I realise that by posting I once again violate the terms of service of these journals by not, at present, being drunk, French, a pompous overstuffed peacock, or a Malfoy. I also regret not making any grand, cryptic statements announcing yet another public divorce. One of those is quite enough for me, thank you
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I don't understand, either.
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You are a horrible child, and nobody likes you.
My walking-stick makes me look dignified!
Perhaps it is up to us to ask the questions, Harry.
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I don't know who to ask. Hermione and I had this funny idea but it won't work but it was really funny.
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What was her idea? Tell me, I could use a laugh.
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I can't tell you here. It's just that private.
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Come find me. Sirius is passed out and drooling. We can put bits of rubbish on his head, varnish his toenails, and other unspeakable things. And you can tell me this funny, private idea of Hermione's.
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It's worth it and you know it. Come on.
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Just a bit. I blame society.
Also, his godson's horrible. Enough to drive anyone mad.
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That was me.
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