Tuesday 4th September~

 

Hair bushiness (on scale of 0 – 10): 3.  School assignments completed: 3.  Hours spent on study: 5 (g).  Chocolate eggs consumed: 0 (excellent!).  Current tally of highly suspicious DADA professors: 4.

 

 

7:57 am:  Ugh.  Overslept.  Missed breakfast.  Must shower.  Feel like a Bundimun’s   armpit.

 

 

7:58 am:  Oh no oh no oh no oh no!  No time!  Class!  Must get to class!  Ack!

 

 

11:14 am:  Horrible - new Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor thinks I

am procrastinating half-wit.  Can't believe I over-slept.  Must have been the chocolate before bed.  How many times have I lectured the boys about sweets before bed?  Should follow own advice.

   Woke up still fully dressed with silly romance novel open over my face.  Snogging couple on cover were snoring in each other's arms, and I realized with a start that that was the only snoring I could hear.

   "Lavender?"  I called out, and flung open the drapes around my bed.  "Parvati?"

   There was no answer.  There were no roommates.  Then I noticed that alarm clock - which sat slumped on my nightstand - read 7:55.  The clock looked exhausted.  Probably had been trying to wake me for hours, poor thing.  Must talk to Harry and Ron about inherent cruelty of magical alarm clocks.

   Briefly debated merits of changing clothes and brushing hair, teeth.  The clock ticked over to 7:59 am, and decided that bed head wouldn't look any different from normal bushiness.  In fact, bushiness decreases with lack of brushing (3!).

   Should consider never brushing hair again, instead joining a Mediterranean Reggae band.  Would do wonders for appearance.

   Would scandalize parents.  Hmm.

 

   Five minutes later, quite out of breath, I burst into the DADA classroom.  I'd performed an anti-wrinkling charm on the way, but as I had been running, the charm's results (and my school robes) were a bit spotty.  Tried to sneak in through the door at the back of the classroom, but of course, a draft from the hall caught it and flung it into the opposite wall.  Everyone turned to stare.  Professor Putnam looked up from his desk.  I may have squeaked in horror, as Putnam is even more horrid-looking up close than he had been at Sorting Ceremony.  Face like blob of gray sealing wax. Rumor is he had a run-in with a Chimaera, years ago.

 

   Ron says he looks like something his pet Puffskein coughed up once. 

 

   Ron can be very disgusting at times.   

 

  "Sorry I'm late, sir," I gasped out.  Putnam raised one scraggily eyebrow.

   "Oh?  And who might you be?"

   "Hermione Granger, sir."

 

   He shuffled arthritically closer.  “Well, Hermione Granger, you can make reparations for your tardiness by explaining to the class what the best approach to repelling an Expelliarmus charm.”

 

   Hmm.  This hadn’t been in the book.  And if it hadn’t been in the book – *any* book… “With due respect, sir, I don’t think it’s possible to repel an Expelliarmus charm.  It’s a defensive charm – harmless.”

 

   “Wrong, Miss Granger.  It’s hardly harmless if it leaves you defenseless, is it?”

 

   It took me a moment to sort out what he had said.  A few students tittered.  “N-no, sir.”

 

   “Well then.  Perhaps in the future a more timely arrival will be in order.”

 

   “Y-yes, sir.”

 

   “Find your seat and be quick about it.  Five points from Gryffindor for your lack of preparation.”

 

   I did so, carefully avoiding the eyes of fellow Gryffindors.  Simply can’t *believe* it!  Professor Putnam is older, misshapen Snape!

 

   The rest of the class went as well as could be expected – with Harry looking at me as if he were afraid I would burst into tears.  And Ron, of course, muttering things that would shock his mother, and were (I think) anatomically impossible anyway.

 

   “I wish Lupin would come back.  This Putnam is a right royal –“

 

   I can’t write what he said in case *my* mother ever finds this diary.

 

   “Ron!”  I chided.

 

   He grinned cheekily, and then turned his attention back to the lesson.  On his other side, Harry snickered and pushed a scrap of parchment across the table to me.  He had drawn a rather rude picture of Putnam doing exactly what Ron had described earlier.  I think he was trying to make me feel better.

 

   I appreciated the gesture.  I really do have the best friends *ever*.

 

 

3:14 pm:  Classes over for the day.  Thank goodness.  Last class was Potions with Snape.  Have feeling I will learn to *despise* Tuesdays and Thursdays.  Even Arithmancy is not enough to make combination of Defense Against Dark Arts and Potions less miserable.

 

   Did learn interesting potion used to detect danger.  Called ‘Denunciation Potion’, rather difficult to make, and smells dreadful.  It used nearly all of my supply of caterpillar hearts.  It’s supposed to give forewarning when the drinker is in the presence of a person who wishes harm by making them turn blue. 

 

   Harry snorted a bit loudly at this.  Snape glared, and went back to lecturing.  Harry leaned across the table.  “I’ve found blinding and debilitating pain is pretty effective, as well,” he whispered to us.  Ron chuckled.

 

   I didn’t.  I know I worry too much, but I just can’t help it.  It was just another reminder of what *could* happen.  I don’t want to think about it. 

 

 

9:27 pm:  Sitting reading by Common Room fire, reading new O.W.L.s handbook – *‘More Than You Ever Wanted To Know About Your Upcoming Ordinary Wizarding Level Exams’* by R. T. Redundas.  V. interesting – have learned a few useful hints and approaches to studying.  Must tell Harry, and Ron, and maybe Neville.  I’m sure they’d be-----

 

 

10:03 pm:  Huh.  Ron just did incredible thing.  Plopped down beside me, took book, closed it, and then gave me an absolutely staggering smile.

 

   Should not be staggered by best friends’ smile.  V. idiotic and just asking for embarrassment.  Have decided that unfortunately timed crush on said best friend is nothing more than hormones (mum gave me “The Talk” last summer – I know *all* about hormones and their debilitating effects), and proximity.  Ron is always *there*, so of course I should develop strange fixation on him rather than, say, Ernie Macmillan.

 

   Besides, Ernie Macmillan can’t smile half so well as….augh!  Must stop this nonsense!

 

   Where was I?  Oh, yes. 

 

   Ron.  He apologized.  That is worthy of a diary entry in itself.  Usually, after one of our rows, we call a truce more than we actually say, “I’m sorry”.  I think this is because I have horrible tendency to cry when apologizing, and this alarms those around me.  I *had* thought that today’s policy of non-ignoring was enough of a truce, but Ron must have wanted to clear the air.

 

   “I’m sorry, Hermione,” he said.

 

   I blinked.  “I beg your pardon?”

 

   “For yesterday.  I didn’t mean to…y’know…make you angry.”

 

   The novelty of an apology was making me imagine absolutely ridiculous things.  I ignored the fluttery feeling and tried to be casual.  “Yes, well – staring usually *is* quite annoying, Ron.”

 

   He took a deep breath as if to keep his temper, and continued.  “I *wasn’t* staring at you.  It was just – you know, when you’re thinking hard and you have to look at something while you do it?  What am I saying – you do it all the time.”  He laughed, and I had the terrible feeling I knew what he was going to say next.  “I mean, half the time you’re staring at *me* while you’re using that enormous brain of yours!”

 

   Yes, that’s what I was afraid he was going to say.

 

   I blushed horribly, but nodded.  “Oh – er, of course.  No worries.  I do it all the time.  So…uh…there wasn’t anything wrong with my hair, then?”

 

  I didn’t mean to say *that* either.  What is *wrong* with me???  Who cares about my hair???   Why can’t I stop obsessing over superficial things such as appearance???

 

   Ron looked a bit puzzled.  “Your hair?  No – your hair looked nice.”  Then he smirked a bit and tugged on a curl.  “But what’s up with it today?  It’s not looking very…perky.  You’re not getting sick, are you?”

 

      Oh, Merlin.  Leave it to Ron – usually the most clueless idiot in school – to notice me when I haven’t brushed my hair.  Augh.

 

   But he *did* apologize.  Must put big ‘star’ next to today.  For posterity.  Or so I can look back on today and gloat gently to self.

 

   Anyway – must get to bed.  Long day tomorrow.