little miss perfect

it's inevitable

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please vote and comment if you don't mind bc i swear that drives my motivation to write by a lot!!

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Dear Diary,

This is only my third entry, and I still don't really know how to talk to you. I mean you're paper, and I feel like a moron.

Yeah, I can use that word because my mother will never find this.

Anyway, Narcissa insists this might help me figure out my magical problems because I can record everything. But I'm getting off track here.

They're getting worse. How lovely.

At this point I can't walk past a poor first year with a runny nose without accidentally ending up in the hospital with a severe fever for five days in a row. That's happened three times. The new assistant, Madam Pomfrey, is rather kind though. I hope she gets a full time job.

Back to the point. I just don't understand why this is happening to me of all people. What did I ever do to deserve being a walking pain sponge—

"Did you hear what happened to Potter?"

I peered up from my mothers journal that Narcissa had gifted me, which was sitting in my lap, hidden between one of my Potions textbooks to draw suspicion. Jordan Pucey was glancing at me with expectant eyes, arms folded behind his head, back slumped and legs crossed against the train seat directly in front of him, right next to Isabella Bletchley's lap, who rolled her eyes at the brunette.

"Of course she did." she quipped in a huffed tone. "Everybody did."

"Sorry." Jordan retorted sarcastically, as he let out a lazy yawn. He coughed lightly. "So, do you reckon he actually got attacked by a dementor army at his muggle home?"

"Who knows." my brother stated from besides me, and I glanced to the side to his arms crossed, eyes pointedly staring up at the ceiling in an attempt to not have to glance at Astoria Greengrass, who was on Jordan's right, obviously doing the same thing. "Seems like some stunt he would pull for attention, but at the same time..."

"It's Harry Potter we're talking about..." I concluded, returning my attention to the journal in my lap. My mothers handwriting had been a lot neater than mine, that was for sure. "You could tell me his scrawny ass wrestled with ten centaurs and won, and I'd still believe you."

"The man has nine lives." Jordan agreed, his forehead scrunched in scrutiny. "Apparently he didn't even get selected for Gryffindor prefect though..."

"Really?" Astoria mused, glancing over at Jordan. "That's a shocker."

I snorted a laugh. "That's just Dumblewhore doing anything he can to prove that he isn't obsessed with the guy so he doesn't look too suspicious."

"Saint Potter." Jordan scoffed, with a slight eyeroll and I raised my eyebrows, grinning at him.

"What? You're holding a grudge because your girlfriend used to be madly in love with him or something?" I joked.

"Ex girlfriend." Jordan corrected with a finger shooting motion and tired sigh.

My jaw dropped. "You guys broke up? Merlins, why is everyone breaking up?!" I exclaimed, earning an 'are you serious' glance from Dylan and causing Astoria to shift uncomfortably.