I've never owned a diary.

I've owned stacks of planners, filled to the brim with revision time tables and notes of class work and exam schedules. Colour coded and filed away under appropriate headings. Green for potions, yellow for transfiguration, black for defence against the dark arts and blue for charms.

I'm a planner. I plan for things to go ahead.

I planned to be Head Girl this year, to not drop a mark in any of my tests, papers, assignments or exams. I planned to be the smartest thing that has ever graced the halls of this school.

Diaries really don't fit into that plan. Let's face it, there's just not enough time. Being this dedicated takes up all my time as it is; I wish I had more of it.

But if I did write a diary, it would currently be filled with my deepest fears. Because; something is stopping me from achieving everything I've planned for, dreams I've planned for my whole schooling life.

Dear Diary,

What in Merlins name has happened to me?

All I used to dream of was high marks and shiny silver badges, accompanied by glowing remarks from teachers and a million and one house points earned for excellence and dedication to school work.

I used to dream of thoroughly colour coded exam time tables, sticking perfectly to them, organising my time with no distractions so every single little thing got done.

The only way to achieve all of this was to have as little outside commitments as possible.

I have friends, people like me, although I'm not sure that it's because I can assist with homework or essays or because they enjoy my company, but that has never bothered me before. Before now I didn't care if someone didn't pay me enough attention because, in the end, I would get everything I've ever dreamed about.

I always achieve everything I dream of having. I'm a planner.

But now I've got something else in my head, someone else. This time, I'm not sure if even planning could get me it.

Not even the schools most notorious planner ever planned for my worst enemy to turn into my most desired object.

I can't let this happen. It doesn't fit in with my plan. People in general do not fit into this plan at all.

It nauseates me to even think of myself as a giggling, lovesick teenager, completely obsessed over one of the schools most sought after males. They're all so shallow and idiotic, and play stupid pranks on people which are rarely ever funny.

I thought I was too sensible, too focussed to ever undergo such a drastic personality transplant. I could never become one of them.

Not to mention that being hopelessly in love with someone is dangerously distracting.

Distractions are not helpful in the quest to achieve my dreams, but this time my dreams are colliding. I can't have one or the other, so one has to be sacrificed. Trust me; I've done everything possible to sacrifice this particular distraction.

Schoolwork was the- no- IS the most important thing, and nothing is going to stop that.

Except maybe a messy dark haired boy with hazel brown eyes and glasses which are always slightly askew on his face. Tall and lean, but with some hint of muscles under his robes, toned from hours of quidditch practise; which I hear is more strenuous than it looks.

I only just noticed how long and thick and black his lashes are, framing his inquisitive eyes. Did I mention they were hazel? I love how it's kind of brown but also green and gold. It's very mesmerizing. Hazel is now my favourite colour.

Oh and he's Head Boy this year.

We share a dormitory. We share a bathroom.

This also means even as I sit thinking about writing my nonexistent diary he's staring at me from across the landing, from his bedroom door. His bedroom is literally less than ten metres from mine. This is very bad.

With a capital V.

I've only been back here for three hours and I'm already distracted. I should be colour coding my planners for heaven's sakes. I'm going to start using them tomorrow.

Maybe I should say something, excuse myself quickly so I can go and write an introductory essay for transfiguration on some of our core topics this year. Transfiguration is my worst subject.

Transfiguration is his best subject.

I could practise my patronus charm. I don't know what form it takes yet; I hear we have to produce one for our NEWTS this year because of the growing dark forces of magic which are beginning to pop up everywhere.

I wonder what form his will take.

I can't even think of work anymore or exams without intertwining him into it.

Someone admit me to the hospital wing before my entire life becomes intertwined with him.

Surely there's a potion for this.

He grins at me with one corner of his mouth slightly higher than the other through his cherry coloured lips.

I wonder if they taste like cherries.

See diary? I'm losing my mind. This cannot be happening; I didn't plan for it to happen.

I'm a planner.