September 2nd
8 a.m.
Dear diary,
I have a terrible headache and it's entirely my own fault, I am afraid. After re-reading my last diary notation, I feel utterly ashamed and my only comment is: I really was drunk. The rubbish I have written this night in really unbelievable.
Rolanda's still a moron, though.
I just had breakfast- but after Rolanda Hooch's one-hundred-and-fortieth reference to her wonderful strawberry punch. I didn't think my arm could have taken another nudge. I almost ran away, leaving a giggling Rolanda and a surprised Albus behind.
His eyes twinkled again.
I don't think I can take this anymore.
My comment of last night was right about something.
I love Albus Dumbledore. I have loved him since I was fifteen years old. That's more than twenty years ago now.
I am a moron as well.
Dear diary, what a shame, I, Minerva McGonagall, have just found out that I am a moron.
I really have to forget about Albus.
Maybe I should give myself detention? Oh, Minerva, stop it, you are behaving like a fifteen-year old schoolgirl who's is love with her teacher.
But I am one, aren't I?
No, I am not.
I am speaking to myself.
I am pathetic.
This was it, dear diary, another part of my utterly interesting and happy life has been revealed to you. I am going to prepare now for my first class of today.
The 6th year Gryffindors.
Goodbye.
8 a.m.
Dear diary,
I have a terrible headache and it's entirely my own fault, I am afraid. After re-reading my last diary notation, I feel utterly ashamed and my only comment is: I really was drunk. The rubbish I have written this night in really unbelievable.
Rolanda's still a moron, though.
I just had breakfast- but after Rolanda Hooch's one-hundred-and-fortieth reference to her wonderful strawberry punch. I didn't think my arm could have taken another nudge. I almost ran away, leaving a giggling Rolanda and a surprised Albus behind.
His eyes twinkled again.
I don't think I can take this anymore.
My comment of last night was right about something.
I love Albus Dumbledore. I have loved him since I was fifteen years old. That's more than twenty years ago now.
I am a moron as well.
Dear diary, what a shame, I, Minerva McGonagall, have just found out that I am a moron.
I really have to forget about Albus.
Maybe I should give myself detention? Oh, Minerva, stop it, you are behaving like a fifteen-year old schoolgirl who's is love with her teacher.
But I am one, aren't I?
No, I am not.
I am speaking to myself.
I am pathetic.
This was it, dear diary, another part of my utterly interesting and happy life has been revealed to you. I am going to prepare now for my first class of today.
The 6th year Gryffindors.
Goodbye.