From the Diary of Ginny Weasley by magpie_igraine

Rating: PG13
Genres: Humor
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 07/06/2005
Last Updated: 07/06/2005
Status: Completed

This is a fluffiful, super short, one-shot with some light language issues and a little implied
smut. My tribute to the movie Bridget Jones's Diary (the first one, not the sequel). D/G
mentioned.




1. untitled
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This started as a response fic to Amy&EmmaGranger’s cat-fight challenge and eventually
snowballed into Bridget Jones rip-off...er…homage that had nothing to do with cat fights. I’m not
crazy about this fic, but I’d like some thoughts on Ginny’s voice/POV. R/R please…(bats eyelashes
and smiles prettily).

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters. I own nothing, so don’t sue.

Excerpted from the Diary of Ginny Weasley.

**Monday, February 10th**: Today was a good day, with loads of evil fought (evil being split
ends) and many wrongs righted. Practice went well, though I think Ron peaks every time he gets a
bloody goal. Ha Ha (laughing out loud). Wow, gives new meaning to the word ‘beater.’

Okay. Ewww. That’s gross.

Resolution: must get mind out of gutter. No, wait. New resolution: revise resolution. Must get
boyfriend who won't mind gutter and climb in for a bit of ‘toss the twap.’ One who won’t snog
bitchy little Cho-like Ravenclaws behind the bleachers after games. Well, at least with that
bipolar cow out of the running, my virtue stands a chance of being compromised this semester.
Mmmmm. Here's hoping. (Feeling hopeful now;-)

**Tuesday, February 11th**: No time to chat. Too tired from game. (Begs Diary’s forgiveness
and promises loads more info tomorrow). Meanwhile, I’ve decided to leave you with a question for
future mulling: why must all potential boyfriends be evil? Evil and lickable. Mmmmm. Yum.
Definitely bad. Utterly wicked and up to no good. "It’s wrong Ginny," I tell myself.
"Oh so wrong..." (dramatically swoons onto desk and starts weeping, all the while
secretly fondling flower said lickable Slytherin slipped into robe during game). I believe this is
a Very Important Question and must be thought over. And over. And over. On my way to meet him in
the tower.

**Friday, February 14th**: Many things have happened of the Must Record variety and I simply
Must Record them. Found self in the common room again last night. I was sitting in my usual corner,
nursing a destructive fit of boredom by carving things on the wall. I’m particularly proud of last
night’s little piece of vandalism. Has lots of arrows and hearts and a little blob that’s supposed
to be a cat. Loads better than ‘Doom to All Mudbloods’ in snake’s blood and whatnot.

Yes, I’m still battling insomnia: the opium addict’s disease. That being said, it's probably
genetic. Could definitely see relatives as drug stealers (a chromosome imbalance would explain
Ron’s reaction time on the field today). I remember Bill pacing round the backyard at three in the
morning, stepping over garden gnomes and reciting constellations (the big softy).

Anyway, so there I was, reading a paperback, minding my own business, when who should walk in at
four in the morning but Mr. and Mrs. Potter. Not their official names, mind you, at least not yet.
Just a fond nickname the house provided. Not very original, but what it lacks in wit, it makes up
for in accuracy. The inseparable duo of Hogwarts. The power couple of the twenty-first century. Now
if only they’d realize it. [Sighs, caught up with the angsty romance of it all].

Once upon a time I **might** have been jealous. Well, what girl in her right mind wouldn’t?
After all, pseudo-messiah or not, he’s still the most bleeding gorgeous thing at Hogwarts.
Lickability aside, however, I'm amazed Hermione still puts up with him. For the record: a hero
complex and an inferiority complex do not mix. (Note To Self: rear children accordingly).

So, Hermione storms through the common room, fiery-eyed and angry, all covered with mud. Great
gods she was mad. Her hands balled into fists as she turned towards an equally filthy Harry. I
think she was counting. Oh, right, counting to ten. Trying to calm herself down. "That’da
girl," I thought. Wouldn’t want to accidentally castrate your would-be boyfriend. Hardly help
your frustration. Rather the opposite I imagine.

“Harry,” she said through gritted teeth.

Harry didn’t answer. Just looked at her with those big green eyes. Not his puppy
dog-I’m-so-unloved-and-therefore-adorable eyes but his
I’m-a-self-righteous-prick-who-knows-what’s-best-for-my-friends eyes. I hate that look. Been on the
receiving end more than once (especially since the public exposure of an ongoing flirtation with a
too-attractive-for-his-own-good-but-still- amazingly-sweet-knobheaded Slytherin, who shall remain
nameless).

“Harry,” she says again. Of course at this point, I’m taking notes. It’s not everyday, mind you,
that I see the golden girl of Hogwarts taking potshots at her handsome prince. (Fights back
giggles). Wow, I just reduced the epic love story of Hogwarts into a puppet-show plot. I should get
a job writing for the Daily Prophet.

“What were you thinking?” She asks breathlessly. “Honestly Harry...” she trails off. Goddess she
looks pale. Didn’t see it before, too busy taking in the mud and all, but she’s really really
white. Can’t be healthy being in love with the Boy-Who-Puts-Himself-In-Avoidable-Danger-Every-
Five-F**king-Minutes.

“You can’t keep doing that,” she finishes. Her eyes are all teary now. I can’t see Harry’s face
though, his back’s turned to me (Dammit).

She adds softly, “you’re too important.”

Harry takes a step towards her and says, “and you’re not?”

“That...that’s not the point!” Her eyes widen as she nearly shouts that first bit. Wow. Never
heard her yell like that. And judging from Harry’s reaction, neither had he.

“You can’t keep running off...” she lowered her voice to hushed whisper. “It doesn’t matter
(something) think…something something. Something else.”

(Baugh!) Gods this was frustrating. I couldn’t hear a thing. I moved closer, stealth-like of
course. I could see them better now, but I still didn’t hear…

“Harry,” Hermione’s shaky voice interrupted my thoughts.

She took a step towards him. I felt a surge of pride, what with her taking on the Boy Who Lived
all by her lonesome. Girl power and so forth. “I’m not some second-rate sidekick in this,” she
started jabbing at him with her finger, “and I’m not going to have you hovering over me while I do
my bloody job. Which, I might add, I am more than capable of doing By Myself and Without You.”

She leaned towards him threateningly, “So the next time you decide to “rescue” me from the
centaurs, try and use some blasted restraint before you end up getting us both killed.”

*Centaurs?* *Killed? Huh*?...Of course I have no idea what’s going on there. Sounds
like diplomatic grunt work of the Dumbledore variety. Grunt work that I’m more than happy to leave
to Hermes, minister of magic in the making and all. Guess Harry didn’t see it that way though, just
looking to protect his girl; although, knowing Harry, said ‘protection’ probably meant swooping in
on his broomstick, fueled by half-cocked theories and half-cocked, um, other manly bits.

Speaking of half-cocked (must stop saying this, having too much fun saying this), Harry suddenly
gripped her shoulders and pulled her to him, meeting her gaze with narrowed eyes. “It won’t happen
again,” he said coolly, “because there won’t be a next time. You’re not going back.”

“I’m not…?”

“…going back into the forest. Not again. Not even if I’m with you.”

“Not even if you’re what?” She repeated slowly, her eyes taking on an ominous glint.

“Okay… great,” I think. Her eyes are nearly black with rage and Harry’s knuckles are turning
white against her shoulders. I chose that moment to duck under a table and start praying. Finding
some solace in the Holy Father before I was killed in a crossfire sounded like a mighty fine plan.
Let’s see, our Father who are (art?) in heaven...? (Bites lips nervously, trying to think of what
comes next). Damn. (Oh, wait, pun alert).

“It’s. Not. Your. Decision,” she said through gritted teeth.

"Mummy..." I whimpered (though in a very courageous, Gryffindor fashion).

“You’re not going back,” he answered evenly.

“Who are you to say…” her voice was getting pretty shrill now.

“I’m not letting you put yourself…” he interrupted her firmly.

“Again, it’s not your decision.”

“Yes, sweets, I’m afraid it is,” Harry said gravely.

“What right…?” Hermione’s answer was cut short by her muffled yelp.

An eerie silence descended over the room as I cautiously peaked over the desk. I expected to
find them, I don't know, in dueling stance with wands drawn or something. Instead I found them
in an equally entertaining and no less thrilling position: the golden gods of Hogwarts were madly
groping each other. Harry’s arm was around her waist, lifting her to him, winding his hand through
her loose hair as he plundered her mouth. For her part, Hermione wasn’t offering much resistance,
sighing his name as she ran her hands over his back and under his robe, clutching at him
desperately. (Gives Hermione thumbs up). Go girl.

Truth be told, I wasn’t thinking much about everlasting peace anymore. Well, excepting the part
where I asked myself about what god in what life I had pleased. Alright, maybe I was enjoying it a
bit too much. But hey, overprotected teenager here, got to get my kicks in somehow. To my credit I
left at that point. Well, not at that point. I toddled off when they fell in a groaning heap onto
the sofa, reminding myself to do a cleansing charm for it later. I mean, good gods, they’re not the
only ones who use it. Or at least who’d like to use it if only the nummy opportunity would present
itself.

And, well, that’s about it. The next morning (this morning) Harry and Hermione acted the same as
ever. Sure, their eyes never left each other’s and Ron told me they cut Potions III and Terry
mentioned their skipping the prefet meetings and, well, yeah, things are a little sappy-mushy in
Hogwarts right now. The birds are singing and the sunlight’s beaming and everything smells like sex
and candy. Mmmmm. Sex and candy.

Note To Self: Must get new boyfriend. And no, will not meet potential candidate of the Slytherin
variety after Herbology. (Even though his hard steel eyes held the promise of other hard steely
things). Yum. This is Very Important and must be mulled over. And over. Right now. On my way to the
tower.

End



