Dear Diary,

I still feel horrible. I spent all yesterday in bed. Gods, I hate Dudley Dursley! I blame him for my suffering because, of course, everyone must have someone to blame for everything. Most people choose God or their parents…but I choose the pig-look alike next door.

Audry chooses me. She blames me for everything. Why? Because when little angelic Audry says something, it just has to be true. My parents always believer her, even when she's down-right lying.

Like today, she came home from school and complained to Mum that I was purposely sneezing on her to make her sick, which was, of course, not true. She just said that because I had chastised her for failing her spelling test and told her that I was telling Mum. So she ran ahead of me and spat out her lie before I could tell the truth.

Now, I'm grounded for a thing I didn't do. It's bad enough not going to school, but being forced to stay in my room for two days with nothing but a head cold for company is just plain mean.

Audry is another person who is going on my blame list. Her and Dudley.

There was one good thing about this week though. Harry was given the task of giving me my homework everyday that I am absent. Yesterday, he came over and we talked for almost an hour until his aunt Petunia marched over and dragged him away by the collar. She's a horrible woman and she looks like a horse that just ate a lemon.

I'm still waiting for Harry to bring today's homewo… Oh, there's the door. It's probably him! I'll tell you about this part later…

Later that night…

I was right. It was Harry at the door with my homework: math, a science report I have to start, and grammar. But that's not the most interesting part of the visit.

Harry came over with the homework and it was pouring rain, so my Mum decided to invite him in for some hot cocoa before he went back home, which he obviously accepted. Who would want to go back to his house of their own will? Not me, that's for certain.

We sat in the kitchen and he told me what I had missed in school. (Dudley fell into a mud puddle and was sent home early) I love talking to him. Harry is the only person I know that I can really converse with, without having to worry about manners or hurt feelings.

Of course I would never say anything that I thought would hurt Harry's feelings. I couldn't have found anything bad even if I tried…he's just too nice.

But sadly, Harry finished his cocoa and left because he didn't want to be dragged home and chastised by his aunt again. Once again, I don't blame him.

So now I sit here, writing in you, dear diary, thinking of nothing else but the boy next door. It seems like a Victorian novel. My life is far from it, of course, but it does run parallel to the genre in many ways: It's raining constantly; I have an unrequited love and I have sworn enemies (Dudley and Audry).

Maybe I should write a book about my life. Actually, now that I think about it, this diary is a book about my life. It's just not written in a way that would have other people reading. Of course, no one will read this diary till long after I am dead; I shall make sure of that. I write my most personal and intimate secrets in this book and I have no plans of making them public any time soon.

But what intimate secrets would a girl of ten have anyways? Not much, but you probably know that already, don't you? With the exception of my feelings for Harry and my hatred of my sister and Dudley, there's really not much in here that would constitute as a big secret. I guess ten year olds in general shouldn't have too many big secrets anyways. I'll have to wait till I'm eleven for the really big ones.

More tomorrow…I have homework to do.