1It's a very cold, grey sort of day. I like it. Much better than summer days; not very many interesting creatures arise when the weather is hot and humid. Father says he might have a chance of spotting Yemetters while he's in Dushanbe.

Oh, how I wish I could go with him.

Much more enjoyable than being at Hogwarts again. Not that I'm complaining. I'm used to it by now. Some people here are fairly cruel. Like that Tobias Jorque. He still calls me "Loony". I think he started it–my nickname. Now, everyone calls me that. Even the people who pretend to be nice say it behind my back. Sometimes I'm right behind them or in front of them as I hear them talk about me. About how, I'm crazy and stupid. Even Ginny Weasley– who's really kind to me now–used to call me Loony Lovegood. Sometimes I think about changing. Changing how I look, see if people will stop calling me names. I think about breaking my necklace of butterbeer caps and throwing it away. I think about combing my hair until it's shiny, straight and perfectly tidy– like everyone else's. I think about burning my father's magazines and never reading them again. I think about never talking of the Wrackspurt, crumple-horned snorslack, or any of the other creatures everyone says don't exist. I think about saying normal things, doing normal things, and having a normal life.

One with friends.

I never do any of it though. I never want to. Even if I become acceptable, people will always find things to criticize, and if they're going to make fun of me for something, it better be something real. Something about me–not some 'character' I'm pretending to be.

After all what's life if it's not truly yours?

I'm outside sitting in the cold snow as more flakes fall softly upon my face. I can see the people inside jeering at me. As if I'm insane for sitting outside. Of course they don't notice I can tell. Over the years I've mastered the art of acting indifferent. Acting like they don't matter. Like I can't hear or see them. In fact I've become so good at it sometimes I don't.

But I do watch. I watch and listen and feel more than anyone really knows. In fact, it's one of the things I do very well. The people here at Hogwarts. Walk around, pretending to be someone they aren't. Lying their way through their lives. Knowing exactly what they want but never quite daring to take the extra step. It's funny really. Hilarious. The people who I watch the most, the people whose attention sparked me the most, are the people who everyone admires and respects in a way. They're the people who do what is expected of them, because they couldn't bear to be exiled from what they know. Those people are the most "normal" people out there. And they were also the unhappiest.

Take Ginny Weasley. She is a great friend. And I love her dearly, but she is blinded by the reality of life. Things are supposed to be a certain way. Things can never truly change that way. What Ginevra doesn't understand is that the reality of life is what kills most people.

As Cervantes said "Too much sanity may be madness. And maddest of all, to see life as it is and not as it should be!"

It was the irony of life. Everyone tried to take it so seriously. Everyone tried to keep the lines that had been previously drawn visible. They never bother to think that those lines had to have been established by someone. Someone who most likely has been dead for years. Someone who doesn't know as many things as we do now. And just as easily as those lines had been created hundreds of years ago, they can be changed in a matter of seconds. Oh and taking life seriously is preposterous. What about life out there is even remotely serious? None of it.

You take life too seriously; you'll never get out alive.

Right, I was talking about Ginny. See, right now, she is dating Dean Thomas. But thing is, she really doesn't want to be with him. And unlike most people would have you think, it's not Harry Potter she wants either.

Truly, she wants to be with Malfoy.

Not that she would tell you that. Oh no. On the contrary she would deny it with every fibre in her being. But I know. You see. I have insomnia. Dreadful thing really. Never get any peace. Anyway, one night I was wandering about and stumbled upon Ginny and Draco. They were arguing heatedly and had anyone seen this scene, they would have pegged it as hatred.

But I had been watching them before. I had seen Draco staring longingly at her in the hallways. I'd seen Ginny's eyes wander repeatedly toward his seat on the Slytherin table during meals. The way their eyes softened when they talked to each other, even if it merely consisted of insults.

I wondered for a moment if I should help Ginny but there was something there. Something. Something. Sexual tension I think. So I stayed there and somehow they went from arguing to snogging. I didn't stay for long. But I knew that this wasn't the first time, they'd been together.

All in all, I suppose it's ironic. People pity me, because they think I'm odd. People make fun of me because I live in my world. People are afraid of me, because I do what I want without fear of making others upset. People are disturbed by me, because I don't hide myself. Yet, it is them who are dying. Them who are falling apart. Them who will inevitably be drowned in their misery.

I am the peculiar one, but that happy one.

I am the freak, but the independent one.

They wait for their futures to be delivered to them. They wait, for what they think has to happen. They don't dare to go and pursue their own wants because they're afraid of them.

As if it was something to fear.

That's when I realise how truly lucky I am. How glad I am to be able to live how I desire. And I forget all menial thoughts about being like everyone else. Of course, I tend not to think to deeply about these sorts of things. It gets far too technical. Like I said all this seriousness takes the meaning out of life. But I do agree with thinking deeply every once in awhile. Sometimes things need to be analyzed. Only sometimes though.

Enough of that anyway.

All this seriousness is making me feel unbearably sombre.

I think I'll go talk to Myrtle...She gets awfully lonely. And hardly anyone ever visits her. After all she might have knowledge on the whereabouts of the Harktems. Father has been searching ever so fervently for them...