Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. If I did I'd be British, rich, and a hell of a lot older.
A/N: Good day! So, I went back and fiddled around and I'm A LOT happier with this version than the original! There's tons of new stuff, and some more little Ginny-isms that didn't exist the first time around. I've also decided NOT to adjust it to fit the timeline of Deathly Hallows. I realized that it would totally destroy the plot of the next couple of installments. Enjoy!
Bloody wanker. Leaving me for sodding bits of rotting soul.
I LOATHE YOU HARRY POTTER!
11: 52 am
You see, it's not that I'm mad or anything. Obviously.
It's just that I'm ALWAYS left out of all the good bits. Mum's always moaning about how young I am. Well, I'll show her I have a tiny bit of maturity hidden somewhere in all of my amazingness.
There isn't much to do when you're on house arrest. Mum's making sure of that. Sure, I could be cleaning or I could help set up for the wedding, but what's the fun in that?
There's no fun, that's what.
I just need to find something to occupy my creative energy with.
Something that obviously shows my sophisticated side and all that other rubbish.
Sadly, Crookshanks has taken to rubbing himself against my leg. At the most inopportune moments.
Like the other day, when I was attempting to seduce "the prat who lived", Crookshanks meandered over and began to rub himself on my leg.
I thought it was very un-seducing like. To have a fat cat attached to your leg. Purring.
Out of Crookshanks and me, the cat got the most action that night.
Speaking of that randy devil, he's just come 'round the corner. And is now eyeing my pant leg.
I wonder if Hermione lets Crookshanks get his dirty way with her leg and several different pairs of her pants.
1: 54 pm
Mum's not pleased.
I decided that Crookshanks, the horny feline, needed to be taught a proper lesson. Anything to help the less fortunate, right?
Well anyhoo, Mum blew a major fuse when she saw what I had done. She sent me to my room for the rest of the afternoon.
Bedroom…beneath my bed
Don't get your invisible knickers in a twist. Crookshanks still has all of his little man-bits. I'm not that un-hinged.
Let's just say, that every time that cat's beady eyes start penetrating my trousers, Crookshanks will have to suffer my wrath.
Perched in my doorway…
I've deducted, in all my years of wisdom, that I look most intimidating when I've holed myself up right in front of my room. I just sit here. And stare.
Mum has taken to walking by me really slowly and just watching me with her oogly eyes.
Still in the doorway…
Technically, I'm still in my room. So mum can't go into a mini-rage over it.
I don't even know why I'm being forced here against my will. Crookshanks is still a normally functioning cat.
Mum is just so overly dramatic these days! You'd think we were on the edge of war or something…
The doorway of Awesomeness…
So after several hours the doorway is losing its appeal. My back's gone all twisty and sore. I'm not cut out for this sort of endurance.
The kind of endurance where you sit on your arse all day.
Doorway of Excruciating Pain…
Right. I've just awoken from a little kip.
To find that Crookshanks had plastered his little body to the side of my leg.
Is sleep not even sacred anymore?!?
Is this the kind of world, where innocent, law-following girls, are madly humped by rogue cats while they are asleep and obviously unaware, to the point where they can't even protect themselves and their innocent pants?!?!
It is now the 4th, so my temporary afternoon grounding has now expired.
I'm free to roam the house as I please! It is my nighttime domain!
All of this sudden freedom has exhausted me.
I think I've just had the worst day I could possibly have. Like ever.
I couldn't find you, you sodding thing, and by the time I did, I'd already wasted a healthy portion of my morning.
Then Mum comes waltzing down to the kitchen where I had set up headquarters, and tells me that I'm to spend the day with Fleur. Phlegm. I'm to help her pick out the tablecloths.
When I smartly ask Mum why she can't just help Phlegm, Mum tells me I'm being cheeky and that I should sober up and make myself useful.
Doorway…surveying the scene…
After a horrible afternoon of floral patterns and checkered prints, I had to be a slave in the kitchen as well.
I had to peel an un-God-ly amount of potatoes for the wedding in a couple of days. When I ask Mum why can't she just peel the spuds by using magic, she starts shaking her head and sighing over and over and over again.
What felt like a million hours later, I gave in and started to peel.
Not to mention, that Harry, Hermione, and Ron will all be coming back tomorrow. Now I'll have to face that sleazy git. Urgh.
When I say git, I mean Harry. Of course.
Crookshanks is a little ways down the hall. He's just crossing back and forth. Watching me and my leg, that happens to be free of its usual pants restrictions.
Because I'm wearing shorts. Perv.
Anyways, I'll have to move quickly if he comes in to attack, because I have no protection against him and his…bits.
It's at a time like this, that I wish I had a man to protect me and all of my extremities.
It's a harsh, harsh cats-who-molest-pants world out there.
I can't bloody sleep. I'm too anxious.
You would be too if your ex-boyfriend was going to prance on in and invade your already miserable life. What will I say to him?
More importantly, what will I wear?
Okay. I've gone and dreamt that I'm lying on a beach and I'm sipping a cool beverage and a hot cabana boy and his mates are spraying me with cool water.
I awake to find Crookshanks licking my face like mad with his cold and nasty tongue. Sodding twit. That cat must have a death wish.
He's gone from molesting my leg, to molesting my face. This is NOT an okay situation!
Does Crookshanks not understand the severity of my issues at the moment? I do not have the energy reserves to deal with his constant sexual-kitty-advances.
I'm a one-man-woman!
5 hours and 49 minutes to go.
But who's counting?
I can't decide what to do with my hair. Should I put it up? Should I curl it? Should I leave it down? Should I shave it all off?
Hmmm. Only 2 hours and 23 minutes left.
I don't even know what I'm going to wear yet!
Wait. Why am I behaving like a loon? He's just a stupid, little, mousy boy, who passed on the greatest thing that ever bloody happened to him!!!
He. Must. Suffer.
I'm looking at my clothes and I've just realized that I have absolutely nothing to wear.
Where are all of my "come hither" clothes? Where have they gotten off to? I swear, mum has been through here and taken out anything that remotely resembles real clothing.
She's just trying to bring the man (i.e. ME) down.
I need the perfect outfit if I'm going to make him pine for me. I want him to throw himself at me and beg for forgiveness.
Then we'll fall passionately to the floor and…uh…pull a Crookshanks.
I could eat Buckbeak right now. That's how starved I am.
However, there is nothing to eat in this house. EVERYTHING has been deemed "untouchable until the wedding because we don't want all of our guests to starve" by mum.
Does she want her youngest to perish away while fondly staring down a nice pile of pastries?
Because, it's about to happen.
Only 2 hours and 7 minutes left.
I think I'm slowly dying.
Okay. Much better.
I stole an entire plate of desert. And I ate every last one. In my closet.
Operation Come Hither is a bust. I own nothing but ratty clothes that I've had for billions of years. I think they came with the house.
Under the bed…
Oh sweet Merlin. Only 31 minutes until He gets here.
I have no idea what I could possibly say to that insufferable tiny, little man. He'll probably prance in and be miserable and make me feel absolutely crap.
Either that or he'll fanny about and try and be all heroic. And by heroic, I mean sexy.
Bedroom floor…rolling about…
AND the bloody wedding tomorrow! This will be the longest weekend of my entire and very impressionable life.
I'll be scarred. I can just see it now.
It'll end up being me and Crookshanks. That's who I'll be sleeping with. Not Harry, but a cat.
And the cat will be more interested in my leg, than in my feelings.
Speaking of feelings, you will HAVE to be hidden by some very powerful protection charms.
If I only knew what those protection charms actually were.
And if I knew where I've left my wand.
Okay. So this was the second best thing to powerful magic.
An old trunk. Near the ghoul.
Attic of Powerful Stench…
Mum's straining herself by yelling for me. Doesn't she know that I'll make an appearance when I'm good and ready?
I really need to stop writing. Wait. Why am I telling my diary that I need to stop writing in it? What in the name of Dumbledore's beard am I doing?
Just don't be found, alright?
But I don't really see the use in that considering you're a book.
And you don't speak.
And you can't move.
And I'm pretty sure you don't have a brain.
I'm leaving now. Honest.
A/N: Let me know if this is something you guys want to see more of!