The Hopefully Non-Magic Diary of Ginny Weasley
December 10
A Box of Honeydukes Best Dark Chocolate: 10 galleons.
A Doughnut: One trip to the kitchen.
Another Box of Honeydukes: Another 10 galleons.
Amount of zits appearing on face the next day: Priceless (as well as countless).
I must not indulge in chocolate. I must not indulge in chocolate. I must not indulge in chocolate. I must not indulge in chocolate. I must not indulge in chocolate. I must not indulge in chocolate.
Screw it.
I must not indulge in chocolate, except when I am stressed.
And in that case, I wonder what the chances are of sending a house-elf to get me one of those scrumptious eclairs?
Later
Draco is continuing to give me the nastiest of looks. If looks could kill…well the point is that they can't, so there you go, Malfoy, you murderous cow.
And I wonder why this sudden increase in animosity might be. Certainly not because I stained his perfect, pink little lips. Sometimes, I am truly wicked. And sometimes, I truly love myself.
Anyway.
I finally had had enough of his glares towards the end of class. One can only die so may times, even if it is quite symbolically.
So I fixed him an amused stare.
" What is it, Malfoy? Your boyfriend jealous some girl snogged you?" I snickered. He seemed to grow slightly pink. For a moment, I admit, I was jealous of the way his skin did not turn an absolute crimson color, the way mine seemed to do.
" Why, you!"
" Tell me which one it is, then," I continued recklessly. " Crabbe or Goyle?"
" Why, you!"
" Both, Draco? Surely not!" Oh, what giggles. Quick, someone give me a pat on the back.
Then, he proceeded to make a very odd noise between a strangled scream and a grunt.
As for me, I believe I have found a new hobby: Tormenting Draco Malfoy ©.
Oh, how our roles seem to have changed so perfectly.
Tra. La la.
December 14
I just had a frightful revelation. Due to my lingering too long on the subject of Draco Malfoy, I have not wallowed in self-pity for more than 48 hours.
This is not acceptable.
WOE. WOE. I AM A BRAINLESS DUM-DUM. I EAT PASTE.
Also as a reminder of my woebegone status, I repeat that I do not have a boyfriend-nor ever will have one-I have no friends or accomplices, I have no tact, I have no intellect, and I most definitely do not have a bosom.
I do have cowardice and an F in Potions, though. I hate inheritance. There's nothing fair about it.
Later
Felt awfully stupid in SD today. Professor Ritzenthaler should know not to call on me to answer a question. He should know that I am not that sort of girl. I am not into this 'participation' bit. Never the less:
" Miss Weasley! Please share with the class the importance of kindness."
I am blank. And then, I am wondering what kind of question that really is. I feel like I am in preschool again, and the teacher is telling us to sing songs. I wonder when we began started the unit on Friendship. I wonder a lot of things, except for the answer.
"…Miss Weasley?"
I continue to be blank.
" Oh, for crying out loud," Malfoy mutters from behind me. I resist the urge to sock him. " Father says kindness is a necessity to climb up the social ladder. Apparently, most people like you better when you show your kindness. Kind of silly, really, but if it works…" he added for measure.
Crabbe blanched.
" Is kindness a body part?" he asked quite seriously. A few students snickered at that. I was disgusted that even someone in possession of no brain would know about things like that…but I suppose Draco's taught him things…at night…in the dungeons…Oh, God, no. Don't stoop to their level, Ginny. Don't think about Malfoy bonking Crabbe and Goyle at the same time. And especially, don't you dare think about bondage.
On with my story, though, now that I've fished my useless mind out of the gutter:
" Er--correct!" Professor Ritz commended, ignoring Crabbe. Even though Malfoy's answer really wasn't the best, was it?
And I, for one, was trying hard not to shout, ' Hypocrite!' at the top of my lungs. Malfoy, of all people, to preach to us about the importance of being nice to one another? Indeed. There has never been a greater blasphemy.
But instead of telling him so, I whispered it.
" Hypocrite," I coughed in my seat.
" Excuse me?" came his angry reply. I turned around, feigning a look of innocence.
" Yes?" I fluttered my eyelids.
" Did you say something, Weasel?" he asked contemptuously.
" I said, 'cough'."
"You didn't just call me a hippo, did you?" I rolled my eyes. The poor boy needed hearing aids at age 17, or whatever age he was.
"You moron," I named him affectionately (not). "I called you a hypocrite."
"Am not, you filthy little rag!" Well, that's new. No one's ever called me a dirty piece of cloth before.
" You are, though," I told him reluctantly. I could tell no lies. His regarded me haughtily in response. I think he felt rather inferior.
" Well, I assure you I am not. I'm merely a diplomat."
"A sycophant, did you say?" I retorted smoothly.
He looked at me coldly. " You are impossible, Weasel."
" Glad to know, ferret."
And yes, I do find it odd that we were referring to each other as two animals of the same family. Very odd. An outsider might think they were pet names. Triple damn. Remind me to never call him a ferret again.
Even though he most undoubtedly is.