(no subject)
I need to keep a better eye on my possessions. During one of my semi-annual cleaning moods in which I throw out practically everything that's not nailed down, this journal found its way into a box destined for Dregs and Dross Junk Shop. After I realised my mistake, I went back and asked the shopkeeper if he remembered seeing a dark red journal with my name on it. He informed me that someone had purchased it a couple of hours ago. Of course, he couldn't remember this until after I spent an hour sifting through tattered robes and broken wands. At least he was able to give me the buyer's name, an elderly witch named Constance Prig. Apparently she comes in every week to trade her stock of used romance novels towards more new used romance novels. (I glanced at that shelf on my way out, I swear one was titled Owl Post Order Bride.)
On Monday I looked up her address from the Ministry's records, and paid her a visit that afternoon. She was quick to lecture me on how horrid and depraved these people were (I wonder who that remark could possibly be referring to), yet she was strangely reluctant to give it up. I had to offer her enough to purchase the entire junk shop's stock of romance novels. Luckily that turned out to be only about five Sickles.
Now, where did I put my wand?
On Monday I looked up her address from the Ministry's records, and paid her a visit that afternoon. She was quick to lecture me on how horrid and depraved these people were (I wonder who that remark could possibly be referring to), yet she was strangely reluctant to give it up. I had to offer her enough to purchase the entire junk shop's stock of romance novels. Luckily that turned out to be only about five Sickles.
Now, where did I put my wand?