Dear Diary,

Hola, and fondest greetings, oh paper one!

Now that's out of the way…


Why, you ask? Well, it could be the fact that I have a lightning-shaped birthmark on my forehead that looks completely idiotic, or that because of who my dad is, people tend to stop and stare and be all, "Ooh look, there goes the spawn of The-Boy-Who-Lived, let's stare at her like a bunch of bloody great prats for a few minutes!", or that I'm hopelessly in love with my brother's best friend and he doesn't know, or that I may actually have to spend the rest of my summer hols in a country that's overrun with fast food restaurants that serve SPORKS with every nasty, greasy meal, or that I have a HUGE family and can never eat dinner with them indoors 'cause there's never enough room…

But I skimmed over the most important point. WHY would anyone in their right mind want to live in or even visit the States? Granted, they do have some killer musicians, but that's about it! I mean, gosh, they should rename the place Fast-Food-a-go-go Land, or Country of the Sporks or something more fitting than the United States, 'cause everyone knows that country is not as United or free as they make it seem.

Merlin's beard, someone up there hates me.

Anyway, back it up to 'hopelessly in love.' The man that I love is Marshall Malfoy, and no one, not even the jerk-that-reads-all-my-mail-before-I-can, knows about it (the 'jerk' being my twin brother, James Christopher Potter). Marshall is Parvati Patil and Draco Malfoy's eldest son, and he is so gorgeous, it's scary. Seriously, he's amazing. And just because I feel like it, here is 'our' story:

I first met Marshall when I was two at his parents' anniversary celebration. He was three, and playing with a toy broom. He let me try it, but I fell off and started crying. So he gave me a chocolate-flavored Bertie Bott's Bean to make me feel better. And when Jamie (my bro) gave me an Acid Pop when I was five, and it burned a hole in my tongue, Marshall kicked him. Then I kissed him on the cheek. He and Jamie both got time-outs, and, according to Mum, Dad got yelled at for leaving an Acid Pop lying around.

I first realized I had a crush on Marshall when I was twelve. We were at Diagon Alley, when suddenly two Death Eaters started shooting off curses in my direction. I was all, 'Oh SPLEE,' but Marshall shoved me behind him, grabbed his wand, and took them both out in less than ten minutes. I fell in love with him that day.

But, as in all romance stories, there's problems: first of all, he's MY BROTHER'S BEST FRIEND, which basically makes him off limits. Secondly, I am really beginning to think that I will never have enough courage to tell him how I feel, so, obviously, problems.

Holy St. Francis of Sicily! I just got an owl from my best mate Theresa (Ron and Hermione Weasley's oldest daughter and my cousin). She says for the rest of her summer hols she's going to Paris and she wants ME TO GO TOO! Ah, Gay Paree! There's no way Mum and Dad can make me go to Spork Central for 'relaxation' once they find out that we've all been offered a chance to go to Paris! Yes, my dysfunctional family unit has been invited as well. And, oh my GODDESS! The Malfoys have been invited too! I'm going to the City of Love with Marshall Malfoy! SPLEEEEEEEEEEE!

Me: MUM!

Mum: (comes running into my room) Bloody hell! Why on earth are you screaming like a banshee?

Me: Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione have invited us and the Malfoys to go to Paris with them for the rest of the summer!


Dad: (comes running in, wand at the ready) What's wrong, Gin?

Mum: Ron's invited us to FRANCE! (jumps into Dad's arms)

Dad: (hugs her back) What city, Paris?

Mum: (pulls back and nods) Of course!

Dad: (grins) Don't they call it the City of Love? (both grin, then start SNOGGING! AM NOW SCARRED FOR LIFE!)


Mum and Dad: (stop and look at me like I am a goon)

Enter: Jamie

Jamie: What is wrong with you people? Are you all mad, or did you yell and scream for a reason?

Me: Jamie, we are going to PARIS!

Jamie: (hugs me, yells and screams with the rest of us)

See, British wizards have recently been having problems agreeing on a few things with French wizards, so to retaliate for a few on our side bewitching every pastry in France to float away from its owner, they have made it illegal for foreign wizards to visit using magic. In other words, it's darn near impossible to get in unless you have plenty of Muggle money and know how to navigate your way through something called an airport. But I guess Uncle Ron does, cuz we're GOING TO PARIS! Then again, maybe it's Aunt Hermione; she's much more Muggle-savvy than Uncle Ron, since she's Muggleborn.


Me: Okay, now, give me a chance to write back would you?

Jamie: (stops hugging me) Right. Get to it! I'm gonna start packing. (leaves my room)

Mum: Bye, sweetie. Your father and I are going to Diagon Alley for, err, things… Right, Harry? (gives him disgustingly suggestive look)

Dad: Right… Bye Lila! (they leave and Floo off to some unknown place to do things… OH SPLEE, BAD MENTAL PICTURES!)

Well, I'll fix it in therapy. I am going to Paris, France, the City of Love with Marshall Malfoy, whom I LOVE! Nothing can go wrong now!

Crap, you-know-who is climbing in through my window! Love, peace, and chicken grease!