The day of rest.
Don't mind the colour, I had to borrow a quill from Ms Frosh, and apparently my father doesn't mind that the only ink his secretary has on hand is something blokes can't name because we like to stick to the standard colour wheel.
Once again I've been pulled out of Hogwarts for another self-imposed (on my father's part) weekend of father-son bonding over my bright, shining future of following in his footsteps. Well, not exactly, I think he plans for me to be the greatest thing since sliced Longbottom.
Which is all well and good, only I mostly just end up wandering round level two finding things to take apart (and put back together if they insist).
Level three is always good for a laugh.
Level seven isn't as exciting as it sounds.
Once again I've been pulled out of Hogwarts for another self-imposed (on my father's part) weekend of father-son bonding over my bright, shining future of following in his footsteps. Well, not exactly, I think he plans for me to be the greatest thing since sliced Longbottom.
Which is all well and good, only I mostly just end up wandering round level two finding things to take apart (and put back together if they insist).
Level three is always good for a laugh.
Level seven isn't as exciting as it sounds.