(And they were never really stars at heart)
Exams begin next week, and the library is absolutely teeming with worried expressions, sleep-deprivation (though nothing approaching the magifnicent delirium of Draco and Millicent) and panic attacks. Friday evening I escorted two fifth-year Hufflepuff to Poppy after they began gnawing at their books. I have to start keeping Sugar Quills on hand to slip to the ones who look like they're just about to snap.
No word of Peter, no sign nor hide nor hair nor worm-like tail of rat to be found. I have had a few owls on the subject, none of them bearing any sort of news at all. No news is never good news, in times of war, but unfortunately it leaves me in a rather useless position of not being able to do anything but worry, and wonder. And I have really no interest in doing that all of the time, so I have just instructed Harry to never let his wand out of his sight in the hopes that he will never be caught offguard. We can only wait and see, at this point.
Speaking of Harry, he and Sirius spent last night working on his motorbike. I don't know what they were doing to it, tightening grommets and clanking spanners about, Muggle devices, haven't a clue where Sirius got his hands on them. They seemed to have a good time, and they returned far too late covered in motor oil and laughing about some dirty joke or another. I read my books and finished off some overdue correspondence, because they certainly didn't need me around mucking up their fun. At any rate, I love to see them spend more time together, the two of them. Sirius has become an excellent dogfather.
I took a walk today, in the woodsy area on the other side of the lake. From there you can see for miles, and there's a spot (you may remember it, Harry) that is excellent for watching the Squid perform its afternoon water aerobics. I must have sat under the tree for hours, and it wasn't until the sun began to set that I remembered having found the spot as a boy. A favourite escape, from schoolwork and pranks, and myself. I am happy to have rediscovered it again now, twenty years later. And the boy is still there under the tree, happy to share it with the man. I am glad to have found him. I was wondering where he'd got to.
There is no moon tonight, it has hid its face among a crowd of stars, and the air is warm. Sirius is dozing on the sofa beside me, and I don't want to disturb him so I think I shall read, perhaps have a bath. It is a lovely, quiet night for doing quiet things. I love this time of year, when the days are long, the shadows longer and everything just stretches out as lazy and relaxed as Padfoot here, who is drooling upon my leg. So perhaps the first thing I shall do is scratch him behind the ears.
And then, I think, I will sleep.
No word of Peter, no sign nor hide nor hair nor worm-like tail of rat to be found. I have had a few owls on the subject, none of them bearing any sort of news at all. No news is never good news, in times of war, but unfortunately it leaves me in a rather useless position of not being able to do anything but worry, and wonder. And I have really no interest in doing that all of the time, so I have just instructed Harry to never let his wand out of his sight in the hopes that he will never be caught offguard. We can only wait and see, at this point.
Speaking of Harry, he and Sirius spent last night working on his motorbike. I don't know what they were doing to it, tightening grommets and clanking spanners about, Muggle devices, haven't a clue where Sirius got his hands on them. They seemed to have a good time, and they returned far too late covered in motor oil and laughing about some dirty joke or another. I read my books and finished off some overdue correspondence, because they certainly didn't need me around mucking up their fun. At any rate, I love to see them spend more time together, the two of them. Sirius has become an excellent dogfather.
I took a walk today, in the woodsy area on the other side of the lake. From there you can see for miles, and there's a spot (you may remember it, Harry) that is excellent for watching the Squid perform its afternoon water aerobics. I must have sat under the tree for hours, and it wasn't until the sun began to set that I remembered having found the spot as a boy. A favourite escape, from schoolwork and pranks, and myself. I am happy to have rediscovered it again now, twenty years later. And the boy is still there under the tree, happy to share it with the man. I am glad to have found him. I was wondering where he'd got to.
There is no moon tonight, it has hid its face among a crowd of stars, and the air is warm. Sirius is dozing on the sofa beside me, and I don't want to disturb him so I think I shall read, perhaps have a bath. It is a lovely, quiet night for doing quiet things. I love this time of year, when the days are long, the shadows longer and everything just stretches out as lazy and relaxed as Padfoot here, who is drooling upon my leg. So perhaps the first thing I shall do is scratch him behind the ears.
And then, I think, I will sleep.