Our Diary

Chapter 4 -- Argument and Academia (and, er, apparently too much fun with alliteration...)

Disclaimer: Yep. JKR still owns all these characters.

Author's Note: I am having fun writing this story, otherwise I wouldn't be doing it. But nevertheless ... I would greatly appreciate it if, after reading this, you would leave a review, with feedback telling how you liked it, how it could be better, whether it is utter crap, etc. The last chapter, last time I checked, was read or viewed by 71 people, and has thus far received one review. So ... I'm not complaining, but it is nice to receive reviews. I write for you. Sort of. ... (/end rant)

Also, I just thought you ought to know that I keep typing 'dairy' rather than 'diary'. If you're bored with the plotline and the story in general, try spicing it up by replacing 'diary' wherever you see it with 'dairy'. Not that dairy is a particularly interesting thing, but ... nevermind ...

Enjoy, as always.

For more than a week after Tom had wept and declared his love, Ginny did not write in the diary. She felt strangely reluctant to return to him, and yet at the same time she wanted to, but instead she got lost in her own thoughts all day long. Because of her lack of paying attention, she was doing very badly in most of her classes, and if her brother (and Harry's) friend Hermione had not stepped in once or twice to assist her with her homework, her teachers would undoubtedly have written to her parents about her poor performance.

Finally, one week and three days after her last encounter with him, she retired early to the dormitory and finally returned to the diary...

September 12

Dear Tom,

Sorry, it's been a while, I've been busy...

Oh. Is that so. Well, don't worry about poor old Tom, who gives his heart to you and the next thing he knows you've buggered off for ten days. Oh, no worries.

I was... I don't know. I've spent a lot of time thinking over stuff.

Do tell.

Well, you know. I did say I loved you. I still do. But I think that's a different thing, somehow. I don't know. Because, well, there's Harry--

What are you trying to say?

I don't know! It's just -- I see Harry everyday, he is so real, so stable. You, on the other hand -- why, you're almost a fictional character.

And that automatically causes me to have no feelings, then?

No! That's not what I mean.

What the hell do you mean, then?

Tom! I don't fucking know! I don't -- all this time I haven't been writing with you, every waking moment, sometimes even in my dreams, I have been trying to figure out how the fuck I feel about you, about Harry, about everything...

And has all this profanity-coated thought brought you to any conclusions?

I -- sorry. And no, it hasn't brought me to conclusions, but more ... slightly more definite areas of confusion.

What are these?

Well, I know -- I think I know -- that I -- um...

What?

Oh, if you must know... ay. I -- I think I am in love with Harry, or something similar...

And what of me, eh?

I love you too. But this -- in a different way. I have known you for a few days. Harry and the fantastic tale surrounding him I have known since I was knee-high. And when I met him, saw his famous face looking so confused, that day I saw Ron off to his first year at Hogwarts... ever since then, this feeling has been growing inside me.

... and?

Really, Tom. Can you imagine the hero of your childhood turning out to be just some kid, some handsome lad who -- I don't know. It just intrigues me how Our Great Savior, Killer of You-Know-Who is actually a real person, with his own moods, his own friends, enemies, likings, pet peeves, and -- am I making any sense?

Slightly. I think I see why you like that boy. But what of me?

You, Tom ... I came to the conclusion that the way I feel about you is more like ... well, you know, if I were to read a novel, and one of the main characters is so well written that I almost think he is real, and thus develop a love for him. But he isn't real, and my love for him isn't relevent in the real world. You see? That is how I feel about you, I think.

Tom? Are you still there...? I don't mean to hurt you or insult you or anything, I was just telling you how I feel.

Fine, fine. But ... do you remember when we kissed? Was that an illusion?

I don't know. It could have been.

Were my tears for you false ones?

I --

She stopped writing as suddenly, the place where his tear had fallen upon her cheek burned with a painful intensity. She dropped the diary, and pressed both hands to her cheek. She could feel tears welling up in her eyes, but she blinked furiously and bit her lip to keep from crying out.
What the bugger, Tom?

Just demonstrating my point. I am not some character in a novel, nor am I substanceless mirage. Remember that. I am as real as you, only confined in this book.

I ... understand. It's just strange.

I think that someday I could leave this book, if the, ah, proper circumstances arrive.

Oh, that would be lovely. If there is anything I can do to help, feel free to ask.

I shall do so. For now, just keep talking to me, telling me all those interesting little secret details of your life.

Hah. They aren't interesting, but they are certainly secret. Anything I tell you, you promise never to reveal to anyone else?

Now, who would I tell, dear? And how?

I know. But ... would you promise?

Maybe.

Tom!

I'm being what I believe is known as 'coy', you see.

Ah, yes...

But tell me, now. Now that we have argued over the sordid details of our relationship, dear... how has school been going for you?

Oh. Relatively terrible.

Yes?

I've been distracted by my ponderings during all my classes, so I've been getting pretty bad marks. And I swear all my classmates are avoiding me...

Ginny! I don't want to sound like your mother, but even if you must stay up all night, every night, studying, you must get better marks! Your studies are important. Knowing how to performspells, brew potions ... and of course how to defend yourself against the Dark Arts ... you must learn these! Please, for me... try to concentrate a little harder...

I will try.

Good lass. Now go study.

I will, Tom. Thanks for the advice.

You are most welcome, love. Now, go!

She shut the diary, and obediently opened her well-used second-hand copy of Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling, immersing herself in its words, in preparation for some thing she was pretty sure they would be tested on in Transfiguration class the next day. Eventually, she fell asleep with her face pressed into the page, a determined expression still on her face.