A/N: Sorry! I had to edit something in this chapter that was realllllly important...mainly I just had to add something...which is at the end so that's all you really have to read if you've already read this chapter. I decided that I didn't want to write another chapter because it would just end up being more choppy and even more spacier than this chapter and I didn't want to do that. So that means all that's left is the Epilogue...amazing...ok..off to write that. :)

Chapter 13

Like a photograph
That fades away
My pain subsides
You drift away

All I've got
Are these memories
That lose their color
That lose a meaning

And all I've got
Are these photographs
That deaden with time
And lose their words

And all I've got
Are all these scars
From silly adventures
That made us close

And all I've got
Is this silly book
Where we wrote our future
For us later to read

As I flip through this book
All my memories return
My pain comes back
You're here by my side

I stared at the short poem I had just written as my face scrunched up in disgust. I hated writing so why was I even bothering? Because it was from an anonymous person? Because, maybe, deep down inside of me I knew that it actually helped to write when I couldn't talk to someone? Either way, it was starting to become not a good enough of reason.

It was two weeks after Christmas. School was back in swing. People were back to ignoring me. Teachers were back to picking on me. It was a wonderful system, I must say.

Those few days after Christmas and before school started I had just stared at the notebook, trying to figure out who had sent it to me. My first guess was Hermione but then I realized that she would've told me it was from her. Then I thought maybe my mum. But then I looked at her present and ruled that out. I got a sweater, as usual, but the threads were loose, it was starting to unravel, and tear drop stains littered it.

Harry was my third guess. Heaven knows why I would think that, but I did. We hadn't talked since that afternoon in the common room. He hasn't even looked at me. Has he finally gotten the picture that looking at him only reminded me of Ron? I hope so.

So Harry was ruled out which left no one. I couldn't think of anyone that would send me a random notebook. Anna had crossed my mind but she flat-out told me she didn't give it to me and she never lies.

Now I had a black journal from a mysterious person and I was actually writing in it. Hadn't I learned anything from my Second Year? Apparently I hadn't since I was writing in it.

"Still writing?" Anna asked me when she sat down next to me in the common room. She peered over my shoulder to read what I had written.

"No, I'm done," I snapped, closing my book abruptly before she could read too much of it. I didn't like people reading what I write.

"Don't stop on my account," Anna said, ignoring my sour tone and leaning back against the couch.

"I'm not. I'm just done writing. Besides, I really should start on my Ancient Runes essay," I said, drumming my fingers on the table, avoiding Anna's gaze.

"Yeah Ginny, I'm sure you're going to go work on you're essay," Anna rolled her eyes. "You never do you're homework until the last minute and the essay isn't due until Friday."

"Maybe I have a Transfiguration essay due," I retaliated.

"We don't though," Anna said, a smile playing on her lips. I was losing and she knew it. "Why don't you want to write anymore?"

"I just don't feel like it anymore," I said, scratching the felt covering of the journal.

"Does it help?" Anna asked quietly after a moment's silence. I didn't look at Anna even though I knew she was gazing intensely at me. I concentrated on the cover.

"Yes, yes it does," I whispered.

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I carried the journal with me everywhere. I took it to all my classes, it was constantly in the common room with me, and it was even next to me during lunch. Maybe I just didn't want anyone to read it, or maybe I always wanted a place to write when my emotions were so great that I was afraid I might burst.

When my emotions were that great, I scribbled away in my journal, unaware of my surroundings. Whether it was in the middle of class or while I was chewing my food, I always stopped what I was doing so that I could write. I didn't want to blow up on anyone. I had lost plenty of friends from that.

Anna supported me. She understood what this journal was doing to me. It was changing me whether I wanted to acknowledge it or not.

And I was changing. I wasn't digging my grave anymore. I wasn't a hostile girl anymore. I still refused to talk to Harry, but I had matured. I still missed Ron greatly, but I was accepting it. Writing really was helping.

And to be completely honest, I didn't mind Draco talking to me all the time. Well, I think you could call it talking. It still annoyed the crap out of me, but it was all part of the system. The days that Draco didn't randomly bump into me and mutter something so I could hear seemed like they were a waste. I felt complete when he did that. It wasn't that I got happy or excited when he talked to me; it's just that it showed that someone else cared about me besides Anna.

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"Ginny."

"Malfoy."

"Why do you call me Malfoy?" Draco asked, leaning against the outside wall and then sliding down so he was sitting down next to me.

It was the middle of February but it was such a nice day that I decided to come outside. Needless to say I had my notebook in hand.

"Because it's your name," I said simply, stating the obvious.

"It's my last name, not my first name. And usually people call others by their first name," Draco said.

"Yeah but they have to deserve to be called by their first name," I said, opening and closing the cover of journal so I had something to do with my hands.

"And I don't deserve it?" Draco asked in mock surprise.

"Do you really think you deserve it?" I asked him.

"I think I've been a pretty good acquaintance this past year; at least better than others," Draco said, picking at a piece of grass.

"Fine, Draco," I said, stressing his name, "are you happy now?"

"I guess so," he shrugged.

"Why do you talk to me?" I asked.

"I thought we had already gone through this," Draco said, leaning his head against the wall and looking up at the cloudy sky.

"Well yeah but I still don't understand why," I said quietly, flipping the journal cover open and keeping it like that. The little note from the mysterious giver still burned on the first page. Half of the notebook has been filled with doodles, sketches, poems, and rants but this first page was the only page that was still clean. I didn't plan on marking on it ever.

"Ginny you went through something that no one should ever have to go through. It happened at such a young age and now you have to live with it your whole life," Draco said.

"I was fifteen, how is that young?" I asked.

"Fifteen's young compared to forty-five," Draco stated.

"But why would you take pity on me? I'm a Weasley; Malfoys don't like Weasleys."

"Promise not to tell anyone?" Draco asked, looking me straight in the eye. His eyes burned with such intensity that I couldn't look away. I slowly nodded. "I was there Ginny. I saw everything. Why do you think I came over to this side, to the good side?" I shrugged my shoulders and he continued, "I saw what Voldemort did, how ruthless he truly was. Making a father kill his own son? And then he proceeded to kill my father right in front of me. He knew I was there."

I suddenly noticed that Draco's shoulders were shaking and his voice kept changing pitches. He was upset, he was almost crying. It suddenly made me feel like all my emotions were petty compared to him, but then again it was the same thing. We had both watched someone we loved die.

"Draco," I whispered, tentatively grabbing his hand which was fiercely tearing strands of grass into little pieces. A pile had already formed on his lap.

"Ginny, I lost everything that night. I lost my father to death, my mother to alcohol, and my friends to Voldemort. You haven't lost everything yet. You still have people who love you. You still have friends. You still have Harry," Draco said, regaining his composure.

I dropped his hand. Why did he have to mention Harry?

"I hate hearing that name, you know," I said, slamming my notebook shut.

"No you don't, you just don't want to think about it." I stood up and turned my back to him. "Just talk to Harry, Ginny, just talk! Not talking to Harry won't bring your brother back. Who knows, maybe talking to him will help ease your pain because apparently writing isn't."

I felt Draco brush past me and I clutched my journal to my chest. I fiercely wiped away the tears that had escaped and continued to stand there next to the wall.

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I stormed into the common room twisting my notebook but unable to rip it. I faintly noticed the entire room go quiet as I stomped over to the fireplace. The students in the armchairs close to the fire quickly leap up when they saw my face. I knelt in front of the fire and as the heat washed over me, I twisted the notebook again, trying to rip it.

By this time I noticed that tears were freely falling down my cheeks. Why was I crying? Why was I acting like this? I thought I had gotten over crying for Ron. Hadn't I shed enough tears for him? But then again, you can never really get over someone's death.

Maybe I wasn't crying because of Ron. Maybe I was crying because of what Draco had said. Did his explanation of why I refused to talk to Harry affect me that much? Or was his story finally taking its toll on me? It was heart-wrenching what he had gone through but I can't believe it would make me cry this much.

Or maybe the notebook was getting ripped up and these tears were falling because Draco was right. He was completely and utterly right about everything. He was right about Harry, he was right about my feelings; he was even right about what I had to do. I hated it when someone else was right about me.

I stared at my notebook and stared to flip through it, briefly looking at the beginning of each poem and rant. Why did it hurt so much?

A/N: You know you want to review again...or review for the first time.