Well, nothing important's been happening for a while.

Everything seems just so dull. It's quite irritating, actually.

I should be working on my copious number of essays though as it's a Friday night perhaps I'll take a bit of a break.

Any suggestions?

And just in advance, in case it is needed, no thank you, Mr. Bletchey.

Blodwyn was perched on a chair in front of several textbooks and a scroll of parchment, closely examining the closest textbook to her and occasionally pausing from her readings to pen something in her slanted, neat handwriting on her essay parchment. An essay for History of Magic was due in the next week and even as much as she liked the subject ( Read more... )

Happy birthday to me.

Blodwyn sat in front of the fireplace, immersed in thought and looking a little nervous. She shook her head and picked up the tome that sat next to her - A History of Notable Eighteenth Century Witches - flipping to a page and reading a few paragraphs before setting it down again ( Read more... )

Cecilia, Mori, Tracey, the rest of you girls - we really ought to do something, you know.

I need a new coat. Or a cloak. Preferably one that doesn't crush my skirts like the others I have. It's really too bad the shopping in Hogsmeade isn't very good, clothing-wise.

Oh, right. Pity about the Dumbledore. Ha. That newspaper really is starting to become quite informative.

My parents have written again, and sent me a large package of raspberry tarts. To keep me healthy, apparently. The logic of which fails me because a), raspberry tarts are about as far from healthy as anything, and b), since when have they had doubts about the quality of school food? I don't even like raspberry tarts.

I think they're slowly going

I haven't seen you properly for a long time. We should change that.

The first-years are tiny, but incredibly cute. The Slytherin first-years even more so. Especially Amber Walker, isn't she sweet? Pity her brother's a Gryffindor.

Classes were tedious, and I have to say I already look forward to Christmas break. My parents have already sent me a letter, poor things. They say they're lonely, a fact I don't believe.