FelixFelicis.

They say love is like magic…if that’s the case, then heartbreak is a curse... and I guess I’d be the Boy Who Lived. Living in a cupboard under the stairs seeking your attention…or maybe even some affection just as long as it was coming from your direction.

‘Cos every second I spend without you is much worse than the Cruciatus, now for the next 2 minutes I’ll be completely honest. I always thought we were destined, like Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger…that we shared the deepest connection like cores shared between wands and phoenix feathers. Trying to deduce a way, magical or not that we could be closer. And if I had to describe how you make me feel…wingardium leviosa. Or maybe a dose of Felix Felicis. Because it must be illegal to feel this good from something you don’t have. When I see you…you’ve got me stupefied, jinxed into silence with jelly legs. Stuck in place like petrificus totalus and basilisk glares. In an instant, I have no fear of harm. Think of your smile…then Patronus charm. So I’m standing here, hoping I could tell you that the back of your head is RIDDIKULUS, like banishing monsters in closets…but I’m confunded. Worse than confused, ‘cos you’re sweeter than Honeydukes and I want to Time Turner every moment I ever spent with you.

I’m trying to alohamora the lock to your heart, wishing I could reducto the walls you’ve built around it so that the chase would be over like Seekers in Quidditch games. If it was ever broken…then reparo. If that doesn’t work, then spellotape and protego. Protect it with vigilance like goblins in Gringotts, constantly trying to get to know you better through your SIM card. Until the day that you let me into your Chamber of Secrets…and I could be the diary that replies back at the times you’re the weakest. For you, I would swim to the deepest depths of the darkest lake, past merfolk and grindylows. Fight past mythical creatures and fire breathing dragons with no championship to be aiming for. You are my Triwizard Champion, but with no one else in contention. So I feel obligated to mention…

You have me effectively disarmed and I’m under your spell…that’s clear as nighttime strolls in invisibility cloaks. And all I ask is that you put on the Sorting Hat, hoping that it tells you that you belong...in my house. ‘Cos I would sacrifice for you, similar to Dumbledore. Be the general of this man’s army and we can last forever like Nicolas Flamel and Sorcerer’s Stones. More than a timeline of all seven books, if each one was a horcrux made to keep us together…but better. So get the healers to lock me up in St. Mungo’s, because I am love sick. No potion can cure me, and what you’ve used is closer to the dark arts. But I’m willing to take the gamble like Exploding Snap with card sharks. So clearly, I’m see-through, almost feeling Nearly Headless. So I confess this all without veritaserum hoping that I won’t regret this. So I'm trying to find the Marauder's map to your soul…

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good”. Because I’m trying to steal your heart and provide a bandage…and if I ever succeed, then “mischief managed.”