Notes: Speedy update, yes? Well, hope you enjoy. Ginny's a bit of a hypochondriac in this one.

Disclaimer: If I had a dollar for each time I said, 'I don't own Harry Potter etc. etc.' I would be unbelievably rich.

The Hopefully Non-Magic Diary of Ginny Weasley

Chapter 2: Chemically Imbalanced


December 7

As I sigh for the umpteenth time in a single second, I have come to the conclusion that I am one of the millions today suffering from chronic depression. Not that it's much of a surprise. My face is depressing, my hair is depressing, my shoes are depressing, the dirt under my nails are depressing…and this list is getting entirely too depressing, too. The word depressing is depressing, so perhaps I will refer to it was 'chemically imbalanced' from now on.

And anyway, my chemically imbalanced state was inevitable. One can only stand being stuck in a room full of lifeless losers for so long before the influence gets to one's head. Yes, I have begun my daily therapy sessions. Though I don't think it could qualify as therapy if the patient is not willing. I just sit there and wish I were somewhere else—where exactly is the brain healing in that?

To make matters worse, the boy who sits next to me in SD (Self Discovery) tragically mistakes his bogey as a sort of delicacy. On a regular basis. He also seems to like to use me as a napkin, to which I squeak loudly and duck. He looks confused by this. It's understandable, as napkins do not usually move on their own accord. I find myself straying from the point, however, so I will get back to what I was really trying to say.

Undeniably and inarguably, LIFE SUCKS. I am at a point where I just want to shout 'POOPY' over and over again. But that would be silly. I'll save myself the embarrassment.

That is all there is to say on the matter. I just want to stay in my dorm and eat chocolate.

Later

But you see? The worst part of it all, if one could pinpoint such a thing, is Malfoy (one who is incessantly bothersome and a general mar in human society). He drips with such superiority, that he might as well wear a sign reading, ' WARNING: ELITIST GIT. MAY GIVE YOU URGE TO POUND HIS HEAD IN'. Perhaps I shall take the liberty of making said sign for him.

I've never seen a boy so deeply in love with himself. If I have chronic depression, he has chronic narcissism. It's beyond anyone's help, but there you are—that is why we are all here, in SD. For we are all helpless and suffering from incurable, long term things.

I mean, really, he opens his mouth and out comes something else about himself. 'Are you mad? You certainly can't expect a Malfoy to partake in this undignified activity, can you?' he says as he frowns a bit and continues to look down his nose at everyone. I swear to the gods that I will do something rash the next time he mentions his lavish manor. Like botch his body into four quarters. Then I can plead chronic insanity. I don't even know why Malfoy is in the class. It's not like he's the type to admit to himself that he is batty. Perhaps he is simply there to make the rest of us feel worse about ourselves. How useful.

December 10

I cannot believe this monumental moment.

1) I have made a pseudo-friend.

2) I have made a fool of myself. Verily.

The latter is not so surprising, but it's worth mentioning.

On the subject of number one: her name is Alette. I have spoken to her directly a few times in class. She is a dear child, albeit a little scatterbrained. It seems all of my company are not completely normal, but that's my curse.

Anyway, I was trying to write her a note during class today, as most normal teenage girls do in class. Except , perhaps I am not so skilled in the art of note passing, for I attempted to throw it behind me to where Alette sat, two seats behind. Have I ever told you of my horrible aim? One day I will tell you about the time that I accidentally knocked poor Mum's nose with the vase Grandfather gave her. I was going for Ron, and to this day I maintain this motto: It's the thought that counts.

But yes, since you seem to be wondering. It landed in the wrong lap: The lap of Mr. Narcissus himself, who happened to sit right behind me. Most likely breathing down my neck the whole time, trying to decide what to tease me about next. I nearly peed my pants as I saw his lips curl, but refrained. Thank the Lord. There is nothing worse than very damp knickers and skirts.

Malfoy beamed (though on him, even a beam looks like a sinister stare) having acquired my note. I was mortified. But not as mortified as when the stupid whale raised his hand. Naturally, Professor Ritzenthaler called on him, looking a bit flustered at being interrupted during his long tirade of something nonsensical or another, like hygiene.

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy?" he gazed questioningly, his hands flying to his glasses, currently sliding down his nose.

"I've found a note, sir," Malfoy said. My heart stopped beating.

"Written in my class?" Professor Ritz clucked his tongue, his face turning pink. Strangely enough, nothing seemed to ruffle his feathers more than a student not paying attention in his class. "Someone's not been paying attention. Someone is asking for a detention." He looked around the room for any heartfelt confessions. None. Malfoy continued, and I thought his face might break, the way he was smiling. What a large git. I bet he's so git-y, he makes other gits cry.

"Well, I'm sure you'd like to know, as do we all, sir. I could just give you the note, though I already know who wrote it—"

Like I would let him reveal my identity. I could not afford to have a detention. It would only be more proof for Ron. In reaching this conclusion, I mistakenly decided to reach over. I used my hand to clamp the bugger's mouth shut. The effect was instantaneous. I wondered why I had not done this more often, when he talked too much. While his voice was muffled however, his face creased into a glare.

"Mmff gmmff!" he protested vehemently. Professor Ritz looked very nervous now.

"Er—Miss Weasley, I'm going to ask you to release Mr. Malfoy—"

Oh bugger, I thought. Wouldn't you, if you landed yourself in such a dilemma? Sometimes, my body moves on it's own accord. Like a muscle spasm. Anyway, I did as I was told and detached myself from Malfoy. Burning red from embarrassment, and wondering what the hell I was thinking (or perhaps I was not, and therein lies the problem). I quickly made up another weak and lame cover. Oh, well.

"A bug," I lied. "A bug was fluttering about. It would have been unfortunate for Malfoy to have swallowed a bug." I looked around. There was not a movement in the air. " It seems now, though, that the fly is gone. Good for him. Or her, as it could be."

I probably looked like a large, bright red Christmas bauble. Malfoy looked disbelieving, as well as the rest of the class. Professor Ritz absentmindedly nodded.

"Very well, very well…." He returned to his teachings, forgetting all about the incident. I am grateful for his slight lunacy. I thank any deity up there for his forgetfulness.

And then, I breathed.

But the trouble was not over. Malfoy seemed discouraged for a while, but after class, as everyone else was filing out, I found Malfoy trying to sneak his way to Professor Ritz' desk with the note. Having another go, was he? Quick as a fox (HA) I blocked his way.

"Hello, Weasley," he regarded me in a bored manner. And how dare he!

"Move." I did not. My resistance was made of steel.

"I said, 'move,'" he repeated commandingly.

"Why? Where do you think you're going?" I asked.

"To inform the loony bat who wrote this, naturally. Did you honestly think I would pass up a chance to land you in detention?" he sneered at me.

"Yes," I said, hoping my kindness would persuade him to back down.

"You insult me." He sulked slightly. (I am horrified when I think of this, because at this precise moment, I almost thought that he looked pretty when he pouted).

"Oh, come now, Malfoy! You will not report me! It was only a little note!"

"Well, I'm sure it'd be fun to see you try to stop me." In anger, I watched his pink lips move wider and wider into a garish smirk. And then, he tried to dodge me. But I acted fast yet again. I realize now that I have a serious lack of judgment, and should have rather accepted the detention. Something came over me—perhaps a strange dust particle in the air. Because I grabbed his annoying little face, and kissed hi

Later

Apologies. Writing about that made me feel a bit faint.

After, well…'the kiss' was over (in a second, mind you—as soon as I realized what I was doing), I reeled back in disgust, as did he.

"Weasley!" he cried, aghast. I gaped.

"Oh, God! I'm contaminated!" I screamed.

"You! I'll never get this filth off! If you've given me any of your sickly germs, I swear I'll tell father!"

"Well, it stopped you from tattling, didn't it? You should know better than to tattle."

"What makes you think I won't go 'tattle' now?" His nose was scrunched up just a fraction, and he was sneering once more.

"If you do, I'll kiss you again." (I was lying.)

He seemed to be outsmarted (or maybe the right word is 'out-grossed') then. And he actually believed me, the arrogant pansy.

We both went on our ways, feeling extremely dirty for even touching one another.

I must take many baths now and use up a third of the world's running water and rub my lips raw. I swear I will never go within ten yards of him ever again. Never ever ever ever ever. This is a promise. To myself, to Malfoy, to the world.

I am quite serious this time when I say that I might be insane. I have no idea what possessed me. I have no recollection of getting it in my head that I should make lip contact with Malfoy. I can't pinpoint which thought led to another and another until I finally decided that the best course of action would be to peck Malfoy. It's almost like it wasn't my idea at all. Have you never heard of Multiple Personality Disorder? I'm frightened. Wait, no I'm not.

Even Later

I can't believe I gave my first kiss to that overgrown chicken.