|
[21 Jul 1997|11:54pm] |
|
Well, I can cross Finnigan off my list of potentials, in any case.
I've got my Apparation licence, which I've used solely for the purpose of taking quick tours around the Manor. While I do enjoy the Manor, I'm ever so glad I'm spending the holidays doing this instead of actually using my superior Apparation abilities to do something. I did go to Knockturn Alley this morning, whereupon I promptly ran into Hagrid, who scolded me for being there and said it would give people funny ideas. As though I'm not allowed to go to Knockturn Alley. I was only having a look around, anyway.
Millicent and I finally sealed up the hole in my bed, so the potted plants have been removed, much to her dismay. All I've to do is find a spell that ensures your thumbs aren't double jointed and I shall rule the world.
Mother's still quite upset at the loss of my portrait, while I feel this is for the best as my hair looks idiotic there. I think there should be a law against parents choosing their children's haircuts, except in the case of the Weasleys as that turns out quite funny.
Potter seems relatively unmoved by my exciting accomplishment in the world of Apparation.
|
|
|
[16 Jul 1997|03:36am] |
|
I HATE YOU.
|
|
|
[15 Jul 1997|02:35am] |
|
I can't sleep due to the fact that I've become convinced a zombie puffskein is going to sneak up on me in the middle of the night and try to remove my brain. Millicent, of course, sleeps like the dead anyway, so for all I know the puffskein has turned her into a zombie as well and now Millicent the Zombie is simply taking a nap to gear up for stealing my various internal organs.
I've mastered the art of Apparating from one side of the room to another, much to Millicent's unenthused response. Actually, I find it rather exciting, though when doing so in the library the lines of books caused me to become nauseated. I've not yet decided what to do about visiting Potter. Of course, it's entirely likely that his invitation will only extend until the seventeenth, and as my exam is on the eighteenth I imagine I might turn up only to be told that he's far too busy. I'm not certain if I'm supposed to wait until invited at a specific time to do this, or if he assumes I'm just going to have it in mind to show up randomly. I'm rather leaning towards the latter, which of course sets me down the proper path to look like an imbecile.
Of course, there's also the matter of Millicent, who I suppose will have to be taken care of. I doubt she'll protest to my absence, but naturally there's always the possibility that she'd make certain to point it out. Perhaps it would be best if I didn't go. After all, I'd prefer not to have Potter turning me out on my face, and don't let's forget that there's a strong possibility that his Muggles shall tie me to a large wooden stick and try to burn me alive. If Potter's going to turn me out on my face, that's just fine. He can spend the entirety of his holidays in solitude if that's how he feels.
More on this as it develops.
|
|
|
[10 Jul 1997|03:53am] |
|
EVERYTHING IS ENTIRELY UNFAIR.
In an attempt to come up with a plan to free Millicent from the bondage of formalwear, I've come to the realisation that my very existence is clearly cursed with undue suffering and torment. What this has to do with Millicent is exactly nothing, but really, we are talking about me here, not Millicent.
I mentioned being ill to Potter, and he immediately asked if I was practising for my Apparation exam, which of course is why I was ill in the first place. Very curious. Now he's going on about me being out of doors after half three in the morning. And somehow, he seems to think I'm also on a computer out of doors after half three in the morning. I don't know what his handicap is.
In any case, as I was saying, everything is entirely unfair. Mother's gone to Ratnose Cripp for the evening, or whatever Lupin's home is called, and Father is out so I've spent the evening at the Manor by myself. I explored some rooms I'd never been in before, but it was rather boring as most of them were empty. I also cast a levitating charm on myself, which was amusing until I got stuck at the ceiling in the drawing-room and realised I'd left my wand on the table. Fortunately, my owl is clever.
Speaking of owls, Potter's owl graced me with its presence earlier today, along with that Falmouth thing Potter won at Grottle. I've nothing to do with it, really, but I feel it's rightfully mine and I wanted it, so it's rather good that Potter remembered that he was supposed to send it. I went through elaborate attempts to tell Potter that I wanted several things, but he shook bodily in a rather alarming manner and I suspect he didn't get the point. Many of my best monologues are wasted on Potter not getting the point, and after the effort it takes to make them one would think he could listen, but I suppose I should be grateful that he's not drawn huge amounts of attention to them. However, the mental trauma is horrific. Occasionally I suspect Potter thinks as ill of me as Weasley, as he won't believe a word I say when I'm often being more frank than I'd rather be. I suppose it's better that he can't tell when I'm accidentally saying far more than I meant to, in any case, as he won't know what to hold against me when he feels the whim.
Evidently Lupin has people spy on Potter at his Muggles' house. Oh, that's very healthy and normal.
Still, Potter have better got the point or I shall rip his eyebrow hairs out one at a time with Mother's tweezers.
|
|
|
[08 Jul 1997|07:00pm] |
|
Potentials
Finch-Fletchley?
Macmillan?
This is highly doubtful.
Granger?
The Weaselette?
Finnigan?
He rather seems to still be mourning.
|
|
|
[08 Jul 1997|07:10pm] |
|
I got ill a bit ago due to the heat and now I'm stuck lying down on the hole in my bed trying to rest. Of course, the air in the Manor is circulated perfectly, but I spent far too long sitting outside in the East gardens trying to Apparate. Mother worries that I'll get heatstroke or something along those lines and has sent me to my rooms, which is just as well as now I feel entirely nauseated and disgusting.
I'm considering writing the peons listed in my previous post to inquire about their love lives, as they've made no point in using discretion before now, so I can't see why they'd be bothered by my intrusion. Of course, Granger and Finch-Fletchley are hardly worth using for information, as their lives are vastly different than mine. Finnigan, Macmillan and the Weaselette's are as well, but not quite so bad as Granger and Finch-Fletchley.
I thought I'd organise a poll of some sort and send that out, but it occurs to me that there's nothing I can actually do with their information, given that they're nothing like Potter. It would hold absolutely no basis in comparison, and since I can't ask Potter myself I'll have to narrow my options down to either whomever says yes or whomever is the least detestable. Likely I'll have moved on from this by tomorrow, in any case, and needn't bother.
I rather suspect I need a summer project.
|
|
|
[07 Jul 1997|04:40am] |
|
Why has Finnigan got his Apparation licence before me? I demand an explanation for this.
|
|
|
[07 Jul 1997|04:59am] |
|
It is five o'clock in the morning and I've nothing to do. It is five o'clock in the morning and I've nothing to do. It is five o'clock in the morning and I've nothing to do. It is five o'clock in the morning and I've nothing to do. It is five o'clock in the morning and I've nothing to do. It is five o'clock in the morning and I've nothing to do. It is five o'clock in the morning and I've nothing to do. It is five o'clock in the morning and I've nothing to do. It is five o'clock in the morning and I've nothing to do. It is five o'clock in the morning and I've nothing to do. It is five o'clock in the morning and I've nothing to do. It is five o'clock in the morning and I've nothing to do. It is five o'clock in the morning and I've nothing to do. It is five o'clock in the morning and I've nothing to do.
Horrifically enough I'm entertaining the thought of taking the Floo Network to Cannes just so I can have something to do. Then I'll be busy for hours trying to make the elf get the soot out of my clothes.
The Weasleys kicked Chang out of their nest, which I find entirely amusing. I cannot stand seeing Chang's stupid face in comments and entries. Why does she speak like an utter imbecile? She's a Ravenclaw. Her sentences run together nearly as often as Bones's do. Bones, fortunately, is too idiotic to update her journal very often, but the girl hasn't even heard of an apostrophe. Perhaps I ought to update my actual journal, but I've nothing to say, really, which explains why I'm saying things right now.
According to Crabbe, Queenie pushed Pansy down the stairs during the chaos of the attack last month at Hogwarts. Pansy and Millicent have decided to pay Queenie a visit and are now trying to drag me along. I certainly don't feel like visiting Queenie. Perhaps Potter can go in my place. I'd like to see if he would actually hex Queenie. I suspect he's all talk, in any case, though I remain irritated that Queenie attempted to molest me while we were out of doors. Any respectable witch would have waited until we were inside. Her nose was quite forward with me. Given that the very idea made me want to vomit, I'd prefer to never have to visit Queenie in this lifetime. Pansy and Millicent think of no one but themselves. I could be in danger of molestation if I got too close to Queenie. Why should I run the risk of bodily abuse?
I suspect I've been rather lazy about my relationship with Pansy as of late, and though I'd considered having her over to discuss ending it, I'd prefer to keep her mother off of her case. Mrs Parkinson seems happiest when Pansy is dating me and at least stops nagging at her to find a nice wizard to date. Also, Mrs Parkinson occasionally sends me gifts.
I blasted a hole straight through the centre of my bed earlier and I can't get the countercharm to work. Perhaps I'll just cover it with a potted plant.
I've come to the conclusion that Potter is not, in fact, living it up with his Muggles, but is instead miserable with guilt for not answering the email I sent before I left Hogwarts. Potter really needs to start organising his schedule for me. This sort of tardiness simply will not do. I also think he ought to take himself to get his Apparation licence after his birthday. I'll have to send an owl later to inform him of my suggestions.
|
|
|
[07 Jul 1997|04:47am] |
|
Occasionally I wind up with the idea of kissing Potter in my head at dinner, and last night Mother asked if I was quite all right, as I'd dropped my salad fork on the floor. The night before that it was the sodding dessert spoon. Perhaps I ought to start eating with chopsticks, as they'd likely make less noise.
|
|
|
[06 Jul 1997|09:09am] |
|
Given that it's the holidays and I've nothing to do whatsoever, one would imagine I'd be updating that stupid journal constantly, but as it turns out I can't write notes to Potter publicly, and that's all I have to write. How very magnificent.
Potter, evidently, is having a better time with his Muggles than planned. Mother's decided I'm not to taunt her house-elves despite the fact that I've done so for the past seventeen years or so. I invited Millicent to tea, but that seems to be a mistake as I can't be bothered to have company now, though I initially assumed I'd want company. Now she keeps asking to come over, of course, and doesn't seem to be taking the hint that I'd rather settle myself in for The Summer of the Monumental Sulk. It's rather hard to sulk appropriately if Millicent is coming over dressed in the pink bows her parents make her wear.
Potter said he wants me to Apparate to his Muggle residence, but I sincerely doubt he'll still care in a fortnight. He's probably living it up with the Muggles now and certainly doesn't need me to come now that he's got Muggles. Well, bully for Potter. If he decides he doesn't want me to come, fine. Father will likely find out if I do Apparate, unless he's still busy with the Ministry at that point. Although it doesn't matter, as I likely won't be Apparating anyway, as Potter will change his mind.
Weasley informed me, via instant messenger, that I'm not a Death Eater. How very interesting. Of course, he's evidently smitten by my inspired idea of wand transfiguration. Perhaps Weasley will start fancying me as well and then I'll have to kill myself. I suppose that would be an interesting method of getting Potter's attention. Of course, Weasley would throw a fit. 'Oh, Harry,' he would say at my funeral. 'How dare you focus on the dead when all your attention should belong to me. After all, I'm your best friend and if you speak to anyone other than me I'll be forced to change your journal to an animated background and start using my Chudley Cannons icon everywhere.' 'Oh, you're right,' Potter would say, and rip off his mourning attire to reveal Chudley Cannons robes underneath. 'Sorry about that.'
The Manor is quite cold currently, but I keep waking up sweating like an idiot and the house-elf refuses to change my linens. Soon I'll have to start sleeping in one of the other bedrooms. My stomach hurts because I've not eaten since yesterday and there's ham for breakfast, which I'm certainly not going to eat. I've nothing to do whatsoever. I can't even remember what I usually do during the holidays, which is rather worrying. I'd spend time outside, but I look hideous with a tan.
Potter's journal has been flooded with comments from his disgusting cohorts who seem to think it's a good idea to rub it in his face that they're all sitting around that rat's nest called the Burrow while Potter is staying with his Muggles. How very friendly of them. I'm sure Potter appreciates all ninety-three emails.
I went to pick galleons off of Father's galleon tree in the Atrium this morning and cut my thumb on a branch. I've considered Apparating to Cannes on a daily basis once I've my licence. I imagine I could reasonably pretend I was simply in a different part of the Manor if Father or Mother looked for me, and I suspect all of My Grandmother's servants have left by now. It's my manor, anyway, so I don't see why I shouldn't be allowed to spend the summer there if I want. Of course, I couldn't actually take anyone there as it would be far too risky.
I hate everything and everything hates me. I'm rather tired of being a scapegoat.
In any case, Weasley has decided, temporarily, that I'm not bad, though he states that obviously any fool would have suspected me of killing Potter due to the fact that I won't refer to him as my whatever word Weasley would like to use.
Perhaps Azkaban would not be such a terrible consequence.
|
|
|
[05 Jul 1997|11:11am] |
|
THINGS TO DO
Study for Apparation exam.
|
|
| navigation |
| [ |
viewing |
| |
most recent entries |
] |
|
|
|
|
