((Adult language ok))

"Dear Diary,
I spent the majority of my day with Amber. She's really nice. I met her at a party with Liss, Gwen, some dude, some other dude and Van. Van's my bestfriend, I guess. We met by accident because I'm kind of the $*&!. I like flight and things. Originally I went into the Great Hall after being accosted by two of the most beautiful girls in the school. Beautiful but still not as beautiful as my real interest. I mean, I guess I like them. They make me feel good in multiple ways but it's not the same. They don't really know me or accept me like she does and did.

I wish she'd come back.

They had invited me to a party because I did the weak guy routine. Why? Because it works. It worked on her and I guess at the time I thought that if I acted exactly the same it'd bring back that feeling of intense love that I felt for my...beast.

If only I could be the beast and she could be the beauty! Wouldn't that be romantic? I am a sap. If Van found this my life would be officially over.

Anyway, I took Amber to lunch and Van who is my wing man because he's awesome at making me look better than I already do. I'm not arrogant or anything. But I am pretty cool.

At the time I was balancing four girls at once. Not the ones present at lunch, but my collection of girlfriends. One was owling me, another was following me and the one at my side was deeply concerned about my state. I said my mother has toe cancer. Is that even possible? I'll have to Google that later.

I don't really like all of this. It's confusing and superficial. Not that I'm not into the drama and hearing the girls whine and giggle, because that is amusing - they are quite theaterical. It's always, "Benny this one is sleeping with this one and she is dating him and he's into her - "

But it's so shallow.

I can't really have the girl I want because we live in different worlds. We go to the same school, stay in the same house, wear the same clothes, come from similiar backgrounds...But she's cursed, and I'm not. I wish I was. I don't think the idea of being in pain, or having days of my life where I'm completely out of control is appealing. But being able to be with her and relate to her...and even protect her is what really gets me.

I'm sort of a douchebag. Well, not to the womens faces, but to Van. I think it's a defense system so I don't get too attached to any of them. If I talk about their minor flaws to Van in a comical way it shields me from actually appreciating their minor perfections.

I am crying. Man, I am a wuss. I am going to go drink. I'm already drunk, but then Amber brought up werewolves and it made me remember her, and how I miss the way she giggles, and smells, and that look in her eye when she'd see me when she was in a bad mood. And the way she'd make me feel by touching my hand with her tiny, most dangerous hand in the world ever imagineable.

Van would laugh at me but he loves a girl just as much as I love one! I am supposed to sleep with her but I just can't be bothered anymore. I could have tonight and instead I opted to be like a female that I spend my days with and write in a journal about my feelings.

I disgust myself.

Anyway, about flying, I'm saving up for a Firebolt if the women of Hogwarts would stop sucking my funds dry. I am a waiter at the ice cream parlor unless that wretched girl I turned down got me fired. In which case I guess I'll work at the book shop. I need money. Ugh and my mother who (by the way) does not have toe cancer sends me howlers with my little sisters freaking out about how I'm not taking them shopping.

I really hate shopping. Really. But I am in the process of designing a magically fuelled engine. Anyway, I think I hear some of the guys coming up and I don't need to be pestered about having girly feelings.

_________________
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[[Posting with the permission of OP.]]

The flames flickered brightly from the fireplace. Licking greedily across the carpet of the head girl's dormitory, the light from the fire traveled up the grand oak desk, up the body of Mary Maywell. It followed a shimmering line up her bare leg, up her ribs, and gently whispered across the nasty scar on her left shoulder. Mary didn't trace it with her finger, as she's usually prone to do when in private. Mary was busy. Mary's always busy, she might have thought to herself with a sigh, if she wasn't so focused on her research. Busy as a little bee, her hand gripping her fountain pen vigorously, Mary's squiggly, grandmotherly script flowed down on the paper. Meticulous, careful, detailed.

Even heroines get tired, though, and finally, she put the pen down, and sank back into the wide chair. "Ah wonder whaur he is noo," she said out loud in her broad Scots, to no one in particular. Someone in particular answered, though, from the Quidditch poster on the wall. "You know where he is. Out flying, I'm sure. Or obsessing with his quaint muggle devices. Boy's nutters, you know." She smiled the warm smile of an exhausted athlete heaving just beyond the finish line first place. "Aye. Aye, ye'r richt. Bit he's mah kind o' nutters. Ye ken?" The sturdy, sunkissed woman in the poster smiled matronly at her little protegé. "Yes, I 'ken'. Or 'know', as people from civilized areas of the Isles call it." Laughing, Mary quipped, "Aye. Pick a windae, yer leavin', ye southerner." In mock disgust, Eunice Murray trod off through the end of the poster, leaving Mary to herself again. As she started getting ready for bed, she began musing, as she does, about her life at Hogwarts. Perhaps it's time for her to get a bit more in touch with her social life again?

_________________
Mary Maywell, Ravenclaw, Resident Ray of Sunshine
Also, some other dudes I barely play.

((There is some cursing and moderately sexual themes if you know anything about some of the characters mentioned!))

Cool black liquid seeped from a hunk of metal sitting atop his rigid desk, each part of the oak chipped or carved with the initials of people who all shared the same sloopy signature as he. His virile jaw was tensed in concentration, his eyes narrowed beneath the plastic goggles protecting his sight. His spiked, unconventional hair was dripping with the glistening sweat that mingled down his strong, muscular body and met with the motor oil that seemed to have coated the entire mundane dorm. His bottom lip, which was already femininely pouty, was brightening in colour from the hours he had spent mulling over ideas in his head. Dejectedly, he tossed his wrench across the room in nothing short of frustration as his hands went from the potions, the books on both muggle and magical theories of flight, and to his forehead to stroke his prominent temples. He briskly brought his fists down to the table and sent the objects scattered around a few inches into the air, only to drop back with an audible thump.

Forget it. He muttered under his breath and between his teeth as he ripped the gloves from his leathery hands, swatting the oil from his body and onto the plastic that was covering the floor. His fingers gingerly pinched the bottom of his shirt that he brought over his head, his muscles rippling and tensing as the soothing air hit the otherwise suffocated skin. He tilted his head side to side as he continued to remove the rest of his clothes; sparkling in the dimming candle light that had provided a work space.

Mary'd know what to do. As the name escaped his nearly bleeding lips a shiver tingled up his defined spine as he lowered himself to the floor, his fingers trasping through his damp hair to lock with each other behind his head as he began to bring himself up and down; counting 100 repetitions under his breath between his thoughts that kept his forehead wrinkled much like a stereotypical vampire.

I wonder if she loves me how I love her. I wonder if I am being delusional. I wonder if I feel this way because she is the only one who I cannot have. Fudge it.

Who am I kidding? I LOVE her. What am I going to tell Amber? Does she have these feelings for me? Is she, somewhere, attaching that leg of hers that I made her feel comfortable about? Is Liss fantasizing over what she wants to do with me? Is Angel planning on gracing me with her "angelic" bedroom skills? Ah...I make myself laugh.

He laughed boisterously and was automatically reminded of Van; a man almost, but not quite as attractive of himself. And if his orientation was anything other than the not so obvious Van would be his man.

I could talk to Van about her and see what he thinks.

Or I could just save myself the trouble and hang my pride over my bed and beat it like a piñata for him.

I like all of my bitches and hoes but I really love my fuzzy gal who....I should write a [censored]' letter to. Yeah, thats what I'll do. I'll show Van! I'm the man. Me. I'm the goddamn man.

He punched himself in the chest so hard to prove his masculinity that he then had to rub it to take away the deep burn that on some level symbolized his feelings for Mary.

Being quite athletic, and more in shape than most (albeit not more than professional quiddich players, but still considerably so for the average wizzy wiz), he did a flip of sorts off of the ground, mostly to show off to the image of Mary imprinted into the back of his eyelids.

With a groan that rumbled in his throat he picked up a plain paper mate notebook and pen, clicking it loudly with his thumb, repeating the process almost endlessly as his head hung back, trying to think of what to write.

"Dear Mary"? No, no, too soft. I have to be tough. "Yo beeotch...” No, too Van. "Sup sexy?" - Too Liss. AH brain, give me mercy! I've GOT it!

He scribbled "Mary" simply on the paper and began to doodle hearts and stars on the side of the page.

"I was-" No. I should just write what I'd say about her to Van. But...she isn't like the rest. Alright. Let's see...

He started to write, hunched forward as his knuckles turned white and his palms sweated from the anticipation.

Mary,
I love the way your name makes my tongue curl as if I ate a lemonhead. I love how your nose wrinkles when you laugh. I love when you confide in me. I love when you believe in me. I love how you make me feel alive. I love your clothes, your attitude, your interests, your posters, your candles, your curse, your gift, your voice, your accent, your act, your laugh, your frown, your sigh, your giggle, your smile, your hair, your recklessness, your tact, your class, your trash, your hands, your skin, your eyes, your toys, your -

He stopped. Looking over the note as a single tear went from his welling eyes and down his cheek, hitting the paper in slow motion as he bit on his top lip, his braces trapping the flesh; but he didn't fix it. He simply sat there, thinking about her, and whispered "I love you" beneath his breath in a tone so faint it barely left his ensnared lips.

He ripped the page off and crumbled it in his large fist, pulled a towel draped over a chair around his defined hips, and wiped his eyes. As he moved his feet into his slippers to make the journey down the hall and to the bathroom for his shower, he mumbled another not-so-sweet nothing to himself.

I am a very large $3$@#$@#($@#($@#$@#$@#$!%($*.

--
After his equally homoerotic shower he sent an owl to Van. A single piece of paper that was ripped on the corners and had scribbling on it that was smudged from his earlier tearing.

”Yo Van,
Where’s the biiiiiiiiitches?”

_________________
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