Muggle Diaries Don't Write Back

Quick! Iron my hands or clobber me over the head with a bottle of Skele-Gro before I start another fan fic I don't have time for! I really love the idea behind this one, but I've promised myself I won't start it until either Teacups & Frogspawn or Reap a Bitter Harvest is done...we'll see how long THAT resolution lasts.

ANYWAY. The basic premise is that after the war (and this somewhat AU...it's not how my Year Seven ends, so no spoilers on that front), Harry, Hermione, and Ron find Ginny's diary but no Ginny and they try to track her down based on what she's written.

The current excerpt that's hiding around is the "lead-in" to the sequel. I'm <<not>> making any promises for a sequel, but if I have time when Year Seven is wrapped up, I MAY write it.

**Okay, okay, so I STARTED Muggle Diaries Won't Write Back. My spirit is willing but my flesh is weak. So shoot me.

***EDIT 1/10/06: Okay, okay, so I WROTE the opening bit -- a teaser, if you will...

Muggle Diaries Don’t Write Back

Ginevra – Ginny, I’d rather. Ginevra sounds pretentious. I’ve been accused of many things but being ‘pretentious’ isn’t one of them.

So begins the diary of Ginny Weasley.

We didn’t find it until after the war…months after, to be precise, when we were the ones trying to pick up the pieces. No one knew where she was, or even if she ‘was’ anymore. But here was her diary and in the midst of nothingness -- in the void left by war -- that was something. Someone, somewhere, had salvaged the frilly pink curtains patched together from outmoded taffeta dresses that had hung in her bedroom, and some bewildered Hogwarts student had come bearing her Quidditch robes – too large for her, as I remember, but with G. Weasley scrawled across the back all the same. We tossed the curtains into a dustbin on a street corner in Surrey, but clung to the diary and those grass-stained robes. The sole tangible evidence that Ginny Weasley had once existed, for war had turned her into a nonentity, yet another name on a long trawling scroll of the missing, a memory borne by amnesiacs...  

And so we were left to pick up the pieces, to salvage what was left of Ginny as some kindly fool had salvaged those damn curtains.