I'm away laughing on a fast camel.
So, yes, I'm on crack, but you knew that already.
Anyway, it was the highly fabbity fab and also gorgey jaxindi's birthday a day or two ago. And unbeknownst to her, at least I hope, I wrote her a fic. Now, naturalement any pressie given to jaxindi cannot be strictly normal, so this is a Sirius/Remus fic written in the style of Georgia Nicolson. There is much talk of the Sex God and the snogging scale and loonleader muttis and vatis, so I think I had better post it before it sets me off gibbering like a crazed gibbering thing. But it is vair vair groovy bananas, trust me.
Remus/James for kabeyk tomorrow, which is not nearly as insane, unfortunately.
HAPPY BIRFDAY, YOU LOON!
The Dorm
7.01 a.m.
Woke up early to reply to a letter my dear mutti sent me calling me ‘ungrateful’ and a ‘blood traitor’ and a ‘little thief’. I wrote back saying ‘It is not my fault you married Vati, a man with the personality of a moustache and the moustache of a walrus, and it is just like the aged to take their anger out on the young, who have most certainly not taken 14 galleons and 23 sickles from the left-hand side pocket of their black handbag’ .
Just re-read Mutti’s letter. She says she is going to ‘kill me’. Oh merde and double poo.
She is so ludicrously overreacting! I just borrowed some money from her purse before I left for Kings Cross, is all. Just because I have no intention of replacing it does not make it stealing. I think I am showing extreme maturosity by being very restrained and not writing the letter in blood as she seems to have done.
7.05 a.m.
May stay at James’s this summer hols, just to be on the safe side. I mean because obviously being killed by my mutti would get in the way of my plans to be an internationally adored wizarding whatsit.
The Great Hall
7.30 a.m.
Asked James if I looked any older vis a vis my new maturosity, and he said “No, you tosser.” Then he hit me.
I said, ‘James, you are being a bit of a Slack Alice in the mates department, and if you do not pull your socks up and make a bit more of an effort, I will be forced to make Petey my new best mate.”
Pete looked up from his cornflakes then and said, “What?” Told him to shut up as I was having a very important talk concerning James’s status as default best friend and he said, “Okay, kippers” and laughed for ten years in a way that is surely not normal. And then James flicked a cornflake in my face and I had to hit him.
I see now that all my ‘friendships’ are a facsimile of a sham and I shall have to shave my head and live in Tibet with the travelling monks of All That is Incredibly Poo.
7.32 a.m.
Marvy with double knobs! Remus came downstairs for brekkie looking incredibly Sex Goddy and as cool as le cucumber. He sat down opposite me, next to Petey and said, all cool and el fantastico, “Hi guys.”
James said “Hi.”
Petey said “Hi, kippers,” and laughed like a loon.
I smiled attractively and said “Did you see that cucumber?”
Remus grinned and said “Sirius, I see you are delightfully incoherent as usual.”
I said “Hrrrnhur.”
Remus said, “What?”
I said, “Kippers.”
Luckily at that moment the Slytherin breakfast table Transfigured into a big green mountain of goo and everyone was distracted when Snivellus tumbled head-first into it. Naturally.
I turned to James, who was rummaging around under the table and said, “He really has a nose that is too big to be allowed. If I were Snivellus I would wrap my head up in bandages and hide it that way. I would bump into things but at least it would look as if I had been disfigured in a tragic accident and not, e.g., birth.”
James sat up straight. He was wearing a false nose and he said, “Shut up, kippers.”
And then we laughed like two mad laughing things.
Short Break
10.30 a.m.
James is going off with his sad Quidditch-type pals for a practice. How ridiculously patheticimus! I sniffed a lot and told him, “There are better things to be doing with your life than messing around with broomsticks in the rain.”
James said, “Like what?”
And I said, “Like turning the Slytherins’ breakfast table into a giant pile of steaming green goo.”
James said, “We did that this morning.”
I crooked my eyebrow at him in the dashing way I have been practising how to do. It makes me look very distinguished and full of maturosity. I said, “So?”
James went all huffy then, and finger-combed his hair the way he does when he is about to have a nervy spaz. “So I don’t want to do it again. It’s way past breakfast, anyway.”
I pouted at him. “Fine, James, if you want to be a really crap friend and go outside into the nippy noodles weather and play with muddy balls for half an hour, then by all means feel free.”
James the Human Finger-Comb does not get sarcasm. He went, “Thanks, you’re a mate.” And then he looked at me in a funny looking-at-me sort of way. “Have one of your eyebrows seized up?”
He is such a tosser. I remained full of my newly-found maturosity and sophiscosity and ignored him, but he was still looking at me.
“This is about you getting chucked off the team, isn’t it? Because you deserved that, you know, it was a really important Cup match and you should’ve used a proper Beater’s bat, not a baguette.”
I said, “Shut up, James.”
10.32 a.m.
How dare they throw me off the team! Especially when I am just displaying my culinary and cultural diversity on the pitch.
Hmph.
10. 33 a.m.
All aloney, on my owney.
10. 35 a.m.
Well, not strictly alone, as Petey is here. But he is so fantastically dopey it is hard to know what to do with him. I could have gone to the library with the Sex God (Remus). But I am practising my glaciosity tactic. It is where I ignore him completely and hardly talk to him and flick my hair in his general direction a lot.
I am sure it will make him fall in love with me.
Oh flaming pig’s pyjamas, Petey just choked on his own oxygen.
The Infirmary
11.00 a.m.
Petey is in the infirmary with the crippled and snotty. After he was fixed up by Pom-Poms, I asked him, “Petey, what would you do if you were full of unrequited love for a Sex God who couldn’t possibly love you back but just might?”
Petey coughed something up at me from his bed of pain.
“What?” I asked, full of motherly understanding. I smoothed his fevered brow and bent down next to him in a caring and interested way.
Petey coughed something else. It was like he was speaking a language of coughs. I put my ear right down next to his tiny little mouth.
“What?”
Petey coughed spit into my ear and then whispered, “Kippers.”
11. 01 a.m.
I hate Petey.
11. 03 a.m.
Pom-Poms sent me off to History of Magic even though I am doing the kind and selfless thing by sacrificing my education to watch over (and pummel) my (ex)friend.
11.05 a.m.
The castle is so pretty when all the ugly people are shut away having lessons. Lots of sunlight pouring through the windows and portraits murmuring. Vair vair romantic.
Why doesn’t the Sex God love me?
11.10 a.m.
At least I got to miss most of History of Magic. McGonagall caught me dawdling in the corridors, and went, in the bossy way of the Very Mad,
“Mr. Black, do hurry up and at least try to get to your class on time. And why on earth are you sighing so loudly?”
I told her, “I am on the rack of love.”
She sniffed and said, “Well, I am sure that a week’s worth of detention for being tardy would provoke a significantly larger amount of sighs.”
She is right.
Break
1.54 p.m.
The Sex God is in the library AGAIN. I suspect he may be a bit of a girlie swot. But then again, most people are swotting in the library as we have a Potions test tomorrow. James and I just don’t seem to have, er, noticed.
I said to James, “James, I know you are eternally devoted to finding a way to touch Evans’s nunga-nungas, but if you were a Beater batting for the other team as it were, would you just tell the Sex God you liked him because he was all dreamy dreamy or continue ignoring him and flicking your hair or would you just visit him in the library once in a while?”
James went, “Which other team?”
I sighed and said, “The Essex Eyries.”
James said, “Oh, you mean that you have the Particular Horn for Remus.”
I said, “James, you know absolutely nothing about me.”
He said, “You do, don’t you?”
And I said, “James, this conversation is closed. Not closed as in you can open it again in a few minutes, closed as in it has been sealed with inch-thick Spellotape and covered with six different Impenetrable Charms.”
James said, “Fair enough. But I think he likes you.”
I said (or screeched, rather), “WHAAAAAT?”
James grinned all smirkily and said, “I thought the conversation was closed?”
How vair once and twice and thrice annoying.
The Dorm
4.27 p.m.
Back on my bed of pain. James and Petey and everyone else are having fun downstairs, charming Fizzing Whizzbees to fly into their mouths because picking them up has gotten too boring. I am up by myself in the dorm. Alone.
4.28 p.m.
Alone.
4.32 p.m.
Alone.
4.33 p.m.
James never did tell me anything more about the Sex God. He can be as silent as a very silent thing wearing pink fluffy earmuffs when he wants to be. Also he seems to find it funny. Having the Particular Horn is not a laughing matter. Those with the Cosmic and General Horns can hardiharhar all they want, but us with the Particular Horn must live a life of misery and crapness.
4.34 p.m.
Except I suppose James has the Particular Horn for Evans and her nunga-nungas.
4.35 p.m.
And Petey has the Particular Horn for…
4.49 p.m.
… kippers.
4.51 p.m.
Haha, that is fantastic. Even though I am on the rack of love and lying in my bed of pain and seriously considering buying black eyeliner, I am still full of humourosity. I can write a joke book in between all my lovelorn sighs and anguished wails.
Or I could, if I could be arsed to find my quill.
What is that someone-coming-in noise?
4.52 p.m.
Noise was Remus coming in. He grinned when he saw me lying there and said, “Hey, Sirius. Why aren’t you downstairs levitating confectionery with everyone else?”
I said, “I am seriously considering buying black eyeliner.”
Remus nodded, and looked very serious, yummy scrumboes. “I think it would suit you.”
Then he sat down ON MY BED.
4. 55 p. m.
He has been sitting there for about ten years just being all gorgeous and Sex Goddy. He is thinking about something, because he always frowns slightly when he thinks. He looks very intellectually ruffled when he is thinking, like a professor. A Professor who is also a Sex God.
Perhaps he is thinking about me?
Should I say something?
I don’t trust my brain and mouth together. They don’t have a very good relationship. My brain thinks of something sensible like “Hello, Remus, how are you?” and my mouth says something like “Pineapple armchairs are no good for winter”.
I shall crook my eyebrow attractively at him.
4.56 p.m.
Remus started talking! His lips are so marvy and fab when they move. He suddenly swivelled round to face me and went,
“Sirius, I have to tell you something. I don’t want to scare you or anything, and you don’t have to react or do anything at all if you don’t, you know, want to, but I’ve been thinking about this for ages and just James told me that I might have a chance and I-” He broke off then, and said, “Er, have one of your eyebrows seized up?”
My mouth started to say, “They only seize things up when there’s a sale on at the Eyebrow Enchantments shop,” but I closed it before it could do anything weird and shook my head.
Remus looked slightly scared but went on. “And I know it’s a really weird thing to say but I think it’s better if I just come out with it and if you don’t feel the same we can go back to being just friends but it’s no good if I go and hide in the library all the time to avoid blurting out something stupid and the thing is I really do think I might fancy you.”
My brain felt like it had been slapped with a wet fish that had been slapped by a bigger wet fish. My mouth went, “Erummmooer.”
“No, that’s wrong,” said Remus. “I do. I do fancy you.”
I remembered to uncrook my eyebrow.
“Um,” I said, and my voice sounded as tuneful as a tone-deaf frog, which was not very. “I, um, fancy you too. A lot.”
“You’re joking,” Remus said.
“No,” my mouth said earnestly. And then it had to go and undo all its good work. “But I could tell you a joke about pineapple armchairs if you’d like.”
There was a preggers pause.
“I can think of something I’d like better,” Remus said, the corners of his eyes doing that crinkly thing they do, and he moved closer across the mattress.
4. 58 p.m.
FAB FAB FABBITY FAB FAB FABBITY FAB.
5. 05 p.m.
And yet again FAB. With double helpings of marvy on top.
Bathroom
8.00 p.m.
Whee. I have got the Sex God and all is right with the world. I am so happy I may even do some homework. But that would spoil my mood.
Whizzed through the snogging scale at the speed of light (lalalalala) and then stayed at number 7 for about an hour. Then had a long talk in which I didn’t crook my eyebrow or say anything too idiotic. We walked all about school and life and muttis and vatis, which was not boring at all despite the extreme sadnosity of all four subjects. Remus said he missed his mutti sometimes because she wasn’t as strong as she used to be and I said I wished my mutti would get run over by a flying carpet and he laughed, but not in a laughing-at-me sort of way. Then we had another big snogfest. James came in when I was lying on top of Remus and said, “I thought you didn’t have the Particular Horn, Sirius?”and I threw a pillow at him even though I am strictly too happy for violence as my red-bottomosity has made the SG fall for my charms.
Then Remus rolled off the bed to get out his books and study Potions and James opened his Quidditch magazine and I toddled off to the loo so I could dance like a loon without looking odd.
Well, I still look odd, but at least no-one is looking.
8.03 p.m.
I suppose that while I am in here I might as well check the mirror and fix my eyebrow-crooking technique.
8.04 p.m.
Oh, lack a day. No matter how I do it I either look like a mad axe-murder or a weasel. How could I ever have done that in the Sex God’s presence?
I need to find another technique to increase my red bottomosity for the Sex God, one that is not quite so stupendously merde.
Petey should really stop banging on the door. If he needs to go to the piddly diddly department so badly he can do it out the window.
Maybe if I crook both eyebrows at once?
8.06 p.m.
I am seriously considering buying black eyeliner.
Disclaimer: Sorry, Louise and Jo. And by 'Louise and Jo' I mean 'Rennison and Rowling, we are not worthy to bathe your ankles'.
More Small Print: You will probably have to have read at least one of the Georgia Nicolson books by Louise Rennison to appreciate the full humourosity factor.
Boring pingy pongoes: Georgia belongs to Louise Rennison and the HP Characters to JK Rowling. I just think they are fabbity fab, so I make them play together. Like fictional playing things.
Anyway, it was the highly fabbity fab and also gorgey jaxindi's birthday a day or two ago. And unbeknownst to her, at least I hope, I wrote her a fic. Now, naturalement any pressie given to jaxindi cannot be strictly normal, so this is a Sirius/Remus fic written in the style of Georgia Nicolson. There is much talk of the Sex God and the snogging scale and loonleader muttis and vatis, so I think I had better post it before it sets me off gibbering like a crazed gibbering thing. But it is vair vair groovy bananas, trust me.
Remus/James for kabeyk tomorrow, which is not nearly as insane, unfortunately.
HAPPY BIRFDAY, YOU LOON!
The Dorm
7.01 a.m.
Woke up early to reply to a letter my dear mutti sent me calling me ‘ungrateful’ and a ‘blood traitor’ and a ‘little thief’. I wrote back saying ‘It is not my fault you married Vati, a man with the personality of a moustache and the moustache of a walrus, and it is just like the aged to take their anger out on the young, who have most certainly not taken 14 galleons and 23 sickles from the left-hand side pocket of their black handbag’ .
Just re-read Mutti’s letter. She says she is going to ‘kill me’. Oh merde and double poo.
She is so ludicrously overreacting! I just borrowed some money from her purse before I left for Kings Cross, is all. Just because I have no intention of replacing it does not make it stealing. I think I am showing extreme maturosity by being very restrained and not writing the letter in blood as she seems to have done.
7.05 a.m.
May stay at James’s this summer hols, just to be on the safe side. I mean because obviously being killed by my mutti would get in the way of my plans to be an internationally adored wizarding whatsit.
The Great Hall
7.30 a.m.
Asked James if I looked any older vis a vis my new maturosity, and he said “No, you tosser.” Then he hit me.
I said, ‘James, you are being a bit of a Slack Alice in the mates department, and if you do not pull your socks up and make a bit more of an effort, I will be forced to make Petey my new best mate.”
Pete looked up from his cornflakes then and said, “What?” Told him to shut up as I was having a very important talk concerning James’s status as default best friend and he said, “Okay, kippers” and laughed for ten years in a way that is surely not normal. And then James flicked a cornflake in my face and I had to hit him.
I see now that all my ‘friendships’ are a facsimile of a sham and I shall have to shave my head and live in Tibet with the travelling monks of All That is Incredibly Poo.
7.32 a.m.
Marvy with double knobs! Remus came downstairs for brekkie looking incredibly Sex Goddy and as cool as le cucumber. He sat down opposite me, next to Petey and said, all cool and el fantastico, “Hi guys.”
James said “Hi.”
Petey said “Hi, kippers,” and laughed like a loon.
I smiled attractively and said “Did you see that cucumber?”
Remus grinned and said “Sirius, I see you are delightfully incoherent as usual.”
I said “Hrrrnhur.”
Remus said, “What?”
I said, “Kippers.”
Luckily at that moment the Slytherin breakfast table Transfigured into a big green mountain of goo and everyone was distracted when Snivellus tumbled head-first into it. Naturally.
I turned to James, who was rummaging around under the table and said, “He really has a nose that is too big to be allowed. If I were Snivellus I would wrap my head up in bandages and hide it that way. I would bump into things but at least it would look as if I had been disfigured in a tragic accident and not, e.g., birth.”
James sat up straight. He was wearing a false nose and he said, “Shut up, kippers.”
And then we laughed like two mad laughing things.
Short Break
10.30 a.m.
James is going off with his sad Quidditch-type pals for a practice. How ridiculously patheticimus! I sniffed a lot and told him, “There are better things to be doing with your life than messing around with broomsticks in the rain.”
James said, “Like what?”
And I said, “Like turning the Slytherins’ breakfast table into a giant pile of steaming green goo.”
James said, “We did that this morning.”
I crooked my eyebrow at him in the dashing way I have been practising how to do. It makes me look very distinguished and full of maturosity. I said, “So?”
James went all huffy then, and finger-combed his hair the way he does when he is about to have a nervy spaz. “So I don’t want to do it again. It’s way past breakfast, anyway.”
I pouted at him. “Fine, James, if you want to be a really crap friend and go outside into the nippy noodles weather and play with muddy balls for half an hour, then by all means feel free.”
James the Human Finger-Comb does not get sarcasm. He went, “Thanks, you’re a mate.” And then he looked at me in a funny looking-at-me sort of way. “Have one of your eyebrows seized up?”
He is such a tosser. I remained full of my newly-found maturosity and sophiscosity and ignored him, but he was still looking at me.
“This is about you getting chucked off the team, isn’t it? Because you deserved that, you know, it was a really important Cup match and you should’ve used a proper Beater’s bat, not a baguette.”
I said, “Shut up, James.”
10.32 a.m.
How dare they throw me off the team! Especially when I am just displaying my culinary and cultural diversity on the pitch.
Hmph.
10. 33 a.m.
All aloney, on my owney.
10. 35 a.m.
Well, not strictly alone, as Petey is here. But he is so fantastically dopey it is hard to know what to do with him. I could have gone to the library with the Sex God (Remus). But I am practising my glaciosity tactic. It is where I ignore him completely and hardly talk to him and flick my hair in his general direction a lot.
I am sure it will make him fall in love with me.
Oh flaming pig’s pyjamas, Petey just choked on his own oxygen.
The Infirmary
11.00 a.m.
Petey is in the infirmary with the crippled and snotty. After he was fixed up by Pom-Poms, I asked him, “Petey, what would you do if you were full of unrequited love for a Sex God who couldn’t possibly love you back but just might?”
Petey coughed something up at me from his bed of pain.
“What?” I asked, full of motherly understanding. I smoothed his fevered brow and bent down next to him in a caring and interested way.
Petey coughed something else. It was like he was speaking a language of coughs. I put my ear right down next to his tiny little mouth.
“What?”
Petey coughed spit into my ear and then whispered, “Kippers.”
11. 01 a.m.
I hate Petey.
11. 03 a.m.
Pom-Poms sent me off to History of Magic even though I am doing the kind and selfless thing by sacrificing my education to watch over (and pummel) my (ex)friend.
11.05 a.m.
The castle is so pretty when all the ugly people are shut away having lessons. Lots of sunlight pouring through the windows and portraits murmuring. Vair vair romantic.
Why doesn’t the Sex God love me?
11.10 a.m.
At least I got to miss most of History of Magic. McGonagall caught me dawdling in the corridors, and went, in the bossy way of the Very Mad,
“Mr. Black, do hurry up and at least try to get to your class on time. And why on earth are you sighing so loudly?”
I told her, “I am on the rack of love.”
She sniffed and said, “Well, I am sure that a week’s worth of detention for being tardy would provoke a significantly larger amount of sighs.”
She is right.
Break
1.54 p.m.
The Sex God is in the library AGAIN. I suspect he may be a bit of a girlie swot. But then again, most people are swotting in the library as we have a Potions test tomorrow. James and I just don’t seem to have, er, noticed.
I said to James, “James, I know you are eternally devoted to finding a way to touch Evans’s nunga-nungas, but if you were a Beater batting for the other team as it were, would you just tell the Sex God you liked him because he was all dreamy dreamy or continue ignoring him and flicking your hair or would you just visit him in the library once in a while?”
James went, “Which other team?”
I sighed and said, “The Essex Eyries.”
James said, “Oh, you mean that you have the Particular Horn for Remus.”
I said, “James, you know absolutely nothing about me.”
He said, “You do, don’t you?”
And I said, “James, this conversation is closed. Not closed as in you can open it again in a few minutes, closed as in it has been sealed with inch-thick Spellotape and covered with six different Impenetrable Charms.”
James said, “Fair enough. But I think he likes you.”
I said (or screeched, rather), “WHAAAAAT?”
James grinned all smirkily and said, “I thought the conversation was closed?”
How vair once and twice and thrice annoying.
The Dorm
4.27 p.m.
Back on my bed of pain. James and Petey and everyone else are having fun downstairs, charming Fizzing Whizzbees to fly into their mouths because picking them up has gotten too boring. I am up by myself in the dorm. Alone.
4.28 p.m.
Alone.
4.32 p.m.
Alone.
4.33 p.m.
James never did tell me anything more about the Sex God. He can be as silent as a very silent thing wearing pink fluffy earmuffs when he wants to be. Also he seems to find it funny. Having the Particular Horn is not a laughing matter. Those with the Cosmic and General Horns can hardiharhar all they want, but us with the Particular Horn must live a life of misery and crapness.
4.34 p.m.
Except I suppose James has the Particular Horn for Evans and her nunga-nungas.
4.35 p.m.
And Petey has the Particular Horn for…
4.49 p.m.
… kippers.
4.51 p.m.
Haha, that is fantastic. Even though I am on the rack of love and lying in my bed of pain and seriously considering buying black eyeliner, I am still full of humourosity. I can write a joke book in between all my lovelorn sighs and anguished wails.
Or I could, if I could be arsed to find my quill.
What is that someone-coming-in noise?
4.52 p.m.
Noise was Remus coming in. He grinned when he saw me lying there and said, “Hey, Sirius. Why aren’t you downstairs levitating confectionery with everyone else?”
I said, “I am seriously considering buying black eyeliner.”
Remus nodded, and looked very serious, yummy scrumboes. “I think it would suit you.”
Then he sat down ON MY BED.
4. 55 p. m.
He has been sitting there for about ten years just being all gorgeous and Sex Goddy. He is thinking about something, because he always frowns slightly when he thinks. He looks very intellectually ruffled when he is thinking, like a professor. A Professor who is also a Sex God.
Perhaps he is thinking about me?
Should I say something?
I don’t trust my brain and mouth together. They don’t have a very good relationship. My brain thinks of something sensible like “Hello, Remus, how are you?” and my mouth says something like “Pineapple armchairs are no good for winter”.
I shall crook my eyebrow attractively at him.
4.56 p.m.
Remus started talking! His lips are so marvy and fab when they move. He suddenly swivelled round to face me and went,
“Sirius, I have to tell you something. I don’t want to scare you or anything, and you don’t have to react or do anything at all if you don’t, you know, want to, but I’ve been thinking about this for ages and just James told me that I might have a chance and I-” He broke off then, and said, “Er, have one of your eyebrows seized up?”
My mouth started to say, “They only seize things up when there’s a sale on at the Eyebrow Enchantments shop,” but I closed it before it could do anything weird and shook my head.
Remus looked slightly scared but went on. “And I know it’s a really weird thing to say but I think it’s better if I just come out with it and if you don’t feel the same we can go back to being just friends but it’s no good if I go and hide in the library all the time to avoid blurting out something stupid and the thing is I really do think I might fancy you.”
My brain felt like it had been slapped with a wet fish that had been slapped by a bigger wet fish. My mouth went, “Erummmooer.”
“No, that’s wrong,” said Remus. “I do. I do fancy you.”
I remembered to uncrook my eyebrow.
“Um,” I said, and my voice sounded as tuneful as a tone-deaf frog, which was not very. “I, um, fancy you too. A lot.”
“You’re joking,” Remus said.
“No,” my mouth said earnestly. And then it had to go and undo all its good work. “But I could tell you a joke about pineapple armchairs if you’d like.”
There was a preggers pause.
“I can think of something I’d like better,” Remus said, the corners of his eyes doing that crinkly thing they do, and he moved closer across the mattress.
4. 58 p.m.
FAB FAB FABBITY FAB FAB FABBITY FAB.
5. 05 p.m.
And yet again FAB. With double helpings of marvy on top.
Bathroom
8.00 p.m.
Whee. I have got the Sex God and all is right with the world. I am so happy I may even do some homework. But that would spoil my mood.
Whizzed through the snogging scale at the speed of light (lalalalala) and then stayed at number 7 for about an hour. Then had a long talk in which I didn’t crook my eyebrow or say anything too idiotic. We walked all about school and life and muttis and vatis, which was not boring at all despite the extreme sadnosity of all four subjects. Remus said he missed his mutti sometimes because she wasn’t as strong as she used to be and I said I wished my mutti would get run over by a flying carpet and he laughed, but not in a laughing-at-me sort of way. Then we had another big snogfest. James came in when I was lying on top of Remus and said, “I thought you didn’t have the Particular Horn, Sirius?”and I threw a pillow at him even though I am strictly too happy for violence as my red-bottomosity has made the SG fall for my charms.
Then Remus rolled off the bed to get out his books and study Potions and James opened his Quidditch magazine and I toddled off to the loo so I could dance like a loon without looking odd.
Well, I still look odd, but at least no-one is looking.
8.03 p.m.
I suppose that while I am in here I might as well check the mirror and fix my eyebrow-crooking technique.
8.04 p.m.
Oh, lack a day. No matter how I do it I either look like a mad axe-murder or a weasel. How could I ever have done that in the Sex God’s presence?
I need to find another technique to increase my red bottomosity for the Sex God, one that is not quite so stupendously merde.
Petey should really stop banging on the door. If he needs to go to the piddly diddly department so badly he can do it out the window.
Maybe if I crook both eyebrows at once?
8.06 p.m.
I am seriously considering buying black eyeliner.
Disclaimer: Sorry, Louise and Jo. And by 'Louise and Jo' I mean 'Rennison and Rowling, we are not worthy to bathe your ankles'.
More Small Print: You will probably have to have read at least one of the Georgia Nicolson books by Louise Rennison to appreciate the full humourosity factor.
Boring pingy pongoes: Georgia belongs to Louise Rennison and the HP Characters to JK Rowling. I just think they are fabbity fab, so I make them play together. Like fictional playing things.