A/N: Firstly, I hope EVERYONE had a wonderful holiday, whatever holiday it was that you celebrated! *showers you with gifts *
Secondly, thank you for all the reviews! 100 reviews! What I did to deserve this, I don't know, I just know I'm extremely happy about it.
Thirdly—on with the fic.
The Hopefully Non-Magic Diary of Ginny Weasley-+-
December 26I've just realized something very important.
Now, don't get me wrong—last night was probably the best night of my life. Last night felt so authentic, if you know what I mean. I cringe at how drunk I was, and the kinds of things I foolishly told Draco. It's likely he's sitting in his dormitory snickering about me, right now.
It was…everything I could ever dream of!
Except one thing.
I remember vaguely telling him that I was in love with him. I half wish I could take it back with a laugh and tell him it was a joke, but it's the utter truth. It's a kind of truth that I also didn't know hurt this much.
But he did not say those words back to me, like he meant it. I. Love. You. Right now, there's only one person I want to hear those words from: The Ferret himself.
And even after everything he's said and done to me, even when I'm pretty sure he doesn't absolutely hate me, I can't get rid of this evil, sneaky doubt altogether and tell it to be gone.
It's just that I feel scared to the very tips of my ugly toes that I don't really know who this Draco Malfoy is yet—that maybe the real Draco Malfoy goes around telling every girl she's beautiful if he'll get a good snog out of it. From the stories I've heard, and I've heard a lot, he's supposed to be a woman eater. Not kidding. He tears your heart apart and then leaves it there, right on the cold linoleum floor.
Does this guy even know what love is? If he were in love, would he feel it and know what it was, or just classify it as simple lust? Well, you know, despite my NC-17 fantasies, I've decided I don't want simple lust with him. What kind of girl do you think I am? And if he thinks he's going to get any more empty snogs out of me, what kind of girl does he think I am?
Too many questions. I suppose this isn't a good time to go force my brain into shock.
AfternoonA note to life:
You win, alright? I'll do your bidding. I'll let you bring immense loads of irony upon me, and I'll let you confuse me. The only thing I won't let you do is take away this one itty-bitty chance I may have with Malfoy, okay? Does that sound enough of a bargain for you, you greedy ponce?
The point. Just when I think I have everything figured out, people, of all things, go and surprise me.
Take Hermione for instance. People say she is brilliant. Maybe she is, when it comes to memorizing numbers and using logic to figure puzzles and preparing for tests. But especially after her little therapy session, I doubted she was very adept at dealing with emotional problems. I admit, it's not a skill many people can be sage about, and I'm certainly not one to go criticizing for someone's lack of people skills, ha-ha.
But today, she came in Gryffindor common room, alone. No Ron or Harry tagging along.
She looked genuinely concerned—not that she hadn't been before, but a kind of genuine concern that also wanted to genuinely understand me. Her brown eyes went kind of soft, and her voice even softer, and she sat down beside me, giving me a somewhat reassuring smile.
" Going through something tough?" she said, biting her lip. Well, she certainly seemed perceptive right then. No one else seemed to have noticed my inner turmoil, and then, right then and there, said turmoil betrayed me and spilled out right in front of us.
" Yes." I sighed. The word sounded like relief, I tell you. I looked towards the warm fire, then to Hermione, then down to my hands.
" Care to tell me about it?" She asked. When she saw the skeptical look on my face, she laughed. " I promise, no more note pads, or analyzing, or any of that. I'll listen." Hmm. Listen. I smoothed my skirt out on my chair and nodded.
" I'm in love." There. I had said it. Said to Hermione Granger what I had not confided in anyone yet. But I thought this would be the end to my impulsive Gryffindor bravery. I waited for Hermione to contemplate all I had just said. But she was waiting for me to go on. Her eyes goaded me to continue, so I sighed again, like this was a burden, and did.
" With this person." Hermione suddenly snickered. I raised an eyebrow at her.
" Well, I'm glad it's a person, and not some toad you were hoping to turn into a handsome prince. You had me worried there." I giggled. She was trying to make me feel better about this, wasn't she? It was funny how she was trying to make cracks at me now. Almost like we were familiar with each other. Almost like we were good friends. So really, I giggled. Let the world end and fall to pieces—but not just yet. Wait until I'm done with my story.
" I'm in love with Draco Malfoy." I blurted helplessly, my tone turning into a hopeless moan. That's what happened when innocent mouths like mine had to utter foul words like Draco and Malfoy. Even though I loved him, there was still no denying that he was a nasty little bugger.
I looked at Hermione for any kind of reaction, then quickly looked away. On second thought, I didn't care to see the look of horror on her face. She would probably take back everything she had said about listening and go storming out to tell Ron.
" See? That's why I can't tell anyone. I can't even tell myself that I love this guy, because…because…well, I'm not supposed to!" It sounded kind of stupid when I said it like that, but it was true, wasn't it? I knew loads of people who would have my head if I told this same story to them.
" Oh." That was all she said. Oh. Like there was nothing else to be said about the matter. Maybe it was so, but 'Oh' was almost like being completely silent about it, and silence was worse than yelling. I threw my head up to meet her eyes.
" Don't you understand? Ron will lock me up in a tower far, far away, he'll kill Draco, and I'll never be happy again in my entire life." I muttered. " I will probably end up jumping off said tower."
This was the part when Hermione wrapped her arms around me, just like a good—no, no, best—friend would. It was consoling. It was comforting. It was understanding. And then I started crying.
I guess I could hold some record for most tears spilled at odd moments, because I cried yesterday with Draco when I was supposed to be happy with him, and I was crying today when Hermione was being a perfectly understanding friend. I was temperamental and very, very testy, that was what I was.
But because she was so wonderful, she didn't tell me to stop being a ninny and to dry my tears. No—instead, she let me cry. She let me cry on about how beautiful and unattainable he was, even though he used the most horrid kind of cologne on this Earth. She let me cry on about how I'd love to just hug him and hold him forever but he'd probably push me away and call me Weasley filth again like he used to and it'd be just like before when I thought I hated him.
She let me cry on her shoulder—moreover, she let me cry on her brand new sweater. If that's not a sign of true friendship, I don't know what is.
When it seemed like I had managed to turn off the waterworks, Hermione turned to me and said in the very stubborn, no-nonsense way,
" Well, have you told him yet?" Honestly, I thought I'd go bonkers. But at the moment, still dabbing tissues at my swollen eyes, all I could manage was, " W-What?"
" If you love him, you've got to tell him!" She said. Remember how eloquent I am? Yea, this is when my so-called eloquence kicked in.
" W-What?"
" March straight up to him, give him a kiss, and tell him you love him."
" W-What?" Hermione shook her head and pulled me into a hug. She whispered in my ear, almost conspiratorially.
" There's no use sitting here and aching over something you can't control. Fortunately, it turns out you can do something about this. You can tell him what you feel and hope to God you were right when you thought you felt those love sparks between your kisses. You can tell him what you feel and not care about what's wrong or right. We need more people in this world who aren't scared of what is deemed to be 'correct'." I pulled away from her.
" You mean you're not going to tell Ron? You're not going to tell me I'm an idiot for falling in love with him?"
" Nah, I guess not." Hermione smiled. " I know what it's like to be in love." Now, normally, I would have retched at that implied Ron-Hermione lovey-doveyness, but under these circumstances, I did not.
So for once in my lifetime, Hermione listened to me—and I listened to her. I've sent him an owl, and he's going to meet me outside tonight by the lake.
I hope.
Late at nightRight. So I always manage to screw things up pretty well, don't I?
I went down to the lake fairly early, although it was already dark. I had finally remembered that I needed to give him my gift still. Especially if I was going to start loving him, I couldn't have him smelling like that, as I had reiterated before. Hopefully this would be the end to the Draco's Awful Stench saga.
He was not there. Part of me wondered if he would show up at all, and the more sensible part of me told me that I was just too early, and he probably considered it polite to arrive fashionably late. Typical Malfoy-ness was to be expected.
I desperately wished that part of me to be right, and hopelessly argued with myself for no less than a quarter of an hour in the pitch-black cold by the tree by the lake. Ridiculous, what love does to a person. More so, it was unfair that this realization had to be…well—so sudden. WHAM! And I was officially in love with the one person I shouldn't be. No warnings whatsoever, and no particularly good reasons, either.
When I saw the tops of his neatly kept hair arriving towards me, I thought about bolting. Yes. Just run, Ginny, and pretend you never saw him. Fear, that was what wanted to make me run! Fear of utter rejection! Maybe you, diary, being such an inanimate thing with no emotion, maybe you would not think of the horrors of such a rejection—but I couldn't handle it. Not from him, anyway. His rejection would have been merciless. Cold and laughing. Jeering, sneering, leering. Oh, great. Now I'm rhyming.
Then, he spoke and I stopped thinking.
" Fancy meeting you here." My first mistake was to look at him. He was breathtaking, all right? Especially in the night, when some kind of ethereal glow seemed to illuminate his skin. And he talked so casually, but then again, he did not know the importance of my conversation.
I jumped in with only a moment's hesitation. No greetings, no nothing. The knot in my throat was too big for that.
" Here." I thrust my package into his chest. He raised an eyebrow.
" What's this?" He asked, turning it over slowly in his hands. At this point, I seemed to be on the edge of every emotion possible and rolled my eyes impatiently.
" It's a Christmas present, dolt." I snapped. His eyebrows returned to their normal positions as he stared at me blankly.
" A present." He repeated. I stamped my foot, wishing he'd just get on with it.
" Yes, a present for you, as hard as it might be to believe." He lingered on the matter a bit longer. " Open it!" I nearly shrieked. He ripped it open, then gingerly opened the box, as if he were scared of what it could contain. And then his eyebrows did a whole new jumping routine as he saw what was inside. Did he like it? I couldn't tell, but my heart was jumping, hoping like I never had before that he did.
" Well." That was not good. Well. Well. What the hell was 'well' supposed to mean? I already felt the tears welling up in my eyes, and for the life of me, I couldn't figure out why. It was just a silly present. No big deal. No big deal—oh, lord, it suddenly meant everything to me! When had his approval started meaning so much—I didn't remember signing any contracts agreeing to this new sensation.
" I'm sorry—you hate it." I said, my hands trembling as I reached to take it back. His hands stopped me. My lips quivered a bit more, and then his long fingers were lifting my chin upwards to face him.
" Don't be stupid." His voice was soft. That's what he always said. But his voice was sincere. Like music to my ears, really. " It's lovely." I hiccupped. He told me to stop crying because I was being an idiot. I told him I was an idiot and he told me to shut up.
" I needed it, anyway." He murmured, pointing at the bottle of cologne. He was lying. He was so good, and I so pitiful, he felt the need to lie to me. Boy, did I feel really, really stupid. I was like an annoying bug who wouldn't get the point. He absolutely hated me.
But then he laughed. First, it was a snicker. Then it grew louder and louder until his shoulders were shaking from laughter, and it felt wonderful to hear him laugh like that. It was warm laughter.
" Do I really smell that putrid, then?" He asked, when his laughter had somewhat subsided. My face was dry, and I was all When Have I Ever Cried? I was happy and gleeful. He made me the moody psycho girl I was, I swear.
" You've no idea." I commented as dryly as I could without laughing myself. We were sitting on the wet snow now. In this moment in our meeting, I felt like I could laugh forever. My feelings were mismatched and constantly switching me, deceiving me, betraying me.
" Funny thing is, you know, I used that cologne to impress you." I blinked. Had I heard right? Or too much earwax. Damn it, I always forgot to Q-tip. He continued on, though. " I found it in my father's cabinet. The label promised to make the ladies love me. So much for that." He looked at me oddly for a moment, as if he'd only just noticed me.
" Why am I telling you this, again?" He asked incredulously. I shrugged slowly.
" Maybe you're drunk." Did I mention that all throughout our conversation, all I could think about was 'how could I ever have hated him when he's so wonderful like this?'
" Maybe." The way he said that word sent shivers down my spine. I suddenly noticed how close he was to me. What I really wanted to know was whether or not that meant he…you know…had affections for me.
Okay, I'll say it. Whether or not he was head over heels in love with me. After all, had it not been he who had told me he did candlelit dinners for all the girls he's snogged? Was I just a good shag? (if we ever got that far, which I doubted, at this rate.)
Did he really want to impress me? It seemed that no amount of words could reassure me.
" Do you love me?" I blurted. Which I immediately regretted. Because as soon as I had let those words slip, the air seemed to still so it could eavesdrop for his answer, and he seemed to tense next to me. I thought about turning back to the earlier plan I had—to run. But something, maybe my insatiable, damned curiosity, made me stay.
He hesitated. That wasn't a good sign. If he was really in love me, and fully secure about it too, he would have gladly expressed his love. Not so.
" What you have to understand about this is…" I didn't want to hear any more of it. It was like he had reached over and turned off the 'happy' switch in me. Only he had access to that switch. And I…I was about to bawl my eyes out, but not quite as gracefully as the word bawl indicated. No. If I did not do something—like leave—I was going to die. I understood perfectly well, in fact. He didn't have to explain anything to console my broken heart.
" Okay. I do understand." I sniffled. I tried to stand up on my legs, but my knees wobbled and I crashed back down to the ground. Draco seemed aggrieved at this and tried to stop me.
" No! Sit back down, you great fool! You don't understand half of it! The diary that I sent you—all of it—you don't know any of it—you need to know why—"
Had I been a little more sane and open to hear what he was really saying, I might have lingered a bit longer. But my stubbornness had already blinded me from seeing what was sensible. He detested every fiber of my filthy Weasley being and that was that.
He was stuttering something awful, like a proper Malfoy never would, and I was crying and shivering. I should have realized something then. I was too dense.
In the end, it was Ron who sort of saved me. Him and his nose for trouble. As soon as he saw us there, my face red and dripping with tears (lucky for me it was quite dark), and Draco babbling on about nothing in particular, he blew another gasket. I said nothing but followed him home.
" You stay away from her, Malfoy!" He shouted angrily, fist barely kept at bay by my compliance to leave. " I don't know what you've done to make her cry—but. You. Best. Stay. Away!" He grunted.
So, make that the two of us, who were dreadfully silent. Draco was looking helplessly at me, flecks of anger in his eyes. Harry looked confused. Hermione looked painfully sympathetic, biting her lip but doing nothing.
Feeling numb to everything, even Ron's shouting, I trudged back to the castle in gloom.
Now that I am away from him—away from His (Draco's) influence, I realize I may have been a little rash. I realize maybe I should have let him finish his words.
I should have let him finish what he had to say, damn it all! Diary? What had he said about diaries? This diary? Not this one, surely not this one…why would he? Why?? A cruel joke?…
The point is,
I may have very well lost my only chance at being with my true love.
Things To Do:
1) Stop being so STUPID. STUPID, STUPID, STUPID.
2) Find out about the mystery of Draco/Diary.
3) Stop doubting his love so much. There may still be hope.
4) But then again, don't get your hopes up too high. A broken heart is impossible to mend.
5) If all fails, find a nice, high cliff of jump off of.
A/N: I have the rest of the story written up, and sitting complacently in my computer. It still needs a bit of editing, I suppose, but review and I'll to post as soon as possible.