Ginny Weasley's Diary

Tuesday, September 13^th, 1994

It is early afternoon and Blaise and I are holed up in the Astronomy Tower. The Tower is a great place to hide midday because there is never any action from either classes of stargazers or the snogging swarms until well after dark. I wickedly convinced Blaise to skive Transfiguration - not a difficult thing to convince him of. I am a dreadful influence on Blaise! All chances for him to make Head boy dissolved the day we became mates. As for myself, I am skiving History of Magic. I bet 25% of Professor Binns' students skive History of Magic on any given day. It is not as if I remember dates of any 'important' events anyway and Binns never notices who is or is not in his class. Binns is dead. Duh.

This is my first time in the Astronomy tower without an eager boy or a list of constellations to look for - either situation requires a great deal of work. So, for want of better pursuits I sit here chatting with Blaise about this and that.

Blaise gave me a brilliant-ish idea! He suggests I flesh out, or rather de-flesh, my list of potential beaus by listing those boys 'conspicuous' by their absence from my thoughts. This way I can start off my third year with list of those wizards in whose company I may fart loudly. Not the best reason to compile such a list, but what else is there to do while sitting here - study? And anyway, as I see it, thinking of boys is never time wasted.

My list of 'unsuitable blokes' is as follows:

Harry 'heavy sigh' Potter: As I write I am reading my diary to Blaise. Blaise with wisdom beyond his fourteen years asks why I always write Harry 'heavy sigh' Potter. I assure Blaise the 'heavy sigh' is not my heavy sigh, but the 'heavy sighs' the sad and sorry lot of desperate witches at Hogwarts who suffer in silence for the love of Harry.

Honestly. The quantity of textbooks 'accidentally' dropped in front of Harry on a daily basis is sobering. Each text represents some pathetic soul, hoping Harry will dive for their text and fall madly in love with them. There are mornings when Harry enters the Great Hall and the sound of textbooks hitting the floor is like Forbidden Forest trees toppling over during a windstorm. Alas, said pathetic witches do not realize that where matters of the heart are concerned, Harry is thick as a plank. They could drop their knickers in front of him and it would have no more effect than the textbooks. 'Did you drop this black lacy thong?' Harry would ask in all innocence. I wonder if Harry ever wonders how witches who can't keep a grasp on a textbook, manage to hang on to their wands at all?

I ought to wise Harry up at some point. I could tell him there is a reason why some witches carry bloody school bags at breakfast for Merlin's sake! Honestly, Harry should realize by now only one witch at Hogwarts carries a school bag full of textbooks to breakfast for scholastic reasons. That would of course be Hermione Granger who believes the fecking textbooks will run away if she leaves them alone for too long.

Blaise asks why I have no attraction for Harry. I explain to Mr. Zabini I have to spend far too much time living with Harry in summers at the Burrow and that's put a proper lid on my romantic interest in the boy, even if he did slay a basilisk or overgrown garden snake or whatever it was to rescue me during my first year.

Yes, I know, how unappreciative that may sound, but honestly I am quite grateful to Harry and to brother Clueless Ron.

Shut up Blaise.

I'm sure I would be more obliged to Harry if I could remember any of what happened to me in the Chamber of Secrets beneath the girls' toilets. Thankfully following my rescue, my memory blotted out all the details prior to rescue and much of my memory following rescue too. All I remember is that after the rescue, I suffered a beastly, draining, two-week cry fest. After Harry freed me from the Chamber of Secrets I was so dehydrated from the crying I'm sure I didn't pee for a month.

Anyway, I wonder if the Potter infatuated witches would be so besotted if they had the dismay of looking up from their grilled tomatoes at breakfast to see Harry; a skinny wizard, his hair obviously combed with a hay rake, busily chatting, with eggs and milk spitting out of the corners of his full mouth. Hagrid's boarhound Fang has prettier table manners. Oh, and just try to nab one of Mum's scones with half starved Harry present. I imagine those muggles he lives with summers must feed him wizard kibble. The poor boy is that starved for a good home cooked meal.

Hogwarts witches would drop their fascination with 'Mr. Boy-Who-Lived' if they had to shove skinny, naked Harry and the usual mass of stupid, naked red-haired brothers out of the way mornings just to have a chance at nabbing their own toothbrush. A week or two of that and I assure you, all fascination with Harry would disappear like a bowl of chops set in front of Harry and my crew of hungry brothers.

I must say, naked boys are the bane of my existence. Dear Blaise is hooting with laughter. He says naked boys are the joy of his existence. He wouldn't say that if he were forced to share a tiny bathroom with a mob of brothers, none of whom have the modesty of wild chimpanzees. In the early morning, my brothers parade about readying themselves for the day in all states of dress and undress. Back at the Burrow, on any given day, I'll bet I've seen enough 'raw boy' to put anyone off bangers for life.

Blaise says my rabbiting on about naked brothers sounds incestuous. Ha! What rubbish, brothers are not boys. Boys are boys, but brothers are barely human, and having six of them I ought to know. I can tell you, any interest one could possibly have in a brother disappears early in your childhood. When we were all quite little, Mum bathed us all together to save time. Can you imagine sitting in a tub with clueless Ron, vile Fred and dear George?

'Oh yes, I think on it at every possible opportunity' says wicked Blaise. A lot Blaise knows! Mark my word, as soon as one of your 'fun loving' brothers decide to fart, or worse - pee in the bathwater - the kind of 'laugh' brothers live for - any thoughts of brothers being the same species as one's self, disappear. With a bit of banana, you can train a chimp to not pee in bathwater. The Crucio curse couldn't have persuaded my brothers not to pee in the tub!

To this very day I prefer showers.

Don't get me wrong; I have great brothers as that life form goes. Who sat up with me the entire time I was sick with witch's croup? The twins and Ron, that's who. Of course, they were hoping to get sick too and get out of lessons with Mum and there you are. And who saves up their Knuts and Sickles to buy their baby sister wonderful presents on her birthday and for Christmas? Well, actually, not my brothers, and again, there you are!

Blaise will not stop his harping about Harry, even though I have moved on in MY life. Mr. Zabini believes my arguments against Harry as suitable boyfriend material are at best, terribly weak. Let me try again to persuade Mr. Z. Harry 'heavy sigh' Potter chews with his mouth open - there, that says it all.

Blaise says I am as great a snob as the next wizard on my list of 'unsuitable blokes'. Drum roll please...

Draco (hisssss!) Malfoy: How I hate Malfoy, that flaxen haired, dove-grey eyed, blonde eye-lashed, albino-ish, lean bodied, firm buttocked, Quidditch playing, pink lipped, uh... hold on... lost my place... See what happens if I even discuss Malfoy for too long. He is even bad for my concentration.

Anyway, I purely hate Malfoy. My never-dying hatred of Mr. Draco 'I piss Sickles' Malfoy began at the start of my first year at Hogwarts. Mum and Dad, vile Fred, dear George, clueless Ron and my mop-haired 'why don't we just adopt him?' brother Harry, and I all floo'ed to Florish and Botts to purchase our schoolbooks. Much of the trip to Diagon Alley is gone from my memory, as are most of my memories from my first year at Hogwarts. However, I do recall Dad getting into a great row with Mr. Lucius 'I shite Galleons' Malfoy. One guess what Mrs. Narsissa Malfoy flipping bleeds during her 'monthly'.

But even before Dad and Mr. Malfoy got into a row, little Mr. Malfoy began picking on Harry. Now, honestly, even if Harry is seriously grooming challenged, he is practically my brother. When Draco laid into Harry with his usual smarmy comments I had to act. I hollored, "You let him alone!" Then I decked the little blondie shite. My brothers, even Mum, tell me I did no such thing, but I'm sure my brothers are just annoyed they didn't think of it first. And Mum likes to maintain the fantasy that she has a delicate, ladylike daughter. I know I decked Malfoy! Nobody asked you Mr. Blaise Zabini.

If I didn't deck Malfoy, then I ask, why does Malfoy stare at me so in the hallways? I'll tell you why, he is scared of the youngest Weasley, that's why. Judging by the way Malfoy stares at me, he's mostly scared of my arse. I terrify the trousers off of Malfoy. Mr. Zabini requests permission to observe said phenomenon for himself, the cheeky monkey.

Continuing with my list 'unsuitable blokes', I give you, Neville Longbottom.

Mr. Blaise wishes to know what possible negative points I could have possibly come up with on Mr. Longbottom. First up, Neville needs to lose the toad. Darling Neville is my dear friend but he is the most forgetful wizard I have ever met and would forget his name if his Gran hadn't the foresight to label his pants. And Neville can't remember spells worth a handful of earwax flavored Berty Botts, so when he pulls his wand, I usually find an excuse to leave the immediate vicinity. Really, what more needs to be said for darling Neville?

Next up for 'unsuitable bloke'is Blaise Zabini.

That Blaise is on my list is a no brainer. The dear boy is the most handsome, dollishly good-looking bloke I know with his curly jet black hair, his pale blue eyes, his handsome face and his swishy wrists. Oh I've hurt his feelings! Poor Blaise, I was joking about the wrists of course. Blaise is marvelously masculine with muscles for days. Blaise is so good looking, he even makes Malfoy look like the dog's dinner and that is saying something!

If Blaise were straight and at all interested in me, we'd race to Hogsmeade to pick out china and silverware patterns. More's the pity for me. Blaise would only be interested in me, if and only if, I hit the restricted section of the Hogwarts library and discovered a charm allowing me to grow a willie, and a rather large one at that. Oh, you may scoff Mr. Zabini, but you know the truth of it!

Has occurred to me, as long as we are sitting here, I might as well put the time to good use. I must learn to snog properly so when acquire boyfriend my lips will be loaded like an Olivander wand and keen for action. To that end I shall now attack and snog poor Blaise who has more Astronomy tower hours in than any Hogwarts Astronomy professor of the past 500 years. Am puckering lips in preparation for lovely snog with unwilling subject who swears he will boil his lips if I force my witchy self upon him.

Decided to abort Blaise snog experiment. Can't say I did not try. First and foremost, I've kissed puppies that give better tongue. I do not know how Blaise has managed to have such full schedule of Astronomy Tower appointments as Mr. Z suffers from lazy lips. He says kissing me, a witch, and practically a sister to him is not a fair trial of his snogging skills. Blaise claims if I were at least his brother, he could put on a better show.

Eeeewwww!

Note to self: Never lower standards. I believe if I lower my standards to snog Blaise, Bob's your uncle, next thing I know, I'll be dating the likes of that dreadful Draco Malfoy. Horrid Malfoy with his odious personality, empty headed bigotry, cruel and snarky wit, silvery hair, large pastel-grey eyes, buttocks one can bounce a Knut on - this tower is much warmer than one would expect for September day - where was I? Oh yes, discussing Malfoy's odious attributes - and not just the one outlined beneath his stretchy track trousers. So. What could it hurt to snog Blaise one more time? Assuming I can catch him before he makes it to the door.