November 4th, 2021
All right. So I'm officially confused, as if I wasn't muddled up enough before.
Today, Rich Carmichael of Ravenclaw, Ravenclaw, I tell you, comes up to me, thumps me on the back, and says, "Nice bird you got there, mate."
And then, we had Herbology with the Hufflepuffs and Johnny Rash, this Muggleborn kid, was working on the same bunch of Murtlap reeds as I was, and he goes, "Can you ask that Megan of yours if she has any sisters?"
And then, these fourth years were ogling her when we were walking to dinner.
The strange part? None of this really bothered me. Like I didn't get that insane feeling to hex Carmichael into oblivion the way I did Williams when he ditched Al.
Very odd.
To make matters worse, James comes up to me and says, "Well done, mate. I didn't think you had it in you." To which of course, I punched him.
"Anyway," he said thickly, while holding his heavily bleeding nose. "Merlin, Al, you can sure pack a punch!"
"I'm not a Chaser for nothing."
"Sure. Anyway, just wanted to tell you about a little Potter tradition."
"What?"
"All Potters, for generations, have married redheads. Megan Potter has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"
The git ran away before I could give him a black eye to match that lovely bloody nose. What a prat.
I don't want to marry Megan! I really, really don't! If anything, I want to marry...well, bloody hell, I don't know! I'm fifteen for Merlin's sake!
Would Dad hate me very much if I married Alice?
Nah, I don't think so. Even if, I'm sure we could get her to dye it or something...
I don't want to marry Megan Cavendish.
I don't want to marry Megan Cavendish.
I don't want to marry Megan Cavendish.
...Right?
Oh, I forgot. You're a book. You don't talk back. Damn.