A/N: Hello! This is the first chapter. It was originally about a hundred words long and kind of goofy. Now? It's about 887 words and still a little goofy. I hope you like it!

August 28, 1995, 9:30am, Weasley Kitchen

Hellooo? Anybody in there?

No? Good. That was a test. After first year, what kind of blank, paper-filled item can I trust?

The one without people in it, that's which.

Anyhow, I'm bored-er than hell. Who ever said hell was boring, anyhow? With all those insurance agents and evil dictator-y people chasing you around and dodging flames and whatnot, it can't be that boring, can it?

I digress. My original point was: I'm bored, and there's nothing to do, so I'm writing a stupid diary mom gave me before that whole 'There's a Psychopathic Maniac in My Journal' incident. It's pink. It has beaded flowers on the front. If Gred and Forge (or anyone for that matter) ever catch me writing in it, I might have to move to the Antarctic. Or wherever it is laughing stock-y people go.

Anyhow, I'm bored and the kitchen is too hot for lounging around in. Stupid Ginny, leave the kitchen.

Oh, Merlin, speak of the devil…..

August 28, 1995, 12:30am, Flourish and Blott's back stacks

Well, that went from very promising to almost deathly embarrassing in under three seconds. It must be some kind of record or something.

Anyhow, here's how the story went: Gred and Forge came into the kitchen, and I sat on this diary as damn fast as I could (10 points to Gryffindor, Ms. Weasley). Luckily, the twins didn't see it, so they just kept on talking at about a mile a minute.

"Ginny, we've got an awesome idea, come to Diagon Alley with us-"

"-we'll Side-Along you, it'll be great-"

"-Harry and Ron already said they would come-"

At this, my ears perked up. Gred must've noticed, because he grinned slyly and said "Harry will Side-Along with us, since he's crap at Flooing and Ron can do that."

I am now eternally grateful to him for not blathering about it.

So Harry Side-Along-ed with Gred, and I did with Forge, and we met up with Ron in Fortescue's. The twins immediately went to visit the shop, with the excuse "a jokester's work is never done" and told us they'd be right back, and put Ron (Ron, of all people!) in charge.

Right after, Ron and Harry left to look at gear in Quality Quidditch Supplies, telling me to get them a scoop of ice cream.

Prats. If they wanted Ice Cream, they'd get ice cream. And in the meantime, why not get myself a scoop, too?

I've always loved Florean Fortescue's. The glass counter probably has a thousand flavors, all colours of the rainbow, underneath it. One of which is Prune. I honestly don't know why they have prune ice cream. Perhaps for all the little old ladies out there. Either way, Ron hates it. He's never tried it, but the thought of an ice cream with an actual FRUIT in it frightens him.

Still looking down at the deep-purple vat of goo, I ordered two Prunes and a Cake Batter (it tastes exactly like cake batter, and I love it).

"Brothers ditch you, huh?"

I looked up "Ditch is a rather strong word, wouldn't you say?"

The cute guy behind the counter laughed "Sure. So, are they? Your brothers, I mean?"

"All except the black-haired one. That's my brother's friend."

He nodded "Yeah, that's Harry Potter, innit?"

Oh, my, I thought, here it comes…

But it never came. Score two for Ice Cream Guy.

"So, I take it you're getting Prune for them as revenge?" he grinned, as metaphorical choirs of angels zipped gaily around his head "I could throw a few nasty-flavored Bertie-Botts on there, if you'd like…"

I might have been a bit thick, but it was than I realized what was going on.

Ice Cream guy was flirting with me.

Awesome.

So I took advantage of this fact, as you'll find most fifteen-year-olds would, and it took a total of twenty-five minutes to get my ice cream when-

"GINNY! WHAT THE HELL!"

It was all three of my brothers (and Harry) back at the same time. What luck.

So, in their process of 'protecting' me, my brothers knocked me away from the counter and yelled at the poor scooper until their faces were blue and he was cowering behind his scooping-spoon. Meanwhile, Harry was just standing there, gaping a little, blanching a little.

Thankfully, a thin, middle-aged man walked down the stairs. He looked just important and officious enough to stop this madness.

This is how my brothers got Florean Fortescue himself to throw us out of his shop.

Out on the curb, I was so mad I couldn't talk. I'm pretty sure the twins noticed, but decided to be prats and pretend they didn't. Ron has his head so far up his own arse, I'm not even sure he knows there's a sun. Harry still looked a little green.

Well, then seemed like a perfect time to pull a Molly Weasley.

"You absolute PRATS! What in the WORLD made you think I would ever be HAPPY you did that? Don't answer that, either. I can't even- you're so- UGH!"

I gave each of them a knock over the head and scurried off to fume in the back stacks of Flourish and Blott's, where I am now.

And I didn't even get my Ice Cream.