Editor's note: Moony here. This is a project that Prongs started around Christmas time which was supposed to include the hidden views of all the minor characters. However, she lost interest in it, and she was kind enough to hand the duty over to me, since I thought it was a brilliant idea. Here's the first chapter that she wrote, but everything afterwards is done by me.


Christmas Away From Home

Chapter One of the Hogwarts Diaries

Kara Darkblood

Happy Christmas - that's what they say to me. You know, Potter and Company. I like Harry just right and all, I mean - he's a Gryffindor, just the same as the rest of us, but I admit it - I'm jealous. Who isn't? You seriously cannot look me in the eye and tell me that Wealsey and Granger - well, maybe not Granger, she has enough of her own fame - don't envy him. Especially Ron. Come on, the lad's had it bad - look at his family - Percy, 'course, the "Perfect Prefect," then Bill, and Charlie, and even Fred and George, they've made a success of themselves - and Ginny - gods, what I wouldn't give for a date with her. Ron's just - Ron - average, boring, Potter's "faithful sidekick."

Hermione Granger - I mentioned her before - she's got a sort of fame, if you will. But I don't envy her fame - she worked hard for it. Hours spent, neglecting her bushy hair and buckteeth, to study. Sure, I admit, she is pretty - not exactly goodlooking, but not ugly, either. She's brilliant. She worked to be brilliant. Potter is not brilliant, nor did he work for his fame. He was just born into it. He just had it all.

Maybe I'm just bitter. Maybe I'm angry, after all, about what my father did to my mother when she told him what she was. And what I was going to be. I loved my mother, though I was so young - I can't remember her, I only remember that I loved her. I hate him, but at the same time, I need him to be there. To see me triumph, when I occasionally. To laugh when he sees me try to turn water into rum. To encourage me, when I know I'm not as good as everyone else.

Well, that's enough sulking for now. I'll throw on my Gryffindor sweater, and go down in there to meet the girls - Parvati and Lavender - and watch everyone recieve their gifts from their loving parents.

Maybe, someday, I'll be able to see my parents again. Together, and happy again, like in those many muggle photographs. Like the one I have, hidden under my pillow.

That would truly be a Happy Christmas.

Seamus Finnegan