April 15, Wednesday

Despite fact that haven't been back at Hogwarts' for more than two weeks since Easter Holidays, Mum sent care package with the morning owls. Included was a load of free sample sized Oral-B floss, sugarless treats (darling mum, don't have the heart to tell her that I have been accumulating a collection of her sugarless baking health hazards in the back of my wardrobe for ages now), a note stating that the neighbors, especially Mrs. Pierre and her grossly enlarged breast implants (which, considering their size, should be counted as an entirely other person, if not two) are quite concerned with the over abundance of the nocturnal creatures with parchments and packages attached to their legs flying from our back patio. Of course, Mum couldn't help but adding quite cheekily that she will be so glad when I am home for good as things will go back to normal like this is all just some sort of phase, like Barbie dolls. Perhaps I'll get tired of all this Wizarding nonsense and put my wand and rabid books in a rubber-maid container up in the attic next to the box containing the My Little Pony stage of her daughter's life.

Oh well, found diary amongst all the tissue paper. Suppose I will use it, why not? A Mister Tom Riddle pops to mind immediately, but something with a price tag attached from Macy's seems innocent enough.

April 16, Thursday

Have decided that I must be the most revolting female on the face of the Earth. On a whim, had put on a bit of rogue and decided to try to remind Harry and Ron, that yes, I do have breasts hidden underneath these robes (I'm rather fond of them, in fact). Conversation arose over breakfast when most desperately single Ron pondered whom he was going to take to with him on the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend. Mind you, I have no interest in him, but the fact remained that I sat across from him with a large proverbial arrow saying, "Pick me! Pick me!" No, instead, he looks at me in all sincerity and makes that wiping motion on his cheek as if I accidentally smudged strawberry jam on my cheeks before asking if I know if Padma is still taken. What do I have to do? Charm four inches off the hem of my skirt like Pansy Parkinson so my bum hangs out and waves hello to passerby?

Hello, world. Looking for shag? Apply Within.

Stomped outside in frustration at self a bit more dramatically than I had intended, causing a perky redhead to follow suit. Chewing on a piece of toast, she asks what is wrong. Of course, I revert to the melodrama of my peers and go through a bizarre routine where she has to inquire my problem at least three times, so I can refuse to respond at least twice before the conversation actually begins. Finally, I explain that I'm an anal retentive, obsessive over achieving bore, with cherry in tact. She laughs, but does she dispute any of the above? Of course not. Lovely. I huff and she comforts me by saying that although the first two are my own fault, she can help with the last. She explains that it's actually quite simple and proceeds to give me detailed instructions on how to shag any male.

"First of all, be alone. So all eyes are on you. To ensure the former is true, make sure to either loosen a few buttons on your blouse or conveniently drop something at their feet, and hike up the skirt just a bit and bend over so they get a nice glimpse. Then, simply lick your lips provocatively, or give them a wink," She says with a knowing grin, "And they become putty."

The femi-nazi currently residing in my head thinks I should be disgusted by the ease of it all. Although, it must also be taken into consideration that it's much easier said than done coming from a girl with all the right proportions. If it weren't for her large chest, she would tip over frontward. Even more disturbingly, the aforementioned red headed sexpot would have the exact opposite problem if her bum didn't act as a counter weight.

Intend to do more research tomorrow.

April 25, Saturday

Have managed to purposely make off with A Wizard's Desire from a blushing third year Hufflepuff. Felt pang of guilt before I was reminded of the instance in which she compared my hair to lightning strike victim when she thought I was out of earshot. Granted, that particular cosmetic spell hadn't been the most effective, but I learn from my mistakes (thus, will never, ever listen to anything Lavender has to say again ever). Anyway, will add aforementioned book featuring telltale bare-chested male with Gilderoy-esque hair to my collection later. This is getting quite pathetic, really. There are more wards on my secret stash of romance novels and seduction how-to guides than are on the entrance to my quarters.

April 26, Sunday

Throughout day, Ginny was determined that I report my progress and find a suitable mate and started listing possible victims.

"How about Seamus Finnigan?" she asks somewhat eagerly, twirling a piece of red hair around her finger, absentmindedly.

Fiercely shook head no. No Quidditch players. No avid Quidditch fans. No Quidditch posters. No Quidditch jerseys. Still debating whether casual spectators are acceptable.

"What about Ernie Macmillan, from Hufflepuff. He's a prefect, at least."

Had to remind Ginny that aforementioned prefect barely comes up to my chin and I'm hardly one to be considered tall. Have enough on mind, wouldn't want to work the dynamics of shagging someone who is vertically challenged, per say.

"Justin Finch-Fletchley?"

Feel the urge to emphasis the need for literacy. No Dick and Jane stories lying about will suffice. I insist on a wide variety of literary expertise- Bronte to Trollope, I really don't care, but I just might throw my knickers at anyone who quotes Nietzsche or Voltaire.

As we leave the Great Hall, Ginny sighs and says I'm helpless. Professor Lupin passes by with a casual hello and I feign a sudden interest in my plaid socks as to avoid him witnessing the slightly embarrassing process of me melting into my shoes. Don't have the heart to tell Ginny I've already chosen.

April 29, Wednesday

After much ado, have decided on plan. First step: detention. Cliché? Hardly one to care but for once I mentally damn myself for being such a sucker for rules. Enter DADA classroom and slink into seat at front of room. Professor Lupin asks class to hand in two-scroll essay assigned week prior. Had planned to say that I had simply forgotten, implying a newfound mystique and landing a detention in one, but tongue went limp.

Couldn't make self stop imagining the big, fat, zero in a grade book pointing and laughing as it will surely lower my grade average, ruin any chance of getting into decent university, and will unquestionably cause me to end up sitting on consignment furniture, eating cheesy poufs and drooling over a mechanic with bad hygiene two flats over as he will be the most eligible bachelor in my hideous future.

Sigh helplessly and turn in essay.

April 30, Thursday

Made complete ass out of self. Found myself on staircase in mid-change with Harry and a particularly shaggable Professor Lupin while they discussed Quidditch. Although it's well known I despise the subject, I was put on the spot when the aforementioned Professor asked my opinion about the allegations against the Chuddley Cannons throwing matches.
"She hates Quidditch, Moony. Don't bother." Harry had teased.
"Well," I began, straightening my back as to appear taller and somehow more informed on the subject than usual, "although it's a particularly thuggish way to act, I don't see any harm in it as long as no one was burnt or injured."
Remus bit his lip in an attempt to stop his laughter (unsuccessfully, I might add), and Harry just starred at me as if I were mad. Purposely went the opposite direction of Harry and Professor Lupin as soon as stairs came to a halt, thus adding an unnecessary half hour to route to library.