potterfreak16
A/N: Chapter two, written in Ginny's POV. Reviews are always appreciated. Ginny's last entry is inspired in part by Opalish's Need.
17th June, my room, 11:27 AM
I'll have you know – yes, you – that I am fine without Harry Boy-Who-Lived Potter in my life. Not that anyone round here believes that. Mum's always giving me these sympathetic glances, and Dad keeps patting my head, saying things like, "It'll get easier, sweetheart." As if they know how it feels.
Wait. There isn't anything to feel, because I don't care about the fact that Harry broke up with me mere weeks ago, at a funeral no less. And I certainly don't care that he's here right now, sleeping in Ron's room, the sound of his snores drifting in through my slightly opened door.
No. I don't care at all.
I think I'm doing rather well, if I do say so myself. I haven't cried once, unless you count Dumbledore's funeral, and that wasn't even because of Harry. It was because the world's greatest wizard had just died, for Merlin's sake.
And it certainly didn't bother me when he bumped into me last night on the stairs and kept walking as if I didn't exist. Even though it was rather rude of him not to apologize. I mean, honestly, I could have fallen and broken my neck. You'd think the git would have had enough bloody decency to at least say, "Sorry, Gin, didn't see you there." Something. Hmph.
But as I said, it didn't bother me in the least.
And don't give me that look. I mean it. Even though you're just a book and can't really give me any sort of look one way or another.
Hermione should be along in a few days. It'll be nice to see her again, I suppose, especially since I didn't give her a proper goodbye at the end of term. It was rather hard to do that, though, considering the circumstances. It would've been rather awkward to have smiled cheerily and hugged her like I normally do. I don't suppose the mood was right for hopeful goodbyes.
Still, she'll be here soon enough, and then I'll at least have someone round to keep me occupied. Sitting alone in my room day after day is getting a bit redundant.
Well, since you are a diary and all, (completely non-possessed, of course) I guess it wouldn't hurt to actually put my thoughts onto paper. I think being stuck in this stage of denial or whatever Hermione called it in her last letter is beginning to become rather unhealthy.
I'm feeling so very frustrated at the moment. Not with anything in particular; it's more like everything in my life. Frustrated because I was powerless to stop the events that took place that last night at Hogwarts, angry because of losing Professor Dumbledore, and completely furious at the boy with vivid green eyes who stole my heart and stomped it to a bloody pulp.
And that's not all. Because it's not all about losing Dumbledore or Harry or the fact that I can't seem to forget about him. It's more than that. It's the fact that nobody bloody trusts me round here; not Ron, not Harry, not even Hermione, who's supposed to be my best friend. They act as if I don't know what they're planning, like I'm still the same stupid, naïve girl I once was. And you'd think, after knowing me for so long, that they'd realize how much I've changed, but they haven't. To them, I'm still poor, helpless Ginny, too young to comprehend the complicated curveballs life has thrown at them.
I really believed that Harry understood me, that he had finally opened his eyes and saw me for the woman I've become. I really thought that things had changed between us, not even in the romantic sense of the word, (although I'll admit, it was wonderful) but as human beings, similar creatures. I thought he'd finally realized that I wasn't the same nervous eleven-year-old girl that landed her elbow in butter dishes while in his presence. I truly, honestly believed that things had really changed between us in all of the right ways.
But once again, poor, defenseless Ginny Weasley had been wrong. She usually is when it comes to him.
Or maybe I'd been right – maybe he really did understand me. Maybe he did appreciate and respect me. Maybe he did care about me, as much as I still care about him, even though I can't bring myself to admit it anymore.
And maybe that's why it's so hard for me to let go.
It's not like me to be this way – quiet, reserved, sulky. I've broken up with loads of blokes before, and I've always bounced back just fine, except for this time. This time it's different, and we both know it. Everyone does. Because this wasn't like Michael or Dean – this actually meant something to me, something I never imagined I could feel.
And maybe if I wasn't so bloody understanding, so supportive of him, it wouldn't be this way. Maybe if I would've yelled or cried or screamed at him, things would've turned out differently. Maybe things would still be like they were at Hogwarts – nowhere near carefree, but happy and wonderful all the same.
But of course I didn't yell or cry or scream at him, because he's Harry and I'll always support him, even when I wish I wouldn't. Because I'm Ginny Weasley, and understanding's my middle name.
Actually, it's Molly, but you understand the idea.
And now Mum's calling me for lunch, so I suppose I should go downstairs or else I'll risk enduring the wrath of Molly Weasley. And we wouldn't want that, would we?
Still 17th June, in the kitchen, 9:47 PM
Oh, Ginny. You are officially hopeless.
There are a million different things that could be occupying your mind, yet you still continue to think about the one thing you're not supposed to. You'd better snap out of it soon, Weasley, or else you'll turn into another blubbering Cho Chang.
Except, minus the blubbering part. You haven't cried yet.
And now I'll stop talking in the second person. Honestly, I will.
Sitting at dinner earlier on really confirmed something for me in my mind. Despite the fact that I'm determined to get over Harry and put him behind me, I somehow realize that I'm fighting a losing battle. I can't just forget about something like that. It's not that simple.
But I'm going to try. Because I'm not Cho Chang, and I don't cry when things go the opposite of what I wanted them to. Because I'm not the type of girl who sulks about a past she can't change, a girl who spends her days sitting alone in her bedroom, scribbling furiously into tattered notebooks. I'm stronger than that. And I will get past this.
I'm determined, you see.
Besides, what's there to miss about Harry Potter, anyway? It can't be his eyes that I almost never lost myself in. It can't be holding his calloused hands from playing too much Quidditch. It can't be that awful crooked grin that most definitely does not make me go weak in the knees.
I don't need to see his smile to make me feel complete. I don't need to hear his mumbled, awkward mutterings of affection to feel wanted.
I don't need him at all.
But sometimes I wish he'd needed me.