Author's Note: So continues my ridiculous, parodical attempt at humor: Chapter Two. In which Ginny gets some action. Actually, not quite.
Disclaimer: If I had a dollar for each time I said, 'I don't own Harry Potter etc. etc.' I would be unbelievably rich.
The Hopefully Non-Magic Diary of Ginny Weasley
December 7
As I sigh for the umpteenth time in an infinitesimal second, I have come to the conclusion that I am one of the millions today suffering from chronic depression. The cause of this condition is apparent. One can only stand being stuck in a room full of lifeless losers before the influence gets to one’s head.
The boy who sits next to me in SD (Self-Discovery) tragically mistakes his bogey as a sort of delicacy. On a regular basis. He also seems to like to use me as a napkin, to which I try squeak loudly and duck. He looks confused by this. It’s understandable, as napkins do not usually move on their own accord. I find myself straying from the point, however, so I will get back to what I was really trying to say.
I HATE MUCH. A DEEP AND DARK ANGER IS VESTED IN ME.
And that is all there is to say on the matter. I am also craving some chocolates and will be taking donations.
Later
But you see? The worst part of it all, if one could pinpoint such a thing, is Malfoy (one who is incessantly bothersome and a general mar in human society). He drips with such superiority, that he might as well wear a sign reading, ‘ WARNING: ELITIST GIT. MAY GIVE YOU URGE TO POUND HIS HEAD IN’. Perhaps I shall take the liberty of making it for him.
I’ve never seen a boy so deeply in love with himself. If I have chronic depression, he has chronic narcissism. It’s beyond anyone’s help, but there you are—that is why we are all here, in SD. For we are all helpless and suffering from incurable, long term things.
I mean, really, he opens his mouth and out comes something else about himself. ‘ Are you sure we’re supposed to be doing that? You certainly can’t expect a Malfoy to partake in this undignified activity, can you?’ he says as he frowns a bit and continues to look down his nose at everyone. I swear to the gods that I will do something rash the next time he mentions his lavish manor. Like botch his body into four quarters. Then I can plead chronic insanity. Hurrah!
December 10
I cannot believe this monumental moment.
1) I have made a pseudo-friend.
2) I have made a fool of myself. Verily.
The latter is not so surprising, but it's worth mentioning.
On the subject of number one: her name is Alette. I have spoken to her directly a few times in class. She is a dear child, albeit a little scatterbrained. It seems all of my company are not completely normal, but that is my curse.
Anyway, I was trying to write her a note during class today, as most normal teenage girls do in class. Except , perhaps I am not so skilled in the art of note passing, for I attempted to throw it behind me to where Alette sat, two seats behind. Have I ever told you of my horrible aim? One day I will tell you about the time that I accidentally knocked poor Mum’s nose with the vase Grandfather gave her. I was going for Ron. It’s the thought that counts.
But yes, since you seem to be wondering. It landed in the wrong lap: The lap of Mr. Narcissus himself, who happened to sit right behind me. Most likely breathing down my neck the whole time. I nearly peed my pants as I saw his lips curl, but refrained. Thank the Lord. There is nothing worse than very damp knickers and skirts.
Malfoy beamed, having acquired my note. I was mortified. But not as mortified as when the stupid whale raised his hand. Naturally, Professor Ritzenthaler called on him, looking a bit flustered at being interrupted during his long tirade of something nonsensical or another, like hygiene.
“Yes, Mr. Malfoy?” he gazed questioningly, his hands flying to his glasses, currently sliding down his nose.
“I’ve found a note, sir,” Malfoy said. My heart stopped beating.
“ A note! Written in my class?” Professor Ritz clucked his tongue, his face turning pink. Strangely enough, nothing seemed to ruffle his feathers more than a student not paying attention in his class. “Someone is asking for a detention.” He looked around the room for any heartfelt confessions. None. Malfoy continued, and I thought his face might break, the way he was smiling. Boy, what a git. I bet he is so git-y, he makes other gits cry.
“Well, I’m sure you’d like to know, as do we all, what it was that kept—”
Like I would let him reveal my identity. I could not afford to have a detention. Reaching over, I used my hand to clamp the bugger’s mouth shut. The effect was instantaneous. I wondered why I had not done this more often, when he talked too much. While his voice was muffled however, his face creased into a glare.
“Mmff gmmff!!!” he protested vehemently. Professor Ritz looked very nervous now.
“Er—Miss Weasley, I’m going to ask you to release Mr. Malfoy—“
I did as I was told. Burning red from embarrassment, and wondering what the hell I was thinking (or perhaps I was not, and therein lies the problem). I quickly made up another weak and lame cover. Oh, well.
“A bug,” I lied. “It would have been unfortunate for Malfoy to have swallowed a bug.” I looked around. “ It seems now, though, that the fly is gone. Good for him. Or her, as it could be.”
I probably looked like a large, bright red Christmas bauble. Malfoy looked disbelieving, as well as the rest of the class. Professor Ritz absentmindedly nodded.
" Very well, very well….” He returned to his teachings, forgetting all about the note. I thank any deity up there for his forgetfulness.
And then, I breathed.
But the trouble was not over. Malfoy seemed discouraged for a while, but after class, as everyone else was filing out, I found Malfoy trying to sneak his way to Professor Ritz’ desk with the note. Having another go, was he? I could play along to that. Really, I could.
For one: I blocked his way.
“Hello, Weasley,” he regarded me in a bored manner. And how dare he!
“Move.” I did not.
“I said, ‘move,’” he repeated.
“Where do you think you’re going?” I asked.
“To inform Professor Ritz who wrote this note, naturally,” he sneered at me. I fumed.
“Oh, you will not!”
“I’d like to see you stop me.” In anger, I watched his pink lips move wider and wider into a smirk. And then, he tried to dodge me. But I acted fast yet again. I realize now that I have a lack of judgment, and should have rather accepted the detention. Something came over me. Perhaps a strange dust particle in the air.
Because I grabbed his annoying little face, and kissed hi
Later
Apologies. Writing about that made me feel a bit faint.
After, well…’the kiss’ was over (in a second, mind you—as soon as I realized what I was doing), I reeled back in disgust, as did he.
“Weasley!” he cried, aghast. I gaped.
“Oh, God! I’m contaminated!” I screamed.
“You?! I’ll never get this filth off! If you’ve given me any of your sickly germs, I swear I’ll tell father!”
“Well, it stopped you from tattling, didn’t it? You should know better than to tattle.”
“What makes you think I won’t go 'tattle' now?”
“If you do, I’ll kiss you again.” (I was lying.)
He was outsmarted then. (He actually believed me, the arrogant pansy.)
And we both went on our ways, feeling extremely dirty for even touching one another.
Must take multitudes of baths now and rub my lips raw. I swear I will never go within ten yards of him ever again. Never ever, ever, ever, ever.
I am quite serious this time when I say that I might be insane. I have no recollection of getting it in my head that I should make lip contact with Malfoy. It's almost like it wasn't my idea at all. Have you never heard of Multiple Personality Disorder?
Even Later
I can’t believe I gave my first kiss to that overgrown chicken.
Disclaimer: If I had a dollar for each time I said, 'I don't own Harry Potter etc. etc.' I would be unbelievably rich.
The Hopefully Non-Magic Diary of Ginny Weasley
December 7
As I sigh for the umpteenth time in an infinitesimal second, I have come to the conclusion that I am one of the millions today suffering from chronic depression. The cause of this condition is apparent. One can only stand being stuck in a room full of lifeless losers before the influence gets to one’s head.
The boy who sits next to me in SD (Self-Discovery) tragically mistakes his bogey as a sort of delicacy. On a regular basis. He also seems to like to use me as a napkin, to which I try squeak loudly and duck. He looks confused by this. It’s understandable, as napkins do not usually move on their own accord. I find myself straying from the point, however, so I will get back to what I was really trying to say.
I HATE MUCH. A DEEP AND DARK ANGER IS VESTED IN ME.
And that is all there is to say on the matter. I am also craving some chocolates and will be taking donations.
Later
But you see? The worst part of it all, if one could pinpoint such a thing, is Malfoy (one who is incessantly bothersome and a general mar in human society). He drips with such superiority, that he might as well wear a sign reading, ‘ WARNING: ELITIST GIT. MAY GIVE YOU URGE TO POUND HIS HEAD IN’. Perhaps I shall take the liberty of making it for him.
I’ve never seen a boy so deeply in love with himself. If I have chronic depression, he has chronic narcissism. It’s beyond anyone’s help, but there you are—that is why we are all here, in SD. For we are all helpless and suffering from incurable, long term things.
I mean, really, he opens his mouth and out comes something else about himself. ‘ Are you sure we’re supposed to be doing that? You certainly can’t expect a Malfoy to partake in this undignified activity, can you?’ he says as he frowns a bit and continues to look down his nose at everyone. I swear to the gods that I will do something rash the next time he mentions his lavish manor. Like botch his body into four quarters. Then I can plead chronic insanity. Hurrah!
December 10
I cannot believe this monumental moment.
1) I have made a pseudo-friend.
2) I have made a fool of myself. Verily.
The latter is not so surprising, but it's worth mentioning.
On the subject of number one: her name is Alette. I have spoken to her directly a few times in class. She is a dear child, albeit a little scatterbrained. It seems all of my company are not completely normal, but that is my curse.
Anyway, I was trying to write her a note during class today, as most normal teenage girls do in class. Except , perhaps I am not so skilled in the art of note passing, for I attempted to throw it behind me to where Alette sat, two seats behind. Have I ever told you of my horrible aim? One day I will tell you about the time that I accidentally knocked poor Mum’s nose with the vase Grandfather gave her. I was going for Ron. It’s the thought that counts.
But yes, since you seem to be wondering. It landed in the wrong lap: The lap of Mr. Narcissus himself, who happened to sit right behind me. Most likely breathing down my neck the whole time. I nearly peed my pants as I saw his lips curl, but refrained. Thank the Lord. There is nothing worse than very damp knickers and skirts.
Malfoy beamed, having acquired my note. I was mortified. But not as mortified as when the stupid whale raised his hand. Naturally, Professor Ritzenthaler called on him, looking a bit flustered at being interrupted during his long tirade of something nonsensical or another, like hygiene.
“Yes, Mr. Malfoy?” he gazed questioningly, his hands flying to his glasses, currently sliding down his nose.
“I’ve found a note, sir,” Malfoy said. My heart stopped beating.
“ A note! Written in my class?” Professor Ritz clucked his tongue, his face turning pink. Strangely enough, nothing seemed to ruffle his feathers more than a student not paying attention in his class. “Someone is asking for a detention.” He looked around the room for any heartfelt confessions. None. Malfoy continued, and I thought his face might break, the way he was smiling. Boy, what a git. I bet he is so git-y, he makes other gits cry.
“Well, I’m sure you’d like to know, as do we all, what it was that kept—”
Like I would let him reveal my identity. I could not afford to have a detention. Reaching over, I used my hand to clamp the bugger’s mouth shut. The effect was instantaneous. I wondered why I had not done this more often, when he talked too much. While his voice was muffled however, his face creased into a glare.
“Mmff gmmff!!!” he protested vehemently. Professor Ritz looked very nervous now.
“Er—Miss Weasley, I’m going to ask you to release Mr. Malfoy—“
I did as I was told. Burning red from embarrassment, and wondering what the hell I was thinking (or perhaps I was not, and therein lies the problem). I quickly made up another weak and lame cover. Oh, well.
“A bug,” I lied. “It would have been unfortunate for Malfoy to have swallowed a bug.” I looked around. “ It seems now, though, that the fly is gone. Good for him. Or her, as it could be.”
I probably looked like a large, bright red Christmas bauble. Malfoy looked disbelieving, as well as the rest of the class. Professor Ritz absentmindedly nodded.
" Very well, very well….” He returned to his teachings, forgetting all about the note. I thank any deity up there for his forgetfulness.
And then, I breathed.
But the trouble was not over. Malfoy seemed discouraged for a while, but after class, as everyone else was filing out, I found Malfoy trying to sneak his way to Professor Ritz’ desk with the note. Having another go, was he? I could play along to that. Really, I could.
For one: I blocked his way.
“Hello, Weasley,” he regarded me in a bored manner. And how dare he!
“Move.” I did not.
“I said, ‘move,’” he repeated.
“Where do you think you’re going?” I asked.
“To inform Professor Ritz who wrote this note, naturally,” he sneered at me. I fumed.
“Oh, you will not!”
“I’d like to see you stop me.” In anger, I watched his pink lips move wider and wider into a smirk. And then, he tried to dodge me. But I acted fast yet again. I realize now that I have a lack of judgment, and should have rather accepted the detention. Something came over me. Perhaps a strange dust particle in the air.
Because I grabbed his annoying little face, and kissed hi
Later
Apologies. Writing about that made me feel a bit faint.
After, well…’the kiss’ was over (in a second, mind you—as soon as I realized what I was doing), I reeled back in disgust, as did he.
“Weasley!” he cried, aghast. I gaped.
“Oh, God! I’m contaminated!” I screamed.
“You?! I’ll never get this filth off! If you’ve given me any of your sickly germs, I swear I’ll tell father!”
“Well, it stopped you from tattling, didn’t it? You should know better than to tattle.”
“What makes you think I won’t go 'tattle' now?”
“If you do, I’ll kiss you again.” (I was lying.)
He was outsmarted then. (He actually believed me, the arrogant pansy.)
And we both went on our ways, feeling extremely dirty for even touching one another.
Must take multitudes of baths now and rub my lips raw. I swear I will never go within ten yards of him ever again. Never ever, ever, ever, ever.
I am quite serious this time when I say that I might be insane. I have no recollection of getting it in my head that I should make lip contact with Malfoy. It's almost like it wasn't my idea at all. Have you never heard of Multiple Personality Disorder?
Even Later
I can’t believe I gave my first kiss to that overgrown chicken.
To Be Continued.
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