(no subject)
I was patrolling the corridors after curfew last night, since we Prefects do such things, and who should walk into me? Granger. The girl had this dreamy look on her face. Apparently, the filth has got so bad that it's blocked her ability to walk in a straight line. I nearly suffocated on the tornado of hair that reached forward to choke me. Honestly, should someone who is this much of a danger to others be allowed to remain a Prefect? The school should seriously rethink who they hand responsibility and privilege to.
Aside from that unpleasantness, I was patrolling the corridors and found those two Hufflepuffs, Finch-Fletchley and Abbott, doing quite a bit of whispering in the North Tower. Here I'd thought Bones fancied Finch-Fletchley. And they call Hufflepuffs loyal. Anyway, since it's my duty to take care of such miscreant Hufflepuffs, the staff will be pleased to know that I made quite sure they wouldn't be sneaking out after dark again. No need to worry, though - the curse should wear off in a few days. And I don't want to hear any complaints about my using a curse on them, either. They were stark raving mad! They tried to resist with violence. And blubber.
This morning, while I was at the Owlery sending a letter home to My Loving Mother, I managed to catch a bit of the Ravenclaws practising, likely for their game against Gryffindor in a few weeks. Normally, I wouldn't encourage another Quidditch team, but Gryffindor has certainly been looking less than fully there this term. In fact, one might say that the Gryffindor Quidditch team was off its rocker. I expect Ravenclaw will win.
As I'm sure everyone was witness to, I received my usual package from home this morning. Mother really outdid herself this time. Of course, I suppose she's read my journal, and seen all the suffering I've had to go through due to living in such a tin of sardines as Hogwarts. Surely she feels regretful of this. I've sent off money to Madam Malkin's for new dress robes. With any luck, they won't botch the job.
Oh, and Goyle - there's a new sodding dictionary in your trunk.
At dinner this evening, a certain gothic with was talking my ear off with adoration for me. How sleek my hair is, what a nice smirk I have. How nice my hands are (so polished and unused). How nicely I've grown. I suspect someone was trying to get around to asking me to the Bleu Ball. I will pick my date when I pick my date. Some people just don't know when to shut up, you know?
Aside from that unpleasantness, I was patrolling the corridors and found those two Hufflepuffs, Finch-Fletchley and Abbott, doing quite a bit of whispering in the North Tower. Here I'd thought Bones fancied Finch-Fletchley. And they call Hufflepuffs loyal. Anyway, since it's my duty to take care of such miscreant Hufflepuffs, the staff will be pleased to know that I made quite sure they wouldn't be sneaking out after dark again. No need to worry, though - the curse should wear off in a few days. And I don't want to hear any complaints about my using a curse on them, either. They were stark raving mad! They tried to resist with violence. And blubber.
This morning, while I was at the Owlery sending a letter home to My Loving Mother, I managed to catch a bit of the Ravenclaws practising, likely for their game against Gryffindor in a few weeks. Normally, I wouldn't encourage another Quidditch team, but Gryffindor has certainly been looking less than fully there this term. In fact, one might say that the Gryffindor Quidditch team was off its rocker. I expect Ravenclaw will win.
As I'm sure everyone was witness to, I received my usual package from home this morning. Mother really outdid herself this time. Of course, I suppose she's read my journal, and seen all the suffering I've had to go through due to living in such a tin of sardines as Hogwarts. Surely she feels regretful of this. I've sent off money to Madam Malkin's for new dress robes. With any luck, they won't botch the job.
Oh, and Goyle - there's a new sodding dictionary in your trunk.
At dinner this evening, a certain gothic with was talking my ear off with adoration for me. How sleek my hair is, what a nice smirk I have. How nice my hands are (so polished and unused). How nicely I've grown. I suspect someone was trying to get around to asking me to the Bleu Ball. I will pick my date when I pick my date. Some people just don't know when to shut up, you know?