Hermione Granger\'s Diary

~ May 9, Saturday ~

Hate Saturdays. Hate life. Hate everything. Have locked self in seclusion of quarters, stuffing face with anything edible in sight (including things not so edible, such as Mum’s latest attempt at sugarless treats which strangely resemble lump of coal. Could be used as dangerous projectile, doorstop, etc, etc.) and have blatantly ignored Head Girl duties less threat to tell Dumbledore to expel Lavender for excessive promiscuity if she knocked on door one more time actually counts. Reminded self that could be like the rest of the world, wizard or Muggle, and blame everything on nasty menstrual cycle that couldn’t have surprised me more than if had found out was having Voldemort’s love child. Yes, blaming everything on aforementioned condition would do. Must go on hormone induced rampage, maim Malfoy beyond recognition (or turn him into permanent ferret: can’t decide), rob Gringott’s, all the while causing mayhem and destruction in my wake only so when Fudge dares to approach me and inquire reasoning, will spat “PMS” and demand cordial cherries and romantic comedies. Of course, he will quickly comply and acquit me of all charges as previous behavior was not fault. Thus, will be allotted four days of amnesty per month for rest of life.

Wonder if previous day’s actions could be miraculously forgiven if condition is explained to Professor. Could claim was delusional, under the Imperius, or simply perform quick memory charm. Last option seems most feasible but would require getting out of horrid, floral patterned, floor length nightgown designated for days when I feel fat and worthless (goes perfectly with set of granny knickers Professor saw last night. Oh gods, don’t want to think about it).

At least Crookshanks loves me as he will not stop purring against my hand. That’s what I love about him, unconditional love despite how pathetic I feel. So much better than friends or boys. Oh, wait. He’s simply hungry. Bastard cat.

~ May 10, Sunday ~

Mere three weeks away from N.E.W.T.S. Pardon me, having anxiety attack. Must calm down. Perhaps this is a good thing as it will give me something to do other than having 40NTPM (NTPM= Negative Thoughts Per Minute) about making ass out of self in front of Professor the other night. Still considering memory altering charm. Can just picture him having discussions on the Head Table come tomorrow morning.

“So how have you been, Lupin?”

Then, of course, the kind Professor will calmly sip his tea as he says, “Oh, fine, really. Friday night was rather odd, though. Granger came in under the pretense of helping me clean cages only to arrive dressed as a tart and throw herself at me.”

The other professors will nod accordingly, except for Binns. “Really? She actually volunteered to help with those cages? Nasty buggers, those are.”


~ May 17, Sunday ~

N.E.W.T.S. begin in a mere two weeks. Exhausted. Can’t. Think. Must. Sleep.

~ May 24, Sunday ~

Crookshanks has decided the only suitable place to sleep is on whatever material am currently studying, so have taken this as sign from above and will allow self one short break. Insert mental sigh here. Am so stressed. Could swear that I saw the beginning of grey hairs peeking their ugly little heads out just to mock me. Was so upset, went to Ron and Harry and began to explain that I was going grey at the young and tender age of 18. Big mistake, as when I tried to give visual example, they turned it into the typical Hermione’s Hair Is Actually Monster From The Black Lagoon comedy ritual. Alright, so hair is a bit unruly, but this is unnecessary as had two frightened looking first years approach me wondering if allegations concerning hair swallowing children whole were actually true. Replied no, of course, only to have the shorter one break out with:

“Nu-uh! But Ronald Weasley said that one time you were like, in the zoo and you stood too close to an exhibit of Fire-Crabs and your hair swallowed the whole lot and you didn’t even notice until you went to wash it three days later and they fell out into the bath!” Looked over to find Ron laughing hysterically from his seat across the Gryffindor common room, knee slapping and all. Nice.