A/N Many thanks to Allie Kiwi for all her encouragement, and for whipping this little one-shot into shape.
My name is Ginevra Molly Weasley, and I don’t keep a diary.
Ginny lay in bed, watching the first light of morning bring shapes and colours into her room, wishing something would do the same for her thoughts and bring her back into focus. Over the last two years she had grown used to being in control, and knowing what she wanted. Now she was in turmoil again, and it hurt, it hurt a lot!
How she wished she could discuss her feelings with somebody, pour out her heart and release this pent up fury of emotions. This time, though, there really wasn’t anyone she could trust to understand and advise her; not even Hermione because she was too close to Harry and Ron - and certainly not Fleur. Perhaps, if she had been a normal teenager, she could have written it all down in a diary and got her thoughts organised that way. However, her experiences with diaries in the past meant that option was well and truly closed off for her.
Ginny tried to rationalise the effect Fleur was having on her; she didn’t really hate Fleur, she just made her feel childish again, somehow. She supposed it was the Veela ancestry that gave Fleur that air of supreme confidence – an absolute certainty that all male eyes would be on her as soon as she entered a room. Ginny had suffered a week of Fleur’s disparaging remarks about her complexion, her clothes, and even her hair - all dressed up as “helpful suggestions”. No, thought Ginny, I don’t need any help, thank you. She knew from Dean’s reaction when she had agreed to go out with him that boys found her desirable – even Neville, bless him, had said that taking her to the Yule Ball was probably the only time he would ever have such an exciting and sexy girl on his arm. Dear Neville, it took him a whole year to tell her that, and the way he had blushed when she kissed him on the cheek and told him it was a lovely compliment. No, Fleur was not going to take that away, and make her doubt herself again.
She certainly couldn’t talk about Dean and Harry with Hermione, now – not after their discussion last night. Hermione had asked Ginny why she had chosen Dean, and she had laughed it off, just saying that he seemed like a nice boy. She had really had to work at keeping her face impassive, though, when the real answer had exploded unbidden in her mind: “I want him for kissing practice!” She had cried herself to sleep after that, stunned by the realisation that she was just using Dean. How could she be so manipulative? Perhaps, really, she wasn’t so different from Fleur.
She hadn’t planned it; she certainly hadn’t been thinking like that when she made her play for Dean. It had all been so easy, though – she had simply caught Dean’s eye across the common room, held his gaze and let a slow, soft smile play around her lips, and he had been hooked. The thought that she had done this simply for her own selfish ends appalled her, but in her heart she knew it was true. Her first and only real kiss with Michael had been such a disaster – she was still embarrassed about it. As far as she could tell, Harry’s experiences with Cho had not been much better. She had a lot to learn, and maybe Dean could help her with that particular education. One thing was absolutely certain in Ginny’s mind, now; Dean was going to get the best treatment Ginny could give him. Her conscience wouldn’t allow her to mistreat him or use him, now she realised that was what her subconscious mind had wanted. No, as far as she possibly could, she was going to play fair with Dean.
Well, she thought as the light grew around her, that’s all well and good for Dean, but how do I play fair with myself? She hadn’t lied to Hermione when she told her that she was now over her crush on Harry. However that was only part of the truth; she was over the awestruck hero-worshipping, which took away her powers of speech, but it had been replaced by the slow burning realisation that she and Harry just seemed to fit together so well emotionally. She wouldn’t allow herself to even consider the word “love”, but still she wanted nothing more than to be with Harry. The time they had spent together over the past year had surely had some effect on Harry? It had certainly seemed to Ginny that he was starting to really pay attention to her at last, and see her as more than just Ron’s little sister.
Damn Ron, and that remark on the train home. ‘Choose someone – better - next time.’ Why had he looked at Harry when he said that? How could those few words and a simple look throw her so far off balance? Did Ron know how much she longed to be able to choose Harry? But it wasn’t the right time – she just knew this – let Harry grieve for Sirius first, let him get over Cho. She needed Harry to choose to come to her because it was right, not on the rebound from something or someone.
Today, Harry would be arriving, and Ginny really had to make a decision now; how was she going to behave towards him?
Well, that all happened over nine months ago now, Ginny thought, and I still don’t keep a diary, but I think I have kept my promises. The memory of that morning hour of introspection had been her constant companion until now. So much could have gone wrong as a result of her decision to just carry on being herself, but it hadn’t. Dean had been really sweet, and she did feel much more educated now, and their break up had been a natural, mutual thing, thankfully. And she was sure now that Harry was interested in her – really he had not been able to keep his eyes off her for ages, and Hermione had been giving her not-so-subtle hints about his feelings too. Come on Harry, she thought, I can make you happy! Make a move soon, or you are going to get the full blast of every seduction technique known to Womankind; I will even ask Fleur for advice.