - if it's about who I want to take to the Yule Ball, then shouldn't I ask the person I want to? So perhaps I'll ask Draco to the ball. And yes it would get me in trouble, yes it would be a challenge. But I've never been one to back down from a challenge.

~ Ginny


She smiled after dotting the 'i's and crossing the 't's - closing the red diary and setting it into her satchel of school books. Ron and Harry entered, following a very annoyed looking Hermione Granger, who stormed past and into her dorm room. Ginny took that as her cue and stood up, moving out towards the portrait and past her worried brother.

"Gin, where are you going? It's almost curfew," came the questioning voice of Ron, who's gaze bore into her own with a hidden warning in the depths of his eyes. She only shrugged with her reply.

"Off towards the dungeons,"

"Why?" She smiled sweetly at him, turning on her heel and continuing on her way. The redhead called back to him from the entryway at the portrait, a sort of mocking tone to her reply.

"I've got important things to do."