His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad,
His hair is as dark as a blackboard.
I wish he was mine, he's really divine,
The hero who conquered the Dark Lord.

Every time I looked at Harry, the word fresh pickled toad floated subconsciously in my mind. Sometimes, I had to bite on my lip to stop the words from tumbling out. I couldn't help it; whenever Harry talked to anybody, his eyes would pierce through them. They were very prominently emerald green. For eleven years I have endured with this curse, the curse of the Fresh Picked Toad, as I liked to call it. If I could erase those words, or rather the whole poem, from my consciousness, the urge to utter fresh pickled toad whenever I saw Harry Potter would be no longer. But unfortunately, life isn't so simple.

I can take myself back eleven years and remember every detail so vividly you'd be shocked I hadn't stolen a Time-Turner and experienced the whole nightmare again. But nightmares stick with you for a very long time. It was Thursday, one of my favorite days because it meant the weekend was near. Gilderoy Lockhart had been the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. He liked to pin Harry to his side whenever it concerned his fame. I recalled that Malfoy had teased him for always being in the spotlight and taunted me when I defended me. Lockhart liked Valentine's Day also or perhaps Hogwarts did too because pink had vomited across the Great Hall. Pink flowers covered the walls. Heart-shaped confetti fell from the ceiling. I had to shield my breakfast from the showering confetti. My pumpkin juice was not so lucky; by the end of breakfast, hearts floated across its orange waters.

Now, with my blossoming crush on Harry Potter, this was about the most mortifying thing that could've happened to me. As I walked to class with a group of my friends, a dwarf bombarded Harry with a singing valentine. He ripped his bag and was trying to escape when--the words pierced the silence. I'd rather not go into deep detail about the poem. It was the most dreadful poem I've ever heard. Everyone laughed, including me. But then I noticed that Malfoy had picked up a certain diary that I had tried flushing down the toilet. The memory of that nasty diary still haunts me. I stared in horror. Harry managed to steal it back from Malfoy with a Disarming Spell. That made Percy and Malfoy furious because Malfoy whirled around nastily and screamed the words that made my already bad day worse, "I don't think Potter liked your valentine very much!"

Now this was very unfair. I knew many girls harbored secret crushes on Harry Potter, including me. It was wrong for everyone to pinpoint the culprit as me. And somewhere underneath the horrifying embarrassment I was experiencing, I was appalled and frankly offended that anyone thought I had written poetry that bad. Already plagued with worries about Harry and the diary, people did not help matters by taunting me the entire day about sending Harry Potter that atrocious valentine. I remember the same four words I repeated the entire day, "I didn't send it", varying in different tones from weary to furious. Fred and George didn't help matters by singing it obnoxiously when Harry was around, either. I was forced to shoulder the singing valentine for eleven years. By now, everyone had forgotten about it. But there is still the memory lingering the back of my mind now and then. But I was sure that was the only singing valentine that would ever disrupt my life again.