A/N* The characters in this fic are in relation to the characters in the
books. Therefore, banish all thoughts of the movie from your mind. Good
job, you can read the story now
September 3rd,
Dear diary,
My name is Hermione Anne Granger and at the request of the Ministry of Magic I am filling out this journal with the hope that it will allow me to get in touch with myself. I, for one, think it is a wonderful idea. Oh who am I kidding? I think it's a horrific idea, I should be spending this time studying for O.W.Ls. God, what a bloody waste, sitting here, writing in this thing, if I want to know more about myself I should just ask Harry. He knows what Ron and I are going to do before Ron and I do. Actually, everyone does. All Ron and I do is fight. I liked it better when we were just friends. Plus, I have a bit, okay, not a bit. I have a HUGE crush on Dean. That's right. Dean Thomas. Best friend of the self-proclaimed Finnigan the Magnificent. But he's very sweet and very handsome and very nice. I know what you're thinking (that's a figure of speech, you had better not be thinking or I will seriously scream) Harry Potter is all of those things. Yes, he is, but Harry knows me so well I'm afraid it would bore him to death. He might as well take himself out to dinner. So here I am, kissing Ron, wishing he was Dean, I can't even look at his ands and pretend that he's Dean unless I imagine that Dean's hands have gone very pale. Stupid Ministry, are they trying to traumatize us? Jerks, I half wish You-Know-Who would attack so that they would reroute their attention elsewhere. I hope Fudge falls asleep in his porridge and suffocates because nobody wants to rescue him. I hope that only three people go to his funeral and I hope that the eulogist calls him Boris through the entire thing and nobody corrects him because they could care less themselves. Irritatedly yours,
Hermione
September 3rd,
Dear diary,
My name is Hermione Anne Granger and at the request of the Ministry of Magic I am filling out this journal with the hope that it will allow me to get in touch with myself. I, for one, think it is a wonderful idea. Oh who am I kidding? I think it's a horrific idea, I should be spending this time studying for O.W.Ls. God, what a bloody waste, sitting here, writing in this thing, if I want to know more about myself I should just ask Harry. He knows what Ron and I are going to do before Ron and I do. Actually, everyone does. All Ron and I do is fight. I liked it better when we were just friends. Plus, I have a bit, okay, not a bit. I have a HUGE crush on Dean. That's right. Dean Thomas. Best friend of the self-proclaimed Finnigan the Magnificent. But he's very sweet and very handsome and very nice. I know what you're thinking (that's a figure of speech, you had better not be thinking or I will seriously scream) Harry Potter is all of those things. Yes, he is, but Harry knows me so well I'm afraid it would bore him to death. He might as well take himself out to dinner. So here I am, kissing Ron, wishing he was Dean, I can't even look at his ands and pretend that he's Dean unless I imagine that Dean's hands have gone very pale. Stupid Ministry, are they trying to traumatize us? Jerks, I half wish You-Know-Who would attack so that they would reroute their attention elsewhere. I hope Fudge falls asleep in his porridge and suffocates because nobody wants to rescue him. I hope that only three people go to his funeral and I hope that the eulogist calls him Boris through the entire thing and nobody corrects him because they could care less themselves. Irritatedly yours,
Hermione
