A/N: I really shouldn't begin another story… when I have so many unfinished ones… but this was fun to write!

The Truest of theTrue Strives of Ginny Weasley

July 4th, 12:34 PM

I had promised myself that I would never get another journal, after what happened back in first year, but I couldn't help it; this one was so pretty. Mum had given me some money before the summer to buy some new quills for the upcoming year, but really, who goes shopping for quills for September in August? I managed to steal some of Fred's spare ones, so I was able to use that money for this journal. I was going to pay him back, honest. But… eh. Fred's so rich now; he won't care about a couple of missing quills. Fred and George both.

I figured that since this was bought in a Muggle shop, it'll probably have exactly nil magic on it.

Probably.

I'm very tempted to close this book right now and burn it. But it's just such a pretty book…

And it had cost almost five galleons.

I can hear Fred coming up the stairs. Or George.

2:42 PM

Yes, I knew it was Fred! He always treats the stairs as though they're made of soundproof cement, instead of magic-togethered floorboards. Speaking of floorboards, Daddy spent roughly four hours trying to patch together the stairs leading into the attic, in an attempt to get rid of the ghoul for good. I don't think he really wants to do it, since the ghoul, whom I've personally gotten fond of as well and nicknamed Teapot, is really very sweet. He only knocks around when the house gets too quiet, and doesn't make any noise at all while I'm reading or studying.

Mum's caught sight of my journal. The conversation that took place afore and thereafter went like this:
Mum: Ginny, what is that?
Me: What is what?
Mum: That book.
Me: Oh, do you like it? It's called Loving You Till the End. It's very good.
Mum: Not that trashy garbage, the one you're holding behind it.
Me: Um… my journal.
Mum: Excuse me? A journal?
Here, her eyes start looking like they might burn a hole through my head)
Me: Isn't it pretty?
Mum: Throw it out.
Me: Why!
Mum: Because. Do you want what happened to you to happen again?
Me: No. That's not going to happen again.
Mum: Throw it out.
Me: No!
Mum: Throw it out!
Me: NO!
George: For Merlin's sake, shut up!
Mum: Don't you dare tell your own mother to shut up! You and Fred have both gotten so impossible these days! I don't know where you're disappearing off to; just because you're allowed to Apparate now, doesn't mean you can go gallivanting off wherever you want! And there's another thing, I don't like how you've been throwing money around like pebbles…

Anyway, that was the gist of it. I took the opportunity to run back upstairs and hide my journal under my dresser. I love this rickety old house. It means that there are certain loose floorboards underneath almost every piece of furniture.

7:20 PM

I seem to have taken a liking into writing in here. I so need a girl to talk to. Hermione's not going to arrive for another two weeks, so I do not know how else I'm going to survive with six brothers in the house, two of whom seem bent on destroying everything they see by using magic everywhere. Honestly. Ten minutes ago, before I came back to write in this journal, I asked them to pass me a broom so I could sweep away the chicken droppings on our porch, and they magicked one to me, meaning it flew though the air, aiming straight between my eyes.

"Oh, Gods!" I cried, jumping off the porch for cover. The broom followed me off and chased me around the yard. I tripped over a boot and fell face-first into the hard dirt.

The broom landed on top of me rather harshly and nearly went right through my back, as it landed handle-first.

It was Bill who dragged me up off the dirt and took me inside. He cleaned up my face and handed me a broom. "Don't worry, they'll get theirs."

I love that smug smirk of Bill's.

Mum and Dad have been away a lot lately. They've been talking about a house, when they think I wasn't listening. But I rule at eavesdropping. This house they've been talking about, I'm beginning to think they're going to buy it or something. It sounded like it's pretty big. I don't know what I'll do if they bought a new house and want us to move into it. Cry, probably. And as much as Ron and my brothers say they hate living in this tiny house with the entire family and some guests at times, I know they'll be anguished at leaving it.

But really, if we are moving to a new house, I don't really think they think that Mum will stand for any temper tantrums they might throw. Darn. Ron threw throws the best tantrums. It's almost amusing to watch, though rather sad, seeing as how it always ends with his ears bright red and his face blotchy with red as well.

In any case, I am not leaving Teapot.