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My life consisted of a "delightful" little acronym:

Eternal Studying
Lots of unwanted attention
Lovely books

Yes, it's a bad word, but it might as well be bloody true.

I, Isabel Ambrose, am the breathing poster girl for book worms.

My world centered mainly around my grade point average and I seemed to love the markings on my report card as if the grades were my very own Romeo.

Having this secret lover made me forever crazy. I have gone to great lengths to make my so-called "love life" achieve its ultimate nirvana.

So I constantly pored my glasses-bound eyes over those whip-cracking medieval texts that happened to be 1600 years old and in Old English, a part of literature I definitely have not mastered. They made me slap my hands against my forehead to block out the searing pains from those notorious migraines. And on top of that, I studied intensely nearly every week for one quiz or another. They are hell, yes, and caused me the worst side effects from the lack of sleep, but I want more than anything to be happy. And being content with my own self means walking out of Hogwarts with the highest average possible in the history of the school's existence.

Love goes to extraordinary lengths, does it not?

Romeo (or my grades) is wonderful to me in every way; he tries to make me content with my magnetic dedication to the academics. I smile often to myself when scurrying off to the shelves of the library, thinking of the grand smell that blew from the ancient papers. Most normal students would snicker at my obsession with school, but I don't give a damn. I am in "love," right?

Nothing could honestly get in the way of my passion for school work, absolutely nothing…well, maybe just one person, and he definitely didn't symbolize some sort of seductress to drive me away from my studies.

He is annoying as the devil himself. This bloke constantly ponders into my "dates" (study sessions), making obscene comments just to drive me insane. I've suffered through these bullying conflicts for about the three years of my school career—second year to fifth year—and they aren't improving.

This guy won't give up on torturing me with flirtatious comments like, "Ambrose, I'm sexy and you know you want me." I'll sigh and pretend I didn't hear his sexual harassment, but even so, that doesn't work at ALL. Eventually, my mouth say a quote along the lines of either "Bugger off" or "No, I don't think you're attractive. In fact, that Guide to Snorkacks and other Pesty Creatures appears more ‘sexy’ than you'll ever be right now."

And that encouraged the annoying antics even no end.

Over these three years, or what I mentally calculate in my head to be 1,095 days, I have discovered some ways to prevent this barmy lemon head from spotting me and thus, stalking me. You see, there are secret passageways that lead into the private break room of the librarian's office among other underground routes. I found these out when rushing over to my friend, Rosanna (whom I shall introduce to you later), and as I "ran" (seriously, I don't know how to run, because I spend too much time with "Romeo" to do so). My Oreo saddles (black and white sneakers) weren't the greatest support for running, so I accidentally slipped out of the shoes, slammed knees hard on the stone floor, and fell into a trap opening beneath. I wandered soon enough into a tidy parlor which brought me into the library.

Within the next day, I was using this route to transport myself into the library and I found even more passage ways by just tripping on the floor. Many bruises resulted on my knees from tripping on purpose to test for any more walkways to the shelves. I didn't care about my health, after all: I was infatuated with my grades.

Today, on a terrific Monday, I skipped down the steel step ways of the ladder into the tunnel. I was so excited; I was going to be in the library and studying my butt off for the most interesting subject in Potions. My class was studying about the types of drinks that could be served as poison. I liked murder, and it made me smile when I thought about giving it to someone I very much loathed.

Just as I was prancing in an abnormally happy manner down the drippy corridor, I began to notice a lanky tall shadow spewing in from that window on the further east side. Could it be some one else? Nah, just Sir Nick taking a snooze. I shook my head, my ponytail bobbing from side to side like a pendulum.
Not a soul traveled on this route ever, so what other student could be on here? I only knew of it from what I had known.

My mind returned to the sweet distraction of the new novel that Pince promised to hand over to me as soon as the new copy had arrived. And on that afternoon, she'd owled me in History of Magic to announce that the book had come. I squeaked in delight at the ink words printed on the scroll and made the prissy Slytherins around me jump in surprise. ("Hey, she talks!")

"Why, I've finally found you!" My brain fell to my butt and wanted to crawl right into it and die.

It was him, that idiot. He crossed those dark forearms of his and leaned against the stained glass window.

"It took me soooooo long to find you, my sweetie," he cried in that painfully low voice.

I looked down to my shoes, avoiding any eye contact. I looked at the floor because the ground was how I viewed my villain: he was dirt beneath my bone-biting saddles.

"Sirius, how the hell did you find this secret way?"

Sirius…oh darn, you just got his name. I didn't want you to ever know that this atrocious monster was actually called something other than "he". He doesn't deserve the name of a beautiful constellation.

He jumped over and grabbed me into a bone-gripping hug. I hate embraces and right now, I think I may die of suffocation and also, of my pet peeve, by just being in this..this HUG. His nightmarish voice answered my frightened question.

"Oh, I walked around with ma' handy dandy map and tested all the routes that shot to the library to see if you were using them every day this week."

All routes? All of them? Okay, Stalker question has been confirmed official. I refused to believe what that villain just repeated. Now I couldn't avoid him whatsoever. I foresaw a future in my mind’s eye and it was not a pretty one.

"You look a little speechless, Issy," he cooed and rubbed his cheek against mine. Issy? Rubbing that yucky germ thing against my sterile cheek? He's crossed the line!

Do I feel vomit booming up my trachea or just the feeling of stomach acid roaring angrily up my stomach? Either way they're the same, I obviously feel the urge to puke, but I manage to hold down a straight face despite my fond hero, anger, who's knocking on my door right now and is offering to save my life with its powerful side effects.

"I am fine," I hiss through clenched teeth, "now would you mind moving out of the way? I have personal matters to attend to."

His face is millimeters away from mine (I will make him wish he was never born if he advances on me), and his hand is slapped up against the stone wall.

"I'll let you go with one exception."

I roll my eyes and prepare myself to lie through the skin of my bicuspids. "Spit it out."

He inches closer to my face. "Come to the Quidditch victory party. It's this Saturday at eight o'clock."

"Fine, I'll come," I sigh. He tried to take a hold of one of my curly strands of hair and play with it in his fingers. Luckily I'm pointing my wand at his Adam's apple and now, he's hiding not one, but both of his hands behind his back. Jackpot!

Sirius looks like a toddler on Christmas morning, there's no other way to describe him right now. His eyes twinkle merrily with little sparkly explosions booming off in his irises, and he's now running backwards towards the door. "You will not regret this, Ambrose. I promise you, you will not!"

I roll my eyes for a second time. There is always a lot of eye rolling that occurs when you're around an idiot jock like Sirius. That's just another fact of life. Suddenly a question pops into my mind. "Why a victory party anyway?"

He chuckles and yells as he bounces up the stairwell. "Because we're playing Hufflepuff this weekend. We're going to win, obviously. They're the worst team in the world with Amos Diggory as captain."

I push out a flirtatious comment, much to my disgust. "We'll see about that."

He laughs and slams the door to my passage way; leaving me alone in the hallway like I'd wanted.

Score! I figured a way to get annoying boy off of me and I can now go get my book! I squeal in delight. I dance all the way to the fat-oak door and unhook the latch without any trouble whatsoever.

My hand whips open the door to Pince's snoring. The sound halts when she hears me cracking the door open. Her beady black eye pops open to glare at me. Next thing I know, she's hissing at me like an old Siamese on its monthly. I tune her out by throwing up an image of that new novel in the movie screen of my brain. Not even the threat of banning me from the library will block me from getting upset. She'll feel bad and let me in by tomorrow—the old librarian forgets everything anyway.

Pardon, but would you excuse me? I have a "date" with "Romeo" to attend to!

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