I'm sitting here wondering how I'm honestly going to write this story you see I always write A/N's before writing anything else and I'm writing this one thinking "How the bloody hell am I supposed to get this across without making it cheesy" I've said it once or twice too. But I'll try and if your reading this now it means that I'm probably happy with it though you may disagree. What's going to happen is a mystery (even to me) but maybe just maybe it will be a happy ending I mean there always has to be a happy ending (I disagree completely with this!) if your interested by the tone in which I look at this story now read on. If you're a hopeless romantic looking for a fix then read on (I'll join you) And if you've always hoped that somehow just somehow the one you love or loved could ever love you too then read on it may give you hope. This is a ridiculously long a/n now so I must leave you but I will return in the end.
A/n 2 : I've just reread this and am kinda scared of myself ignore me and read the story!
A young teenage girl sat on her own in a crowded common room of Gryffindor tower. In her lap was a scrapbook and with her quill she wrote. As she wrote it felt like the words where being etched into her own heart and she knew that she would never forget them. Her quill stopped at the end of each verse but she did not pause to wipe her tears. For she wrote about love and although her love was believed to be baseless and fanatic she knew better or she thought she did. She was a person who had forgotten and lost her own self. She had been innocent. All she had left was love, love of a boy who would never love her back. So she settled for love of the written word. She finished the last verse and sobbed violently. She stuffed her love into her bag unable to acknowledge it. Her older brother rapped her in a hug, he consoled her in the one thing her love enabled her to forget she was only then able to forget the diary. Her heart continued to scream for many a year always in hiding it was soon forgotten. All that remained was a poem. The remembrance of the strongest love of all, first love.
"Mum I can't help them clean the attic today I've got to finish that essay for Snape."
"But Ginny you finished that essay yesterday Hermione told me."
"But…"
"No but's your helping and that's final."
Three friends listened to this exchange which was happening outside the attic, the room they where cleaning. Hermione, the only girl, had grimaced at the sound of her name because she knew, as did Harry and Ron, that Ginny would be furious with her. The girl in question was then pushed into the room by her mother, she pounded on the door which just seconds before had been slammed and locked in her face.
"Hermione?" She asked slowly and deliberately as she gave up her futile attempts at escape. "Why on earth did you feel it necessary to tell my mother that I had finished my homework?" Hermione whimpered at the girl before saying.
"She asked me how you where getting on yesterday, I didn't mean to ruin your excuse." Ginny continued to look angry before realising how scared her friend actually looked. She sighed and patting Hermione on the arm said:
"Err Mione I know I'm cranky in the morning but I didn't think I was that scary." Harry and Ron both laughed and even Hermione managed a small titter.
"So I guess we'd better get started then."
They spent the rest of the morning sorting through boxes a lot full of old clothes that had become rags as a result of being hand-me-down's to six Weasley boy's. They found themselves overwhelmed with old books and magazines. A collection of teen witch weekly magazines, which had all belonged to Ginny ranging from last year to four years previous. Harry had unfortunately been asked, very quietly of course, by Ron to sort through what he called Ginny's corner because as he put it Ginny was to sentimental to throw away any of her old junk and Hermione was to friendly with Ginny to be trusted in the disposal of it all.
"But what is I throw something away that's really important to her?"
"You won't, all the stuff that really means something to her is in her room. All this stuff is just her hoarding. I mean like she even reads any of these magazines anymore. Just steer clear of the baby clothes you'll get skinned alive for throwing those. Believe me I know." He patted Harry on the back and walked over to his own pile, which he sorted through throwing next to nothing away, instead he looked through it with a smile on his lips occasionally laughing at some memory or another.
Five minuets later Harry couldn't remember why he thought Ron had been wrong in saying this stuff was true junk. If sorting through Ginny's magazines wasn't bad enough (all the cover witch's giggled and waved at him flirtatiously) he then had to tackle all her old clothes which where all frills, he got a headache trying to decipher which end was which. And just as he thought that it couldn't get any worse than this one of Ginny's diaries (he supposed it was one before the days of Tom Riddle) gave him a particularly bad bite. As he kicked it under the nearby dresser (There was no way he was going any where near that again) He noticed another box belonging to Ginny.
He smiled indulgently; this box had clearly been labelled by Ginny personally. It read: Ginny's! On NO account is anyone – annoying brothers included – to open, throw away or maim my box!
He shouldn't open it. It was personal. But as Ron had said it was probably just junk. And the box was worn, obviously she had written that years ago. Was she really still that persistent on the fact that nobody should look inside? He knew that she would mind. But curiosity got the better of him. He stretched out his hand but withdrew it almost instantly when Ron's piercing screams and Ginny's laughter hit his ears. He spun around to see Ron hitting his head over and over and Ginny – hand still outstretched – bending over in hysterical giggles. Finally Ron's hand swept the spider from his hair. He collapsed onto the floor panting.
"Sorry Ron. But I just couldn't resist." She scooped up the equally petrified spider and put it back on it's web.
"Ginny I'm gonna –" but exactly what Ron was going to do they never found out because at that moment the door clicked magically open and Mrs Weasley's voice floated up towards them.
"Lunch dears. You can finish the attic later. I've made Shepard's pie." Ron's faces cleared and lead the way down to the kitchen. Lunch passed in good humour Ron seemed to have forgotten the spider and was cheery throughout. Everyone was chatty and when the twins entered the kitchen half way through they where greeted favourably even by their mother. And as they traipsed back to the attic accompanied by the twins they nearly all had smiles on their faces, except Harry who could not get the box or it's owner out of his mind.
And as the others picked up where they had left off, so did he, he opened the box as he has known he would ever since reading it's message. It didn't look very interesting just an assailment of things empty perfume bottles old notebooks but then he found something that really captured his interest.
It was a scrapbook the same size as the others but it didn't look the same. It was a specific shade of red velveteen, which Harry recognised but could not place. But then he remembered it was the deep red of Fawkes' wing. He flicked through it, it became apparent that it was from her first year at Hogwarts because the stuff she had collected (mostly timetables and textbook extracts) was from that era of her life. He wanted to slam it shut then to have never have ventured but it was to late and he could not help himself. He stopped on a page because he recognised Ginny's light cylindrical cursive. The page was blotchy with tears but Harry could still make out the poem:
My favourite colour?
Seems a strange term to me,
The colour I favour changes,
But not in time,
It changes with the wind,
The position of the sky,
The mood in my heart,
So I never will have a favourite colour,
Just this morning it was the pink in the sky,
As I watched from the window,
So beautiful it took my breath away,
And it will be there tomorrow and the day after that,
Yesterday it was the colour of a magpie's wing,
As it took to the sky,
So simple but yet so amazing,
But the bird will continue to fly,
And tonight it will be the dull amber in a flame,
Radiant in the fireplace,
So uncomplicated but yet it brings warmth to the small,
As it will continue to do so,
But for now, just for now,
It is the green in your eye as I'm watching you,
But it won't always be,
And hopefully tomorrow,
Tomorrow it will be the blue of my last tear,
Over you,
He slammed the book shut, and blinked back unshed tears. One thought etched across his mind. He should have known. And maybe he should have, but he didn't not till now. And now perhaps he was to late. To late to make it right. He looked over his shoulder to where she was now. She was bending over a box humming the Weird Sisters latest hit. He felt with a jolt someone tap him on the shoulder hard.
"Pack it up now Harry," It was said in a grave voice as if someone had just died. Harry turned round to face Ginny's older brother and his best friend Ron.
"What?"
"The box, even we… We don't. It's from her summer just after the chamber it's just scraps she collected from her first year, but we know it was hard for her so we respect her privacy, just this once." Ron finished his speech and didn't bother to make sure Harry packed it all away again. Harry looked over his shoulder once more steeling a quick glance at her, before packing her memory's back in the box. But not all of her memories. Her scrapbook was salvaged from the dark of the attic and hidden under Harry's pillow. He could not help it the poem had taken a hold on him. He was haunted by what it meant and haunted as well by what Ginny finding it in his possession might mean. But most of all he could not believe that he had once had someone felt that strongly for him.
A boy was sitting with his friends in the common room. He paid no head to the girl sobbing in the corner, writing. But one day he would. They both just didn't know it yet.
But is it a cliffy or is it the end? Do you want to know what happens or do you want to fill in the gaps. I know what happens. So if you reviews telling me you want me to continue and believe me I'll know (I have a hit counter) if you don't review! And I will most definitely post the next chapter.
There is a secret about this story that only a few know if you would like to know it then I advise you to let me know. (Because I quite frankly like the idea of leaving the story hanging.)
XxPTxX