A/N: Okay, okay, the whole diary thing has been done before, I know. But I couldn't resist! Plus, I gave it my own twist, of course. As always, any questions email me, comments, review. Even the "you suck, go away" comments. And if it turns out there's a story already out there exactly like this one, which I hope an unbelievable amount there isn't, I didn't know it. I know there are other versions, but not exactly like what I wrote.
Basically, I'm not copying anyone.
Disclaimer: Don't be silly, I don't own the HP world.
If this stupid letter thing doesn't make you happy you are officially the Dragon Lady. Don't act like you don't deserve the title!
"Oh, Ginny, PLEASE write! Just to check in! It's your last year, and with the war going on, I need to know that you're still you!" you begged. Don't give this parchment that look! You sound like that!
And don't think that I don't realize that this is a trick to make me have diary! Even though it's not a real diary...Of all the people in the world, I am the MOST qualified to have a diary phobia. There is no possible way you can argue this, Dragon Lady.
AND YOU BETTER NOT BE READING ANY OF THIS! Check the handwriting, make sure it's mine, and that's it! Use this to line Pig's cage, or something. And don't act as if this is a bad idea, you're always going on how my handwriting is so, what's the word you use, Ginny-like? I happen to like it. Yes, it's a little hard to read at times, but aren't I?
Oh, if you so much as glance at this, I swear, I'll...be REALLY upset with you!
Y'know, if I was smart, I wouldn't be writing like this at all. If only I had inherited the brains in the family...Although, according to OWLS, I did. Not straight O's, but pretty close. If I remember correctly Dad beamed so much there was no need for any other light source when he was in the room.
BECAUSE I AM A WONDERFUL CHILD WHO DOES NOT NEED ANYONE TO CHECK IN ON HER. And y'know what, Dragon Lady? I will not be dating these letters. You can GUESS the date.
You'll probably just glance and know. How do you do that? I will learn how. Someday. I will I will I will. Maybe.
I suppose I could write about how the first feast of my last year was. I could tell you how the new DADA teacher has a bit of a 'fro, but I won't. Because you're not reading this.
If I tell myself that enough, it'll be true.
Maybe I should just stick with the formal stuff, in case you actually are reading this. Plus, you told me to keep it formal, always freaking out over the idea of something like this falling into the wrong hands.
The first years were extra nervous this year. They're nervous every year, trust me, I know. But this year, it seemed worse. As soon as a kid was sorted in Slytherin, they seemed uber relieved. Not going against the family, I'm guessing.
McGonagall, as you know, is the Headmistress now. Giving her speech, she actually smiled at me. I swear it. That lady loves me from my first year when I transfigured a bottle cap into a ladybug. Because I'm so awesome.
It's strange looking at the teacher's table now. Hagrid's still there, though he seem preoccupied. McGonagall mentioned that he was just visiting. I'm gonna miss him. Sprout's there, jolly as ever. Flitwick, bless his soul sits up there with good spirits. That tiny man is one of the best people, the way he never gives detention, takes points, notices when I
SCRATCH OUT, QUILL! SCRATCH THAT OUT! Sweet Merlin, Dragon Lady, did you give me special parchment! DAMN YOU DRAGON LADY!
NOOOOOOO! GINNY! YOU DAMNED YOUR MUM!
And now you're writing to yourself. Oh yes, this year is going to be great.
At least we have a new potions master. Again. My mistake, he's the one with the slight 'fro. He's much too thin, it makes his hair look even bigger. The new DADA is a woman. A very young woman. Is she old enough to teach us?
At least McGonagall's still there, even if it does seem like she's in the wrong seat. I kept wanting to stand up and say "Minerva! Get in your seat!" during the feast.
I mumbled that and pumpkin juice shot out of Colin's nose. It was gross. A lot of first years got sprayed. I laughed so hard I snorted. A third year made fun of me, so I threw a roll at him.
Basically, what I'm doing here, is explaining what REALLY happened in case you get a letter from McGonagall claiming that I started a food fight. It wasn't really even a fight at all. Maybe a food spat. That's all.
I am not turning into the twins! I know, that if you read this, which you aren't, you would be muttering that under your breath. Maybe even sobbing it. The twins are a handful. A highly amusing handful.
I am going to change topic now. Because I feel like it.
In the commonroom all the seventh years (me included because I'm a seventh year!) were comparing summer stories.
"I'm telling you, muggle car racing is the best!" Colin insisted. The rest of the group was just as skeptical as I was. Metal boxes going really fast? Oh...kay...
"My parents took me to Canada." Gracie Himmer told us, her eyes going shiny at the memory. Gracie is a witch who falls into that category of 'too damn pretty.' Someone needs to chop off her beautiful blonde hair, and poke her big blue eyes. She is such a cliche'.
"How was that?" I asked. I had never been to this magical, mystical land of Canada.
"I want a Canadian boy. As a pet." she purred. Everyone laughed at this, mainly because we could all see Gracie with a pet like that.
Did I ever mention how she's become my best friend? Gracie and Ginny. A few boys refer to us as "G.G." now. I say that makes us sound like a grandmother or a hooker, but it's all in good fun. We became friends in potions. We muttered insults at the Slytherins around us to each other.
No need to worry, about this horrid Canadian loving girl corrupt me...
Since last year she was perfectly respectable, minus the potions situation, and then she started hanging out with me outside of class.
Oh no, I just realized something...I forgot to tell you I'm quidditch captain, didn't I? There was just so much going on with this whole war thing, I just up and forgot...And now since you're not allowed to read your own mail, you'll never know.
Serves ya right. Forcing your only daughter to mail you all the time, even though she has so much to deal with all ready...
I'll begrudgingly write more later. Tell you about quidditch try outs. Well, tell this STUPID PARCHMENT at least.
Honestly, what type of mother gives her own child cursed parchment? Wouldn't it have been easier to have locked me in a closet at home and popped in every hour or so?
DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT. Why oh why won't this parchment let me scratch things out? Why oh why won't my hand obey the laws of common sense? Why oh why isn't common sense a common trait in the Weasley house?
As Much Love As I Can Give To The Dragon Lady,
PS, tell Dad and the others I say hi. If you read this far. Which you probably won't. My beautiful letter, with my beautiful handwriting is probably being crapped on by an overgrown, ADHD pigeon right now...
A/N 2(the sequal): Well, you read this far, you must have been the slightest bit entertained. At this point in time I've written to about chapter 12, but I still accept advice. And very graciously, too, I might add. Oh, no, I'm not conceited...