(no subject)
Despite the fact that my aches and bruises were still healing slowly, I managed to make it out for the Gryffindor/Ravenclaw Quidditch match last weekend. Of course, the game was rather dull. Ravenclaws play Quidditch exactly like they socialise: as though they've been living in reclusion for six years. I'd been counting on them to beat Gryffindor, of course, since Gryffindor is always my bottom choice, but evidently the Ravenclaw Seeker is a moron. She wasn't even near the Snitch when Potter caught it.
Mother has been under a lot of stress lately, she tells me, and as it is with everything, it's all Potter's fault. Honestly, I've had about enough of hearing how I, the innocent am the one who started the fight. Perhaps if the collective members of Hogwarts would take the care to remove their collective heads from Potter's arse, they would notice that he's bitter over the fact that, despite his efforts to prove the contrary, I'm just better than him. Sure, he has that little Boy Who Lived gig going for him, but that was all a matter of luck. I don't need stupid things like that.
I've scheduled an afternoon tea with Pansy today. You know, it certainly is nice to know that there are still girls with class and etiquette around here. Unlike some other not so shining examples of the female gender. Then again, of course, Pansy is a Slytherin. It's only natural that she would be a proper woman.
While one quarter of this school is made up of Slytherins, there are still the other three-quarters to contend with. Unfortunately, most of the staff of this school is either Gryffindor or Hufflepuff-minded, so things tend to stay on the shoddy side. My newest complaint is the fact that Hogwarts-issued bathtowels are so bloody thin. Lord, has Professor Dumbledore never heard of the word plush? As a Malfoy, my skin is rather used to luxury. I certainly don't enjoy drying off with a veritable paper towel. I, of course, bring towels from the Manor to school each year, but I suspect the house-elves have stolen them and sold them to buy pillowcases. Regardless, my monogrammed towels were stolen and I've been left to use Hogwarts-issued. This will not endure.
Oh, and a bit of advice to the Weaselette -- I'd not leave my stuffed animals lying in the Great Hall if I were you. You never know who might wander along and take it.
Mother has been under a lot of stress lately, she tells me, and as it is with everything, it's all Potter's fault. Honestly, I've had about enough of hearing how I, the innocent am the one who started the fight. Perhaps if the collective members of Hogwarts would take the care to remove their collective heads from Potter's arse, they would notice that he's bitter over the fact that, despite his efforts to prove the contrary, I'm just better than him. Sure, he has that little Boy Who Lived gig going for him, but that was all a matter of luck. I don't need stupid things like that.
I've scheduled an afternoon tea with Pansy today. You know, it certainly is nice to know that there are still girls with class and etiquette around here. Unlike some other not so shining examples of the female gender. Then again, of course, Pansy is a Slytherin. It's only natural that she would be a proper woman.
While one quarter of this school is made up of Slytherins, there are still the other three-quarters to contend with. Unfortunately, most of the staff of this school is either Gryffindor or Hufflepuff-minded, so things tend to stay on the shoddy side. My newest complaint is the fact that Hogwarts-issued bathtowels are so bloody thin. Lord, has Professor Dumbledore never heard of the word plush? As a Malfoy, my skin is rather used to luxury. I certainly don't enjoy drying off with a veritable paper towel. I, of course, bring towels from the Manor to school each year, but I suspect the house-elves have stolen them and sold them to buy pillowcases. Regardless, my monogrammed towels were stolen and I've been left to use Hogwarts-issued. This will not endure.
Oh, and a bit of advice to the Weaselette -- I'd not leave my stuffed animals lying in the Great Hall if I were you. You never know who might wander along and take it.