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Back to Hogwarts today! Ate too many cauldron cakes on the train up because I was too busy thinking about J again. It's been more than a year since last Christmas, you know, so it's all very distracting. I shall be glad not to see all the mistletoe again for another - I can scarcely look at it without imagining all the girls he has probably been kissing this year. Of course, now that we're all back at the castle, I will have to be looking at him, instead: oh, why must we be friends? I am convinced he can see right through me, every time we speak... although, I suppose falling back into avoiding him would make me even more obvious.

---

Classes began today; made it all the way to breakfast before I realised I was wearing my shoes on the wrong feet. (It took me half of Charms to notice that they were a pair of Frida's, and not even mine. This is what being at home for the holidays does to me! Everything at our odd house puts me quite out of sorts. It suspect it's a disease.)

All the talk at school is still of halfbreeds: everyone has been allowed back to school now, those of no parentage and those of questionable humanity. Well, save Miss Topaz, which I suppose I am a little bit grateful for, because the Urquart girls have always been prettier than me. At least now Miss Ruby has the disadvantage of a werewolf sister, which must make her a Tragic and Morbidly Interesting case now, and not simply pretty. I half-used to wish I had been sorted into Ravenclaw, you know, (before J... happened, that is, it would be tremendously awkward now) but the halfbreed ban has only just made me realise all the oddities in Ravenclaw. And they say Hufflepuff takes anyone! Meanwhile Ravenclaw has the half-goblin girl and Miss Ruskin. And, nice as she seems - nice as I try to be to her; Mother and Father would be horrified at me if I weren't, we're not that sort of family - I am exceptionally glad not to be in the Ravenclaw dormitories! Imagine if you woke up one night to find her looming over you, with a taste for your blood! How horrid. I shouldn't know how to sleep.  

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Do you recall all my talk of Ravenclaw just the other day? I cannot believe what a fool I am, to have talked about all the awful, inhuman creatures that have wormed their way into that house, and to have forgotten the worst creature of all! Miss Borgin - I mean - Beastly Borgin, her name ought to be, for she is the most beastly girl I know! We have always gotten on... politely enough, I suppose... but I had the misfortune of sitting at the table by her in the library today, and I suppose she thought I was cheating off her Transfiguration essay - and I wasn't, I was only double-checking my answers and besides her handwriting is dreadful so... and, well, if I knocked my inkpot over and ruined her work - accidentally - that was her fault to begin with, for giving me a fright about it! Anyway, she gave me the filthiest glare and I swear she muttered something perfectly abusive about me; and then I tripped up near the library doors as I was leaving - I am quite positive she jinxed me. I expect she'll be after me with whatever ghastly things she and her family sell, next. If I am cursed to die drenched in ink from head to toe, I shall know why.

Forget halfbreeds, Hogwarts should ban pupils by address. Why should I, or anyone, want to be friends with anyone who skulks around Knockturn Alley like an oversized rat?    

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I have decided I simply must forget about J, because pretending not to care about him takes so much effort, and I very nearly let something slip about him in the dormitories just now, and Clementine would be as horrified as I would be mortified. I have a Plan Of Action, but -

I will have to detail it another day, because someone Clem, what a surprise is Still. Ranting. I would try and stop her, but she started nearly a quarter of an hour ago and I confess I wasn't really listening to a word she said, so I haven't the faintest idea what to say to shut it down. That sounds quite heartless of me, but I suspect I would be more bothered for her if it weren't always about such silly things. (She might at least complain privately, so that I might hear myself think.) But then I have always been more mature than her, so I suppose I should expect no better. You know, between Clementine and Frida - she is always forlorn about not feeling like one of her family, Merlin, you would think she's special for it! - I bear quite enough whining for the world.

Of course I am perfectly patient with them, they're my dearest friends, but: oughtn't they ever realise I have important problems of my own?

---

Hogsmeade weekend, so too knackered to write much tonight. I had a lovely day, but did not get to dwell on it much on the walk to and from the village, for on the way there Professor Podmore was giving everyone a lecture about some misdemeanours people were caught for last time (I'm glad no teachers discovered me the time I drank someone else's order of red currant rum at the Three Broomsticks, I was rather a giggly mess after that. It was an accident, at least. Well, the first sip was an accident) ... Anyway, then on the way back I found myself wedged beside my elder housemate Mr. Warbeck, who is perfectly friendly, but waxing poetic about his new quidditch gloves for half an hour is hardly thrilling. They're hideous, too. I'm not sure who he's trying to impress. I'm sure the Tutshill Tornadoes would never take him.

I'm yawning again just thinking about it - goodnight.

---

Ah, yes, my Plan Of Action! I confess I have forgotten all but the first point, which was:

Find Someone New.

I didn't think it would be so hard to do, you know? Half of the Hogwarts population is boys, after all. I thought I might take a leaf out of Monet's book, and look to Slytherin for a change instead. I was considering Mr. Bones, and tried to suggest as much, but Monet must have her eye on him, the way she talks about him! He is dashing and interested in Divination, but best not. Besides, her tastes are rather questionable otherwise: Mr. Abney always looks dreadfully serious, I couldn't cope with that. Mr. Macnair is better in looks, but his family probably despises mine. She mentioned Mr. Mulciber once, and he seems to get along with J, which is a good sign, and his name - Merriweather - is rather adorable... but he must not like me either, because in all the times we've met he hasn't said more than two words to me! Can you believe it?! I went the better part of last year honestly thinking he was a mute! He's obviously not, though, so I have had to conclude he is just horribly rude.

Monet's tastes were suspect then, but the worst thing I ever heard her say was how handsome Mr. Lestrange was. Yes, you heard, Kristoffer Lestrange! That thug! "Terrifying, but still a little dreamy", my left buttock! Handsomeness is no excuse for tyranny.

So, not Slytherin boys, then.

---

The plan is going less and less well. I'm sure I'm nearly running out of boys to consider at Hogwarts! But what am I supposed to do without a distraction? What will I tell Frida and Clementine if they ask me? I can't say J, and I can't lie on the spot! These things must be thought through if one is to pull them off!

I have ruled out nearly all of Gryffindor: I suppose there is Mr. Grey, who seems quite sweet. Hufflepuff is harder, as too much time spent in the common room with them ruins most boys, you know. I'm not quite sure how often some of them bathe, for one. There is Mr. Baird, of course - Mr. Baird is the dreamiest boy in all of Hufflepuff, that's not in doubt - but he reminds me too much of someone else. So. Not him, either.

Then there is Ravenclaw. J's friend Harrison has the most adorable freckles - I'm sure I'm not the only one to have wondered whether he has freckles anywhere else - but that is the only adorable thing about him. His temperament is terrible. It's a wonder he has any friends at all, what with all his boasting and the self-satisfied looks he gets sometimes. And don't you remember, diary, how rude he gets when things don't go his way? I remember disagreeing in Potions once, about chopping ingredients - and when mine turned out better than his, you should have heard how ghastly and condescending he got! I thought he might upend my cauldron just to make me feel as silly as he did. He's hardly better than Kristoffer Lestrange: J could do so much better for friends than him.

---

But yes, the rest of Ravenclaw. There's Mr. Turner, but he is not nearly handsome enough; there is Mr. Bingham, but he is almost too pretty, you know. Oh! Oh no. Mr. Fudge. I am so glad not to be writing in the diary installment of second year still. How taken was I with him, and with calling myself Jemima Fudge on every page! My sweet tooth then had never been worse, and his name nearly as charming as him. Of course he didn't know, but a few of my friends found out and they teased me mercilessly for the rest of the year. Only a few of them, thankfully, and they didn't see the full contents of my diary, dear Merlin, can you imagine? I'd be the laughing stock of the school.

(I have reigned in my sweet tooth a little since then, at least. Barring cauldron cakes. I've also matured far too much to doodle silly things about my name, you know. I'm much older now than I was then.)

---

Oh my days! You'll never believe what happened today. You know Mr. Montgomery - Thomas, in the year below - the one whose mother ran off with a - a - you know. (I still remember when the news first broke: I think half the school knew about it before Mr. Montgomery did. I didn't say anything in earshot of him, of course.) And I have always tried to be perfectly polite to him since - even when he loses his temper about it. Remember when he started transfiguring birds out of anger? I understand you must feel some sort of confused when your mother turns out to be a runaway harlot, but it hardly seems fair to take it out on other people's shoes.

Anyway, I had nearly almost forgotten about that scandal, but this morning when we were coming out of Charms before lunch, he dropped a piece of parchment from his bag and I, well, picked it up. I wasn't going to look at it, I would have given it straight back, but he'd already disappeared out of sight so I supposed I had better check that it wasn't just rubbish after all. And oh. It was a letter. From none other than his mother! (I know this because she signed it as his mother, of course - lest you think she was sending him erotic portraits of herself, I don't know...) I skimmed it - how could I not - and it sounds as though she's been writing to him for ages! I wonder if he writes back. I don't know what I would do, in the wake of such a scandal. Die, I suppose. The embarrassment would be far too much to bear.

Anyway, then it was lunch - I had quite lost my appetite, thinking of the... pornography... - and when everyone came into our next class I did my best to slip the letter back into his bag discreetly, so that we would not have to make awkward eye contact over such a thing; and the last thing I want is for the whole class to find out! I suspect he may have seen, though, for I was fumbling a little more obviously than I'd hoped. So, either he knows, or he thinks I'm a petty thief. I wonder which is worse.

---

My monthlies arrived again - only for the third time Ever - and I was certain I was beginning to get the hang of it all... Oh, it is painful even to write. All my fears came true! It leaked through, right through my robes - and you couldn't tell from them, at least, since they were black, but I even got blood on the library chair. I didn't know until I'd put my hand in it, and then I didn't know what to do about it without anyone noticing... I got out a handkerchief and tried to get it off, but then my History of Magic partner - Mr. Rey - saw the blood smeared on it and I had to pretend I was having a nosebleed!!!! And then he insisted on walking me to the hospital wing, and I had to hold a handkerchief to my nose the whole way and then had to pretend to the nurse I think this is possibly the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to me. Perhaps writing it down will put it out of my mind Forever.

What if I toss and turn and get it all over my bedsheets now??? I won't sleep from fear!

---

Got a giant pimple at the end of my nose in the night. Screeched at the mirror this morning to see it. You should have seen Clementine's face when she saw me. I look like a witch - the horrid kind muggles imagine. Went back to bed and told the girls to tell the professors I was ill. Might die if it doesn't leave. Immediately.

---

Tried to get rid of The Spot with magic, on the advice of another Hufflepuff girl. Poked the thing with my wand like she said and it started BALLOONING. It was like having a second, pus-filled, nose.

So this is my second time in the hospital wing in less than a week. I should pretend I have an incurable disease. Something romantic, with lots of swooning. Not. This.  

---

Feeling a great deal better this week. Life is Not So Bad as I thought it once. Perhaps it's because we see the sun once in a while again, now, but I am in a perfectly good mood. And a perfect angel to Frida and Clementine, both: I have plenty of energy and patience to spare for them, no matter how ridiculous they might be being!

I confess I was a touch silly myself during Divination class today - you know how it can be with classes in the afternoons. No one is quite concentrating. (No one is quite concentrating in Professor Carmichael's classes ever anyway, obviously.) So, you see, we were clustered around crystal balls at our tables - they're perhaps not his favourite thing to teach, I don't think, but of course they're on the syllabus - and we might not have been doing very much divining when he came around and sat down opposite us; you know how awkward and quiet it suddenly gets. So I supposed I ought to take one for the team and started peering in the crystal ball for a future to recite to him, and at first I thought it was going remarkably well: "There's a dark figure..." et cetera, only then as I kept describing the details - light eyes, a mysterious smile, curly black hair - well, I realised I had only seen Professor Carmichael's reflection! I could barely keep a straight face; all the girls at the table were in fits of giggles. Do you think he knew what was going on? I can never tell whether he's being sarcastic or not. Do you think he thought I was doing it on purpose? I plainly wasn't; that would have been very forward of me, don't you think?

Maybe he only took it as an omen of him marking my homework or something. He mustn't know how often we only use the tarot cards and such to try and prophesy soulmates for each other... Not that I think I would be complaining if Professor Carmichael were to show up in the cards for my future husband, you know. He's a little odd - what Divination Professor wouldn't be - but he's the handsomest teacher in the school. I can't remember who said it, but she was right: his eyes are like crystal balls. You can get quite lost in staring in them!  

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Am exceptionally tired from watching the quidditch match today. Hufflepuff lost to Gryffindor, unfortunately. Gryffindor were ill-deserved winners. But I suppose I would say that.

Nevertheless, watching the game - even school games - is always so thrilling that I am almost inclined to try out next year. (I bet J would take notice of me, if I did.) I don't know that I'd be good enough, though - I have always liked flying, but I can't pretend I have the coordination for the sport. I'd be fumbling all over the place. Of course, I say that - but Miss Browne, of Gryffindor, is even more ungainly than me on the ground, and seems to fare perfectly well on the pitch. Mind you, she has no hope of marriage, if she continues on in her tomboyish ways... But does playing quidditch ruin a lady's chances of marriage and respectable womanhood, or does one only take to quidditch because they have already realised their doomed chances? A chicken or egg question!

See, Miss Browne has always been terribly queer, since the first year I met her. Watching her in etiquette classes is always spectacularly entertaining! I don't say this to be mean - the poor thing has more limbs than she knows what to do with; she is one of the few girls who makes me relieved to be in my own skin - but I would have tried my best to offer her kind words of encouragement if it ever seemed like she had any desire to try. But one cannot make princesses out of pigs if they would rather be rolling around in the muck, so it has always seemed kinder not to say a word and let her be.

I admire her a little, strange as she is. But I had better not grow set on playing quidditch, all the same.

---

I was up alone in the dormitory earlier today - a rare occurrence, but it happens - and I tripped over and nearly bashed my face in on one of the wardrobes. I didn't, for once! But anyway, I was searching for some of my drawers... that have mysteriously gone missing? (Whyever would my drawers go missing? They're not the sort of thing I could misplace - perhaps it was the fault of a house elf doing laundry? In any case...) I thought they might have gotten mixed up with some of the other girls' things. I couldn't find them, but I did find that dress of Darling's that I have always utterly adored. Of course Darling and her family can afford all sorts - though with girls like Sweetie Whitledge in the family, they don't all deserve them! What difference do nice dresses make to her, except see her come across as more of a brat? - but the Whitledges are so frequently in mourning she barely makes enough use of this lovely piece, and I have always secretly thought it would suit me.

It does, you know. Suit me. Since I was alone, I tried it on for a moment in front of the mirror - and oh, it is so much nicer than anything I own! My parents make such a fuss whenever I ask for new things, but I can't inherit Delilah's old things forever! (And Zipporah has no fashion sense whatsoever. I should die before I wore one of her hats. I expect that's why no one thinks I should be a fashionable creature. But I shall show them, when I am a debutante one day!)

And you know, both Darling and Clementine are so blonde. You might think half the boys at school deem any blonde girl the most incomparable beauty, the way they fall over themselves. And I know I'm scarcely the most remarkable girl in the school, but hello, I'm developing bosoms too!

But I think all those pastel colours only serve to wash them out, though I'd never say such a thing. Frida, meanwhile, well - her family can afford the best as well, but she has only just begun to care at all, so she has reams of catching up to do with fashion.

I am quite certain I put Darling's dress away just as it had been before. Oh, Merlin, I hope so.

Else I'll just blame the house elves.

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