Really stretching for rhymes right now.

Oh hey sup. This is Chapter 10. It is all so wonderfully out of order.

Enjoy, my friends. I HOPE YOU LIKE IT. I wrote this on my 21st birthday which should show you how dedicated I am. Special thanks, as always to Maggie. Haha what if I was just making up this person to thank each time to convince you all I had friends. I'm not, but…I guess this isn't very convincing.

Also special thanks to Tumblr. If you haven't followed me yet, then…why? And also please ask me dirty questions. Everyone keeps saying really nice things about the Confidential Diary and it makes my day!, really, but I feel awkward saying anything back cause it seems like I'm tootin ma own horn or something. Within Tumblr, thank you to ma gurl KT (stuckinaturtleshell): so much love.

Wheee, here you go!

5:00 PM

I opened my eyes and I saw a finely carved mahogany lid inches from my refined nose. Blinking, confused, palms on the wood, I pushed up. Despite my stone-hard tricep muscles that threaten to tear my Brooks Brother's dress shirt's sleeves in half, the lid refused to budge. I hummed my discontent with the situation, but was mostly irritated that my "friends" wouldn't even dish out enough cash to get my coffin lined with the hot pink satin cushions with black lace at the ends that I EXPLICITLY ASKED FOR IN THE WILL I DREW UP LIKE YESTERDAY OR SOMETHING.

5:02 PM

I may be dead but I have excellent taste. And a writing style strikingly similar to Hemingway.

By writing style I mean drinking style, but whateva. All you authors who wrote the so-called "classics" can suck my pale, thin, curved-slightly-upwards dick.

5:02 and 7 seconds PM

That insult (request…?) works a lot better when black people's dicks are involved.

5:03 PM

I can't believe I died without getting a glimpse of Dean's dick.

I wasted so much time.

5:05 PM

Racist-toward-black people are only that way because they are intimidated by their dick sizes, the likelihood of them winning in a race, and their unwavering self-confidence.

Big black people are always just walking around loving their curves while big fat white people ride around in scooters really angrily, running over people's feet on the street and in the grocery store, as if all those people are the ones who made them obese, forcing the fat white guy to buy seven hungry man meals, fried chicken, and bacon dipped chocolate for dinner that night.

I can't believe I died without dying my skin a different color.

I wasted so much time.

5:06 PM

Colors I wouldn't have dyed my skin:

Yellow (unless I want to be berated by my parents [lol my parents are dead] for that B+ I got in 4th grade math)

Beige/light brown/tan/taupe? (whatever Mexicans are)

White (that would have been a waste of money)

Blue (lol yeah I downloaded avatar illegally, what are you gonna do to me? find it on my computer somehow and sue me? ok cyber police; also it was the 3D version and I didn't have the glasses, so things are kinda wonky but I saw some fuckin blue tits and shit)

5:07 PM

So anyway, guess I answered everyone's question. What happens when you die?

You get buried and then regain consciousness later so you can think about all the things you didn't do and see how crap your friends are.

5:07 and 10 seconds PM

Who buried me with my diary and a ballpoint pen anyway? That's fucking precious. Like they expect me to send them snail-mail from Heaven or something.

Dear (CRAP) Friends,

It's really bright here in Heaven! I had to buy sunglasses! They were free, of course because God doesn't charge for his love! Or his eye-protection! (haha )

Love, Kisses,

Harry

5:10 PM

Dear Friends,

I can feel your prayers all the way up here: praying for me, for my loved ones. They are like butterfly kisses on my cheeks. Thanks for your love! Thanks for your faith!

Missing You,

Harry

5:11 PM

Dear Friends,

There are so many chairs up here, all different kinds, too! I am sitting on a tan Lazy-boy recliner. Looks brand new!

A nice man walked over and introduced himself. He worked at a hospital, saving children's lives! Often, he'd donate to charities and work at homeless shelters. He was such a great guy that I invited him to sit down on the rocking chair next to me! He politely declined, saying, he wasn't "allowed to sit down here because he once had sex with another man." LOL I guess God hates the gays after all!

Who would let a guy who sticks it in someone else's butt work with children? Not me! Here's hoping the rest of them get smited. Pray hard!

Miss you, miss you, wouldn't want to kiss you (because some of you are men and the others I'm not married to!)

Harry

5:15 PM

So if this is all death is, then haven't I disproved God?

You all spent a lot of time on that Bible thing, printing jillions of copies and then putting it in the wrong section at bookstores. Just cause it's a well-written story doesn't mean you can avoid the fiction shelves and place it on random tables by the front door.

5:16 PM

I'm not hungry or anything, but I'd totally love a Blow Pop right about now so I could suck on it and think of all the sexual innuendo I'd be telling people and the high fives I'd receive.

5:17 PM

I always loved watching girls with Blow Pops. They'd suck it real sexy-like without even trying, but then they'd get to the gum part and start chewing and it would get uncomfortable all of a sudden.

5:17 and 3 seconds PM

If a girl chewed on my dick, there would be consequences.

But maybe it would be less curved?

5:20 PM

The Will I Drew Up Like Yesterday Or Something:

Shithead bastards, cunts that I associate with for some reason, and Ron:

This is my Will. You make one of these for when you die and you can no longer communicate with other people any more. By the time you get this, I will (geddit?) be dead. I will (lol) have already given this to my lawyer (Mr. Gorbachev) who may or may not have thrown up on it at some point because he's been eating a lot of grass lately. If the vomit is there, ask him kindly to just eat it because he actually likes doing that, but is always embarrassed to do so in front of company.

I have a few requests once I have passed.

1. Once dead, you all should watch at least one episode of Happy Days every day for the rest of your lives. Do this for the remembrance of me. If you are selfish, this might seem like I'm asking a lot. If you are a sensible person, you will (rofl) realize that I am bestowing a great gift of TV wonderment upon you, one that you should thank me for. You won't be able to, however, because I am dead so alas and alack and thine hearts be content I guess.

2. Anyone who attends my wedding should wear custom made shirts with my face on them. These, you must continue to wear to bed every night for a week.

3. The priest who says stuff at my funeral must be Morgan Freeman. He can say whatever he wants as long as he says it loudly and for ten minutes. Extra points if he slips in quotes from The Shawshank Redemption.

4. If you do religion stuff at my funeral, replace any name used in the bible with mine. This will (lmao) enforce the fact that it is my funeral and it is about ME. Why would we talk about some dude named Jesus who is too lazy to shave and makes people drink his blood? I don't know who he is, but that guy sounds like an asshole.

5. My coffin should be comfortable. So put some hot pink cushions in that shit with black lace at the end for a touch of elegance. Also if you can install those hamster water-feeder things too that might be nice in case my body gets thirsty while decomposing.

Okay, so now the part that you greedy shits are waiting for: the part where I give you stuff! Well, guess what? I'm not giving anyone anything except for Ginny.

Ginny, I expect we have slept together many times by the time I'm dead, so you should know through this Will, that I have bestowed upon you gonorrhea. Congratulations!

Fin

5:25 PM

Haha I just spent like twenty minutes convincing you I was dead. WERE YOU NERVOUS? DID YOU THINK THAT PERHAPS THE REST OF THIS DIARY WOULD BE ME UPDATING YOU WHENEVER I SCRATCHED MY ASS EVEN THOUGH I DIDN'T NEED TO BECAUSE I AM DEAD AND I DON'T GET ITCHY?

No? Yes? Too embarrassed to admit it?

You guys.

WHAT REALLY HAPPENED:

5:00 PM

I opened my eyes and didn't see spells shooting at me, unattractive Death Eaters, or that awesome pirate-themed bar.

Instead, I saw 12 Grimmauld Place.

I looked at Hermione, who was grinning at me for some reason, pleased as a fucking pigeon.

"You brought us here?" I drawled, sounding like Malfoy before he stopped talking entirely in favor of shoving fatty things inside his gob.

"I saved our lives," Hermione countered.

I knocked on the door, annoyed. "You could have just apparated us to the bar next door or a strip club or Harrod's—at least we could have gone shopping and ate scones—but instead you go for this shit hole? Smart."

"Don't you think they'll expect us to come here?" Ginny inquired, looking back on the street nervously. "I mean, Dumbledore was the secret keeper, so after his death, anyone who knew about it before becomes a secret keeper, right?"

"Dumbledore's dead?"

"Which means Snape," Ron finished for her, ignoring me (rude), as he stubbed out his cigarette on Ernie's cheek. He had somehow mysteriously acquired a plaid shirt and an ironic air during the apparition from Wicked Willy's. "What are we gonna do if he shows up? Or if he's already inside?"

"He's not," said Kreacher who had apparently been listening at the door. He opened it wide for us all to come in and we witnessed a very clean Grimmauld Place. It looked like an interior decorator had been there.

"Do you like what I've done with the place?" asked Kreacher, hands on his hips. He was wearing no shirt, but a pair of pink bahama shorts with green Lacoste flip-flops. His hair was parted in the middle and gelled into place. "It was just so dark in here before, you know? And after Fernando and I painted the walls—what is the color? Desert Romance, I think—after we painted it that color we just gasped because the room looked so much bigger!"

"Kreacher, when did you get a lisp?" Hermione asked tentatively.

"Around the time I killed my first mudblood you fucking piece of scum," he hissed. "And so we opened up the curtains and the light just came flooding in you know, Hurricane Katrina style, and now we can have plants!"

"I like what you did with the curtains," Ron said, fingering the fabric hiding Mrs. Black from view.

"Fucking blood-traitor, I wouldn't drink your blood if it was the only sustenance left on earth, I would rather vomit it up and die than have your stinking ass dirty blood anywhere near me, get the hell off my curtains, you know, I bought them in this beautiful light green and it's just so much nicer, I think the Missus likes it, too. She's been awfully quiet lately. Probably all the Adam Lambert on the radio, too, she just loves him. I don't blame her, though, boy can sing!"

"Kreacher?" a male voice from the kitchen called with a Spanish accent, "my creature Kreacher, who are you talking to, baby?"

A very tanned, handsome, tall man emerged from the kitchen, grinning. Kreacher waved him over. "Fernando, meet these little fuckers who think they can just apparate onto our doorstep and that we'll just invite them on in, selfish shits. Master, the rest of you, this is Fernando Martinez. I met him a little while ago and we just hit it off he's such a faggot, won't stop sticking his dick in my ass."

Fernando laughed handsomely. "You know about Kreacher's Tourette's too, I guess? It's just so adorable, but oh my god I'm such a bitch, welcome to our home!"

Kreacher smiled. "Oh look, there's girls here, too! Oh, how wonderful; get yourselves in the kitchen, ladies, where you belong all you're good for is making meals and sucking cock and I don't want your skanky lips anywhere near mine so get some fucking food in the oven you bitches. We were thinking about getting a girl because it's become a little ridiculous for us to toil in the kitchen. Every male-male relationship is going to have to do it, you know. I guess that's why gays are so hard for everyone to understand, but everybody just loves lesbians you know. All they have to do is make out on TV and have their two sets of tits and make amazing meals in the kitchen—twice the effort put in!—and everyone's all understanding of it."

Fernando and Kreacher followed Hermione, Ginny, and Luna into the kitchen while everyone looked around open mouthed.

"Guess this isn't so bad, after all. Kreacher got pretty cool."

6:30 PM

Eating the dinner Hermione, Ginny, and Luna made. They're watching us enviously because they're not allowed to sit down until the men finish eating.

6:31 PM

I belched. "So Kreacher, dude, remember when you told us about the Horcrux or whatever? That was cool man. So we went and got it from Umbridge and we have it with us: is this the real one?"

I handed it to him and he nodded excitedly. "Oh my god, I remember when Regulus gave this to me and said 'Destroy this!' and I was like 'Of course, master,' but I was really thinking 'Oh my god how good is this going to look with my dress slacks and lavender tank?'"

It was quiet for a second. "Do you know the answer?" Kreacher asked, fondling it like a baby that wasn't a mistake or the biggest regret of your life. He looked at me seriously. "It looked too good. So, destroy it." He handed it back to me nonchalantly. "It's really out of style now, anyway."

"Do you know how to destroy it?" I asked.

"Ask Malfoy to sit on it, fucking fatass pure-blood traitor what is he even doing here, why is he eating so goddamn much?"

Malfoy looked up from his third helping of mashed potatoes, scandalized. He glanced at Ron who hadn't touched his plate other than sticking the five cigarettes he had smoked during dinner into his food, creating an ironic smiley face.

"Force won't break it," Hermione piped up from behind us, "but venom from a Basilisk might—do you know where the Sword of Gryffindor is—?"

"Who told you that you were allowed to talk?" Fernando asked, throwing his half-eaten roll at her head.

"Women," I muttered. "They say the most inane things. So do you know where the Sword of Gryffindor is, by any chance?"

"No, I haven't seen it," Kreacher shrugged.

"Well, Dumbledore gave us some clues; mind if we try to work them out here?"

"Not at all, unless you scrape the wood floors, of course. I'll have to slit your throat as you sleep and watch the blood pour all over my fine Egyptian cotton you son-of-a-bitch don't even think about fucking up my floors."

I looked at Fernando. "Tourette's?"

He shook his head. "Not Tourette's."

6:56 PM

Organizing our first game of Quidditch because Dumbledore told me to via Snitch. Tried to get Ron and Dean in the action, but they disappeared. Maybe they died.

Whatev, I can't keep track of all these people, I'm not an accountant.

7:00 PM

So we've got our teams:

Me, Ernie, and Malfoy (lol will the broom even fly with him on it?)

vs

Hermione, Ginny, and Luna

Mr. Gorbachev is playing the role of referee, which makes sense since I trust no one more than he. Even though he keeps ignoring what I say to chase his tail. He's fighting a losing battle, there.

His tail is less straight than Kreacher.

…meaning it's really curly and also on top of his back. How will he catch it?

6:57 PM

"Harry, I really don't want to play Quidditch," Ginny said earnestly/sexily. Everything she says gets me hard.

"Listen, we're in Harry-country right now—Potterville, if you will. And in Potterville, women aren't given a vote and are not considered citizens so, yeah get on your broom, bitch."

7:01 PM

Argue, nag, meaningless words. Ron finally broke the tension by barging in the door and telling everyone he just bought a DSL camera.

"I've been thinking about becoming a photographer for years now, and I like really have a good eye for it, so I just did it! I just went and bought a camera and I really don't regret that I don't have any money because I'm an artist and material things, like they don't even mean anything to me. I don't get any fulfillment out of those things. I just want to make art."

The girls are really excited about this new Cool Sensitive Ron and I think he bought a pair of skinny jeans while he was out, but I don't want to say anything because that means I've been looking at his legs and that's pretty gay.

7:05 PM

Ron just took a picture of the stairs in black and white and is showing everyone. And Luna doesn't even know what's going on, she's talking about the composition or something but this isn't a musical piece so shut the fuck up Luna.

And Hermione is all, "Ron you're soooooooooooooo talented."

Ginny punched him in the shoulder good-naturedly because she's my bitch, but he looked at her seriously and asked, "Gin, would you mind modeling for me?"

7:07 PM

I don't know where Malfoy found the birthday cake, but he is eating all of it with his hands.

7:10 PM

Ginny is standing by the stairs (Ron's favorite photographic subject apparently) and she put her hands on her hips and smiled. He, however, frowned.

"Gin, this is serious. This picture wants to capture the inner essence of you. Is that okay?"

So Ginny nodded and winked at the camera while doing a little gun-pointy thing with her front fingers.

"I mean, you have to get naked—it has more meaning," Ron shrugged, a slave to art.

7:11 PM

We all felt very uncomfortable (horny) as Ginny slowly took her shirt off, Ron's Nikon ready to take the shot. But before she even got her left arm out, the doorbell rang. And then again and again and again as if there was a really insistent girl scout outside.

"IF YOU DON'T HAVE SAMOAS, I WILL RIP YOUR TITS FROM YOUR BODY AND—"

"Harry!" Dean panted, looking worried, Naomi in his hand.

"Oh hey, Dean!" I opened the door wide, then saw the group of masked and cloaked men behind him. "Look, Dean brought some friends over!"

"Harry, those are Death Eaters," Ernie pointed out.

"Whatcho do that for, Dean?" I asked, shaking my head and smiling, and the studio audience laughed at my catchphrase. I ducked a spell and the audience gasped and followed it with a sigh of relief when they saw I was safe.

"I didn't—well I didn't mean to, I didn't realize he was a Death Dealer, he just like waved me over and asked if I wanted some coke and I thought to myself, 'Well fuck me nig, yeah I want some coke,' so I walked over there and put Naomi to his head and told him to 'GIVE ME THE FUCKIN COKE UNLESS YOU WANT TO GET SHOT IN THE EAR AND YOU'LL LOSE MORE THAN YOUR HEARING, YOU'LL LOSE YA LIFE AND I'LL TAKE YOUR COKE ANYWAY SO YOU SHOULD CHOOSE OK, I'LL GIVE YOU A CHOICE, BUT I'M GONNA SHOOT YOU PROBABLY' but he took out his wand, and then I came here."

"You lead them right to us," Hermione screamed scandalized, "you idiot!"

And for the second time, we ducked spells, held onto each other, and apparated.

7:12 PM

Lol what if I tried to convince you I was dead again.

I won't though.

I might actually.