Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling alone.
Dear parchment,
Do I sound crazy for addressing you when you're nothing but a piece of paper? If you think so, you're not alone. Everyone at Hogwarts thinks I'm crazy. Mad. Insane. Off my rocker. Loony. Whatever they call it nowadays.
Contrary to public belief, I'm utterly sane-sane, rational, and calculating. Otherwise, why would I belong to Ravenclaw House? Of course, such a perceptive question would never occur to the idiots who call themselves Ravenclaws.
They deem me crazy because I'm never quite "there." They attribute my faraway gaze to my insanity. In truth, I'm trying not to look at their ignorant, self-absorbed faces.
They consider me mad because I tune out what people are saying around me. In reality, I'm deliberately ignoring their incessant, meaningless chatter.
They call me "Loony" because I make unorthodox comments. I actually say shocking or nonsensical things to divert their attention from my true self. Why voice my innermost thoughts and feelings when no one will understand them?
Unfortunately, Hogwarts students lack the mental capacity to deduce that my madness is a façade. They're too busy waving sticks and chanting gibberish. Magic, yes, I know, they're performing magic. Sorry to ridicule magic, the wondrous practice upon which everyone in the Wizarding World depends. Even when it kills people. Like my mother.
Anyways, I'm straying off topic. I was discussing my mental health, was I not? Let me modify my previous claim to sanity: I'm usually sane. I occasionally show symptoms of madness, but not in the way you think.
I'm delusional when it comes to romance.
I've attached an inordinate amount of importance to my crushes since my first year at Hogwarts. As a lonely and isolated eleven-year-old, I fell in love at first sight with Michael Corner. Something about his tousled, blond hair and sky-blue eyes captivated me. I thought that Michael, with his amiable smile easy way of communicating with people, might just understand me. I even fantasized that his love could extricate me from my inner turmoil. How presumptuous of me.
Near the end of first year, I finally mustered the courage to speak to Michael. One day, when I passed him in the hallway, I shyly murmured "Hi, Michael."
He halted at the sound of my voice, stunned that a social pariah like me would dare to address him. Then, regaining his composure, he laughed derisively and said, "Hey, Loony."
His cluster of friends snickered around him, repeating the words "hey, Loony" in a taunting manner.
I pretended not to care. I forced myself to imagine that Michael and his friends did not exist. In order to appear indifferent, I willed a dreamy expression to glaze my eyes. Without casting Michael a second glance, I glided away as if in a daze. He probably assumed that my greeting was one of my momentary, crazy impulses.
That night, beneath the covers of my four-poster bed, I shed silent tears. I was disillusioned, to say the least.
Nonetheless, I again managed to fall into the trap of idealistic love. In my second year at Hogwarts, I found a second obsession: Terry Boot. His articulate responses in our classes awed me. I was smitten by his eloquence and erudition. Maybe, I thought to myself, someone as intelligent as Terry can navigate my labyrinth of lies and pretenses.
My crush on Terry lasted for two years. I sometimes asked him questions about homework assignments, and he always replied politely. Just as I was starting to think, He's the one, I overheard a conversation that broke my already fragmented heart into smaller pieces.
I was seated in an armchair in the Ravenclaw common room, reading a copy of my father's magazine. On the other side of the room, I heard Terry say, "Will you go to the Yule Ball with me?"
My heart leapt. Was he talking to me? I spun toward him and saw that he was facing Padma Patil. I sank back into my armchair.
"Sorry, but I'm going with Ron Weasley," I heard Padma say. "If you need a date, why don't you ask Loony? She's always following you."
"No way," scoffed Terry. "I'd rather go with one of her Nargles."
"Hey, she's sitting over there!" Padma exclaimed, chuckling. "I dare you to say that to her face."
"Very funny," groaned Terry. "If I did that, she would probably unleash a herd of Crumple-Horned Snorkaks on me."
I buried my ears in a plush cushion to muffle their laughter. Did they really think I was too dazed to hear them?
I thought I would never again be victim to the self-deception brought by crushes. Then, at the beginning of fourth year, I met none other than Harry Potter.
I fell in love with him on our chariot ride to Hogwarts, when he saw the thestrals. He was the first student I met who could also see them. I realized that he, too, knew the meaning of death. I wondered if our mutual brokenness might enable us to understand and heal each other's pain.
Looking back, however, I was most attracted to Harry's legendary fame. I doubt that a single Hogwarts girl was immune to the charms of the Chosen One. How ironic that I, of all people, was drawn to someone because of his reputation. I suppose that people are multi-faceted, but it frustrates me that I cannot even reconcile the various aspects of myself.
I spent the year wrapped up in Harry and his adventures. As I began associating with him and his friends, I found myself growing increasingly fond of them. They treated me with honest kindness, even if they never understood me.
I especially adored Ginny Weasley. By the fall of fourth year, I found myself enjoying my Potions classes with Ginny more than my fantasies about Harry. She spoke to me more kindly than anyone else, far more than Harry. She reprimanded others for mocking my ostensible insanity (in retrospect, I wonder if she secretly agreed with them).
When Ginny informed me of her childhood crush on Harry, I felt happy that she had confided in me. I vowed to never think of Harry in a romantic context again, if only Ginny would remain by my side.
The vow was not difficult to keep, due to the trivial basis of my crush on Harry. When I witnessed Harry walking hand-in-hand with Cho Chang, my lungs barely tightened.
When Ginny began to date Michael, however, I felt betrayed. I was affronted not because of my past feelings for Michael (I had never told her of them), but because I had believed she loved Harry alone. If I had known of her true detachment to Harry, I could have continued indulging in pleasant delusions about him.
Deprived of both Harry and Ginny, I ended fourth year alone, as always.
Parchment, I'm sorry for boring you with my extensive introspection. I'll stop writing now, as the Ravenclaw curfew is drawing near.
As a final note, I have begun fifth year at Hogwarts as alone as ever. I am still misunderstood, still ostracized, and still idiotic.
I am idiotic because despite my experiences, part of me still hopes to be saved by true love.