(no subject)
So, Wednesday was new moon, hence weird pagan... thing to cure me. Sirius ate one of the ceremonial potions ingrediants, but it wouldn't have worked anyways. Mum, defeated, couldn't even manage to scold him or anything. 'Twas vaguely disturbing, that. I hate so much, seeing her like this. All I got out of it was a rash and an overwhelming sense of guilt for none of these schemes ever working out like she wants them to.
(Open journal.)
Back in London, dropped off Sirius, now staying at Leaky Cauldron while Mum has gone back home. Have been left to do my own school shopping, and shall have enough money for an extracurricular book if I'm careful, which is an exciting prospect-- shall be able to get Pete a birthday gift, albeit unforgiveably late.
More attacks, still disturbing, don't want war. An aversion to subject pronouns. That is all.
...That prat. His timing was just... I mean, really, couldn't he have thought of that, say, six months ago? Or... Oh, I don't know. I'm not going to pretend to myself that I didn't like it, though. Not that I'm a connoisseur, or anything, but he. Well, he's a good kisser.
And now promptly ending that train of thought. Yes. Very ended, because Severus is coming to meet me any second now, and and and... yes.