[Disclaimer: Okay, I forgot about my disclaimer in the first chapter, so I
goes here: I own nothing related to Harry Potter (IE: characters, settings
etc.) Also, some of the plot belongs to Kat. She and I did an RP {Role play
for those who have no idea what that is}} and this is what the fic is based
on]
Two Different Worlds
Ginny
After her normal afternoon sit on the grounds, Ginny made her way up to the castle, entering. She walked quickly up the stairs to her left, and headed towards the common room. Upon her arrival, she walked to the Portrait of the Fat Lady, and stated the password (Which, if anyone wanted to know, was 'Flatulent'). Ginny entered as the portrait swung open then walked across the common room to the stairs leading to the girl's dormitories, she took the steps, two at a time until she came to the 5th year girls' dormitories. She entered and walked to her bed, un-doing the brass clasps on her cloak, she took it off, and tossed it over Bill's old school trunk. Then, making sure no one else was around; Ginny kneeled down beside her bed, and reached beneath, grasping something soft and furry. No, it wasn't a pet. It was.. SLIPPERS! Yes, Ginny grinned, pulling out her own pair of fuzzy, yellow slippers. Oh how the youngest Weasley prized these slippers, after all, they were one of the only things that belonged to her and only her. Not a hand-me-down, and not from a second hand store. Her Aunt Sandra had purchased them for Ginny's birthday the previous year and Ginny loved them to death.
After placing the slippers on her feet, Ginny climbed up onto her bed, and drew the curtains closed. She reached beneath her pillow, for her diary. She clasped the homemade diary, and pulled it out, resting it on her lap, she smiled down at her creation. The book had a bright yellow cover, (Dyed parchment) and the words 'Ginny's Diary' were written in a neat manuscript writing, the ink was a deep sapphire blue and glimmered slightly, as if the words had just been written and the ink had not dried yet. The pages that made up the book, were a light crème in colour, with many different coloured ink upon the pages. The diary was held together by three pieces of ribbon, the same colour of the writing on the cover. (In case you weren't paying attention, it was sapphire) It was quite nice, according to Ginny anyways.
Carefully then, she pulled a quill out from. somewhere, and a bottle of ink from.somewhere also. She opened it to the newest page, and started to write:
November 13, 1997
Dear Diary,
Today was.flat out boring. As usual. I was loaded down with homework from McGonagall, what else is new? No homework from Snape, which is quite odd, no essay or anything, same with Flitwick and Trelawny. Merlin that woman is annoying. Anyways... Much more interesting things happened today. Like when I went out to MY tree, Draco Malfoy was sitting up there. I was surprised, he doesn't usually go onto the grounds, save for quidditch practices and games. I told him to get down, and he gave me the old 'I don't see your name on it' line, so I pointed to where I had oh-so-conveniently carved my name into the tree. Showed him.Ha. It was surprisingly easy to get him to leave. Too easy in fact, normally he'd make some comment about my robes, or my old obsession over Harry. People change. Even him. Surprise surprise. That's about it.
-Virginia
Ginny sighed happily, as she put her diary away, and leaned out of her bed, grabbing her bag. She opened it, pulling out her Transfiguration homework....
Meanwhile, up in the Slytherin Dorms...
Draco
The 16-year-old Slytherin Prefect sat in his dorm. A deep green object in his hand. It was like marbleized emerald, with a fancy 'M' carved in silver upon one of the sides. A gift from Lucius Malfoy for his 16th birthday, it had been his when he was a boy, and had been given it by his father, and so on and so forth. Back atleast 3 centuries. But, it wasn't on the outside that mattered to Draco, it was on the inside of this finely crafted instrument.. A pure silver blade, so sharp, it could slice through a zucchini faster than you could say quidditch. [A/N: Alright, I know, bad analogy. But I couldn't think of anything else.] The blade was Draco's favourite feature of the pocket-knife, partly because it was the ONLY feature, and partly because the blade was like his only real friend.
Draco pulled up the sleeve of his finely crafted black satin school robes, to reveal many scars on his arm, just below his elbow. The boy had been too afraid to slice his wrist, but he loved to cut himself any ways. He loved to see the deep crimson blood flow slowly out of the wound, and down the pale skin of his arm, dripping onto his robes, or sometimes his bedding, though he always found some way to magic it away. He loved the way it felt. When the knife slit his skin, it was like releasing all of the pressure upon him, breaking free, Draco would close his eyes in ecstasy as it happened. Afterall, it didn't hurt. The blade was sharp enough to cut right through the nerves, preventing any pain at all. After the wound dried, leaving behind skin curling at the edges. Draco would wrap the wound, only to do it again the next day, and the next, and the next..
The boy snapped out of his thoughts, without consciousness, he had opened the blade had directed the blade to sit poisedly above the middle part of his lower arm. He shook his head, snapping the blade shut. He leaned out of his four-poster, out of the deep green curtains, and to the night table, he opened the drawer, which happened to be filled with spare parchment, quills, and a few bottles of ink, among this regular clutter, there was a box. Draco took the box, and opened it, setting the knife gently within, then replacing the box back inside the table.
Sighing, Draco laid back in his bed, re-thinking today's events. He had gotten 100 percentile on his potions exam, as usual, and had received a 93 percentile on the essay he had written for McGonagall, 'More information Mr. Malfoy' was the only comment she had placed, in crimson ink, upon his essay. He had spent three and a half-hours doing research in the library, how much more information did the old bag need? Anyways. After classes, he had been on the grounds, until the 'Youngest Weasley' had come upon his spot. Well, she actually had a right to be there, it was her tree. It had her name in it. I would have thrown an insult, but I was just too lazy..
Draco peeked out from behind his curtains, to look at the clock on the wall.
"Almost time for dinner."
He stated flatly, to no one, as he was the only person in the room. He blinked, and slid out of his bed, stretching, he headed down to the Great Hall..
[A/N. Well. That was interesting, wasn't it? I know, it's boring. But it'll get better with every chapter.. I promise!]
Two Different Worlds
Ginny
After her normal afternoon sit on the grounds, Ginny made her way up to the castle, entering. She walked quickly up the stairs to her left, and headed towards the common room. Upon her arrival, she walked to the Portrait of the Fat Lady, and stated the password (Which, if anyone wanted to know, was 'Flatulent'). Ginny entered as the portrait swung open then walked across the common room to the stairs leading to the girl's dormitories, she took the steps, two at a time until she came to the 5th year girls' dormitories. She entered and walked to her bed, un-doing the brass clasps on her cloak, she took it off, and tossed it over Bill's old school trunk. Then, making sure no one else was around; Ginny kneeled down beside her bed, and reached beneath, grasping something soft and furry. No, it wasn't a pet. It was.. SLIPPERS! Yes, Ginny grinned, pulling out her own pair of fuzzy, yellow slippers. Oh how the youngest Weasley prized these slippers, after all, they were one of the only things that belonged to her and only her. Not a hand-me-down, and not from a second hand store. Her Aunt Sandra had purchased them for Ginny's birthday the previous year and Ginny loved them to death.
After placing the slippers on her feet, Ginny climbed up onto her bed, and drew the curtains closed. She reached beneath her pillow, for her diary. She clasped the homemade diary, and pulled it out, resting it on her lap, she smiled down at her creation. The book had a bright yellow cover, (Dyed parchment) and the words 'Ginny's Diary' were written in a neat manuscript writing, the ink was a deep sapphire blue and glimmered slightly, as if the words had just been written and the ink had not dried yet. The pages that made up the book, were a light crème in colour, with many different coloured ink upon the pages. The diary was held together by three pieces of ribbon, the same colour of the writing on the cover. (In case you weren't paying attention, it was sapphire) It was quite nice, according to Ginny anyways.
Carefully then, she pulled a quill out from. somewhere, and a bottle of ink from.somewhere also. She opened it to the newest page, and started to write:
November 13, 1997
Dear Diary,
Today was.flat out boring. As usual. I was loaded down with homework from McGonagall, what else is new? No homework from Snape, which is quite odd, no essay or anything, same with Flitwick and Trelawny. Merlin that woman is annoying. Anyways... Much more interesting things happened today. Like when I went out to MY tree, Draco Malfoy was sitting up there. I was surprised, he doesn't usually go onto the grounds, save for quidditch practices and games. I told him to get down, and he gave me the old 'I don't see your name on it' line, so I pointed to where I had oh-so-conveniently carved my name into the tree. Showed him.Ha. It was surprisingly easy to get him to leave. Too easy in fact, normally he'd make some comment about my robes, or my old obsession over Harry. People change. Even him. Surprise surprise. That's about it.
-Virginia
Ginny sighed happily, as she put her diary away, and leaned out of her bed, grabbing her bag. She opened it, pulling out her Transfiguration homework....
Meanwhile, up in the Slytherin Dorms...
Draco
The 16-year-old Slytherin Prefect sat in his dorm. A deep green object in his hand. It was like marbleized emerald, with a fancy 'M' carved in silver upon one of the sides. A gift from Lucius Malfoy for his 16th birthday, it had been his when he was a boy, and had been given it by his father, and so on and so forth. Back atleast 3 centuries. But, it wasn't on the outside that mattered to Draco, it was on the inside of this finely crafted instrument.. A pure silver blade, so sharp, it could slice through a zucchini faster than you could say quidditch. [A/N: Alright, I know, bad analogy. But I couldn't think of anything else.] The blade was Draco's favourite feature of the pocket-knife, partly because it was the ONLY feature, and partly because the blade was like his only real friend.
Draco pulled up the sleeve of his finely crafted black satin school robes, to reveal many scars on his arm, just below his elbow. The boy had been too afraid to slice his wrist, but he loved to cut himself any ways. He loved to see the deep crimson blood flow slowly out of the wound, and down the pale skin of his arm, dripping onto his robes, or sometimes his bedding, though he always found some way to magic it away. He loved the way it felt. When the knife slit his skin, it was like releasing all of the pressure upon him, breaking free, Draco would close his eyes in ecstasy as it happened. Afterall, it didn't hurt. The blade was sharp enough to cut right through the nerves, preventing any pain at all. After the wound dried, leaving behind skin curling at the edges. Draco would wrap the wound, only to do it again the next day, and the next, and the next..
The boy snapped out of his thoughts, without consciousness, he had opened the blade had directed the blade to sit poisedly above the middle part of his lower arm. He shook his head, snapping the blade shut. He leaned out of his four-poster, out of the deep green curtains, and to the night table, he opened the drawer, which happened to be filled with spare parchment, quills, and a few bottles of ink, among this regular clutter, there was a box. Draco took the box, and opened it, setting the knife gently within, then replacing the box back inside the table.
Sighing, Draco laid back in his bed, re-thinking today's events. He had gotten 100 percentile on his potions exam, as usual, and had received a 93 percentile on the essay he had written for McGonagall, 'More information Mr. Malfoy' was the only comment she had placed, in crimson ink, upon his essay. He had spent three and a half-hours doing research in the library, how much more information did the old bag need? Anyways. After classes, he had been on the grounds, until the 'Youngest Weasley' had come upon his spot. Well, she actually had a right to be there, it was her tree. It had her name in it. I would have thrown an insult, but I was just too lazy..
Draco peeked out from behind his curtains, to look at the clock on the wall.
"Almost time for dinner."
He stated flatly, to no one, as he was the only person in the room. He blinked, and slid out of his bed, stretching, he headed down to the Great Hall..
[A/N. Well. That was interesting, wasn't it? I know, it's boring. But it'll get better with every chapter.. I promise!]