These characters, however little a part they play in her canon, belong to J.K. Rowling and her Harry Potter series. This story is written in journal from the point-of-view of Albus Potter, younger son of Harry Potter. All grammar and spelling of terms is confined to the character in question.
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Boys of this Chapter~ (NOTE: all characters are third generation Potter alternative canon)
-Louis Weasley: son of Bill and Fleur Weasley, seventh year Hogwarts
-James Potter II: son of Harry and Ginny Potter, sixth year Hogwarts
-Albus Potter: son of Harry and Ginny Potter, fifth year Hogwarts
-Charles Garely: son of Carol and Jessie Garely, sixth year Hogwarts
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First Entry
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The following is an exercise of forcing myself to write continuously on subjects which I find to be of importance in my life. What can I say; I was forced by those closest to me.
No less than six years ago, I was sitting in those chairs closest to the raised platform the Hogwarts Professors traditionally sat on., awaiting my turn to be sorted by the ever-mystical hat that (or who) usually sat proud on a dusty old shelf in the Headmaster's office.
Now, I can't help but giggle at those crazy kids practically flinging themselves onstage to be sorted. Overly excited kids being tossed into a castle to practice magic might've seemed like something vaguely reasonable back in the day, but the day you have not one, not two, but three broomsticks fly through your window is the day you screw every inhibition that kept you from judging. Now I'm not even biased in saying those puffy-faced dorks chattering up hell in front will sooner raise demons from the after-life than effectively cast a single solitary spell.
I'm not even bitter. I get to sit through James and his rants every day when his indifferent ass slips down into the slytherin table; on those days when I don't feel like humoring that lobe in his brain which produces angst and furious emotions of all shapes and sizes. Sadly, that very boy is laughing at me while I'm writing this, telling me I'm bitter. No, I'm simply stating that the bunch of immature brats up there are only destined to make people like me cry over the next generation.
Enough of this, Victoire just walked by. Heads are turning when she starts her 'sorry I'm late there was a death eater and I had to help it' speech. You can't really see it but the seniors are fawning like horny teenagers. One of the Weasleys just whispered a completely non-inappropriate comment about Victoire and handle-bars in my ear, so let me edit my previous statement.
Extremely horny teenagers.
Can anyone below the age of 27 blame us for our immodesty? I'm watching cheer after cheer after cheer after cheer raising from the tireless horde bunched up at the head of the room. Headmaster is roaring above them like some entertaining host. I'd bet he feels like a god up there. The first year, The Headmaster was quite mystical and cool. Now, I know for a fact the Headmaster is just a prudish demon with horrible skin and a watchful eye out for stupid upper-classmen, as opposed to the lower-classbrats who will probably begin a new dark wizard cult.
Headmaster watches over us more ardently because, he claims, 'we are too old to be acting this way'. I always scoff at that excuse. So instead of starting early and pumping all the bullshit out of our chubby little heads, he waits until we've gotten a few more piercings and BUIs before telling us we are stupid. Upper-classmen are required to come to these functions as a 'support the youth' initiative, which of course doesn't work. About half the table are magically stripped from the ball-room, and with little mercy the upper-classmen are forced to scramble for and reserve seats wherever they can. The kids dock on the boats around 7:30 or 8:00, so we are usually sitting and/or standing there for four whole hours. I barely stand in lines for movie premieres that long, and I even have fun waiting for those damnit.
Forgetting all the peeves I hold towards the common freshman, I'm really happy for them. Because of magical politics and such, magic has recently become a little less of a private ordeal. Now, magic schools are often bombarded with thousands upon thousands of profiles on each of these children, with only a select few being chosen each year to begin schooling. The main aspect of being accepted to a School for The Wizarding Arts is the expectation that the student will one day take up a job in the magical realm. Although this is a great policy, I'm beginning to think they're making up organizations to make jobs for all up-in-coming graduates. The Ministry of Defense's "Library of Arbitrary Select Items" is probably the most useless place I've ever gone to, and yet they employ an insane amount of people. They suck in employees and somehow push out miles of unexplained cash. 'LASI' remains the most curious case in all of the Ministry's history.
While I've been ranting (with a few interruptions from fellow magical mates), the event has begun to dye down. The House Leaders have begun sectioning off their troop and are now trying to lead them all to the dorms. The rest of us are meant to stay here until the younglings are settled in. Poor fellows; little do they know how many pranks they'll be in for tonight. One of the kids was looking at me funny. I hope he gets a chicken crapping into his mouth while he snores. So many of the kids are trying in earnest to act as if they don't care that they're here while people like me scoff in lieu of our own warm memories which are now being ignored and trivialized by a bunch of pseudo-free-thinking folk.
The candles in the ball-room have seriously begun to dim. More of the upper-classmen are being called out into the dorms, with a sole few left to sit around in the dim light and quiet echo of the vast space we continue to live in. At one time, I wondered how the upper-classmen lived in their dorms, separated from us lower-classmen; and so the first time I entered the public baths during 'scrub-ups', one could very aptly and verifiably say I was floored. With the expansion of the sports department came a flood of beefy jocks who presumably have absolutely no shame. With us lower-classmen being the posers we were, a lot of us tried to play ourselves off as being completely oblivious to the rather hunky fellows we now realized we would bathe with every night. The whole thing, without fail, burned out in hilarious fashion by forcibly outing a few poor souls who would be subject to gay jokes for nearly their entire Hogwarts tenure. The first bath soon became a test of metal for the male sex. If you could withstand that first night, you were a true man.
Of course, nobody and their brother wanted to make it easy for us, so the challenge was thusly continued. One senior would be appointed at random to go around and slap every new boy's ass. Usually, the 'random' choosing came out to Charles Garely. Garely knew exactly where on the ass to slap you to pinch up your nerves and give you one of those 'I'm nervous' boners. Often times, you'd hear most of the jocks cackling with laughter every time they saw a rising boner. In truth, we all knew Garely just held a tick on stimulating people, so the theory that every man who fell prey to him was gay was stupid. People like me could shockingly resist such feelings, regardless of how unusually often they are chosen to be homo-tested. I had a feeling Garely used a spell to do what he did, but I was pleasantly surprised to be wrong when I didn't feel an inch of an urge when he came around to me. The boys were apparently so surprised; they decided to test me again and again with heightening intensity. Fucking James simply leaned against the shower wall with tears of mirth coming down his cheeks. He was so amused that his younger brother was being molested that his naked ass slipped and fell onto a bar of soap.
I didn't succumb to my nerves because I'm a different kind of boy. I'm not like the boys that act on impulses or rage or laugh at silly things. I'm a good-natured boy, but I don't really feel so challenged by life. Maybe I'm too immature to understand how arrogant I really am, or maybe I'm going through one of those 'phases' which I hear are complete mind fucks. I'm simply wired differently than the others, no matter how non-conformist and hipster that may sound. I really don't feel much when tempted by will or force.
However, my dearest diary – and this is why I'm writing to you, I have an experiment of the will I'd like to document in you for safe keeping. One particular person has roused my strange and rare intrigue these past few years. I wish to discover the end of this challenge before I leave this place. I understand this shouldn't be so difficult, but the special circumstances surrounding my problem inhibit me from reaching a solid and tangible conclusion.
One boy – Louis Weasley – has become somewhat of an obsession of mine. Call my forever distanced relationship from him what you will, but that distance allows me to safely observe him without some idiot making jokes and discovering something.
This WILL NOT be one of those stalker/lonely-lover novels where the girl doesn't know the guy actually likes her. I can't define how I feel for Louis. Louis is a distant relative but a close one. I share many memories of Louis's love and kindness very fondly in my past. I can't put a pin on what I want. All I can say is he's the most fascinating guy I've ever met.