Disclaimer: Everything except the journal idea is property of J.K Rowling. I would hope that it's obvious, but if not, there you go.

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Chapter Four: Roses are Red

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Number 16:

Valentine's Day looms closer, and each day I grow more afraid of what kind of scheme Potter is busy concoting. You would think that recent events would have had some sort of effect on him, but apparently not. He is as persistent as ever, as I found out today.

One minute I'm writing down facts about the goblin rebellions of 1214, and the next, James Potter is somehow writing in my notes, trying to hold a conversation with me.

I didn't even know that was possible, although being Muggleborn, there's a lot I don't know. Logically, though, a spell would have to be placed on the quills being used.

I wrote down that I was trying to take notes and to leave me alone. He asked me out. I said no, and broke my quill. I tried using a different quill since I keep several spares in my bag, but they all had the same effect. This leads me to believe that in order for Potter to bewitch my quills, he needed someone to get to the quills from my rucksack for him, and then put them back.

Which means, one of my friends is plotting against me.

Why do my friends think that Potter and I would make a good couple? He's egotistical not to mention that he hexes people for fun while I tend to be more modest about my accomplishments and find bullies to be completely unacceptable.

Those are just two reasons! There are lots more, but I don't have time to write them all down. I have to somehow sneak past Potter and get to the library. Good luck to me!

Number 17:

A lucky break for me; Potter wasn't in the common room or the library. In fact, I didn't see him or any of his friends last night. It was the best thing that's happened to me since I received perfect marks my Charms exam last week!

However, today was a different story.

I hope that whoever decided that the next Hogsmeade visit should be on St. Valentine's Day dies a very slow and very painful death. I've never particularly cared for the holiday, but now that I apparently have a stalker, I positively loathe it.

St. Valentine's Day just gives Potter another sorry excuse to ask me out. (As though he needs one.) The sooner St. Valentine's is over, the better.

Whatever happened to the lads who knew how to treat a girl? Oh, I forgot; there never were any! All of the nice and interesting males were born in a different generation. Well, there is Remus, but he's a friend. I did fancy him in our second year, but that crush was long over by third year.

Today, Potter presented me with a single red rose with a note attached to the stem. It read: 'Come to Hogsmeade with me on Valentine's Day?'

I had to restrain myself from sticking the stem (which had thorns on it) up Potter's nose.

It's come to my attention that I have a rather violent turn of mind, sometimes. Perhaps I should be worried about that.

Number 18:

It's not even 7:30 am on St. Valentine's Day and Potter has already struck. I woke up this morning to find a bouquet of red roses mixed with lilies-of-the-valley in a glass vase on my bedside table. A note was propped up against the vase reading: 'Roses are red, Violets are blue, There is no flower, As sweet as you. Be my valentine Evans?'

It may sound stupid, but I'm taping the note in here so I can look back on this day and laugh. Really, this whole journal exists so that years from now, I can re-read this and laugh until I cry. Or, as I've said before, so I can use it as evidence that he's a delusional stalker.

I might as well face the inevitable and go down the common room and face Potter. There really isn't any question of his being there waiting for me.

Number 19:

As I expected, Potter was waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs. He offered me a rose and his arm; I took neither. Unfortunately, this did not seem to dissuade him in the least.

He asked if I had received the flowers, and I informed him that I had thrown them out the window.

Potter looked very cross in that moment and I don't blame him, but I couldn't keep the flowers, could I? My friends would never stop taking the mickey out of me and Potter would take my keeping them for more than it meant. Goodness knows I don't need that.

For as angry as he looked, Potter recomposed himself rather well and the mornings' events did not stop him from pursuing me to Hogsmeade.

I don't know why I went; it was a really stupid thing to do, playing right into Potter's hands. That boy had a whole plan, which, if I'm not mistaken, involved my friends.

Hestia, Alice and I (Emmeline had a date with a Ravenclaw by the last name of Goldstein) did our best to avoid them, but Potter, Remus and Peter (Sirius had a date) found us in the Quidditch section of Flourish and Blotts. Somebody by the name of Alice told me that Potter would never think to look for me there.

I think I was set up.

I did everything in my power to lose Potter, but fate and my friends were against me. You would think that after spending nearly an hour in Gladrags Wizarding Wear, Potter might bugger off, but he didn't. In fact, he seemed more determined than ever to stick near me the whole day. I suppose he thought that if he could tolerate an hour in a clothing store, he could do anything.

I rather despise my so-called friends at the moment – they abandoned me on purpose! Hestia allegedly wanted Remus's opinion of some book on The Dark Arts since he's quite good at that subject; then Alice and Peter left me to go and look at some Herbology stuff.

Now I know that my friends are conspiring against me, because Alice doesn't much care for Peter. I have to admit, I don't either. He spends far too much time trying to please others. I'm not sure that he's ever had an opinion that was truly his own.

That left me and Potter together, which is precisely what they wanted to accomplish. Prats. We wandered up and down the streets for a while. During this time, Potter kept trying to hold my hand, so I resorted to keeping my hands inside my cloak.

After a visit to Scrivenshafts so I could buy some more quills to replace the ones that Potter had bewitched, we headed over to Three Broomsticks for a drink.

I was thanking Potter (see, I can be nice to him) for paying for my butterbeer when he turned annoying again. He had been doing well up until that moment; I'd only wanted to hit him once or twice.

I thanked him for the the bottle of butterbeer and told him that he needn't have paid for me. His response?

"I wouldn't be much of gentleman if I didn't pay for my date's drink, now, would I?"

When he said that, I started choking on my butterbeer and he had to pat me on the back a few times before I could breathe properly again.

"Date? You think this is a date?" I all but screeched.

"It sure seems that way; a girl, a guy, having a drink together…." He said casually.

Me: "For your information, this is not a date!"

Potter: "It could be a date, you know."

Me: "You did this on purpose! You and my friends, you planned this whole thing!"

Potter: "They wanted to help me out."

Me: "Help you? They're my friends! They should be helping me get rid of you!"

I stormed out of Three Broomsticks after that outburst, and if that conversation reconstruction seems a little hysterical, that's because I was. My friends are helping Potter…looks like it's just me against the multitude.

Well, I don't care what plan they concoct, I will not go out with James Potter.

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