November 2nd

7.00 p.m.

Dear diary,

This is a desperate attempt to kill myself- just co-operate, alright?
Okay.
So.

ATTENTION, THIS DIARY NOTE WILL DESTROY ITSELF IN EXACTLY FIVE SECONDS!

FIVE!

FOUR!

THR- oh who am I trying to fool anyway, dear diary…

I won't escape this damn date, as Rolanda calls it. Ha ha. A date. Minerva McGonagall's got herself a date. Rolling on the floor laughing. Who on earth will ever believe this?

Goodness, now I really wished I hadn't told Poppy or Ro about this. Then I'd be able to just stay here, in the nice peace of my very own rooms- without having to face the fact of my only true love not loving me back- or worse, not loving me "that way". Because I know Albus somewhat cares about me- but just as a friend, and Poppy and, especially, Rolanda, don't seem to get that. Big, frustrated sigh.

How will I ever survive this hour of sheer, expectant and hopeful, torture- how will I ever face this night, this night of crying in my pillow and praying just to forget about him- of knowing that I'll never be able to? Every time I watch him walking the grounds, blue eyes twinkling, beard looking so majestic, so ancient and yet so ever-young too- yes then I love him. Those are the times when I know that I could give my life for him- that I could utterly and happily pass away for him, and die with a smile on my face. Those are the times when I, secretly, give up all hope that I will ever love another. I love him too much- have loved him for too long, to ever forget about him. He is too much to me.

A friend, a colleague, a boss, a confidant- and a lover.

In my dreams.

And here I am now, it's 7.15 and I feel bad. Thoroughly bad. In the mirror, I see the spinster that I am, staring right back at me with my own, green eyes. I know many people go through life with their real personalities hidden under some kind of mask- but my problem is exactly the opposite. My reflection shows whom I really am, and I don't like it. I know I am supposed to be my own, so-called self-confident self- but well, it is true, I have confidence in myself and my abilities, but not now, not in this kind of business.

Goodness, how will I ever live through these forty minutes? I, who's never nervous, am stressing and- for what? For nothing.

I'll just be disappointed again and I will have no-one but myself to blame.

At least I have that.

Goodnight.