From the journal of Michael Corner
28 July/Day 1,131
Harry Potter has returned from the Great Buggering Beyond none too worse for wear. Or so I'm told since I've only caught fleeting glimpses of him shuffling from what I would assume is his bedroom to the loo or the kitchen. It could be an animated cardboard cutout for all I know.
It's all very strange when you really think about it. One minute there's nothing... you're simply dead. And the next...
For his next trick I'm half expecting him to walk on water or turn water into wine. I wouldn't put it past Harry to do either.
And then there's Seamus Finnigan the Death Eater, shacked up down the other end of the manor house with Dean and "supposedly" attempting to turn over a new leaf or somesuch rubbish.
I don't trust him as far as I can throw him.
But I have little say in the matter since Gryffindors look out for their own - no matter how fucking wayward or irritatingly twattish they may be.
Great is Life, real and mystical, wherever and whoever;
Great is Death-sure as life holds all parts together, Death holds all parts together.
Has Life much purport?-Ah, Death has the greatest purport.