A Young Wizard in Love (Potion)

Dear Diary,

You may or may not have heard, but I banged O. Wood. Yes, before I was the one that pitched a tent in the common room literally minutes after the Sorting Ceremony and now, now! I am the most fabulous thing to hit Gryffindor since McGonagall in her coke days. (Rumor has it she did blow at Studio 54 3/4.)

My high profile, Quidditch captain boyfriend has made it easier to adjust to living here. Sometimes, between snogs (that's what we call it when you give someone's balls a raspberry), he'll listen to me complain about my professors. I mean, Professor Binns is the least entertaining ghost ever. Haven't these people seen Casper? That's what ghosts are like! And I'm miserable in Charms. If it wasn't for Seamus Finnigan's wand exploding every other second, I'm sure I would be the worst in the class.

The only thing that makes any sense to me is Potions. From the first day, I knew that Professor Snape and I would see eye to eye. For one thing, we both hated Harry Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived. I don't see what's so great about him. He's supposedly full of great power, but Snape told us he could teach us to bottle fame, brew glory! If I could make potions that gave me the popularity I so desperately needed, maybe I could stop being the outcast gay of Gryffindor house.

So I hit the library. And sure enough, there was a book that explained how to make every potion you could imagine. The list looked complicated but I knew that if I could make a Rob Roy in prison with a bar of soap and toilet water, a love potion would be no problem. Three days later, it was finished, bottled, and in my pocket as I crept out to the Quidditch pitch one night after dinner. Oliver was just heading in from working on the team's playbook and I poured the love potion into his water bottle. One lazy drink later and it was the beginning of our beautiful life together.

Man! Sometimes I think these other wizards don't understand how much better they have it than normal people. A few insect bits and root shavings and they turn roofies into Mike and Ikes. Forget me now, love me forever! A lasting, passionate relationship brewed in a kettle. If you ask me, that's worse than the death penalty.

But even a flower fed by artificial sunlight can wither, Diary. Yesterday, I ran out of love potion and mid-snog, Wood snapped out of the amorous coma and told me off for good. I cried all night until Neville Longbottom told me to 'nut up' and I silently whimpered until the sun came up.

So I'm back to where I started, Diary: A newly-found wizard struggling to understand his powers, without an ally in a world stacked against him. It's time for me to focus on what's important and that's making things right with my best friend, Jill. It's time to apologize and hope that she'll forgive me once I spill the juicy details about riding Wood's broomstick.

xoxo

Chris.